XIX: NOVENDECIM

I wonder if he ever sleeps.

For the next night, the night after and the one after that, he appears at my door after I wake up from my haunted cries and screams. So I let him into my room every night, I give up on my boundaries and I curl up against his beating chest, against his warmth and against his soft murmurs of comfort.

We don’t talk about it during the day. The sun is a sphere that bore consciousness and ration, the one that reminds us of our past boundaries, our business relationship. It is only when the silver claw comes, then we let a snippet of emotion escape our logic, and it is the only time when I allow a slit of my vulnerability to be exposed to him.

It is the only time where our boundaries vanish, and our warmth would interlace with each other.

The same follows for tonight. With his arm around my shoulder and my head leaning against the crook of his neck, I can’t help but to wonder if he ever has his own nightmares.

“Do you have nightmares too?” I ask quietly.

He nods.

“How come I never know when you're having a nightmare?” I say.

“I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come paralysed with terror,” he says as he fiddles with my fingers.

“You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down.

“It's not necessary.” he says. His arm flexes, gathering me tight.

Somehow I wanted to tell him that I could be here for him too, and that in return for his solitude, I can offer mine too, but my lips were too tight to open.

The darkness is our blanket of comfort. My eyelids grow heavier, and with my body safely tucked in his arms, I sink into the lands of unknown again.

~~~~~~~

Taemin

Nightmares has haunted me in different ways. From replaying my sister’s death, losing all my other siblings in a blast of fire, to seeing all those wronged souls scream at me in fury and agony.

It’s been five years, and I’ve never once lived with one night in peace.

I should’ve been used to it, but when I see her collapse under the raining arrows and ing blade, I open my eyes in an instant. Sweat clenched my back and my lungs were barely able to catch their breaths.

I stared at my trembling fingers.

I almost lost her. I lost her in my dreams.

My brain was a tangled mess, and I was still shivering in cold fear. Before I could even wonder why out of all people—why Naeun would appear in my dreams, and why her death would cause  my heart to lurch and sprint, my mouth to dry, and my gut to twist— I scramble out of my sheets and dash to the opposite end of the hallway.

I know terror coursed through my veins.

A part of me was afraid.

I was afraid that the dream was true.

I was afraid of losing her.

But I had no time to speculate the reasons why, because when I reached the door knobs, I hear a muffled scream. I barely knock and swing open the door, until her glossy eyes and the dried tear stains on her cheek came into view.

Her tangled hair was down and darkness cocooned her. She looked as fragile as a paper doll in that ghastly white slip dress, and I wished I could hold her in my embrace, just like the night when she was drunk.

But despite the lingering panic clenching up my throat, and despite the part of me that wanted to hold her, I knew my boundaries, and I knew I had to suppress such thoughts.

We were only tied by a deal, and nothing more.

Yet when she asks me to stay, I couldn’t help but to crawl into her blankets. It took a while for her to regain unconsciousness, but when she closes her eyes and leans into my warmth, I let my arms wrap around hers, and I let myself listen to her beating heart.

That night sparked a chain reaction. It was from that night onwards I would unintentionally linger by the corridor, wander outside her door to hear if she was fine or not. As soon as I hear a muffled scream, I would knock, then she would let me in every time. I’ll wrap her in a wordless embrace, and she’ll stretch her arms and cling around my torso, as if I was the anchor that brought her back to reality.

I often wait until her breathing becomes deep, and until she sinks further into unconsciousness. It was then when I let my brain fall into peace.

She wonders if I’m the one who’s consoling her, yet she doesn’t know that whenever I sleep in her chambers, my nightmares would vanish. It wasn’t just the vanishing of her deathly face, but there was also no more screams of my family, no more haunted faces and cries. In a way, she was also saving me from my nightmares.

Although sometimes, before I drift into unconsciousness, the same lethal medusa strikes me with its painful fangs, and I’d have to unwind her thin arms and sneak out of the warm sheets just to creep out of the room and chug down my pills. If the pain arrives while Naeun stirs in her sleep, I have no choice but to clench my jaw and grit my teeth, while I raise my pinned arm to soothe her back gently. I wait until her breathing becomes steady again, then I scramble out of the door.

I know something is different. Her face would appear in my mind during cabinet meetings, her scent of Jasmine and Magnolia would emerge in my nose as I walk past the palace garden, or my footsteps would quicken and travel towards the drawing room, or the attic laboratory — one of them, as soon as I arrive home. Instead of teary eyes, somehow I want to see a widened smile and hear a heartfelt laugh from her.

Something is wrong, I know.

It’s my heart or my brain, I don’t know where the wrong has begun.

I know our marriage is only a deal. I know my army is ready to strike soon. I know I’ll coat this empire into blood and storm, and if she gets involved with what I do, she will be in danger.

I know if I get closer to her, I will drag her into this mess of mine.

So I tell myself every morning that I have to keep my boundaries, keep myself away from her, yet when the moon rises, I can’t help but to travel to her room again and again, opening the doors to her room again and again, and wrapping my arms around her again and again.

Her body becomes familiar to my arms, and she fits perfectly against the crook of my neck.

Day by day, night after night, she weighs heavier in my heart, and I know, this is something I can never deny.

