Golden Hour | Mark Lee

1

It started, as most stories do, with a song. A golden sunset, filtering through the small framed windows, turning the cobblestone floor of the stone castle a jaded orange. The spring air smelled of flowers and pollen, the scent of herbs from the castle garden lingering on the fabric of your clothes. You were only eleven, wandering through the castle in your servant's dress, the hem dragging at your ankles.

You'd only arrived at the castle a few days ago, carried to the grounds by the promise of a job as an apothecary for your mother. The twists and turns of the many passages had confused you, and now the only thing guiding you was the pull of strings, the haunting melody singing from somewhere down the hallway. It was one step after another, pulling, pulling, pulling you towards the third door on the left of the hall lined with woven tapestries. It was louder than ever, singing into your ears, and then before you could stop yourself, it had pulled you into the room.

A boy about your age stood in the middle of the room, his face terrifyingly familiar, a violin resting on his shoulder. His clothes were those of most you saw in the castle, yet you balked at the sight of the intricate golden circlet resting on ebony hair. You walked backwards, tripping over your own feet as your ears burned, apologizing profusely to whom you knew to be the prince. You didn't dare look him in the eyes, stumbling back from the prince as you shielded your face. The hurried footsteps of your mother came soon after, pulling you away from the room by your arm.

That was the first time you saw Mark, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. You saw him in passing, striding down the stone halls just as a royal should, as you blended in with the looming shadows, insignificant and small. You saw him when he cut his foot and had to be taken to the infirmary, and your mother had tended to his foot. You saw him playing ball with his older half-brother, Taeyong, in the fields outside, and riding horses with his father, the king.

It wasn't until two years later, when you were thirteen, that you really became intertwined within the royal family, and it was all because of a dream. You'd thought it'd been a dream at first, that you'd somehow drifted off while studying the work your mother had laid out for you, but you'd quickly figured out otherwise. You'd helped served the royal family's dinner two nights later, tidying the cutlery and ready to tend to their every need. Mark had snuck fleeting glances towards you as he ate, his dark eyes flicking up to your face as you tidied the tablecloth. You were the epitome of dignity, and it was only when brought the silver chalice filled with red wine to his lips that you wavered. All at once, your vision had flooded back like a tsunami, coursing through your body as you remembered the splash of blood red wine against the stone tile floor, a golden circlet falling from a young prince's head, followed by sweeping nausea crashing harshly against your stomach. In a second, you'd jumped forward and slapped the chalice from his grip, and the rest of his family paused in disbelief, staring at you, the young servant girl, in shock. Mark had been the first to try the wine, the rest of the chalices remaining untouched. The queen had been furious, furious that a servant girl had dared to get close to her son, but her husband calmed her, looking at you curiously. He'd beckoned another servant forward, and then, ordered him to taste the wine. You could only watch in horror as he took a sip and then promptly convulsed, frothing at the mouth before falling to the ground, limp, and blood leaking slowly from his ears.

That was where it had all begun, when you were torn from the safety of your mother's quarters to one just a door away from the prince's, when the king told you what you were, that from there on out your visions would be what protected Mark and his brothers from harm.