Golden Hour | Mark Lee

11

"How couldn't I?" he said. "Y/N, please look at me."

You turned to him, your eyes filled with anger and fear.

"Y/N, I couldn't leave you. You have to understand that."

"You're an idiot, Mark Lee." you hissed. "This is so much more than me. Haven't you realized? Mark, you're the king now. You don't have the luxury to die."

His eyes softened, reaching a hand out towards you, and you flinched away.

"Even a king's allowed to be selfish once in a while, Y/N."

Then the tears came, burning trails down your face. "I'm going to die, Mark. We both know it. I touched him. I can already feel it."

Mark moved off the couch to kneel in front of you, his hand still extended towards you. His eyes were watery, desperate. "It's okay, Y/N. I don't care. Just let me hold you. Please."

And suddenly you couldn't hold it back any longer, falling forward into Mark's arms, sobbing into his neck. His hand landed on your back, moving up and down soothingly.

"It's okay, Y/N." he murmured. "Everything will be fine."

Then he cupped your cheek, moving your head from his to look you in the eye, his face inches away from yours. He wiped his thumb over your cheekbone, clearing the tears from the damp skin. Without a word, he closed the distance between the two of you.

This kiss was different than the one you'd shared last spring. It was soft and gentle, tender, warm. His hand curled around the nape of your neck, pulling your body flush against his as he kissed you. Both of you had tears streaming down your faces, warm and slow as your mouth moved against his.

Mark had been your whole life. You remembered walking into that room as vividly as the day before. You remembered when you were fifteen, running through the courtyard and the gardens, a girl in servant's clothing, chased by a boy in gold-laced clothing with the royal family's insignia stitched into the fabric. You remembered warm laughs and cold glares and the beating of your heart against your chest, the fluttering sensation you felt whenever Mark smiled at you.

Mark would make a good king, but when it came to the heart, he was far too weak. He gave in too easily to passion and desire, letting his walls crash down on a whim. It was a fatal flaw, to have a king so selfish. Maybe, you were actually saving the kingdom from a doomed king.

Mark loved too much, too strongly. You could feel it in the way his fingers carded through your hair, the way he breathed as he chased your lips.

He would give everything up for just an hour of freedom.

Soon, the salty taste of your mixed tears against your lips turned to iron, and you pulled from him, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

Blood.

You took a shaky breath, slumping against the foot of the couch as you stared at the red marked against your skin.

"Mark." you choked out. "Mark, I-"

He pulled you back to him, pulling you against him in a tight hug.

"It's okay, it's okay. I don't care. I'm here." he murmured into your hair.

"Mark." you sobbed. "Mark, you're going to die too."

"Shh, don't cry." he said. "I don't care, Y/N."

Then he stood up, pulling you to your feet. He was crying, but he forced a smile on his face, holding your head in the palms of your hand.

"Dance with me. Just one last dance."