Chapter Text
Minjeong's
A bow.
Your eyes slowly shift to the floor as your upper body leans down to show respect to the king and his family. From your peripheral vision, you see loyal subjects mirroring your position. Even without looking, you can already feel the overwhelming aura looming over the room, as if someone had squeezed all the oxygen out of it.
You lift your gaze after the king gestures for everyone to stand, taking in the sight. The grand princes on each side bear a striking resemblance to the king, albeit younger.
Your father strides forward, and you follow along. Midway, you feel piercing gazes behind your back. You wouldn’t even bat an eye on normal occasions, but not today. The socialites glaring daggers, seemingly laced with poison behind their fake smiles, prickle your skin.
Never mind the bumbling fools who try approaching you; you suddenly feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Your eyes train forward, catching two of the princes ogling you. You feel disgusted and stunned that eyes similar to the benevolent king's can look at you that way. Their gaze feels like a violation, making you shiver despite the warmth of the room. You steel yourself and school your expression, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing your discomfort.
“Your Majesty, I present to you my daughter, Minjeong, the third-born in my family,” Your father announces.
“Marquis Kim, her beauty is unmatched. She reminds me of your wife when she was young—” He is cut off by the foot soldiers announcing an entrance.
“Pardon my tardiness, Your Majesty. Brothers.” You notice the newcomer sporting a laid-back smile despite the situation. Her footsteps are light as she passes your back. You feel a wisp of air carrying scents of bergamot and mandarins. You notice her sparing you a glance before situating herself beside the king, who only sighs in exasperation.
“Jimin.”
“I know, Father. I hope I didn’t miss anything important.” You hear the king huff in defeat after she flashed a smile.
This must be the princess.
You remember your father mentioning the king’s daughter briefly and hearing bits of gossip from the servants on your estate. Imagining her resembling the queen from your hazy memories, with her soft features, kind smile, and feathery voice. Unlike the princes who visit your father’s estate for business, you only ever heard of the elusive royal from ballroom gossip and newspapers.
Free-spirited.
Bold.
Daring.
The youngest and most adored by the king.
The only princess of this empire
You snap out of your thoughts when a hand is placed on your shoulder and your father introduces you again. You get an up-close look at the woman, always surrounded by rumors of her charming both lords and ladies, of her escapades, and unsavory scandals.
Contrary to what you have heard, her cat-like eyes meet yours. They are cold and calculating. Something flickers, and for a moment, you think you are hallucinating.
“My lady, Jimin,” she introduces herself informally as her hand hangs in front of you. Unsure, you extend your right hand for her to take.
She dips her head, and you feel her lips touch the back of your hand. The heat from her breath fans and seeps through your gloves as she lingers for a few seconds. You drink in the sight of her perfectly arched brows, the way her hair is pulled back, and down to the loose dress shirt paired with cream breeches. You can’t help but think that the rumors may not be unfounded.
Jimin, a princess, and the epitome of the untraditional. You inwardly laugh as you remember your situation.
Right.
Tradition.
That blasted thing.
One thing leads to another, and you find yourself inside the king’s private dining room, away from the festivities. The mood is cordial, with only the clinks of tableware and the chattering of your father and the king being heard. You are seated beside your father, with Jimin directly in front of you. Her manners are impeccable. This is the same woman who allegedly sneaks out and eats at taverns on the outskirts of the royal capital. You assume she might have picked up on the manners of the locals.
You remember the time before your debutante when you sneaked out and were berated by your nanny. She kept going on about meddling with the common folk and how it was unbefitting of a future crown princess.
Yes, a crown princess. Your father promised a long time ago that he would find the most suitable man for you to marry. You think that your father is ambitious and desperate, willing to marry his daughter off to the royal family like livestock.
He says it is part of tradition; countless queen consorts have come from your family. As the Marquis and the general of the royal army who guards the empire’s borders, he believes the royal family would scramble at their feet to gain the military prowess they wield.
With recent talk of barbarians slowly encroaching on the borders and that the empire is on the brink of another war against them, you understand that you are a key piece if one of the princes hopes to secure the throne. Still, you are thankful that your father has enough heart to wait until you have come of age before introducing the idea of marriage. Although you know that it’s a pretense because he wanted you to be prepared and perfect. You’d like to think that he loves you enough as his daughter.
“I trust that you understand the reason for your presence here with your father?” The king directs a question at you after wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Your back straightens as you feel eyes on you. The attention makes you lose your appetite, so you plaster a thin smile, swallowing down the queasiness.
"As you are aware, your father has served under my command for many years, and I owe much to his dedication. To honor his sole request, you may choose from among my sons for your marriage partner."
This is no tradition but a payment of debt to your ambitious father.
What difference does this situation have with picking out a dress to wear for the day?
You hate the idea of a shallow political marriage, but at the same time, you are bound by obligation and duty as a noble. Maybe your father felt sorry and was giving you at least the choice to pick among the princes. But it was unnecessary; he should have just made the decision for you. You do not want to get caught in the sick game the royals are playing, with the upper echelons watching and betting on which royal offspring will be recognized as the heir to the throne.
The king gestures to his children, and you scan each of their faces.
Sehun, the oldest, flashes you a warm smile. You remember him as he visits your estate frequently for business. Over time, you have become acquainted and view him as an older brother. Kind and humorous, he is one of your brother’s friends, and the ten-year age difference makes you uneasy about considering him as a potential husband, though it doesn’t matter in political marriages.
Taeyong, the second prince, sits with an air of arrogance. You are not familiar with him but have heard whispers of his ruthlessness, spending more time on the battlefield drenched in blood. You feel a shiver down your spine with his predatory gaze, feeling like prey hunted for its shiny fur.
Then there is Hendery, the third prince, who leans back in his chair with an insolent smirk. His reputation as a troublemaker precedes him. You are well aware of his shenanigans, as hushed voices at balls. Guess how many he has sired. You feel his sticky gaze trying to undress you.
You gulp, preparing to speak. Your voice feels trapped in your throat. “Your Majesty, I am deeply grateful. However, I find myself unprepared for such a sudden decision. Please grant me permission to take some time to consider this matter.”
You hear a grunt of disapproval from your father while the king chuckles.
“Now, now, don’t be too hasty, General. I’m sure Minjeong is having a hard time picking. She’s still young; there is a lot of time.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” You proceed to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes for the rest of the meal, only responding out of courtesy.