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ichorai · 1 year

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balance the scales ; aemond targaryen. (m)

alternatively titled soda. track six of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x strong!f!reader

synopsis ; he flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. you whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

words ; 40.3k (my longest oneshot!)

themes ; heavy angst, action, smut (minors dni!), mild fluff, enemies to lovers back to enemies trope, slowburn, betrothed au

warnings / includes ; violence/war, several character deaths, descriptions of injury/blood, birth scenes, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, hotd s1 spoilers, reader is fiercely team black, implications of rape (aegon), really really heavy angst, harwin is reader's older brother, helaena is the sweetest ever :( jace and luke are reader's best friends, rhaenyra is practically reader's mother, lots of Emotions in this one, asoiaf politics and references for all of you book nerds

main masterlist. read on ao3!

It was said that you came into the world silent.

A problem with your lungs, the midwives had solemnly told your father, the Hand of the King, proclaiming you dead not three minutes after. Lyonel Strong was grief-stricken at not only having lost his dear wife to the perilous task of childbirth, but you as well.

But you were a fighter from the very beginning. At least, that’s what Harwin had told you. Once they’d laid you in your eldest brother’s arms, your airway had miraculously cleared up and you’d let out a hoarse, shrill cry—and the rest was history.

“I was twenty when you were born, you know,” said Harwin, voice rife with affection, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from your face. “I was so scared that I’d lose you. Now look at you—eight years of age and healthier than ever. Are you excited to meet the new baby?”

“Yes! The babe gets a dragon egg and everything!”

You beamed up at your eldest brother, batting away his fretful hands and turning to your friends. Though—they’d always felt more like your brothers than merely friends.

Jacaerys and Lucerys, who bore a striking resemblance to Harwin (and you’d keenly noticed that they shared your smile), were playing with a wooden carving of a dragon, blowing raspberries and running around the spacious chamber. The taller of the two, Jace, was only a few moons older than you, whilst Luke was much younger and looked up to you—quite literally and figuratively. The two young boys roped you into their little game as well, screaming with laughter when you began chasing after them with a snarl, arms outstretched.

With a slight smile, Harwin watched over the three of you, hands comfortably rested against the hilt of his gilded longsword. Even though he was only but your older brother, he always treated you as if you were his own child—after all, you barely saw your father anyway, seeing as he was always busy serving the King as the Hand. The fact that he was a whole two decades older than you only made him all the more protective of his youngest sibling.

His attention was pulled away from the three kids clambering on top of each other when the doors creaked open. An exhausted Rhaenyra slowly limped in, Laenor Velaryon right behind her, holding a bundle of red and gold fabric.

“Mother!” exclaimed Jace, getting onto his feet to greet Rhaenyra. “Look!”

He scuttled away to pull the cover off of the stone incubator, revealing a scaly dragon egg of dark emerald hue. You and Luke were hot on his trail, peering over his shoulder to marvel at the smoking egg. A large part of you was jealous that Jace and Luke and the new babe each got a dragon egg, and you never did, despite having similar physical attributes to the boys. But they were royal Princes, and you were only the youngest child of the Hand, which really meant little to nothing other than fancy titles and polite honorifics.

“We chose an egg for the baby,” Luke excitedly told his mother, who leaned against a chaise tiredly.

Harwin offered his arm to Rhaenyra, helping her slowly ease down onto the seat.

“Ah,” she said, the beginnings of a smile to her lips. “That looks like the perfect one.”

“I let Luke choose!” chirped Jace, squaring his shoulders proudly. “But Luke couldn’t decide, so I asked Y/N.”

The purple of Rhaenyra’s eyes gleamed with affection when she looked at you, nearly shrouded behind Jace’s taller stature. “Sweet girl,” she hummed, briefly glancing up at Harwin, before returning her gaze to you. “You chose wonderfully. Thank you.”

Luke reached out to graze his fingers over the egg’s ridges, but flinched back from the heat, sticking them into his mouth. You pulled a grimace but laughed anyway, lightly shoving Luke away from the incubator.

“Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess,” said your brother. “I thought it best to escort the lads. They insisted on Y/N coming along, as well.”

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” replied Rhaenyra, dipping her head with gratitude.

Harwin’s eyes locked on the babe in Laenor’s arms. “Another boy, I heard,” he said.

The Princess nodded once, the corner of her lips lifting ever so slightly.

“Might I?” asked the Commander.

“Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey,” Rhaenyra told her husband, who finally ripped his loving gaze from the babe, and handed him over to Harwin.

With flailing hands, Luke reached out to Harwin, eyes trained on Laenor. “Please, father, may I hold Joffrey?”

“Ah, ah, ah, back to the Dragonpit for you two—before they send out a search party!” ushered Laenor as he led the boys out of the chamber. “Come, Y/N, would you like to join the boys?” he asked kindly, clearly wanting to give Harwin and Rhaenyra some well-earned time alone.

Excited at the prospect of seeing the boys’ dragons again, you scrambled out the doors after them, squeaking out, “Wait! Wait for me!”

Once the doors were shut and the kids were gone, Rhaenyra looked upon Harwin bouncing the babe fondly.

“You’re asleep in front of the Commander of the City Watch,” he gently scolded the tiny thing. “Terrible lack of respect.”

“A certain insolence runs in the family, I’m afraid,” commented Rhaenyra, subtly hinting to the baby being of Harwin’s blood, rather than Laenor’s.

Harwin tried his best to suppress his smile, failing miserably. He looked down at the baby once more, noting with pleased fascination that Joffrey had his nose.

The dungeons of the Dragonpit were dimly lit by sparse, flaming torches hanging by the stone walls. It stank of smoke and ash and stale blood, but you didn’t quite mind the smell. You bounced on the balls of your feet behind Jacaerys, eyes wide with anticipation as the dragonkeepers brought out Vermax.

He was a rather tempestuous beast, snarling at the lot of you as he stalked forward. The pale orange of his wings and the green of his scales warbled beneath the fire’s light. The keepers spoke in their lilting Valyrian tongues to command the dragon—foreign to your ears, but no less interesting.

Aegon seemed not to share your disposition, however, yawning loudly and rolling his eyes to the side, clearly bored with watching Jacaerys bond with Vermax. Ever since Aegon had won mastery over his own dragon, Sunfyre, his head seemed to swell twice its size and he held no interest in anybody else’s dragon but his own. Both you and Luke glanced up at him with a scowl. The younger of the silver-headed boys kept his gaze trained to the ground, used to his brother’s antics.

You’d always been much more fond of Aemond than Aegon anyway—he was far kinder to you than his brother. Though, compared to Aegon, it was barely a competition.

Watching on in rapt fascination, you turned your head to see one of the keepers bring out a bleating lamb for Vermax to feast upon.

“Can I say it?” asked Jacaerys, equal parts nervous and excited. He glanced at his uncles, before looking back at you, eyes gleaming. You gave him an encouraging smile. At the keepers’ hum of approval, he turned back to his dragon. “Dracarys, Vermax!”

With a grateful hiss, Vermax turned and blew a long breath of fire straight at his prey, pupils sharpening. Even from afar, you could feel the heat of the flames kiss your skin.

Vermax happily stalked forward and began biting into the charred flesh of the lamb. The keepers clapped Jacaerys on the shoulder proudly, before heading off to round Vermax further into the darkness of the Dragonpit.

Just as you were about to tell Jace how amazing that was, Aegon interrupted by cuffing his younger brother on the shoulder.

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” he glibly said.

The other two boys glanced at each mischievously. You tilted your head, feeling a bit left out. You weren’t aware of any surprises they had planned for the young Prince.

“What is it?” asked Aemond.

“Something very special!” chimed Lucerys, just before he ran off into the darkness.

Clearing his throat, Aegon continued, “You’re the only one of us without a dragon.”

Aemond frowned. “Indeed.”

“And we felt badly about it, so we found one for you!” exclaimed Aegon.

This came as a surprise to you. To your knowledge, none of the dragons had nested as of late, and there were no new eggs for Aemond to take.

The same skepticism colored Aemond’s tone. “A dragon? How?”

Aegon didn’t even try hiding his snarky smile. “The gods provide, dear brother.”

And out came Luke from the shadows, tugging along a large, oinking pig. Tufts of dried wheat were tied around the pigs back, made to mimic a dragon’s wings. You felt your lips twist into a frown. What a terrible thing to gift Aemond.

The other boys giggled as they announced, “Behold, the Pink Dread!”

They snickered in amusement at Aemond’s reaction—or lack thereof.

“Be sure to mount her carefully,” cackled Aegon, prodding his brother’s side. “First flight’s always rough.” He snorted loudly into Aemond’s ear, who stood still and unflinching.

Jace and Luke followed suit, making obscene pig noises and giggling. They turned to leave the Dragonpit.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go see if they have any lemon cakes for supper!” said Luke, grabbing your hand.

You kept your gaze trained on Aemond, shaking the younger boy off. “I’ll be right there… just give me a minute.”

Shrugging, Luke scampered off with Jace and Aegon, still laughing between his pig-reminiscent oinks.

Uncertain, you stood a couple feet away from Aemond, toying with the fabric of your sleeve. You sympathized with him, really. All your life, you had no dragon of your own, despite always having wanted one. You knew it wasn’t the same because it was his birthright as a Prince to have a dragon—but you could still understand the feeling.

“I’m sorry about them,” you said, moving closer. “That’s a terrible thing to gift you.”

The Prince was silent for a few moments, before rotating on his feet to fix his glare on you. You shuffled back a step.

An amalgamation of anger and embarrassment etching crystal clear across his face, he spat out, “Go away! You’re not even of royal Targaryen blood—you don’t belong here!”

It was clear that he was merely projecting his frustrations onto you—after all, he himself was of Targaryen blood and yet he always felt like an outcast in his own family.

But you were only eight, and such complicated matters were lost to you.

Lips twisting in a frown, you blinked at the Prince, hands curling into fists by your side. “I just wanted to help,” you quietly mumbled beneath your breath, before promptly turning on your heel and marching out of the Dragonpit.

Aemond had heard your final words before your departure, feeling a twinge of guilt coil within his stomach. But after casting another look at the pig, his thoughts about you disappeared, replaced only with hot fury.

With a determined set of his jaw, Aemond trudged on further into the darkness of the Dragonpit.

“Your feet,” said Harwin, tapping the edge of his sword onto your scuffed boots. “Don’t stand like a pin needle. Keep them apart—steady your stance.”

You did as he told, and he nodded in approval. With your dull, wooden practice lance, you dove forward and struck the hay sewn dummy with quick strikes.

“Good,” your older brother commended, patting your shoulder. “Just remember to move with your feet, alright? Come now, drop the sword.”

“What?” you asked, allowing the wood to go limp in your hand. “Why?”

Kneeling down before you, Harwin brushed your sweaty, damp hair away from your burning skin. “Because this world doesn’t give little girls swords when they need it. They must only rely on their wit and their hands if the situation arises. Drop the sword, darling.”

Frowning, you relinquished your hold, waiting for further instructions.

You’d been doing this with Harwin for a long while now. Every other night for the past three years, he’d been teaching you how to fight, and how to defend yourself.

“Now, I’m going to pretend to hit you, and you have to do everything in your power to stop me. Do anything you must—hit back, bite, kick, run… just don’t give up. You promise?”

“Okay,” you told him, steeling your nerves.

He began slowly, motioning to strike your stomach and your sides. You managed to evade those easily, moving back or rolling out of his way. The faster he got, however, the more sloppy you were. One particular jab to your shoulder made you bite back a cry of pain, and you glared up at him.

“Must you be so rough?” you growled, to which Harwin only nodded, face stoic.

“In a fight—a real and true one—do you think they’d go easy on you? No. You must be prepared for it, Y/N. I will not always be there to protect you.”

His words made you pause. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you be there?”

“I’ll always be there for you, little sister,” he said, large hand patting your head. “But if there comes such a time where I won’t be, for some reason unbeknownst to me, you must be ready.”

With a reluctant bob of your head, he commanded you to get into a fighting stance again.

“Thumb outside the fist,” he gently reminded you. “Feet wider apart, knees bent—yes, that’s it.”

And without warning, he darted forward, using his foot to sweep across your legs, making you stumble back onto your arse, all the breath in your lungs rushing out.

“Harwin!” you yelled out, now fed up with him. “That’s not fair! You’re using your feet!”

“I never said I wasn’t going to use my feet. You will soon come to realize that life is not always fair,” he said, unable to help the small chuckle falling from his lips. “Up you get.”

Rubbing at your sore bottom, you mumbled out, “Why don’t I get to spar with Jace and Luke and Aemond and Aegon? I want to spar with them.” Though, as soon as the words left you, you realized that you’d really rather not spar with Aemond and Aegon. Especially not after that whole pig situation.

Surprised at your question, Harwin halted to lower himself down to your height once again. “Sweet sister… it is safer for me to train you in secret. In a fair and just world, you’d be able to train with whomever you wanted. But you are a young girl, and they are the royal Princes. The court would not find it proper if you were to spar with them.”

Tears welled up in your widened eyes. “But… that’s not fair…”

Harwin thumbed away the wetness on your cheek. “Come now, don’t cry. How about, next time the boys train, you get to watch—and I can teach you the same things they learn later in the evening? How does that sound?”

“O-Okay,” you hiccupped. “Can I have my sword back?”

With a faint smile, Harwin nodded, handing you the wooden stick.

From the shadows where neither of you could see, Criston Cole watched, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted.

Harwin was a man of his word.

The very next day, you had shot out of your bed like someone had lit a fire beneath you, hurriedly dressing and washing yourself, much to your handmaid's shock, and scampered out to the training yard.

“There you are,” greeted your brother, ruffling your already sleep-mussed hair. “I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you replied, bouncing on your toes.

Harwin could only grin down at you, before returning his gaze to the four boys dully smacking their wooden practice swords against the dummies.

Aegon twisted and turned and hit with speed rather than precision, grunts of exertion falling from his lips. Lucerys was clumsy and slow, but for the most part, he hit the targeted regions accurately. Jacaerys was nearly the same as his youngest brother, only a tad faster and more agile on his feet.

Ser Criston Cole was scrutinizing Aemond, despite him seeming to be doing the best out of the four. Fast, accurate, and strong strokes of his wooden blade thudded repeatedly against the hay.

“Soften your knees,” gruffed Criston, face betraying no expression. “Feet light. Light, Aemond.”

Training with the Dornish man seemed much different than training with your older brother. With your brother, as hard as he was on you sometimes, he was still kind and knew your limits. Cole was cold and rigidly strict, and seemed to care naught for the boys’ boundaries.

You glanced up at your brother, who watched on with a mildly distasteful expression.

Observing from the walkways above, you spotted your father with the King. Lyonel eyed you with a questionable gaze, wondering what on earth his youngest daughter was doing on the training grounds, rather than playing with Princess Helaena, whom you’d grown to be rather fond of, or entertaining Rhaenyra and the new babe, Joffrey.

You tilted your head when Aegon grew bored of smacking his own dummy, wandering over to Jace and knocking the younger Prince’s sword out of his hands. To none of your surprise, Criston chose to turn a blind eye to the eldest boy.

You will soon come to realize that life is not always fair, you could hear your brother’s words echo in your head. Perhaps he was right. Nonetheless, you could feel anger simmer within your stomach.

“Don’t stand too upright, my Prince, you’ll get knocked down,” commanded Cole.

Aegon halted in his terrorizing as two handmaids passed by, openly gawking at the poor girls as they hurried off with baskets of soiled laundry. Only after they were long gone, did Aegon catch sight of you, tilting his head curiously, as if trying to remember your face.

“Aegon,” Criston called out, pulling Aegon’s attention away from you.

“I’ve won my first bout, Ser Criston,” boasted the white-haired Prince. “My opponent sues for mercy.”

A ghost of a smirk graced Criston’s lips. “Then you shall have a new opponent, then. Let’s see if you can touch me. You and your brother.”

With dejected expressions, Luke and Jace slunk off to the side, watching Aemond and Aegon battle against Criston. It was only then that the two boys took notice of you. Luke waved excitedly, and Jace nodded his head with a smile. You grinned back at them, clasping your hands behind your back, itching to have a practice sword gripped between them.

Criston seemed to make a fool of the Princes, easily parrying away their strikes and sending them sprawling onto the ground several times.

“Weapons up, boys,” Harwin quietly advised Luke and Jace. “Give your enemies no quarter.”

It seemed as though his words were not quiet enough—Criston certainly overheard what he was saying, and didn’t look too pleased with it.

Your brother narrowed his eyes. “It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston.”

Jaw squared, Cole bit out, “You question my method of instruction, Ser?”

“I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils,” said Harwin.

“My pupils? And not… your pupil?”

This made your brother blanche uneasily.

“Lady Y/N. Come. I want to see what Ser Harwin has taught you.”

Shocked, you looked up at your brother, lips falling open and shut, unsure of what to say or do.

Not wanting to disobey the tall, scary man, you timidly stepped forward. From above, your father seemed to want to end this nonsense, shifting his weight from foot to foot—but as the King trusted Ser Criston Cole, he had little he could say to put a stop to this.

“Aemond. You shall spar with the Lady Strong.”

The Prince seemed to want to do anything other than that, but reluctantly ambled forward anyway. Criston roughly shoved a wooden sword against your chest, which lacked any armor whatsoever in comparison to Aemond’s full chestplate and protective metal gloves.

“Engage.”

Desperately trying to recall what your brother had taught you, you spread your feet further apart and bent your knees, leveling your weight in preparation to move around.

Aemond was the first to attack, diving forward to strike your sides. He got one hit in at first, pain blossoming by your ribs. You winced, staggering back slightly.

By the second strike, you were prepared. Though he was half a foot taller than you, you used that to your advantage. It was little effort to duck away from his arc when he was about to repeat the very same maneuver, smacking the flat of your stick to the back of his left knee, sending him buckling forward. In the short time you had to watch him, you’d noticed that he favored his right side, and often left the other side unguarded.

The Prince was quick to recover, scrambling back up on his feet and glaring at you with the strength of a thousand suns. This time, he was smarter, waiting for you to attack next. You feigned a jab to his neck, forcing him to parry high up, before you used your feet to kick out against his exposed stomach. It was a dirty move—not a proper one in the least, but it was as your brother said the other night—life was not fair.

Aemond fell back with a muffled oomf, expression suspended into one of disbelief. He couldn’t believe he’d just been bested by a girl. Teeth clenched, you placed the tip of your sword against his chest, locking eyes with him. He stared at you with nothing but pure hatred within the deep purple of his irises. After a second, you moved it away, holding out your hand to help him up. You were willing to overlook what happened down at the Dragonpit the other day—after all, you still sympathized with him and didn't hate him in the very least. Especially not compared to his wretched older brother.

The Prince didn’t take your hand. He shoved it away with a grumble, standing up on his own and slinking off to the side. It was embarrassing. More than that—he was angry at himself, at you, at Cole. Tears pricked the corner of Aemond’s eyes, but he willfully staved them away.

Frowning, you made your way back to Harwin, who fondly cupped your face with one large palm, patting your cheek thrice. “Well done, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

You smiled wearily, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

Criston’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, clearly unhappy with Harwin’s pupil beating his own. His gaze flitted downward to lock with yours for a brief moment, before looking at the crown Prince. “Alright. Jacaerys. You spar with Aegon. Eldest son against eldest son.”

Giving the boy no warning, Cole seized the front of Jace’s armor and all but dragged him to the center of the training yard. Helplessly, Jace looked to you and Harwin.

This was by no means a fair fight, but you had to remind yourself—life is not always fair.

As if reading your thoughts, Harwin called out, “It’s hardly a fair match.”

“I know you’ve never seen true battle, Ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect.” Criston’s seething words made you shift uncomfortably. How dare he speak to your brother like that?

You glanced back up at your father and the King, still watching over. You wondered if he could hear what Criston was saying. If he cared.

“Engage,” said Cole.

And with that, Aegon roared, raining down attack after attack upon Jace. He shoved him down onto the ground, dried leaves fluttering upwards with his fall. Satisfied with himself, Aegon turned his back to Jace, bowing to you with a smirk and chuckling at his early win.

Jacaerys, however, was quick to get on his feet and charged forward with a snarl, wildly arcing the practice sword at his uncle.

In an attempt to get him to stop, Aegon shoved a dummy onto Jace, which prompted Harwin to step forward and say, “Foul play!”

“I’ll deal with him,” barked Criston, before stepping towards Aegon. “Plant your feet. You have a height advantage. Use it!”

It was becoming more and more clear that this spar was no longer an eldest son against an eldest son. It was between your brother, Commander of the City Watch, and the Queen’s kingsguard.

Whilst Criston roughly barked instructions to Aegon, Harwin moved to Jace, gripping the young boy’s chin in his palm and gently gave him advice and words of encouragement—not unsimilar to what he did with you during your training.

Once they were done, Aegon furiously stormed back to Jacaerys. “You!” he screamed, red-faced and furious at his nephew for having embarrassed him in such a way. The Prince was not at all used to not winning.

“Close with him!” yelled Criston when Aegon surged forward and hit him repeatedly. “Press him backward! Stay on the attack! Use your feet!”

With that, Aegon placed his heel squarely against Jace’s chestplate, kicking him back onto the dirt.

“Don’t let him get up. Stay on the attack!”

You watched on in concern as Aegon whacked the wooden sword over and over onto Jace—to the point where you panicked and frantically tugged on Harwin’s armor, afraid he was going to do some serious damage on your friend.

Deciding to put an end to this once and for all, Harwin finally stepped forward and ripped Aegon away from Jace.

“Enough!” he bellowed, so loud that his voice seemed to echo back against the stone walls.

This seemed to enrage Aegon all the more as he screeched out, “You dare put your hands on me?”

“Aegon!” yelled the King from above.

Nobody listened.

“You forget yourself, Strong,” said Cole, voice dripping with venom. It didn’t slip by your notice that he’d dropped the honorifics with your brother. “That is the Prince.”

“This is what you teach, Cole? Cruelty to the weaker opponent?” seethed Harwin.

Tone eerily level, Cole glibly commented, “Your interest in the princeling’s training is quite unusual, Commander. Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin… or a brother… or a son.”

With that, Harwin surged forward and planted a clean punch against Criston’s face.

Criston made no attempts to fight back. Not with the second hit, or the third, or the fourth. By the fifth, he was bleeding from the side of his temple, and red ran down a stream from his split lips.

Your hands had flown over your mouth, and you staggered back, against Jace. Luke’s small hand curled into the fabric of your tunic. A son… Criston had said. And it all made sense to you now—why Harwin loved the boys so dearly, why they looked so much like your brother, why you shared the same smile as them.

They were your nephews.

This only had you protectively stepping in front of them, shielding them from the sight of their true father beating up a knight.

Over and over and over again, your eldest brother struck Cole, until his own knuckles glimmered with dark ichor—belonging to both him and the man beneath him. Two gold cloaks had to rush forward and haul Harwin away from Criston.

“Say it again!” bellowed Harwin. “Say it again!”

Despite the beating he’d just undertook, Criston laughed through his blood-saturated spittle. “Thought as much,” he choked out, turning to his side to hack out a wad of red onto the dirt.

Your father was furious.

At you, yes, but the anger he felt towards Harwin a thousand times moreso. So much so that he had ordered Harwin be stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch, and taken back home to Harrenhal as his heir. Though, it wasn’t a home to you, seeing as you’d never even stepped foot in the place.

Your father had also tried to resign as Hand to the King, feeling immense pressure and shame from the court. But the King insisted he stay, and to your relief, that meant that you could stay, as well.

However, that also entailed that you had to say goodbye to your beloved brother.

When he first told you, you scoffed and retorted, “A funny joke, Harwin, but I’m not in the laughing mood.” And when his expression remained solemnly unchanged, you could feel your heart sinking to your stomach. “No… no, you can’t be serious. Harwin, you can’t leave! No! What am I to do here without you? What of our training?”

The following hour consisted of you crying your little eyes out, sobbing into Harwin’s armor, begging him not to leave. He had little to say, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he’d join you in your crying. But he stroked your hair and assured you that he’d write as often as he could to you.

Father was to be joining him to drop him off at Harrenhal and ensure everything was going smoothly for the first fortnight, before he was due to return to King's Landing. You wouldn’t be missing him too much—at least he was coming back. You hadn’t a clue when the next time you’d see your brother might be.

And there was the other unspoken elephant in the room—Rhaenyra’s sons. Your best friends—and, as you’d recently found out, your nephews.

“Be good to your mother, lads,” said Harwin, kneeling by Luke. “I’ll visit when I can. But that may be some time.”

He turned to Jace, who stood tall beside his mother, rocking Joffrey back and forth in his arms.

“I will return,” your brother told his eldest son, lifting his chin up with the tips of his fingers. “I promise.”

Harwin and Rhaenyra locked eyes for a brief moment. Hers watered. Harwin’s softened. He bent down to press a loving kiss to the babe’s forehead.

“I will be a stranger when we meet again,” he whispered to Joffrey, but a part of it was directed to Rhaenyra herself.

You awaited by the door for him, wiping your tears furiously with the back of your hand.

Harwin’s final goodbye was saved for you. So much to say, with so little time. He cupped your face and kissed your forehead, nose slotted against your hairline. His first and final tear fell from his misty eyes.

“Remember what I told you. I’ll always be there for you, sweet sister. Always. Maybe not physically here,” he said, before pressing a thumb just above your duly beating heart. “But in here.”

Much to your frustration, you began to cry again, chest thundering with sobs.

“Goodbye, brother,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Oh, no, don’t cry over me, darling. I want you to keep your head high, hm? By the time I see you again, you might be even stronger than me.”

Harwin pressed another kiss to your cheek, before swiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, and stood up again.

You watched as he pushed the door open and strode down the hall, disappearing from your sight. Jacaerys came to your side, threading his hand with yours in an effort to comfort you. You squeezed gratefully, releasing a shuddering breath.

“We will exchange letters by raven,” placated Rhaenyra, trying her best to alleviate both of your sorrows. “Won’t that be fun?”

Bluntly, Jace turned to look at his mother and asked, “Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?”

Shock colored Rhaenyra’s expression.

“You are a Targaryen,” she affirmed after recovering from her initial surprise, stroking Jace’s hair away from his face. “That’s all that matters.”

She hadn’t answered his question, but both you and Jace knew the truth.

News of your brother and father’s death spread like wildfire. It was said to be an accident—a tragic product of Harrenhal’s Curse. There were rumors flying around, however, that it was no accident.

Rumors of Daemon Targaryen wanting to rid his niece of her lover. Rumors of Corlys Velaryon exacting revenge for Harwin cuckolding his son. Rumors of your last remaining brother, Larys Strong, murdering his own blood to claim his inheritance.

You paid no mind to the rumors. It was an accident, and that was that.

Life is not fair, you could hear your brother’s voice say to you. He was right—nothing was fair.

After their deaths, you spent days weeping in your chambers. Jacaerys and Lucerys often dropped by to check in on you, offering to take you down to the Dragonpits in hopes of cheering you up. You’d sniffled and shook your head, curling up in the center of your bed. Rhaenyra, who saw you more like a daughter than anything, took the liberty of bringing food to your chambers, urging you to eat something.

“It’s okay to cry, sweet girl,” she told you, sitting by the edge of your bed and stroking the hair away from your face. When you began to quietly sob, she wound her arms around your small frame, and held you close to her chest.

The fortnight after their deaths, everyone treated you as if you were hewn from glass. They spoke slowly and cautiously, treading on eggshells around you. Even Jace and Luke seemed hesitant to play with you anymore, afraid you’d burst into hysterical tears any second.

What made it worse was when Rhaenyra announced that she was leaving King’s Landing with her children for Dragonstone. It was devastating news—for she and her sons were the closest thing you had left to a family.

Jace hugged you goodbye, eyes teary and nose red. Little Luke clung to your legs and begged you to come with them. Even Rhaenyra had offered you a place on the ship to join them on their journey, her voice kind but so very tired.

“You will always have a place with us, sweet girl,” she had told you, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. The Princess considered you the daughter she never had—always fiercely protective of you. With Harwin gone, that feeling only increased thricefold. You were practically her family by now.

But you couldn’t leave King’s Landing with Rhaenyra and the boys. Not with Larys Strong anchoring you to the Red Keep—and certainly not with Alicent breathing down both of your necks.

And so you watched them sail away, face drenched with your tears and hands clenched into fists by your side.

You abhorred it all, wishing everything could just go back to how they were before.

Out of all the other children at court, Princess Helaena was the only one who treated you the same as she did before, all misty-eyed and odd-of-tongue. Because of this, you found yourself glued to her side, desperate for a sense of normalcy, which you ironically found in the strangest of girls. She was a fascinating person, far more intelligent than first meets the eye—with a peculiar interest in critters and insects lurking in the shadows.

She was rather fond of you as well, though not at all used to having friends, much less other girls who took her fixations seriously and didn’t think her gross for it. Queen Alicent was mortified at having a Strong girl befriend her daughter, and yet was simultaneously relieved that she finally had someone to call a friend. Besides, having you on her side was more of an advantage than anything—especially with Larys Strong backed in her corner, as well.

“The butterfly has two large, black spots on the bottom of its wings,” said Helaena as she crouched down beside you, holding her palms up to brandish the small insect. “They are to trick the larger animals into thinking they are eyes. It is a defense tactic. The butterfly is not who the rest thinks she is.”

You smiled at her, raising a finger to touch the little insect, only for it to flutter away before you could get too close, hurrying back to the gardens.

“They’re beautiful,” you said, watching it disappear amongst the flowers. “Masters of trickery, though.”

“Yes,” surmised Helaena, though her gaze was fixed on you. “Beautiful. Deceitful. Both equally true.”

It had been three weeks since your brother and father passed.

And yet, here you were, at someone else’s funeral in Driftmark. Laena Velaryon—the late wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

You’d pleaded with Larys, begged him to allow you to go back to Harrenhal to mourn your family—but he only supplied you with a crooked smile and told you that you belonged in King’s Landing. With Larys being your only kin left standing, adamant with his refusal to return home to properly grieve over Harwin and Lyonel, it seemed that you were stuck with him.

You were never very fond of Larys to begin with.

At Laena’s funeral, you made it your job to avoid him as much as you could, following behind Jacaerys and Lucerys. It was strange and pleasant under the worst circumstances seeing them again so soon after such an emotional farewell.

Rhaenyra wove through the crowd, bowing her head to you with soft eyes, before fixing her gaze on her eldest son.

“Your little cousins have lost their mother,” she said. “They could use a kind word.”

Jacaerys looked to you, then back up to his mother. “We have an equal claim to sympathy.”

Brows furrowing, Rhaenyra looked around to make sure none of the lords and ladies were listening in. “Jace—”

“We should be at Harrenhal, mourning Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin. It is not fair to Y/N,” he stressed, jaw clenched. Tears warbled over your irises, but you quickly blinked them away.

“You’re right—it’s not fair. But it would not be appropriate. The Velaryons are our kin and the Strongs are not. Look at me, Jace. Do you understand?”

Bearing a sour face, Jacaerys nodded, before trudging off to give his condolences to his little cousins.

You watched him go, looking up at Rhaenyra with wide eyes. “Nothing in life is fair.”

The silver-haired Princess shot you a questioning look, but you turned and made your way into the shadows, where you knew her half-sister, Helaena was playing.

“Hand turns loom, spool of green, spool of black, dragons of flesh, weaving dragons of thread,” she chimed, repeating the words over and over again, cradling a spider in her palms.

When she caught sight of you, she didn’t stop her mantra, but dipped her head in greeting. She offered you the spider, but you shook your head with a kind smile, allowing her to keep playing around with the spindly arachnid.

From about a meter away, Aemond and Aegon watched the two of you.

“We have nothing in common,” the elder of the two bemoaned, slurping wine from a golden chalice. He was referring to the fact that he was betrothed to his sister now, something that neither of them seemed particularly pleased about.

Aemond pursed his lips. “She’s our sister.”

“You marry her, then,” Aegon shot back.

“I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.” He watched curiously as you tossed your head back with a laugh when Helaena whispered something about collecting spider webs in a jar. Come to think of it, Aemond couldn’t remember ever hearing you laugh before. Memories of you besting him in combat flashed before his eyes.

“If only,” snorted Aegon.

“It would strengthen the family. Keep our Valyrian blood pure.”

Pulling a disgusted face, Aegon looked to his brother. “She’s an idiot!”

“She’s your future queen,” spat Aemond.

“I’d rather take the one beside her,” said Aegon, eyes glued to you. “She is growing to be a fine girl… considering how she beat your arse to the ground.”

Aemond supplied him with no answer. He was no stranger to Aegon’s lustful ramblings.

“Actually, we do have one thing in common—we both fancy creatures with long legs!” chortled the older prince, before sauntering away, off to hunt down a maid for another cup of wine. “Wench! Another!”

This left Aemond to shake his head with revolt, observing his brother go.

He spotted his nephew, Jacaerys, not too far. A part of him wanted to say something, offer his sympathies or apologies—but when Jace lifted his head and stared straight at him, Aemond could feel the words lodging in his throat, and he turned to walk away.

You observed the interaction from afar. Aemond caught your eye, merely for a brief moment, but it felt like an eternity.

And, much to your surprise, he made his way to you.

“I offer my condolences, Lady Strong,” he said, rigidly formal. “It is tragic what happened to your brother and father.”

You bowed your head, lips trembling. Though the two of you have certainly had your differences, Aemond was not heartless. He knew you were suffering a great loss.

“Thank you, my Prince,” you croaked.

The two of you stood in silence.

“I… I’m sorry. For snapping at you in the Dragonpit.”

Your head shot up in surprise. There was little you could think of saying, so you gave him a small smile—one that he mirrored after a moment’s hesitation.

Somewhere in the distance, the pained roar of Vhagar echoed over the seas.

It was the dead of night.

You were already sound asleep when Luke burst into your chambers, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you awake.

“Y/N, wake up, wake up!” he whisper-yelled.

Groaning, you peered open an eye and sat up. “What?” you mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Someone stole Vhagar!” he said, tugging you off the bed and ushering your bleary form along. Jacaerys, Baela, and Rhaena were already rushing out to see who had taken the old beast of a dragon.

Not at all sleepy anymore, your eyes widened upon seeing Aemond clamber off the dragon.

“It’s him!” gasped Baela.

Aemond cocked his head. “It’s me.”

Face contorting with rage, Baela gritted out, “Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother’s dead,” said Aemond. Briefly, his gaze flicked to you, before looking back at the two Targaryen girls. “Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena gruffed.

“Then you should’ve claimed her,” retorted Aemond. “Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

A soft gasp lodged in your throat when Rhaena strode forward with a growl, aiming a loose punch at Aemond’s face. He easily dodged, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her off to the side. Baela rushed towards him next, landing a good punch to his face. He yelled out and struck her back, a bilious crack of his fist against her skin ringing out against the stone walls.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” threatened Aemond.

His words made Jace yell out and jump forward, driving Luke to attack, as well. Aemond made quick work of the boys, kicking Jace back and punching Luke so hard in the face that his nose cracked beneath the pressure.

You were hesitant to fight Aemond, you really were—especially when the two of you seemed to have just gotten over your grievances with one another.

But he’d hurt your friends, and you wouldn’t stand for that. Harwin certainly wouldn’t have.

“Stop this!” you told him, protectively standing between Luke and Aemond. When he only set his jaw, you gave him a hard shove back. The conflict that danced within the purple of his irises was tangible—you could see it.

He didn’t want to fight you.

Your push took him by surprise, sending him sprawling onto the hard ground. Baela, Rhaena, and Jace took advantage of this, jumping forward to rain punch after hit after kick on the young Prince. He was bleeding now—red leaking from his nose, his lips, his fists.

“Stop! Stop!” you screamed at them, grabbing at Rhaena’s hand and trying to pull her back, to no avail. “Jace, stop!”

Luke pushed away from you to join the skirmish.

To your horror, Aemond grabbed a large rock that had come loose from the cobblestone walls, curling his bloodied fingers around it. The other hand shot out to wrap around Lucerys’ throat.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did! Bastards!” spat Aemond into Luke’s face. The words seemed to have fallen from his lips without thought, as if completely forgetting that you were there.

But what he said had struck a chord within you. How dare he speak of your brother in such a way? You wished to move, to hit Aemond until he was nothing but a bloodied pile of flesh and bone—but he still held Luke in his grasp, and the looming threat of the rock in his other hand.

Confused, little Luke choked out, “My father’s still alive!”

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Aemond looked to Jace then to you, then back to Jace. “Lord Strong?”

Furious, Jace unsheathed a small dagger.

No.

No, if Jace were to kill Aemond… it would only make matters all the worse.

“Jace, no—!” you began, but your warning fell upon deaf ears.

Jacaerys dove forward with the dagger, but Aemond knocked him down with the rock thudding against his cheek, the blade flying. to the other side of the corridor. Aemond let go of the younger Velaryon in his haste.

This was a mistake.

Luke crawled about in the sand, grabbing the hilt of the dagger Jace had dropped. Working in tandem, the elder brother threw sand in Aemond’s eyes, momentarily blinding him, and Luke stood up, slashing the sharp metal straight across the side of Aemond’s face with a sickening squelch. Blade slicing flesh.

Blood splattered everywhere. All over Luke’s hands, over the dagger, over the sand.

A scream erupted from Aemond’s lungs as he clutched his maimed face with his hands, falling to his knees.

Drip, drip, drip. The blood dripped through the cracks between his fingers.

You rushed forward to the Prince out of pure instinct, grabbing his shoulders and cupping the uninjured side of his face, your breathing staggered and rapid. All the hatred you’d felt for him—all the anger, the rage, the frustration—flew right out the window at the sight of him hurt so badly.

“Aemond!” you cried. The blood was too much—pouring down his tunic, onto your own sleepwear, staining your skin.

“Cease this at once!” bellowed a voice from behind you. “Get away!”

Criston Cole ripped you away from Aemond, under the impression that you were the one that was hurting him, kneeling beside the Prince.

You began to hyperventilate, scrambling back until you hit the wall. Blood on your hands, under your nails, dampening your clothes—

Someone, you weren’t quite sure who, hauled you up, dragging you through the castle, Jace and Luke in tow.

Everyone was gathered into a large room. A maester was stitching up Aemond’s wound by the fireplace, Alicent knelt by her beloved son’s side. You stood by Jace and Luke, trembling viciously and eyes warbling with unshed tears.

“How could you allow such a thing to happen?” King Viserys asked the guards, voice cross and brows furrowed.

“The princes were supposed to be abed. Prince Aemond was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” replied Criston.

With a snarl, Viserys hobbled onto his feet, leaning his weight onto a cane. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!”

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes—” began Criston.

“That is no answer!” yelled the King.

Worriedly, Alicent asked, “It will heal, will it not, maester?”

Hesitant, the maester pursed his lips. “The flesh will heal. But the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s expression seemed to fall at his words. She rounded to her eldest son, who stood behind her, not caring nearly enough for his brother who’d just lost his eye.

“And where were you?” screeched Alicent, rising to her feet.

“Me?” said Aegon, flabbergasted at the attention suddenly being on him.

A smack rang loud and true throughout the room as Alicent struck him across the face.

Crying out, Aegon shrunk away from his mother. “Ow! What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” she hissed.

Just then, the doors swung open, and Corlys Velaryon strode into the room, his wife Rhaenys just behind him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, voice booming.

“Baela, Rhaena!” gasped Rhaenys. “What happened?”

The girls rushed to their grandmother.

Rhaenyra hastily came through a different set of doors, Daemon hot on her heels. Upon seeing her sons, she hurried towards them, immediately kneeling down beside Luke.

“Show me,” she told him, gently prying his hand away from his nose to inspect the damage.

A tear slipped down your cheek. The Velaryon girls had their grandparents. Jace and Luke had their mother. Aemond had his mother, as well as his siblings.

You… who did you have to comfort you? Harwin was gone. Your mother was gone. Your father was gone.

Your lips trembled. Never before had you wished to just disappear from the face of the world.

“Who did this?” barked Rhaenyra.

“They attacked me!” said Aemond.

“He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!”

“He stole my mother’s dragon!”

The kids all began throwing accusations, their combined voices drowning each other out. Your head began to throb with their volume. You glanced at your dear friend Helaena, who put her hands over her ears to block out the noise.

“Enough,” ordered the King.

Nobody listened.

“He was gonna kill Jace!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Enough!” said the King.

Again, nobody listened.

“It should be my son telling the tale!” Alicent yelled.

“He was choking me!”

“He called us—!”

“SILENCE!” bellowed Viserys, knocking his cane against the ground repeatedly. The crowd fell into a lulled murmur. “Aemond. I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

Brows furrowed, Alicent shook her head, auburn curls flying every which way. “What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. “It was a regrettable accident.”

“Accident?” scoffed Alicent. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son!”

Voice raising, Rhaenyra defended, “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them!”

Viserys tilted his head. “What insults?”

A beat of silence.

Rhaenyra gripped Luke’s hand in hers. “The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.”

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys said.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace,” Rhaenyra told her father. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

Alicent’s fists clenched by her side. “Over an insult? My son has lost an eye.”

Viserys leaned down closer to Aemond. “You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?”

Desperate to place the blame away from her son, Alicent cut in, “The insult was training yard bluster, nothing more—”

“Aemond,” Viserys sharply said, ignoring his wife. “I asked you a question.”

Aemond remained silent.

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys’ father?” asked Alicent. “Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw twitched with muted anger. “I do not know, Your Grace. I… could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

Alicent huffed. “Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.”

Criston cracked an amused smile at her words.

“Aemond,” said Viserys. “Look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

The young Prince swallowed heavily. “It was Aegon,” he reluctantly said.

“Me?” parroted Aegon.

“Where did you hear such calumnies?” snarled Viserys to his eldest son. When Aegon refused to answer, he yelled out loud enough for you to flinch, “AEGON! Tell me the truth of it!”

The silver-haired prince refused to meet the King’s eyes.

“We know, father,” he said. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

A tense silence folded over the crowd, only stifled by the flames of the hearth crackling. You shifted uncomfortably, stuck in the middle between Rhaenyra’s side—the side that you grew up with, the side you loved so dearly—and Alicent’s side—the side of the sweet Princess Helaena, and the Prince Aemond who’d just lost his eye. The side of your only brother left, Larys Strong. You felt stretched thin—uncertain of what to think of yourself.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” bellowed Viserys. “All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to each other. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!”

Thinking the matter over and done with, Viserys began to hobble away.

Alicent’s words stopped him in his tracks.

“That is insufficient,” she said. A thin film of tears reflected the golden light of the torches hanging on the walls. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, My King. Good will cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent,” Viserys placated, “but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken!”

Viserys shook his head. “What would you have me do?”

Alicent casted her gaze to Rhaenyra. “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.”

Gasps murmured through the crowd. You drew in a shaky breath, shuffling closer to Rhaenyra and her sons, until you practically stood in front of Luke. He was your friend—your kin—and you would be damned if you were to let anyone touch him.

“My dear wife…” began Viserys.

“He is your son, Viserys!” Alicent pleaded, her voice thick with emotion. “Your blood.”

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgement,” he warned.

Frustrated beyond relief, Alicent gnashed her teeth together and said, “If the King will not see justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston… bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Scared, Luke grabbed onto the back of your sleeping shift, looking up at his mother with frightened eyes.

“He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son!” she gritted out.

“You will do no such thing!” hissed Rhaenyra.

Turning to Criston, Viserys ordered, “Stay your hand!”

“No, you are sworn to me!” asserted Alicent.

Cole’s eyes darted from the Queen, to the King, to Rhaenyra. “As your protector, My Queen,” he softly said.

“Alicent, this matter is finished,” Viserys said, voice heavy with finality. “Do you understand?”

A tear fell from Alicent’s cold eyes.

“Let it be known,” the King began, addressing the entire crowd this time, “anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

Blowing out a relieved exhale, Rhaenyra dipped her head. “Thank you, father.”

With sudden movements, Alicent unsheathed Viserys’ dagger from his belt and marched towards Rhaenyra and her sons.

