She was beautiful, Kyungsoo had to admit.

A pair of wide eyes stared up at him. Her features were so delicate, as if they had been painstakingly etched into her milky skin by the royal craftsmen. Pink lips parted slightly, looking like the petals of a flower on the first day of spring.

But there was too much of her father in her. The pale skin, the way her eyes drooped down at the ends, even the slight hook of her nose. For a moment, his face floated before him, lips curled into a smirk, and bile surged up his throat. He let the scarlet veil fall from his fingers as he stepped backwards. No. He could not do it. He could not look at this woman and not see her father. “Leave me. We can do this tomorrow night.” He regretted not having drunk more earlier. He had only taken obligatory sips of wine; he would not ever allow himself to lose composure in front of anyone, much less under the scrutiny of ministers and clan members. 

There was a pause. “This is our duty, your highness. They will check the sheets tomorrow. You know this.” Even her voice was like her father’s, soft and placid. As a boy, he had decided that that was how snakes would talk if they could, and it had never left him since.

He grasped the dagger sheathed within his robes and brandished it at her, feeling a sick twist of satisfaction at the gasp she let out. It muted the bite of pain as he sliced down his own palm. Not so collected now, was she? 

A drop of blood tracked down his palm and plopped onto the bed. It bloomed.

*

He did not bed her the next day. Or the day after. In fact, Seungwan barely saw him at all. He was always already up and about when she awoke, and he crept into bed hours after she had succumbed to sleep. 

She had no illusions that this was going to be easy. The crown prince was notorious for being as implacable as he was hardworking. He was the prince who never smiled as much as he was the prince who never missed a day of court. Almost the moment she had set foot in the palace grounds, she had been flooded by tales from various eunuchs and scholars who bemoaned the various tribulations he put them through for his own amusement (along with desperate pleas for her never to speak a word of what they said). Seungwan had wondered if things were blown out of proportion, as they usually were at court, but the mad glint in his eyes when he had slashed himself with the dagger said enough. She supposed she should count herself lucky that she had not since been subjected to his legendary temper, though it increasingly seemed preferable to the icy distance he kept from her. No matter what she said, he would reply with a single word or nothing at all, and always without sparing her a glance. 

But if nothing else, Seungwan was determined. She was her father’s daughter, a Son. Sons did not fail. She had never let him down before, whether it was in mastering instruments or the abacus, and she certainly did not plan to start now.

*

Kyungsoo stifled a yawn. He was pretty sure that this was his fifth time reading the same sentence, which was a sure sign that he would just be wasting his time if he stayed here any longer. He glanced over at the dismal stack of scrolls on the right side of his desk, where he left the work he was done with. He had accomplished so little today. 

“Chul. Have I completed even half the work I set out to do this week?” He asked his personal eunuch. Before he could hastily answer that yes, of course his highness was pushing himself too much, his highness should take a rest now, Kyungsoo snapped, “No. No, I haven’t. Get out.” Chul murmured an apology before scampering out of the room. 

He sighed. He had been unable to focus all week. And it was all Seungwan’s fault. She was getting in the way of his routine, the constant in his life which he had built up so carefully all these years just so he could anchor himself to something. 

Firstly, she was messing up his diet. His discerning tongue had noticed the moment his dinner tasted different one night, and after a small debacle involving accusations of poisoning, Seungwan had rushed in to inform him that she had wanted to surprise him by preparing his meal using some interesting recipes she had found in the library. He would have swept the entire table to the floor in a rage had his first bite not been of the heavenly meat cakes, which she had somehow managed to make even more delicious than they usually were. He almost regretted not doing so, because now she was cooking almost all his meals for him.

Secondly, she was messing up his work environment. He had come into his study one day to find tiny cranes perched atop his desk. Once again, he would have gotten Chul to burn them had they not been made out of paper with such pretty designs...and if they did not contain messages reminding him to rest his eyes from time to time, to take his meals at the right times, and so on. It was not the messages he kept them for, though, just the handwriting. It was elegant, and he liked the ink. 

