Chapter Text
The gates of Arlyn stood tall and unmoving, flanked by white stone columns that gleamed under the early spring sun. Snow had melted only a week ago, but the air still carried a brittle chill, softened only by the new green of the budding trees lining the castle’s outer court. Flags bearing the gold and garnet crest of Arlyn royalty fluttered lazily in the breeze.
Minjeong didn’t look up at any of it.
Her eyes, rimmed red from days of weeping and sleepless nights, stayed fixed on the stone beneath her feet as the carriage halted with a final jolt. Her hands, gloved and resting in her lap, trembled. She did not lift them to smooth her coat or adjust her hair. The door swung open, and the voice of her attendant, Yizhuo, quietly encouraged her.
“Princess,” she murmured, soft enough for only the two of them to hear. “They’re waiting.”
That word— they —stung. Her parents would have been part of that ‘they.’ Would’ve stepped down from the Solis carriage behind her, exchanged diplomatic smiles, maybe waved fondly at the Arlyn people as if nothing could ever touch them.
But now they were dead, and she was alone.
Except she wasn’t.
Because as Minjeong stepped out, she barely had a chance to blink before arms closed tightly around her.
She froze.
The scent of pine and lavender surrounded her, heady and familiar. Warmth pressed against her—broad shoulders, firm arms, the soft rustle of a finely embroidered cloak. A hand cradled the back of her head gently, protectively.
Minjeong didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Not anymore. Her throat burned with how many tears she’d already shed. But her fingers curled into the fabric of Jimin’s coat like they were starved for something to anchor them, and she buried her face in the crook of Jimin’s neck without hesitation.
Jimin didn’t speak, didn’t let go.
Not yet.
“I missed you,” Jimin said finally, voice quiet and strained, like she was afraid speaking too loud might shatter something. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”
Minjeong shook her head against her shoulder. “I missed you too.”
The embrace lingered for a few more seconds, maybe minutes. Time didn’t feel real in moments like these. Not with the memory of her parents bleeding through the edges of her vision, or the cold spring winds of Arlyn against her cheeks, or Jimin’s arms wrapped around her like a shield against everything.
When they finally pulled apart, it was slow and reluctant.
Jimin’s eyes softened at the sight of her. She looked older, Minjeong realized—only a little, but enough. Her face had always been beautiful, regality carved into her jaw and cheekbones. But now she looked like someone who carried the weight of duty and responsibility..
“I’ll take you inside,” Jimin offered. “Joohyun’s waiting. The rooms have been prepared.”
Minjeong nodded, but her eyes didn’t leave Jimin’s face. “You didn’t change,” she whispered.
Jimin blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You still hold me the same way,” Minjeong said.
The faintest curve lifted the corner of Jimin’s mouth. “Only thing that changed is that I missed you more this time.”
The castle interior was warm, its high arches and carved wood paneling familiar in a way that surprised Minjeong. She hadn’t stepped foot in Arlyn in over two years, not since the last summit before things began to fall apart. But everything still looked the same—the tiled mosaic along the grand corridor, the iron sconces lit with oil lamps, the portrait of the late King and Queen and their daughters and son above the hearth.
“Joohyun unnie wanted to greet you formally,” Jimin said as they walked, their steps slow. “But I told her I’d bring you to her myself. I thought… you might want time.”
Minjeong appreciated that. She didn’t say it out loud, but her silence must have been enough, because Jimin just offered a slight nod and continued walking beside her.
There was a quiet comfort in their proximity. Jimin didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words, and Minjeong didn’t feel pressured to speak. Instead, their steps echoed gently against the polished stone floors as they made their way through the castle’s familiar halls.
They stopped briefly outside the garden corridor.
Minjeong’s gaze drifted to the tall windows overlooking the garden maze. The trees were starting to bloom, delicate white petals fluttering in the breeze.
“I remember this place,” she said quietly. “You kissed me here.”
Jimin’s breath caught. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything.”
It was a whisper, but it held the weight of oceans between them. Jimin turned to look at her fully, something in her eyes flickering—surprise, hope, maybe guilt. But she didn’t speak.
Instead, she gently reached for Minjeong’s hand.
Not as a lover. Not yet.
But as someone who had once known her better than anyone else. As someone who was ready to remain at her side again.
Minjeong didn’t pull away.
By the time the castle steward announced that her rooms were prepared, Minjeong could hardly feel her feet. The travel, the grief, the way Arlyn felt both strange and familiar—it all weighed heavier than her small body wanted to carry.
But she didn’t want to be alone. Not yet.