Instinctively, you grabbed Luke and dragged him further back, shielding his body with your own. Luke began screaming out of fear when Alicent brought down the blade onto his mother, only barely held back by Rhaenyra’s hand wrapping around her wrist.

The crowd erupted in pandemonium, with guards frantically pushing each other back, not knowing who to defend. The king’s wife, or the king’s daughter and heir? Daemon came forward to stop Criston in his tracks. You tightly held onto Luke, eyes wide and heart beating frantically.

“You’ve gone too far!” Rhaenyra told the Queen.

“I?” Alicent’s voice trembled. The blade was held between them, shaking and glowing with the reflections of the hearth’s fire. “What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law! While you flout all to do as you please!”

“Alicent, let her go!” commanded Viserys.

They both ignored him.

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?” cried Alicent. “It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!”

For the first time since everyone was gathered, her father, Otto Hightower, the new King’s Hand, said, “Release the blade, Alicent.”

“And now you take my son’s eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!” said Alicent.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” replied Rhaenyra. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness! But now they see you as you are.”

With a yell, Alicent brought down her blade and staggered back. Its sharp edge had cut through the fabric of Rhaenyra’s sleeve, carving a deep gash across the inside of her forearm.

Blood. Dripping. Thick. Red.

Luke gripped your hand tightly. The dagger in Alicent’s palm fell to the ground.

Rising from the chair, you got a good look at Aemond's wound for the first time since you entered.

It was swollen and red, the stitches extending from the top of his forehead to the side of his ear. Your heart ached—whether it was for Aemond, for Jace and Luke, or for Rhaenyra, you couldn’t at all tell.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” said Aemond. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye… but I gained a dragon.”

Viserys blew out a shaking breath. He was tired, and his body grew weary. “This proceeding is at an end.”

With that, the crowd began to disperse. You let Luke go, and he went rushing forth to his mother.

You watched as Aemond leaned his head on his mother’s chest.

A guard began ushering you out of the room and back to your chambers before you had the chance to tell him that you were sorry.

Barely a moon after Laena Velaryon’s funeral, Aegon and Helaena were getting married. It was held in haste, most likely to distract the court from the incident at Driftmark—give them something else to talk about for a change.

You sat in Helaena’s chambers as her ladies fussed over her, pulling the strings of her ivory dress, tying her hair into intricate knots, and applying rouge to her cheeks and lips. It was a much more elaborate process than what your own lady-in-waiting had done to you—all you had was a simple, ocean-hued dress with intricate patterns of deep green running down the length of the fabric. Your hair was pinned away from your face and a chain of silver pearls rested against your sternum. Though it was nice to wear such pretty things, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were just playing dress up—as if these clothes didn’t actually belong to you, like you were donning a charade for the night.

Whilst you were only nine, your name day having passed quietly a few moons ago, Helaena was at the ripe age of ten-and-three—she was barely of age to be married off—to her vile older brother, no less, but Alicent had insisted.

The young Princess’ eyes were clouded over, as if her mind was far, far away. She might’ve been here with you physically, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

“Three silver eggs, twisting, twisting, twisting… the blood curdles, the milk dries,” she murmured as the handmaidens finished with their final touches. Once they were done, they bowed their heads and left Helaena’s chambers.

You moved closer to her, your fingers grazing over her the smooth green-gold cloth on her shoulder.

“Helaena,” you whispered, heart aching for her. “I’m sorry. I wish I could whisk you away, keep you from the abomination that is your brother. If only I had a large dragon of my own to carry you off onto.”

“You will have a dragon,” she said absentmindedly. It didn’t slip your notice that she had completely disregarded the mention of her wedding, as if pushing it far and distant into the back of her mind. Perhaps if she didn’t think about it, the pain wouldn’t sting as much.

Helaena was not one to jest, but you waved away her words as if she had.

“If… if you need me to do something—anything, Helaena, I can’t just stand by and watch you suffer. It is not honorable. You deserve someone kind and loving… Aegon is not capable of granting you such luxuries.” It was as if you were pleading with her to say something—to try and stop this accursed union. In truth, you knew that you were powerless against the might of Alicent and her loyal subjects.

You were nobody. You were well aware of that fact.

But as of that very second, you would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for the sweet, cloudy-eyed Princess.

She fixed you with a fond gaze, though still far away.

“A dragon cannot hide the same way a butterfly can,” she whispered.

The corner of your eyes pricked with tears. “Princess, please—”

Before you could continue, the door to Helaena’s chambers swung open, and Alicent swiftly hurried in. You stepped away from your friend to give the Queen space to fuss over her.

It was time for the wedding.

The ceremony started with the septon reciting prayers, so lengthy and repetitive that your eyes drooped with the silent threat of sleep. Aegon stood beside the septon, shoulders slumped and muffling yawns every other minute.

Once the septon had finally wrapped up, the grand doors of the Sept swung open, and King Viserys walked in with Helaena on his left side. He parted with a gentle kiss to his second daughter’s forehead. It was no secret that Viserys very obviously favored his eldest child, Rhaenyra, but out of the four others, he had a certain muted soft spot for Helaena and her strange mysticism. You would’ve been surprised if he even remembered Aemond and Daeron’s names.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” The septon’s voice rang clear and true, echoing loudly in your head.

Looking none too pleased, Aegon all but threw the cloak over Helaena’s smaller frame, the Targaryen sigil seeming distorted from where you were standing.

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Now and forever.

Your heart fell lower to your stomach.

The septon tied a knot with red ribbon around their joined hands—Aegon angrily holding onto her palm while hers was limp in his grasp.

“Let it be known that Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, and Helaena Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

With one tug, the red ribbon between them unraveled.

The Princess bore no emotion as she began to speak in unison with Aegon, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

A lie. Aegon would never be Helaena’s.

You let your gaze travel to Alicent at the side, wiping a tear from her eyes. Anger bubbled within your chest. Right beside her was Aemond, a leather eyepatch fixed over his injury. His face betrayed no expression.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Aegon said emotionlessly, as if he were reading from an invisible script. He held Helaena’s face and planted a quick kiss on her lips. The two turned to the audience, who burst into raucous applause.

You did not clap.

The wedding feast following the ceremony was, expectedly, large and extravagant. Lords and ladies from all over the realm milled about as they ate and chattered and danced to the music.

Helaena sat beside Aegon on the longtable, refusing to eat any of her pigeon pie, repeatedly poking holes through the chunks of meat with the prongs of the fork. Her brother—now husband—had refused to lead the first dance with her, instead choosing to crossly slump into his chair and knock back chalice after chalice of spiced wine.

With little appetite to eat, you had taken to ghost around the expansive room, head abuzz with thoughts of Rhaenyra, Jace and Luke. A few lords had halted you in your tracks, asking for a dance, but you’d politely declined them all. You hardly paid attention during dancing lessons with the Septa and you were sure you’d trip over your own feet and make a fool of yourself. That, and you were in no mood to dance with lords thrice your age.

During your fourth cycle around the large room, bored out of your mind, you felt someone’s stare burning a hole into the back of your neck.

Aemond Targaryen.

He was looking straight at you, unabashedly.

Memories of his blood on your hands flashed through your mind. You ripped your gaze away.

Suddenly feeling sick, you hurriedly wove through the packed room, murmuring apologies when you accidentally trod over a few unsuspecting feet, and rushed out of the hall, just about fleeing to your chambers.

As soon as you shut the doors behind you, you began to sob uncontrollably, sliding down the wood and burying your tearful face between your knees.

The next morning, you felt terrible for leaving the feast early, and consequently, Helaena alone, as she suffered through the trauma of the bedding ceremony. The ladies of the court gossipped between bouts of laughter as they recounted Helaena’s fearful face when men began tearing at her clothes and carrying her off to Aegon’s chambers.

It was said that Helaena’s pained cries could be heard echoing across the Keep for the first few minutes, until she fell utterly silent. The creaking of the bed, however, didn’t cease for the rest of the night.

The gardens smelled of fresh morning dew and sweet clementines. You walked alongside Helaena, her hand softly resting in the crook of your arm as she dreamily chattered about how she once found a ladybug with no spots eating a small spider in under five minutes. It’d been nearly two weeks since she was wed, and she often hastily changed the subject to something else whenever you tried to bring the matter up.

“The poor spider,” you said, stopping to admire a bush of white roses. “But I suppose a ladybug must eat.”

“Yes,” Helaena hummed in agreement.

The rest of your walk was comfortably silent when you led her to a shaded spot beneath the fruit trees, where you had a blanket laid out beforehand.

A small millipede crawled out from the grass onto the blanket, and Helaena smiled at the critter, holding her hands out to let it climb onto her awaiting palms. The princess watched it snake along her skin with her earnest purple eyes.

“People often confuse millipedes with centipedes,” she explained. “Centipedes have one pair of legs for each body segment. Millipedes have two.”

The millipede scuttled down her fingers as she set it back down on the ground.

You blew out a pleased sigh, turning your head up to the sky and shutting your eyes, letting yourself bask in the warmth of the late morning sun.

“You are a fascinating person indeed, Helaena,” you told her, a laugh to your tone. “No other in the entirety of Westeros can speak of bug legs and make it interesting.”

The princess smiled, all wide and toothy. It fell the next moment when she began speaking again.

“I am with child, I think,” she whispered.

Startled at the sudden confession, you snapped your head her way, eyes wide, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But again, Helaena was never one to jest.

You gathered her hands between yours. “Are you certain, my Princess?”

Grey seemed to cloud over her vision. “Quite. I saw it in my dreams. Two pairs of legs for each body segment.”

Your brows furrowed. Was she speaking of babies or of millipedes?

Blinking in confusion, you shook your head, allowing for a small, fond smile to replace your miffed expression. “You will make a wonderful mother, Helaena. I’m sure of it. I will be there for you every step of the way.”

Wary that she wasn’t too keen on prolonged physical touch, you loosely tugged her into an embrace. She smelled of honey cakes and rich soil. Her cheek rested against your shoulder and she shut her eyes, grateful for your friendship.

“Two pairs of legs for each body segment,” she mumbled again, voice low. “A millipede regrows limbs that are cut off. A dragon cannot.”

Training without Harwin proved to be a challenge on its own—but you were nothing if not determined.

You often snuck out to a secluded part of the yard when the pale moon was high in the sky and the sun had hours until it was due to rise. At first, you weren’t entirely sure how to go about teaching yourself how to fight. But you worked on honing the same skills Harwin had taught you for three years. Speed, agility, accuracy, strength—all were important. Though, not as important as keeping a sharp mind.

You frequented the library often, reading voluminous tomes on the history of blades and the art of battle. The faded words on the parchment told you secrets to fighting that you had a feeling not even the most seasoned of knights knew. One that had certainly caught your attention was the fact that there were certain points in a man’s body you could strike that would render them temporarily paralyzed. You wished you had an excess of detestable men lying around to practice your newfound knowledge on.

As Aegon and Aemond continued their sparring with Ser Criston Cole, you watched from the shadows, observing their technique and creating mental notes on their habitual weaknesses. Ever since Aemond had lost his eye, he worked twice as hard to better himself. He wasn’t going to let the loss of an eye hinder him from becoming a warrior.

But that didn’t make him invincible. Aemond was still greatly disadvantaged with such a large part of his peripheral vision gone.

It wasn’t until a few moons later, when you were ten and Aemond was twelve, did he confront you again.

You were testing the accuracy of your knife-throwing, two small blades you had nicked from the armory gripped in your hands. Pulling your hand back, you narrowed your eyes at the target, and let it fly forward. It sank into the ringed wood with a dull thud, but had veered slightly off course when you released, resulting in a less-than-satisfactory result.

With a frustrated huff, you tried again, this time changing the way you had thrown it.

The blade whistled as it carved through the air, but strayed even farther from the center.

Before you could react to your disappointing performance, a voice resounded from right beside you, making you let out a small shriek and flinch away with surprise.

It was the Prince.

“You’re holding the knife wrong,” he said, voice not unkind, single eye observing your defensive stance. In three strides, he tugged the blades out of the wood, making his way back to you. “You use your thumb to neutralize the blade’s rotation. Like this.”

He demonstrated, and you watched in silence.

When he returned the blades back to you, you attempted to mimic what he had shown, glancing up at him for approval.

“Move your grip lower,” he said, lifting his hands to gently shift the knife in your palm. His touch was cold, but you didn’t quite mind.

“Thank you, my Prince.” Your voice was but a hoarse whisper. Aemond nodded once, stepping back to give you space to try again.

This time, when you flung it to the target, it was far closer to the center, only barely grazing the white marker of the inner circle.

You grinned, proud of the drastic improvement.

“I’ve seen you sneak out to train nearly every night by now. Why?” the silver-haired boy asked, almost suspiciously. He didn’t forget the way you had shoved him just before he lost his eye.

The memory of Harwin telling you that you had to be prepared for a real fight briefly flashed in the back of your mind. You swallowed down the lump in your throat.

“I want to be ready,” you replied, pointedly avoiding his burning stare. You thought back to Helaena’s wedding, when he hadn’t taken his gaze off of you the entire night.

“What are you readying yourself for?”

Squaring your jaw and straightening your posture, you quietly told the one-eyed prince, “Life is unfair, Aemond. I am merely preparing to balance the scales.”

Before he could think of a response to your cryptic words, a rivulet of electrifying pain struck his empty eye socket behind the patch, ricocheting into waves throughout the rest of his skull. Aemond let out a soft cry as he doubled over in agony, hands flying to his face. It reminded you eerily of when Luke had first slashed the eye out, a memory that haunted your nightmares far more often than it should have.

Panicked, you shuffled closer to him, one of your hands grazing his back, unsure of what to do.

“Aemond! Are you alright? Should I summon the maester?” you hurriedly queried, feet already moving away, getting ready to dash off as you waited for his answer.

“No,” he gritted out through the pain, glancing up at you with his features twisted with misery. It was humiliating—Aemond felt ashamed of himself for showing his pain, for revealing a crack through his usually stoic demeanor. He felt ugly. He felt vile. He felt weak.

A restless protest was on the tip of your tongue. “My Prince, you’re clearly hurting, please—”

“No!” he repeated himself, a sharp edge of finality to his tone. “They’ll just give me more milk of the poppy—!”

Again, he doubled over, a muted roar rumbling within his chest. Not knowing what else to do, you clutched his shoulders, eyes frantically searching his single one.

After a second, Aemond seemed to snap back into his senses, flinching from your touch and just about ripping himself away from you. Mortification flooded his quickly-paling features. He turned on his heel and ran off without another word.

Plumes of dust flew up from the covers of the heavy book when you set it down on a table. Grimacing and waving a hand in front of your face, you flipped the tome open. It was an old, lengthy volume on medicinal alchemy—a genre that you seldom read and knew little to nothing about.

But for Aemond, you supposed you’d give it a shot.

The chapter you began to read was on remedies for severe wounds, such as fallen limbs or shattered bones. You were learning far too much about the grotesque nature of the human body than you had initially bargained for. Illustrations of cauterizations, sanitizations, and all sorts of diagrams of nude men filled the large pages. For your young eyes, you couldn’t quite comprehend most of what you were seeing.

However, once you fell upon the optics chapter, you perked up, reading through the small text word by word. You were hoping that by reading more about problems with the eye, you’d be able to help Aemond out with his pain in some way. If there even was a way.

And as you read on, you found a small section on the near-magical works of a plant native to Dorne—a Sabar root. It was said to be all-curing and was often used to heal outer wounds. The footnote even detailed historical accounts of the root’s juices restoring the vision of those born blind. Though you doubted that to be true, you couldn’t help but hold onto the hope that it could help Aemond with the pain, even just a little bit.

You scampered out of the library with the thick book clutched to your chest, hurrying down the Red Keep’s stairs, scrambling towards the rookery, where they kept the messenger ravens. Beneath the rookery was where the Grand Maester resided.

You were but a small thing compared to the large wooden slab of a door. Knocking thrice, the door creaked open not two seconds later, revealing Maester Mellos, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Lady Strong…? What are you doing here? The hour is late, child, you should be in bed!” he scolded, fixing you with a narrowed gaze.

You shoved the book up into his face, a pleading expression on your face. “Maester Mellos, I have found something that might help Aemond’s condition!”

“Condition…?” he began, looking startled. It was late at night, and a ten year old was at his doorstep proposing a remedy to an issue he hadn’t even known existed. To his knowledge, Prince Aemond was healing just fine and had little to no complications since he had taken the stitches out. “Forgive me, my Lady, but I am rather busy at the moment and would really prefer to have this conversation with you when the sun rises. Sleep well, Lady Strong.”

Before you could get another word in, the large door croaked shut in your face, and you were left staring at the dark wood. With a dejected huff, you turned and marched straight back into the Keep. Up the stairs you climbed, arms growing weary with how long you’d been lugging around the heavy tome.

You came to a stop in front of Aemond’s chambers, right beside Princess Helaena’s old bedroom from before she was married to Aegon. A room you used to frequent to visit your dear friend, which resulted in several awkward, and silent passes with the Prince.

It didn’t occur to you just how improper this was—knocking on the door of the Prince in the dead of night when you should’ve been in your own chambers, fast asleep. But this was important, and you needed to let Aemond know since the Maester wouldn’t listen to a word you said.

The door barely opened, revealing only a small sliver of space, where Aemond peered through to check who it was. In his hand was a dagger he kept beneath his pillow in case of emergencies. His grip slackened when he saw you behind the door, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes fiery with determination. He opened the door slightly wider, both curious and confused as to what you were doing in front of his chambers at such a late time.

“Prince Aemond,” you breathlessly said. His gaze drew down to the large book you held, nearly larger than your small, ten-year-old form. “I found something that might help your pain. It’s a plant root that only grows in Dorne, you see, but I’m sure they can have some imported to King’s Landing upon your request. I believe it can be used to relieve you of your suffering.”

Shock dawned upon his features. You’d done all this research… for him? For an issue that he never spoke of to anyone? Even after he had rudely scampered away from you with his tail between his legs like a wounded hound?

He struggled to find the right words. Should he thank you? Tell you he was sorry?

Instead, Aemond found himself saying, “Why are you doing this?”

A moment of silence. Outside the Keep, the winds howled with the threat of a coming storm.

“I told you,” you whispered to the Prince, features softening. “I’m balancing the scales.”

The months passed by in a blur. You corresponded with Jace and Luke in the form of letters via raven quite often, always visiting the rookery with a bright smile and an excited bounce to your step at the prospect of learning about the boys’ stay at Dragonstone. It seemed that Jacaerys was struggling with learning Valyrian, and little Luke was growing like a beanstalk. Princess Rhaenyra had already birthed two new sons on Dragonstone with her uncle-husband, Daemon—respectively named Aegon the Younger and Viserys, after the King. In his writings, Luke took care to detail that both babes had silver hair and purple eyes, traits that he and his elder brother both lacked. It was his way of saying that he knew you were his kin—his true blood.

They always signed off with a promise of visiting soon.

Soon truly couldn’t come soon enough.

Your training continued as normal, and more often than not, Aemond would be there with you, offering tips and gentle words of advice. He was not strict in the way that Criston Cole was, leaving you the choice of whether to listen or not, taking no offense if you decided to forgo his teachings. The two of you sparsely spoke outside of that, but you sometimes caught his eye during mealtimes, in which you’d offer him a small, grateful smile. He didn’t return them, but would dip his head in acknowledgement instead.

Helaena’s belly grew large—larger than most pregnancies—and the maesters had concluded that she was bearing twins. It was shocking news, one that elated Alicent and Helaena to no end. This only sent you into a spiral of worry, however, knowing that births were but the gods’ dangerous gambles. Having twins only doubled the risk of complications during the labor.

Thankfully, when the time came around for Helaena to give birth, everything had gone smoothly with very few bumps in the road. She had begged you to stay by her side the entire time, and you were more than happy to comply. It filled you with a sense of pride that she asked you to be there with her over her own Queen mother.

The first twin to come out was a screaming boy with tufts of silvery hair and large purple eyes. He was the spitting image of his father, and you could only pray that he wouldn’t turn out like him in the future. More interestingly, however, the little boy had six toes on each foot and six fingers on his left hand. The midwives had shrieked in partial-surprise, partial-disgust upon their discovery, but you had swept the boy into your awaiting arms, gently rocking him up and down with a wide grin.

The second twin, a girl, came out mute. Your heart lurched in your chest—you had come out silent when you were a babe, as well. She was noticeably much smaller, and bore the same hair and eye color as her twin. Her features, however, matched that of Helaena’s, to your delight. The small girl was eased into Helaena’s arms, seeming perfectly healthy, other than the fact that she was strangely quiet.

“You did so well, Helaena,” you told her, kneeling down by the birthing bed to show her her son. Your dear friend grinned tiredly, murmuring a quiet hello to her eldest child. “They’re beautiful.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, their names were. You could already feel a protective love blossom inside of you, swearing to guard them with every fiber of your being. It occurred to you that this was what Harwin must’ve felt when you were born, though you were far younger than he had been.

The thought only had you clutching the wailing babe closer to your chest.

Helaena’s children grew at an exponential rate. The twins had quickly become your favorite part of the day—it was a rare sight to see you without one of the children clinging to your legs, or you without the Princess by your side.

Little Jaehaerys was loud and boisterous, being the first to crawl, to speak, and to run. He was a strong little boy, but often cried when not given what he wanted. His sister, on the other hand, was always quiet and much less active. She often took to staring aimlessly at random points of the chambers instead of playing with her brother, purple eyes scarcely blinking. You loved both of them despite their drastically different personalities.

You were well into your eighteenth year when the babes had their eighth nameday. During the later half of those eight years, Helaena had fallen pregnant again, and had a third child—a son named Maelor. He was a large baby, with a head of pale white hair and eyes a darker shade of mauve than his older siblings.

“Jaehaerys, don’t be so rough with your brother!” you lightly scolded when the boy began yanking at his baby brother’s cheeks with no restrain. A laugh slipped past your lips as you held Maelor out of his reach, which made Jaehaerys whine, as if you had taken away his most favorite playtoy. Helaena, sitting on the chaise on the other side of the room, glanced away from her embroidery to smile at her children, before returning her gaze back down to the needle and thread. Jaehaera sat beside her mother, staring into the fire with her lips parted.

Both you and Jaehaerys began playing a game of chase, where he was a fierce and mighty dragon whilst you enacted the role of a helpless knight. You had set down Maelor into his crib, where he suckled on a milk-soaked cloth.

The little boy roared, his face scrunching up with the action, before sprinting after you with outstretched hands. You were fast on your feet as you scampered away from him, but decided to slow down and let the little boy catch up to you, knowing he’d burst into tears if the game had gone on for too long without him winning. You shrieked in surprise when he grabbed at the ends of your tunic, yanking hard and yelling, “Dracarys, dracarys! I got you!”

“Indeed, you have,” you told the little boy, bending down to sweep him up into your arms with a grin.

From afar, Aemond lurked in the shadows, watching you play with his sister’s children. He watched the way you smiled with them, the way you laughed, the way you pressed chaste kisses into their chubby cheeks. It surprised him to find an inkling of jealousy for his nephews—how they had so freely enraptured your affections, whilst he was offered very little of them. No bother—all things came with due time. Besides, Aemond was not yet ready to admit his growing feelings with you.

The two of you had become considerably close over the past few years. You often frequented the library with him, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence as you read together. You trained together, dined together, and took walks together. Hardly a day ever passed by without you spending some time with the young prince.

Aemond would scarcely speak when he was with you, preferring to listen to you instead. The times he did speak, it was quiet and thoughtful and rife with endearment. It was no secret that Aemond was growing quite fond of the youngest Strong.

A tourney was held in honor of the twins’ eighth nameday.

You sat beside Helaena in the high platforms on the elongated arena, hands twisting in your lap. Tourneys usually bored you to no end—watching men hurt themselves over little else than theatrical show and bragging rights was not something you were very keen on. It felt like a waste of time to you—you’d much rather be reading, or writing to Luke and Jace, or playing with the twins. To your other side was Prince Aemond, looking equally disinterested in the event. You couldn’t help but notice his long fingers tapping impatiently against his knee, as if he were itching to leave. His older brother Aegon was nowhere to be seen, most likely somewhere in the bowels of the Street of Silk.

Round after round of jousting went by, until Harley Piper—a young, handsome lord with soft ginger curls and bright green eyes and freckled, sun-kissed skin, urged his horse closer to the platform, gaze trained on you. Draped over his armor were the colors of House Piper—gentle pink and silken white against a striking shade of blue.

“Might I be honored with your favor, my lady?” he asked, voice sweet and mellifluous.

At first, you’d thought that he had been speaking to Princess Helaena, finding it rather odd for him to ask a married woman for her favor. But when she made no move to hand him a favor, it dawned on you that he was asking you. Flustered, having never really received any sort of romantic attention before, you rose to your feet and dropped a crown of woven flowers down his long jousting lance.

You noted with muted curiosity that Aemond’s tapping fingers had curled into a tight fist.

Off Harley Piper went with your favor swaying by the lance’s handle, the metal grating of his helmet pulled down over his grinning features. You found yourself holding your breath as his joust began against another knight you couldn’t care to know the name of, eyes intently following his movements.

The crowd burst into raucous applause when the nameless knight easily unseated the young man—Harley flew off his horse with a grunt. They proceeded into hand-to-hand combat, where the larger knight leapt off his horse, grabbed a mace and swung it straight at Harley. A gasp lodged in your throat when the young man was struck cleanly in the back with a sickening thud, and he crumpled to the ground.

“I yield!” relented Harley, raising a hand.

From beside you, a ghost of a leering smile appeared on Aemond’s lips.

It disappeared when Harley struggled back onto his feet, clapping his opponent on the shoulder good-naturedly, and began limping back to your direction. You subconsciously straightened your spine, which made Helaena hide a knowing grin behind her hand.

“I’ve dishonored you, my lady,” winced the man with a head of flames. “A beauty such as yours deserves much better than I.”

“Nonsense, Lord Piper,” you replied, finding his humility rather endearing. “You are more than enough.”

Aemond’s shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched at your words. You didn’t spare him a glance.

Harley Piper beamed, as bright as the sun, bowing his head before you. “I shall take my leave, Lady Strong. Perhaps I’ll see you at supper?”

Before you could reply, Aemond coldly spat out, “I’m afraid Lady Strong will be dining with me tonight, Lord Piper. Take your leave.”

Shocked at his sudden hostility, you swung an incredulous, confused glare at the prince. Harley, equally bewildered, glanced between the two of you with narrowed lids, before bowing his head and striding away.

“Aemond, what the seven hells was that about?” you hissed, hand reaching out to grasp his forearm. His one eye darted between your touch and your furious expression—how you managed to become even more beautiful whilst angry was beyond him. “I liked him.”

The prince scoffed. “You have poor taste.”

“I thought he was sweet!”

“He lost his joust in a matter of minutes.”

“Losing a joust is nothing but a temporary blemish to one’s ego. Perhaps you could do with losing something, for a change,” you retorted, nose wrinkling at him.

The purple of his eye seemed to darken. “Mind your tongue, Strong,” he murmured, voice low. It didn’t slip your notice when he briefly glanced at your lips, parted and raw-bitten.

“Or what?” you shot back, leaning closer to him until your nose was but a hair’s breadth from his. “Will you take it from me? Will you take my tongue, My Prince?”

Before he could reply, Helaena cleared her throat, announcing that she would like to retire to her chambers. The noise was starting to get overwhelming for her. You practically ripped yourself out of your chair, eager to put some well-needed distance between yourself and the one-eyed prince. The skin on your cheeks and neck burned with heat—whether it was from Harley’s unadulterated attention, or from Aemond’s prickly behavior, you couldn’t quite tell.

His gaze burned into the back of your head as you left the arena to return into the Red Keep.

Larys Strong’s cane knocked against the uneven stone floor with each lurching step he took. The Master of Whisperers hobbled up to the Queen’s side, where she stood in front of the Weirwood tree, reminiscing her now long-ago childhood with Rhaenyra.

Hearing the echoing stamps of his cane, Alicent dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Lord Strong. Any word of Rhaenyra?”

There was an eerie smile to Larys’ face that didn’t quite reach his dark irises. “My sources tell me she has fallen pregnant again. Her third child with Daemon.”

A scowl flitted across Alicent’s wary features. “Certainly hasn’t wasted any time, I see.”

Larys spared her no response, merely humming thoughtfully.

The Queen gave him a sidelong glance, hastily deciding to change the subject. “Word has it your sister has taken an interest in the young Piper boy during a tourney.”

This time, it was Larys’ turn to frown. “Y/N is young and impressionable. She will take a liking to anyone who spares her an inkling of attention.”

Alicent tilted her head. “My children are rather fond of her—for reasons unbeknownst to me.”

“Hm. Indeed.” The Queen’s words seemed to get the cogs in Larys’ brain churning. “I am the Lord of Harrenhal—and I will sire no children. Harrenhal will go to Y/N once I have passed. Marriages are of political currency, these days, Your Grace.”

Eyebrows cinched, Alicent turned to fully face the man. “What is it you are speaking of, Larys?”

“I am suggesting… a marriage of alliance. Between my young sister and your second son, Aemond. They are already quite fond of each other, as you have mentioned before. This will do good for not only them, but the both of us and our houses, as well. Once I pass, Harrenhal will go to Y/N and Aemond and any of their children they have together. If a civil war breaks out… Harrenhal would be sworn to Aemond—and thereby you, as well, Your Grace. Not Rhaenyra.”

Shock colored the Queen’s expression. For years, she had been trying to figure out the entire picture behind Larys Strong, and his true intentions. He hated Rhaenyra so much for dishonoring his house that he had murdered his own family for it to gain inheritance of Harrenhal. And now he was willing to bargain away his young sister, practically Rhaenyra’s daughter, to Alicent’s son.

A sick feeling twisted within Alicent’s gut.

She considered the thought of Aemond marrying you. The two of you were together more often than not, anyway, and you were her daughter’s best and only friend. Not only that, but the political advantage of having Harrenhal truly backed to her family’s side was something she just couldn’t pass up, no matter how vile it made her feel.

“That is a splendid proposal, Lord Strong. I shall inform the King and my son with haste,” she told him, lips pursed.

A twisted grin etched into the corner of his mouth. “And I will break the wonderful news to my sweet sister. Good night, My Queen. I shall see you on the morrow.”

Alicent watched as Larys began limping away. It was only until his figure disappeared into the Keep’s walls that she buried her tired face into her hands.

When you were younger, Larys was but a scarce figure in your life. You practically only knew of him by word of mouth—he was only your family in blood and name—he certainly didn’t feel like your brother. Not in the same way that Harwin did, at least.

As you grew older, however, you began to notice Larys always lurking in the shadows, watching your every move like a vulture would a rotting carcass. Your second brother bore no love for you, that was glaringly obvious. Instead, he saw you as a pawn in his little game of thrones—a piece of the board he owned and was free to move around as he wished.

The Clubfoot leaned his weight on his cane as he studied you reshelving around half a dozen books you had borrowed from the library.

“Sweet sister,” he crooned, roping your attention away from the fraying spines of the tomes.

A disgusted shiver spidered down your form.

“What is it, Larys?” you sighed, already wanting the conversation to be over and done with. Later that night, you had planned to take the twins stargazing from the Keep's highest tower with Helaena, and you were hoping to squeeze in a quick bath before doing so. “I’m busy.”

“As you often are,” your older brother glibly murmured. “Forgive me for being so brazen… I couldn’t help but notice how close you and the young Prince Aemond have become.”

You blinked, the sudden mention of Aemond taking you by surprise. A pregnant silence fell over the both of you, heavy and tense. You were stiff as you waited for him to continue, but Larys was as relaxed as ever, a coy grin playing at the corner of his lips.

“You are ten-and-eight years old. Prince Aemond is twenty. Both of you have been of age to marry for quite some time. I have arranged a betrothal for you, Y/N.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, taking half a step back. “Larys… what did you do?”

The shelves seemed too close together, and you found the air within your throat thinning away. You fixed your brother with an incredulous glare, heated with the fire of a thousand summers.

“The Queen has agreed to this—you will be wed to Aemond Targaryen. The Strong bloodline will continue on through you and the Prince.”

“No…” you whispered, a sharp, betrayed edge to your tone. “How dare you? How dare you do this to me?”

The calm, nonchalant expression on your brother’s features remained unchanged. “I am helping you, dear sister. You are fond of Aemond—you cannot deny this, for it would be a plain lie. He is a prince—this is the best sort of marriage you can possibly get.”

“I am no sister of yours,” you spat, lurching forward to shove him back, caught up in a fit of rage. All you could see was red. Larys stumbled into a bookshelf, yet still appeared unfazed. “You took away my choice to marry whomever I wished. My freedom. When I asked—no, I begged—to return to Harrenhal to mourn Harwin and father, you simply brushed me to the side as if I were dirt on your shoe! All these years, and you’ve hardly acknowledged me as a person, much less your family! And now you… you use me for your political gain—to appease the Queen you are so desperate for, to further drive me away from Rhaenyra… you are vile, Larys. You are everything Harwin is not. Your very existence is a filthy stain on the memory of our family… of House Strong!”

The space between the two of you crackled as you stared at him, chest rising and falling in staggered motions from your anger-fueled tirade.

“Aemond will treat you well,” was all Larys said, completely disregarding your harsh words with not a care in the world. “The Queen has informed him of the arrangement… along with the King. There is no going back now, sister-mine.”

Rage clawed through your chest, scratching down your ribs and twisting within your lungs. With not another word, you stormed past him, your shoulder roughly knocking into his on your way out of the library.

You had been so angry that night, you completely forgot about your promise to Helaena and the twins, and they were left waiting in the towers for you for hours on end. Little Jaehaerys didn’t mind, occupying his time by chasing a moth and tripping over the edges of carpets, with his little sister staring at him with her large, unblinking gaze.

The sky was starless that night.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

You spun around the hay-sewn dummy, driving your sword into its motionless form over and over again in rapid succession, until the dried wheat began to cave in beneath the force of your hits. The poor dummy was taking the brunt of your frustrations—with Larys, with the arranged marriage, with Aemond. Grunts of exertion rumbled from your lungs and cold beads of sweat dotted your hairline.

Sure, it could be worse, you had initially thought, trying your best to see the silver linings. But the more you thought about it—the idea of being tied down against your will to a Prince, almost permanently anchoring you to your wretched brother’s side…

That was no future for you. You deserved better than that.

Just as you lifted your sword to strike the dummy again, you could feel a familiar, infuriating stare burn into your skin. With precise movements, you pivoted on your heel and swung your sword around, slanting the sharp blade right up against Aemond’s throat. The cold metal kissed his skin, but didn’t press deep enough to draw blood. It was a threat of sorts. You’d been training for more than a decade of your life by now—and you were more than capable of knocking him onto his arse, just as you had all those years ago during your first spar with him.

The silver-haired prince cocked his head, single purple eye blazing with an unreadable intensity you couldn’t exactly place. Ever so slow, he raised both hands.

A beat of silence. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.

You lowered your sword.

“Go away, Aemond,” you spat, tone heavy with betrayal.

Sensing this, he stayed rooted to his spot. “It is not I who arranged the marriage,” he whispered, in an almost conciliating manner. It hadn’t yet occurred to you that Aemond might’ve been just as upset as you were—after all, the choice had been taken away from him, as well.

You spared him no response, turning your back to him and raising your sword to stab the dummy once more.

His next words made you freeze. “I know not why you are so upset about this. Am I that detestable, Lady Strong? Or is it because you’ve already fallen in love with that oaf from House Piper? You do know that their sigil is one of a naked maiden, do you not? It is no wonder he lost his tourney so quickly.”

With a choked yell, you rounded to face him again, lifting your sword and bringing it down with staggering speed. Aemond, however, had anticipated this, easily rolling to the side and grabbing a discarded sword from the yard’s ground, parrying away with ease. Unrelenting, you pulled back to land another blow on him. His sword met yours halfway, the blades singing against one another. You gritted your teeth, practically snarling at your betrothed.

The hostility was quick to wane away the longer you stared at him. He was your friend—the boy you had grown so fond of over the course of the last half a decade. Your vision began to blur with unshed tears as you started to physically shake. A hot droplet meandered down your cheek. You let the sword fall limp in your grasp.

Furious with yourself and embarrassed beyond relief, you swiped away the tears with the back of your palm, lifting your gaze to meet Aemond’s.

Something had changed within his features. It had softened considerably, pale and glowing beneath the moonlight. His lips were parted, as if deliberating between words and action.

He chose action.

With no warning, Prince Aemond surged forward, sword clattering to his feet as his hands came forth to cradle your face within his palms. His fingers were cold against the sweltering skin of your face, but neither of you cared. His nose bumped against yours, foreheads knocking into one another. Your eyes locked with his, intense and tumultuous and molten with yearning. His lips were but a hair’s breadth from yours—tantalizingly close.

When you made no move to pull away, he kissed you.

It was a desperate embrace, needy and clawing and furious. It made your heart lurch within your chest, your breath crystallized to the sides of your throat, your eyes wrenching shut. Aemond stepped even closer, chest pressed up against yours, his knee slotting between your legs in a way that made your neck flush with heat. The grip he had on your face tightened, as if he were ensuring that you were real.

This was real.

You just about melted into his touch, one of your hands lifting to hold onto his bicep, the other still clutching onto your sword, not daring to let go.

It was only when his lips left yours for a second of air, did your eyes snap open, and the trance you had so easily fallen into began to thin away.

You placed both palms on his chest and shoved the prince away, breathing heavily and eyes wild. Frustrated and so very conflicted about how you felt for him, you wiped the back of your mouth with your hand and shot him an offended look, before storming away angrily.

The sword clattered to the ground with your departure. Aemond found himself staring at his own warped reflection within the blade. He loathed what stared back at him—a taunting of his own tarnished image, and wrenched his gaze away.

He would talk to you on the morrow, he decided. For now, he would let you go, knowing full and well that he would not be able to find you even if he tried.

After all, a dragon cannot hide the same way a butterfly can.

Aemond didn’t talk to you the next day, or the day after that. The two of you didn’t speak to one another for weeks on end. You were quite good at hiding from him, always turning the corner and hurrying away when you could feel his attentive stare begin to blaze into you, or relocating your training to the darkest nooks and crannies of the Keep just so he wouldn’t be able to find you. Even Helaena and her three lovely children you adored so much had barely seen you as of late, because you knew that being around her would make it easier for Aemond to come and speak to you.

You hadn’t meant to avoid him for this long, you really hadn’t. By now, you’d expected the two of you to talk things out, clear the air between you, and return back to how the way things were before. But the more you waited, the more conflicted you became about the kiss and your own feelings for him, thus prolonging your inevitable confrontation with the Prince.

The two of you had keenly noticed that the longer this game of silence had drawn out, the less it became one of true avoidance, and the more it grew to be like a round of cat-and-mouse. Sometimes, you’d even find yourself waiting in places you knew the prince would pass by, only to scurry away just as soon as he came. Aemond himself was enjoying watching you dance away from his grasp, just as much as he was frustrated with it. He’d get you eventually, he oft told himself. You’d come around.

Alicent had pushed back anything related to their wedding the sicker King Viserys grew—wanting to prioritize her husband’s health first and foremost above all else. It was yet another example of Aemond being pushed to the side in favor of another.

Around you, however, he never felt second. Sure, you also loved Helaena and her children, but he did not feel as if they were competition for your affections. It was why he enjoyed drawing out this game of chase with you so much—having your attention constantly devoted entirely to him made his pride swell and a fire kindle within his lower abdomen. He wanted you more than ever before.

It was why the news of his nephews and his half-sister returning to King’s Landing to rebuttal the challenge to the heir of Driftmark soured his mood so badly.

Upon their arrival, your game of chase had come to an end—effectively stealing away any and all of your addictive attention. He saw you far more often than before, but you hardly ever paid any mind to him, instead focusing on the plain-featured boys.

It’d been nearly a decade since you last saw them.

You were the only one to greet them when they arrived at King's Landing. It was a rather sad affair, with no one to welcome Rhaenyra and her sons but a young Strong—practically a nobody in a den of dragons. It was an insult on Alicent’s part—as if she were indirectly saying she had more important matters to attend to than Rhaenyra.

You didn’t quite care for their little rivalry—all you really wanted was to see your nephews.

The boys had grown so big. It startled you to see that Jace was practically a man grown now, with a sharp face and eyes exactly the same as your late older brother, brown hair straight and neatly groomed. Luke, on the other hand, had softer features like that of Rhaenyra, but bore his true father’s nose and mouth, with a head of dark, messy curls.

You ran forward to greet them, excitedly shouting their names with a permanent smile etched over your lips. Little Luke—you made a mental note not to call him that anymore, seeing as he was no longer little—was the first to embrace you, yelling your name and barreling forward to squeeze you into a hug so tight that all the air was pushed from your lungs. Jace was gentler with his approach, but you gripped onto him tightly all the same, pressing kisses to both of your nephew’s foreheads. Then, you kneeled down and took little Joffrey’s hand within yours, kissing his palm, and his chubby little cheeks. The little boy looked mildly confused as to who you were, since they’d left for Dragonstone when he was only but a tiny little baby. You stood back up to face the three of them.

“My, how you’ve grown,” you told the boys, patting Jace and Luke’s cheeks affectionately. “Feels like just yesterday we were little children together. I haven’t seen you since…”

Since Aemond lost his eye.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” commented Luke, a wide smile to his face. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N. We’ve missed you dearly on Dragonstone. Exchanging letters just isn’t the same.”

“It really isn’t,” you hummed in agreement. “But you’re here now—and I couldn’t be more happy.”

It was then that Rhaenyra and Daemon joined you, each holding a white-haired babe in their arms. They must’ve been Aegon and Viserys. Lips parting, you dipped your head in greeting, a bright, watery smile painting your complexion golden.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you said.

“Oh, sweet girl,” she murmured, shaking her head and using her free hand to rope you into an embrace. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to watch you flourish into one.” Tears welled up in your eyes when she leaned forward and whispered into your ear, “Your brother Harwin would be so very proud of you.”

Your breath caught within your throat. “Thank you,” you told her, voice cracking with emotion. The purple of her eyes gleamed with gentle affection. You glanced, down eyes widening upon seeing her swollen belly. “Congratulations, Your Grace. Let’s hope the next one is a girl. You’ve had enough sons as it is.”

Your words made Rhaenyra huff out an amused laugh. “Yes, a daughter would be lovely. Though, you’ve filled that position for long enough, I would be happy with yet another son.”

A bright beam pulled your lips impossibly wider. After a few more minutes of exchanging pleasantries and catching up, you said hello to little Aegon and Viserys, before urging them into the Keep, not wanting to keep them waiting after such a long journey. Luke had talked your ear off about how he had puked thrice over the side of the ship from his relentless seasickness.

The entire time, you pointedly avoided making any mention of your betrothal to Aemond, wanting to remain in blissful ignorance for just a bit longer.

The Red Keep was almost unrecognizable to the young boys. As the years passed without Rhaenyra there to watch over the kingdom in Viserys’ stead, the Targaryen heraldry was taken down, slowly replaced by symbols of the Seven in the form of erected stone statues and carvings of seven-pointed stars. The change had been so gradual that you’d barely noticed, but to Jace and Luke, it was a shock to see their home completely different to how it used to be.

You took them on a guide throughout the expansive castle, exchanging stories of their times throughout the years. They asked you how you’ve fared here, and you hesitated to tell them about everything going on with Larys, with Harley Piper, with… with Aemond…

Instead, you chirped on about Helaena and her children, and how they were always the brightest part of your day.

“Have you still been training on your own?” Jacaerys asked just as you rounded the corner to lead them to the training yard.

You paused, thinking back to all the late nights you spent clashing swords with Aemond.

“Yes,” you replied cautiously. “My brother Harwin would’ve wanted me to keep honing my skills, even after he’s passed.”

A grim look passed over the two boys’ faces.

Once they began descending the stone stairwell to the yard, Luke’s nose wrinkled in disdain. The court was full of training men, a cacophony of steel against steel, of thuds against dummies, and exerted grunts all echoing across the expansive grounds.

