"do you... trust me?" it's a low whisper, the king's soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never...
the coming winter promises to be harsh and unrelenting.
a/n: please note that the things discussed in this chapter are based off a real historical event!
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"Is the tea too hot, seja-jeonha?"
Sitting across Yoongi in the garden pavilion, a set of tea on a wooden tray placed on the temporary table between your benches, you hug your own cup of chaksol in a porcelain cup.
It's a bit of an odd sight, the esteemed prince with the uinyeo for his afternoon tea, but he was the one that asked you to join him today. It's not like many people would be able to peer into the secluded gardens anyway. This is the first real chance you've had to chat with the prince in several long months, most of your interactions limited to passing glimpses and subtle acknowledgments from afar. Though sparse as they are, he always seems to save you the quiet smiles that you treasure more than any gold.
"No, it's fine. I'm just... distracted."
"France?" you murmur before taking a sip, feeling the warmth run down your throat.
"You've heard."
"You know how word gets around."
Yoongi exhales, reaching for one of the yakgwa cookies. "It just keeps getting worse." He bites into it, chewing with a frown. "After the execution of those French priests, we thought it would be over."
"But?"
"But one of them escaped." Yoongi takes a drink. Swallows hard with his brow furrowed. "One of the Catholic missionaries. And now we don't know what he's telling his country or what they're going to do. How they're going to retaliate."
You press a hand to your lips, gently pushing the bottom lip beneath your teeth. "But what about all those people... The ones who were converted to that new religion?"
"Executed. All of them."
Your mouth falls slack. "All?" There had been thousands! "Even the women? The children?"
Yoongi nods, slowly. "Father said it had to be done. That there was no other solution for getting rid of the French influence." He finishes the cookie and licks a treat-dusted fingertip. "How are the people within the palace and town?"
"They're incredibly worried. Nobody wants a war that could take away more resources. Not while they're already going hungry." It always brings a tightness to your chest to think of the uncertainty permeating the land, and how many people wake up not knowing whether they will have enough food to survive the day.
"On that... I doubt there will be a war. Not a full-scale one, anyhow."
"Okay. I'll spread that through the people. It should help to raise morale." It means a lot to you that he's willing to discuss things like this with you, when any other minister or advisor wouldn't spare you a glance. But he seems to understand that you'll keep his secrets and reveal only what needs to be known to the rest of the court. In turn, you report to him what the civil officials would never be privy to: the real heart of the citizens. Between you there dwells, just like your mother had said, trust.
"Thank you," he says. You watch as he drains the rest of his cup, setting it down with a clink on the table.
You pull back your sleeve as you go to pour Yoongi some more tea and he catches sight of the bracelet on your wrist, the pure white beads kept carefully clean. The precious trinket has barely left your arm since he gave it to you at the end of that Chuseok night a year ago, dropping it onto your palm as if it was just another grey rock without any elaboration on the matter. It's been so long since that you feel bare without its weight against your skin.
He gestures for your hand and you extend it towards him. Though he is careful not to touch you directly, he gently strokes the beads to turn that warmth of his inward to the softness of your inner wrist. Closer than he's ever been.
It makes you want more. Dangerous.
"It looks nice on you," he says. You smile at the matter-of-fact way he states it, as if it's an undeniable truth. "I wanted to go to Chuseok in town again. It's unfortunate that we had to miss it because of all the..." He waves his hand, encompassing the mess that's been these past few months.
While you desperately want to read into his use of we, you don't let it linger as you bring your hand back, feeling the ghost of his sensation still. "It's fine. There's always next year."
"Right. You'll have to show me again how to sink rocks." He gives a wide grin, nose scrunching up.
"You know I have a theory!" You protest, but smile back anyway.
"Seja-jeonha! S-Seja-jeonha!"
Immediately, Yoongi stands up, watching as Eunuch Kim rushes past the garden guards with his robes flailing behind him. He is running as fast as his legs will take him, pure panic on his face. "What's wrong? Has something happened?" He shouts back before peeling away, hurrying down the bridge to meet the Eunuch. You follow him, heart pounding as your footsteps clatter on the wood.
Eunuch Kim takes huge gulps of air as he forces himself to a stop in front of you. His face is completely red, lines of worry etched in his forehead. "The French— a-an invasion—" He sputters, "Your father— J-Jeonha— He's collapsed!"
