The corridor at midnight felt like a throat.
Lanterns guttered; shadows leaned close.
I'd meant to check the Prince's training schedule and nothing more, until I found him in the practice hall, the sword at his feet and his hands on his face, shoulders heaving.
He looked up when I entered. His voice. Frayed. Fractured. Like silk tearing at the edges. I froze mid-step. My chest tightened, my heart caught somewhere between caution and the temptation to collapse into him.
and for a moment the palace fell away.
He didn't ask about duty or ceremony. He asked, in a voice that might have been a prayer, "Ha-neul, how do I marry a duty that keeps stealing you from me?" I wanted to say everything.
Instead I tightened my jaw and obeyed the one command I'd been given: to keep him safe, even if doing so tore us apart.
"Ha-neul."
He was leaning against the edge of the practice hall doorway, eyes shadowed by fatigue, lips pressed in a line that could have been a smile, or a warning.
"I…" he began, then stopped, swallowed. His eyes found mine, searching, vulnerable.
I tightened my jaw. "Your Highness," I said formally, voice clipped. "You shouldn't be here. It's late."
"No," he whispered. "I need to be. I… I can't stop thinking about you."
The words were soft, but they struck me harder than any sword. I wanted to step forward, to tell him I felt the same, but the crown, the King, the court, my duty, all of it pressed down on me. My hands clenched at my sides. I could not give him even the smallest relief.
"You mustn't," I said. My voice was calm, but my chest throbbed. "Feelings… change nothing."
His lips parted as if to argue, but he stopped, gaze falling to the floor. I could see the tension in his jaw, the war waging behind his eyes. Between duty and desire. Between what was right and what his heart begged for.
For a long moment, we stood like that, separated by inches but miles in every other sense. The air between us was thick with unspoken words. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
His jaw tightened. His eyes dropped.
I saw the war inside him, duty vs. desire, crown vs. heart.
Then he exhaled slowly, painfully.
"I understand," he whispered. "But… will you do me one favor?"
My chest tightened. "What is it, Your Highness?"
His eyes softened.
"It's a secret."
Escape
We met in the narrow servants' corridor behind the eastern archway, no lanterns, only cold stone and hidden doors.
He wore a dark cloak with the hood low, nothing extravagant that would give him away.
His bodyguard,Yeon, waited in the shadows, a silent phantom with a blade at his back and suspicion in his eyes (that boy still doesn't like me).
"Stay behind us," the Prince whispered to him. "No interfering unless we're in danger."
Yeon bowed stiffly.
Yeon's presence lingered somewhere behind, quiet, assessing. A phantom with a blade and suspicion in his eyes.
We slipped through a side gate usually reserved for kitchen supplies.
The guards on duty bowed in confusion, recognizing me but not his covered face.
"Inspection," I lied smoothly. "We're checking the midnight deliveries."
They let us through.
Just like that.
We were outside the palace gates.
The cold air was freedom.
Sharp.
Real.
Dangerous.
He reached for my wrist, not to hold, but just to steady me as I stepped over a loose stone.
That tiny touch felt like sunlight on my skin.
"Come on," he whispered. "The night is short."
Moonlight and Night Market
The market was alive.
The night market lay beyond the palace gates, flooded with lanterns swaying in a gentle breeze.
Somewhere behind us, a soft step among the cobblestones reminded me that we were not truly unobserved. Yeon followed at a careful distance, keeping the Prince safe, keeping me in check. I ignored it, pretending the warning pulse of awareness didn't exist, but it kept my senses sharp, and my chest tight with tension.
The smell of grilled fish and roasted chestnuts mingled with the perfume of blossoms from nearby stalls.
I had never been allowed this far from palace walls and he noticed.
The Prince's hand brushing briefly against mine sent a shiver down my spine.
"You're staring," he teased softly.
"I'm not," I muttered, but my eyes refused to stop drinking in the colors.
He bought two candied peaches from an old woman whose smile wrinkled her whole face.
"Try it," he said.
"I'm on duty."
"Try it," he repeated, softer this time.
I did.
It tasted like sugar melting on my tongue, like something forbidden and perfect.
He watched me instead of eating his own.
"Stop staring," I said, heat creeping up my neck.
"Can't," he admitted with a smile that could start wars.
The he touched the corner of my lips, removing the crumbs from the candied peach. I froze. Not from touch alone, but from the forbidden freedom it suggested.
He led me past stalls selling silks, tiny trinkets, and sweets I had only glimpsed in the servants' tales. His laughter was soft but bright when a vendor tried to trick him into buying a toy sword twice its value.
We wandered through stalls selling ribbons and carved jade pendants.
He tried on a ridiculous straw hat.
I choked on a laugh.
He bought it.
Put it on me.
"You look better in it," he said.
I shoved it back at him, face burning.
We drank sweet tea from the same little cup.
Played the butterfly lantern game, chasing glowing wings that drifted like tiny wishes.
"Are you smiling at me?" he asked, mock stern.
I kept my lips pressed together, but my chest betrayed me, rising and falling too fast. "Your Highness," I scolded, even as I allowed the corner of my mouth to twitch.
"You're impossible," he said, and I caught the warmth in his voice, the fleeting softness he never showed in the palace.
And when I caught one in a jar, he whispered:
"You're smiling."
"No, I'm not."
"You are."
And maybe I was.
God help me.
The Firefly Field
We walked farther than we planned.
Past the market.
Past the fishing docks.
Up a small hill where the moon hung low and bright.
Fireflies hovered in the grass like floating sparks.
But even here, I sensed it: a soft crack of a twig in the distance. Yeon, just beyond the clearing, keeping watch. My shoulders tensed slightly, though I didn't pull away.
He inhaled sharply.
"It's been years since I came here."
"You've been here before?" I asked him.
"When I was little," he said. "Before I understood what it meant to be someone the world watched."
I sat in the grass.
He sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed and the world tilted.
He lay back on his elbows, looking up.
"The moon is brighter out here," he murmured.
"Because there are no palace walls," I said.
He turned his head toward me.
"Do you feel trapped there?" he asked quietly.
I hesitated.
Yes.
Yes, I do.
I feel trapped with you, by you, because of you.
But I said, "It's my duty."
He laughed but not happily.
"You say that word like it's a chain."
"It is one."
"Then maybe I'm your jailer."
My breath stopped.
He reached out, slowly, tentatively, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"Ha-neul…" he whispered. "When I'm with you, I feel like myself. Not the Crown Prince. Not the heir. Just… a man who-"
His voice cracked.
We were leaning closer before I realized it.
The fireflies glowed around us like tiny stars.
His breath brushed mine.
Our foreheads touched, warm, trembling.
"Ji-ho…" I breathed.
His lips grazed mine.
Not too close but close enough.
Like a whisper.
Like a promise.
Just enough to burn.
And left me burnt.
Then…
A branch snapped.
We jerked apart just as Yeon appeared at the edge of the field, expression stiff.
"Your Highness," he said tightly. "We must return. The palace patrol is increasing."
The Prince pressed his eyes shut, jaw clenched with frustration.
I sat frozen, heart racing, lips still tingling from the almost-kiss that never became one.
He stood, dusted off his cloak, then extended his hand to help me up with a smile.
The fireflies dimmed as if they, too, mourned the interruption.
"Come," he whispered softly.
His voice broke on the word.
"We should go back."
And we did, go back.
A cage designed by fate.