“It’s much smaller than I remember,” said Luke.

You spared the younger Velaryon a sweet smile. “Perhaps that’s only because you’ve grown much larger since last you were here.”

“It looks exactly the same to me,” Jace said, bounding down the last few steps to hurry to the rack of weapons. “Come on!”

Though Jace was willfully oblivious to the stares of the guards and the handmaids and all the rest that were in the yard, keeping his head held up high, Luke was aware of everybody’s eyes on him. Glaring, judging, and piercing every which way. He shifted uncomfortably beside you.

Jacaerys patted one of the large dents in a while, a wide grin to his handsome features. “See? I told you this would still be here! And you thought you could swing Criston’s morningstar. You almost took your own head off!”

Luke gave him a half-hearted grin, but it was quick to melt away when he whispered beneath his breath, “Everyone’s staring at us.”

The older brother pulled a sword from the rack and playfully lowered down into an attack position, Lucerys’ words largely going ignored.

“Of course they’re staring,” you stated matter-of-factly. “You are the Princess’ sons.”

Luke shook his head, dark curls flying about his forehead. “That is not why they’re staring, and you know it. No one would question me being heir to Driftmark if… if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong.”

Releasing a deep sigh, Jacaerys hung his head. “It doesn’t matter what they think, little brother,” he asserted.

You watched as Luke turned to you, as if silently asking you to back him. “Oh, Luke,” you murmured, unsure of what to say. “As I said before, you are Rhaenyra’s son, first and foremost—”

Before you could finish your sentence, a crowd from across the yard burst into raucous applause. Curious, Jace grabbed your hand, dragging you along to see what was going on.

It was Aemond—sparring against Criston.

Your heart sunk into your stomach. You hadn’t prepared yourself nearly enough to face him just yet.

At the sight of their uncle, Luke and Jace visibly tensed beside you.

He was beautiful—spinning around with ease and grace. Criston swung his morningstar at the prince, only for Aemond to duck, blocking the heavy weapon with a wooden shield. It splintered beneath the force, and he shirked it away to the side. Aemond used his speed to his advantage, dancing away from each of Criston’s swings, tactfully tiring him out. Seeing his opportunity when Criston’s arm dropped for but a millisecond, Aemond skidded around the ball-and-chain, pointing the tip of his sword right at his mentor’s throat.

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slowly slipped from your lungs just as the audience began clapping again.

“Well done, my Prince,” said Criston, setting down his weapon to yield. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye blazed as he turned his head away from Cole to face you. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he murmured, taking great pleasure in the way you physically stepped back. “Lady Strong, my sweet betrothed… have you come to train?”

Heat snaked up the skin of your neck and seeped into your cheeks at his words. My sweet betrothed. Jace and Luke both sent you deeply puzzled, almost affronted looks.

“Aemond, no, I—” you began, but he strode forward in no more than three steps, grabbing your forearm and pulling you to the center of the circle, much to Jace and Luke’s dismay.

The Prince paid no mind to your protests. “Criston. Give her a sword.”

The knight, none too fond of you ever since the first incident when you were only a child, thrusted a dull blade into your arms.

With your jaw set, you huffed out a curse beneath your breath, and stabilized yourself into a defensive position. If a fight was what Aemond wanted, then a fight was what he was going to get.

He struck first, darting forward to arc his sword into your side. You took half a step back and parried, guiding his arm up over your head and ducking beneath his swing. Using this to your advantage, you kicked at the back of his knee, sending him buckling down to the ground. A growl rumbled within his chest. Aemond was quick to react, twisting around to sweep his sword between your legs, knocking you back as well.

Winded and caught off guard, you desperately parried away his continuous strikes, the tip of his sword getting closer and closer and closer to your face. You scrambled to get back up on your feet, but Aemond was unrelenting, pressing on with no restraint. Aemond was practically on top of you at this point, his knee pressing nearly painfully into your thigh.

“Yield,” he hissed, breath hot against your ear.

You glared up at him. Briefly, you allowed your eyes to slip past Aemond, to the two young boys behind him, worryingly watching you.

Humiliated, you huffed out a shaking breath, wishing to just end this here and now. “I yield.”

The crowd began clapping for Aemond again, though, this time much more hesitant and sparse. Scandalous murmurs rippled through the audience. From the side, Criston smirked at your defeat.

Satisfied, Aemond stepped back, offering you his hand. You let him help you up, dusting your trousers off with a huff.

He briefly let go of your hand to wind his arm about your waist, tugging you closer. An internal part of you screamed in embarrassment, not wanting him to behave in such a way when Jace and Luke were right there—watching the two of you with bewilderment. He smelled of smoke and steel and leather, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to push away. “You are skilled, Lady Strong—but your arrogance betrays you.”

“Arrogance?” you whispered back, eyes roaming over his expressionless features, your brows knitting together. “I let you win. Release me, Aemond. People are watching.”

The prince’s eye momentarily flitted down to your parted lips, then back up to meet your tumultuous gaze. He hummed in thought, before relinquishing his hold on you completely, swiftly turning to Jace and Luke.

“Nephews… have you come to train, as well?” he asked them, straightening himself, practically oozing with intimidation.

Jace’s mouth parted, still stupefied.

Before anyone could utter another word, a guard bellowed out, “Open the gates!”

The large metal gratings groaned as they were pulled open. Velaryon banners filled the training yard—and in the center of all of them, stood Vaemond Velaryon. Corlys’ brother, and, according to him, the rightful heir to Driftmark.

You swallowed down the bile that rose in your throat.

Fear splattered clear as day over Luke’s features. Aemond only grinned at that.

The gardens were much more intimidating in the nighttime. Large statues of the Seven hid behind the rose bushes in a menacing fashion, and the fountain bore a seven-pointed star in the center that looked sharp enough to cut. You never frequented the place after sunset, deliberately taking Helaena and the children out on walks when it was still light out.

Nonetheless, it was one of the only few quiet places in the Keep where you could be sure curious ears wouldn’t be able to hear your whispers over the gushing of the water fountain. Though, you couldn’t be too certain that your brother wasn’t lurking somewhere in the shadows.

Jace and Luke were standing across from you, both of their arms crossed expectedly.

The older of the two seemed disappointed, as if he’d expected better from you. Luke, on the other hand, looked crestfallen, feeling as if you’d betrayed him.

“I’m sorry for not telling the two of you earlier,” you quietly said. “I couldn’t find a way to break the news.”

The silence stretched thin between the three of you.

“I don’t want it,” you said, wringing your hands nervously. “My brother, Larys, and the Queen are forcing this upon me. I had no choice in the matter. Aemond is my friend, as much as I know you two mislike him… he’s my friend. He had no say in the matter, either. I don’t know—perhaps I should just be grateful I’m betrothed to him rather than a pure stranger. He would not hurt me, I’m sure of it.”

Jacaerys’ expression seemed to soften upon your confession. It was no wonder you were so afraid to tell them. You must’ve been so confused and scared. Silent, the taller boy reached out to pull you into a hug, gently patting your back. Tears of relief began to well in your eyes—you’d truly been expecting them to turn their back on you.

“I… I feel as though my control of my own life is slipping right through the cracks between my fingers,” you whispered, voice crumbling with emotion.

You began to softly cry into Jacaerys’ shoulder. Luke joined in the embrace, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

The three of you stood in the eerie garden, each of you equally upset and uncertain for the future to come.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds…” Otto Hightower began, descending an instantaneous hush upon the throng of lords and ladies in front of the Iron Throne, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice in this—and all other matters.”

Otto’s last sentence made bile climb up your throat. Not too long ago, your own father held the position as Hand, and held it in a just, and unbiased manner. You were afraid you couldn’t say the same for Otto Hightower.

You stood a couple steps away from Rhaenyra and her sons, hands tightly clasped behind your back. To the right of the Iron Throne was Alicent and her children—Aegon with rumpled hair as if he had just rolled out of bed, Aemond with his gaze flickering back and forth between his nephew and his betrothed, and Helaena, who was staring at the warbling light of the torches on the wall. All you wanted to do was get this over and done with—the succession of Driftmark was not a subject you cared for, seeing as you strongly believed it should go to Luke. Bastard or not, it mattered little to you—he was Laenor’s son regardless of blood and deserved his own inheritance.

“The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

The man stepped forward, head held high.

“My Queen. My Lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies… House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin—his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

Tongue as sharp as ever, Rhaenyra interjected, “As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No—you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

Looking down at the Princess, Alicent raised her brows. “You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”

From the side, Aegon hid a snicker behind his palm.

Vaemond turned to Rhaenyra. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you—and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” Luke took a small shuffle back when Vaemond rounded his scalding glare on the younger boy. “My Queen, Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood. Not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above it all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor—the Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”

Satisfied, Otto nodded once. “Thank you, Ser Vaemond.”

Smug and confident he had swayed the decision in his favor, Vaemond stepped back to his respective side.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

The white-haired woman took three steps to the center, one hand holding her large, pregnant belly.

“If I am to grace this farce with some sort of answer,” she began, already exhausted of the entire ordeal, “I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very—”

Before she could finish, the doors swung open. Everybody turned their heads back. Your breath caught in your throat.

It was King Viserys.

The last time you’d seen him… was most probably longer than a year ago.

And how the tall and mighty fall from such grace. He was practically rotting away, skin patched and peeling, teeth gnarled and black, figure fragile and bent. The white of his hair fell in but sparse strands from his scalp where the crown sat, lopsided but gleaming nonetheless. A gilded mask was placed on one half of his face, hiding the decaying flesh on right cheek, and the pulsing cavern where his eye used to be. He hobbled forth on his cane, one of his feet dragging along behind him, not unlike your brother Larys, shoulders heavy with his cloak. He was in a great deal of pain—that was made abundantly clear with his wincing and groaning. But he pushed forth nonetheless, determined to voice his support for his daughter, Rhaenyra.

The guard by the door announced his presence: “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Shock fell upon the court at the sight of the King up and out of his chambers, much less walking on his own. It did not slip past you when Vaemond and Otto exchanged concerned looks. You bowed your head as Viserys passed by, biting down on your tongue.

The royal family seemed to have different reactions to the King’s presence. Rhaenyra was stunned into silence, which was quick to meld into one of subtle gratitude. Rhaenys turned her head away at the sight of her brother in such a pained state. Helaena smiled faintly, though you weren’t quite sure what she was smiling for. And Alicent appeared the most conflicted out of all.

“I will sit the throne today,” he told his Hand. Otto looked none too pleased, but dipped his head, stepping away to the side for Viserys to pass.

He began to lose his breath as he climbed up the steps, leaning forth on his cane. The crown slid from his head and clattered onto the stone floor. Prince Daemon—his brother—was the one to pick it up for him, and patiently helped him up the rest of the steps to his seat. He gently placed the crown back on Viserys’ head, before stepping back down to stand beside his wife.

“I must… admit… my confusion,” said Viserys, breathless. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes, is the Princess Rhaenys.”

His older sister lifted her head. “Indeed, Your Grace.” With cautious strides, she made her way forward. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Your lips parted in surprise. The two boys… betrothed? Just two minutes ago they were both barely tall enough to reach for supper in the middle of the dining table, and now they were already going to get married? Though, you supposed you were speaking rather hypocritical, as you had just gotten betrothed not too long ago yourself.

Muted frustration befell Alicent’s expression.

“Well… the matter is settled. Again.” The King blew out a sigh. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

Clear disdain painted itself green across Vaemond’s face.

“You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

Confused, Viserys’ brows drew together. “Allow it?” he echoed. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

Suddenly raising his voice, Vaemond turned and jabbed a finger straight in Luke’s direction. “That is no true Velaryon! And certainly no nephew of mine.”

Desperate to keep the accusations at bay, Rhaenyra pushed Luke behind her. “Go to your chambers, boys. Vaemond, you have said enough!”

Taking great offense to his words, the King said, “Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

The man shook his head. “You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine.”

Gasps rang out across the court. What Vaemond had just said to the King was treason.

Despite this, on Vaemond continued, “My house survived the Doom—and a thousand tribulations more! And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…”

Prince Daemon cocked his head, challenging, “Say it.”

“Her children… are…” said Vaemond. “BASTARDS!”

The audience murmured scandalously. Your brows raised in shock, gaze wildly swinging from Luke to the King.

Vaemond was not yet done, having one final blow to serve. “And she… is… a whore.”

Disgust coiled within your stomach. It made you even angrier to see a smirk toy with the corners of Aemond’s lips.

Viserys angrily limped onto his feet, unsheathing his dagger. “I… will have your tongue for that!”

In a blur of black and red, Daemon swung his sword as quick as a bolt of lightning, cleaving it clean through Vaemond’s head. A sick squelch of flesh and blood and steel rang across the court, quickly blending into the startled shrieks of Lords and Ladies. You had flinched back, hands raising to cover your mouth.

Helaena had gasped the loudest, her hands flying to rest over her ears and hurriedly turning her face away from the grotesque sight. From all the years you had been her dearest friend, you knew blood was one of the few things she could not handle.

Right beside her, Aemond had stepped back, hand defensively falling to his sword. His purple eye was wide and trained onto the body, but quickly flicked up to look at you, as if ensuring that you were alright.

Though you couldn’t see Luke’s expression, you could see the way his shoulders flinched and his feet began to panickedly shuffle away.

Vaemond’s body fell to the ground, dark red blood dripping over the stones and meandering into the cracks and crevices.

Satisfied, Daemon observed the blood begin to graze the bottom of his shoe. “He can keep his tongue,” he commented nonchalantly.

“DISARM HIM!” screamed Otto. Half a dozen guards drew out their swords, pointing it straight at Daemon.

“No need,” said the Prince, cleaning his sword with the bottom of his shirt, uncaring of Vaemond’s blood getting all over him. He sheathed the steel and backed away with a small, victorious grin.

It was then that Viserys collapsed back onto the throne, groaning in pain.

“Call the maesters!” Alicent yelled, rushing up the steps to her husband. “Please, my love, you must take something for the pain!”

“I will not cloud my mind…” said the King. “I must… put things right…”

The King commanded a supper—with all of his family to attend, as this was the first time they were all gathered in the Keep since nearly a decade ago. Seeing as you were now betrothed to his second son, you supposed you were officially considered part of the family now. Though, you had considered yourself one of Rhaenyra’s daughters ever since childhood.

Your handmaidens had washed you in a tub full of flower petals, the warm water heaven to your tense muscles. They scrubbed you with soap that smelled of honey and milk, a sweet scent that pleasantly burrowed beneath your skin.

Afterwards, they laid out a dress for you. It was a beautiful, dark green garment with golden linings, no doubt a gift from Queen Alicent. The dress fit you perfectly, falling over your form like a stream of water over a stony bank. The collar was modest enough, but dipped down just beneath your clavicle bone, where a necklace of gleaming silver pearls rested against your sternum. As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice that the dress looked nearly black in certain lighting.

It was strange to be so dressed up—you weren’t quite fond of skirts and dresses in the first place, finding it much easier and practical to don trousers for everyday use, uncaring of its impropriety. People of the court often joked that House Strong no longer had a Lady, as you were often seen doing traditionally male activities, such as sparring and educating yourself. You paid them no mind—fighting and reading made you no less of a Lady than all the other women in court.

There was a knock to your door just as the handmaidens finished with pinning up your hair. They rushed to swing it open, Princess Helaena stepping in with a mild grin to her lips, though it was not enough to mask the sadness in her face.

“Helaena,” you said, surprised at her sudden visit, grasping her hands within yours. “It’s lovely to see you. It feels as if we’ve hardly spoken as of late.”

The memory of Vaemond’s blood and Helaena’s distraught flashed at the forefront of your mind. If only you had the chance to speak with her afterwards—but Alicent was adamant on sending her daughter straight to her chambers that instant.

“Are you… are you alright?” you gently asked, not wanting to pry. “After all that happened earlier today… I know how much you mislike blood.”

“I’ll be fine,” the Princess wispily replied, carefully sidestepping the subject that made her queasy. “I miss you. The children miss you.”

A lump formed in your throat. “Oh, how are the little terrors? I promise to take them out on a promenade soon.”

“They are well. Jaehaerys never ceases asking about you,” she replied, before allowing her gaze to roam over your attire. “You look wonderful, Y/N. It is surely a rare sight to see you so dressed up.”

A laugh bubbled in your throat. “Well, I’ve certainly never had to go to a supper as important as this one. I’ve hardly ever had a reason to dress up in such a way before. Thank you, though. You’re looking radiant as ever, as well.”

Helaena smiled at you, wide and genuine. It disappeared after a brief moment, and her plum-hued eyes seemed to mist over.

“A storm is on the horizon,” she murmured. “A dance of dragons. They will keep dancing, even once the music has stopped. They care naught for when their feet begin to bleed.”

The Princess’ strange words echoed in your head for the next few hours. What had she meant by that? Before you had the chance to ask her what she was talking about, Helaena had excused herself to go check on the kids before dinnertime, floating out of your room as if she hadn’t just spoken the most mystifying words to you.

Overwhelmed and desperate for fresh air, you made your way back out into the gardens. The sun was just barely beginning to set, spilling soft clementine and dark tangerine hues across the canvas of the sky.

You stood in front of the water fountain, watching the clear water burble over the stone and fall into the pool below.

It was not long until your betrothed came to join you, his hands neatly clasped behind his back.

“Lady Strong,” he greeted with a dip of his head. “You are more beautiful than ever before, which says much as you were already beguiling enough to begin with.”

Firmly, you shook your head. You were still angry at him for humiliating you in front of Jace and Luke earlier that day. “Stop it, Aemond. Do not speak your sweet lies to me. I have no taste for your saccharine words.”

“Tis not a lie, Y/N,” he whispered your name, all soft and heavenly on his tongue. “You are beautiful.”

You blew out a frustrated breath. The two of you stood in a precarious silence for a moment longer.

The muttering of your question shattered the quiet between you. “Are you not upset, Aemond? About the betrothal?”

The Prince hummed, and took a few seconds to consider what you were asking. Finally, he replied, keeping his eye trained on the fountain. “I’m glad it’s you,” he simply said.

Your breath hitched within your throat.

Rotating on his heel, Aemond was now fully facing you, lifting his hands up. Cold fingers grazed over your jaw, before he cradled your face in its entirety, the pads of his thumbs smoothing over your flushed cheekbones. It was not unlike the first time he had kissed you—but there was something softer about this atmosphere.

Acceptance. Affection. Yearning.

His purple iris darkened, the orange light of the setting sun bathing him in a warm glow. Shadows arched over his face, only highlighting his most handsome, sharp features. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his lips, curled with fondness, lax with temptation.

Aemond could see the conflict dance about your visage.

He dipped forward to press a kiss to your forehead, lips grazing against your hairline.

“I shall see you at supper,” he whispered into your skin.

With that, he stepped back, dipping his head respectfully, and left you in the garden, completely alone with only your tumultuous thoughts to accompany you.

Candles were lit everywhere, the flames warbling in the air, melted wax dripping down the sides. The servants were still placing down dozens upon dozens of dishes—ranging from grilled cod, to seared mutton chops, to creamed potatoes, to various platters of fresh fruits and cheeses. Chalices of wine and honeyed cider were passed around, all full to the brim.

You were seated with Helaena to your right, and Aemond to your left, at the end of the table. From across the room, Rhaenyra had flickered her gaze from you to your betrothed. She had only received the news from her sons moments ago, and was still processing the shock of it all.

From the center of the expansive feast, Viserys began to speak. “How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.”

“Prayer before we begin?” asked Alicent, ever the religious figure.

Viserys agreed, nodding his head weakly.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Daemon rolled his eyes in exasperation at the Queen’s last sentence. You clasped your hands together as she prayed, but kept your eyes open. Luke mirrored you, shooting you a look as if to say, “Do you do this every day?”

With small movements you shook your head, and the younger boy could only suppress a smile in response. Aemond kept his head down and his eyes closed as he listened to his mother’s prayers. He’d always been the more devoted out of the two of you.

Once Alicent was done, Viserys said, “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons… Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena. The daughter of my former Hand, Y/N Strong… will marry my second son, Aemond. These marriages will further strengthen the bond between our great houses. A toast to the young princes… and their betrothed.”

Chalices raised, everybody took a sip. You exchanged a look with Aemond, offering him a small smile as you drank from your cup. Tentative, you reached beneath the table to take his hand—a truce of sorts. It was your silent way of telling him that you were willing to move forth with the marriage—that you were glad it was him, as well. Aemond showed little reaction, other than a small twitch of the corner of his lips, nearly reminiscent to that of a grin.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman,” said Aegon to the dark-haired prince, somehow already quite drunk. Jacaerys set his jaw but paid him no mind other than that.

Again, King Viserys spoke, “Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys. The future Lord of the Tides.”

Luke’s betrothed, Rhaena, clinked her cup against his. “You’ll be great,” she told him kindly, eyes gleaming with warmth.

Unrelenting, Aegon bent to the side to lean closer to Jacaerys. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that…”

With a sharp tongue, Baela whispered, “Let it be, cousin.”

Jace scowled. “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, grabbing another cup of wine and knocking it back in no less than a few seconds. “Aemond is well versed in the art of bedding—are you not, brother?” Before giving him a chance to respond, Aegon continued on with his rambling. “I took him to the Streets of Silk when he came of age. Didn’t even see him come out! Must have been enjoying himself. At least Y/N will be in good hands… though I am always willing to show him the ropes lest he forgets how to man the ship.”

The eldest prince’s words made your skin flare with heat. Aemond’s grip grew tighter around his own cup, but he remained silent as ever. You were only grateful that the adults at the other side of the table were too busy chattering amongst themselves to hear the obscenities the children were speaking of.

With great difficulty, Viserys made to stand up. He nearly buckled under his own weight, but a gnarled hand shot out to rest against the table, steadying himself before he could fall forward into a bowl of soup. The mask that was tied to the rotten side of his face gleamed with the warped reflections of the candlelight.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” With trembling fingers, the King began to untie his mask, revealing the decaying flesh in all its glory for everyone to see. His empty eye socket was sunken and dry. “My own face… is no longer a handsome one—if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a King, but your father. Your brother. Your husband. And your grandsire. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer amongst you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.”

Tired, the King settled back down into his seat with the help of his wife. Alicent’s eyes were pained and misted over with unshed tears.

With pursed lips, Rhaenyra suddenly stood up, holding her chalice up high. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

As if wounded, Alicent reared back slightly and blinked away her tears. She refused to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Surprising you, Alicent stood up, holding her goblet in her hand. “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”

The rest of you drank to the toasts, an amicable atmosphere settling over the family.

Always one to ruin the mood, Aegon stood up, making his way over to Baela, pouring himself another glass of wine. He leaned down close to her, murmuring, “I, uhm… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

At his limit, Jacaerys slammed his fists against the table, rising to his feet and glaring at Aegon. The white-haired Prince slunk back to his seat, a salacious grin toying at his mouth. Startled by the sudden noise, Alicent and Rhaenyra looked to Jace, who was now awkwardly standing up.

It surprised you when Aemond let go of your hand to stand up himself, as if challenging Jace, his single eye blazing with an unreadable expression. Your gaze bounced back and forth between the two, unsure of what was going to transpire between them.

Jacaerys pursed his lips, patting Aegon on the shoulder, with a bit more force than necessary. “To Princes Aegon and Aemond, and the Lady Strong. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. To my uncles, as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

Aegon cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the formalities thrust upon him. “To you as well,” he begrudgingly grunted out once his mother shot him a warning glare.

Reluctant, Aemond sat back down, and reached underneath the table to take your hand once again. He sought your touch to console the bitter green wildfire that roared within his chest.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” muttered Helaena as she fidgeted with a wooden carving of a cockroach. Suddenly, the Princess stood up, a dazed glimmer to her expression. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad… mostly, he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.” With a sweet smile, she sank back down into her seat. The rest of the table glanced at each other awkwardly, whilst Aegon just pulled at his face in exasperation.

In an effort to save the atmosphere, you stood up with your chalice in hand. “There have been many toasts this evening,” you murmured, a bit intimidated. It suddenly occurred to you that this was the first time you had the King’s undivided attention. “But I’d like to direct one to Princesses Rhaenyra and Helaena. The former, I owe the deepest of my gratitudes for treating me with kindness throughout my childhood, and taking me in as if I were her own. The latter, sweet Helaena, for being my dearest friend for years, and hopefully for many more to come. As I am to be married to Aemond soon, I look forward to being both of your sister-by-laws.”

Rhaenyra smiled at you kindly, raising her glass to drink to your toast. Helaena did the same, beaming into the rim of her chalice. The Queen, however, was far more reluctant to touch her goblet at your toast—which had pointedly avoided any mention of her.

“Good,” said the King, weakly nodding at you. “Let us have some music. Please, eat, everyone.”

A soft symphony of strings and bells and drums began chiming away, and you contentedly began digging into your food, nearly ravenous after all that waiting.

A few minutes into the feast, Jacaerys bent towards his betrothed, murmuring a polite, “Excuse me.”

He then made his way around Aegon, to Helaena, offering his hand for a dance. Surprised, the Princess took his arm and Jace led her away to the dance floor. You watched with a warm smile gracing your expression, happy that your friends from opposite sides seemed to be mending bridges together.

The table began engaging in amicable chatter—Luke and Rhaena were excitedly speaking about dragons and their eating habits, Rhaenyra and her husband began quietly laughing at how he already managed to splatter crab sauce all over his tunic, and Alicent spoke with her father about the gradual changes in weather.

“You and my brother will make a fine pair,” slurred Aegon, his eyes fixed on you as he lounged back on his chair. “He’s had his gaze set on you ever since childhood.”

“Is that so?” you responded, casting a fond gaze to Aemond, who only shook his head with amusement. “I can’t say I wasn’t the same. After all, how could I take my eyes off the handsome Prince who rode the largest dragon in the world?”

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s face. He was never one to take compliments well—for they were sparsely ever given to him.

Aegon, always one to spoil the mood, quipped, “I heard rumors that red-headed Piper idiot stole your maidenhood.”

Aemond’s head snapped towards his brother. You gritted your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him. “Lord Harley Piper was a friend. There was no romance between us, sexual or otherwise,” you hissed, lowering your voice to a whisper.

“Really? And here I thought my brother was marrying a whore,” snorted Aegon.

Before either you or Aemond could react, Helaena flounced back to the table with a joyful beam, taking your arm. “Come dance with us, Y/N!” she exclaimed, breathless and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Jace stood behind her, grin equally wide and hands clasped behind his back.

You shot a look at Aemond, as if telling him not to lash out at his brother during such an important supper, and stood up to join Helaena and Jace in their dance.

None of you were really that good—you hadn’t danced in years—but it was great fun, nonetheless. You twirled Helaena in your arms until she grew delightfully dizzy, and Jacaerys accidentally trod on your feet thrice, but you only laughed harder each time, cuffing his shoulder affectionately.

Amidst your dance, Alicent called for the guards to take the King away, for he was tired and aching. He departed the room with one last look to his family—all united, together as one.

It was surely a beautiful, rare sight to behold.

One that was destined not to last.

The dance came to an abrupt halt when Aemond suddenly slammed his fists against the table, so hard that the platters of food clattered with the sudden force. The music suddenly stopped, and all the conversations ceased. You turned your head away from your dance partners to see what was going on.

Oh.

In front of Aemond was a roasted pig, still sizzling with oil. And all the way across the table, Luke was not-so-discreetly hiding a laugh behind his palm.

Oh, no.

“Final tribute,” said your betrothed, lifting his glass. There was a dangerous fire to his eye. “To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…”

No, Aemond, you silently begged. The Prince kept his gaze trained on Luke, refusing to meet your desperate stare.

“... Strong,” he finished, after an extensive pause.

“Aemond—” Alicent began.

“Come,” her son quickly said, cutting her off. “Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

From right next to you, Jace gnashed his teeth together. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why?” asked Aemond, feigning innocence, pushing away from the table to step closer to Jace. “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

A gasp lodged in your throat when Jacaerys dove forward, landing a punch right into Aemond’s face.

“Jace!” yelled Rhaenyra.

It did little effect on the taller man, and Aemond’s head merely snapped to the side but his body remained rooted to the same position. A smug smile etched across his features. Simultaneously, Aegon rose to his feet and grabbed Luke by the scruff of his collar, shoving his face straight into a searing hot platter of fish.

“A gift for the new Lord of the Tides!” Aegon cackled with glee, indulging in the chaos.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” commanded Alicent to her sons, but neither of them listened to her.

Scrambling forward, you tried to stop Aemond from retaliating, but he shoved Jace so hard the younger boy went sprawling against the dance floor. Jace was quick to get back up on his feet, an angry growl erupting from his throat. Before he could reach Aemond, two guards sprung forward and held him back, another pulling Luke away from Aegon as well.

You found yourself torn between the two sides, resulting in an indecisive dance between Jace and Luke struggling against the guards, and your betrothed smiling into his cups.

Queen Alicent got to him before you could, grabbing her son’s arms roughly. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” she hissed.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother. Mmh, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs. It wounds me so, seeing as my sweet betrothed is soon to be my family, as well,” said Aemond, ripping his hand away from Alicent.

Breaking free of the guard’s hold, Jace made a charge at Aemond again.

“Wait,” Daemon ordered his stepson, striding in between the two boys before they could bash heads with one another once again. Jacaerys immediately halted in his motions, though not without great restraint.

Stern, Rhaenyra turned to her sons. “Go to your quarters. All of you, go. Now.”

The two boys were reluctantly led away by the guards, shoulders drooping with both embarrassment and anger.

Daemon released a sigh, fixing his gaze upon Aemond. They stared at each other for a moment longer, before Aemond huffed out a small, discontented hum, and began walking away.

“I’m sorry, Rhaenyra,” you told the Princess, so very tired of the ceaseless fighting and the constant torn feeling within you.

The stern expression she held softened when she looked at you. Her hand came away from her pregnant belly to rest gentle upon your cheek. “It is not your fault, sweet girl. Go on… get some rest. I shall have the servants send up food to your chambers since you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

With a grateful bow of your head, you took your leave, bidding Helaena and the Queen a quiet good night, before hastening out of the dining hall, and up the stairs to your chambers.

Your feet ached and your head pounded with stress. What a day it’s been.

Imagine your utter shock when you gently opened the doors to your bedroom, and slowly shut them behind you—only to turn and see your betrothed standing by your desk, scattered with quills and stained bottles of charcoal ink and stacks upon stacks of unopened letters you had yet to read or send off.

“Aemond,” you whispered, brows furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

The Prince remained silent, watching you keenly as you strode forward, until you were nearly nose-to-nose with him.

“What is wrong with you?” you murmured. Just moments ago, you were ready to forgive him, move on with all your grievances and accept your betrothal with not another thought. And he went and ruined it—all because his hatred for Jace and Luke were greater than his affections for you. “Are Rhaenyra’s sons that much of a bane that you must go out of your way to insult them?”

“And why do you care so much for them? For two little boys that you knew a lifetime ago? It is I who stayed by your side your entire life. It is my sister Helaena who never strayed from you. They have done nothing but leave you in their dust, retreating to Dragonstone with their tails tucked between their legs at the first sign of danger,” murmured Aemond, hands coming forth to grip your forearms, drawing you nearer to him.

“Because they are family,” you choked out. “And I love them. They are like brothers to me.”

A tantalizing hum fell from Aemond’s lips. He dipped forward, running the tip of his nose along the curve of your exposed neck, inhaling the addictive honey-lavender scent wafting from your skin. “Oh, but they are not your brothers, are they? Say it, my love. They are not only my nephews… they are yours, as well.”

“No…” you said, breathless when he began laying kisses along your heated skin. You couldn’t resist his deliberately light touches, melting against him for more. It was humiliating, how easily you caved for him. “What you are saying is treason, my Prince. Please, just think about what you—”

“There is no one else in the room but us,” he murmured, gently biting into the junction between your shoulder and neck. “Just us, jorrāelagon. You need not hide your true thoughts from me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head. “I can’t. I just can’t. Aemond, please… put this to rest. They are Rhaenyra’s sons, without question. That is all that matters.” You lifted a hand to grip his chin, forcing him to look straight at you. “If you have but a shred of affection for me… you will stop this relentless fighting. Do it for me, Aemond. It pains me that the most important people in my life are constantly at odds with one another.”

A beat of silence stretched thin between you. He dipped his head once more.

“Yes, my love,” he whispered, leaning forward until his nose was slotted against yours. “For you.”

For that moment, you let yourself believe him. And you allowed yourself to love him, unconditionally and without restraint—for it was only you and him in your chambers, and no other was there to waver your opinion.

You released your hold on his chin to wind your arms around his neck instead, tugging him close and melding his lips over yours. A soft sigh fell from your lungs. He tasted of fresh fruit and earthy smoke, something you wished to drown yourself into.

You began blindly walking in the general direction of your bed with Aemond’s guidance, falling against the feather-stuffed mattress once it hit the back of your knees. The entire time, you refused to separate from his kiss, willing to suffocate from lack of air if it meant you got to continue kissing him.

It briefly occurred to you how improper this was—you were not yet married to Aemond, after all. But you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, and neither did Aemond. He wanted you now—and judging by the look in your eye, he knew you craved him equally so.

He began reaching behind you, unlacing your dress and yanking the dark green fabric off your shoulders, shoving it down your chest and abdomen and hips, kicking the nuisance material away once it bunched to the bottom of your legs. As he began to expertly undo your shift beneath it, you hurriedly tugged his tunic off, a button ripping loose in your haste. Aemond could only smile at your desperation. You swallowed heavily upon seeing his toned chest, seasoned with training.

“It is a shame,” he gruffed once he finally got your thin shift off, admiring you in all of your nude glory, shamelessly allowing his eyes to roam over your breasts and arched back. “The dress looks so much prettier on your floor.”

You groaned at his words, yanking him back down to meet him for another kiss. It grew more frantic as more time lapsed—all tongue and teeth and bites and moans. A throbbing ache flowered between your legs—not a foreign sensation, but certainly the first time it was to be vanquished by something other than your own hand.

“Aemond, please,” you pleaded, unsure of what you were asking for. “I need you, please.”

“My sweet betrothed,” said the Prince, hands wandering up and down your sides, occasionally moving to squeeze your breasts and pinch your stiffened nipples, before moving further down, purposefully avoiding the sensitive parts between your thighs. “I’ll give you everything.”

With one final kiss to your lips, Aemond shifted himself further down your body, trailing his hot tongue along your skin in his wake. He met your gaze once he gently pried your legs open, his pretty hands gripping your thighs tightly.

The sight he was met with made his cock twitch angrily within his briefs. Your cunt was drenched and glistening with your arousal—and it was all for him. A greedy sense of possessiveness consumed him whole. You were his, and his alone.

He blew a stream of cold air right against your clit, which made you suck in a sharp breath, unconsciously bucking your hips closer to his face in a desperate seek for relief.

A pleasured cry—verging on a sob—tumbled from your lungs when Aemond surged forward, lips wrapping around your sensitive button, his tongue curling in the most devilish of ways over the bundle of nerves. Wailing his name, you fisted the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do with yourself. Aemond just about moaned into you, one hand letting go of your thigh to prod your slick hole, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“Oh, please—Aemond!” you groaned, simultaneously trying to pull away from his touch and pushing yourself closer to his face.

“My good girl,” he praised, the vibrations of his words against your cunt making you keen with undulated pleasure, as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you. “You taste heavenly, jorrāelagon.”

A gasp hitched within your throat once Aemond yanked your hips closer, practically burying himself within your thighs.

“Aemond, my darling,” you sobbed, one hand falling into his hair, tugging at the long, pale strands, and the other squeezing your breast. “I’m going to…”

“Cum for me,” your betrothed said, unrelenting as he circled his wicked tongue along your clit.

And who were you to disobey the Prince?

With a breathy shout, you were pushed over the edge, clenching viciously around his still-thrusting fingers. Your orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave, leaving you winded with green stars dancing about your vision.

“That’s it,” murmured Aemond, gently pulling away once you came down from your high, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. He crawled back up your form, shirking his trousers off, leaving him just as nude as you, save for his leather eyepatch still fixed over his scar. His cock—long and hard and angrily weeping with pearly beads of precum, slapped against his lower abdomen.

You pulled him down again, kissing him with wild abandon, sighing when you realized that you were tasting yourself on his tongue.

He flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. Despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. You whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. Aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

He was a monster—and no amount of sweet talk would be able to change his mind from such a cemented fact. Not even from you, whose opinion he valued the most in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered, nose brushing down your jaw, still appreciative of your efforts nonetheless. “You are my everything. My heart, my soul, my life. I only wish for nothing but your happiness.”

You wrapped your legs around him, his throbbing cock pressed right against your fluttering cunt, clenching around nothing in anticipation. Lowering your voice to a whisper, you gently bit at the outer shell of his ear. “And I love you, my darling Aemond. All I wish for right now… is your cock inside me.”

Your lewd words made his length throb impossibly harder. “Your wish is my command,” he softly replied.

And with that, he eased himself inside of you. Your warm, pulsating cunt was gripping him like a vice, a shuddering groan choked out from his lungs. You mirrored his reaction, squeezing your eyes shut and holding onto him for dear life as he began to rock into you.

With each snap of his hips into yours, you found yourself murmuring his name like a mantra, pressing sloppy kisses to his bare shoulder. One particularly hard thrust had you scratching angry red lines down the expanse of his back. Aemond didn’t seem to mind—in fact, this only seemed to spur him on further, as he growled an obscenity, grabbing your ankle to throw over his shoulder and slamming his length back into you with no abandon.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head once he snaked one of hands down to thumb at your clit, eliciting a lewd moan from your kiss-swollen lips.

“So good, Aemond,” you cried, cunt spasming around his cock once the beginnings of your second orgasm began creeping up on you. “Cum inside… oh—make me yours, darling, please!”

A near animalistic noise tore through Aemond’s chest and he began to pound his cock deeper into you, the thought of you growing round with his child filling his thoughts as he desperately sought his own release. You tightened around him one last time when your orgasm surged forth, so hard that it had Aemond’s quick rhythm faltering. With a broken groan and a mutter of your name, he spilled his seed into you, thick spurts of white coating your slick walls.

A content hum danced between you once you kissed him again, easing into a wince when he slowly pulled out of your overstimulated cunt. He drew back to watch his seed drip out of you, hot and thick and so very arousing, it nearly made his cock hard all over again.

“You did so well for me,” Aemond murmured into your sweaty skin, freckling kisses over the bridge of your nose and over your eyelids, hooded with exhaust. “Are you alright?”

“Quite,” you replied, smiling at him kindly. “I suppose Aegon was right. I certainly am in good hands.”

The Prince hung his head, shaking it fondly, mildly embarrassed by your praise. “Do not speak of my brother while we are in bed, dear betrothed. It is unseemly,” he said, though his words lacked any true bite.

“Forgive me, Aemond. I seem to forget my manners when I am with you,” you said, a laugh dancing alongside your words. “You make for a grand distraction.”

“Mmh, do I, now? I am glad to be of service.” Your betrothed gathered you in his arms, easing you down amongst your pillows and brushing away loose strands of hair that stuck to your damp skin. “Rest, my love.”

You let yourself acquiesce to his words, sinking into the comfort of your bed.

“Stay,” you whispered sleepily, pressing a light kiss to the back of his palm. “Stay with me.”

And Aemond did so, with little protest. His eye was soft and his touch was loving as he laid down beside you, holding you close to his chest, nose buried within your hair.

You fell asleep hopeful that night. Hopeful that your soon-to-be husband loved you more than he hated your nephews. Hopeful that perhaps marrying Aemond was the best thing for you. Hopeful that things would be alright, eventually.

Hopeful that a war was not on the horizon.

There was a cold stillness to the air the next day. Jace and Luke left early in the morning back to Dragonstone before the sun had a chance to rise, with solemn goodbyes and grim faces. You knew not when you were going to see them again.

It weighed heavy on your shoulders as you sat beside Helaena, sharpening one of your daggers with a small whetstone. There was a certain uncomfortable feeling twisting about your stomach—but you couldn’t quite tell what was wrong.

You had tried distracting yourself by playing with the twins, gifting them new wooden dragons you had bought from a carver in town, but it was not enough to take your mind off of the unsettled feeling within you. When the twins hadn’t worked, you thought about Aemond, and the time you shared last night… along with the early morning following, with his touch sweltering and his voice gruff from slumber.

It still didn’t work. Perhaps you were just having an off day.

“It is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another,” said Helaena, working on her embroidery of a spindly black spider with a red abdomen, seeming impervious to your nervous state. “If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.”

“Balancing the scales,” you murmured. The princess hummed in agreement.

All of a sudden, Alicent burst into the room, strides quick and fists clenched into the fabric of her emerald-hued dress. Otto was hot on her heels, though his expression did not betray nearly as much as that of his daughter’s.

“Where is Aegon?” she asked, eyes wild.

The two of you exchanged worried, yet curious glances. Lifting her shoulders, Helaena stoically replied, “Not here.”

“He’s not in his room?” clarified Otto, as if angry at the two of you for not having kept an eye on the Prince.

You had to fight the scowl threatening to make an appearance across your face. Helaena dipped her head to avoid eye contact with her grandfather, but you held his gaze with a squared jaw.

Gnashing his teeth together, Otto turned on his heel and marched right out of the room.

“Father—” Alicent said, but he was already long gone.

The Queen glanced at the twins—Jaehaerys, babbling his father’s name and clapping his hands together, whilst Jaehaera only tightened her small grip around the wooden dragon you gave her.

“What has happened?” whispered Helaena, addressing her mother directly, something she sparsely ever did.

A morose expression folded over her features. Alicent sat beside Helaena, a film of tears misting over her eyes.

“Your father…”

Helaena’s usually calm features twisted into one of anger. Viserys was hardly a father to her. “There is a beast beneath the boards,” she hissed, repeating her whispered words from yesterday’s dinner.

Alicent’s conflicted eyes searched her daughter’s distraught form. “Oh, my dearest love…” She reached out to hold Helaena, but the Princess frantically flinched closer to you, smacking the Queen’s palms away.

“No, no,” she whispered, crossing her arms across her chest, as if to shield herself from her mother.

Crestfallen, the Queen shifted her stare onto you, her fists clenching even harder around her dress. It did not escape your notice when her pupils darted down to glance at the freshly-sharpened dagger in your lap.

“What has happened to the King, Your Grace?” you asked, tone cautious and wary not to overstep any bounds.

Before she could reply, Aemond stepped from the shadows out of seemingly nowhere, a jaded, nearly haunted look of realization befalling his features.

The King was dead.

Aemond’s hand tightly clasped yours as you sat in front of the crackling fire pit. The dagger you had sharpened was clutched in your other palm, having not left your side for even a second. These were dangerous times—the scales had never been this lopsided before.

Alicent paced in front of the chairs a few feet away, murmuring incoherently under her breath at the puzzling disappearance of her eldest son.

Not too long after, Ser Criston Cole made his way into the chambers, shutting the door behind him. “Prince Aegon is not to be found within the castle walls, Your Grace. Your father has sent Ser Erryk into the city to find him.”

The Queen hung her head. “Ser Erryk knows Aegon… he has the advantage.”

Both your and Aemond’s heads turned at her words. There were treasonous schemes brewing within the Keep, that was made abundantly clear. If Alicent was not the one who sent Erryk after Aegon… it must’ve been Otto Hightower. Known to show little remorse, you could only guess that the Hand wanted his own grandson on the Iron Throne rather than Princess Rhaenyra. A sinking feeling twisted your guts upon realizing that he not only intended to usurp Rhaenyra with Aegon, but to be rid of her entirely, knowing full and well the Princess would never bend the knee to her younger brother.

Criston glanced at you with an obvious disdainful suspicion painted crystal clear over his face. For once, however, you were on Alicent’s side on finding Aegon before Ser Erryk did. You would rather Aegon be crowned King than Rhaenyra be executed.

