023

Nathaniel arrived late to dinner. He sat in the seat across Sarang, who heeded his food, deliberately ignoring him. Nathaniel slowly picked up his spoon, casting a long, sombre gaze at Sarang before he stated eating.

Sarang, unfazed, finished his portion in silence. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, then turned to Lucian.

“Thank you for the food, Master.” He said with a soft smile and stood up. He bowed politely then left the dining room.

Nathaniel immediately rose to follow. “Excuse me.”

“Stay.” Lucian interjected smoothly. “Let us talk, you just arrived.”

“Surely, it can wait.”

“It will not,” Lucian replied, spearing a piece of fish with his fork. He lifted it to his mouth, then added, “Not if you want Sarang to forgive you.”

Nathaniel eyed his father suspiciously and sank back into his seat.

“You should eat more.” Lucian suggested, setting his cutlery down.

“I’m not hungry.” Nathaniel muttered.

Silence stretched between them. It had been a long time since father and son sat together without a heated argument or an emotional outburst.

Lucian broke the silence. “How was your day?”

Nathaniel arched a brow. “Chaotic since those articles. And don’t even get me started on lunch with the viscount.”

“I hold no responsibility for those articles. I had no hand in it.”

Nathaniel scoffed. “Why should I believe you?”

“I benefit from the article regardless of who and how it was published, but had it been me, the narrative would have been expressed differently. It matters not if others assume that I did it, it is their words against mine, but you are not others,” Lucian’s gaze softened. “You are my son, my family. You are the most important person your mother gave me before she passed.”

Nathaniel stared at him, caught off guard. All his life, Lucian rarely bothered to explain himself. He cared too little to correct false impressions, always expecting Nathaniel to figure things out on his own. Afterall, Lucian was nonchalant and audacious.

Nathaniel wanted to be touched by this moment. He wanted to believe it meant something. But reality hit him with brutal clarity.

He did it because of Sarang.

Nathaniel had greatly undermined his father’s affection for Sarang. If he was willingly to bend his own character for Sarang... then Nathaniel wasn’t not going to delude himself.

Lucian would never willingly accept their marriage.

Nathaniel clenched his fists. “Father, Sarang is mine. I love him.”

Lucian remained composed, watching him closely. “If he were yours, you wouldn’t need my permission. You are fervent and impatient, just like Grace, sometimes it’s a wonderful trait. Other times… I wonder. Nathaniel, please call off this engagement.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tensed.

“I know you love Sarang, and he means a lot to you, but you will never be happy if you marry him.”

“Why?” Nathaniel demanded.

“Because he met me.” Lucian stated.

Nathaniel heaved. “And you know my answer.”

He stood up, bowing stiffly before turning to leave.

Lucian’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

“No.”

“I have pleaded with you not to marry Sarang. If I cannot change your mind—” He paused. “—then I will no longer be passive.” His voice softened. “I need him. I love him.”

Nathaniel strode out without another word, leaving Lucian alone at the empty dining table.

The gentle knock on the open door distracted Sarang from the novel in his hand. He looked up just as Nathan entered, placing a small plate with a slice of cake on the table near the door. An awkward smile touched Nathan’s lips.

“I brought dessert.” Nathan said.

Sarang snapped the book shut, his gaze lingering on Nathan’s face—on the tension in his brow, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides.

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Sarang interrupted, his voice gentle. “We both said hurtful things.”

Nathan shook his head. “No, I do. You deserve an apology. It would be different if I had lashed out hurtful lies in anger, but I didn’t—I told you a painful truth. I never should have said those cruel words, knowing that my country forced this fate on you. I should have been better.” His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, tears slipped down his cheeks. “And for the lie of omission… I’m sorry.”

Sarang’s expression softened, his heart aching at the sight of Nathan’s tears.

“My love,” he whispered, rising from his seat. He cupped Nathan’s face, his thumbs brushing away the dampness staining his cheeks. His own eyes glistened with unshed tears. “If you cry, I will cry.”

Nathan swallowed thickly. “Do you forgive me?”