There was a long list of other silly things she was doing. Sometimes he found handkerchiefs or perfume pouches embroidered with his favourite designs (which pesky eunuch or handmaid had informed her?) on his desk. Other times he found stray sheets of music lying about their room (which he did not doubt had been left for him to find), with sickeningly sweet titles he felt embarrassed to recall, but which turned out to be surprisingly mature when he tried them out on his zither. Somehow Seungwan was good at everything. It irritated him. What irritated him more was that he found it all rather pleasing. 

Kyungsoo was not going to sit here and continue pondering such frivolous matters. It was time for bed.

Strains of zither music drifted over to him as he made his way out of his study. It was a soothing melody but deceptively simple, and played with a skilled hand whose effortlessness belied the true difficulty of the piece. As he nudged the door open, the playing stopped, and he felt a twinge of disappointment. Seungwan looked up from the zither, her lashes fluttering open. Her face was dappled with the moonlight streaming through the window. “Your highness. I was waiting for you.” As she did every night, he knew.

“You shouldn’t have. It’s so late.”

He did not miss the look of surprise that flashed across her face, though it was quickly replaced by her usual unassuming smile. The mask that she wore, just as her father did at court. It was fascinating to watch it slip. That was why he had taken to thanking her for her thoughtful gestures lately, or striking up conversation with her randomly. He wanted to see where his crown princess ended and where Seungwan began.

She stepped in, and all of a sudden she was too close. One more step and she would be flush against him, her head fitting nicely under his chin. The scent of roses and milk wafted into his nostrils as her soft hands landed at his belt to undo his robe. “You shouldn’t keep such late nights, your highness. I worry for your health.”

He almost snorted. That was a bit too much for him. He did enjoy her voice, though, even if it was telling lies like these. Where her father’s was measured and clipped, hers lilted even when it was soft. It was like listening to a song. Perhaps he might tell her to sing for him one day. “What did you do today?”

“Oh, nothing at all, really. Nothing your highness would find interesting. I merely went to check on two or three of the food stations. I was planning to visit more tomorrow,” she replied. 

The food stations for the recent wave of flood refugees had been her idea. He had dismissed it at first, especially since she wasn’t supposed to be intervening in state affairs, but after reading her admittedly meticulous plan detailing its logistics, he had no choice but to let her go ahead with it. There were flaws, of course, but those could be sorted out by some of the officials, and it cast the royal family in a good light. And it wasn’t technically state affairs, as she had reminded him at the end of her short speech, causing him to swallow his only retort. 

Even as she continued rambling about her plans for the next day, looking up at him with those innocent eyes, he remembered the cool glint in them as she had presented him her scroll, the insistence that had seeped through the cracks in her mellow tone. 

He pushed her away. He had forgotten. No matter how sweet and gentle she was, no matter how many dainty cranes she slipped between the pages of his books, she was not just any lady. She was Lady Son before she was his crown princess. 

*

The voice was haunting. The way it glided up and down scales, the way it conjured up both melancholy and ecstacy, the way it buried itself in his heart and danced out of his grasp all at once. 

Seungwan had been singing outside his study for what seemed like an eternity. He had asked her to, for he had been in a foul mood after a near quarrel with the ministers. He wanted her voice to soothe him, but a bigger part of him wanted to hear her voice crack, wanted to hear her get tired. He was a monster like that. (But no more than her father was, he told himself.)

Seungwan. Seungwan Seungwan Seungwan. It was all he could think about these days. At court, when her father spoke, sometimes all he could hear was her, asking him about his day. He could not control the twinges of disappointment he would feel when his meal wasn’t cooked by her, or when she didn’t find her cranes anywhere in his study. He did not know what possessed him to awkwardly enquire after her daily activities, or to commission a new zither for her. He was just making sure that she was not secretly plotting against him, and the strings that had broken on her old zither were ruining the sound. Nothing to do with the way her eyes curved into crescents when she smiled at him. That was all an act, anyway. She was her father’s daughter, whose eyes could harden from honey into steel within moments. He was Doh Kyungsoo, who was not going to spare others his misery, the very misery that had been inflicted on him by her father. 