“I trust again to you, Ser Criston, and to your loyalty. Aegon must be found, and he must be brought to me. The very fate of the Seven Kingdoms depends on it.” She stepped closer to the knight, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Everything you feel for me… as your Queen.”

The Dornish man bowed his head. “I will not fail you.”

Surprising you, Aemond declared, “We shall come with you.”

Head snapping towards the two of you, Alicent strode away from Criston to her son. Aemond’s hand fell away from yours to hold his mother’s forearms in a placating fashion.

“That would not be my desire, Aemond. If anything has happened—”

“Cole needs us, Mother. Ser Erryk isn’t the only one who knows Aegon’s doings. Y/N has spent many a night prowling the streets outside the Keep. She knows much about the nooks and crannies Aegon might be hiding within.”

It was no secret that you often used to sneak out of the castle during your childhood, eager to see King’s Landing outside of the Red Keep. The habit continued on during your teenage years, where you would often explore trade markets and smithies. By now, you knew the town as if it were the back of your hand.

Though reluctant, Criston bobbed his head in agreement. A quiet sigh slipped past Alicent’s lips, and she let go of her son. You brushed past her, following after your betrothed straight out the door.

You may have hated Aegon, but you’d do anything to keep him away from Otto and his treasonous hands.

As Helaena had mystically informed you yesterday—a storm was on the horizon. A dance of dragons.

“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my thirteenth name day,” said the Prince, dark grey cowl pulled over his long, silver hair. You and Criston both had matching cloaks draped over your shoulders. The cobbled steps of King’s Landing were uneven and often damp with an unknown substance. People milled about, chattering loudly and without care. None of them had a clue that war was upon them. “It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was. At least that’s what I understood him to mean.”

“How pleasant,” you replied, voice dripping with contempt for his older brother, and your soon to be brother-in-law.

“I don’t follow,” Criston said, brows furrowing.

The Prince leaned forward. “He said, time to get it wet.”

Criston recoiled ever so slightly in disgust. “Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.”

You scoffed at that, rolling your eyes to the side.��

Humming, Aemond tilted his head. “He paid half a dozen whores and thrust them upon me, then left the room. Two of the girls there were younger than I, barely ten years of age and trembling like leaves… never before had I been more revolted by my brother. I crawled out of the window and ran back to the Keep.”

You glanced appreciatively to your betrothed, finding yourself once again glad that it was him you were to be married to.

Leading the two men in front of a wooden door, you gestured for them to knock, stepping back to give them space. It was a pleasure house—one of the most popular in all of King’s Landing. Aemond’s single eye roamed the building, a spark of recognition dancing within the mauve of his iris. This was where Aegon had taken him all those years ago.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman draped in a sheer assortment of yellow silks and dozens upon dozens of golden jewelry littered across her skin. She narrowed her kohl-lined eyes at Ser Criston, glancing at you and Aemond right behind him.

“Sometime last night, we… misplaced our drinking companion,” said the knight. “Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts.”

“Describe him,” replied the woman, bracelets clinking loudly against one another with every small movement.

Cole shifted his weight from foot to foot, before quieting his voice to a mere whisper, nearly lost to the crowd. “That is… a delicate matter. You see, the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon. I may trust, I hope, in the discretion of your trade.”

The woman let out an amused chuckle. “The Prince is not here,” she told him.

“Has he been here as of late?” you asked.

Curious, she laid her eyes upon you, roaming over your cloaked form. “Not as of late. Years ago, yes.”

“But more recently?” pressed Criston.

She shook her head. “He does not frequent the Street of Silk any longer. His tastes are known to be… less discriminating.”

“Meaning what?” Criston queried.

The woman smiled, wisely keeping her cards close to her chest. “I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend.” She swiveled her intense gaze to Aemond, who had bowed his head. “How you’ve grown,” she told him.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. With a hum, he took your hand, and began leading you away from the whorehouse, Criston in tow.

“It seems you were mistaken to Aegon’s habits,” said the knight.

“He could be in the hands of mercenaries, on a ship to Yi Ti. He could be dead, for all we know,” Aemond replied, nonchalantly speaking of his brother’s death as if he were discussing tomorrow’s dinner.

You allowed a hollow, humorless laugh to bubble within your throat. “It would be a cause for celebration, would it not?”

Criston sent you a sharp glare. “Let us hope, for your Queen mother’s sake, that is not the case.”

On you strode, twisting and turning through the narrow streets. The further into King’s Landing you walked, the dirtier the roads became, and the more poor, homeless folk were seen scrounging through trash for food and drinking out of barrels of muddy water. The air was humid and stank of rotten flesh.

“Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier in search of a wastrel who’s never taken half an interest in his birthright,” spat Aemond, growing frustrated at the fruitless search for his wretched brother. “‘Tis I, the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, and I who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be…”

Aemond bit down on the inside of his cheek, effectively stopping himself from continuing his sentence.

It upset you that he was behaving this way—just yesterday he had whispered his promise into your ear that he would halt his treacherous tongue. Had his words meant nothing to him? The death of his father had surely spun his mind into one of frantic chaos, despite his calm outer demeanor.

Pursing your lips, you could only gently reply, “There is no doubt that you are the better brother, Aemond. It does not deter the fact that we have to find him—lest your half-sister, Princess Rhaenyra, be murdered by his command under the influence of the Hand.”

Your betrothed parted his lips, as if he wanted to say something, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

“I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given,” Criston told Aemond, stepping closer to the younger man.

Aemond quietly grunted in frustration. “We can’t find him, Cole. You are a decent man with no taste for depravity. His secrets are his own, and he’s welcome to them. I’m next in line to the throne—should they come looking for me… I intend to be found.”

Your lips trembled as you staved away the burning within your nose, threatening tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It seemed that Aemond was truly far gone in his thirst for revenge, for power—you were a fool to believe his promise, even for a short second.

It was growing more and more dangerous for you to stay in King’s Landing, surrounded by venomous Greens. You had to hold your Black-biased tongue, for it could now result in treason of the highest orders, and, consequently, your death. You were to pose as a Green now, for the sake of your own safety.

Helaena’s words from all those years ago rang in your head. “They are to trick the larger animals into thinking they are eyes. It is a defense tactic. The butterfly is not who the rest thinks she is.” Masters of trickery—beautiful and deceitful, both equally true.

The Prince could feel the slightest of regrets once you pulled away from him, surging several feet ahead with angry steps. Your loyalty to Rhaenyra and her sons knew no bounds, and Aemond was well aware that if it came down to it, you would've chosen them over him. He loved you, truly, more than anything in the world—but his deep-rooted hatred for the Blacks had festered strong for the majority of his life. That was something that not even you could remedy, no matter how much you tried.

It was by pure luck the three of you happened upon Sers Erryk and Arryk, along with Otto Hightower, speaking to the infamous White Worm by a spice market. You followed the twins in front of a great Sept—where Mysaria had hidden away Aegon for safekeeping.

Not five minutes later, a familiar voice began shouting out obscenities and colorful curses to his captor, Ser Arryk. Criston brandished his sword, and you unsheathed your dagger beneath the protection of your cloak.

“I do regret this, friend,” said Cole, blocking their path.

Seeing this as a chance to flee, Aegon kicked at Arryk’s foot and sprinted away, down the Sept’s wide stairwell. Criston engaged Arryk in combat while you and Aemond darted away to chase after Aegon.

Quick on your feet, you were the first to tackle Aegon to the ground, shoving the Prince’s face into the uneven stone of the ground. He choked out a yell, flailing about beneath you like a fish out of water.

“No! Stop, you wretched woman! Stop!” he cried once you grabbed his arm to yank him up. Aemond came to the other side of his brother, helping you drag him up. The older Prince began to laugh maniacally when he punched you across the face, sending you reeling back with stars dancing about your vision.

A growl caught in Aemond’s throat and he grabbed at the lapels of his brother’s tunic, hauling him closer. “I was hoping you disappeared,” he said, voice dripping with venom.

Purple eyes gleaming, Aegon asked, “Is our father truly dead?”

“Yes,” replied Aemond, “and they’re going to make you King.”

A sick feeling twisted within your stomach.

Equally angry at his brother’s words, Aegon spat a thick glob of saliva right into Aemond’s only eye, trying his best to escape the two of you, to no avail.

“Let me go!” he screamed when the both of you grabbed his arms. “Let me go! Brother! I have no wish to rule! No taste for duty—I’m not suited!”

Aemond barked out a dry laugh. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

With surprising strength, Aegon shoved you away, gripping his brother’s face in his filthy hands. “You let me go—and I will find a ship and sail away.”

His proposal was most certainly a tempting one—even Aemond had given pause to his words, freezing in place. If Aegon were to be presumed dead… he would be crowned King, and you would be his Queen.

“The Queen awaits,” said Criston, pulling Aegon away from Aemond, having bested Ser Arryk in combat.

You let out a soft sigh of relief. At least, with Aegon by his mother’s side, there was no way he would order the execution of Rhaenyra. The battle has been won, but the war was still lost.

Aegon was still to be crowned King.

Once you returned to the Keep, you had locked yourself in your chambers, refusing supper. You had little appetite, and hadn’t the heart to face any of the Greens. Aemond had stopped by to check on you, knocking on your door.

You opened it reluctantly, face streaked with reflective tear tracks and eyes red-rimmed.

“Aemond, my love,” you whispered, allowing him to step into your chambers. “I fear I am no longer safe in King’s Landing.”

It broke your heart when your betrothed had no words of comfort to spare you—for you were right to worry. As a supporter of Rhaenyra, you weren’t safe here.

The Prince remained silent, cupping your cheeks in his hands, and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

And though the two of you were enemies on rival sides of the war—you still loved him for the man underneath all that. And Aemond would never stop loving you, no matter how much he hated his nephews, and his half-sister.

For just a couple hours, the two of you allowed yourselves to be free of thought. No Blacks and Greens, no Princes and Ladies, no violence and hatred.

Only you and him.

The butterfly and the dragon.

Aegon’s crowning was witnessed by thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people. You were forced into a bright green dress by Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting, your hair done up and silver jewelry pinned around your neck, and to your ears. You stood beside Aemond, playing your role as the faithful wife-to-be. On your other side was Helaena, in a dress of sweet blue, and her watering eyes trained to the ground. In front of you was Alicent, in a dark dress of viridescent hue, a golden seven-pointed star resting on her chest, her face grim.

“People of King’s Landing!” announced Otto Hightower. “Today is the saddest of days. Our beloved King, Viserys the Peaceful… is dead.”

The crowd murmured in surprise upon the announcement.

“But it is also the most joyous of days! For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him.”

Shock spread across the audience. After a few moments, they began to cheer and clap. Your insides roiled with disgust at their blatant disregard for Princess—now rightfully Queen Rhaenyra.

Not too long after, trumpets were sounding, and Aegon began walking down a pathway cleared for him by Goldcloaks. His silver-white hair shone, standing out starkly from the crowd. His expression was stony, and the corners of his eyes were red with unshed tears.

“It is your good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this! A new day for this city—a new day for our realm! A new King to lead us!” announced Otto.

Queen Alicent pressed a kiss to her eldest child’s head and led him forward to the Septon. Aegon knelt down before him. Helaena stared at her brother-husband, purple eyes misting over.

“May the Warrior give him courage. May the Smith lend strength to his sword and shield. May the Father defend him in his need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light his way to wisdom.” With each sentence, the Septon dipped his thumb in blessed water and dragged the finger across Aegon’s brow.

The crown was then given to Ser Criston Cole, to place upon Aegon’s head.

“The crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations,” he proclaimed, resting the heavy silver ring against Aegon’s silver locks. “Let the Seven bear witness: Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne.”

Aegon rose to his feet. Criston and Alicent bowed their heads before their new King. Helaena set her jaw, looking none too pleased that her monster of a husband was now the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, but bowed slightly nonetheless. You were next, dipping your head ever so slightly—a deceitful butterfly.

“All hail his Grace, Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” said the Septon.

“Aegon the King!” bellowed Criston.

The crowd burst into raucous applause.

The newly crowned Targaryen let his eyes roam over the audience. They were all cheering… for him. All his life he’d been searching for praise, for validation, and now they were all giving to him on a silver platter.

“Aegon the King!” they all screamed. “Long live Aegon!”

He unsheathed his Valyrian steel longsword, Blackfyre, and held it up with a victorious smile. The crowd cheered loudly with every thrust of his sword into the air, and he spread his arms out, feeling powerful for once in his life. A ghost of a smile crossed Alicent’s lips. Helaena shut her eyes tightly.

A beast beneath the boards.

The ground shook as the stone of the floor gave way. Plumes of dust and smoke filled the air. Screams of terror erupted from the throng of common folk and they scattered every which way.

The shrill roar of a dragon echoed loud and true. It was Meleys, the Red Queen of dragons, her scarlet scales rippling with each movement, having burst out from the Dragonpit below. Dozens of onlookers were trampled beneath her large copper-hued claws as she snarled out an ear-splitting screech.

Out of pure instinct, Aemond had grabbed your arm, pushing you behind him protectively, placing himself in between you and the large dragon. You gripped his shoulder tightly.

Once the smoke and debris had vaguely settled, you could start to make out her rider—Rhaenys Targaryen. The Queen who never was.

Alicent grabbed her eldest son, standing in front of him, terror painted across her features. She shoved Criston towards Helaena, ordering him to protect her.

The large dragon growled as she prowled closer to the royal family—smoke falling from behind her bared teeth and golden eyes blazing. Rhaenys watched you from above, eyes narrowed. For a moment, she caught your stare, bowing her head ever so slightly in your direction.

It was as if she were offering you a way out. She was well aware of your strong allegiance to Rhaenyra, and your fondness for her granddaughters’ betrotheds.

You glanced at Helaena, then to Aemond, and swallowed the lump in your throat. How could you find it in yourself to leave them both?

The Princess met your eyes, her purple ones softening ever so slightly. “Go,” she mouthed silently, nodding once. Tears blurred your gaze.

Ever so slow and trembling slightly, you stepped out from behind Aemond, much to the rest of the family’s shock. Aemond held onto your wrist, unwilling to let you go—how could he? How could he let go of you, the person he was meant to marry? The woman he loved with the entirety of his being?

You turned to your betrothed just as a hot tear slipped down your cheek.

“Goodbye, my love,” you murmured, voice cracking with emotion as your free hand lifted to cradle his cheek. You surged forward to kiss him, one last time, uncaring of the onlookers. It was quick and chaste and you could only wish for it to last longer. Raw despair and anguish and muted fury flickered across his pale visage all at once. “Let me go, Aemond. I love you, darling, please, let me go.”

Not so long ago, you were begging him to stay. And now you were asking him to let you go.

You were the only thing he had left to himself—for everything else in his life was not truly his. The two of you belonged to each other, Aemond knew this to be true… and yet you were still leaving. He refused to cry, but could feel his throat burning with restraint. If he didn’t let you go, he feared the dragon would burn his entire family alive. His wretched brother, he would’ve been alright with, but his sweet sister and mother deserved a better fate. Aemond set his jaw, and loosened his grip on you.

You rotated away just as the second tear fell, and strode towards the terrifying creature that was Meleys. The rest of the Greens remained rooted in their spots, deathly afraid of the beast in front of them. She lowered herself for you to climb on behind Rhaenys—your green dress ripped loudly in your haste. The dragon’s scales were warm, nearly burning to the touch.

Alicent shut her eyes, accepting what she thought to be her fiery death.

No dracarys ever came.

Instead, the dragon only planted her feet and bellowed out another loud, ear-splitting shriek—a warning of sorts.

With that, Rhaenys urged her dragon to turn and fly over the terrified citizens, away from King’s Landing. Cold wind blew against your face, drying your tears, and undid the intricate hairstyle your ladies-in-waiting had worked so hard on. The two of you were going to Dragonstone, where Rhaenys was to inform Princess Rhaenyra that her father passed away and her half-brother had just been crowned King.

A clashing symphony of sorrow and relief buried deep within your chest.

You craned your head back as Meleys soared away, hoping to look upon Aemond and Helaena one last time—but they were too small to see, growing into blurred figures in the distance.

Lucerys could not take his eyes off of the map of Westeros, intricately carved into stone. His hand reached out to graze over that of Driftmark—which was to be his, when Lord Corlys Velaryon passed away. It felt as if there was a heavy stone sinking within his stomach.

“There you are,” said his mother, which made Luke’s gaze snap upwards.

Rhaenyra strode towards her son, both her hands rested on her pregnant belly.

“The Sea Snake is going to die, isn’t he?” asked Luke.

Shocked at his sudden words, Rhaenyra began to say, “Luke—”

“I can’t be Lord of the Tides! Grandsire was the greatest sailor who ever lived. I get greensick before the ship even leaves the harbor! I’ll just ruin everything, mother. I don’t want Driftmark. It should’ve passed on to Ser Vaemond,” the young boy said, brows furrowed.

Rhaenyra shook her head, long silver hair swaying over her shoulder. “We don’t choose our destiny, Luke. It chooses us.”

“Grandsire let you choose whether you’d be his heir. You told us so, Mother. Grant me the same mercy—I do not want Driftmark.”

Her features softened, understanding her son’s turmoil.

“Do you want to know the truth of it?” she asked, voice quieter. “I was frightened. I was four-and-ten… same as you are now. I wasn’t ready to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms—but it was my duty nonetheless. And, in time, I came to understand I had to earn my inheritance.”

Luke swallowed the lump in his throat, casting his gaze to the side. “I’m not like you,” he murmured.

His mother tilted her head. “In what way, sweet boy?”

“I’m not so… perfect.”

Rhaenyra could only smile at that, stepping closer to her second son and cupping his face, kissing the skin right beside his dark brown eyes. “I am anything but,” she whispered. “My father looked after me and helped to prepare me for my duties. Your mother will do the same for you.”

A small, accepting smile danced over Lucerys’ expression. He nodded, before noticing the guard approaching the two of them from behind.

“Good morrow, Princess,” said the guard, making his mother turn to face him. “Princess Rhaenys has just arrived on dragonback, with Lady Y/N Strong accompanying her. She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon.”

Shock flashed across Luke and Rhaenyra’s features. They hadn’t received any news of either of your plans to visit. Though he had just seen you a few days ago, Luke was excited to see you once again—you had never been to Dragonstone before.

“She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon,” the guard added.

Luke’s shoulders slumped. It seemed he’d have to wait a bit longer before he could greet you.

Your legs were sore from the long ride, and wobbled as you began walking into the large castle, hot on Rhaenys’ heels. It was not long until the guards led you into a large, expansive room, where Rhaenyra and Daemon awaited the two of you.

“Princess Rhaenys. Might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’ recovery?” she acknowledged as soon as she spotted the older woman, with not a clue about her father’s passing. Her purple eyes lit up when she saw you, but her expression quickly melded into one of unfiltered concern. You were a mess—dress ripped, cheeks still-damp with tears, lips bleeding with how hard you’ve bitten them in the midst of your anxiety. “Y/N, sweet girl, what is the matter? Are you alright—?”

Princess Rhaenys’ sharp words cut Rhaenyra off, loud and echoing. “Viserys is dead.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Daemon turned upon the unexpected news, eyes wide.

“I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin… your father, possessed a kind heart.”

Rhaenyra’s expression faltered.

“There is more,” continued Rhaenys. “Aegon has been crowned as his successor.”

A sudden jolt of pain struck within Rhaenyra’s belly. “They crowned him?” she murmured, eyes darting between you and Rhaenys in disbelief. The green dress you were wearing finally made sense.

“How did Viserys die?” asked Daemon, heartbroken over his lost brother.

“I could not say,” said Rhaenys. You remained silent, hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

Pain lacing her tone, Rhaenyra asked, “How long ago?”

“A day ago, perhaps two,” said the older woman. “I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations. Y/N tracked down Aegon in an effort to keep him away from Otto Hightower, so as to not order your execution.”

If it were under any other circumstance, Rhaenyra would have smiled at you gratefully. But she couldn’t, doubling over in agony as more rivulets of pain struck her stomach.

“Viserys has been slain,” said Daemon, anger rising within his voice.

Affronted, Rhaenyra spat out, “Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon?”

“She did. I refused her,” replied Rhaenys.

“And yet you are still alive,” hissed Daemon, gaze suspicious and sharp.

Rhaenys cocked her head. “The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys.”

For the first time you arrived, you spoke, voice hoarse. “There were thousands of people there, all bearing witness to Aegon’s coronation.”

“They crowned him before the masses,” Rhaenyra said, horrified at the news.

Rhaenys nodded. “They will see him as their rightful king.”

Accusingly, Daemon gritted out, “That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne and you could have burned them all for it.”

Rhaenys stood her ground, remaining endlessly calm and patient. “A war is likely to be fought over this treachery—but that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house. The Greens are coming for you, Rhaenyra. And for your children. You should leave Dragonstone at once.”

Tears glossed over Rhaenyra’s eyes. She glanced at you, practically her daughter in every way but blood and name—aware that your life was in danger now that you had run away from the Greens.

Another wave of pain. She cried out, hands splaying out over the table in front of her. With frantic motions, Rhaenyra reached under her dress.

Her hand came out from beneath the fabric bloody.

“The babe is coming.”

Rhaenyra had stripped down to her shift, walking around her chambers with her hands on her hips and breathing irregularly. She was sweating profusely, skin a blistering shade of red and silver hair sticking to her sticky flesh.

The midwives were all murmuring to themselves, unsure of what to do and how to help her, especially when Rhaenyra kept waving them away, telling them, “Just fuck off!”

Even the maester appeared worried, murmuring low beneath his breath to the eldest midwife, “Her term is far from complete… this should not be happening.”

Rhaenyra had stormed up to them, growling out behind gritted teeth, “It is fucking happening!”

“Keep your head about you, Princess,” the midwife crooned. “We’ve done this five times before—just keep your spirit and the sixth will be no different.”

“Get off, get off, get off me!” Rhaenyra hissed, yanking herself away from the fussing midwives. “Ow, ow, oh…”

Salt pricked the corners of her eyes when she turned her head in a frustrated manner, gaze landing on you. You were in the corner of the room, having been the one who ushered her here, hands shaking and cheeks damp with a constant stream of worried tears. Your mother had died giving birth to you—and you couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Rhaenyra died in front of your eyes, as well.

“Sweet girl, darling, fetch me some water, please,” she gasped, breathless, reaching out to you with a wince.

With a frantic nod, you scrambled to the bedside table to pour Rhaenyra a cold cup, rushing to the woman who had taken to leaning against a stone pillar, chest heaving. A cry left her throat as she felt another wave of pain overtake her body.

She collapsed into you as she screamed through the pain, and you braced yourself with her weight, clutching her close to your chest.

“Drink, Princess,” you urged her, holding the rim of the cup to her chapped lips. Rhaenyra tipped her head back and swallowed a few mouthfuls to quench her dry throat, nearly choking as agony struck her belly once more.

Ten minutes later, Jacaerys and Lucerys were summoned, descending down the stairs to their mother’s chambers with confused and concerned expressions.

“Mother?” asked Jace, mouth parting upon seeing you by Rhaenyra’s side.

“Fuck!” groaned Rhaenyra, huffing out a warbling breath. She turned to look at her two boys, both their brows furrowed and worry splayed plainly over both their faces. “Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed.”

Both the boys straightened at the news, their eyes widening with shock.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned King,” Rhaenyra said, through bouts of intense pain.

Jacaerys’ jaw set. “What is to be done about it?”

“Nothing yet,” she replied.

“Where is Daemon?” asked her eldest son.

“I don’t know. Gone to madness—gone to plot his war,” she bit out, lips trembling.

Furious that his stepfather wasn’t by his mother’s side, Jacaerys turned and began striding back up the stairs. “Leave Daemon with me,” he said.

“Jace!” called Rhaenyra. “Jacaerys!”

Jace halted in his strides.

“Whatever claim remains to me, you are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command. Do you understand?”

The young man dipped his head in a nod, and he disappeared out of the room.

Her purple eyes landed on Luke, appearing frightened beyond belief.

“Are you going to be alright, mother?” he whispered.

“Yes, sweet boy,” she replied, the lie falling off her tongue easy. “Go. You mustn’t see this.”

Hesitating once more, Luke caught your eye, and you gestured for him to leave, a reassuring warmth to your gaze. The boy scampered away, leaving you to Rhaenyra once more.

As soon as her boys left, she bent at the waist and began screaming again, nails digging into her thighs. You were the only one she allowed close to her, barking at the midwives to stay away anytime one of them tried to get near her. But there was little you could do, and so you just pressed a cold, soaked cloth to her head, wiping away her sweat and drew her hair away from her face.

The seconds blurred into minutes.

Blood stained her shift.

The minutes blurred into hours.

“Get out, get out!” she screamed at the babe within her, voice breaking, teeth clenched so hard it was a wonder they didn’t crack beneath the pressure.

The hours blurred into half a day.

Her agonized yells rang so loud it echoed across the entirety of Dragonstone. After a long while of strenuous pushing, blood pooled out from beneath her shift—and a minute later, a sick squelch befell the chambers as the stillborn baby came out of her. Its small, undeveloped body fell to the stone floors.

The babe was a girl.

And she was silent. Unmoving.

The midwives all turned away with tears in their eyes.

With tired, shaking, bloodied hands, Rhaenyra fell to her knees and picked up her baby, wrapping her shift around its tiny form. Red soaked through the fabric, drenching her skin, her hair, her face.

You wanted to cry some more—but you forced the burning urge away, steeling yourself to stay strong for Rhaenyra. And so you sat beside her, with a hand resting upon her shoulder, face stoically set.

The two of you stayed that way for the rest of the day, long after the sun had set, with Rhaenyra rocking her dead daughter in her arms and her other daughter dutifully by her side, swallowing down her tears.

Sparse few attended the funeral.

Visenya, the babe’s name was. Rhaenyra had whispered it to you right before she had gotten up to wrap up her daughter in linens for the burning.

It was a dreary event, the sky covered with grey clouds and the oceans quietly lapping at the shores of Dragonstone. You stood beside Luke, his hand held tightly within yours. Rhaenyra did not cry, for she had done so for hours on end and had no tears left to spare.

A familiar figure passing through the thin crowd made your brows raise in surprise.

“I mean no harm, brothers,” Ser Erryk Cargyll said when two guards drew their swords upon him. The man took off his helmet, kneeling down before Rhaenyra and Daemon. He then pulled out a golden crown from his satchel, presenting it to the two. “I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

It was, by no means, a lavish coronation. After all, it was unexpected and sudden, and took place during the funeral of her stillborn daughter.

But it was better than any amount of gold could ever buy for Aegon.

Daemon took the crown from Erryk and placed it upon Rhaenyra’s head. He was the first to kneel. “My Queen.”

The rest of her people followed suit, bending the knee towards the true Queen.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” announced Daemon, standing at the head of the stone-carved table of Westeros. “Your Grace.”

Rhaena Velaryon offered the Queen wine, and Rhaenyra graciously took the chalice, beckoning for her to come closer to the war table, along with her sister Baela.

You stood beside Jacaerys, staring at the glowing markers on the table, eyes fixed upon King’s Landing—where Helaena and her darling children were. Where Aemond was.

“What is our standing?” asked Rhaenyra.

Swiftly, Daemon replied, “We have thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men-at-arms. Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch—I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.”

A maester chimed in, “We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, along with Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “My lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace,” said the maester. “With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed,” Rhaenyra said. “He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position, and that we will support him, should it come to war.”

Seeing as Grover was the head of the overlord house of Harrenhal, you knew much about the man, and were also aware that he was not one to put trust in. Feeling the need to speak up, you cleared your throat. “If I may, Your Grace—Lord Grover is old and sickly. He is bedridden, and far too aged to act with haste. It would do us well to address his grandson and heir, Elmo Tully, instead. Ser Elmo is sensible and loyal to a fault. He would surely support your cause.”

A ghost of a proud smile traced Rhaenyra’s expression. “That would be wise, Lady Strong. Maester, see to it that you do as she says.”

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” asked Ser Erryk.

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath,” said the maester. “With House Stark, the entirety of the North will follow.”

Rhaenyra toyed with the ring about her finger. “We cannot speak to Storm’s End with surety—Lord Borros Baratheon will have to be reminded of his father’s promises first.”

Finally, the Queen turned to face Rhaenys. “What news from Driftmark?”

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone,” said Rhaenys.

Still ever so suspicious of her, Daemon narrowed his eyes. “To declare for his Queen?”

Rhaenys did not wither beneath his glare. “The Velaryon fleet is in my husband’s yoke. He decides where they sail.”

“We shall pray for both you and your husband’s support, then,” said Rhaenyra, “just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There’s no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet. What of our enemies?”

Fingers flexing against the hilt of his sword, Daemon replied with a venomous tongue, “We have no friends amongst the Lannisters. Tyland has served Otto Hightower too long to turn against him… and he needs the Lannister fleet.”

“Without the Lannisters, we are not likely to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth,” said Rhaenyra.

Daemon huffed out a breath. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

One of the lords began speaking from the other end of the table. “Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth slackened. “The Greens have dragons as well—”

“They have three adults, by my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer,” said Daemon, counting off on his fingers.

“Daemon, none of our dragons have been to war,” replied Rhaenyra, tone sharpening.

Unrelenting, Daemon pressed on, “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” asked Rhaenyra, baffled.

“It does not matter. A dragon needs no rider to be an asset. We have thirteen to their four. I have another score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont. Now, we need a place to gather—a toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” Daemon stepped around the table to place a marker on the map. “Here, at Harrenhal. And Lady Strong is our key to that—she is its rightful heir, after her older brother Larys Strong—and he is not a favorable man. The people there are more likely to bend the knee if they know we have their Lady’s support. We’d cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons, and we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

Surprise filled your expression at the mention of your hometown. Though you’d never been to Harrenhal, you knew Harwin and your father were well-liked. Perhaps they could be swayed in your favor instead of slimy old Larys, as well.

Before anyone could respond to Daemon’s hot tongue, a guard ran up to Rhaenyra. “Your Grace, a ship has been sighted offshore. A lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. Could it possibly be Aemond?

“Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies,” said Daemon, already making his way out of the room.

Fully expecting to be sent to your private quarters, you were shocked when Rhaenyra laid a hand on your forearm. “Y/N, my sweet girl, you are of great value in this war. You are quick-witted in the political tongues of battle and a good fighter. You shall come with me.”

You blinked in surprise, before bowing your head. “Yes, My Queen.”

Otto Hightower was most certainly not a sight for sore eyes. His face was set in stone, powerful and commanding and pretentious all at once. This was the most power he’s held in his entire life, and he was relishing in it.

“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of his Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms,” he uttered, somehow managing to look down upon Daemon despite him being taller than Otto. “Where is the Princess?”

From the skies, Syrax’s roar rumbled the very clouds with its piercing volume. She descended upon the bridge you were standing on, yellow scales rippling as she lowered herself for Rhaenyra to climb down.

The knights Otto had come with cowered at the sight of the golden beast.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Otto greeted, not even bothering to bow in the slightest.

“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now,” she coldly replied. “And you all are traitors to the realm.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “King Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name… in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms.” After a beat of silence, Otto took it as his cue to continue talking, despite Daemon’s restless fiddling with his sword. “Acknowledge Aegon as King and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. Return Lady Y/N Strong to her husband-to-be, the King’s younger brother, Aemond. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your trueborn son, Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be reaffirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark, and all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. Your sons by Prince Daemon will also be given places of high honor at court—Aegon the Younger as the King’s squire, and Viserys as his cupbearer. Y/N will be treated well and married to Prince Aemond, after which she can choose to live with you on Dragonstone if she so pleases, until it is time for her to collect her inheritance of Harrenhal with Aemond. Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent.”

Otto Hightower was a clever man, with a sharp tongue of persuasive influence.

But Daemon saw right through him, scowling deeply. “I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.”

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne,” Otto reaffirmed. “He wears the Conqueror's crown, wields the Conqueror's sword, and has the Conqueror's name. He was anointed by a septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him. And then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon—houses that have also received and are at present, considering generous terms from their King.”

Rhaenyra clasped her hands together. “Stark, Tully, and Baratheon all swore to me, when King Viserys named me his heir. Has that perhaps slipped from your mind, Lord Hightower?”

“Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess,” reminded Otto. “The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see the truth of it.”

With deliberate steps forward, Rhaenyra marched towards Otto, grabbing the Hand of the King’s pin on the front of his coat, tossing it somewhere over the stone bridge. “You are no more Hand than Aegon is King. Fucking traitor.”

Otto seemed unmoved by this.

“Grand maester,” he said, holding out an awaiting hand.

“What the fuck is this?” Daemon muttered under his breath from beside you, fingers clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his sword.

The maester gave Otto a worn piece of paper—one that Rhaenyra seemed to recognize from her childhood growing up with Alicent.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other,” he said. “No blood need be spilled, so the realm can carry on in peace. Queen Alicent eagerly awaits your answer.”

“She can have her answer now, stuffed in her father’s mouth, along with his withered cock!” spat Daemon. “Let’s end this mummer’s farce.”

With that, he drew his shield, prompting every knight present to also pull out their swords. You wrapped your hand around the hilt of your dagger, hidden within your cloak, but you made no move to unsheath it just yet.

“Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself,” growled the white-haired Prince, ever the impulsive hothead.

A tear slipped down Rhaenyra’s cheek as she stared down at the page. From behind Otto, Syrax gave an outraged growl upon seeing her rider upset.

“No,” Rhaenyra said, glancing back at her husband with a warning stare. Daemon put his sword down and hung his head with a sigh, deeply frustrated he was denied the pleasure of cutting off Otto’s head. “King’s Landing will have my answer on the morrow.”

With that, Rhaenyra turned to leave. Daemon followed close behind.

“Lord Hightower,” you said, drawing his attention to you. “Tell Prince Aemond he is on the wrong end of the scales. Tell him I will be forced to balance them, whether or not he is on my side. He will understand what this means.”

With not another word further, you turned on your heel, striding away from the former Hand, hurrying to catch up to Rhaenyra.

The next morning was much busier than last night. More lords had keener insight to offer, and plans were starting to roll into place.

“The Lord of the Tides,” announced Erryk Cargyll, “and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

You paused in your conversation with Jacaerys to watch the Velaryons descend the staircase. Baela came to Jacaerys’ side, the two of them nodding at each other stoutly. Rhaena strode over to Luke, a bright smile to her face, which was equally mirrored by the young boy.

Corlys’ cane echoed loudly as it stamped against the floor. There was a slight limp to his step, but there seemed to be nothing else dire in terms of his condition.

“Lord Corlys,” greeted Rhaenyra. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

The Sea Snake leveled her with a calculating gaze. “I’m very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man.” He hobbled closer to the stone-carved map. “Your declared allies?” he asked, glancing at the markers strewn across the table.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said.

“Too few to win a war for the throne,” surmised Corlys.

Rhaenyra hesitated, before saying, “Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

“Hope is the fools’ ally,” the Sea Snake said.

The Queen drew herself to her full height. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me.”

Corlys cocked his head. “As did House Hightower, if I can recall correctly.”

Tone sharp, Rhaenyra responded, “As did you, Lord Corlys.”

The Lord of the Tides found himself at an impasse for a reply. He glanced back at his grandchildren—Jace and Baela, along with Luke and Rhaena.

“Your father’s realm was one of justice and honor,” said Corlys. “Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet and house, Your Grace.” He bowed his head low to his Queen.

Gratitude shone through Rhaenyra’s expression. “You honor me, Lord Corlys. Princess Rhaenys. But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war’s first stroke is to fall, it shall not be by my hand.”

Surprised, Corlys’ brows shot up. “You do not mean to act?”

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast,” said Rhaenyra. “I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Allowing yourself to play the fool for once, hope clutched at your ribcage. Rhaenyra would make for a good Queen.

“The consequence of my near-demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory, this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already,” Corlys told Rhaenyra with a firm nod. “The triarchy has been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

Stepping forward, Rhaenys offered, “I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.”

You studied the positions of the Blacks on the map before voicing your input, “With the Narrow Sea obstructed by the Velaryon fleet, King’s Landing can be easily surrounded, and a bloodless siege could be levied onto the Red Keep. It is a strong castle, but more than vulnerable, given the right number of knights and extensive knowledge of the inside. I know the castle like it’s the back of my hand—along with the secret tunnels to smuggle people in and out unseen. Once the Keep is impregnated, the Greens’ would be forced to surrender.”

Rhaenyra smiled at you, perhaps the first time she’s genuinely smiled since the death of her daughter. “If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

The maester bowed his head. “I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.”

From beside you, Jacaerys spoke, “We should bear those messages. Dragons can fly faster than ravens—and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Corlys regarded his grandson with an impressed look. “The Prince is right, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra nodded her head once after a moment of thought. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north—first to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End to treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. Lady Y/N will go with you, Luke. She is quick-of-tongue, has been trained in the art of combat, can bargain against Lord Borros’ temper if need be, and is around the same age as his four daughters. Hopefully that will make for some common interest.”

Surprise rippled around the room, but you determinedly bobbed your head once.

“I’ll do my best, Your Grace,” you said, earning you a warm dip of her head.

“We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore,” Rhaenyra proclaimed. “And… the cost of breaking them.”

The waters lapped voraciously against the tall, stony cliffs, the sea’s waves crashing loudly against them. You turned your gaze up to the sky, watching the dark, heavy clouds slowly shift with the whistling winds.

There was a storm on the horizon.

And it’d be your second time mounting a dragon.

“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men,” Rhaenyra said to her sons. “And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms… we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers—not as warriors.”

Luke sent a worried gaze to his brother and then to you. He was frightened and terribly nervous, of course he was—this was the first time he’s been sent off for something this high of importance—but he was immensely relieved that you were to go with him. He knew you were a formidable fighter, even if they were avoiding violence, it was comforting to know that he wasn’t going to be alone.

“You must take no part in any fighting,” Rhaenyra told them, expression solemn. “Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

“I swear it,” said Luke without hesitation.

Jacaerys took a moment longer to follow after his brother. “I swear it,” he parroted.

“You as well, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, turning her dark purple gaze to you. “I need this ordeal to be bloodless.”

“I swear it, Your Grace,” you whispered, bowing your head. “I’m honored you trust me with such a task.”

A smile traced Rhaenyra’s lips. The rolled up pieces of parchment in her hands shifted as she held one out to Jace. “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than is mine. I would hope that as young men, the two of you can take a mutual liking to one another.”

Jacaerys nodded determinedly. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra regarded her eldest son fondly, before turning to the younger boy. She noted the unadulterated worry in his eyes.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here. You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys. And… Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honored to host a prince of the realm—and his dragon. I expect the both of you will receive a very warm welcome.” The Queen smoothed down his cloak, and brushed his curls away from his face.

“Yes, Mother. I mean, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, an affection glint to her eyes. Her sweet boy… grown far too quickly.

Finally, she turned to you, handing you the parchment. “Lord Borros is a temperamental man, but you are smart—smarter than most your age—I have faith you will easily persuade him for support. Let us hope he will see his daughters within you… you and his eldest, Cassandra, are of the same age.”

“I will not fail you, Your Grace,” you said.

Rhaenyra cupped your face, dipping forward to slant a chaste kiss upon your temples. “I will see you soon, daughter. Get to it, then.”

A warm smile brushed across your features. You pulled away, bidding Jacaerys a warm goodbye, before walking away with Luke.

“Are you ready?” he asked you.

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

The two of you grinned at each other, nervous.

You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before he could mount his pearlescent dragon, Arrax. “Luke… everything’s going to be okay. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The younger boy rolled his eyes. “I should be the one saying that to you—I’m the one with a dragon.”

With that, he mounted the small beast, commanding Arrax to bend down so you could climb on, as well. The dragon seemed to purr contentedly when you stroked his pale scales.

And to the dark skies the both of you took, the howling warnings of the wind falling upon deaf ears.

Storm’s End was cold and dreary and grey all over. Pinpricks of frigid rain stung your skin.

The flight was short but uncomfortable, as the winds made for a difficult journey and the saddle was really only made for one person, since Arrax was still a young dragon. Nonetheless, Luke helped you down, and the two of you made for the castle.

A shrill roar in the distance made the two of you flinch, looking west to see Vhagar in the distance, shrouded with cold fog and smoke, more than five times the size of Arrax. The two of you exchanged worried glances.

Aemond was here.

Fear clutched at your chest.

Determined, Luke stepped forward to the guards manning the castle doors.

“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

The guards nodded, turning to lead him through the massive stone archway.

Thunder rumbled angrily through the sky, rivulets of white lightning carving pathways between clouds.

Somehow colder inside than out, you drew your blue cloak closer to you, sticking close behind Luke.

The guards brought the two of you into the castle’s great hall, where Lord Borros was seated upon a stone throne. He was a burly man, with a mane of black curls and a thick beard shadowing his jaw. To his left were his four daughters, each tall and dark-haired and fair of skin.

To his right was your betrothed.

He was calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back, foot tapping rhythmically against the ground. His purple eye was fixed on you, expression unreadable. You could feel your heart stutter within your chest—despite everything, you missed him terribly.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon, son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” announced the guard. “Lady Y/N, of House Strong.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably at the sight of his uncle.

“Lord Borros,” he started, voice trembling. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”

The Baratheon lord showed little interest in the young princeling. “Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.” He began laughing to himself, loud and hollow, bouncing off the cold stone walls of the castle. “What’s your mother’s message?”

With your head held up high, you stepped forward to hand the Lord the bound scroll. He eyed you with disdain, a sigh falling from his lips.

“Where’s the bloody maester?!” he yelled, his patience growing thin. Borros was not a man of words, and could not read for himself.

Aemond’s stare pierced into Luke, nearly scalding. Subconsciously, Luke rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The maester stepped forward to read for him, before bending down to whisper the message into Borros’ ear.

Fury painted itself golden across his grizzled features.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” he echoed, voice booming with anger. “King Aegon at least came with an offer! My swords and banners in exchange for a marriage pact!”

Your eyes widened, and you chanced a glance to Aemond. Had he offered his hand to one of the Baratheon girls? Had he already cast you to the side as if you were nothing?

“Aegon’s youngest brother, Daeron, is to wed one of my daughters. Prince Aemond was just negotiating dates and dowries,” said Borros in a boastful manner.

A strange sense of relief befell you, one that you didn’t quite understand.

“If I do as your mother bids… which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Voice quaking, Luke shook his head. “My lord… I am not free to marry. I’m already betrothed.”

“So you come with empty hands,” said Borros, an incredulous scoff following his words.

A slight smile crossed Aemond’s features. You gritted your teeth.

“My Lord, if I may,” you began, holding the Baratheon’s graze strongly. “It matters not what we offer. This is a warning to you, from the Queen. The might of the Velaryon fleet has already sworn fealty to Queen Rhaenyra’s cause. Winterfell has never forgotten their oaths and will support Her claim, along with the entirety of the North. The Tullys and the Arryns and dozens more great houses are also to be loyal to the Queen’s cause. Will you be willing to risk your own noble house against the strength of the Blacks if war is to come?”

Borros Baratheon was stunned into silence. He wasn’t a man easily swayed, stubborn to a fault—but your words had struck a chord within him. The threat of the entirety of the North was not one he could hold defense against, not to mention the Velaryon fleet, the Vale, and the Riverlands.

A grumble resounded in his chest. Borros was not one to back down. “Rhaenyra has taken House Baratheon for granted far too long. A son—a male heir—is of higher order than a daughter. Aegon is the true King.”

You pressed forth, “Lord Borros, I beg you to think about the future of your house—”

“NOT ANOTHER WORD FROM YOU!” he shouted, effectively cutting you off, thick brows drawing together. You fell silent, angrily biting down on your tongue. The burly man drew out a heavy sigh, addressing Prince Lucerys once more. “Go home, pup. Tell your bitch of a mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not a dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

The both of you stiffened at his blatant disrespect.

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord,” said Luke.

The two of you turned to take your leave of the blasted place.

“Wait.”

You froze in place, turning only your head to see Aemond staring straight at his nephew.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm with my dear betrothed… trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” he said, words as sharp as knives.

