Part 3 : Yoo Seolhwa

We run for a while until I am out of breath and my legs are shaking. The king is extremely quiet beside me, and I don’t know what to say either. Do I apologize? We only got into that mess because of me. But then again, I’ve already (technically) apologized, though the more I think of it, the less solutions I come up with. Yeonhwa, too — do I apologize for her behavior? Again? He already said it was alright, but now, after crashing into the five men, I’m not sure. It feels like I’ve put him through enough inconvenience for the day, and for someone like me to do that to the king…

“I have a match,” I offer when we slow down. I can still smell the faint scent of blood around us, and it makes me wonder how badly he injured them. “It’s dark, and… it’s best that we get back to the palace.”

I’m already lighting the match when he reaches out a hand and wraps it around my wrist. I’m too shocked to say anything, but the fire has already started, illuminating the area around us.

I’ve kept a respectful distance from him (or as far as I deem respectful — I really don’t know, and I’ve never been raised to bother learning about manners to royalty all my life) for the past twenty days. In fact, thinking back, I’ve never come into direct contact with the king.

I’m so shocked by the warm hand around my arm that I barely hear him tell me to put out the match, but when I do, it’s too late. Our surroundings are visible — the dark color of my robes and the bright red on my skin that stands out against it.

The effect is instantaneous.

The king stumbles back, drawing his hand back roughly and stepping as fast as he can away from the circle of light. I catch a glimpse of the expression on his face — he looks actually terrified — and then he’s in the dark again. Hoarsely, I hear him rasp, “Put out the match. Please.”

I’ve never heard the king sound like that. He normally sounds sure of what he’s talking about (it’s something I’ve noticed about him — even when he’s asking a question, he sounds as if he knows exactly what he’s saying, while I’m probably the exactly opposite). But watching him flinch away from the light as if he’s scared of it, and to beg for it to be put out…

For a moment, I’m worried that he can’t touch light at all, and not just sunlight. It’s a stupid assumption because I’ve seen him in rooms with torches and fire, but nevertheless, that thought is what makes me act quick enough. The match drops to the ground and I put it out with the heel of my shoe.

I can hear the king breathing heavily a couple paces away from me, and I stand in slight surprise and fear in the dark, unsure of why he asked me to put it out. We had been carrying lanterns earlier on, so it shouldn’t have anything to do with the actual light itself.

To think of it, he’d put them out the moment he begun fighting. He’d shattered one of the other man’s lantern, too, and the whole thing had happened in pretty much complete darkness. I’d initially thought it was because he didn’t want them to see his face, but the way he’s dressed today doesn’t make him look like royalty or a king. Just another commoner. So what is it?  

“I’m sorry,” I say breathily, taking a step towards him though I’m afraid to go closer. “I-I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” he says shortly, though he doesn’t exactly sound angry, just out of breath (then again, I can never tell with him). “Just don’t…don’t light another...” he trails off. “Is there any sort of lake or stream around here?”

I do a double take at him, though he can’t see me in the dark. “It’s a ten minute walk to the river. Why?”

“Let’s go.”   

He doesn’t explain more, and after standing in shock for a long moment, I lead the way towards the river with King Chanyeol behind me.

***

It’s only when the king starts washing the blood off of himself that the pieces click together.

Under the moonlight, the blood on the dagger and on his bare arms and rolled-up sleeves are darker, almost black, and he scrubs vigorously until his arms and clothing are clean. He then dips the blade into the water too, until it’s shiny and silver when he pulls it out. I stare for a long moment, only looking away when he turns around.

I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m too scared to lift my head and actually meet his eyes. Is he going to say something now? Reprimand me for not listening and still striking the match? Neither of us says anything, and I hold my breath until my lungs begin to burn.

I’m the one that breaks first.

“Are you… scared of blood?”

He stiffens, and I bite my tongue and take a step back. I’ve gotten too casual around him just because of what had happened a little while before.  “I’m sorry Your Majesty, that was improper of m—”

“Just the sight of it.” His voice is tense, as if he’s forcing himself to say something he doesn’t want to and I continue to question whether or not I’ve said the wrong thing, completely. “I can deal with the smell of blood, but I can’t stand looking at it. You have blood on you too, don’t you?”

I swallow and then nod meekly.

“Wash it off, please,” he says quietly.

I’m frozen for a couple seconds more before I snap into action.

The river water is cold as I scrub off the drying blood, and I make sure to do it until my arms are completely clean. Only then do I turn around to look at the king, who has moved to he’s standing right above me, still on the shore. His eyes are unreadable in the dark.

“Sorry,” I say again, and he tilts his head at me.
 

“Are you not going to ask questions?”

I look up at King Chanyeol again. The light of the moon carves his features, making them softer and he looks younger, too. He’s so different without the robes and the crown and the mask, and maybe that’s the reason that I’ve been speaking so informally. He doesn’t feel like a king at times, especially at this moment — maybe a friend — but that’s such a ridiculous thought that I shake it off as soon as it surfaces. Even if we’re standing next to each other, we’re still worlds apart.