Sarang nodded, and Nathan pulled him into a fierce embrace, burying his face against Sarang’s shoulder. His fingers wove into the silk of Sarang’s white hair, his other hand pressing against the small of his back as if anchoring himself. Sarang held him just as tightly, rubbing soothing circles against his back, whispering quiet reassurances.

Time passed in the warmth of their embrace. Eventually, they moved to the bed, sitting side by side as they shared the cake. Sarang rested his head against Nathan’s arm, gazing affectionately at him.

“Do you feel better?” Sarang asked in Hanmin tongue.

“Yes.” Nathan replied with the little he understood.

Sarang grinned.

Nathan tilted his head slightly. “Your voice is even lovelier when you speak your language even if I can’t understand it.”

“It’s not as fun when others can hear you but can’t understand you. Min is gone.”

“True.” Nathan considered for a moment before offering, “I can learn it. It can be our secret language here. And when we wed, we’ll travel to Hanmin where the ocean is blue, and the fish is fresh.”

Sarang laughed. “You hate fish.”

“Just salmon.”

Sarang’s eyes twinkled as he hummed in amusement. “There is a place in Hanmin,” he began, his voice taking on a wistful lilt. “The sunrise bathes it in gold, the vegetation is lush and vibrant, and the wind carries the scent of the sea. If you listen closely, you can hear spirits whispering through the trees. The ocean stretches out in endless blue, lapping at the shore of an island untouched by time, with fruits and creatures no one has discovered, and a mountain offering the most breathtaking view of the sunset. There’s a village, rich with food and tradition, where the air is filled with laughter and song. Once you enter, it becomes too painful to leave—because leaving means parting with its tranquillity.”

Nathan’s lips curled into a small, enchanted smile. “That sounds like paradise.”

“It is.” Sarang agreed. “I don’t know where it is, but the author described it so vividly that it made me cry. It was his home. A tragic story, but that place—those memories—were his happiest.”

Nathan pressed a soft kiss to Sarang’s forehead, then wrapped an arm around him.

“My memories of my mother are hazy,” he murmured, “but I remember something cute she always said… ‘If you go to bed sad, a demon will drink your tears and turn them into nightmares. Happy thoughts bring happy dreams. Sad thoughts bring nightmares.’”

Sarang chuckled, nuzzling closer. “That’s adorable.”

Nathan smiled against his hair. “Then let’s only have happy thoughts tonight.”

Sarang closed his eyes, content in Nathaniel’s warmth. “Okay.”

A maid on duty, dressed in the royal uniform—a black flair gown with gold-stitched hems, puffed long sleeves, and a pristine white apron embroidered with the royal family’s crest adorned her front—hurried down the dimly lit corridors. She moved with urgency, ignoring the stoic guards flanking the heavy doors. Stopping before them, she knocked softly three times.

“Your Highness, a letter for you.” She announced, her voice steady despite her quickened pulse.

A sweet yet firm voice answered from within. “Enter.”

The maid pushed open the grand doors and stepped inside, lowering herself into a respectful bow. Princess Lysandra sat before a mirror, clad in silk nightwear, her long hair draping over her shoulders in soft waves. A messy chessboard lay on the table beside her, while a half-finished embroidery piece was tossed carelessly to the side.

Straightening, the maid approached and extended the letter. She couldn’t help but admire the princess’s unwavering dedication to mastering the game, her focus evident even in the late hours.

“It arrived just now, Your Highness.” The maid informed her.

Lysandra nodded, accepting the letter. “You are excused. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Your Highness.” The maid bowed once more before retreating as quietly as she entered.

Left alone, Lysandra traced the familiar seal pressed into the wax, anticipation fluttering in her chest. Carefully, she broke it open and unfolded the letter, her eyes sweeping over the words. A smile bloomed across her lips, growing brighter with each line.

She wished the writing would never end.

Clutching the letter to her chest, her cheeks flushed as she inhaled the scent of old parchment, letting the words sink into her soul.

Lysandra desired more.