Luke straightened himself, remembering what he swore to his mother. “I will not fight you,” he told his uncle. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” said the one-eyed prince. You protectively moved to stand in front of Luke. Aemond hummed at this, regarding you with a heated stare. He reached behind his head to pull off his leather eyepatch—where a gleaming sapphire was placed within the scarred socket. Memories of when he had bared himself to you fully and wholly that one fateful night flashed across the forefront of your mind. You yearned for that time back. “No… I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine. Just one will serve. I would not blind you. Hm… I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

With that, he reached down into his coat, brandishing a curved dagger. He tossed it down to the ground in between you, the blade glowing with the light of the torches lining the walls.

Revenge was consuming him. He was angry—infuriated that the Blacks had stolen his wife-to-be, and now they were parading about the realm, falsely claiming Rhaenyra to be the rightful Queen.

“Aemond, stop this madness,” you hissed, stepping closer to him, your hand resting over your own dagger hidden within your cloak. “He will do no such thing.”

“Mmh, then he is craven as well as a traitor,” said Aemond.

“Not here!” bellowed Borros.

The prince paid him no mind, surging forward with quick steps. “Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!”

You met him halfway, just as he scooped up the dagger he had tossed. One of your hands found his chest and you shoved him back, the other coming forth to slant your dagger right against Aemond’s stomach. The prince met your eyes briefly, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw regret dancing amongst the mauve of his iris. But it was gone just as quickly as it came.

“Touch my nephew and I will cut you open from head to toe,” you threatened in a hushed whisper, lips grazing his ear.

Aemond found himself chuckling lowly at your slip up. “So you finally admit it, my love. He is a Strong, just as you are, hm? Look at this sad creature, my sweet betrothed… little Luke Strong, the bastard. He is drenched. Is it raining outside or has he pissed himself in fear?”

With a growl, you shoved at him again, which only barely made him take a step back.

Luke had drawn his sword, hands trembling around the hilt.

“NOT IN MY HALL!” yelled Borros. “The boy came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof! Escort Prince Lucerys and Lady Y/N back to his dragon. Now.”

Luke sheathed his sword, and Aemond twirled the dagger in his grasp, before doing the same. You were the last to put your weapon away, glaring at your betrothed with the might of a thousand suns.

“For what it’s worth, Aemond,” you told him as a lump formed in your throat, “I’ve missed you. Or, at least—I miss the man you used to be.”

You did not wait to see his reaction.

Instead, you turned to tell Lucerys, “Go, Luke. I will stay and try to barter with Lord Borros. With time, I think I can convince him.”

The princeling shook his head, wet curls flying. “No, Y/N, you must come home with me. We can tell mother together!”

You brushed his damp hair away from his face. “I can do this, Luke. Go. I will see you at Dragonstone—I shall take a ship back.”

Reluctant, Luke nodded once, before rotating on his heel and heading out the door.

When you looked back, Aemond was already gone. Unease settled within your chest.

The storm seemed to have worsened—the rains were far heavier and the gusts of wind were stronger. You made your way out of the castle to watch Luke go on his young dragon.

Vhagar was nowhere to be seen.

Your eyes widened. Aemond must have already taken her to the skies—no doubt to torment his nephew further.

Or… or worse than torment…

You ran out into the muddy clearing, screaming Luke’s name. Your voice was lost to the storm. Frantic, you made your way out of Storm End’s walls, desperately trying to see through the thick fog.

“LUKE!” you screamed. “AEMOND! No, no, no…”

Vhagar’s rumbling roars echoed loud and true over the stormy seas of Shipbreaker’s Bay.

Raw terror sank its dark hands around your ribcage, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing—

In the faint distance, you could see parts of a pale dragon streak from the sky.

A fluttering wing membrane.

A spined tail.

A gnarled talon.

A dragon head.

And along with it, the corpse of your nephew, falling down, down, down, into the waters below…

You screamed your throat bloody until your voice gave out.

In three days' time, you would find yourself back in Dragonstone, and be the one to tell Rhaenyra that her son was dead. You were weathered and broken, and had to write the words out for your own voice had failed you.

Daemon was enraged upon hearing the news.

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son,” he had said. “Lucerys shall be avenged.”

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baekhvuns · 2 years

Text

bodyguard.

synopsis : in which his task is to be your bodyguard, his mob-boss’s daughter. where he not only guards you but also guards your body.

pairing : seonghwa x reader

themes : romcom, angst & smut.

word count : 37.8K.

to say that your father trusted you was a correct statement to some extent, but what he didn’t trust was the environment you were brought up in.

raising two kids despite being a mafia syndicate and hiding his very mafia-like tendencies wasn’t always easy, considering that both his kids would run around during meetings that not a single soul was to hear.

being raised in a secluded home- mansion per-say that was directly out of a architectural digest magazine, the one your father built from his own hands. residing in it with a happy family with his lovely wife, you, and your younger brother.

he had given you and your brother the bestest facilities growing up, from sending you two to prestigious schools despite having no idea what they actually were to giving you two toys that were only ever made twice in the world.

but now that you, his eldest has grown up. he can’t help but be vary of the environment you were in, it’s not that he didn’t trust you. he didn’t trust a single soul outside his house.

he broke his pact and told you what he did for living the day you turned eighteen, he expected a completely different reaction to the one you gave him. which went along the lines of, “oh, okay.”

so now that you were of age and so were the heirs to other’s mafia groups, he was hesitant to send you anywhere without proper security. seeing how excessively violent his field of work can get, having tiny, minuscule disagreements that could have the worst possible results.

and how you were to take over your father’s position one day, he couldn’t ever risk you or his family getting hurt. it’ll be the one thing that’ll kill him if one day someone gets their hands on his much-protected family.

So, when he makes a decision, looking at the fine, young, tall man dressed in the finest of suits payed by your father. black hair slicked back, a tie with a pin of your dad’s group the crown.

a smile on his wrinkly face he lifts his forefinger up and motions for the man to come closer, who bows his head and then walks stiffly towards you father who sat on his office chair.

“i hope you’ll be the perfect man for this job,” his raspy voice says, eyes falling over the man, who he thinks is quite handsome, and will cause him some trouble in the future.

“yes, sir.” he hears and smiles, “i will not give you a moment of disgrace, if i do, please fire me.”

a laugh bubbles out your dad’s mouth as he shakes his head, leaning forward on the table with a stance that terrified the man standing in front with his arms crossed behind his back.

“and if you do mr park.” your father enunciates, “i won’t. spare you.”

with a quick swallow the younger man nods and your father leans back with a smile, hands resting on each armrest he lifts a hand to tell him that.

“my daughter will be off soon, she’ll come here straight.” he mumbles and the man nods, “i will give you some rules to follow but i believe this is basic knowledge since you have been my guard, am i right park?”

“yes, sir.”

you father reaches for his glasses, placing them over his nose bridge yet still squinting his eyes as he reads the printed sheet of paper. written on it were rules he and his wife made just last night, sitting on their bed conspiring safety measurements.

“number one,” he starts, “you are to never leave my daughter alone, be it in public settings or more closed off settings.”

“yes, sir.”

you father ticks an eyebrow up and continues with a nod and a quick scan of the man, “two. you are to accompany my only daughter and ensure her utmost safety. her life comes first, understood park?”

“yes, sir.”

your father raises his eyes to meet the boy’s, “i assume you have more than just ‘yes, sir’s’ in your vocabulary?”

“i do, sir.”

he smirks, likes how the man keeps it short and simple. “moving on,” he exhales, “as she will be taking over my position in the coming future, you shall always be her right-hand man in any case scenario.”

“four,” he sits up straight, “do not leave my daughter alone in case of emergencies, she is your responsibility at all times.”

“i won’t disappoint you, sir.”

with a nod he continues, clearing his throat as he reads the next one. “fifth, you are to not make any relation with my daughter.”

your father looks ahead, eyes forming into slits. “do not touch my daughter or hurt her, if i get a hunch, i’ll cut your hands off.”

a shaky nod leaves the man. “do not make any sorts of relationship with her, be it courtship or any sort of sexual relationship.”

“am i making myself clear?”

“y-yes, sir.” he responds, “i’m not to make any mistakes that can sadden you, i will pay good attention on that.”

“good,” he smiles, “you can however be friends…to a limit.”

“do n-“

“dad!”

your father’s grim turns into a big smile, face brightening when he hears your call for him. bursting through his office doors with arms wide open and running to him, “oh sweetheart! how was school?”

he asks as you roll your eyes and hug him, “dad you keep forgetting it’s not school anymore, it’s a university!”

when he pulls back, he pats your forearm, “forgive this old man, i’m a little forgetful at times.”

you raise an eyebrow, “forgetful? not when you remember to take a daily shot of whi-“

“okay, okay!” you smile, your dad huffing before he looks ahead and you follow his line of vision.

there stood a man who suddenly stood straighter when your eyes landed on him, you don’t realize your father holding your hand because you’re so busy staring at the man in front of you.

clad in those black tuxes, a gun holster you know is attached to his broader chest. you can’t help but look at the way the tux cinches his waist, your tongue runs across your right cheek as you take the man’s appearance in.

“y/n,”

“yes, dad.” you reply, eyes on the man who never spared you a glance.

“meet your new bodyguard,” you raise an eyebrow. “park seonghwa.”

“i’m park seonghwa, your new bodyguard from now on.” you watch the man bow, “i’m to be by your side whenever you go out at all times, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.”

you bite back a smile at the use of ma’am that’s never been used to address you, and instead you lean back on your bed a little. watching the man’s his upper body for a few seconds and which then stood straight, feet apart and hands crossed behind his back.

“hi, seonghwa.” you say, and he nods, “you have to be with me everywhere?”

“yes, ma’am.”

“call me y/n.”

“yes ma’am.”

with a shake of your head you continue, “do you have to be there at my university?”

“yes, ma’am.”

“when i go to malls, clubs or those events?”

“yes, yes and yes.”

you smile at his response and then cross your legs over the other, being amused at the way he stares at your face and not look down when you crossed your legs. gentleman you thought.

“even…” you lean forward a little, “to the bathroom?”

he pauses for a little and then clears his throat, “public places, ma’am.”

“what about public bathrooms?” you blink twice and his lips form into a line.

“i’m afraid that’s a place i’m not allowed in,” he mumbles, so formal that it hurt you to admit you liked it. “to satisfy your privacy that is.”

with a smile you reach out to grab the thin file your father had given to you, “i assume this is your file, right?”

“yes, ma’am.”

you flip through the papers to see a passport size photo of seonghwa, staring at it a tad bit longer because you finally get to see his eyes that aren’t hidden by the dark sunglasses he wore. they’re sharp, feline-like, scary but so warm that it tingled your fancy.

“you’re a really high-profile man seonghwa, what are you going to do trailing behind me?” you ask as your eyes graze the achievements of the man and no wonder, he’s in your dad’s personal security squad, his credentials are simply spectacular.

from the way he can use almost any artillery given, dismantle and rearrange them to being an assassin for a long running italian mafia before, that one definitely piqued your interest.

“i serve your family ma’am, your father specifically.” he says, looking at you going through his profile. “whatever he says are my orders, ma’am.”

“stop calling me that,”

“yes, ma’am.”

you sigh and then look at him, then pat the spot on the bed you sat on. “if you’re going to be my bodyguard, we should get to know each other!”

“i’m sorry ma’am, i’m not here to make any sort of relationship with you.” he says, sternly. “i’m prohibited to do so.”

“do you always use those fancy, formal words?”

“yes, ma’am.”

“how would you like for me to address you?” you ask, tilting your head to the side a little. “i can’t call you bodyguard everywhere, people can get suspicious.”

“park seonghwa.” he nods after saying that.

you lean an elbow on your leg, tapping your chin as if thinking what to call him when you already know. “what about hwa?”

“seonghwa.”

“what about seong?”

“park seonghwa, ma’am.” he emphasizes, and you grin, your eye smile on display.

“okay, hwa!”

you know he inhales at his defeat, but it only makes you smile more, “so since i know a bit about you, you should know something about me! go on, ask me questions.”

“i have no questions ma’am,” he responds, and you frown.

“not even one?”

he shakes his head, “i already know the most i’ve to know about you, your allergies for emergencies and your daily schedule.”

you nod, “you know about my family?”

he smiles just a bit, “i work for them, of course i do.” he says, briefly glancing at his watch. “i believe your younger brother will be off school now, would you like to go pick him up?”

“ew no,” you scrunch your nose, “why would i go pick up that idiot.”

“as you wish,” he nods and then takes a step back, “if you need anything, please call for me. i’ll be down the hallwa-“

“i don’t have your number,” you grin, reaching for your phone and handing it out to him. “go on, don’t be shy now.”

“i’m not allowed to use your phone ma’am,” you throw your head back and groan, standing on your feet and then walking towards him, just enough till you’re standing right in front.

your finger lifts up to poke his hard chest that you know he works out for, “stop calling me ma’am, we are almost the same age.” you see the slight shift in his posture, “i have a name and its y/n. second, you are my bodyguard. you can use my phone, third you’re about to step on my cat’s tail.”

the third one catches him so off-guard that he takes a quick jump to the side, both your eyes falling to the floor where a cute siamese floofball sat, adorably innocent wide eyes and head tilted with its tail curled in a coil.

“you said you know everyone in my family,” you kneel down, reaching your hand out for your cat who complies and places it’s face on the palm of your hand. “but you forgot my cat, meet dumbles.”

you see the way seonghwa’s head does a quick snap tilt, “…dumbles?” he asks, momentarily leaving the sternness out of him and kneeling down beside you to stare at your round cat.

“you haven’t watched harry potter?” you ask, petting your cat’s head as he purrs and closes his eyes.

“i-i have ma’am,” he quickly adds, his nerd self-having a field day in his mind. “i just don’t know how that relates?”

“dumbles, short for dumbledore.” you hear him sigh at the name and it makes you snort, reaching to hold your cat like a baby you nudge him to seonghwa. “he’s more like my bodyguard really.”

and it’s the first time you’ve seen a full smile grace his plump lips when he reaches to pet dumbles, “i think i’m going to have to compete for this job?”

with a purr of your cat and a laugh that bubbles out of you, it’s then when you suddenly lean closer to his face. eyes squinty and he looks up, despite his glasses covering his eyes you can clearly make out that he’s blinking repeatedly.

“you’re cute.”

“ma’am, we’ll be late for your first class.”

you bring the blanket to your face, “ma’am, it’s already 11:30, your class starts in an hour.”

“seonghwa, are you my mother or my bodyguard?” you groan, peeking a little from your blanket with droopy and squinty eyes.

“your bodyguard ma’am,” you hear him say, then hearing his footsteps go the side of your room and push the curtains away to reveal the sun. “my duty is for you to be at your university right now.”

he hears a whine come from behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see you twisted in some random position as you stretched, taking the entire blanket with you. he hears you yawn his name in a singing voice and all he does is stand at the foot of your bed; hands folded behind him.

you lift your head up on your elbow, eyeing seonghwa’s ever so classic and sophisticated tux with a smile. “gooood morning, seong!”

“good morning, ma’am, please get ready.” he taps his wristwatch, “breakfast is ready downstairs.”

“how are you doing seong?” you ask, completely avoiding whatever he said with a smile.

“very well ma’am,” he says, tapping his watch once again. “it’s time for you to be downstairs ma’am.”

your lips form into a small pout and you shift on the bed, until you’re sitting crisscross in front of him. “you know my mom would love you,” he says nothing, “you’d be someone who’d make me go everywhere on time.”

“that is my job ma’am.”

“good,” you nod, then extending your hand out to him. “could you please help me get out of bed?”

he says nothing but reaches his larger hand to grab yours, his slightly calloused hands holding your softer ones before he juts you up with one hand. so quick and strong that you almost land on seonghwa instead, “thank you, hwa.”

“no worries, ma’am.” he straightens himself up, taking a few steps back and not looking anywhere but your face. “i’ll be downstairs by the bentley.”

you would’ve never thought that you would ever find a man so classy, so hot and yet so infuriating at times. specifically, when he calls you ma’am or quietly slides you a sheet of your schedule of your classes to remind you of the time again at the breakfast table, making your sibling laugh.

so, when you walked out decked in your branded clothes, that one, you barely wore. two, chanel’s tweed jacket keeps poking you in your side and three to match you little- tall bodyguard.

it’s the way you look like his counterpart if not for the gold chanel pin you have on top of your chest, a wide smile on your face that can only be described as sheepish and a jump to your steps.

the drive to your uni is filled with nothing but silence, despite the looks you throw at him from the rear that you know he manages to see once in a while. or the way he shakes his head when he sees you poke your tongue out at him the middle of a red light.

“are you going inside too?” you ask once you get out of the car, flattening your skirt and then clutching your bag tighter.

“yes ma’am.” he merely nods after instead motioning for you to walk first so he walks behind.

and you do as told, walking in front full well knowing a tall, intimidatingly attractive man is walking behind you. seeing the stares, you’re getting it’s only making you prove a point that he is in fact, the finest man you’ve laid your eyes on.

your heels and his shoes match in pace, click clacking against the university marble floor. he walks in silence, occasionally using an arm to swat anyone in your way which makes him brush your arm quite often and leads him to apologize.

when you’re about to enter the classroom, he abruptly comes to a stop in front of you.

“what’s going on, seong?”

“i’ve to check the class for your safety, ma’am.” he says, and your laugh gets drowned by the chatter of students when he opens the door to peek inside. he then steps aside, opening the door for you fully and gesturing for you to walk in. “after you.”

“thank you,” you quickly mumble, suddenly being aware of the stares you’re getting as you hurry to walk to your seat.

once you’re settled down, the lingering figure of seonghwa stood by you. you glance at him and then the class who obviously looked at him, some in awe, some in confusion and the rest with their jaws dropped.

“you don’t have to come in my class,” you whisper, “there’s nothing to worry here.”

he bends at his waist, “i can’t do that ma’am, there’s quite a lot of threat in this class.” he says, eyeing the room. “your dad’s seventh enemy’s nephew sits thirteen seats behind you, anything could happen.”

with a discreet glance over your shoulder and the obvious sign of danger that emitted 13 seats away from you. eyebrow slit and eyes ready to throw daggers you slowly turn to seonghwa, “okay…” you shift to the right, “sit by me then.”

“i can’t do that ma’am.”

you raise an eyebrow, ears twitching at the door to the classroom opening and knowing your teacher walked in. and if he saw a man dressed in a black suit, an earpiece, tall standing by you. you’d surely get in trouble.

you grab onto his sleeve, “shut up, and sit down.”

“m-“

“it’s an order, mr park.”

you knew that hit the mark when you visibly see him stiffen. nodding his head and then unbuttoning his tux to have a seat beside you, your eyes on the teacher and him leaning back to take a seat.

it’s only then when one of your seatmates, kyle decides to open his mouth and ask you a question that has seonghwa raising his eyebrows in disappointment.

“yo, y/n,” you look to your right, “can i borrow a pen?”

“oh!” you mumble, “ye-“

“keep your hands to yourself mister,” you hear seonghwa’s voice come from behind you sternly say, the sudden warmth radiating from him lingering on your back. you can’t see him, but you know the voice has kyle’s eyes widening. “bring your own pen kid, this is university not elementary.”

“s-sorry sir,” you hear his stutter, and it makes you look at seonghwa with a frown, who in return sighs and takes a pen out of his tux pocket.

“bring your own next time,” you hear him mumble before he sits back on the chair, back leaned and legs crossed neatly.

“would you like to get something to eat?” you hear him ask from the driver’s seat, eyes meeting yours through the rear mirror.

“did you really have to give him your pen?” you ask instead, leaning closer to place your chin on the driver’s seat.

“i can’t let anyone else have you-“ you raise an eyebrow when he stops the car at the right moment. “-r property.”

“so, you’d just give anyone your pen?” you say, hearing him tap his fingers along the steering wheel.

he nods curtly. “i believe your class tomorrow is at eight in the morning-“

you groan, “why do you always talk about school?” sporting a pout you look in the rear view, knowing that under his dark sunglasses he is staring at you.

“i’ll set the alarm,“ he replies and your shoulders slump lower. “ma’am.”

with a sigh, you lean back on the seat. pouting in frustration as the sound of your phone momentarily distracts you, you flip it to face you and scroll through the messages.

kai, 4:56pm

y/n

party tonight?

ryan’s place

y/n, 4:57pm

????

why his place

what time

kai, 4:59pm

uhhh

starts at 11

pick you up @ 12?

you snap your head up, “hey hwa, what time was my class tomorrow?”

“eight in the morning, ma’am.”

you curse under your breath, “shit, my hangover would kill me..” you bite down on your lip. looking at seonghwa through your lashes before looking down at the screen.

y/n, 5:01pm

ill drivo there

*drive

i’ll just meet u there

kai, 5:03pm

don’t be late dummy

you chuck your phone to the side when seonghwa calls for you, “y-yeah?”

“i won’t give my pens,” he pulls into your estate. “if that’s not what you’re comfortable with ma’am.”

“no, no,” you look out, mind completely not thinking about the party you’ve got to go too. plus, how will you go? with the tight security your dad has up on each and every wall of this house, you’re done for good. “you do, what you want! yeah!”

because if seonghwa’s supposed to be with you the entire day, how will you secretly- grab your stuff and get ready? how will you even make it past the entrance? surely you can’t use the front doors? gosh.

“ma’am, we are here.”

with that you grab your stuff in a hurry, opening the door you look at him one last time. “thanks for today seonghwa, but i have a really big exam tomorrow-“ you nod repeatedly. “and, uh, i won’t be out of my room till late! y-you can get an early lay off today! bye!”

“yes ma’am..”

you can’t do this.

you can’t go to the party with a hundred guards and doberman’s surrounding your place.

and you absolutely cannot go with seonghwa being just outside your door, “ma’am, shall i ask for your dinner to be prepared?”

you sit down on your bed, looking at the floor length mirror in front. there’s no way, absolutely no way you can escape this house in a dress that reaches till your thighs and in heels longer than your fingers.

before you can grab your phone, you hear another knock at your door. “ma’am?”

y/n, 11:47pm

kai

im not coming

kai, 11:49pm

why y/n

pls

you can’t leave me alone

with their shitshow

idk anyone

“give me a second seonghwa!”

y/n, 11:55pm

you know the entire school

doofus

kai, 11:55pm

pls

u can’t see me

but im on my knees

y/n, 12:00pm

fine

u owe me

kai, 12:01pm

take it or leave it

“ma’am?”

you snap your head up to look at the door, closing your eyes and then opening them with a shake of your head. “i’m, i’ll just be going straight to sleep seonghwa!” you yell, wanting him to leave so you can plan your own. “thank you for today!”

“have a goodnight, ma’am.”

oh, you’re about too, you grin. hearing the clacks of seonghwa’s shoes fade with each step, you rise slowly. grabbing your leather jacket, heels in hand because ain’t no way you’re jumping out your window in them.

you slowly go and turn off your lights, a perfect way to tell that you’re asleep. with a small smile, you push open the window that leads outside just by the garages. as you do so, you see the front gates open. presumably seonghwa leaving the premises, it makes you smile knowing no one will catch you.

with an inhale, cold air flushes inside making you shiver with excitement and the eagerness to get a drink.

you first, look around, knowing the lights at this time are dimmed for privacy sakes. you’ll find it easier to escape, so you carefully extend your hand out— (after sneaking a peek at your sleeping cat) the one that held your heels and slowly, one by one, throw them to the ground.

the soft sound of your heels hitting the grass is quiet, but you know it can pick the ears of the doberman’s your father loves, with a whine you throw your leg over the ledge. and then do the same with the other, sitting on the ledge fully with your balance perfect.

you look in the room once, knowing you’ve got a fake you covered in a blanket there, knowing your doors locked and knowing seonghwa’s gone home.

with that you jump.

your first mistake was to land on your shoes, making you twist your ankle, and a shriek leaves you but that’s quickly suppressed with the hand you put on your mouth.

biting back the pain as your face scrunches up for a scream that your hand hides, you slowly bend down to grab your heels. slowly placing pressure on your feet turn by turn despite a cry you’re desperately wanting to let out.

your eyes switch into night mode, as if they were cameras and begun to step outside the grassy area under your balcony towards the long trees aligning the main road you father had gotten built that connects to the long entrance gates to the french door entrance to your house’s lobby.

your one hand holds your heels, the same hand holding your jacket and the other clothing onto your phone that keeps ringing and you know it’s gonna wake the dogs up and you will start crying. so, the only option was to cut it or pick up.

you picked up.

“y/n? bro where you at?” you roll your eyes at kai’s shaky voice. “i’m alone, this is not fun.”

“stop being like this,” you grit, clutching your phone while tip toeing across the road while hiding behind the long trees. “you’re already dancing i know!” you whisper-yell and hear his snort.

“hurry up you weenie!” he yells, and you whisper a few curse words. “or your new bodyguard might come and get you.”

that makes you stand straight, eyes narrowing as if you’re staring kai down.

“how do you know that?” you ask, voice lowered.

“everyone at our uni knows it,” he laughs, “the tall guy who walked in fully dressed in a tux? can’t be the business majors, can it?”

“oh, shut it,” you whisper, growing closer to the gates while looking back and forth for anyone. “good thing my guards gone home, nothings stopping me from that drink tonight!”

“unless your dogs-“

“i will see you there!” you cut him off, leaning against the tree, hiding as if you were in an action movie you turn your head to the right.

you’re ten steps away from the iron gates, one step to your victory but that one step is cut in half when you see the gatekeeper sitting with eyes wide open. and you know, you know it’s the first time he does so anyways because every other time he’s dozing off.

with a pained smile you slide closer to the tree, successfully in a second having your back against the high cement walls with no suspicion.

your eyes land on the gate in a gate (a small one that mimics a prison, ironic) that’s latched open, you grin. eyes flickering between the gatekeeper and the gate, and just as the man snaps his head down. you’re suddenly shapeshifting into a snake and running out the door with no noise.

once you run out, you run as if your life depended on it. which it did, if your father found out about your early morning endeavors, you’re grounded for good.

and you can’t believe how he still can ground you in your mid-twenties, with a shake of your head you keep running and looking back from time to time before you find yourself in an alley.

your back leaned against the brick as you breathed heavily, chest going up and down as you swallowed the dryness. running a hand through your hair and wiping anything excess on your face before you lean down, throwing your heels before you slip your feet in them.

holding your phone out and texting kai that you’d be there in a few, without your car as you clasped on the ankle strap of your jimmy choo’s you hear a groan coming from your right.

you freeze midway of clasping the strap together, swallowing before comically looking to your right where the dark alley had begun to look even darker. you inhale a nervous breath before quickly slipping on your other heel, not wanting to spend a second here any longer as the groans become louder, and your eyes become wider.

and then you hear a full sentence, you know you’re in trouble. but that doesn’t scare you, what scares you is your father finding about this trouble.

“raise a hand and you won’t see the day of tomorrow.”

“…and it’s my time to leave,” you whisper, holding your phone tighter as you stood up. eyes sneakily looking at the alley as you slowly move towards the road with the aching ankle of yours.

but as you take another step, you hear the loud cry of someone that makes you freeze. but what solidified your death was when your phone rang in the midst of the after silence of the cry.

“who’s there?”

you freeze for what feels like hours and then snap to reality, hurriedly shutting your phone off and cursing kai’s name. you look back at the alley, swallowing with a pained expression before slowly beginning to creep away.

but it’s then when you hear a surge of footsteps filling your ears, your eyes widening, and you grip onto your dress before making a run.

“hey! get back here!”

“catch her!”

so, you run, you run as if your dogs are chasing you, as if your mother has found out what you’re doing late out at night dressed to get sick. or how your father would immediately blow up on you and the thought of getting into trouble, but that was on the last of your mind.

you’re running down the street, injured at the ankle, in your jimmy choo’s while a group of men run after you. you know they are holding weapons because you looked over your shoulder and it made you run even faster.

the cold wind slaps your face, makes your eyes watery and pushes your hair back as the road becomes downhill, your mouth begins to spew out curse words and screams that you hope make the men run away because you know only a god can save you from this.

“h-hey!” you scream, thinking you’d have a wise conversation with the group of guys who only seem to roar even louder and it’s at this point that your ankle begins to burn, and your eyes begin to tear up from the cold wind. “you don’t know who i am!”

“we don’t care!”

you cry out, “my father runs the mafia!”

“if your dad runs the mafia, my dad is tom cruise!” you hear one of them yell and you quicken your speed.

you frown as you run, “what the fuck!?”

“get her!”

the street gets darker and darker but with the semi-working streetlights, you’re able to make out stores and houses around you. neon signs of sketchy restaurants where they sell alcohol for a dollar (you obviously knew, because you tried), or small departmental stores lining the streets.

you’re running so fast, that a crowd of people don’t stop you. you push past them in an attempt to lose the men, but they seem to have found you no matter what, it’s then when you see a man walk out a local 7/11.

your first instinct is to wave, but when the man turns around. eyes on the ground, hand holding a white bag and not a care in the world.

you think you’re about to lose him, until it takes everything in you to scream. “hey!” loud enough for the man to turn around and when he does. you wish you never screamed; you wish you never sneaked out of your room.

because the last thing you expect on a friday night is to be caught by your bodyguard.

“i’m, i’ll just be going straight to sleep seonghwa!”

“have a goodnight, ma’am.”

“god no,” you whisper, half happy that you found him, and half scared shitless. “shit.”

as you’re nearing him, your body automatically begins to slow down. and once you do, you’re standing right in front of him. breathing heavily and swallowing as your throat dried.

“t-this is not how it looks like-“ you look back, seeing the men beginning to slow down as they approach you and him. “-i promise!”

“what’s going on?” he speaks and for the first time you hear him without his uptight vocabulary that doesn’t consist of ma’am’s or sir’s.

“i thought you were asleep?” he raises an eyebrow, and you look at him up and down, clad in a black hoodie with matching sweats. you think you like him better this way.

“i…i thought i was too,” you chuckle, humourlessly and awkwardly.

“hey!”

you two turn around at the loud yell and you take a step back, “i-it’s a long story-“ you swallow, coming to stand closer to him as seonghwa take a step forward. “-i’ll explain the rest later!”

seonghwa gives you a blank stare, raising an eyebrow and you just know he’s shooting you in his mind. “are you hurt?”

you blink, “huh?”

he looks back at the men, “are you hurt, ma’am?” and then looks at your blinking eyes.

you shake your head slowly, “no,” he then hands you the white bag he held prior, and you look at him with a frown. “…..are you doing what i’m thinking you’re about to do?”

you take the bag from, and he nods. “i’m doing exactly what you’re thinking.”

you grip the bag tighter, pulling your lips into a determined grin and raising your hands into fists to urge him on. “….we’re running right?”

he looks over his shoulder before snorting, “i’m going to go do my job.” he then points at you. “stay here.”

“you’re not on-“

“oi you two!” you snap your eyes at the men in front, hand on their waists and bored expressions on their faces. “if you’re done talking, get her here, we’ve got some business to finish!”

you blink, feeling your heartbeat take a sudden increase as you hold the bag tighter. “don’t worry about it ma’am, i can handle this.” with that he begins to walk towards them, and you panic when your eyes flash at the guns and knives they held.

as quick as your mouth opened to yell, it zipped even quicker when seonghwa’s back comes to blind you from those in front. you hear groans and curses being thrown at seonghwa who stares at them blankly, inhaling before lifting his hand up. motioning them to come forward with two of his fingers.

and then it felt like a blur when seonghwa raised his fist and smashed it in the man’s jaw, your mouth drops at the sight. instinctively holding your own jaw as if you felt the pain, eyes widening as you stare at the scene in front of you.

one vs at-least seven.

with the way seonghwa’s elbow jabs in their ribs, strong punches to their jaws and kicks to their stomach your mouth is left hung open. it felt as if you were watching a live action movie, maybe even a boxing match.

your eyes follow seonghwa’s every move, the way his eyes turn into slits. hair moving with every punch he makes, the groans from his mouth and the movement of his muscle. you can’t help but gawk at him.

from the way he rolled his hoodie up to his elbow, showcasing the ink he’s got that stops just before it goes above his elbow. swirls of art that you’re so entranced by that you totally blind side the fact that seonghwa’s yelling for you.

“ma’am!”

you quickly snap out of your thoughts and look for where you’re hearing his voice, once you do your eyes widen. “hey!” you yell, seeing seonghwa in a rear chokehold. two of the men holding him down while one of them begins to walk towards you.

you take a step back, gripping the bag to your chest with wide eyes while seonghwa yells at you from the back. “y-your shoes!”

you frown, holding the bag tighter as you yell back. “what shoes?! where!”

“your shoes! use them!”

“to hit him?!”

“yes!”

you give him a look, “my jimmy choo’s!?”

he nods and you stare at him with an unreadable face before he yells for you again, “you can buy more!”

you swallow, looking down at your shoes that you know you can’t buy more. but even so, you put the bag away, take your shoes off. hold the heel side up, raising both your hands up before yelling and running towards the herd.

barefoot, in a leather jacket and fighting some goons with heels was something straight out of a romcom. on a friday night, you expect yourself to be with your friends and not smacking heels into people’s chests.

“i’m so sorry, this is gonna hurt-“ you yank the heel down and hear a loud groan and it has you shivering. “i told you this will hurt!”

for a few minutes you keep doing what seonghwa has told you, heel after heel you’ve left them with wounds that ooze fresh blood and just the sight of it makes you grim.

you think you two are set to go but then the men begin to gather around you two in a circle, your back finds itself attached to seonghwa’s.

broken heels in hands, the ribbon design on them falling somewhere along with way whole the structure is completely damaged.

“now…” you inhale, swallowing as you stare at their angry faces. “what do we do now?”

“do you know how to fight?”

you pause, biting your lower lip in frustration. “no, i..never learned.”

he says nothing but stands straighter, “i’m going to pick you up,” your head snaps to him.

“what?” you whisper, eyeing the man standing in front of you. who, with his injuries still manages to stand.

“by the waist,” he continues, eyeing the others on his side. “use your feet to kick them while i spin you.”

“this is insane,” he hears you say and smiles a bit before replying, “this is what we do for living.”

“can’t we just run?” you ask, looking around the road to see ample amount of space to run.

“it’s not easy,” he replies, “if this gets to your father..that is.”

you turn around on instinct, “right.” and then glare at the men. “do it then, i’m sure we’ve both got places to be.”

he spares no second and turns you around, hooking his arms under your armpits before hoisting you up. “kick!” he yells, and you do as he says, eyes shut tight and legs kicking while he spins you around.

you’re so sure you hear a faded snort coming from seonghwa while you’re hitting arms and chests and faces that when he puts you down, he makes sure your jacket is still on and that your balance remains as you collapse in his arms.

when your eyes land on the ground, a sigh leaves your lips at the sight. hearing groans and curses being spewed while a few of them tried to drag themselves away, your eyes then snap to your shoes only to see them ruined.

your jaw drops and your first instinct is to go and grab them, but instead seonghwa snakes his arm around your waist and swoops you to his towering front. your hands fall flat against his chest, eyes widening at what he was doing that is until you realize he had his foot on a man’s hand.

the hand that was reaching for your ankle, you swallow and look up at seonghwa. “..we’re good, right?”

he looks down and your eyes immediately lock, staring into them directly for the first time and not only did it bring a sudden burst of butterflies in your stomach but made your heart stop for a quick second.

but that only lasts for a moment before he pulls away abruptly, “yes ma’am.” you nod slowly, eyes finding the ground.

you tip toe your way across the groaning bodies to grab into the broken pieces of your heels, and then turning around to see seonghwa waiting for you by the side.

you take a quick look at your surroundings before walking towards him, the cold cement road under your bare feet making you shiver. once you’re in front of him, he nods and quietly gestures you to follow him.

and you do, hugging your jacket around you tighter. you walk behind him, eyes on his taller and built frame. one hand holding the white bag, where you could spot redness on his knuckles while the other was tucked in his pocket.

“..i’m so sorry i got you involved into this,” you begin as your eyes catch a glimpse of the bruises on his knuckles.

“i thought you were asleep, ma’am.”

you sigh, closing your eyes before nodding. “i-i had to go to this party..” you mumble, “so i snuck out.”

“from the front gates?” he asks, tone normal and not accusatory of any sorts. “and past the dogs?”

you shake your head, “from the window actually…and past the dogs.”

he nods, impressed before his eyes find themselves staring at the ground. instinctively glancing at your feet and then it occurs to him, “you’re hurt, ma’am.” he whispers, eyeing the slight redness at your ankle and the cuts and dirt you’ve got wrapped around them.

you stare at your feet as you keep walking, “they don’t hurt actually,” you smile. “feels nice to walk bare feet on the cold ground.”

“we should sit down,” he urges, a slight panic in his tone. “you’re limping ma’am.”

you turn to look at him, eyes falling over the hair that hovers over his forehead. “stop calling me that.” you say, lowly as you keep your eyes fixated on him. “y/n, call me that at least when we’re alone.”

he says nothing but presses his lips in a line before looking ahead and pointing straight, “there’s a bench right there, we should at least get you seated.”

you sigh before nodding, quickly checking your phone for time and the messages from kai before putting it back into your pocket and following him.

you sit at a normal distance away from him, or more like he did. once you’re sat, your surroundings are a quiet bliss, the cold night wind and the makeshift roof of leaves above your head, it felt calming.

the night was one full of stars, you look down at your feet. watching the shadows being created by the streetlight that shines on you but especially on seonghwa. when you turn your face to look at him, half of his face is illuminated by the light while the other casts a darker shadow.

as the silence begins to heavy in, you decide to break it with a request you hope he agrees too. “please don’t tell my dad about this seonghwa,” your bite down on your lower lip. “he won’t let me out again.”

“why would he do that ma’am?” he responds, and you swallow. “i believe he should know, and it is my duty to document everything to him so-“

“can you stop with the unnecessary fancy words!” you cry out and turn to him. “you are not going to tell my father about any of this.”

“but m-“

you raise an eyebrow, “you’re not.”

“but why not?” he frowns, fiddling with the bag in his hand.

“because…” you start, eyes looking left and right. “because…you’re my friend, yeah!”

he gives you a quick stare, “but, ma’am i’m not all-“

you cut him off by scooting closer and placing an arm on his shoulder, with a eyebrow raise. “you are now my best friend.” you nod, “and as childish as this sounds, best friends don’t tell each other’s secrets to anyone right?”

he pauses to blink twice before nodding slowly and you smile, “good!” you pat his shoulder.

“so, we should consider this a deal-“ you bring your hand out for him to shake and he looks at you then at your hand accessorized in rings. “-right?”

he sighs audibly and you grin, knowing he’s given up. “thank you so much seonghwa!” with a quick assuring pat and a smile you pull back into silence that is until he speaks.

“y..you don’t have that party to go to?” he mumbles, eyes on the bag he held between his legs. you, pull your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them.

“it’s a little too late now,” you know your phone’s being ambushed by messages form kai mainly him begging, but you rather— can’t help but like this a little more.

he says nothing again and instead fiddles through his bag; your eyes follow his movements until they pause on what you think is ice cream.

he looks over at you and you lock eyes, “you must be hungry,” you tilt your head just a little for your hair to move with it. “..ice cream?”

he holds out a squished pack of ice cream which makes you raise an eyebrow, “it’s a little…deformed?” he squeaks, and you hide a smile before reaching out to take it from his hands.

“thank you seonghwa.” you mumble, and he smiles a little, then gives a small nod and it’s when you notice his hair falling over his eyes.

“your welcome, ma-“

“y/n.”

he looks at you and you mirror him, in fact, you change your position to face him. legs in a criss cross with your jacket being a makeshift blanket on them so that you don’t flash anything, anytime soon.

“my names y/n,” you repeat, taking the wrapper off the ice cream. “i’ve told this multiple times, and i’ll say it again. call me y/n when we’re both alone.”

he nods, “okay…” he hesitates, staring at you as if you were going to speak. but when you don’t, he finally says it even if it feels as if he’s struggling and you don’t know why. “y/n.”

you break out into a smile, “now that we are on first name basis,” you extend your hand out, as if pointing between him and you. “we should get to know each other better, right? for better…uhh-“

“relationship?”

you snap your fingers, “yes that! i’ll go first,”

he smiles, “of course.”

“hi, i’m y/n.” you begin, voice a tone lower to match the quietness. “and i’m currently in a uni? i go out at night because my father doesn’t let me in the day,” he snorts, and you smile. “i’m also! not as snobby as you think.”

“i’ve never thought of you as snobby ma’am,” he says, licking at the ice cream before continuing. “just…picky?”

you grin, “that i am or maybe i just have fine taste?” a round of chuckle leaves you two. “what about you, tell me about you seonghwa.”

“what do you want to know?”

“well, i just know the professional you-“ you pause to lick the ice cream, “the macho, mr smith style assassin! but what’s under all of that?” you wiggle your eyebrows. “a different story?”

he looks down with a smile as you watch him with a curious gaze, “i’m just a simple man doing a simple job.”

you raise an eyebrow, “simple job?” he nods, and you narrow your eyes. “i’ve never heard a simple man having a job at a mafia house?”

he bites down on his lower lip before shaking his head, “how’d you end up working for my father?” you ask, and he looks at the ice cream.

“your father actually met me when i was at my worst,” he begins, and you tilt your head.

“what?”

he lifts his head up to look right at you, “i escaped italy once…illegally, your father helped me out with it entirely.” you notice the way he smiles at that. “he became someone who gave me a shelter and in return i worked for him.”

“sounds heroic.” you whisper, an impressed smile on your face that it makes him laugh a little. “you escaped, why?”

you hear him inhale audibly and it makes you swallow before looking up at the sky, “you don’t have to tell me, that’s fine, somethings should be ke-“

“someone was out to kill me.”

your eyes widen, “what?!” your jaw hangs, processing everything that he’s saying. “h-how did you get away? i’ve heard once italian’s mark something to kill, they will.”

you scoot closer, “..how did you escape them?”

he looks at your wide curious eyes and before even thinking it through, he says it all. “i killed him.”

he watches your jaw drop at that and for a moment he thinks he’s fucked up, which rightfully so, but when you say something, it makes his eyes widen in surprise. “you killed,” you lean closer to whisper, “an italian mafia guy?”

you then bring your hands up to clap slowly with an impressed face, “how haven’t you gotten a movie made on you? that’s crazy, they should title it ‘mission impossible: italy chronicles!’ you’d give tom cruise a run for his money!”

“are you not surprised?” he asks, slightly confused at your enthusiasm over starring him in a movie and not the fact that he killed someone.

“hm?” you pause and then smile a little.

“are you not surprised or scared that i told you i just killed someone?” he repeats, eyeing your rather calm expression.

“seonghwa,” you inhale, shuffling with the jacket before looking at him. “i’ve grown up in this environment involuntarily…i’m used to the killing’s and everything that happens in a group because i have to be, i-i someday have to run this yeah? even if i don’t want to, i have to get used to it.”

“you don’t seem like you want to do anything with your dad’s job,” he murmurs, and you nod, looking down at the jacket as your hand comes to play with the sleeve. “not interested?”

“nope,” you sigh, “i’ve never associated myself with the type of work my dad does, never learnt how to fight or do anything that ties me to that world.”

you then glance at him, “and i don’t plan to anytime soon, but i know i have to one day whether i like it or not-“ you stand up abruptly and he watches you for a quick second. “maybe one day i’ll stop this mafia, who knows?”

he says nothing but nods, knowing the situation won’t change if he says anything. “thanks for the ice cream though,” you change the topic, holding the ice cream cone as if it were a wine glass.

imitating the great gatsby scene where leonardo holds the glass up with a smirk, “and i hope you keep the promise, best friend.” with a small smile, you gather your belongings before waving him a small bye.

but it’s not even a second later that he stops you, “y/n,” you look back, eyebrow raised slightly. “where are you going at this hour?”

“home.”

“you’re walking?” you nod, “but you’re hurt, i’ll get a tax- shit, taxis don’t work at this hour.” he stands up and you blink.

