is it truly better to have loved and lost?

It's a beautiful day for a wedding.

The sun is high and bright, a rare sight for autumn. The day's breeze is pleasantly cool as it blows across the palace grounds. It drifts past the skirt of your brightly-colored hanbok as you stand in front of one of the halls, barely paying attention to the clamorous chatter of the people crowded around you. (Especially since their excited conversations have turned to the scandalous topic of you more than once already, as if they thought you did not possess ears of your own.)

Save for those few who are busy in the kitchens preparing the ritual meal, every other palace occupant has stopped their work on this auspicious day. At least where you stand, you are afforded some more room than the other spectators, for a painter has been busily constructing his workspace beside you and his materials demand space. As far as you can see down either side, people line the path that the royal palanquin had taken some time ago on its way towards the town for the ceremonial tour of the nearby grounds, to allow the regular citizens a glimpse of their esteemed ruler and his imminent wife.

Despite yourself, you'd come.

You'd looked for him as the procession passed you by, though you only managed to see a brief flash of his silk robes. Nothing of his expression. He would be smiling, you think. Not the lazy, gentle curve of his lips in the hazy light of morning, or that oft-teasing smirk you've come to expect before soft kisses. No, it would be that frozen grin meant to fool those who did not know him as you did. As you do, you correct in your mind to no one at all, since the distinction feels more important than you're willing to admit.

Southward, the sound of clapping and cheers suddenly soars towards the sky. Voices near you echo in kind, exploding with exclamations. "They must be returning!"

"I hope they are slow coming back. I didn't get to see jungjeon-mama's hairpin last time!"

Your fingers feel empty and useless, so you clench the fabric of your skirt to stop their trembling. Yes—if you squint your eyes, you can see it now. First, the men on horseback, guiding the entire procession. Then, the guards marching in uniformity, their spears pointed towards the sky by their sides. All this ceremony. All this celebration. The first palanquin will be your king. You can see the red roof of it already, coming closer and closer at a measured pace.

"Jeonha!"

"Congratulations, jeonha!"

"May your marriage be long and prosperous!"

You close your fist tighter, knuckles turning white. Yoongi is so close, but his head is turned to the other side. You want him to look at you every bit as much as you want to avoid his eyes. It would be so satisfying to prove his feelings towards you in front of everyone if he held your gaze, but—you know only intense scrutiny from the others will linger when the moment has passed.

What will you do?

The palanquin draws near.

Will he find you in the crowd?

"Whoa!"

A loud, startled whinny. In front, one of the horses rears back, its legs kicking wildly in the air. The procession stops immediately. Thankfully, no one crashes into another as the crowd's cheers are replaced with confused murmurings.

"Yah! Down!" The rider barks. He pulls on the reins, his grip firm until the horse has all hooves on the ground once more. Then he turns to bow his head to the king. "My sincere apologies, jeonha! It must have thought there was a creature on the ground."

"No matter." The king waves his hand dismissively. "Continue."

The slow rumbling starts again as thousands of stepping feet regain their momentum. The ground shakes from the movement, mimicking the quivering of your limbs. But now, Yoongi looks only forward at the horses, towards his ultimate destination as he moves onward. Past you.

This is for the best.

Despite how your disappointment festers, you know that escaping attention is better than anything else. You try to keep your head straight instead of letting it bow like it wants to, as the dozens of high-ranking people that make up the escort follow. It will be the bride's palanquin soon. Or, jungjeon-mama, as you will soon be calling her. She follows close behind, as if visually presenting herself as his fated pair.

You press your lips firmly together even as the women around you turn to delighted shouts. "Look at her jeogori! The embroidery!"

"I wish I could wear such a thing." This, an envious whisper from your left.

A snort. "You would have to marry the king first!"

But you are no longer listening to them.

Seong-min has found you all on her own.

Her eyes lock straight on yours as her procession is pulled slowly past. From her position, raised by so many hands, she is literally looking down her nose at you and what a sharpness you find there. Like a quick blade, her stare glimmers with ice. It makes you deadly certain she knows all about you and who you really are. Cold sweat drips down your spine, your knees shivering even as the palanquin moves on, followed by an entire slew of well-dressed personnel.

But you, rooted in place, you can only replay the look in her eyes. The triumph. Now it's harder to breathe. The world around you, despite all the festivities, the voices, the colors—it all feels muted, as if your ears are stuffed with fabric. This is happening. It is really, truly happening. And you came to watch, as if to carry out the finishing blow yourself. Should you go now? Have you seen enough? You know what comes next. You are so afraid of what comes next.

"Wouldn't you say they look rather suited for one another, uinyeo-nim?"

The question forcibly snatches your attention. Your chest still constricting, you slowly turn to face the question-asker, the very painter who has been sketching away on his canvas. He looks away from his work towards you with round, dark eyes that light with mirth. He is the only other person today who has been willing to meet your gaze, as everyone else is much too occupied with pretending you don't exist while watching you furtively anyway, for later gossip.

"Y-Yes," you manage, the word sticking in the back of your throat. "Quite." You urge a smile to come up, plastering it across your red lips.

He turns back; swipes his brush across the page. "Yet your smile does not quite reflect in your eyes."

You are instantly and instinctively offended at his brashness. How dare he be so direct when he already knows exactly why you are feeling this way?