“There’s nothing to ask,” I breathe out, hoping my voice isn’t trembling.

His lips pulls into a bitter smile. “Is there not?”

Shaking the remaining water off of my hands, I stand up too. “It doesn’t matter why. Everyone has their fears, and even though…” Even though it’s odd — you’ve been in many battles, haven’t you? If you can’t even stand the sight of blood, then how…? “I won’t question. But we should go back now, Your Majesty.”

He continues looking at me with that same, indecipherable expression until I’m the first to look away, again, as usual. And then he turns the way we came, this time leading the way, and I try to ignore how hard my heart is pounding.

***

Five days left.

I haven’t seen the king for five days, and that frightens me. I replay the night over and over in my head, trying to find out if I’ve done something wrong or offensive, but I can’t think of anything in particular. I’m pretty sure that, by now, the king is completely sure that I’ve been lying to him (as if he hadn’t known in the beginning), but there’s nothing I can do about that, either. Go Eun is very quiet around me, too, and the one time I tried asking her about the king, she turned and left.

There’s no one else in the palace that I know well. The only person apart from the king and Go Eun I’ve seen Park Jinhwan a couple of times, but I’d much rather turn to a stranger than find him again. There’s something unnerving about him that I can’t shake off. Part of me wants to ask the king about it, but I’ve never found the right chance to do so and it doesn’t feel as if it’s really my place to say. Besides, it’s been days since I’ve last seen him.

I spend the whole time in my room, worrying about what’ll happen when my thirty days are up. The further and more distant I feel from the king, the worse it seems. As if he really doesn’t care what happens to me. Park Jinhwan’s words echo through my head, and I try to not focus on it. I try to think about the things that I do know about the king, but everything that I know for certain aren’t good things. He had a brother. Rumors were rumors, but people say he killed his brother for the throne. A father, too. He can’t touch sunlight. He’s friends with Go Eun. He hates the sight of blood. What else do I know?

Nothing else for sure, and it makes me feel pathetic.

It’s late at night when someone knocks on the door of my room, and I open it, expecting it to be Go Eun.

It’s not, and I’m greeted with the familiar face of King Chanyeol.

I’m so shocked that I don’t know what to do or say. I haven’t even seen him without his mask for five days that just seeing him there is a huge surprise. My mouth is dry.

And then he clears his throat and looks away and only then do I realize I’m only wearing a nightgown. It’s late enough into the night that I’ve gotten ready to sleep, and normally, it’s only Go Eun that comes in at such a late time. Even she doesn't, normally.

“Sorry,” I blurt out, flushing and looking around for any sort of article of clothing that’s not as revealing. I can’t find anything. “Uh… I’ll change… just give me—”

I close the door in his face but I’m pretty sure he isn’t offended by that. Fumbling through the wardrobe, I look for something suiting to wear and the first thing that I find is a black dress. It doesn’t matter what it is at this point, and a couple moments later, I open the door to King Chanyeol again, breathless and embarrassed.

He quirks an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t comment. The only thing he does is nod at the hallway. “Let’s go,” he says, and I blink at him.

“Go?”

He nods. Only then do I realize that his robes aren’t extremely fancy, but moreso than when we went to the village. It’s… formal this time, all black.

I follow him out of the room. “Where are we going?”

“Gardens for now.” He’s a blur of shadows as he walks, the black robes blending in with the dark. “It’s a clear sky tonight.”

“Gardens? We’re going outside?”

He gives a curt nod, and it becomes obvious that I’m not going to get any answers out of him any time soon — or at least, not until we leave the palace. The hallways are empty, but King Chanyeol navigates through it as if he knows it as well as the back of his hand. In no time, I feel lost, but a moment or two later he’s pushing through the doors into the gardens, pale moonlight streaming through.

I’ve never been in the gardens with him, to think of it. We’re always standing in that spot during the day — him in the shadows, me in the sunlight — except this time, the sun isn’t out and we’re both under the light of the moon. The gardens look very different at night compared to day — everything is paler in comparison, more toned down, whiter and muted without the brightness. Wordlessly, he shuts the door behind us and I finally dare to speak up.

“Where are we going?” I ask again, hoping he’ll answer me this time.

The king scans the gardens. “We’re going to visit someone.”

“Who?”

He starts down the path. “You’ll see.”

We walk for a while and then stop at the echinaceas. I can make out their different colors under the moonlight — pink, red, orange, some lighter and others darker, their distinct shades not very obvious in the dark. For a long time, the king stares at them, eyes unreadable — or maybe, this time, they’re not as unreadable as I think they normally are. Maybe it’s the light of the moon that’s playing tricks on my vision, but his eyes seem a little glassy as he reaches down and picks one of the red ones.

“Your Majesty,” I begin, ready to apologize. Why is he picking the echinaceas, the exact flowers I tried to steal?

“Chanyeol,” he cuts in, and I blanch. “Park Chanyeol. Just… drop the Your Majesty. For once.”

