Golden Hour | Mark Lee

3

It was late winter, the beginnings of spring pushing through the melting snow, yet a chill still hung in the air. You were at the edge of the woods, searching through the frigid frost in search of herbs you knew would grow there. You smiled to yourself when you heard the faint crunching of footsteps behind you.

"Are you supposed to be out alone in weather like this, Your Highness? You might catch a cold."

Mark chuckled, and you turned around, meeting his eyes with a smile of his own. "What are you doing out here?"

You hummed, turning back to the bushes lining the forest. "The herbs I'm looking for grow best at this time of year. "

Mark caught your hand, pulling you towards a boulder clear of snow, tugging you down to sit on it. He fiddled with the fabric of your dress, rubbing the plain material between his fingers.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked, and Mark sighed.

"My mother was being... overbearing, I guess. About the engagement." he said, shooting a quick glance towards you.

As the king's firstborn, legitimate son, Mark was the immediate heir to the throne of the kingdom, and it was no question that all kings need a queen. And so, it was only natural that Mark had been engaged to the princess of a neighboring kingdom since the age of nine. Now, at eighteen, it was only a matter of time until he was expected to marry, and despite your upbringing and all the curses and harsh words from both your mother and the queen, the quiet warnings and hushed threats, you still felt a consuming, hollowing feeling of regret, longing, resting in the pit of your stomach. You'd fallen for Mark awhile ago, and there was nothing you could do about it, because all you were there for was to make sure Mark would live long enough to continue his family's legacy, and absolutely nothing else at all.

"I just had to get out." he murmured. "To see you. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

You smiled, patting his back, and said the same thing you always did. "I'll always be here, Mark. Whenever you need me. That's my job."

"Your job as the royal family's servant or as my friend?"

You looked down, glancing at your worn shoes. "Does that really matter?" you asked, kicking at the frost-covered ground.

Mark put a hand on your knee, and you turned your head to look into his eyes. They were dark and piercing, but so, so gentle, as Mark always was. "It matters to me."

You grimaced, fighting the fluttery feeling in your aching heart. These days, Mark seemed to make it too painful for your heart to even beat properly, as if he was determined to stop it all together. "Both, then. I guess. I am your friend, Mark, but I'm also your servant, and that's never been a choice I was able to make for myself. I will always be here, because I'm your friend, but also because I have to."

He nodded, and now it was his turn to look guilty. "I'm sorry."

You laughed, a tinge of cold underlying the sound. "Don't worry, Mark. I want to be here, you know that. Now, tell me more about what's wrong."

Mark wasted no time in complying to your request, launching into a long-winded rant about his mother, the queen, and his fiancé, Haseul. As always, you tried to listen, tried not to stare at the way his dark eyelashes brushed his cheekbones when he blinked, tried not to notice how the fading light shone on his skin.

And as always, you completely and utterly failed. You went back to the castle that night and did the same things you always did and would always do. You drew a bath for Mark and washed his hair, pulled on his robe, and when he was done, you sat at the edge of his bed and told him stories. You'd long run out of tales from your hometown, so all the stories you told him were made up, but you'd still never told him. You figured some things were better left unknown, if only to see that glint of excitement in the young prince's dark eyes.

It was safe, and you were secure, until the day came that Mark proposed something that set everything in motion, and you could blame no one but yourself for the events that followed afterwards.

It was only a couple months later, when the heavy rains of the beginning of spring arrived with a roar, drenching the castle grounds with torrents of water from the furious sky. You were sitting on the cot in the corner of the infirmary, mashing herbs into a marble bowl, when Mark entered the room. He looked excited, scouting the room quickly to see if it was empty before sitting in front of you, grasping your hands between his own.

"Y/N." he began, and you suddenly dreaded that deadly glint in his eye. "How would you like to go to a ball?"

You raised an eyebrow, letting out an unamused chuckle. "Mark, if you're talking about the ball tonight, I'll be there. Serving drinks."

He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "No, I mean really, really go to a ball. As a guest."