Then you realize—he must be from outside the palace. Of course. He does not know who you are, or your relation to the king. How could he? You are no one of importance.

When you do not respond, he exclaims in that easy way of his, "Ah! Perhaps it is because you are unmarried, and thus feeling lonely on such a day like this?"

You force out something meant to resemble a casual laugh. "Y-You have caught me, master-nim! That is correct."

His smile is wide and boxy, flashing a hint of teeth. "I'd thought as much. Though, I am surprised a beautiful woman like you remains unwed."

You are so surprised you actually jerk back. You don't know what to make of this bold man, who seems as if he is making advances on you despite your rank. He must know that as an uinyeo, no matter your employer, you are a cheonmin. And he must be far, far above you as a chungin, especially considering his mastery of the arts. You can see his skill for yourself. His painting, though it is far from finished, is a beautiful smattering of regal color and ink.

"Um, were you invited here to paint the scene, master-nim?" You hurriedly ask, hoping he will drop the previous subject. Before you both, the ceremonial march continues.

"Oh, yes. One of the ministers requested I paint something he intends to give jeonha as a present. Though I think it would be much more fun to give the king some of my writings instead."

"The king does do much reading," you say. "He would probably like that." Then it strikes you that you are revealing information that someone of your station should not be privy to.

Thankfully, the painter does not seem to notice. Instead, he laughs loudly in that deep voice of his. "Alright, then you may gift this to him yourself. I am certainly not risking my head!" He reaches into his hanbok and pulls out a small, bound book.

You take the small volume in hand, reading the beautifully-written letters inked on the front. Beneath the Blossoming Trees, by Taehyun. One of the newest releases, and one you have yet to find time to purchase from the store with all that has been going on. Your lips split into a smile at the sight. Wait. But then—this means—

"You are Master Taehyun?"

He laughs again, this time at your wide, shocked eyes. "Taehyung, actually. But for a bit of protection, I publish with a different last syllable. After all, some of the yangban disapprove of my... let's say scandalous works. I take it you read my novels?"

"Yes, I've read all of them!" You clutch the book he's just given you like it's gold, thinking you might just refuse to give it back if he asks for such. "This is... Ah, I have so many questions to ask you, Master Taehyung!"

He dots a rich scarlet dye onto the scene, filling in a robe. "And I am very happy to answer, uinyeo-nim. But only if you are willing to meet me at a teahouse and pose your questions over a plate of yakgwa."

"O-Oh."

His eyes wane as he beams at you.

You must admit that he is a very attractive man, what with his easy manner and his enchanting eyes. And you have spent countless hours dreamily lost inside creations from his mind, so you already feel a sense of intimacy, of trust with him. If you were with him... If you were to fall in love with a man like this, wouldn't your life be so much simpler? If you lived outside of the palace, perhaps close to Chun-ja and her family. Your friends. If you left this court and its stifling politics behind...

"Jeonha and his bride have reached the royal chambers!"

The announcement, spread by countless voices echoing the words, slices through your imagination. You shake yourself, pressing your fingertips into the book's thin cover as you turn your head north.

From here, you can just barely make out the stopped palanquins, the silk-clad figures of the king and soon-to-be-queen as they are helped down from their seats. Seeing them like this, you think Master Taehyung was right. They look so natural together. A fated pair. Even if it could be you beside him, you wonder if even an eighth of these people would be celebrating as they do now if it were.

Before the regal pair, servants open the doors, bowing at the waist as they gesture for the two to enter. Though the king takes his steps slowly, he does not hestitate, nor does he stutter. The pressure on your chest is back, pressing down, down, down. Seong-min follows him inside, the gold accessories in her hairstyle so heavy and decadent they wobble with every move.

Finally, with a flourish, the doors are shut behind them.

No one is allowed to witness the rituals that come next, but you already know what the ceremony calls for. You know what they should do. It's why the damned thing is part of the rites at all. They must attempt to produce an heir on this auspicious night. Yes... They will exchange bows. They will take a meal together. Then he will take her into his arms and press himself into another heat that isn't yours and then, when it is over—he'll spill inside her what he has never allowed you to have.

Tears build behind your eyes, threatening to flood but you won't let them. Won't give any of the spectators the satisfaction of watching you break in the light of day. You tense your muscles, tightening everything as you stare right at the wooden doors as if you could see past them if you try hard enough.

"Uinyeo-nim!" Master Taehyung's voice is soft, but you can hear sudden alarm in his tone. "Are you alright?!"

"Wha—?" You follow his gaze down and only then do you realize you have unconsciously clenched the book so hard that the pages have sliced into your skin. Dark blood begins to trickle down your fingers towards your skirt as you hurriedly take the tome with your other hand, holding out your injured one to avoid stains. You can hardly feel the pain with how numb your entire body has become. But the blood proves you are still alive after all, that this is reality no matter how you wish otherwise.

"Let me help you!"

But you can only shake your head. "I'm sorry." You cannot lead him on. Even on a day like this, you can only reject everything he offers. Even the slightest heat of his body this close to you feels wrong when your entire heart is currently behind those closed doors, promised to another woman for the rest of his life.

You still want to trust in the man you love. It's all you have left.

"I'm so sorry," you say again and again, as much to him as to your withering self.