1
CHAPTER I
King of My Heart
The weight of the sapphire-and-diamond pin felt heavier on his lapel than any ceremonial sword.
Kim Taehyung, Duke of Hwaon and only son of His Majesty the King, leaned his head back against the cool, tinted glass of the town car, the muted roar of the engine a dull hum against the cacophony of his own thoughts.
Outside, the Seoul skyline bled into a tapestry of amber and violet as the sun began its descent, but inside the plush, gold velvet interior, the air was thick with the unspoken.
“A flawless performance, Your Grace,” his chief aide, Minister Park, said from the opposite seat, his tablet glowing with the evening’s schedule. “Your remarks on the new cultural exchange initiative were particularly well-received. The press pool was very appreciative of your accessibility.”
Taehyung’s gaze remained fixed on the endless stream of brake lights ahead.
“Accessibility,” he repeated, the word tasting like ash. “A five-minute, pre-scripted Q&A session from behind a velvet rope is not accessibility, Minister. It is a pantomime.”
Minister Park’s smile was a practiced, diplomatic thing.
“It is a necessary part of the theatre, Your Grace. Perception is stability, and stability is what the Crown requires.” He paused, the unspoken words hanging between them. “Speaking of which, the King wished for me to reiterate his thoughts from this morning’s breakfast. The matter of your... future... is paramount. The council grows anxious.”
A familiar, cold knot tightened in Taehyung’s stomach.
He finally turned his head, his dark eyes flat. “My future. You mean my marital status. Let us use the precise language, Minister. The ′looming deadline‘. The ’constitutional requirement’. The fact that if I do not secure a suitable bride or groom, though the council whispers that particular option with palpable distress, before my thirty-first birthday, the title of Crown Prince and the direct line of succession fall to my thoroughly unprepared and notoriously libertine cousin. Is that the ‘matter’ we are speaking of?”
Minister Park had the decency to look slightly abashed, but his tone remained inexorable. “The law is the law, Your Grace. It was designed to prevent precisely this kind of uncertainty. Your parents are not without sympathy. They understand the pressures of your position. But the monarchy must be seen as a constant, an unwavering institution. A confirmed heir is the bedrock of that perception. They merely wish to see you settled. Happy.”
“Do they?” Taehyung’s laugh was short and utterly devoid of humor. He looked out the window again as their car lurched to another complete stop in the gridlocked traffic. “They have a fascinating way of showing it. The endless parades of ′suitable′ companions, each one vetted for bloodline, wealth, and political advantage, and utterly devoid of any spark of life. I feel less like a man courting a partner and more like a stable master assessing broodmares for optimal genetic yield.”
“Your Grace, please,” Minister Park hissed, a flicker of genuine alarm in his eyes as he glanced toward the soundproof partition separating them from the driver. “The language-”
“Is the truth,” Taehyung interrupted, his voice dropping to a low, frustrated growl. “I am thirty years old. I have spent my life in a gilded cage, performing my duties, upholding my name, sacrificing any semblance of a private life for this...thisinstitution. And now, in the one decision that should be the most personal, the most human, I am given an ultimatum. Find a politically expedient spouse or be stripped of the birthright I never asked for. Tell me, Minister, where in that equation does my happiness reside? Is it listed on one of your briefing documents? A footnote, perhaps?”
He was breathing heavily, the carefully constructed facade of the unflappable Duke cracking under the immense, lonely pressure.
Minister Park was silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant wail of a siren and the impatient honking of horns.
“It is not a footnote, Your Grace,” the Minister said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “It is the hope. The hope that duty and affection can align. Your parents... their marriage was arranged, and they found a deep respect and care for one another over time.”
“Respect and care,” Taehyung echoed, the words feeling hollow. “Is that the summit of my aspirations? A life of respectful, careful loneliness?”
He turned away, ending the conversation.
The car was at a standstill. He watched the ordinary citizens in their own cars, stuck in the same traffic, living their ordinary, unscrutinized lives.
A man in a beaten-up sedan was laughing, singing along to something on his radio, utterly free.
A profound, aching emptiness opened up inside Taehyung. He had everything, and in that moment, he felt he had nothing at all.
Then he saw him.
A figure, a flash of movement in the stagnant sea of metal.
A man in a flowing, fawn-brown trench coat, his dark hair swept back by the wind, was actuallyrunningacross the multi-lane highway, weaving between the stationary cars with an impossible, breathless grace. In one hand, he clutched a wildly colorful bouquet of flowers --- sunflowers, tulips, bursts of magenta and blue which seemed to defy the dusky gloom.
Taehyung sat up straighter, his own existential crisis momentarily forgotten.
The man was laughing, his head thrown back, a beautiful, wide-open smile on his face as he apologized to a driver whose hood he had lightly vaulted over. He was not just moving. He was dancing through the inertia, a portrait of vibrant, untamed life amidst the frustration.
The setting sun caught the sharp, elegant line of his jaw, the perfect bow of his lips, and for a heart-stopping second, their eyes met through the two layers of tinted glass.
Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat.
The world seemed to slow down, the noise fading into a distant buzz. All he could see was the man’s face, alight with a mixture of apology, exhilaration, and sheer, unadulterated joy.
Then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, disappearing onto the sidewalk and melting into the crowd of pedestrians, a splash of brilliant color swallowed by the grey city.
Taehyung remained frozen, his forehead almost pressed against the cool window, his heart hammering against his ribs in a rhythm which felt entirely new.
Minister Park, oblivious to the seismic shift which had just occurred in the backseat, cleared his throat. “The traffic report suggests another twenty-minute delay, I’m afraid. Would you like me to put on the news summary?”
Taehyung did not hear him. He continued to stare at the spot where the vision had vanished, his voice a whisper, meant for no one but himself.
“Who... who runs like that in the middle of Seoul traffic? With flowers? Who smiles at a world that’s at a complete standstill as if he’s the only one who knows it’s a beautiful day?” He paused, the words leaving him in a rush of bewildered awe. “Who is that?”
