Sinbi finds herself on an aimless walk, letting her feet carry her where they may. She knows she should be more on guard; she is recognized as Sojung’s personal gungnyeo and has more free reign than many other ones, but it still doesn’t mean she can go wherever she wants. It wouldn’t be good if she were seen roaming the palace without instruction or permission.

She recognizes this in a vague corner of her mind, but she can’t bother to focus on it. Somehow, she’s made her way into the garden. It’s beautiful, with every kind of flower she can imagine and many more than that. However, she always ends up at one particular bush, where a certain white flower blooms. It’s not as bright as the crimson roses, as eye-catching as the blushing peonies, as elegant as the pastel orchids, but it has its own quiet, dignified beauty.

“Unnie, you should wear this in your hair! It would look beautiful on you.”

A chuckle. “So other flowers would look ugly?”

“No, you would look beautiful in anything, but this is the prettiest flower so it should be worn by the prettiest princess.”

More than a chuckle this time. Laughter, warm and rich. Fond. “Don’t let my sisters hear you say that. They won’t be happy.”

“But it’s true! You’re the most beautiful princess ever.”

“You flatter me. I’m sure that you will grow up to be very beautiful yourself, Sinbi. Although in the palace, you never know if beauty is a blessing or a curse.”

“What does that mean, unnie?”

“Never mind. Do you want to put the flower in my hair?”

“Yes!”

Sinbi sighs as she rubs her fingers over a white petal, taking care not to break the flower. She knows that it’s not as delicate as it looks, but she always treats it with care.

“Are you picking that flower?”

Sinbi jumps a good foot in the air. She spins around, eyes wide and heart pounding, expecting to get in trouble already, but it’s mercifully not a noble or someone like Han-sanggung. Instead, there’s a girl with long, straight hair and bangs looking at her, dressed in the simple robes gungnyeo wear.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the girl says sheepishly. “I’m Choi Yuna, the personal retainer of the wangsejabin.”

“Yerin un—Yerin-sejabin sent you?”

“She did. She wanted me to give you this.” Yuna holds out a small bundle wrapped in cloth and tied with a length of twine. “She said she hopes you like it.”

Sinbi swallows. “Thank you. Please tell me I said thank you.”

“She said you don’t need to thank her. She just hopes that you’re well, and that gongjunim is also.”

Sinbi blinks rapidly. “We are well, please let her know that.”

“I will.” Yuna passes her the bundle, and Sinbi very carefully tucks it behind her waist sash. “Do you know how to write, Sinbi?”

“Of course I do,” Sinbi says, offended, before she remembers that most gungnyeo can’t, or at least not beyond the mere basics.

“Wangsejabin said that she’d be happy to hear from you via note if you can’t come by.”

“I’d be happy to write her.”

“I have to leave now,” Yuna says apologetically. “It was nice to meet you, Sinbi.”

“You too.”

“Do you want me to pass any other message on to wangsejabin?”

“Tell her that… Actually, never mind.”

Yuna blinks. “Tell her, ‘actually, never mind’? Exactly like that?”

“No, no, I mean. Never mind. I don’t have anything to say to her.”

“Are you sure? You look like you have a lot to say.”

“I do, but I can’t say it.”

“Ah, I know the feeling,” Yuna says with a nod. “All right then, take care. Enjoy the flowers.”

“Goodbye,” Sinbi says, “and thank you.”

She slowly undoes the knot and slides the twine out of the way, peeling back the corners of the cloth like she’s afraid she’ll break what’s underneath. Some soybean powder clings to her fingertips, rubbing off from the rice cakes underneath. Injeolmi.

A slow, soft smile comes over Sinbi’s face. She ties the bundle up again and, instead of returning it to behind her waist sash, she tucks it behind her robes against the left side of her chest, so she can feel its warmth against her heart.

Sojung doesn’t know how to feel when she hears the familiar two knocks on her door (always two, neither loud nor soft, measured and steady) on her door, and hears the familiar “gongjunim” (always that title, neither reverent nor mocking, measured and steady).

“Wangsejabin,” she says, and Yerin’s brow furrows. Sojung usually calls her either ‘Consort Jung’ or simply ‘Yerin.’ To say wangsejabin is too much like directly acknowledging Yerin as the crown prince’s wife. As her brother’s wife. Sojung can’t deny it, but that doesn’t mean she likes to openly recognize it either.

Yerin offers a bow. “I hope that you are well.”

“The same to you,” Sojung says politely, and for a second they sound like they’re roleplaying etiquette lessons. It doesn’t last long, and of course, Sojung is the one to break it.

“Sinbi told me that she’s been to see you,” Sojung says, keeping her voice neutral and her eyes on Yerin to gauge her reaction.

Yerin’s expression doesn’t waver. “Yes, she has.”

“It seemed to be quite the good meeting.”

“She is…interesting,” Yerin says. “She has a purity and strength of spirit that is rare to find in the palace, much less in a gungnyeo.”

“A purity and strength of spirit,” Sojung repeats thoughtfully. She wouldn’t have thought to use those words to describe Sinbi, but she can’t deny that they fit well. “Perhaps it is because she is a gungnyeo that she can retain these traits.”

Yerin gives her a searching, almost pained look. “Perhaps.” A pause. “She reminds me of myself, a little. Of the person that I could have been. That I wanted to be, maybe.” That I lost, Sojung almost hears.

“Yerin,” Sojung says softly.

“I do not have any nefarious intentions with her, if that’s what you are afraid of. I am not trying to steal her from your side, nor am I attempting to turn her against you.”

“I never thought that,” Sojung says honestly. Of the fears she had, those were not it, especially not the last one. “I don’t think ill of you, Yerin. I never could.”

