They turned me toward the inner doors. I did not look back. I did not have to.
His palm opened at his side, and I felt the echo of it like heat through winter—one breath away, blade sheathed, war waiting. And beneath the fear and fury and everything breaking, something soft and unbearable unfurled in me anyway.
I loved him.
And for the first time since coming home, I wasn’t ashamed of the word.
Kneel Before the Crown
Taeyang
The waiting chamber is all glass and soft light—merciful lies. The air smells like crushed petals and old politics. I stand with my back to the window, counting the breaths between now and losing her.
Footsteps. A whisper of ward-light. The door opens, and she’s there. No crown, no entourage—just Yuna with a chain of silver at her wrist that hums like a warning and a face too calm to be anything but breaking. A guard closes the door from the outside. We’re alone, except for everything unsaid.
“Say it quick,” she murmurs, eyes on the floor. “They won’t give us long.”
I take a step and stop when the chain tenses. The magic hates me. It always has.
“Your father gave you a choice,” I say.
Her laugh is small and wrong.
“He called it that.”
“Then I’ll give you another.”
“Don’t.” She lifts her head. I see the storm she’s holding and hate the room for asking her to hold it quieter.
“Taeyang, it’s over.”
Two words. No air.
“No,” I say.
Her mouth tightens.
“I’m protecting you.”
“By cutting your own throat?” The anger in me rises like an old tide. “He won’t stop because you bow. Kings don’t trade mercy; they rent obedience.”
She flinches—minuscule, but I see it. I hate myself for the heat in my voice.
“I’m returning to the court,” she says, voice steady and dead. “I’ll take the rite. You’ll live.”
“That’s not living,” I bite out. “That’s a slower kind of killing.”
“Then let me die slowly,” she whispers, and the way she says it—like it’s a kindness—makes something feral tear loose in my chest.
She turns for the door. I move without thinking. My hand catches her wrist, careful—then not careful enough.
“Dammit, listen to me—”
She startles. It’s small—just a breath caught where it shouldn’t—but fear flashes through her eyes and finds every scar I’ve ever had. I release her like the handle of a blade I almost drove into my own heart.
“I’m sorry.” My voice strips itself bare. “I will never use fear to hold you.”
Before she can answer, my body chooses for me. I drop to my knees. The marble is cold. Good. I need the hurt. I need the lesson etched into bone. I take her hand—just her fingers, light as prayer. Head bowed. Chest open. Every weapon I am, put away.