He slammed his brush down. Chul scrambled to his knees. “Your highness, shall I ask her to stop?”

“Ask her to come in. Then leave us.”

Seungwan sauntered in, but before she could kneel in greeting, he waved her over, shifting to allow her space on his cushioned seat. “Did your highness enjoy my singing?” Her voice was husky. 

“Now that you sound like that, if I say no, I must be heartless.” 

“I did not realize your highness cared about that.” How insolent. He glared at her. Unruffled as always, she continued, “Your highness shot well today. It has been so many months and it was my first time seeing you shoot. And I must say, all the tales are true.” 

“I do not appreciate flattery, crown princess.”

“It is not flattery if the words are true, is it?” His heart swelled a little despite himself. What was wrong with him? Anybody else saying such empty platitudes would have earned no more than a scoff. They just didn’t sound empty coming from her. “Your highness, I do not believe you invited me into your study to praise your archery. Do you have something to discuss?“ She looked so much more serious than usual. There was only the shadow of a smile on her face, probably there for courtesy’s sake. 

There was nothing he could do but take the plunge. “Crown princess, answer me honestly. Is your heart true when you write me your songs? Are you truly happy to see me?” Can I believe that you love me? Are you really my crown princess? He hoped he sounded intimidating.

Whether he did or not, it did not appear to have any effect on Seungwan’s composure. She merely bowed her head. “Forgive me, your highness. It is….difficult, sometimes. To be true.” A small pout formed on her lips. He had seen it once or twice, and the effect was still the same - feeling slightly winded. “I know you loathe me. I know you don’t want me to bear your child, even though that is….the sole purpose of our union. But I will still do my duty, both as the future queen, and as your wife.” Why were her eyes shining with tears? “I will work hard to get to know you better, so that it may be easier for both of us.” Her lip was trembling now. “I know your- I know your heart hurts, and I cannot-”

Kyungsoo kissed her.

Seungwan did not taste like either roses or milk. There was just a salty twang. But her lips were as soft as he had imagined (multiple times, to his mortification). Luscious, even. He definitely wanted more. He wrapped an arm around her waist and, in a tangle of limbs, hauled her into his lap. He did not know what he was doing but it seemed to be working, since Seungwan’s mouth was moving against his and all he could feel was her. Their kisses were awkward and clumsy and Kyungsoo could hear her sniffling even as her arms tightened around his neck but his mind felt like the broth he had eaten earlier and he thought that he would be quite happy to remain in this position for a much longer time, at least until he got short of breath.

What was he supposed to say now? She was shaking silently and biting her lip in a fruitless effort to stop the tears from flowing. There was even some snot oozing out of her nose. It did not seem appropriate to continue kissing her, as much as he would have liked to. “You’ve worked hard, Seungwan.” You’ve worked hard, as if she was some scholar he was reviewing. Where were his wits? “Take your rest. I shall join you soon.” He brushed his lips against a tear-stained cheek.

The next morning, Seungwan woke up to a bowl of honey lemon water and a mangled paper crane.

*

“Are you still up?” Kyungsoo’s deep voice suddenly sounded from the doorway. 

“Are you sleeping early, your highness?” She answered, getting up to help him out of his clothes.

There was only an awkward silence as she fiddled with his belt and robe. Only when she had scurried back under the covers did he speak. “I’ve been thinking about you for a while.”

Seungwan flushed. It was all so silly. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel so flighty like him. All this time it had been her performing this ludicrous mating dance which had ended in disaster those weeks ago. And yet she could not think of a single reply that was not completely witless. She settled for raising herself on one elbow instead. It was an apparently flirtatious move she had come across in novels. It seemed to work, for her shift slipped down slightly and she caught the dart of his eyes down to her exposed collarbones.

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards. “Come here,” he suggested, voice rough. 

As his warm mouth traced a tender line down her jaw, she thought she might learn to love him.