“Perhaps you should,” Yerin says, keeping her gaze trained on the ground instead of at Sojung. “Perhaps you should keep your guard up around me. I spend so much time around consorts and concubines who would love nothing more than to stab each other in the back, whether literally or figuratively. Surviving, much less thriving, in the palace is a game, one that we all must play whether we wish to or not. I do not wish to be forced to face you in this game.”

“Why would you have to?” Sojung asks, trying to decipher the meaning hidden underneath Yerin’s words. “There’s nothing I can fight you for. I’m not a man; as such, I pose no threat to the throne. Seokjin-orabeoni is my brother, so obviously I also pose no threat to his affections. Why would we ever be enemies?”

Yerin gives her a grim look. “You should know that in the palace it is much easier to make enemies than friends.”

Sojung swallows. “I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend. That is why I am relaying this information to you. I know you find it vague and unhelpful now, but I hope that someday you will find some use in it, although more than that, I hope that day will never have to come.”

Sojung is more confused than ever, but she knows that Yerin is trying to help her, that Yerin is looking out for her. They’ve seen less and less of each other over the past months, but she thinks constantly of Yerin and it…it means a lot, to know that Yerin thinks of her too.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely. “Make sure you take care of yourself too. Watch your back, okay? Literally and figuratively.”

Yerin gives her a faint, sad smile. “I do that every waking hour already, gongjunim.”

Sojung swallows again, an ache spreading from to her chest. She can’t imagine what kind of life Yerin leads, as the beloved consort of the crown prince. That may sound glamorous on paper, but in reality, it comes with a heavy price. Yerin has no shortage of enemies who would love nothing more if she fell from favour or from a high tower.

And as for friends… Sojung doesn’t know if Yerin has any true friends, not just political allies or obedient servants. Aside from her, of course. She has been friends with Yerin since they were gap-toothed children, and she wants to remain so until they’re gap-toothed old women.

“Do not look so sad for me, unnie,” Yerin tells her, gentle. “I have been trained for this life and I will be fine. I am not some helpless, trapped maiden.”

Sojung blinks dumbly. “You called me unnie.”

“I—forgive me for my imprudence, gongjunim.”

“No,” Sojung says, not sharp so much as desperate. “Don’t call me gongjunim anymore. Call me unnie.”

“Gongj—”

“Yerin.”

“Sojung unnie.” It pours from her lips like a plea, a prayer, and Sojung wants to answer those, wants to press to Yerin’s and leave a mark behind like both a brand and a benediction. However, she knows better than that. It is not something she would dare to do even in her fantasies.

Sojung smiles. “I know you said that things can’t be as they once were, and I know that the past is gone and unchangeable, but that doesn’t mean that the future is written in stone. It’s not completely out of our hands, you know.”

Yerin doesn’t look so sure about that, but Sojung knows that if she truly believed that they have no say in their lives, she wouldn’t keep showing up at Sojung’s door. Somewhere in her, there’s a fighter and Sojung wants to see that side of her coaxed out of her hiding spot.

“Does that mean that you did not have a good lunch?”

Any hint of a smile is wiped clean off Sojung’s face. “How did you know about that?”

“Seokjin-jeoha is my husband. He does tell me things.” Yerin hesitates. “He approves greatly of him.”

“So does my father,” Sojung says through minimally open lips.

“And you?”

“He was…very polite and respectful to me. But of course, this is only our first meeting. First impressions can be misleading.”

“I’m sure he has a wonderful one of you, and that would not be misleading in the slightest.”

Sojung gives a humourless smile. “I would not make a very good wife for him. Or any other man, for that matter.”

“You shouldn’t think so lowly of yourself. What about your other suitors? Do you approve of any of them?”

Yerin is the last person that Sojung wants to talk to this about. Or maybe that would be Sinbi. It would be a close contest between the two of them.

“Does it matter?” Sojung asks, still with that smile that’s more like a grimace. “Abeonim will select my future husband. Maybe he’ll give me a choice between several top candidates, but it’s not like I have any real say.”

Yerin’s eyes are dark and fathomless, her stare so intense that Sojung feels like she can’t withdraw her eyes from it. “Do not despair, unnie. As you said, the future is not written in stone, and even if it is, I would trust you to be able to bend rock.”

“You shouldn’t,” Sojung says with a bitter laugh. “I couldn’t stop you from being married, nor could I stop my brother. Why should it be any different with my own marriage?”

“Do not despair, unnie,” Yerin repeats, her voice soft, curling around the honorific, making it sound almost like an endearment. “No matter what happens, I will try to be with you.”

It’s not an absolute promise – Yerin can only promise to try – but Sojung does not appreciate it any less. She knows that Yerin doesn’t want to make empty promises in case forces out of their control rip her away. Certainly, there are too many of those.

Sojung wants to reach for Yerin, but she finds herself unable to move, like she’s been frozen from the inside. Instead, Yerin crosses the distance between them and slips her fingers between Sojung’s, threading them together. The ice in Sojung’s veins thaws, trickling and awakening something like hope, or maybe courage, and Sojung dares to pull Yerin forward, against her. Yerin doesn’t pull away, resting her head against Sojung’s shoulder in a gesture she hasn’t made in a very long time.

“Yerinnie,” Sojung murmurs, a nickname she hasn’t used in a very long time. “Yennie.”

“Unnie?”

“Stay with me. Just for a little while. Please.”

“Your wish is my command, your highness.” For once, the words are playful rather than respectful. And for once, the title makes Sojung smile to hear.

They stay like that for what’s either a very long moment or a very short infinity.

A/N: Finally we have some WonRin moments! I've been waiting to take them here. The gardenia is a tribute to one of my favourite fics. Brownie points if you can guess what it is.