“i’ll walk you home,”

your hands immediately fly up in the air, “no! no! that’s fine, i can walk, it’s just a small walk back home and you’re probably really tired and hurt so i don-“

“-do you always talk this much?” he cuts you off and you smile sheepishly.

“yes,” you immediately respond, holding your jacket close to your chest. “you don’t?”

“they should keep you in a museum, you know?”

you grin, “they should, people will pay to see me, sounds fun.”

he looks down and lets out a breathy chuckle, “i’ll walk you home, it’s dark o-“

“you’re off job s-“

“ma’am.” you raise your eyebrow slightly, “a bodyguard is never off duty, so please, let me walk you home.”

you glance at him with a small smile, eyes searching his face as if he’d say something else but when he doesn’t, you nod. “okay then mr bodyguard, walk me home safely.”

when he stands up, the two of you begin walking back to your place. you barefoot, his knuckles bleeding, chasing, and fighting down goons all on a friday night. you turn to look at his side profile and feel warmth fill your gut before you look ahead.

your eyes then go to your bare feet before your eyes widen. “what about my jimmy choo’s?” you ask in the quiet street, a chill in the air as streetlights far away shine bright.

“i’m sure you can buy new ones, isn’t that right ma’am?”

“those were vintage..”

“they always have better ones!” he mumbles, giving you a quick glance.

“..they were my mom’s.”

“they what.”

“so,” you begin, eyeing your dark and scary mansions that had a red-light beam at the very top, on a dome-like roof. “how do we get back inside?”

you hear seonghwa inhale from beside you and you look at him with a raised eyebrow and hunched shoulders, his jacket wrapped around them tightly as you tried to keep yourself warm.

“do you know the safety system in your house?” he asks, eyes raking the mansion before he steps closer to quietly open the iron gates.

your eyes follow him, “…i think so?” you respond in a mumble. “dads never mentioned it to me explicitly but like i know what he’s up to like, half the time.”

“great,” he turns around, leaning on the gates. “you’re going to help us get in.” he nods, like the ones guys at parties do when they see someone from their element.

you raise an eyebrow, shifting your weight on one foot before speaking. “aren’t you supposed to my bodyguard?”

“and aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” he retorts and watches you pause.

you blink, then nod. “point.” and walk closer to him, squinting at your own house as if it were a mission to cross. eyes narrowing over the trimmed shrubbery with bright flowers that seemed to have blended with the night, adding onto the chilling appearance of your home.

“so according to my dad,” you put your face up against the iron gates, squishing your cheeks on the rails. “there’s a laser security system when you first enter the house- wait but how do you not know this!”

he shakes his head while still looking ahead, “that’s because i don’t stay here, i know the blueprints but i stay there-“ he points at the right of the mansion, and your eyes follow his finger. “at the guard quarters, the security system there is mild.”

“why?"

“because we are the security there.”

you nod with an impressed pout, “huh, no wonder i had never seen you around.”

“i’m your dad’s personal security, i’m usually in his office.” he whispers, leaning a little closer to you. “not around a lot.”

your eyes then land on the area you’ve never stepped a foot in. “is the bodyguard quarters cool?” it’s like a smaller version of your place, yet you spot more class in it with way its architecture looks despite it being rarely visible.

he tilts his head and chuckles a little, “cool? yes, it is.”

you then look at him with a frown, “why do you talk like this?” he pauses. “you sound like a professor more than a bodyguard, are you in cahoots’ with my prof?”

“no,” he answers quickly and hesitantly raises his hand to poke your forehead, your eyes widen, and you look at him who avoids your eyes immediately. “t-the security system, we need to get in before it’s too late.”

you hide a smile and nod before beginning to explain, “when we first enter, there’s a red laser security. once we pass that and go up the stairs, the hallways have small traps all around that can identify the smallest of sounds-“

“-and intruders.” he mumbles before tapping the front gates, “and have you been trained for this?”

“me?” you point at yourself, “absolutely not.”

you hear him sigh audibly, “what will you do when you have to learn all of this? to fight to plan and to be competent enough to take your father’s place?”

“i’ve got you here, so that should be fine.” you hum, and he blinks twice. “right? now let’s go in!”

you open the gates first, cautiously while he follows suit. it’s quiet, eerily quiet. you think everyone’s fallen asleep, so you turn to ask seonghwa what time it was, “it’s two.”

you nod and walk towards the front entrance; body bent a little to keep out of anyone’s hide and to hide in the shadows. while seonghwa follows without doing the unnecessary things you’re doing.

once you’re in front of the gates, you stop and fish into your jacket pocket in an attempt to find your spare keys. “we could just climb your window..”

“there’s no ladder there!” you whisper loudly, immediately clamping a hand on your mouth before quietly inserting the key in the lock and testing it slowly. “also, it’s more fun this way.”

once you hear the quiet and short and satisfying noise of the tall door unlocking, you look over your shoulder and gesture for seonghwa to follow you inside.

“my job was to walk you home ma’am,” he whispers, “i don’t think i should go in-“

but before he even finishes the sentence, you take a hole of his wrists and pull him in locking the door behind you immediately.

“i don’t think this is a good idea ma’am…” you hear him whisper and you look over your shoulder, scanning the foyer.

“why are you so scared? it’s not like my dad will kill you, geez,” you sigh, looking around the big plants that scare you because they look eerily similar to people in your house.

“if he recognizes m-“

your tongue hits the roof of your mouth at that, “he can’t even differentiate between me and my brother in the mornings, so don’t worry-“

before you even get the chance to finish your phrase, there’s a loud knock coming from the stairs right above the chandelier. the sound alone makes you and seonghwa panic and run to hide behind the large plant your mom begged to have.

“you know,” seonghwa inhales, swallowing as he looks around. “your dad can actually kill me.”

you click your tongue, again. “you’re scared for nothing.” and walk ahead but he stays, shaking his head because he knows what the circumstances can be.

when you look back to see him standing there looking at the ground, you sigh and walk back towards him. holding your hand out to him which makes him look at you, you nod towards your hand. “hold it.”

“w-why?” he asks, throat drying as he looks around the place.

you frown, “do you want my dad to find out?” he shakes his head. “so then, hold my hand and i’ll make sure no one finds out.”

you shake your hand at him with a grin that has him narrowing his eyes, but he knows he’s got no other option. because the only person who can save him from your father is you, and if that means you’ll take him under the wing for one day. he doesn’t mind.

so, with that, he hesitantly holds your hand, swallowing as you grip on it tightly before yanking him away.

he follows you down the hallway, holding your hand tighter with every step as his heartbeat begins to skip beats. eyes wandering the quiet rooms that otherwise are bright and loud, now terrify him with each step.

“ma’am, where’s the laser security?” he asks, and you pause right after, swallowing and pointing ahead.

“there,” you mumble, biting your lower lip as you take in the bright red lasers, bright neon red lines parallel to each other. “if we pass this, we’re good to go.”

he nods and then looks at you, “do you know how to do this?”

you grin, “of course,” as fast as you left his hand, he holds onto it faster. stopping you from going forward immediately.

“what’re you doing?!” he whispers, and you point at the lasers.

“passing the lasers? like how they do in the movies?” you say, tone matter-of-factly and he raises his eyebrow.

he pulls you back to him, your side hitting his towering front by surprise. “this isn’t the movies y/n.” you straighten up at the use of your name. “we can get killed, maybe not you, but i can.”

you look at him, “i don’t pay you enough to get killed.”

he smirks, “your father does.” before you retaliate, he puts a finger up to his lips, shushing you before holding your hand and walking on the other side. “follow me.”

he walks you around the stairs, completely away from the lasers— okay maybe not completely because you two did have to duck down quite a few times. but once that was left behind, you were surprised at his tactics.

impressed at his calm demeanor you follow right behind him, mouth shut and eyes on his back. your eyes then land on the hand he’s holding and smile.

“hey seo-“

in a matter of seconds, you’re pushed to the cold wall behind, you know it’s the wall with the way you hear frames rattle a bit. seonghwa’s larger hand covering your mouth as he leaned in, covering you fully and engulfing you in his warm scent while staring into your wide eyes with his sharper ones.

“don’t talk.” he says lowly, noticing the way your eyes blink. “got it?”

you nod repeatedly, eyes searching his face up close. from the bridge of his nose to his fuller lips and then back to his sharp eyes that look to your right. studying the shape of his eye and the long lashes that touch the area of cheek right under his eye, it makes you swallow just at the sight of him.

you don’t make a noise when he makes you move without ever physically holding you, though it’s difficult and makes you confused you follow him either way. the small tapping of your feet and his shoes make the faintest noise, which makes him afraid that you’ll get caught.

“can you walk a little less loudly?” he whispers in your ear and you, first, take one second to feel the shiver run down your spine and two, feel your heart skip a beat.

you then frown, bringing his hand down from your mouth and wrapping it around your waist. he immediately pulls back with wide eyes, “what’re you doing?” he whispers, and you take his other hand and put it around your waist.

“you want me to walk quietly, the only way i can do that if i walk on my tippy toes-“

“what does that gotta do with holding you!-“

“sssh!” you whisper and look everywhere before continuing, “if we match our rhythm, less sound and we won’t get caught.”

“that’s…”

you grin, “genius, i know-“

“-so stupid.”

you face drops, “eyy, come on, you spoilsport!” you whisper. “you just have to hold me, it’s not like that’s a crime!”

he leans in to be face-to-face with you, “in this house, it is.” and raises his eyebrow as you stare him down, long enough for him to sigh and you smile.

“come on, mr park!” you mumble and lean forward. “i’m not even that bad.”

you say before extending both your hands out to him, he pauses and sighs. thinking about all the shit he can get for doing this before throwing his head back, defeatedly placing his hand on yours which you quickly move to your waist.

“hold on tight,” you whisper before looking towards the hallway, “make a noise and we’re done for the night.”

“we’re gonna get caught,” he whispers halfway through, hands neatly wrapped around your waist as you two matched steps as if doing a partner dance at your father’s extravagant gala’s he likes to hold.

“you’re just scared.”

“no,” he immediately refutes, looking you into the eye. “i’m scared i’ll be fired or even worse, killed.”

or even worser, disappoint your father.

you shake your head, then raise your hand to his chest and pat it twice. “then i’ll save you.” as if that’ll make a difference he thinks.

he shakes his head, knowing exactly who will save who and who will get who in trouble. it’s not that he’s scared of dying, he’s scared of disappointing your father’s faith in him. the man who gave him everything he couldn’t ever get; he can’t jeopardize his trust.

but when he looks down at you, your eyebrows scrunched up as your eyes narrow and look ahead. he can’t help but think that if he protects you, he won’t disappoint your father. if he fulfils your every demand, he won’t be jeopardizing anything.

it’s what he hopes in the end.

he walks with you in silence, ears perking up at the slightest of a crack or squeak that makes him grip your dress tighter as if ready to push you behind him to take cover. but instead, none of that happens, the two of your make your way towards your room in peace.

the silence over you two was deafening and you did nothing to break it, that is until you’re in your room. back to your door and eyes on seonghwa, “so.” you whisper, watching his hesitation.

he nods slowly, “so..” he pauses. “i think i should go-“

“-at this time?” you cut him off, locking the door behind before walking to him and he instinctively backs up. “isn’t this more fun? just you and me alone in the room?”

you watch the way his eyes widen, and you bite back a smile, “m-ma’-“

“god, i was just joking.” you laughed, eyeing his surprised face and eyes that blinked repeatedly. “sit down,” you point at the couch behind him. “i’ll go get the first aid box.”

“that’s-“ he says out loud but immediately stops himself, “..that’s not necessary, ma’am.”

you ignore him and walk away towards your bathroom, leaving him standing alone in the middle of your room. he hesitates to move but does it anyway, eyes looking around the room and he realizes it’s the first time he’s stepped in the room of anyone he works for.

he didn’t expect it to be so soon or even at all, but he smiles a little and shakes his head. eyes searching the room and he notices the amount of colour patterned clothes you have hanging around; he expected your room to be big and uninviting but it’s the exact opposite.

warm, a little big and cozy. he smiles to himself as he begins to walk to the bookshelf just behind him, looking at the photo frames where you and your family were present. he lifts a hand to run his fingers on the shelf gently while looking at your childhood photos.

from where he sees his boss, your dad in one of the frames. holding a younger you, who was dressed in a pink tutu. he smiles again, only ever seeing his boss with a stoic face that rarely cracks a grin legitimately smile. he then looks at you, eyes shut as you grinned from ear to ear holding a little trophy.

he then looks at the frame behind it, where you stood alone. older now, maybe in your teens. he remembers this one, the dress specifically.

it was when he had joined newly, he was told you were his only daughter, and he couldn’t help but peek outside to see you— not like a creep but because everyone was looking their boss getting scolded by you.

it was a rare sight to see, but it’s one he remembers the most.

just when he’s about to look ahead, you come walking in. startling him in the way, he scrambles to his feet and looks at you as if he got caught stealing something.

you blink, “you can sit down!” you usher him over to the couch. eyes following him hurrying to take a seat before you join and sit in front of him on the table.

once he’s sat, you raise your eyebrows and extend both your hands. “hands.” you mumble in the emptiness of your room where only a lamp was lit in the far corner.

he looks at you and blinks twice, “ma’-“

“-y/n.”

“y-y/n,” he begins and you’re already reaching for his hands. “it’s fine you don’t have to do this-“

“-and why not?” you cut him off, scowling and he hesitantly pulls his hand back. but before that even happens, you pull his hands back into your lap. “you’re bleeding at your knuckles!”

he looks down at his hands, eyeing the dried blood on his hand and the way your hold on him is so gentle. the first he’s ever experience.

“i’m used to it.”

“well not on my watch,” and you begin to nurse his wound, whispering to yourself about how much blood’s been dripping and how he’s not worried about his wound. “as long as you’re my bodyguard, i don’t give you the permission to get hurt.”

he says nothing and you continue to nurse him until you realize the man doesn’t even make a noise, a squeak, or a hiss in pain. you look up with wide eyes, “is your hand numb?!”

“no?” he answers, looking at his hand and then at you.

“then why..” you scoot closer, “how are you not making a noise in pain?”

“i told you, i’m used to it.” he replies, and you narrow your eyes. he then leans forward to match your stance, narrowing his eyes he continues. “i’ve gotten worse injuries, this is nothing.”

“yeah? enlighten me.”

his features change with the way he smirks, “broke my ribs, both arms, one leg.” he pauses to recall, catching your expression while doing so. “number of concussions and bull-“

“okay okay!” you give up and he smiles a little. “i don’t care how bad you were injured,” you poke his hand, “an injury is an injury. and you’re hurting i just know-“

“-no i’m not.” he says, eyes still on you.

you smile, a little strained. “yeah?” you begin to wrap the bandage around his hand. “yes, you are.”

“no, i’m not.”

you wrap it tighter, “yes.”

“no.” he stares right back.

“yes.” you wrap it again, watching his lip twitch.

but he acts as if nothing hurts, “i’m still good,” he then points at his hand. “you can wrap it tighter.”

“gosh,” you whisper, knotting the bandage before giving him his hand back and falls back on the couch with a smirk.

but he’s quick to regain his posture, hands going down to grab your ankle and place it on his knee. “h-hey!” you yell but he immediately puts a hand to your mouth.

“you’re going to wake them up,” he whispers, and you nod slowly, then look at him holding your ankle. “guess who’s also injured.”

“unlike me,” he brings his hand down and hooks his finger on the box before dragging it closer to him. “you’re not used to this.”

he hums, “correct?” and looks at you as he separates the cotton.

“correct.”

he nods, “which also means you’ll be in pain, correct?”

“a lot.”

he raises an eyebrow, “yeah?”

“hm, i have low pain tolerance.” you mumble as he begins to nurse around your ankle, wincing whenever he dabs the cotton too harshly.

“how will you run your dad’s business if your tolerance is low?” he asks, gently brushing his fingers over your ankle.

you smile, “see…that’s not my plan,” and then hiss. “and if i were to one day…you’ll be there, right?”

he smiles stiffly, “of course, it’s my job to be your right-hand man after all.” he then places your leg down gently before holding the other one up.

“then you better be there for everything,” you say, “don’t miss anything, don’t die and absolutely do not get injured.”

“yes ma’am.”

silence then falls over you two, just him carefully holding your ankle while you watch his hands skillfully wrap the bandage, it makes you wonder just how many times he’s done this. occasionally finding yourself staring at his face when he asked a question rather than responding.

it makes you snort internally at how at first you thought seonghwa was never going to talk to you, be civil and extremely formal to now where he’s more comfortable and warming up.

“thank you.”

he lifts his head up slowly, “…for what?”

you point your finger at your feet, “for that and for beating the guys up and uh, sorry for eating your ice cream and! for dragging you in here!”

he smiles a little and you’ve come to like it when he smiles, even if that’s the only thing he’ll do. “your welcome, ma’am.”

“i had a question,” he suddenly asks, and you beam at his request. “go on!”

he then places your leg down gently before pointing behind you, towards the bookshelf. “that photo there,” you turn around to follow his finger. “with your father.”

“ah,” you hum, glancing at the photo and remembering the moment it was taken. “it was my first ballet recital,” your eyes fall on the pink tutu your dad gifted you. “way before this whole mafia thing started, my dad was a small lawyer.”

you turn to him, “you must know.” and he nods. “business was never good where he worked and we could at times, barely afford a dinner. sometimes i think this mafia thing started because he wanted to gift me a pink tutu.”

he snorts, looking at you with a fond stare. “how come?” he asks, “i heard he took a loan and then was fraudulently framed and jailed.”

you nod, “that’s right, he has a grudge against the insiders of the justice system. so, the only better thing he could think of was,” you smile, “to rule it.”

“and now he controls the insiders the way he wants,” seonghwa adds and you nod. “so, it really started because of your tutu?”

“a man can do anything,” you lean forward till your facing him. “to make his daughter happy.”

he tilts his head and raises his eyebrow, “then that same man can kill me, for his daughter.”

you mirror his expression impressively, “and that daughter can stop him.” you bite down on your lip, “hm?”

he smiles, the one where his teeth show and looks down to laugh a little. his hair falling over his eyes and it makes your heart skip a beat, “thank you.”

you turn your head to the side, “for?” you mumble. “putting you in danger?”

“for fixing my wounds and saving me from your dad, but.”

“but?” you raise your eyebrow and then to glance at him softly.

“but next time there’s a party,” he fiddles with the bandage before looking up. “ask me to join so this won’t happen again.”

“you got it.”

“do you like those seonghwa?”

you ask, pointing your finger at a wallet he’s been eyeing ever since he stepped into the store with you.

ever since the night he walked you home, the two of you have been looking eerily suspicious according to your father who narrowed his eyes the second you two walk in any room.

the eyes of your parents would watch your every move whenever seonghwa was in the room, and you let them. casually chatting with seonghwa in front of them even if he doesn’t respond, though you know he answers through his eyes.

or the fact that he follows you to your uni every day, waits outside or sits by you (always offers to keep his jacket on your seat so you don’t have to sit on anything dirty), opens the car doors for you, offers you his arm for walking purposes, stands with his back to you when you’re getting out of the car and even shares a word with kyle over pens.

which you know kyle likes involuntarily. sometimes he excuses himself and walks out halfway in class, which turns out he does to get the best table at the cafeteria.

where you two sit down and talk, well mostly just you. he listens to you blabber without interfering or objecting, pushing sandwiches your way whenever he thinks you need one more.

to when you were struggling to catch up to your teacher’s pace, hands focusing on notes while your eyes settled on the screen. but it felt as if you couldn’t understand anything and when panic arose in you, you hesitantly looked around for someone to give you notes.

raising your hand anxious but when no avail, you looked at seonghwa who already seemed to have raised his hand.

“seo-“

“professor,” his deep voice rang the classroom of four hundred people. “could you please repeat the section you just went over?”

your wide eyes staring at him as your heartbeat began to speed up, he who didn’t even spare you glance but instead looked down at his lap as if listening to the lecture. “oh, sure!”

or when he almost slapped a classmate of yours for taunting you and you had it physically pull seonghwa away from him.

or when you were getting ready for an event your father had forced you to where seonghwa would not look at you in the eye no matter what, except stand right beside you whenever you talked to anyone.

even if it meant staying through the boring small talks or forced arrange marriage offers thrown your way which, then, seonghwa would interfere in by standing in-front of you.

“unfortunately, we won’t accept any offers of arrange marriages for miss y/n.”

and if they were to put a hand on you, or even do the mere action of reaching it seonghwa would already tower over them and firmly tell them to back off.

“put your hands on her even once, we’ll have consequences to face.” and tap the others cheek, a little harshly.

all while you watched from behind his shoulder, making remarks to fire seonghwa up whenever he’d reject any offers (that your father told him to), “yeah! what he said!”

so now when you two sneakily snuck out right after your class to a mall, he’s been nothing but extremely protective of you. always walking behind you, hands coming to shield you if anyone’s about to remotely bump into you or have his hand on his holster at any given moment.

he turns around, “no ma’am, we’re here for you.” and you look around, eyeing the signature hermès pattern everywhere in the store.

colorful clothes adorning opposite walls and a large glass table with a display of wallets and watches and bracelets. salespeople standing with their hands in front of them with pleasant smiles on their faces, though you know most are directed towards seonghwa which makes you snort.

“you can buy anything you want seonghwa,” and before he opens his mouth, you raise your hand. “i’m paying.”

he shakes his head immediately and frantically, looking around the expensive store before inhaling. “that’s alright ma’am,” he taps his watch, “we should get going before it’s too late.”

with that he walks away, leaving you standing with a grin. you look around the chic store, making eye contact with a salesperson before tapping on the wallet and nodding. you repeat the action every time you spot him staring at an item for too long.

once you’re done, he carries your bags in both his hands. sunglasses on and walking back to your car while you stare at his back with a smirk before walking towards him.

he opens the car door for you, you walk closer until you’re right in front of him. “thank you seonghwa.” he smiles before slowly getting back in the car and driving off.

“y/n,”

the blanket of silence that falls over the entire living room at the sound of your father’s voice sends a chill down your spine, making you shift in your seat entirely.

“yes, dad.”

you look up, eyes falling on the addressed man raising his eyebrow as his one leg is on top of the other. dressed in the finest of expensive fabrics, a well-trimmed beard and two stripes of grey in his hair that he calls a ‘fashion statement’ after watching the housewives of beverly hills.

you’ve come to take him as a joke, but when he uses that tone, you know it’s not your father speaking but in fact the man who runs a whole intel of rings.

“where were you last week, friday,” you chew on your inner lip, eyes on your lap eyeing the neat manicure before answering. “at night specifically.”

“i-in my room dad,” there’s a tremble in your voice that he catches on quickly, he looks up and turns his head to the side. staring at seonghwa who looked straight, never making eye contact with anyone.

“seonghwa,”

the man stiffens upon his name, standing tall before bending at his waist. “yes, sir.”

“where was y/n?” he asks the same question and you turn to look at seonghwa, praying internally that he doesn’t spill the beans because you’d be in a lot of trouble.

“i’-“

“dad!” you quickly cut seonghwa off, “how would seonghwa know, he wasn’t even here on that day! i gave him an earl-“

the hand your father lifts is enough to tell you that he isn’t buying your bullshit, he’s never, even if you’ve tried to make him. he then points at your feet, and you can’t help the way your eyes widen, “why are there cuts on your feet?”

you quickly scramble to give a response, “i was with kai at the sch-“

“y/n.”

you sigh, defeated and lazily staring at your father. “seonghwa, narrate what happened during that day.”

you don’t give seonghwa a look or stare but know that he’ll tell the truth, under the eyes of your father the truth will always come out. it felt as if it were court, and everyone was giving testimonies to send you to jail.

“ma’am was getting late night snacks down the street,” you freeze at his answer, the slight wavering of his tone that you know your dad didn’t catch, but you did. “when a group of wannabes chased her until she ran into me, i quickly fought them away with the help of ma’am and we made it out safely.”

“safely?” you father repeats, eyeing the faint marks around your feet and looks at seonghwa with a glare that’s only ever terrified you. especially on report card days. “i told you, y/n shouldn’t be hur-“

“but he hurt himself too!” you butt in, eyes wide and hands in the air. “he was just trying to protect me, we— he came up with a plan on spot and if it weren’t for him, dad i’d be more injured!”

“this is about you y/n!” you dad yells, eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. “you are my heir not seonghwa, you are supposed to be protected twenty-four seven!”

“there’s already conflicts building in neighboring groups, and i don’t want you to get hurt.”

he then stands up and you follow, immediately getting on your feet and staring in the eyes of your father while also sharing glances with seonghwa who stood with an emotionless face.

“if this happens again,” he takes a step forward and you swallow. “i won’t be as nice as i am.”

you nod shakily, “i-it won’t happen again!”

“seonghwa.”

“yes, sir.”

“find out who those wannabes were,” he nods, “and prepare a lesson of defense for y/n, use the back grounds.”

seonghwa immediately bows, “i’ll prepare one right away.”

“and you,” you straighten up, eyes blinking repeatedly at your dad who shakes his head. “i don’t want a single scar on you, we’ll host a gala soon. do not cause trouble, understood?”

you look down and nod, “yes, dad.”

hearing the footsteps fade away, you finally lift your head to look towards seonghwa. who stood with his hands behind his back, eyes straight and in a well fitted tux.

“ma’am.”

“why’d you lie?” you ask, hearing your voice echo the four walls. taking small steps on the carpet you walk closer to him, stopping as the only thing dividing you from him was the couch.

he stays still as if he heard nothing, so you ask him again. “why did you lie, seonghwa?”

he fidgets slightly before looking over his shoulder and then back at you, “i’m your best friend, isn’t that, right?” hesitance in his stance and tone.

you pause to take in what he said then bream out into a grin that makes your eyes curl into crescents. “i knew!” you gasp, “i could trust you!” you yell but he’s quick to put a finger on his lips to shush you.

jumping in your spot you swiftly lift your leg on the couch, lifting yourself up to wrap your arms around seonghwa’s shoulder and pulling him into an embrace. “you’re the bestest friend seonghwa!”

he stiffens up at the touch, eyes widened slightly and chest pounding.

“if i was your boss,” you pull back, not looking at his expression before announcing loudly while snapping your fingers. “immediate pay raise!”

“you are my boss.”

your hands then land on his shoulder, patting them as you held an expression of dramatic admiration. “i knew i could trust you,” you pat his shoulders before standing straight.

“now…i will be busy for the next two hours and you can-“ you swiftly glance at the clock before looking back at him. “-have a break!”

but before you can move, fidget or maybe even breathe properly seonghwa’s hand comes to grab your wrist, gently but firmly.

“where do you think you’re going?” you stop, looking around the room before staring at your wrist before looking at his unmoving figure.

“me and kai,” you begin, “project.”

he leans his free hand on the couch, leaning in until his face is right in-front of yours. “your project can wait; your father gave you something else to do.”

you squint your eyes, lifting your other hand up to his face. where you extend your forefinger out and poke it in the middle of his black glasses, pulling them down just a little to reveal his eyes.

“no.”

he smiles, not the nice kind. “or do you want me to call your father?”

you shake your head, narrowing your eyes even more as you suck in a breath. “you wouldn’t.”

he smirks, “oh i would, and i don’t think he’d like that very much, would he?” his smirk expands more, knowing he hit a mark he pushes his glasses back on before leaning back to his straighter stance.

letting go of your hand, he uses the same hand he held you by to point towards your right. “now,” he says, a muse to his tone. “off we go to your first lesson.”

“seonghwa,” you sing.

“seong! hwa!”

“hwa!”

“seong-seo-“

“if you think this will distract me from letting you go,” seonghwa turns around, eyeing your frowning face. “then you’re absolutely wrong.”

“we’re going to the quarters and you’re doing the training,” he bends at his waist and tilts his head, eyeing you as if expecting a yes.

“fine.” you grumble out, making a distasteful expression before following him inside the bodyguard quarters he mentioned the other day. stomping behind him purposely so he’d hear but he turns a blind eye to it.

in fact, he pays no attention to your whining about not wanting to train while putting out some bogus explanations which he does not buy one bit until you’re both inside the quarters.

which to your surprise look nothing like what you had imagined, you thought it’d perhaps be dark and cold and dull but it’s quite…the same as your place. straight out of a magazine quite literally, your eyes fall over the lobby where couches were planted as if they were delivered just yesterday.

“do you guys even use the couches?” you ask, seeing how there’s not a bump or a trace of a body sitting on the couch. “or..anything here at all?”

he looks over his shoulder before shrugging, “we only use it if the police ever come,“ you hum. “otherwise, this is just a set. wait till you see the backside, that’s the one we really use.”

you nod, mindlessly following behind him while your eyes wander over each corner. as you walk in further with him, the hallway gets darker and darker. from the bourgeoise 90’s lobby to an almost underground ring type area.

you would’ve mistaken it as a professional underground ring, with the boxing rings to your left and equipment with a suspicious number of doors to your right it feels like a movie set.

you had never been exposed to this side of your dad’s business though you knew everything about it, seeing it in person makes a chill run down your body. feeling unsettled at hearing live echoes and yells coming from the boxing rings.

which is why you stick close to seonghwa, looking over his shoulder as you walked. “is this place, okay?”

he nods without looking at you and you glance over at other guards bowing at you, you smiled awkwardly and waved your hands asking them to stop non-verbally.

“you can’t tell them they don’t have to bow,” you whisper to seonghwa, and he chuckles quietly.

“you’re the boss daughter, our heir.” he suddenly stops to look back and you stare right back at him. “we bow to you because we respect you.”

“but like,” you look around and huddle closer. “what if i don’t want it?”

he raises his eyebrows at that, staring at you with narrowed eyes. “respect? you don’t want the respect?”

you click your tongue, “no!” and then point at everyone who still are bowing. “like bowing, makes me feel older heh,” you grin, and he scoffs.

without saying anything further, he steps to the right before opening a door. standing back before asking you to go in but you stop. “aren’t you the bodyguard? you go firs-“

he cuts you off by walking in and you follow right behind and closing the door, “don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone. keep following me.”

“why not?” you question, a sheepish smile on your face because you know it annoyed him.

“because you’ll get distracted.” he turns around and you’re already a few steps behind him, eyeing the poster pinned to the wall with your hands behind your back and bending at your waist.

“ma’am.” he calls out with a sigh, and you turn your head to him, “ma’am, we’l-“

“ma’am who?!”

“fuck,” seonghwa whispers at the way your eyes widen at the new voice that yelled.

“who was that?”

“no one, let’s get into the room qui-“

“not so fast!” seonghwa sees your eyes move from him to behind him and he instantly regrets it. cursing under his breath he turns around to see a group he specifically wanted you to ignore.

“oh. my. god, seonghwa!” you walk closer towards him but it’s almost like he knew you were, he held his hand up behind him to stop you.

“why are you at work this early?” you frown, taking small steps towards him.

“boss called me in,” you hear him say, “now leave the room, i’ve got some work to-“

but before he can finish his sentence, he’s shoved off to the side revealing three men standing with their eyes widened.

“oh.”

you blink and they blink, on sync.

you take a step forward; they take one back.

“hi,” your voice dropping to a whisper, raising your hand, and doing a little wave while seonghwa gets his balance back only to be shoved back.

“you’re the boss’s daughter!?”

you nod, shakily and in a split second the three men are bowing at you. you chuckle awkwardly before looking at seonghwa who rubs his forehead and sighs.

“oh my god,” the light-purple haired man begins to walk to you but not before seonghwa holds him back by the collars. “h-hey!”

“i told you wooyoung, don’t.”

“why not!” you beamed, “hi wooyoung, i’m y/n its very nice to meet yo-“

“she said my name,” and wooyoung collapses onto the rest two.

“h-hi, i’m yeosang,” the blond man pointed at himself, and you smiled, and then he points at the one with cerulean haired man. “and he’s hongjoong.”

hongjoong who’s eyes widen at the introduction immediately holds wooyoung up, “we are very grateful to serve you.” and bow in a sync, at the perfect height.

you look at seonghwa who raises his eyebrow at you and then at the trio, “it’s nice to meet you too and please-“

“she said please,”

“wooyoung.” seonghwa hissed, voice low and demanding and it made you swallow.

“sorry, sorry!”

“hi y/n?” wooyoung steps forward extending his hand out for you to take. “can we call you that?”

you take his hand and shake it, “of course you can!”

“she shook my hand, oh my gosh.”

“that’s it.” seonghwa swoops in to pull wooyoung back and motioning for you to join him inside, never putting a hand on you.

the trio stood in a line as you walked past them with a grin, they all returned, especially wooyoung who you seem to fancy.

once the door’s closed behind you, you’re welcomed to a semi-broken-down core of a practice area. boxing equipment laying around with faded colours of red and blue gloves as well as dumbbells that were a funky neon green.

“your friends are nice.”

“don’t like them too much.” he mutters, and you look back at the door, “don’t befriend them either.”

“why-“

he looks back and you stop midway, “training?”

you blink and nod, not pressing anything further seeing his expression. “yeah.”

“hit once on the side.”

“like that?”

“no.”

you sigh, letting your shoulders slump and you turn to look at him. you’ve been doing this for an hour and a half straight, you’re sure its lunch time but you don’t dare remind him. especially when he’s got that frown stuck on his face since the very beginning.

tux off and only in a white shirt whose sleeves are rolled to his elbows, he’s been constantly demanding you to punch or kick a certain way. even if it’s correct, he asks you to do it his way because-

“it’s my way or the highway here.”

and you’d use the dad card on him.

“wait till dad finds out about this.”

to which he smugly replies to, “hm, he won’t come to save you.”

which true, and you hated how aggravating it was.

you had to do this class repeatedly as your dad warned you off the dangers, that were currently ongoing the world you lived in, where you were an easy target.

“do five more sets and we’ll call it a break.” your eyes must be glimmering for seonghwa to take note off and shake his head, coming to walk behind the long red coloured punching bag.

gripping his slim fingers around it he looks at you and then nods, “five more.” and if it weren’t for your brain to be completely blinded by the idea of not doing this anymore, you would’ve noticed the way seonghwa looked at you.

or more how you looked at seonghwa, with that white shirt rolled to his elbows, how could you not ogle him up and down? not only does it make you smirk in between the lessons but also makes you want to slow time down even more than it already was.

when he taps the bag, you snap back to reality and nod, bringing your gloved clad hands up to your chest. standing in the way he’s taught you (for ten minutes) before throwing a punch at the bag, which makes it jiggle back.

“again,” seonghwa sighs, the disappointed look on his face making you clench your fists tighter. “hit it right where my hand is.”

and you do, hit it where he told you but he’s just not happy. with the way his face remains the same, where his eyebrows are scrunched together with a tick in his jaw.

even if you wanted to say something, you stopped yourself before throwing a punch again. but this time his lips leave a small ‘tch’ sound that makes you grow irritated.

“what is it?” you finally ask, hands on your waist and weight on your one foot. “is it the way i’m not hitting to your satisfaction?”

“exactly that.” he responds, walking around the bag before coming to stand in front of you. hands crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face, “i want you to copy what i’m asking you to.”

“but i am doing what you asked me to!”

he sighs, running a hand through his black hair while you stood with an eyebrow raised. he glanced at you and then shakes his head slightly, “watch how i do it and then repeat, okay?”

before he turns around, looking at you to make sure you’re watching before standing in his position. fists to his chest, eyes narrowed and be throws a punch that’s so loud that the hit echoes the entire room twice.

you stare at him blankly, hands by your aide and eyes blinking repeatedly as he hits the bag one more time and your jaw drops. a slow motion of him punching the bag replays in front of your eyes repeatedly until he snaps his finger at you and asks you to stand properly.

but again, you don’t even stand properly to his level that he comes to stand behind you. you feel his towering front to your back, with the warmth and the slight smell of perfume and the mix of sweat.

his breath now fanning down your neck and you swallow, “now what?” you say, voice turning into a whisper automatically as your heartbeat begins to ring in your ear.

he raises his hands to your waist, hovering his hands beside it and never not touching it. that’s before he inhales sharply and quietly asks, “can i hold onto you?” his low tone making you shiver.

you swallow before nodding and then you feel his larger hands come to settle on the either side of you. you inhale sharply as he holds your hips gently and moves you into the correct position then when you thought it was over, his hands lift to hold into your forearms.

“i’ll guide you,” he mumbles before clearing his throat and you nod. “watch and learn.”

he then moves his hand the way he would punch, with every action his chest hits your back and your heartbeat skips beats. he does the same in silence a few more times before stepping back, “try it yourself.”

and you do, swallowing first and then hitting the punching bag with the exact amount of force seonghwa wants. and if it were not for him to stand behind you, you would’ve definitely seen the corner of his lip perking up into a smirk before he finally dismisses you.

with a loud exhale you plop onto the ground with a noise that he smiles at, staring you down while he stands beside you. “i think i liked the heels better for defense, don’t you think?”

he snorts, placing his hands in his pocket before bending at his waist. “if you’re okay with destroying your jimmy cho-“

“never mind.” you glare, a small pout forming on your lips, and you look the other way. body laying like a starfish that he can’t help but find endearing but before he thinks into it more, he excuses himself to walk out.

you lift your head up on your elbow and watch him leave, one eyebrow raised and lips forming into an ‘o’ as if you’d whistle while staring at his brooding back and broad shoulders.

once the door’s closed you find yourself looking at the lord and new posters stuck on each other on the walls, some ripped while others faded with years.

you let out a sigh of relief for the first time since you walked in here, with the tension between you and seonghwa, the lingering hot stares, the subtly touches over the span of months you’ve been with him has you waking up at nights.

at first maybe you thought it was some weird crush you had on him, which got brutally debunked by your friend kai. who you texted and called during the nights, where he’d yell at you for waking him up and then give you the sweetest advice the other second.

“kai, what if he doesn’t like me back?”

“you gotta ask him that yourself,” you’d hear him yawn, “there’s a lot of reasons for him to say no even if he likes you, y’know?”

“like what?”

“your godamn father.”

right.

because you can’t do anything in this house if you don’t have his permission. that’s how it has been growing up, aside from the luxurious provided to you (which you were grateful for), you were never allowed to hang out with anyone at your school or outside.

the only person your dad trusted (borderline not) was kai, other than that, you were sheltered and deprived of the interaction you wanted. to date, to smoke perhaps or do things your once teenager heart wanted.

which now meant, feeling your heartbeat skip or beat way too much when you’re around seonghwa or have butterflies in your stomach when he’d do the slightest of actions to make sure you’re safe.

whether it be him giving you his number so that he’d be able to join you in your next sneak out where he breaks his forefront with you. chugging down soda drinks or heavily spiced noodles to eating flavored ice cones where your tongues would get colored.

so that ‘crush’ isn’t exactly a crush anymore, as much as you hoped it didn’t progress mu-

“y/n?”

you snap out into reality when you hear your name but want to fall back into it when you realize his face is right in front of yours.

“hi,” you whisper and watch his lips twist into a smile.

“hi y/n,” his voice suddenly falls deaf on your ears, “let’s practice again, okay?”

you’re blinking again and again, and he watches with a smile before snapping his fingers in front of your face, “y-yeah, practice, let’s do that.”

“are you okay?” he asks, eyeing your widened eyes with soft eyes. he leans in closer, close enough for his nose to be just, just touch yours. “you’re breathing quite heavily.”

“i’m good!” you stand up suddenly, looking everywhere but him. “we, uh, we should get back to practice!”

which went awfully if it meant you staring at seonghwa half the time and blanking out. every minute you spend with him just confirms kai’s accusations at you about how you liked seonghwa.

and if it weren’t for him to be so damn close to you all the time, maybe you wouldn’t have felt this way. but now, you aren’t even paying attention to what he’s saying. just being aware of him beside you, his hands lifting to point and suddenly your attention goes to that.

the more you followed his hands, the sooner you realize there’s something burning at your elbow. which takes you a second to realize and when you do, you’re hissing in pain loudly.

loud enough for him to immediately hold the punching bag straight, hurriedly reach for your arm gently and asking, “are you alright?” he soft checks your arm as you twist your face into one of intense pain.

“i…can’t move my arm.”

“i told you to pay attention! look at you now, you’re all hurt!”

you don’t register the next few moments, because one second, he's yelling at you about how you’re hurt and not paying attention. the other he’s sat you down, kneeling in front of you while wrapping a bandage around your elbow.

“you have to start being careful y/n.”

you hum, staring at his face that’s full of worry and it makes your insides do summersaults.

“but then who’d do this for me?”

he can’t help but breathe through his nose at that, biting back a smile before he swaps it back to his frowning face. “ow!”

he sighs audibly, staring at your elbow that’s wrapped in white before looking at you in the eye.

“let’s call it a day then hm?” he mumbles, and you nod slowly, he then reaches beside him to pull out a towel that he lifts up to your face and wipes the sweat off.

“hey seonghwa,” you whisper, loud enough for him to hear and hum an answer. “…you need to stop doing this,”

his eyes flicker to you as he continues to pat away at your face, “stop doing what?”

“playing with my heart like that.”

“y/n, no.”

“hwa, yes.”

“no!”

you look at him with a deadpan, raising an eyebrow and folding your arms over your chest.

you, seonghwa and the trio who’s currently yelling really loudly behind you two came to the store, right before the gala. more like you forcing them all to get out and look good for the gala even if they all said no, you knew they wanted to go.

and curse that stupid rule of bodyguards not being family, you were inviting them, nonetheless. a little scolding from your dad wasn’t something you minded, so even after their ‘attempts’ to stop you, you were successful in getting them all out to the store.

and currently, unsuccessful in getting seonghwa to try an outfit.

“yes!” you whisper loudly, shoving a blazer towards seonghwa and pushing him in the changing rooms.

“y/n, i can’t be wearing this!” he argues back, looking left and right in the rather empty changing room hallways. “..and we can’t be seen like this!”

“like what?” you ask with a playful smile before taking a step closer to him, in the slim hallways. “like this?” you raise your hand and place it on his forearm. “or like this?”

he swallows before looking away towards the end, “your dad’s men are here, if they see us like this we’d be in big trouble.”

you look to where he’s looking, narrowing your eyes to look for anyone but there’s not a soul standing there. with a roll of your eyes, “i’m not kidding,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “y/n!”

“fine then, my dad’s men are here, right?” you move to the side and open the changing room doors, “then let’s give them a show.”

panic immediately rushes to his face as you push him inside the changing rooms, to the point his back is up against the mirror. “m-ma’am we can be fo-“

“-you talk so much, don’t you?” you say, eyebrows knitting together. “now wear this and come out,” before he opens his mouth you continue again. “this is an order.”

you lean your face closer to his, close enough that you can smell his perfume and it makes your stomach churn. his eyes now wide and staring at you, blinking repeatedly while you search his face.

taking your time to marvel at his face, a small smirk appears on your lips that he finds himself looking at. your glittered lips, courtesy to that lip-gloss he asked to carry in his pocket looking at him with a pout.

“y-y/n.”

your eyes flicker to his, a hint of tease in your eyes you raise your brow slightly. and without a single thought behind your eyes or your mind, you end up blurting something that shows instant regret on your face.

“are you married?”

“what?” his face drops and you curse under your breath.

“no like,” you bite down on your lips, “i just…can’t be seen romancing a taken man, you know, my reputation and all?” you blink.

he laughs, a loud laugh that has you stopping in your tracks to look at him. his head falls on you, forehead leaning on your shoulder as his shoulders shake while laughing and you stay still.

with blood shooting up to your cheeks, a shy smile on your face he looks up. “no,”

“no what?” you ask, paying no attention to the way he looks at you because you’re so lost in the way your heartbeat rings in your ear.

“i’m not married.” he mumbles, taking a step forward and you take one back until you’re standing outside the changing rooms.

“single.” he clicks his tongue and with a wink closes the curtains on you.

you stay still for a few seconds, just staring at the curtain until your lips twist into a smile, the one where you bite down on your lower lip.

you then turn around, the smile still on your face and stomach fluttering with butterflies before your eyes set on where seonghwa was pointing at.