I don’t dare actually say his name — it feels so disrespectful, a taboo, but the fact that he asked me too — doesn’t it make it ruder if I don’t do as he says? Maybe I’ll just avoid it altogether. It seems like the safest of all options.

“Why the echinaceas?” I ask. I catch myself adding on the Your Majesty and stop the moment the first syllable comes out.

He glances at the flowers, and I think that maybe it’s not just a trick of the light that his eyes look misty. Finally, after a tense moment of silence, he says, “My brother. They were his favourite flowers.”

The echinacea aren’t fancy or extremely pretty — the colors are simple, and though it’s rarely found in the town itself, it grows abundantly in the palace. They’re good for high fevers. They taste good in tea. “Your brother,” is all I manage to say, voice unsure and small.

“They’re good for high fevers,” the king says (or Chanyeol? It feels strange even thinking about his name like that), sounding as if he’s reciting something off a piece of paper. “They also taste good in tea. They’re simple, but they come in a lot of different colors. They smell nice.”

I snap my mouth shut and continue to gape.

He returns the look with a dry, humorless smile which still looks kind of sad. It’s a paled, worn down version of something much brighter, something that used to be more genuine and full of life. This one — it’s on the other side of a blurry mirror, where the reflection has taken away the joy and happiness in the smile. It’s a very bitter look, and most of all, lonely.

“They were the flowers you tried to steal, right?” He doesn’t sound angry, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t. I shuffle my feet on the ground and look down. He’s talking about his brother, the one that everyone says he killed. How do I even begin to reply to this?

“Seolhwa, I hope I’m not having a conversation with myself.”

“Sorry, Your—Cha—sorry.” At this rate, I’m going to burn a hole through the ground. “And yes, it was the echinaceas. They’re good for fevers and the palace itself had a lot of herbs.”

“Help me pick a combination, then,” he says, to my surprise, and my head snaps upwards. Then, almost too casually, he holds up a pink flower and an orange one. “Do these two look good together?”

***

It’s a pretty long walk to his brother’s grave, and along the way, he remains silent. The king — or perhaps it’s Chanyeol now, I’m not certain — doesn’t speak, a bouquet of echinaceas in his hands, decorated by a spray of white baby’s breath. It’s a very odd combination, but I can’t deny that it has it’s own sort of beauty, too. His eyes are fixed on the moon, which hangs halfway in the sky.

His cloak swirls around him each step, the black blending into the night. We’ve been walking for around ten minutes when I begin to wish that I was smart enough to bring a cloak like him (or maybe if he told me in advance that we’d be going outside so I’d know to actually bring one). The night wind is biting and chilly, and though the dress has long sleeves, it’s not nearly thick enough to block out the cold seeping in.

I keep my eyes on his flowers and try to pretend that I’m not shivering.

It’s another ten minutes until Chanyeol finally starts climbing up a hill, steps slower the further up he gets. And then I see it.

For the grave of a to-be-king, it’s very simple. I expected giant rocks or a huge tomb or something that’s more… fitting for someone that’s royalty, but the single rock slab standing in the dirt isn’t like anything that I’ve even imagined. The air seems to have stood still too as Chanyeol walks forward, flowers still clutched in his hands, before he kneels down and puts it on the ground in front of the grave.

Under the pale moonlight, it’s a sad sight.

Do I comfort him? All of a sudden, I feel terrible for even believing in the rumours about him. He killed his brother for the throne. Then his father. And he’ll continue to kill whoever opposes him.  

I don’t think he’d be kneeling here, with his brother’s favourite flowers, if he really killed his brother for power. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but I don’t think he’d have the same, terrified reaction he had when he saw the blood on me. It just… doesn’t match up.  

“Chanyeol,” I say, but this time, it doesn’t sound as wrong as before. “I…”

He glances at my direction. "There's rumors that I was the one who killed him, aren't there?"

I don't know how to reply at all.

He turns away abruptly, blinking quickly. "I've heard them."

“I’m sorry.” The words are out before I can stop myself, though I really don’t know what I’m apologizing for. His loss? What I’d thought of him before? All of that? Stealing the flowers?

His eyes are far away when he replies. “It’s all in the past, now.”

I’m not sure how long it is when we stand there, under the moonlight, Chanyeol’s eyes fixed on his brother’s grave, a layer of unshed tears hidden behind, but still visible. I’m beginning to feel cold from sitting in the same place for so long, unmoving, and it’s then that he stands up too. “Let’s go back,” he says, and we do.

***

Somewhere along the way, he must’ve noticed how cold I was.

I try not to mention it because technically it’s not even in my place to say, but when we finally turn from his brother’s grave to go back, I’ve pulled my hands as far as they go up the black sleeves and try to make myself as small as possible. We’re a couple steps down the hill when Chanyeol speaks up again. “Are you cold?”

I can see my breath when I breath out. Teeth chattering, I shake my head.

Wordlessly, I watch him shrug off his cloak. It takes a second for the situation to sink in and for me to understand what exactly he’s doing, and I back away and (reluctantly) draw my hands out from my sleeves and shake my head at him. “I’m not cold,” I say, but a moment later, he’s handed me the black cloak.