~~~~~~~

“Your royal highness, her majesty awaits.” The gilded doors swing open, and the Crown Princess enters the Gold Drawing room. All walls and pylons were covered with fine ornaments and golden plates, with hand-painted, vaulted ceilings and painted glass windows.

The Queen sits on a velvety chair, as she raises a smile at the Crown Princess’s entry. Dressed in ruby red, Krystal performs a perfect curtsy to the Queen.

She knew what the Queen was here for. Her mother-in-law was no less than a power-hungry witch, the medusa ready to electrocute her enemies. As each day passes, the Queen has been looking expectantly at her belly, hoping a heir would be produced as soon as possible.

Only with a son, then the Crown Prince will stand stronger against his brother.

But the Queen had no idea, that weeks has passed since their wedding, but the royal couple have yet to consummate.

Krystal blamed herself, to be honest. On their wedding night, the Crown Prince had stared at her with such tenderness, such warmth that it had almost melted the Princess’s heart.

Almost.

When his hand her cheek, she flinched.

Krystal cursed herself inwardly. This person — was now her husband — surely she should let him do anything he wanted. She knew, she was supposed to be the obedient wife, the smiley, caring support of the Crown Prince, the future owner of the Crown, yet this wasn’t who she really was.

She was brought up in the fluttering snow, in the glaciers and ice shards. She wasn’t used to showing off smiles to someone she had only seen for a few times, let alone a Prince. She wasn’t like Naeun, who acted natural and let off false smiles amongst the deceptive courts. Krystal could barely raise a polite curl on her lips. She was so used to hiding behind her powerful sister’s back, taking shelter behind her parent’s embrace, or sticking close to her childhood friend.

For the past months before the wedding, the Prince has only met her for a few times. She knew nothing about this man - besides from the fact that he had a charming smile, and he was very gentle with her.

She couldn’t even come close to the other ladies in court, how could she let a man that she barely knew — to touch her, to hug her and to kiss her?

And so when it was time for her husband to do whatever he had to do, her hands were frighteningly cold, and she was unable to meet his eyes.

Hiding the disappointment in his eyes, the Crown Prince withdrew his fingers.

“Sorry.” He said.

Immediately, Krystal felt a pang of guilt in her chest. She forced herself to open , to say it’s okay, and to let herself sink in his embrace, but the Crown Prince dropped his hands.

“It’s late. You must be tired.” He forced out a smile and reached for the candle.

“Goodnight.” He said, as he blew off the only source of light in their bed chamber.

It was since then, where the Crown Prince has refrained from touching her. It wasn’t that he doesn’t like her — the Princess could see the glowing light in his orbs every time he sees her. Rather, it was the opposite. The cautious, gentle Prince was too understanding, too caring to the point that she felt ashamed for drawing back for him.