“your dad’s men are here!”

the smile you had is quickly replaced by a small frown, fishing your phone out you text you dad wondering just what the fuck is he doing sending his private men when you have your bodyguards with you.

y/n, 2:35pm

dad did you send

someone to keep an

eye on me?

y/n, 2:37pm

i see the seen receipts

u can respond

dad, 2:40pm

come home and we will talk.

with an annoyed sigh you put your phone back in your pocket and then turn around just in time for seonghwa to pull open the curtains.

“oh,” you whisper, standing frozen with your hand still at your back pocket and eyes widening as you look at him up and down.

“how is it?” he asks, fiddling with the cuffs as he straightens the fabric down.

“good…” you mumble, your eyes doing that thing where you look at him up and down slowly as if to save the image in your mind. “great actually…y-yeah,” you nod repeatedly before looking away to whisper an “oh my gosh.”

“is the colour good?“ he asks, completely and utterly oblivious to the way you’re staring at him and if he were to notice he didn’t mention anything. “don’t you think you’re spending too much?”

and how can you not look at him, men in tuxedo’s were always your weakness but what was even worse was when they looked so good in it. “gosh,” you whisper to yourself as you look away and internally yell at yourself to get it together.

“we’ll get this one!” you nod repeatedly, eyes away from him and turning around to walk to the cashier

“y/n, in no way you’re paying.” you grin hearing the four repeat the same thing to you repeatedly.

seonghwa then comes to stand right behind you causing you to look up at him, “yes?”

“y/n, this all is really expensive-“ he looks at the faces of the rest, “we could’ve just gotten the suits from the nearby shop.”

“but i don’t like the fabric they have there.” you retort back with a growing smile; you then raise your hand to pat his shoulder. “so don’t worry.”

when you turn around to tap your card, you don’t look at the total cost that is until seonghwa decides to angrily whisper in your ear.

“four full suits,” he grits as he looks at the price. “that’s almost 30k!”

“really?” you gasp as you look at the design on your card, void of any surprise.

he nods, “i told you we shouldn’t-“

“-i thought it was expensive.”

you look over your shoulder to watch his face drop with a soft smile before tapping the card, hearing the beep and picking your bags up.

“where to next?” you turn to look at them, blinking twice. “food?”

“n-no!”

“this is where you’re meeting your friend?” seonghwa asks from beside you and you turn to him with a grin that he squints his eyes at.

“what friend?”

he looks in front of him when you nod, a strange looking diner with broken neon lights and a welcome sign full of rust.

“it’s a sweet little diner!”

he thinks it’s anything but sweet, in fact, it looks terrifying and in an extremely sketchy area where the only people visible are older ladies that resemble babushkas.

he’s glad he has his gun right up in inner his chest pocket, ready to pull it out whenever he sees anyone except you glare at him to put it back.

“table for three please!” he hears you ask the lady inside, who gives him a good look before looking back at you.

his eyes look all around at the wallpaper that he’s sure he can find at his grandma’s place.

“there’s only table for two left,” the raspy, deep, and scratchy voice of hers tickles your ears.

it’s then when seonghwa leans near your ear, “ma’am, this place seems way too sketchy-“ he glances at the lady glaring at him. “i-i don’t think we should stay he-“

“we’ll take that one then!”

the lady in front hums with disdain, “married?” she asks, writing something up in her old rust colored diary.

both of you stop blink and exhale on sync.

"no.” he answers.

“yes.” you answer, giving him a look and a tight-lipped smile. “only recently actually! right honey?” you exclaim, holding his forearm and leaning on him that makes him stop in his tracks.

seonghwa stares at you with wide eyes, ready to explain to you how this is not right but your glare has him nodding.

“that’s right!” you kick his shin, “b-baby!”

you smile, eyes curling into upwards crescents as the lady nods. “okay, you can go in.”

once you’re sat, you wiggle your eyebrows at an emotionless seonghwa. leaning forward to pat his shoulder, “how are you honey?” you tease, “do you need water?”

“y/n.”

“what?” you ask, hiding back a smile when the waitress (aka the lady in the front) walks by you two with menus. “loosen up hwa!”

“this is a really stupid idea.”

you shake your head and click your tongue, “not an idea,” you correct him. “but a date.”

that seems to set him off, “y/n if anyone sees us here, we-“

“i bet you can’t even order.” you interrupt him.

he frowns, “yes i can.”

you lift an eyebrow up, “yeah?” he nods, and you raise your hand to call over the waitress. “do it then.”

he gives you a look when he realizes what you’re doing and shakes his head, sighing as the waitress comes over, chewing her gum obnoxiously. “can we have two plates of pasta?”

“there’s like thirteen choices of pasta in our menu,” the waitress retorts back and you bite back a laugh. “chose one mister, make our lives easier.”

his gaze flickers to yours for a brief moment to see you cupping your mouth, “okay..” he sighs, “two plates of carbonara-“

“that’s not on the menu.”

you choke on the water you had been drinking and heat him sigh out loudly, “just…just give us your best dish.”

“you want it as a pasta?”

“yes!” you answer instead of him, “just please bring us anything, we’re really hungry!”

“you guys are weird.” she says, and you nod.

“look who’s talking,“ seonghwa mumbles, a bit too loudly, wanting a glare from the waitress and a snort from you.

“where have you dragged me y/n.”

“to fun.” you answer, leaning back while shooting him a finger gun.

fun was surely delivered, especially when the waitress accidentally dropped the sauce on seonghwa’s sleeves and mumbled a “deserved it.”

or maybe how you two were left utterly surprised at how good the dish was, both your eyes widening dramatically. mumbling how good it was and how he underestimated and judged it before he had anything from here.

and the fun only exceeding when in the middle of your dinner date, the restaurant seemed to play some music that worked like crack on you two. you standing up mid-way of drinking a cola and joining the five others dancing in the middle.

the five others being, two staff members, one chef and another customer.

while seonghwa sat and ate his pasta, watching you from his seat with a smirk. eyes on your every move and it felt like the time had slowed down for him, the restaurants dark nature and red and yellow lights framed you perfectly in his eyes.

he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, seeing how you’d bite your lips and how your hands were in the air while you tried to mumble along the song.

he didn’t realize how long he had been looking at you that he didn’t notice you calling out for him, which he did shook his head at first but joined, nevertheless.

surpassing you by shaking his hips and leaving the others wide mouthed, all while his hands were on your waist, as if reminding everyone to not mess with you while you moved along the beat. he looked like the terrifyingly handsome man who was possessive over you, you liked that agenda.

before you two left, the waitress brought over a box of rings which made you squeal. “choose one for yourselves!” and then she explained how it was a side business and you immediately chose two.

One black and the other purple, simply because the two had the same design just different colors. One for seonghwa and the other for you.

“you two should put it on here!” the waitress said, ushering the two of you to exchange rings in the middle of the restaurants

which seonghwa surprised you with, gently holding your hand and slipping the ring on your forefinger while you smiled teasingly before doing the same.

When two of you left, it rained heavily. With no sign of a store nearby to grab an umbrella, you decided why not walk under the rain.

“y/n, you’re gonna get sick!”

“it’s worth it!” you yell back, twirling in the rain while he watched you from afar. though following you anyway, with a permanent smile on his face.

he thinks it’s the most he’s ever smiled, and it happened to be when he’s with you.

and then hears you sniffle, drenched from top to bottom yet a smile never left your lips. “cold?” he asked, and you nod, and then he removed his long warm coat to drape around your shoulders. “good?”

“great.” you answered, heart skipping a beat.

and if he thought you two would call it a day there, he was wrong. because you dragged him into a photo booth to take pictures, one where he stands stuff as a guard and their others where you forced him to make at least one face.

“put up a peace sign at least!” you whined your which he smiled at and did as you told, copying you and taking the pictures you wanted.

where in one you had your hands on his shoulder in the cramped booth, the two of you pushed up against one other. eyes staring into each other’s eyes while your breaths mingled, and if one move, he’d end up kissing you. and it’s not like you minded, noticing his blushing face whenever you were remotely two inches away from his face, you found it endearing.

and then you took him to a playground, thankfully which was near his place. challenging him for a round of basketball to which he shook his head at, “we should go back home now, y/n, it’s almost ten-“

“just one round.” you asked, holding up one finger with shiny eyes and he couldn’t help but nod.

though he beat you in every single round that was definitely more than one, you yelled at him to either “stop cheating!” followed by a gasp or a “i was too easy on you!” or “i let you win!” to which he’d teasingly nod his head at.

and now you two stood in front of his apartment door, “i asked boss if you could stay the night, he said only if you’re back early morning.”

you turn to him, “i don’t wake up before ten by the way!” and push open the door while he stands with his shoulders slumped before joining you inside and keeping a distance.

“sorry, my house isn’t as big as yours.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

“i kind of don’t care?” you say, looking around his small living room with a smile. “now where’s the bathroom?"

he points to the right and you say a thank you before scurrying towards it, leaving him standing alone by the door with his hands in his pocket.

a sigh leaves his lips as he begins to take his coat off, the one that now smelled like you. but before he has the chance to hang it up, his hand rummages through the pocket to find a strip of photos you two took.

a smile forms one his lips unknowingly, staring at the strip where your lips made a pout and he tried to copy it or where you held up a peace sign and his eyes were on you.

he couldn’t recognize the stare he was giving you, but he knows it’s something he shouldn’t dwell on further, knowing it’s against the rules given to him.

“you think he’d like this?” you ask, tapping your feet on the gravel repeatedly while looking at kai through the car window.

“you bought him the entire store,” he snaps his hand, “what makes you think he wouldn’t?”

you sigh and nod, leaning over the window and tapping the dashboard. “can you bring what i asked you in a while? i’ll text you okay?”

“got it,” he nods, pushing his glasses down, winking and raising his fist in the air.

with a smile, you grab the bags (in the hand that doesn’t hurt) from the backseat and take a quick look at the dark, cloudy sky and you know it’s about to rain.

“if i don’t text you,” you say, fishing your phone out to see the messages being sent in by hongjoong. “that means he said no.”

he nods and you turn around, holding the big bag in your right hand as kai drives his car out the driveway before you make your way inside the bodyguard quarters. hiding from the cameras you know your dad would be able to watch and you’d be done for.

the second you’re inside, a whole line of bodyguards stand at the lobby waiting for you with a grin. they bow in sync, and you stop them mid-way, “y-you don’t need to bow please!”

they all smile, and you return it awkwardly before asking where seonghwa was, and at the mention of him they all stand up straight. gulp and then point towards the left in unison.

you hold back a snort before nodding and running down the hallway, a soft smile on your face and a bag hidden behind your back. you walk, jog, run whatever down the hall until you’re standing in front of the room where hongjoong said seonghwa would be at.

with a long and shaky inhale, you lift your hand to wrap around the doorknob. but before that you press your ear up against the door, feeling your heartbeat increase with each punch you hear from the inside.

swallowing the lump down your throat, you twist the door open and step inside quietly. closing the door behind you, you’re welcomed to a dark room.

where in the middle shone a bright light, where you hear loud punches being thrown at a punching bag and you immediately know it’s seonghwa.

from the rough breathing and the groans, your insides coil up as you slowly step towards the light. and when you do, you’re able to see the back of seonghwa though the netted wall. he wears a black tank top, and your eyes can’t help but rake at his broad back muscles flexing with every movement he does.

with a small smile you begin to walk towards him, hoping he won’t notice you right away. you watch the way his hands move skillfully, how he stands in one place het completely demolishes the bag with a single punch.

his hair over his eyes, arms shining with sweat and jaw clenched you couldn’t help but feel your knees grow weak.

his hand threw a loud punch at the bag, sweating and grunting with each movement before he finally stops. letting out a loud sigh and unwraps the white bandages around his fists, stretching his shoulders while he’s at it.

then he throws the bandages on the floor and turns around only to stop, “y/n?” he squeaks, eyes looking at you up and down as you walk in holding cake with a candle lit up in the middle.

“w-what are you doing he-“

“happy birthday mr bodyguard!” he hears you squeal as you walk closer to him holding the cake that he finally gets a full view of you as you come under the light singing the birthday song.

“happy birthday hwa.” you whisper, and his eyes grow wide and shiny and glassy. you walk closer with a growing soft smile, carefully reaching out to grab his wrist. “come sit first.”

“y/n..” he mumbles, and you smile, placing the cake box on the floor as you take a seat on the ground. “who…who told you?”

“hongjoong,” you respond, pushing the cake his way with a smile that he can’t help but want to see every day. “now, blow the candles!”

“you didn’t have to do this y/n,”

“who was going to then?” you raise an eyebrow, “they all told me you never celebrate your birthday, because you’re so stubborn and bossy and angry-“

he cuts you off with a deep laugh that makes butterflies gather in your stomach, “did they really tell you that?”

you shake your head, “no, just my observations.” he smirks, “i got a keen eye you know?”

“hm?” he teases before you push the cake his way, he grabs the plastic knife from your hand and leans forward.

“i haven’t formally celebrated my birthday in years.” he whispers, and you smile a little, “thank you."

hovering his face over the cake, he looks at you with a soft look and reaches for your hand gently. “do it with me.”

you frown, “no, it’s your birthday silly!”

he hears nothing but motions for you to come closer and you do, on a count of three the two of you blow the candle at the same time while he still holds your hand, occasionally rubbing his thumb over the top of your hand.

“happy birthday seonghwa!” you say once again, sheepishly bringing a small confetti popper out and popping it.

you expect it to rain confetti with a pop all over but all you get is seonghwa throwing his head back laughing, while all the confetti’s laying in your lap. you popped it the wrong way.

you bite your lower lip before gathering them in your hand and throwing the confetti in the air, it’s right then when time falls slow for him.

he watches the way colorful confetti fills the air and how your eyes glow at the sight of it, a smile one your face and it feels like you were the epitome of light for him.

a pot of honey, or an orb of light or what he hears people in movies call a euphoric feeling.

“thank you,”

it’s all he’s able to say because he’s so fixated on your tinted lips curling into never ending smile that makes his heartbeat ring in his ear.

the more he looks at you, he feels like he’s in some cliché hallmark movie that wooyoung forces him to watch to experience affection.

he thinks he’s experiencing affection right now and he wishes wooyoung was with him but the other part of him wished he didn’t have him there, not because of his teasing but because he wanted this moment to himself.

where you feed him a piece of cake with a cherry on top, accidentally brushing your fingertips to his lips for a quick second to you sitting by him with a polaroid camera in front of him.

the camera you’re barely able to hold properly because of your elbow, which he supports by holding the other side of the camera.

“say cheese!”

he doesn’t, but smiles either way which makes you snort and take the picture anyway. one where he holds the cake and the other where he’s midway of eating it, where his cheeks are full, and eyes are wide and shiny.

and as you’re about to move away, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you close. close enough for you to be right in front of his face, tips of your noses touch. “where do you think you’re going?”

“nowhere.” you whisper, shakily. eyes on him but they keep flickering down to his lips.

“take a picture with me then,” he asks, searching your face as the light highlights it. the dark room where only you two are in, it feels as if you’re in the sets of the greatest showman. “…because i want to have a memory of you.“

“well, it’s not like i’m going anywhere,” you say cheekily and his smile falters for a second, but before you notice he shakes his head. “i’m still here, but! since i’m really nice we’ll take one.”

with that you sit by him, a little distance between you two that he notices and snakes his arm around your waist to pull you in closer.

“good?” he whispers down your neck, low and raspy that it sends a shiver down your body.

“good.” you whisper back, looking at the camera before lifting it up, barely, with your arm that is until he takes it from your hands and holds it in his.

he moves closer till your shoulder hit’s his chest and his chin is rests on top of your head, the action alone makes you want to curl in closer but it’s the thoughts in your head that stop you.

which to be fair, your thoughts are never ones that won’t end up on your tongue. which is exactly what happening in the next few moments that seem like the most aggravatingly slow moments.

“i like you.”

he snaps the picture.

you feel him stiffen up beside you and you closer your eyes, biting your lips and repeating you’re done for, you’re done for, you’re done for.

“i like you seonghwa.” you repeat and keep going until you know you’ll be regretting it. “i have for a while now….a-and i,” you clear your throat, “i couldn’t hold it anymore.”

“y/n..”

“i know! i know!” you quickly interrupt him, “you just think of me as your boss and all, which yes, go you! but…i know this sounds selfish but..”

“but?” he whispers, feeling his breath fan down your neck and it only makes you bite your lips more.

“i kind of, not kind of! but i did fall for you…it may sound selfish because you were just doing your job and…” you swallow, feeling tears prickle at your eyes at this confession even if it sounds so stupid. “…and i’m sorry for that but i really wanted you to be more than just my bodyguard.”

“i also know you won’t agree to it!” you explain, and he listens to it while staring down at you. “which is your decision and i respect that…but i really wanted to tell you this before..before it became worse.”

“why?”

your heart thumps against your chest at the silence, heart dropping to your stomach and palms growing sweaty.

“you’re comforting to be around,” you answer, looking down at your lap. “you do the smallest things, and it drives me crazy, i thought i was crazy at first…but the more i spend my time with you.”

“i was convinced i started to like you more than i had previously,” a sigh leaves your lips, as you mind plays flashbacks. “every time you’d walk by in that suit of yours,” you smack your forehead lightly at that. “god, i didn’t know someone could be that attractive, with that angry face all the time.”

“so yes…” you inhale sharply and make the mistake of looking at him, “i really do like you, not as a bodyguard…but more than that, gosh this feels so stupid to say..”

before he gets to answer, you’re already up on your feet. looking anywhere but him, “i..you can take your time to think,” he watches you step back, “i’ll be outside!” before you scurried away.

leaving a dumbfounded seonghwa with a small box in hand, a cake on the floor and a polaroid beside him.

“i like you.”

“shit.” he whispers to himself in the silence, fingers opening the box in his hands which reveals a wallet. his eyebrow furrow at that, “wallet?”

but then he remembers it’s the same one he was looking at the other day, where you two went out after your class and how you were asking him if he liked a certain item.

“shit, shit, shit.”

“i like you, more than just my bodyguard.”

he then runs a hand down his face, biting his lips as he pushes his hair back and looks down at the polaroid of you and him. he lifts his it up in his hands and stares at it.

a photo of you and him together, unlike all the photos he’s been in where you’re in the front beside your father and he’s in the far back.

your smile makes his lips curl into one, your cheek squished against his chest and his chin on your head, he sighs as he stares at it more.

“i did fall for you.”

he wished he felt surprised at what you had hold him, but on the inside he wasn’t. he felt like he knew it all along, how you felt and as the days went by and…he couldn’t help but be attracted to you too.

from your bright, cheery, and teasing personality that, at first, got on his nerves but now he can’t get it out of his nerves because he’s grown to be very fond if you as well.

and he knows he’s fond of you especially if he gets called out by wooyoung and hongjoong in the hallways, whenever you’d walk last him and wink at him it’s like they knew and teased him about it.

so, he then finds himself looking at the door, biting the insides of his lower lip he stands up and as he’s about to walk out the door with a smirk on his face, he remembers your father.

and all the blood from his face drains.

how can he betray your father like that? his hands fall down the doorknob as his heartbeat thumps against his chest. how can he go against your fathers’ rules? and fall for you?

“i like you seonghwa.”

“do not touch my daughter.”

“i like you seonghwa…more than just my bodyguard.”

how can he betray the hand that feeds him?

but can he betray his own heart like that?

as seonghwa steps outside the back doors after getting looks of tease from the other guards, which he responds with a grim and stands by the front doors.

watching the rain fall and create mists all over, so much so that he’s barely able to see the back yard. he inhales before grabbing an umbrella, opening it with one hand while the other stays in his pocket where he had the picture of you two.

with only one thing in his mind, you.

at how he’s going to answer you, your dad and himself.

speaking of you, he sees you running towards him from the white mists in the dark night. at first, he squints his eyes to make sure it is you and not some newbie doing rounds around the place.

once you’re more visible to him, his heartbeat takes a sudden stride in speed as you run towards him, holding a bouquet of red flowers.

smiling brightly while you’re getting drenched in the rain, holding the bouquet to your chest as you step into puddles avoiding the rain.

and before he thinks ahead, he walks down the stairs. walking to you with an umbrella over his head, eyes stuck on you and hand holding the picture tightly.

you notice and run faster, breathing heavily. waving at him to which he just stares at you, and your smile falters.

a sinking feeling in your stomach grows as you come closer him, until finally you’re under the same umbrella as him.

“hi,” you breathe out, panting and clutching the bouquet in your wet hands.

he smiles a little, eyes flickering from your eyes to your hair that’s all wet to your lips that make him clutch the umbrella tighter. “hi.”

“i brought this for you too,” you point at the flowers and look up, holding them out towards you.

he says nothing but watches the way the light from behind him shines on your face. a singular ray of light perfectly halving your face, leaving one side bright and the other darker.

“….and i assume your answer is a, no?” he hears you ask, tilting your head just a little.

“i like you.”

“i like you seonghwa.”

“more than just a bodyguard.”

you smile a little, exhaling before nodding. “that’s alright,” you squeak out despite the heavy feeling in your heart.

“i hope you’ll be the perfect man for this job,”

“don’t disappoint me park.”

“i like you seonghwa.”

“…you can..just forget this ever h-“

but before you’re able to finish your sentence and say your prepared pre-break-up speech and him being able to articulate his thoughts. you’re cut off by seonghwa throwing the umbrella to the side and locking his lips with yours at a surprising pace.

you let out a squeal at the suddenness, but cave right in at his soft, plumpy and pillowy lips. your eyes fall shut slowly as a gasp of yours gets hushed by his lips that stay over yours for a second longer and then slowly start to move.

his arms sneak around your torso, pulling you in and the action alone makes your heart pound faster. he holds you impossibly closer, your hands falling flat against his chest as he balances you to him.

he pulls back shortly, resting his forehead on yours while his eyes are shut but his lips break out into a smile. the rain falls down on you two hard, but that’s the least of your worries, neither that or the possible stares you two are getting from the windows or the cctv camera’s.

“are you…”

“yes.” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at yours. “i like you too.”

you chuckle, “i was going to ask if you were dating anyone.”

he snorts, nuzzling his forehead against yours. “why?” pecking at the skin under your eye.

“i don’t like to share.”

he breaks out into a toothy smile, and it tugs at your chest, blinking away the rain on your eyelashes. “fortunately, the perks of working under your dad is that i never dated.”

you nod with a raised eyebrow, “guess that’ll change now, huh?”

he smiles, “i guess so.” and does that thing with his eyebrows, in that teasing singing tone that makes you look away.

when you look up, your eyes stop at his lips and just the sight of them makes you throw your head back and laugh. “what is it?” he asks, lifting his hand from your waist to your upper back.

you then lift your hand to wipe your face with your sleeve before looking at him, and then hook your sleeve to your thumb and point at his lips. “my lipsticks all on you silly.”

and as you’re about to swipe it off, he cuts you off in leaning in closer to kiss you all over again. but this time by deepening the kiss, a ray of butterflies fill your gut, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

the flowers long gone and now you two standing alone in the rain, umbrella on the ground beside seonghwa, flowers beside you and just the night falling on you two.

you feel him smile against your lips when you try to make a point about the flowers, “hey!” but he pays no attention and instead licks at lower lip, and you grant access by opening your mouth while smiling which he gladly takes and slips his tongue in.

your hands that rested on his neck now find playing with his hair, kissing him as passionately and intensely as he does. his hand travel down to behind your thighs, before he slightly lifts you off the ground, the sound of lips smacking against one another echoed slightly, but the rain overpowered it all.

the kiss is rhythmic, slow and stable at the same time. the one that makes your knees wobble and if it weren’t for him holding your waist, you probably- absolutely, would’ve slid down.

when he pulls back, both of you are breathless. panting as a string of spit connects you two, he leans in again and kisses you the same way he did before.

lifting his hand cupping your cheeks and kissing your gently until you whisper his name, and he slowly pulls back, his hair covering his eyes while his swollen lips match yours.

“we can’t let anyone find out about us.” you nod with a determined look.

“especially my dad.”

“especially your dad.”

you chuckle, nodding before your eyes travel behind him and you laugh once again.

“wooyoung’s-“

“watching through the window, isn’t he?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in his embrace.

you chuckle, looking behind him to see all of them pressed up against the window, cheeks and bodies all squished to get a look.

“mhm,” you smile, catching wooyoung’s wave with an overly impressed face. “he’s actually waving at you right now.”

“tell him he better run.”

with the way your gala was being prepared, you would’ve thought it was some oscars. from dress’s to suits to decorations to gifts and to invites, it was all a mess.

and so were you and seonghwa.

a mess, trying to hide it all in front and behind your fathers’ sharp eyes.

you were sure you two would get caught in a matter of a few minutes, even seconds but were left utterly surprised when you realized it had been a little over a month since you two began your secret venture.

with holding hands under the tables and behind your backs, to sneakily escaping out at night to get your fair share of dates which one, were short but were worth it. any date or time you spent together only made you get to know him even better than before, which means you were in too deep for him.

it was evident on your face that you were so entranced by seonghwa, from having your elbow on the table and cupping your cheek while watching seonghwa explain something to your dad.

or watch him train the newbies, flipping them over in combat while wooyoung teased about seonghwa getting softer.

seonghwa’s usual ‘angry-young-man’ face was now switched to someone who couldn’t keep a smile off his face when you were in the room, which at times did get him in trouble.

“what’re you smiling at park?”

“n-nothing sir, just remembered a joke.”

which made you look away to hide a laugh, “oh? share it with us too.”

“dad!”

as for seonghwa, the teasing’s he gets every second were more than enough to get his feelings across. from getting shy to hiding his face in your shoulder whenever you tease him about it to doing an absolute 360 when the doors are closed.

so, you don’t know how a game of monopoly could lead into seonghwa hovering on top of you, thankfully, this time at his place.

“you’re in a hurry,” you whisper, raising an eyebrow teasingly to which he smirks at. “can’t guard me from you?”

“very much so,” he whispers, closing the space between his lips and yours and pressing them together gently. “you know sometimes…you talk too much.”

“yeah?” you say against his lips, “then…make me go quiet.”

you feel him smile softly in between the kiss that’s gone from sweet, slow, to faster but sensual. his hands slowly travel to yours, interlocking his fingers with yours he brings your hand above your head.

“i think,” he pulls back, forehead resting on yours and staring directly at you with a fond look. “i like you talking, especially right now.”

you hum playfully and he moves to place his lips on yours, lifting his other hand up to cup your cheek to deepen it. his warm lips melt over yours in an instant and it shoots butterflies in your stomach, squirming under him when he hums against your lips.

he pushes himself on you and your let out a muffled whimper, his tongue licks at your lips and his grasp on your wrist tightens. the sound of kissing echoes the room, and you grow impatient, lifting your head up to his to kiss back quicker, and more intenser.

he catches into that quick and whispers a “easy.” in between the kisses and it makes you fall back, he finds purchase in sucking on your lower lip in particular, that’s so soft that he lightly nibbles on it.

with a slight gasp that leaves you, he takes the chance to slip his tongue in. quickly exploring your mouth and you moan when he uses his teeth to nibble on your lower lip and it has you moaning and lifting your hips against him.

he nibbles and sucks and swirls his tongue over your lips, hands roaming everywhere and swollen, hot, swollen lips pecking every part of your face, neck and shoulders that makes you giggle as he does it repeatedly with a smile.

he sucks and bites and circles his tongue down your neck, sucking at a spot that has you hissing in pleasure. your hand still in his hold above your head while the other wraps around his shoulders.

when you two pull back, both of you are breathing heavily. panting his eyes looks at yours, and then down to your swollen lips. smirking he lays his lips over yours again, softly and it only lasts for a second before he pulls back.

“you think we’ll make it back to your place,” he mumbles lowly, caressing your cheek. “in a few?” his low tone sends a shiver down your spine, and you shudder.

“my plan was to stay in actually.” you whisper back, your fingers pushing his hair back.

his hand that held your hand up, trails down to your waist, his fingertips dance over your clothed skin. you could feel the thudding of your loud heartbeat fastening, driving your knees weak when he looks at you with those sharp, and eyes that grew darker in a split second.

“…as much as i want to,” he whispers, leaning down to peck your cheeks. “we can’t.”

he hears you whine and leans down by your ear, “if we have time later on, and you’re not drunk-“

but you’re quick to shut up him by locking your lips with his, catching him off-guard. lifting yourself up and pushing him up by the shoulders, in a matter of seconds switching positions to seating as his back hits bedframe and you come to straddle his legs.

“in a hurry?” he whispers, a little out of breath and wide eyed, hands itching to hold onto the ends of your dress, it makes you rub your thighs together.

you smirk, “very.” and take his hands to your hips, “didn’t take you for someone who’d be slow.”

“oh yeah?” he asks, bunching your dress up to your waist before he leans down, pressing himself over you and earning a low mewl from you.

“mhm,” you nod, hands lifting unbutton his shirt. “into vanilla?”

he smirks, “i’m into many things,” he lifts you up and you take the chance to wrap your arms around his shoulders, closing in on the distance between you two.

“at once or alone?” you tease.

his fingers fiddle with the strap as of your dress and you unbutton his shirt, and he chucks it away somewhere on the floor. “wait and see.”

with a smile, you run your forefinger down his chest until it reaches the very end, you lean forward peck his lips and then slowly start to grind on him. his hands immediately fly to your hips as he keeps them in one place and gives you a stare, and then returns the kiss.

the glint of darkness in his eyes makes your insides curl as he pushes your dress strap down, hands on your waist and eyes on you he can’t help but throw his head back and groan.

and you can’t help but find it attractive, you’ve been with people before who’d rather suppress their voices than to let them out fully. so, seeing him do so turns you on even more, enough for you to take the initiative and strip yourself off the dress, tossing it somewhere in the room.

his eyes land on your chest before looking at you, his grip on your waist tightening as you smile and push your hair to the side. “fuck,” he swears under his breath, and you hide back a smile and begin to grind against him.

he leans in to kiss you once again and it’s as if he can’t seem to get enough of you, his hands go from your waist to your breast, and he squeeze at them lightly. earning bite on his lips from you, “god damnit y/n,” he mumbles.

stopping everything to just look at you, from the way the little number of light shades over your face. how prettily your hair sits on your shoulders, how smooth your skin look and how beautiful it all feels to him. the stare in your eyes, playfully yet trusting and the bite you do to your lips that drives him crazy.

crazy enough that he pushes you back on the bed, earning a gasp from you when his lips attach to your neck and fingers go straight to your clit.

he smirks at the way you twitch, quickly capturing your lips again. not so sweetly this time as it gets messier, and faster as if he’s hungry along with his hard dick pressing in you, your hips arching to him as you begin to grind. lips never leaving the others, you two kept on going.

smiling and moaning in between the kisses, you pushing his hair back which makes him smile and squeeze your hips.

“seonghwa, p-please.” you say, his mouth moving down to your jaw to your neck and to your shoulders. knowing he’s leaving his mark on your skin and you couldn’t care less if anyone even found out.

you wanted him to mark you, and you made sure you told him that by responding to every single one of his touches. “you’re so pretty…i can’t believe you’re mine.” he whispers, nuzzling into you while whispering sweet nothings and cooing.

the sudden action making you bite your lips and throw your head back, feeling his hands come up to cup your breasts as he squeezes at them.

his lips curl up in a smirk, “you’ve been waiting, haven’t you?” he pauses to take in your face, the way your eyebrows touch and your mouth that parts a little. “to do this.”

“mhm,” you nod as he slowly brings his hand to your center, you back immediately arches to his hand, and he chuckles.

“how long?”

“since the day you became my guard.”

and with that he wastes no time to pull your panties to the side, finally pressing his slim and long fingers to your already wet self. the moment his fingers touch your clit, you shudder, and he gasps breathily.

he uses his middle finger to run a lap up your folds and you breathe in heavily, your hands now flat against his chest as he flattens his palm against your now needy clit.

his tongue pokes out his mouth, eyeing the way your lips let out sighs and how you close your eyes at the way he begins to move his finger in and out of you.

he slowly starts to insert his fingers inside you and your mouth hangs open, he sees your reaction and inserts another finger in. your body jumping in pleasure, and he quickly pecks your lips, “it’s okay.”

he hums when he runs the tip of his index finger over your already wet pussy before plunging it into your heat and you gaped at the intensity, buying your head seonghwa’s chest.

he slowly starts to move as you throw your part your legs open, he pumps in and out of you at a slow speed, then fastens it. breathy moans flee your pretty lips and it has him fastening his pace even faster, his lips remain attached to your neck while his slim and long fingers move at a fast pace.

you arch your back and move your hips along to his rhythm, “like it?” he mumbles, before delivering on an angle that as your entire body arching up.

“y-yes,” you breathe out, eyes shut.

your hand reaches for seonghwa’s free hand and guide him to your breast “y/n-“ his left hand rid to your left breast, kneading it softly while fingering your clit at different speeds and fumbling with that specific bundle of nerves harshly leaving you whimpering his name out loud.

“hm?” he hums, teeth grazing your skin.

“i’m close!” your eyes are shut tight and the heat coiling in your stomach becoming too much for you.

just as you say that he stops. you let out a cry in frustration and he smirks, “easy there ma’am,” you smile at the ‘ma’am’ “we’ve got a few minutes.”

you open your eyes gently to see him staring down at you, admiring you in a way no one has ever. his stare alone makes you look away and he chuckled lowly at that.

he then hovers over you, his chain hitting your face in the way, and he plants fleeing kisses all over your face, neck, and shoulders, you squirm and chuckle until he cups your cheek. “y/n,” he whispers, eyes looking at you longingly as tears pricks at your eyes. “i’m gonna go in, is that okay?”

you smile and pull him closer by the chain he has on, “i’ve been waiting hwa,” you whisper against his lips.

and then he does it again, inhaling sharply as he admires you. fighting the urge to let out a whimper and begins by pecking every part of you, humming with a smile whenever you run your fingers through his hair.

you hear him unbuckle his pants and it has you biting your lips, thought his eyes never leave yours when doing so. choosing to watch the way your face changes expressions, as if remembering it all as if you’d vanish, he slips his briefs off and his cock slaps his stomach.

his fingers hover over your clit before he slowly pushes them in, your head thrown back and your mouth letting out breathy and airy moans of his names that you’re sure his neighbors can probably loud and clear.

“y/n, please be quiet for me.” he warns but with no ill intent, instead it comes off as a whine in your ear as you bite your lips, arching your back to his fingers.

“no,” your whines don’t stop him from using his slim and long fingers to curl up inside you, his face hidden in your neck while he fingered your already sensitive clit from moments prior.

it’s then when he whispers that he’s about to go in and you cry his name out, the one that had his cock hardening.

“fuck, baby.” he lets out a whine when he eyes your state, “you’ve been a brat but i love it all.”

he then lines his tip, that’s already been coated in pearls of precum to your entrance. holding your hand in his while the other stays on your waist, he enters you, both your lips letting out gasps when you feel one another.

he buries his face in your neck as he starts to move, hearing your moans in his ear as you feel yourself stretch out at his length. he starts slow, as if testing the waters and then picks his speed up.

you let out high pitched yet breathy cries for pleasure and hold onto his shoulders, nails digging in his shoulders, body moving against the bed as he grunts and groans and grinds himself into you.

your head falls back, mouth hangs open as he starts to roll his hips into yours and you let out a cry that echoed the room.

“you feel so- god, so good.” you cry out as he continues to go at different speeds, the room filling with his own loud moans, groans, and growls.

“be quiet for me y/n,” he does a particular thrust that has you biting your lips. “can’t have the nei-“

“fuck your neighbors,” you manage to let out in the state you were in, “f-fuck me.”

he whines, the one that his eyebrows touching. “bossy much?” and chuckles cockily.

“f-fuck yes hwa,” your eyes roll back when he hits that certain spot in you, again and again, you let out a cry, throwing your head back on the pillow while releasing moans and whimpers of his name in pleasure.

he whines and groans into you when he feels you clench around him and he pounds into you again, fast, and hard and deep and you let a loud, pleasurable moan as the heat in you becomes unbearable until you both find yourselves coming down from your highs.

he carefully takes himself out of you and you wince at the sensitivity. sweat lines both your bodies, sex filling air and he slumps down on you, wrapping his arms around you with a peck to your forehead, nose and then he’s about to place on your lips that you pull him to you. burying your face in his chest, he chuckles.

“are you okay?” he asks, gently caressing your hair, he pecks your temple. feeling you hold him tighter, you two stay like this for a while, catching your breaths.

when you lift your head to look at him, “i’m impressed.” he looks at you with half lidded eyes and a boyish grin that makes your heart swell.

“already?” he mocks playfully with a scoff. “wait til-“

“-gosh, keep things a surprise, will you?” you groan, and he nods cutely while poking his tongue out.

it goes quiet for a while, just you to now lying beside one another. chests heaving up and down at a slow pace and your face now turning to his, “hey seonghwa.”

you hear him hum in response, “would you..actually never mind.”

“what is it?” he asks, turning his body towards you.

you shake your head, “c’mon, you’ve got me hooked now.”

“no, it’s just…i don’t think you answer it.” you mumble, sighing after that.

“i probably can’t unless you don’t tell me y/n,” he whispers, nudging your cheek with his nose. “what’s got your pretty little head thinking?”

you swallow, close your eyes, and blurt. “would you….go against my father for me?”

the silence that follows makes you smile a little, knowing the question you asked would be met with nothing but disappointment. “i told you, you wouldn’t be able to answer it.”

when you open your eyes, you find him staring at you with a look you can’t quite decipher, “i’m…”

“that’s fine.” you reassure, patting his chest a stiff grin. “you don’t have to say anything.”

“i don’t have an answer…” he inhales sharply, “just yet.”

you smile, nodding before laying down on your back. falling into yet another round of silence until he speaks.

“thoughts on a hot shower?” he offers, caressing your arms.

“yes, please!”

he lifts himself up on his elbows and holds you by your back, “come on lazy,”

you give him a soft grin, eyes threatening to fall into slumber that he shakes you gently. “don’t sleep on me sweetheart, we’ve got places to be.”

when you don’t respond or move, he stands up, hissing at the cold floor under his feet before lifting you off the bed. your eyes fly open, and a gasp leaves your lips, arms immediately wrapping around his shoulders.

with a laugh he walks to his bathroom, pushing the door open with his feet he turns the light on while you watch him with a grin. he then places you on the counter carefully, pecking your nose before stepping aside to grab a few towels.

just as he’s about to though, the bell to his front door rings. your eyes meet at that, almost as if asking each other who it was.

“oh! must be your neighbors.” you tease, and he chucks a towel at your face. “noise complaint perhaps?”

he shakes his head and looks out the bathroom doorframe with a small frown and then looks at you, “go in first, i’ll go see who it is.”

with that he shuts the bathroom door, grabs his pants and shirt, and hurriedly puts them on as the bell rings again. not once, or twice but thrice.

he doesn’t know why he his stomach drops as he walks closer to open the door, thinking it may just be one of the guys coming to get ready at his place.

with his hand on the doorknob, he hears you call out for him, and he twists open the door after unlocking it, expecting wooyoung or hongjoong at his door.

but what he didn’t expect was your dad standing at his door.

“join me for a walk, seonghwa.”

everywhere you look it feels suffocating, the obnoxious colors of gold and silver blinding your vision along with the ample amount of people in this grand hall of yours. everything was overly luxurious to the point it might start to look tacky.

“you seem awfully distracted at your own celebration,” you roll your eyes at the obnoxious voice of kai. “where’s your guard?”

right, seonghwa.

you can’t find him anywhere, in fact this whole week he’s been absent or rushing somewhere.

“that’s who i’m looking for,” you respond, holding your wine red dress up as you walk past crowds giving you smiles with motives behind them.

you’ve been at this gala ever since it started, meeting people you’ve never seen before who offer or beg you to accept their son as your husband in exchange of power and protection.

you’ve successfully dodged every single one of their attempts, looking for seonghwa instead but you can’t find him anywhere. not even outside, not with hongjoong or wooyoung or even beside your dad.

you’ve sent him countless messages that are either not sent or turned green.

there’s an uneasiness beginning to settle in your gut, a worry of sort that you haven’t seen or heard from him ever since this gala started and it’s almost about to end.

you’ve barely touched the champagne in your hand, eyes roaming around countlessly trying to see just where seonghwa was. you walk past the lavish decorations, ranging from holds and silvers and flowers of all sorts to where you saw wooyoung lined up.

you see the way his eyes lighten up when you walk closer to him, his stiff posture faltering. “wooyoung.”

“hi y/- ma’am!” he quickly corrects himself quickly in a panic. “you look lovely.” he points, and you wave him off with a chuckle.

“have you seen seonghwa?”

“i was actually going to ask you the same,” he says, expression changing when he sees the restlessness on your face. “i haven’t seen him since morning, i figured he was with y-“

“-he isn’t,” you interrupt, fingers gripping the glass tighter as you look over your shoulder. your gaze falls straight on your father who’s busy talking to a number of investors with a laugh. “i’ll, i’ll go look don’t worry!”

with that you begin to walk towards your dad, eyes narrowing and forming into glares because you know your dad’s got something to do with this.

your glass finds itself placed on a waiter’s tray as he walks by as you make your way closer to your dad. your heels click against the marble and as you’re stepping closer, the crowd steps back until you’re finally standing in front of him with a smile.

“hi dad,” you sigh, looking beside him to see an elder man giving you a polite smile. “can we talk?”

“of course,” your dad gives the man beside him and a few others a look before turning to you, “excuse me gentleman.”

you father extends his arm to you, and you give him a stare before smiling stiffly, linking your arm with his before walking to a private space just near the end of the hall.

as you’re walking with your dad through the crowd, many give you two smiles and bows of respect. the action alone makes you cringe, and you look away, jaw clenching and unclenching until you two are finally out of everyone’s hair.

“dad,” you close the door behind you, arms crossing over your chest. “where’s hwa?

your father ticks an eyebrow at your mistake, “who’s that?”

you grit your teeth, “you know exactly who, don’t joke around like this.”

if anyone were to walk in right now, they’d be witnessing a stare down between the father-daughter. your eyes imitated his perfectly, the emotionless glare he sends your way with maybe, a little bit of warmth behind it.

“he’s seonghwa for you.”

“you don’t get to decide that dad.” you enunciate, standing tall now. “where is he.”

the man in front of you shrugs, “he’s at the countryside, doing a job for me.”

“oh?” you raise an eyebrow, “but don’t you usually send your bodyguards there?”

“what do you mean?” he narrows his eyes at you, a frown decorating his face now. “he is one of mine-“

“nuh uh,” you stop him, “seonghwa’s my bodyguard now, i get to decide where he goes and doesn’t.”

“in fact, you’d never send anyone of your men away when you know there’s an event!” you take a step forward, “you want the most protection at these things and sending seonghwa? the one with the most experience here away? just like that?”

“there’s certain things he needs to finish.”

“i don’t trust you,” you blurted, making him snap his eyes at you. “you’ve been having way too many emergency meetings with seonghwa…so much so that he’s barely around.”

“and why are you so worried y/n?” he questions, tone as if jabbing at you. “he’s just your bodyguard, am i right?”

you grow quiet at that, “he’s..”

“we have to keep this a secret.”

“he’s…my friend.” you respond, staring at your dad with a frown. “he’s someone i’ve begun to trust more than anyone in this house.”

“you can’t be friends with guards, they’re not on our level.”

you scoff, “have you gone crazy?” you ask, staring at him in disbelief. “what does that even mean!”

“it means you cannot have any relationships with guards,” he announces, staring into your eyes directly before looking away. “bodyguards are neither friends nor families…they’re just low lives.”

“don’t forget you started from there too dad,” you bite back, eyes now forming into an icy glare. “those low lives of yours put their lives on line for you, they get injured and worse, even killed because of you!”

“that is their job.”

“and yours is to respect them!” you yell back, appalled by this sudden change in your dad’s demeanor that you had never seen before.

“you like seonghwa.”

fuck the secret seonghwa, you think.

