Guilt built the distance. Truth will have to pay the toll.
Fire and Petals
Minji
Fae council rooms aren’t built for breathing. They’re built for spectacles. We sit around a table of glass grown from living root, its veins glowing faintly beneath our hands. Bowls of moon-petals float in shallow water, releasing a scent that’s half memory, half spell. Somewhere beyond the balcony, the city hums—a thousand lights threading through the night like constellations that decided to live on the ground.
Yuna chooses the chair by the open doors, where the wind can find her. Taeyang chooses the opposite end, where theshadows can find him. Rheon stands behind Seori’s chair, silent and steady. Jisoo leans against a carved column, wing-bones folded tight beneath his skin, pretending calm. Kaelen—Yuna’s guard, her friend—hovers just far enough to be noticed.
“We need a plan to keep the princess alive,” one of the fae advisors says, voice smooth as polished stone. “The uncles won’t stop. Nor will the King’s enemies, once they catch the scent of dissent.”
Yuna’s spine straightens.
“Then speak to the King,” she says. “Not around me.”
“It’s aroundthreats, Your Highness,” the advisor replies.
“No,” Yuna says, voice cool. “It’s aroundme.”
Silence pulls tight. I feel the tug in my throat.
“We’ll set tiers,” I say before the tension hardens. “Visible guard rotation to keep the court satisfied—Kaelen’s unit can lead. A shadow net for the actual threats—Jisoo and I will run it. Discreet extractions if the palace turns. Three safehouses. Two decoys.”
Rheon nods once. Seori squeezes his hand beneath the table. It’s a start.
“I don’t need a guard,” Yuna says, eyes on the horizon.
Taeyang shifts. “You do.”
She doesn’t look at him. “No.”
“Youdo,” he repeats, a warning in his voice. The mark beneath his shirt is burning I can feel it from here, like heat threaded through the air. “I’ll take point.”
Yuna’s jaw ticks.
“You don’t get to volunteer to cage me.”
“It’s not a cage.” He leans forward, voice low. “It’s survival.”
“I survived without you.” The words land like a blade set down very, very gently. “I can do it again.”
His hands curl into fists. I see the moment he bleeds pride instead of pain. “This isn’t about pride,” I start, but he’s already standing.
“It’s about reality,” he bites out. “Assassins breached the outer parapet last night. Your father signed extermination orders. You think titles make you safe? You’re a beacon. Predators circle beacons.”
Yuna rises too, slow, deliberate. Wind lifts the ends of her hair; the bowl of petals nearest her ripples, a ring of light chasing itself across the water.
“I am not asking for permission to exist,” she says. “I am telling you I won’t be managed.”
“Managed?” He laughs once, humorless. “You think this is a game.”
“I think I’m not your responsibility.”
“You’re my mate.”
That snaps the room like glass under heat. Kaelen bristles. Rheon’s gaze cuts to Taeyang; Seori’s does too, sharper.
“And what does that make me?” Yuna asks, very softly. “A banner? A wound you can point at when you need to feel strong?”