When Jimin offered to walk her to her quarters, Minjeong nodded.
The halls were quieter at night. Torches lined the walls, their flames flickering shadows across the painted ceilings. Soft footsteps echoed between them, but otherwise, silence reigned. Neither of them had changed out of their arrival clothes. Jimin still wore her royal coat, her sword belted at her hip out of habit more than need. Minjeong still wore mourning black under her cloak.
Outside her chamber doors, they paused.
“Do you want to go in alone?” Jimin asked, voice hushed, thumb brushing against the back of Minjeong’s gloved hand.
Minjeong hesitated. Then, voice smaller than she meant it to be: “Will you come in with me? Just for a little while?”
Jimin nodded immediately.
The room was warm—someone had lit the fire, and lavender water steamed gently in a basin on the washstand. The bed was dressed in plush velvet and Solis-style pillows, a gesture from the Arlyn staff to honor her roots.
Minjeong stood in the center of the room, unmoving. Jimin walked in behind her and gently shut the door.
“You don’t have to talk,” Jimin said softly. “Not about anything. I’ll just sit with you, if that’s okay.”
Minjeong gave a barely-there nod. She kicked off her shoes. Jimin followed.
They didn’t go to the bed. Not yet. Instead, Jimin tugged off her coat, folded it neatly, and took a seat on the floor in front of the hearth, legs crossed. She looked up at Minjeong, head tilted.
Minjeong knelt down beside her.
They sat in the firelight like that—wordless. The crackle of flame, the gentle hush of the wind outside, and the occasional creak of old castle wood filled the quiet.
Eventually, Minjeong leaned her head on Jimin’s shoulder.
“I keep hearing the screams,” she whispered.
Jimin didn’t respond with platitudes. She just rested her head against Minjeong’s and said, “Then I’ll stay until they stop.”
Minjeong’s fingers found the hem of Jimin’s sleeve and tugged it softly between her fingers. She didn't even realize she was crying until Jimin reached up and wiped her cheek with a thumb.
“It’s okay,” Jimin murmured. “You don’t have to be strong right now.”
“I hate that they died scared.” Her voice broke. “They didn’t deserve to die scared.”
Jimin’s arm slipped around her waist, pulling her close. She didn’t speak again, not with words. Instead, she held Minjeong as she cried quietly into her shoulder, as her body trembled with grief that had been too tightly wound inside her for too long.
There was no hunger for more than comfort. No kiss. No touch that lingered too long.
Just the warmth of two bodies curled on a hearth rug, and the safety of being allowed to fall apart in someone’s arms.
Eventually, Minjeong drifted off.
When Yizhuo knocked an hour later to check on her, Jimin cracked the door open with a finger to her lips.
“She’s asleep,” she whispered. “I’ll carry her to bed.”
And she did—gently, reverently, like Minjeong was something precious.
She tucked the Solis princess into bed, smoothed the blanket over her chest, and paused only a moment to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Goodnight, jagi,” Jimin murmured under her breath. Then, with one last lingering look, she stepped back into the hall and closed the door behind her.
Arlyn, Spring Festival – Fifteen Years Ago
The courtyard had been decorated in fresh blossoms—golden lilies and white sunbells winding up the marble columns. Music floated through the air as noble families mingled under the bright sun, their silks catching the light like butterflies.
Jimin stood near the reflecting pool, fidgeting with the leather strap of her practice sword. She was six and impatient. Joohyun, her older sister, had tasked her with “greeting the Solis guests,” which Jimin thought was boring until she saw the little girl peeking out from behind Princess Taeyeon’s dress.
Jimin blinked.
The girl had bright, curious eyes and chubby cheeks, her hand tightly gripping her sister’s cloak. Her dress was too formal for her size, and her crown was slightly crooked.
“You’re Princess Minjeong,” Jimin declared, stepping forward boldly.
Minjeong shrank back instinctively, her brows drawing together.
“You’re Princess Jimin,” Minjeong countered, quietly, like it was the only armor she had.
Jimin grinned. “You wanna see the fish pond?”
Minjeong hesitated as Taeyeon gently nudged her forward.
Jimin extended a hand.
Minjeong stared at it.
Then, with tiny fingers, she reached out and held on.
They sat side by side at the edge of the pond moments later, legs dangling over the edge as koi swam beneath them. Jimin rambled about each fish like they were her friends. Minjeong listened, wide-eyed.
“You can sit next to me for the whole festival if you want,” Jimin offered with pride.
Minjeong smiled for the first time that day. “Okay.”
From that day on, she did.