So for the first few weeks of their wedding, the newlyweds spent their days and nights only in a simple, polite conversation on dinner tables, and occupied separate poles of the majestic bed.

Of course, news travelled to the Queen. The consort was head of all internal affairs, and she had her own spies to report back to her. Therefore, the moment Krystal stepped into her majestic chambers, she knew, the Queen was about to voice her disapproval.

“Krystal,” The Queen let out a curl in her lips, but her eyes were cold.

“Yes, mother.” Krystal croaked. She never liked being called Krystal. Soojung was her real name.

Her real self.

“You need to smile more often, my dear.” The Queen brings her palms to Krystal’s frighteningly cold ones.

“A Queen needs to produce a perfect curl on her lips — so perfect that people won’t be able to know if it’s heartfelt or not.” Her majesty pats Krystal’s hands gently, yet a chill trickled pass her spine.

“Only a beautiful smile everyday, will keep your husband’s attention on you.” The electricon dropped her gaze from her lips to her belly, and Krystal fought hard not to cringe under her sizzling gaze.

Krystal took a deep breath inwardly, then rose slowly, just so the Queen wouldn’t notice her trembling knees, as she lowered into another perfect curtsy. “Yes, mother.”

……

The gilded doors shut close, and Krystal could barely catch her breath as she quickened her footsteps through the hollow corridors. Her heels clicked across the marbled walls, and she had to force herself to slow her footsteps, so the palace spies wouldn’t catch her faults and spread rumours. She clenched her trembling fingers into a fist.

When she turned through a few corners and could finally send her heart into a steady beat, another figure appeared through the corridors.

Despite both of them having the ‘Princess’ title, Krystal was married to the heir of the Crown, so her sister-in-law was supposed to curtsy to her. A part of her was still partly awkward to the young Princess, since she was always the spoiled daughter of the family. Still, Krystal tried to maintain her smile as she sent her sister-in-law a nod that she hoped would look friendly. Yet instead of a curtsy, Princess Jennie merely sent her a hasty nod, then brushed pass with a cold look in her eyes.

The Crown Princess hesitated for a millisecond, before continuing her journey through the endless corridors.

No one asked her if she was settling in well. No one asked if she was getting used to sharing a bed with a man, if she was getting used to walking in heels and keeping her head up all the time, if she was getting used to the complicated protocols and the whispers through the walls.

No one.

Well, one person did.

When Concubine Kwon invited her for tea, Krystal paid a visit to her sectors. Instead of Princess Jennie, the concubine knew her place of standing, and generously curtsied to her. “Your royal highness.”

“Imperial concubine.” Krystal returned.

“Krystal-ssi.” Concubine Kwon let out a gentle smile as she poured the tea into her cup. “Do you mind me calling you Soojung-ssi? I prefer birth names over given names. It sounds warmer.”

Krystal could barely suppress her widened eyes, before settling for a slight nod. It was the first time that someone in the palace called her Soojung.

Somehow, this calling sent a trickle of warmth in her heart.

“How has it been? Do you feel okay?”

Again, struck in amazement, Krystal almost let her teacup slip from the grip of her fingers.

Embarrassed at the Crown Princess’s silence, Concubine Kwon chuckled. “Apologies if that sounded inappropriate, your royal highness.”

“It has been a while since I’ve found a woman from my neighbouring district whom entered the palace.”

“It is a great pleasure for me to see someone from district 7.” Concubine Kwon curled her lips warmly.

It was true. District 7 and 8 are indeed neighbours, and Krystal remembered the days when her sister took her to the woods and they would sneak around the borders, exploring the outskirts of the silky, fabric-maker district. Krystal tried to suppress the quiver in her heart. “No, it is my pleasure to see you too, concubine.”

“It must’ve been hard to get used to the protocols and the rules of court.” Concubine Kwon said with a sigh. “It was hard for me too, when I was recruited in here.”

“Since, we’re different from those in district 1 and 2.” For the powerful districts, they had closer connections with the capitol, therefore better chance