she is beautiful in ways you could never be.

Her name is Beom-su.

Her carriage arrives just as the sun reaches its highest peak in the sky, two measly days after Yoongi becomes king. The sole, precious daughter of the Minister of Taxation, as you will learn that evening from Jin-young over a dinner that is tasteless on your tongue. And because fate seems to have it out for you, you are witness to Beom-su's welcoming procession. Castle ladies and eunuchs alike bow to her as she is helped out of her opulent gama by the servants that carried her all the way here. You hate the twisting in your stomach when you realize for the first time that she is beautiful, and then you can't seem to stop.

She is beautiful in the corridors, practically gliding down them in her elaborate skirt with steps kept delicate and elegant, befitting her high status.

She is beautiful when she smiles at you whenever you happen to pass by each other, acknowledging you with a polite "su-uinyeo-nim" that makes you feel ugly and small when you can only muster a meager, fake grin in return.

But she is perhaps the most beautiful on certain afternoons when, with her makeup carefully done and perfect, she is escorted to the royal tea room to meet the king, her betrothed for a proper, private break. There is always an entire throng of excited maids who accompany her there, chatting merrily about the prepared menu and tea selection of the day. You are horribly aware that it is a far cry from the brief pockets of time you stole with the prince before he became too far for even your greedy reach.

You haven't seen the king since his coronation. That is to be expected, of course. It's not like you had much time with him before the ceremony either; the frenzy following his father's death in early January had swept Yoongi up in its wake. A royal death so soon after the French invasion threatened to create mass panic among the people, and a strong leadership had to be presented to quell the fears. Thankfully, Queen Jeonghui was able to help with that front, standing strong beside her son with her ever-steady smile, giving him advice on the decisions now left up to him. And with news of the royal marriage to take place mid-May, things have settled even more, which perhaps had been the late king's intentions when he arranged the match.

Wonderful. Just... wonderful.

You miss him.

You have no right to miss him, especially now since he is promised to another in a match that will do so much for the country, but you do.

You don't want to admit how many times you've gone to the private library at your usual time and found it locked, empty. The hidden key hasn't been moved from its hiding spot though, meaning you are still the sole other person to have free access to this space, whenever you please. You take that fact and all the hope it swirls up in you, and hold it somewhere near your heart. (He just hasn't had the time to move it yet, says some irritating part of your mind that won't shut up, especially at night when you're trying to sleep.) The most pathetic thing is that even though you can, you haven't mustered the courage to actually step inside the library in a long time, afraid the loneliness might really overwhelm you if you do. Afraid you won't read and absorb a single word, and instead just wait for him to push open the door even though you know better. Or at least you should know better.

(You think he might even be purposefully avoiding you, which is the only conclusion you can extrapolate from the three separate times he meets your eyes by chance on the palace grounds only to snatch his gaze away and take the longer way around.)

But today, you have decided you are stronger than this. Today, you manage to enter the sunlit room and leave without much hesitation with The Myth of Flowers hugged close to your chest. The well-worn book's weight is familiar and comforting, and you already foresee a late night poring over the words you have half memorized, perhaps with some yakgwa cookies and a cup of hot tea. The thought pulls a small smile on your face. After all, you cannot spend your entire life pining after a man who has never been, and could never have been, yours. It's time you take care of yourself, even if that is more easily thought than done. Even if you are already feeling the absence of the bracelet you hesitantly left behind today, tucked inside a drawer with mother's gifts of hairpins.

Caught in these thoughts, you should have been paying more attention to reality.

"Oh!"

A flash of scarlet robes. Too close, you leap back and your eyes swing up to see who you almost just bumped into so you can apologize and—

The king.

Your king.

Yoongi.

These last thoughts, you banish from your head as soon as they come.

"Jeonha!" You voice is surprised, but automatically too warm and too fond. Thinking back on it later, you will smack your forehead and sorely regret how palpable your delight at seeing him was. "I am very sorry. I almost hurt you."

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, his hand slipping up to the back of his neck briefly before he lets it drop to his side. "It is of no consequence. Nothing happened." He sounds formal, so detached it makes a discomfort rear its head in your stomach.

"Su-uinyeo-nim. Good afternoon," comes a voice from beside him, and you realize that he is not alone. Beom-su smiles at you, her hands gathered politely in front of her skirt. You see that Eunuch Kim trails behind them too, though a little way off as is his habit.

"Good afternoon." You force yourself to bow, and not quiver all the way through. "Please enjoy your walk." You have to leave here. "Please excuse me." You cannot let yourself be trapped in this conversation when nothing good can come of it.

You've taken maybe five steps past them when the king says something that sounds a lot like the first syllable of your name before he cuts himself off. "Su-uinyeo-nim," he says instead, and you grit your teeth before slowly turning around.

"Yes, jeonha?"

Be strong. Be strong.

Wordlessly, his stare holds yours and you think that you can see something in his eyes so reminiscent of that day he came to you in the infirmary, confused and heavy with a loss he had yet to admit. The day he let a few more walls crumble down, only to rebuild them all mere days after.

"... Never mind. Good day."

You swallow disappointment and nod, bowing deeply so that he can't see your face as you hear him turn. Still, despite yourself, damned by your curiosity or maybe just stupidity, you can't help but see them off when you come back upright. They walk side by side, pace matched down the length of the garden, soon to disappear among the lush trees.

The worst thing is, you know too well the expression on Beom-su's face as she looks at him. It's the one you're certain you've mirrored for so many years, right down to the nervous smile and the subtle tucking of hair behind your ear because you want to look perfect for the man you've fallen for.

She does lovestruck better than you.

She has the privilege to give him those soft, longing glances. You can only stare at his back as he walks further and further away.