“i do.” you admit, voice shaky and you take a step closer. “i like one of your low lives, guess that makes me one too, am i right?”

you father says nothing, and you scoff, running a hand down your face frustratedly. “i like seonghwa- in fact…i’m in love with him.”

you see the way that makes him turn his head towards you, jaw clenching and you inhale sharply. “so, it’s either you watch your mouth da-“

“y/n!” his yell echoes the room, and it makes you wince, “i don’t care if you’re in love with him, break it off.”

“you’re my heir, you can’t be around anyone like him.” he retorts, crossing his hands behind his back. “you inherit this mafia whether you like it or not y/n.”

“i-i don’t want to dad.”

“your brother can’t,” he mumbles, and you realize that now, “you don’t have a choice in this, the day i die…everyone will come to kill you.”

you scoff, hands now behind your back. “break everything off with him, it’s what he’d want as well.”

“you don’t know what he wants!” you grit out, your breathing picking its pace up. “you don’t know what anyone wants! you just know what you want and what you want others to do for you.”

“seonghwa does not want anything to do with you,” he says, eyes flickering from yours to the window just to the left of the room. “not anymore.”

“i don’t believe it.” your voice drops to a whisper, “not until i hear it from him.”

with that you turn around, hand hovering over the doorknob as your hand begins to shake a little. you then look over your shoulder, seeing how your father doesn’t even spare you a glance but instead looks out the window with a grim.

with a slight shake of your head, your fingers grasp with the doorknob. twisting the door open, just enough for light to hit your face that you father speaks again, and you wish he hadn’t.

“either break up with seonghwa or get on the flight tomorrow morning.”

your heart sinks to your stomach, a shiver running down your body. a spite of sorts forming in you against your father, who once was all your world, someone you believed every word off.

your ears hear the party outside and at the same time hear the pin drop silence in the room behind you, your eyes fall over the happy faces of the guests, and you look back.

hoping your father would laugh and call it all a joke but all you get is nothing, that alone makes tears form in your eyes and before you let it escalate further, you walk out.

the second you walk out of your house, you burst out into tears. finding a bench just to the far right of your place, you take a seat in the cold alone.

your eyes wander off into the sky, hands wiping the tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. your body then hunches forward, hands holding your head as you shut your eyes.

“break it off with seonghwa.”

“it’s what he’d want.”

“they’re just low lives.”

as sad as it all was, it couldn’t get more beautiful than it already was. with the way the bench was positioned almost directly in front of the big window that shone and showed the bustling party inside.

the pity party your father hosted yearly, this time for you.

“would you go against my father?”

it almost makes you want to laugh, a privileged story of yours where you fall for the forbidden.

it felt like seonghwa was the forbidden fruit you were never allowed near, yet you chose to be nearby. in some sick twisty way, if felt like a way to get back at your father.

you knew if anyone else had found out about this, they’d laugh and call it a ‘sad story’ and then continue on with their lives. seonghwa was the only one who affected you this much, in a way it opened your eyes.

but even on the inside, you knew no one would accept this. this taboo thing they’d call it, having a relationship between the boss and the worker. and as much as everyone else would hate it, you wouldn’t.

you shake your head, pushing your hair back and leaning back on the bench. leaning your face upwards you find yourself staring at the sky, breeze hitting your face and it makes you smile a little.

you stay still for a while and your mind automatically goes through a reel of memories.

“aren’t you supposed to my bodyguard?”

“and aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“call me y/n.”

“yes, ma’am.”

“you’re my bestest friend, you know?”

a sigh leaves your lips, and you reach out for your phone, unlocking it and only to be welcomed with a zoomed in photo of seonghwa standing in his bodyguard outfit.

the image alone makes you laugh through your tears, and you dial seonghwa’s number, biting down on your lip you lean back. lifting the phone to your ear, you close your eyes as the ringing echoes in the silence.

your heart rate picks up as the anticipation of hearing seonghwa’s voice increases and it’s as if right on that moment, your body jolts up when you hear his monotone voice.

“hi! this is seonghwa..” and it goes straight to voicemail.

you bite the inside of your lower lip, bringing the phone down slowly and pressing the red button before placing the phone beside you upside down.

“y/n.”

all you can do is hum, gaze looking ahead into nothing with a blank stare. that is until, footsteps walking through the grass make your ears perk up.

if this was an assassination attempt, it would’ve been successful because you did not move from your spot.

“it’s me, your fav- actually second! favorite person.”

“go away kai.”

he smiles, looking around before taking a seat beside you loudly. arm over your shoulders and a reassuring grin on his face, “what’s up!” he beams, looking all over your face.

“you didn’t like the food inside?” he asks, “they had caviar-“

“kai,” you begin, turning your head towards him and he catches the tiredness on your face. “what would you do…”

“i’d go eat fir- ow!” he whines at the slap you gave his arm, “fine, fine, shoot away.”

“what would you do if…if you were given the option to either break up or leave.”

kai smiles, the one with his cheeky dimples and he leans his head back. “i’d fight.” eyes on the sky.

“kai.”

“i mean i would!” he argues, “if that was my last resort, i’d fight for the one i love, you know?”

“as cliche as it sounds, loving someone isn’t a crime. if you love someone, why are you afraid, haven’t you heard?”

“what?”

“people can fight wars just for love,” he looks down at you, lifting his hand to pat your head twice. “look if love was a driving force, i’d have no license.”

he then turns his body towards you, “you want seonghwa more than you thought you did, so what if he’s not your dad’s ideal choice- he’s your choice isn’t he?”

but what if you’re not seonghwa’s choice?

you nod, “…but dad.”

“you know,” he shuffles on his seat, “for a moment, your dad doesn’t exist. what will stop you from him?”

you share a look with kai, swallowing before looking down. “see? no one, kill your da-“ you smack his arm again with a glare and he pokes his tongue out at you.

“seonghwa does not want anything to do with you…not anymore.”

with a sigh you pat his hand, “thanks kai,” standing up and holding your dress up. “if my dad suddenly dies, i know who did it.”

he says nothing but shoots a finger gun at you with a grin, “i’m,” you point at your house. “gonna go inside.”

“already?” he asks, looking behind you. “you don’t wanna say hi to seonghwa?”

“he’s at the countryside.” you mumble, shoulders slumping and eyes squinting at the window behind.

kai stands up, placing his on your shoulders before turning you around. leaning down and then pointing at the front door, “your boyfriends waiting outside silly.”

your eyes grow wide, heartbeat picking up as you look through the iron rods of the gate to make out a silhouette kicking rocks.

and before you know it, you’re running down the path to him. a smile on your lips growing with every step you take towards him, and when you’re finally nearing the gates, you can make his outline out much better.

he’s dressed in a regular suit, but he looks better than anyone at this party. hair slightly disheveled, tie a little loose and hands holding something.

“hwa!” you yell, catching his attention with your voice and the wave of your hand.

once his eyes fall on you running towards him, his lips crack into a smile. hand lifting automatically to wave back, “y/n!”

“hi,” you pant, stopping just before the gates that you now know is locked. “sorry..the door is locked for some reason.” you say in between catching breaths.

“hi y/n,” his voice alone makes you melt, your eyes look at him and they almost tear up. “you look stunning.” he manages to let out, looking at you up and down he wished the door wasn’t dividing you two, so that he could at least hold you.

“why aren’t you inside?”

you smile, “because…i saw you here.”

he returns a soft smile before shoving something in his pocket and walking closer, but since the gates were closed, he could only walk until his chest hit the gates. instead, he extends his hand out for you to take.

which you do, with an excitement because after the talk with your dad and not seeing seonghwa, something in you wanted his reassurance.

“can we talk?”

your smile falters a little, holding his hand. “o-of course.”

“actually, u-uh, at first.” he fishes through his pocket and pulls a small rectangular box out. you’re unable to see it properly due to the streetlight being away from where you stood and the front gates light that kept flickering. “i got this for you.”

he extends the box towards you from the slim space between the iron rods, you reach out for it with a smile and opening it gently. your mouth parts in a gasp, “oh my god, seonghwa…”

he smiles under the light, “do you like it?”

you nod, looking down at the box you held that had a small silver chain in it. a small ruby red bead as it’s pendant, “i love it! are you kidding?!”

“where…how did you get it?”

he rubs the back of his neck, eyes not meeting yours in what you can only is assume is his shyness. “i saw it on my way back here…i was a little late wasn’t i? you’ve bought me plenty of stuff..so it was only right for me to get you something.”

“you didn’t have to,” you mumble, fingers caressing the chain. and then you look up, “what did you want to talk about?”

“ah,” his face drops, eyes meeting the ground.

“i want to talk about us.”

you smile a little, closing the box before giving him your attention. “of course, w…what did you want to talk about?”

“y/n, don’t you think,” he swallows. “we…we should just remain as friends?”

“w-what?” your voice cracks.

his eyes remain glued to the ground, “we shouldn’t be together.”

“it’s dangerous for us to be together.” he mumbles, fingers now wrapping around the rods tighter at the silence. “if anyone found out about us, you could be in danger.”

“did my dad tell you to say all of this?” you ask, feeling your stomach churn. “you don’t have to listen to him seonghwa-“

“no.” he answers, “this is what i think...what we have should’ve never happened in the first place.”

“we are two different people, classes, professions, personalities…everything!”

“why does that matter...” you whisper, “why does it all matter when i don’t care for it, w-why?”

“i’m sorry but,” he looks up, eyes meeting your teary ones and he hears a crack in his voice. “it does matter, when i’m someone you shouldn’t even be friends with, you’re meant for the riches..we aren’t meant to be.”

you feel as if the world has slipped from under your, trying to understand what’s happening around you or what he’s saying because it all sounds unreal.

“i thought that maybe this would last a month,” he whispers, his knuckles growing whiter at the grip he has on. “but it’s only grown ever since.”

“i-i never expected us to go this far, with each day that does by...i can’t help but think we’re not meant to be.” he mumbles, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach, “you’re my boss’s daughter and i’m just worker.”

“seo-“

“i can’t live up to your standards y/n,” your tears that welled up in your eyes are now rolling down your cheeks. “i don’t have a proper house, i don’t even have enough money to keep you happy…”

he looks at you, his own eyes glassy. “i have nothing y/n, i’m nothing.”

“are you done?” you ask, voice just above a whisper and his heart sinks at how frail you sound.

“y/-“

“you’re everything to me.” you whisper, your hand reaching out to hold his, tears streaming down your face. “you’ve been more than anything to me, i don’t care for what you do for living or if you have the money or not, i love you god damnit!”

he clenches his jaw, eyes wide at your words. “you’ve been there for all the times i needed you, you know me more than i know myself! how can you say that..seonghwa please, please don’t listen to my dad.”

he hears you sniffle and looks away, “y/n, please.”

“no seonghwa,” you say, voice shaky and low. “i..i thought you liked me for me.”

“you out of everyone knows how much i hate when my dad controls everything about me,” you inch closer, eyes on him. “so..why? is it because he did everything for you?”

“n-“

“is it because you can’t go against him?”

“i..i,”

“i, what!” you raise your voice, “i don’t believe anything you’re saying!”

“…i like someone else.” he says, voice nothing but a whisper.

“w-what?”

he nods, eyes on the ground. “i like someone else y/n.."

what he says is something you wished he never said, maybe even kept it as a secret. “i don’t trust you.” you bite back, and you wish he’d look you in the eye, just once to say he’s lying. “you’re lying and you know it.”

but instead, he shakes his head, “i’m not lying y/n.” and it makes you swallow the warm, painful lump in your throat.

“you’re not even looking me in the eye,” you whisper, “please don’t do this seonghwa…we’re so good together, you know that too.”

“we were never good together,” he replies, running a hand down his face and you know he’s biting back tears with the way he bites his lips. “i found someone who matches me.”

“someone who isn’t like you.”

you shut your eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching as a pounding headache begins to from in your head with all the tears framing your face.

the wind now feels more colder, it feels as if it’s slapping you in your face. your hair stands moving along it as you listen to his calming voice tell you stuff you’ve never wanted to hear.

“call me y/n.”

“yes ma’am.”

“s-someone who matches me well.”

“i was going to ask if you were dating anyone.”

“why?”

“i don’t like to share.”

“someone quieter, not loud or annoying-“

“…you found me annoying?” you ask, and he inhales sharply at that. “and loud?”

“go on,” you urge, a small smile on your face despite the obvious. “what else did you find me?”

“i-i didn’t mean it like that-“

“what else is she like?” you swallow, “quieter? has more manners? isn’t childish? hates the riches? hates flowers? is the better version of me?”

“she’s everything i’m not, am i right?” you ask, hand falling to your sides. when he doesn’t respond, a bitter smile makes its way in your lips. “…hm, then she must be great.”

“y/n,” he whispers, and you take a step back, the action makes his heartbeat ring in his ears. “i didn-“

“didn’t what?” you ask, face holding no expression. “didn’t want to hurt me?”

when he nods you breathe loudly through your nose, a hand running through your hair frustratedly. “you know dad didn’t want me to be with you…” you begin, “i told him otherwise, he said you never wanted anything to do with me..i said i wanted to hear that from yo-“

“i don’t want anything to do with you.” he whispers, and you hear the way he says that. full of nothing, no emotion or anything.

you smile despite the tears blurring your vision, “right.”

it goes quiet for a while, just the two of you standing in silence. him on the other side of your house while you stand behind the gates, it described you two perfectly.

seonghwa and you were two different people who never stood on the same level, everything your dad said echoed in your mind.

“that’s their job.”

“they’re not on our level.”

you want to yell and scream and cry at him, tell him that’s not the case. to beg him that, that’s not the case.

“d-did you mean everything you said?” you ask, in some way hopefully that he’s lying to you, that he’d tell you the truth.

“everything.” he says.

you nod shakily, exhaling before looking over your shoulder. “every…every date meant nothing?”

“n-nothing.”

“every gift?”

he nods.

“and that red pendant?”

he nods again, though, slower.

“okay,” you say, nodding before turning around. back facing him and it’s one thing you thought you’d never do or be driven to a point where you had to.

you begin to walk away from, leaving him standing behind the gates. eyes on the ground and never lifting up, even if he wanted to. hiding his own emotions he turned around, back pressed against the iron gates.

“take a picture with me then…because i want to have a memory of you.“

“well, it’s not like i’m going anywhere, i’m still here, but! since i’m really nice we’ll take one.”

“a memory,” he scoffs to himself, head leaning back on the gates as he closes his eyes. “a stupid memory.”

five years later.

the day you’d come back was one your father truly looked forward too, with the tearful sending that was laced with hatred and anger. he wished for your safety above all, and on top of the above all, he wished for the safety of everyone inside this house.

those who now scurry around cleaning the house meticulously, mumbling to each other in panic, hurry and almost a fearful turn.

it’s like everyone knew when the announcement of you would echo across this building, a wave of silence would follow.

a silence full of fear.

with the way everything happened years ago, they knew you wouldn’t return the same.

maybe that’s what their fear was.

“i told you to not go in her room!” your father yells, a cough following suit.

“y-yes, sir!”

with a temporary grim on his face, he walks around, hands behind his back as he watches the cleaning, redecorating, rebuilding of his house. in his heart, preparing for you to grace his eyes.

“yunho, mingi,” he turns around to face the new set of guards that were recently employed. “have everyone line up by the entrance tomorrow, put on your best suits as well.”

“we will sir,” they both say in sync, bowing to their boss that is until, mingi, the dark blue haired one pops a question. “but why the suits, sir?”

“my daughter is picky.” your father answers, swallowing a little.

they both bow once again, “we’ll keep that in mind, enjoy your time with miss tonight.”

“oh and,” he stops them, “send seonghwa to my office.”

“we’re very excited to have you back, boss is putting on his best for you!” the driver says, looking in the rear mirror to see you staring out the window. “w-“

“put the partition up.”

he stiffens, swallowing before complying and putting the divider up. isolating you to the backseat and him to the driver side, your eyes meet his as the wall levels up before they move out the window.

coincidentally at the moment where your house was in view, your eyes land on the ever so prestige estate that you left years back. before you used to have a love-hate relationship with this place, where you were sheltered and hidden away from everything.

where you experienced your first and last of everything.

now coming back to it felt, empty but comforting. comforting that you were finally home after years of being lost and thrown into the world you never wanted.

when you left, you were devastated because of everything. you never wanted to come back, never wanted face anyone. but you knew you had to come back, so you became the person you never wanted to become in the first place.

opening the door to your maybach, you step out. your heel clacking against the pavement as you do so, grabbing your bag you shut the door behind to look at your house.

a scoff leaves your lips as you look over it, eyes wandering to every corner until they stop at your balcony. and you remember how you used to sneak out nights through there, falling and hurting yourself one second and the other being bombarded with the dogs.

you then turn around to look at the iron gates and your smile drops.

“d-did you mean everything you said?”

“everything.”

“ma’am, your father’s waiting inside.” you snap back to reality and inhale, “this way.”

with every step you take towards the entrance, your heartbeat increases. mentally preparing yourself to see everything and everyone after years.

but when your eyes land at your living room, they widen in disgust as you step inside your place, seeing the outrageous decorations hanging around at your arrival. “w-what’s going on?” you ask the driver who looked at it all with the same look as you.

“i…i don’t know ma’am,” he stutters, and you shake your head, “but your father,” he points to your right. “this way.”

you nod, following behind him while your eyes look all over. as if they’re trying to find someone while you heart wants you to look away in case you do see that someone, but you’re glad you only see a handful of maids working around.

who, at your appearance gasp and bow. “welcome back ma’am!”

to which you’d respond with a small smile, ducking your head down and following the driver who walked you through your own home. what a day it has come you think.

“he’s sitting here for the day,” you smile and bow at the man who now leaves you alone, standing inside your dad’s outdoor study.

“y/n, my dear, you’re back.”

you hear his raspy voice tickle your ear and it’s been years since you’ve heard him, sure the occasional phone calls were present, but you’d hang up whenever you’d hear anyone else in the background.

“father.” you say, hands in front of you. watching him spin on his swivel chair, dressed in hoodie that says something about your brother’s university. you find your cat nestled just beside him on the cat bed and it makes you smile a little.

“y/n,” he lifts his arms in the air, getting up from his beloved chair and walking towards you with a smile.

you manage to smile a little, retuning his hug half-heartedly before he offers you to take a seat, which you do as if you haven’t been on a flight where you sat for hours straight.

“how have you been?” he asks, pouring you tea from the fine china set you know your mom bought at an auction.

“good.” you keep it short, eyes wandering the sunroom study of his. “did you renovate it?”

“you know your mom and her tendencies,” he replies, sliding you the cup which you quietly take.

“where is she?”

“yearly trip to the maldives with her friends,” you nod, impressed by it slightly, maybe even jealous that she gets vacations while you stay here and deal with your dad.

“how have you been y/n,” he asks again, getting comfortable in his chair as you cross your legs, stirring the tea slightly.

“i already answered that, father.”

he nods, “are you still upset?”

“over what?” you sip, eyes falling over him.

“five y-“

“yes,” you respond quickly, “very, actually.”

you hear him sigh as you sip on the tea more, raising your pinky. “right, well, your rooms the same as before.”

you nod, placing the cup down and facing him. “you’ll be looking over the guards tomorrow.”

“for?”

“to have your own private ones,” he says, coughing a little. “like i did. you’re now what i used to be so it only makes sense for you to have everything now.”

“everything?” you tick an eyebrow, “i have a request father.”

“go on.”

“please stop controlling me from now on,” you mumble, “i am capable enough to make my decisions, in fact, i was since the beginning.”

“as you wish.”

“don’t question my decisions,” you stand up, bowing your head. “and for the guards, i don’t need them.”

“y/n.” ah, there it was, that tone he uses on you when he’s about to scold you. “my last decision in your life is for you to have private guards.”

“the last decision of yours ruined me father,” you say, voice monotone. “and i don’t wish for it to happen again.”

“this decision won’t y/n,” he argues, thought his voice doesn’t raise. “you’re going to have new guards, and that is done. tomorrow meet me at the foyer, everyone will be there.”

everyone.

you scoff, “quit it dad.”

your dad didn’t quit, in fact he pestered you into following him out to the foyer. after him basically dragging you out of your room, which one, you barely got to step a foot in and two, barely got you enough sleep.

“can we hurry this up?” you ask, irritated already with waking up early since your jet lag is still so strong. “i need a few hours to myself.”

“hm,” he says, walking a few steps ahead before pausing and you feel your heartbeat begin to accelerate. “everyone, meet my daughter y/n.”

“it’s lovely meeting you ma’am.”

“i’m to be by your side whenever you go out at all times, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.”

you watch them all bow in unison, and you give a small, awkward smile. ignoring the obvious faces from the past who look at you with shiny eyes, which almost make you crack.

“as you all know," your father announces and you stand behind him, feeling stares burn through you. “my daughter here requires a private unit to be by her at all times, i have seen your progresses over the month and selected a few of you alr-“

“i’ll decide my own guard’s father,” you interrupt him, making the hall get quiet. “at least, let me do that.”

he gives you a quick look before nodding, and you come to stand in front of the two rows of guards. “being my guard isn’t easy.” you mumble, “and if you’re not up for it, you can leave to your daily routines.”

you look around and when no one moves, you smirk. “alright,” you look to your left, extending your hand out to your dad. “their files.”

“here,” he grins, pointing behind him and you see a mountain of them being held by a worker.

just the sight of it gives you a headache, “forget it.” and you walk down the line.

eyes squinty as everyone straightens up, standing tall and feet apart, hands neatly folded behind their back. your heels click against the marble flooring as you walk down the first line, eyeing every single one of them who either display no expression or get taken aback.

“you,” you say out loud, pointing your hand at the guy with blond hair standing at the very end. “come here.”

“sweetheart, he’s a newbie.” your father whispers to you and your eyes keep looking at the blondie walking to you with a shy smile.

“that’s alright dad,” you reply, eyeing the man up and down. “people can learn along the way.”

but there’s a man standing at the far end of the second line, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw. that’s all too familiar to you, from the black outfit, the sharp undercut and the annoyingly stunning side profile that makes you want to yell.

though he grits his jaw, he catches onto the new you. how you’ve changed, no longer the bright and cheery y/n but a colder, monotone-voiced y/n. and he can’t help but blame himself for it.

“it’s like you’d be protecting him more than he’d be protecting you.” he whispers, eyes forming into glares as he watches the newbie walk towards you, knowing he isn’t half as qualified to be your guard and knowing you’re outright ignoring him.

“name?”

“choi san.”

you nod, “good, you’re hired.” and you turn around, “any objections, father?”

“y/n-“

“i object.”

your eyes immediately find your dads when you hear the new yet familiar voice, “i do too-“

“my decision is made, choi san-“ you look over your shoulder and you make an eye contact with two tall guys at the end. “and you two twin towers at the end, you’re hired.”

“sir, if i m-“

you lift a hand, “ah, my decision is mine.” and you look back at the front. “anything else?”

“i’d like to object.” this time you hear footsteps coming closer and it makes your heart drop to your stomach.

you feel a presence behind you before you hear that increasingly familiar deep voice.

“the three you have chosen, ma’am.” you shut your eyes at the familiar voice filling in your ears. his presence behind you, with that deep, soothing, and calm voice that now sounds rigid and demanding. “won’t be able to guard you, it’s like you’d be protecting the guard more than they would.”

“the new recruit line is barely halfway through basic training ma’am,” god, that ma’am. “i strongly advise picking someone else as their skill sets are nowhere near qualified to be guards right now.”

you raise an eyebrow and slowly open your eyes, seeing everyone in the lines stiffen up. and for the first time, you turn around to look that voice in the eye and dare question. “and you are?”

jaw locked, hair brushed back with one strand falling over his forehead, eye that darkened ever so slightly, hands neatly behind his back. just being in his presence makes your breathing waver but looking directly in his eyes makes you want to cry.

“park seonghwa.”

“seonghwa,”

“seong! hwa!”

“hwa!”

“seong-seong!”

“and who do you advise i pick?” you ask, voice shaky.

“i have almost a decade of experience working under your father and being a protector of your family...” he inhales, patting his chest and you catch the sight of a black band on his ring finger, and it makes you look away. “and a few of those years were as your own bodyguard, ma’am.”

“and?”

“i believe my skills are far better than anyone here, it’ll only be more advantageous to have me as your bodyguard...” he pauses, looking over your face for a second longer. “again.”

“my bodyguard?” you ask, eyebrows shooting to your forehead. “and yet i was still in life threatening positions with you, wasn’t i?”

“i-“

“zip it.” you look behind him, eyes forming into slits. “you three, office now.”

“yes ma’am.”

“y/n, seonghwa was right!” you hum mindlessly, playing with the food on your plate.

“i agree.” you roll your eyes at kai’s appearance, sitting on the big dining table with you and your dad and two cooks at the far end.

you then turn to your left, “you’re suddenly praising him?” you pique, looking down at your dad with a suspicious look. “wasn’t he your low life?”

“you called him a low life!?” kai yells, his plate clacking as he stood up and you wave him off.

your dad grows quiet at that, “…i didn’t mean to say that y/n.”

you stop midway, “really?” you ask, “i don’t trust you.”

“there’s a lot of things i regret doing y/n,” he says, placing his fork and knife down. “but i had reasons for it.”

“and what were they?”

you dad looks at kai and he takes the memo to leave, although, a little late, but he does. leaving you and him alone in the room, him at to your left. just the talk with him has a sinking feeling growing in your stomach, jaw clenching and unclenching before exhaling.

“for you to take over his family, you needed no distractions.” he begins, hands folding in front of him. “and if you kept them, my family would’ve been gone.”

“distractions?” you mock. "sending me to your fucking training academies where they beat the shit out of you? that? that’ll help me take care of this family?”

“as bad as it sounds, it works y/n.” he explains, looking over your face for a few moments and seeing a small scar under your eye and dread washes over him. “i was sent there, it worked for me- i had to send you there.”

“or you’d send your youngest,” you bite back, a slight tick in your jaw. “but i wouldn’t have let that happen. even if i have stated how rotten your business is and how much i hate it, i couldn’t escape it.”

no matter how much you’d want to blame your father for everything, you knew he did it for you. but you still have bitter feelings about the way he did it all, yet you’re unable to tell him. being rasied in this environment, you were bound to do this.

“i still can’t and will not drag him in it,” you refer to your sibling, because he gets scared shitless from the sight of ladybugs. you couldn’t possibly see him fighting for his life. “he’ll never be involved in this business, no one after me will take this place.”

“i will not operate this mafia like you did,” he nods, “if i have the chance to end this, i will and you will not stop me.”

“i won’t.”

“i want to end this.” you mumble, jaw relaxing and eyes falling over your father who looks at you with regret, maybe even shame if you look in too deeply. “i will end this mafia, i want a normal life.”

“you wouldn’t have gone if i never did that y/n..” you scoff.

“i’m sorry for all that y/n,” he mumbles, placing his hand on top of yours. “there is nothing i can say but sorry, if i hadn’t done this, i would’ve lost you all.”

“and to keep you, my family alive.” he taps your hand twice, "i can do anything.”

“ev-“

“even send you there, yes.”

a scoff leaves your lips, “that’s a really shitty excuse, dad.”

he smiles and for the first time since you’ve arrived it feels genuine, “well now you can beat me up for it, pow pow!”

“stop, ew.” you cringe, and he chuckles, drowning down water as you shake your head.

“and what about seonghwa,” he asks the second his glass touches the table.

“nothing about him.” your tone is dismissive, and he picks up on it, growing a little because seeing this side of you, he can’t help but blame himself for that.

but he knows if anyone was to bring your old side back, it’ll only be in the hands of seonghwa. who, he knew, would give him trouble one day.

“you’re not going to meet him or talk to him?” the elder presses further, mind spewing up some way to get you two to talk or exchange a hi’s or hello’s or how was your days.

“no.” you respond, placing the cutlery down and promptly being reminded of that ring on his finger.

“i like someone else.”

“he offered to be your guard again,” you hum, eyes on the plate with an empty expression. “i agree with him, he is qualified and has been your bodyguard before too-“

“dad,” you interrupt, pushing your chair back and tapping your feet on the ground. “you know exactly what happened, what you did and how it went down.”

“but you should talk to him,” he says, eyes following you. “he’s…he’s got a lot to say-“

“i’m not interested in talking to him or having him as my bodyguard again.”

and with that you take your leave, walking out the door with shaky hands and when you begin to walk down the hallway. you abruptly stop at the scene of seonghwa and kai standing in front of you, their heads turning to you in sync.

“y/n.”

“ma’am.”

“i told you my name’s y/n.”

“goodnight.” you mumble, eyes looking everywhere else but the larger man in a suit.

“y/n!” kai calls out, a small smile on his face as he watches you try and escape this situation knowing full well that’s the last thing you’d want.

“how about,” he looks at seonghwa, who’s eyes never leave you even if you don’t look at him. “you two old friends catch up?”

“uh, kai i-i have to leave,” you stated, giving kai a nasty glare. “i’m tired and i need sleep.”

“just ten minutes.”

you freeze at his voice, calm yet eager. “can we talk just for ten minutes?”

kai gives you an encouraging smile and you turn to him, stopping when your gazes meet.

his eyes still looked the same, wide, shiny, and endearing. the ones that still made you want to run in his arms, stare into for hours while he holds you to his chest and nuzzles into you.

“i..i don’t have time right now,” you answer, looking at kai tight smile. “tomorrow, let’s do that tomorrow.

you knew you shouldn’t have come back because all you see is seonghwa everywhere, you had hoped he quit his job, so you didn’t have to face him, and he didn’t have to work under your dad.

every time you walk down a hallway, you’re always greeted with him walking past you. and it reminds you of all the times you had been with him, whether it be chasing him down hallways or to walk behind him whining something about the defense lesson.

at that time, you would’ve never thought any of this could be possible, he didn’t think it would be either.

he didn’t think not seeing you every day for the past five years would hurt him as much as it did, or how not seeing or hearing you would become a routine he’d have to force himself to fit in.

so, when he was called in by your father in his office, the first thing he remembers hearing is. “you better up your trainings seonghwa.”

and he knew you were returning.

as happy and overjoyed he was to see you, he was equally desperate to tell you the truth. but he knew you’d never want to see him, that’s what terrified him. to become nothing but a memory to you, a memory who never got to explain itself.

So, he interrupted your hiring procedure or whatever that was, outing himself as the right person to guard you for as long as he can. after all, he was meant to be your right-hand man at all times.

not only did he do that so that you’d look at him in the eye or speak to him or reject his duties, but he did it because he couldn’t imagine anyone else besides him to stand by you.

and maybe get a chance to explain himself, but all he’s got his avoided stares, small talks, dismissing him and pretending he doesn’t exist.

as much as it breaks him, he knows he deserves it. all the times you’ve ignored him, he can’t be upset because at least, you’re there, at least, you’re in front of his eyes.

but maybe his hopes of reconciling with you won’t come true since you’ve dismissed any of his advances of him doing his duty or having a civil conversation with him.

“yunho, where’s the car?” you ask with a raised eyebrow, tapping your feet on the pavement outside your house.

“i-i, it should be here ma’am!”

“we’ve been waiting for half an hour, jeong yunho.” you grit, “i have places to be and you had one job to do, right?”

yunho bows down quickly, “i’m so sorry, this all is new to me so i got the wrong car-“

but he’s interrupted by the loud honking of a black range rover pulling into the roundabout before he can explain himself, catching you off-guard. “is that the one you got?” you ask, eyes on the car that comes to stop in front of you.

“n-no, ma’am.”

and before you’re about to respond, the front door to the car opens and out comes seonghwa with his dark sunglasses, prim and proper outfit, and a smile you’ve missed.

“the car, ma’am.” he says with a bow of his head, and you swallow, giving yunho a look who only returns a small smile.

“i’ll take the other one,” you say, taking a few steps away from the two but only to be stopped by seonghwa’s loud voice.

“ma’am, please.” your grip your bag tighter at that. “you’ll be late for your meeting, please take the car.”

he watched your back turn to him and swallowed, head down and hands behind his back. “i’ll let yunho driv-“

“i hope you know the address.” he hears you say, walking past him and he pauses for a second. eyes blinking repeatedly at what he heard that is until yunho pats his chest with a cheeky smile and a wink.

“i-i do!”

when you told seonghwa you’d sit down and have a talk with him, you didn’t expect yourself to be this nervous to be in his presence. it felt as if every emotion you had felt in the past five years hit you like a truck.

with the constant messages from kai encouraging you by sending emojis and memes and gifs that only made you want to hide from seonghwa.

So, standing outside the door to where he stood made butterflies sprout in your stomach, it felt as if you were seeing him again for the first time.

your hand on the doorknob stays still for a while before you inhale and twist it, opening the door and immediately you’re faced with seonghwa standing at the far side of the room, back facing the door while he looks out the balcony.

you swallow before entering, closing the door behind before making your way towards him. and it’s as if your memory became a film, it played out the moments you had with him.

“i’m park seonghwa, your new bodyguard from now on. i’m to be by your side whenever you go out at all times, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.”

“my names y/n not ma’am!”

“you know they should keep you in museums.”

“you’re cute.”

“you’re so pretty…i can’t believe you’re mine.”

“i like someone els-“

“y/n.”

you snap out of your thoughts, gaze falling on him with a soft smile. “seonghwa.”

his lips pull into a smile, and he gestures for you to take a seat at the couch set in front of him, you nod and take a seat. he follows suit and sits opposite you.

for the first few minutes, none of you know what to say. you’re looking everywhere but him but he’s looking at you as if you’re the only person to ever walk this earth.

he looks at you with fond stare, one that studies you with a soft look. he fiddles with his fingers and inhales before finally speaking. “h-how are you?”

your heart skips a beat, “good.”

“it’s raining,” he points, and you nod. “your favoutite.”

“i hate the rain.” you respond, and he stops.

“b-but you loved rain?”

you grit your jaw, “i loved a lot of things.” you answer, alluding to the past.

“i’m sorry.” he says right after, head down and eyes shut. “i’ve been wanting to apologize for everything that happened.”

“for what?” you ask, obviously knowing exactly what happened but you want him to say it to you.

he lifts his head up a little and you spot the way the glint in his eyes change for a split second, embarrassment or even maybe even shame but definitely remorse.

“i found someone who matches me.”

“someone who isn’t like you.”

“for dumping me?” you ask, voice shaky and eyes slightly teary. “or saying all of that with no thought of how it’ll affect me?”

“someone quieter, not loud or annoying-“

“…you found me annoying? and loud?”

“i..” he begins, hands curling into fists as he inhales and exhales. “i want to apologize for pushing you away the way i did, i..i didn’t mean anything i said that day y/n please trust me-“

“you weren’t held on gunpoint seonghwa,” you whisper, “you could’ve not said anything.”

“i was told to break it off with you.” he swallows, and you look down. “so that you’d leave.”

he continues, “when…when you were at my place, your dad had come to meet me and i never told you about it.”

“join me for a walk, seonghwa.”

“y-yes sir.” he says, looking over his shoulder and then on the ground before his eyes widen at the sight of your shoes beside his.

nevertheless, he follows your father outside his complex. following the shorter man who’s stride rivaled power, someone who he always respected above anyone else.

“do you like my daughter, seonghwa?”

his head snaps up, “what?”

“you heard me,” his boss says, “are you dating her?“

when he gave no response, your father already knew. with the way his men are everywhere, this would’ve never slipped past him. how could it? you two went out to places every week with each other, in areas where only sketchy people would be found. it’s no wonder he knows.

“i’m extremely sorry sir,” he says, “y-you can fire me or cut my hands like you said..but i do like your daughter, quite a lot sir.”

“how much should i pay you to break it off then?”

his lips part in surprise, “s-sir?”

“a million or a two? or a blank check?”

“i..i’m sorry but i can’t accept any of that sir.” he replies, a frown on his face that he can’t hide. “you’ve known me since i was a child, i’m not attached to money like that— i have never been.”

“i have always trusted and respected your decisions but…as much as i hate to disrespect you..” he says, “i will not break the relationship i have with your daughter, sir.”

“i will fire you.”

he then stands tall, “then please do so.”

“yet you still did it.” he hears you whisper, and he swears he heard a crack of his heart. "you still followed him; you couldn’t go against him no matter seonghwa!“

“tell her you want nothing to do with her, seonghwa.” he says. “that’s the only way she’d leave.”

“sir, that’s-“

“i know, but i have no option.” He looks down, “i can’t let her fall behind because of you.”

“i wanted you to!” you burst out, catching him by surprise. “i thought at least you’d be on my side! we could’ve done it together; we could’ve gone against him together!”

you then stand up, running a hand down your face irritatedly. “gosh this is so stupid, it wasn’t even real right?” you ask, glancing at his hunched figure and your eyes go straight to his hands and spit that ring. “i wanted it to be so real, because i loved you seonghwa.”

“it was a silly little fling,” you whisper, “right? where we just hide behind the doors and do our thing and then break it off because you found someone else!”

you nod, “right, that’s what it was…but i loved you..and you didn’t, and that’s what hurt me the most.”

“y/n…”

“call me ma’am.” you whisper, nodding to yourself and taking a few steps back.

“i didn’t care that you called me loud or annoying.. or the class difference between us.” he lifts his head up, seeing you take slow steps back away from him and for a second it hits him. “i wanted you to be with me..despite what my father had told you.”

“i knew he’d come to ask you all of this,” he hears you say, “which is why i kept telling you to not listen to him, to maybe..just maybe go against him for once and break your good boy image.”

“i just wanted to have you.”

it hits him that he’s about to lose you again, for the second time.

and it feels so real that his heart drops when you turn your back to him.

“i quit.”

you stop, your sniffles ringing the room as you use the back of your hand to wipe your tears away.

“the next day after we split,” you shut your eyes, “i quit working under your dad, in fact, me, hongjoong, yeosang and wooyoung all did.”

“what is this seonghwa?”

“my resignation, sir.” he announced, bowing at his waist. “it’s been a pleasure working for you but it’s time i quit.“

“i couldn’t live like that,” he mumbles, rising to his feet and taking a few steps closer to you. Eyes softening and heart sinking. “so right after i quit, i went to look for you.”

“but i left that same night.”

“but you left.”

“i didn’t know until your dad told me, how you were sent away for god knows how long.” he whispers, voice cracking and you hear him sniffle. “and i didn’t know when you’d come back…how you’d be like or if you’d even want to look at me.”

“if you quit working, why are you still here?” you ask, heart beating fast and brain spiralling.

“..because i was told you’ll be coming back.” his whispers tug at your heart, “and i couldn’t afford to miss it. i couldn’t let someone else take my spot.”

“i spent the last five years, trying to reach out to you through mails but i didn’t know your address.” he explains, “i looked for your number but you changed it, i kept looking and looking but then i realized wherever you were, you’d be safer there than here.”

“i wanted you to be safe at the end of the day,” he takes a few steps closer until his front hits your back. “even if it meant breaking up with you.”

“because i loved you,” he says, voice a whisper but a gentle one. his hand slowly reaches for yours from the back, “..and have for the past five years and still counting.”

“you may have said it first,” he holds your hand gently, his larger palm fitting with yours perfectly. “but i wish i did, so at least you wouldn’t hate me.”

“i don’t hate you,” you sigh.

“but what’s the point of it all now?” you ask, turning around to look at his tear-stained face. you reach out for his hand and lift it up beside your face, pointing at his finger. “you’re already married.”

“all of this..” you shake his hand all while he stares at you with wide eyes, “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

he shakes his head, “it does y/n, you’re m-“

“are you going to cheat on your wife now?” you ask, eyes blown wide despite the tears welling up in them. “you’re married and yet you’re here professing your love for me while she wai-“

“-y/n.”

“no!” you stop him, letting go of his hand to take a step back. “are you really go-“

“y/n,” he stammers, trying to hold onto your escaping hand. “y/n, y/n, listen to me-“

“i’m not going to do this seonghwa,” you stumble back, hands in the air and eyes on the ground.

but before you have the chance to take another step back or say anything else. his hand reaches out to grab you by the wrist, abruptly pulling you to him.

a squeak leaves your lips when you’re jerked forward, your face meeting his chest and his hands wrapping around your waist, face buried in your neck.

“i’m not married,” he whispers, and your hands fall to your sides, a tired sigh leaves you, closing your eyes and burying yourself in his chest.

“what about that ring then?” you ask, voice dropping to lower octave.

he smiles and you can hear it, “you don’t remember when we bought matching rings at that diner?”

your face drops at that memory, “you still- that’s that?!” he nods and holds you closer.

“i had it on the past five years,” he mumbles, tapping your back twice with a smile that almost heals you.

“you’re crazy.”

he hums, and it’s one of those low and deep ones. “says you.”

his perfume wafts in your nose and for a second you find yourself losing in him. having have finally held him after years and feeling the comfort you missed, your hands lift to wrap them around his waist.

“you once asked me if i would go against your father,” he mumbles, “it took me a while to answer you but, yes, I can.”

“i never was, no one existed that i could match with better than you.” his deep low voice that causes your stomach to swoop.

“what about the one you told me about years back?” you mumble, pulling back to hold his stare.

“he shakes his head, and you slap his chest with a frown, “you lied over that too?!”

“i’m sorry!” he’s quick to say, worry written all over his face.

but before he continues the door the room bursts open, making the two of you jump and snap your heads back with wide eyes.

“t-that was us! all of it!” wooyoung yells, hands in the air while yeosang holds him back.

“he’s right!” hongjoong screams from the back, hands curled into fists as if ready to fight someone. “we did it for him! don’t blame him!”

“sorry i was watching a show and the inspo hit!”

“y-you guys are here too?!” you say out loud, turning around fully to spot them properly.

it feels like a deja vu, from the very first time you met them to now.

how all of them are still the same, though a little older and definitely not working under your father. more free and smiley and loud and chaotic than before.

seonghwa’s hands leave your waist and he comes to stand by you, one hand sticking in his pocket while his gaze flickers between you and the three standing up front.

a soft smile on his lips before he looks at the trio in front of him, shaking his head and sheepishly coming to hold your hand in his. caressing the top of it with his thumb gently, the action making you look at him.

“i hate you,” you whisper but the smile on your face says the opposite.

“hey, you all.” seonghwa yells from beside you, head noticing them to turn around and look away. it’s not an action they get at first, but when they do their eyes widen and lift up their thumbs.

“what wh-“

“wooyoung.”

and when they do, seonghwa spins you to him and locks his lips with yours immediately. surprising you and muffling your gasp with his lips, arms snaking around you, and he holds you impossibly close to him. as if you’d vanish in thin air.

your hands fly from your sides to his face, cupping his softer cheeks and smiling against the kiss all while your eyes drop fat tears, he can’t help but chuckle at in between the kiss. whispering ‘i’m sorry’s’ between the kiss while you nodded.

he pulls back to leans his forehead on yours, staring at you with a look that made you look away. “do you still hate me?”

you nod as he wipes the water around your eyes. “maybe a little less than two minutes ago.”

he ticks an eyebrow up, “oh?”

“mhm,” you smile.

he leans closer so that the tips of your noses touch. "how about now?”

“a point five difference maybe?” he smirks.

“can we look now?”

“look where?”

you and seonghwa never pushed each other so fast at that new voice joining all of you, you recognize it as your fathers, and he recognizes it as terror.

“s-sir!”

“dad!”

“good? morning?” he says, face twisted in confusion as every single one of you try to find the words to speak.

"it’s actually nighttime sir,” wooyoung informs, “so, you should say good night.”

you bite a laugh back at the way your dad frowns and how wooyoung immediately gets on his knees to apologize.

and you find yourself leaning on seonghwa, linking your arm with his and he can’t help but break out into a wide smile. his heart fluttering at the sight of it all, you beside him and wooyoung getting disciplined.

and then your dad turns to you two, before you’d move away from seonghwa but now you stay. keeping the stare with your dad who looks at the way you two stood with a small smile, “y/n, hasn’t seonghwa told you yet?”

your eyebrows pull together at that, “tell me what?” looking at seonghwa.

“ah, right.”

at that, seonghwa let’s go of your hand. stepping back and standing tall, a small smirk on his face before he bends at his waist to bow at you.

“i’m park seonghwa, your new bodyguard,” he looks up and winks, “it’s nice to be back.”

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