"Good evening, Y/N," his eyes brightens at the words, the way my name left his mouth brewed shivers in my heart. There was something gentle about it - so soft like the hum of my mother against my ears, the warmth of her hands against my skin.

His crooked smile looks silly, twisted to one side, lopsided and goofy. If it weren't for his title I would have cracked a smile.

But he wasn't an ordinary man.

"Your highness," I tilt forward to a small bow and immediately, a laugh escaped from his lips - like a cacophony of birds migrating, shooting through the clasped limbs of trees below them.

My head swivels to him, the ghost of laughter leaving remnants on his skin as a tint of red, boosting much more with the white light above his head.

"Don't call me 'your highness'," he says, "It sounds...silly," and just for a moment, just for the merest glimpse I could see and feel the sadness bleeding into his words. The words unsaid before his tongue.

The pain of having to live in a gilded cage.

Maybe I was wrong.

His quirky and cheerful attitude dissipates, his face hard and rigid but never harsh - like the man I thought he was. He's now devoid of emotions, brown eyes glistening like stars decorating the tall ceiling above.

I was wrong. There's something more from him, something huge and dangerous.

Something that could cause havoc.

And something only he knows.

But it's now spilling, a glimpse of it pouring bit by bit by the edges of his eyes, the corners of his nose and eyes, yet it wouldn't comply to free itself; stuck from a huge monster clinging on his shoulders tightly.

Never wanting to let go.

I was thorn in half, the one half yearning to draw him close for a platonic hug, and the other wanting to keep him at arm's length.

Snapping my trance, I nod to a glass pitcher stood on another counter; its existence seeming to dim the tension I have towards the King - my last hope, the last mirage in this tight atmosphere.

"Please don't mind me, I just need water, I'll be out after I rehydrate myself," I sheepishly say as I pad towards the counter. My feet meticulous in their movement, almost too afraid to shake the floor below to rumble underneath towards the King perched on his chair.

It is only now I have noticed that he was too big in this huge kitchen, he didn't belong to anywhere else other than sitting atop an embellished gold of throne in my own image.

His powerful aura increasing his size trifold at the edge of my tired eyes.

Both eyes are on me; the woman's and the King's. And suddenly I felt as though a deer in the headlights, the blinding light rippling against my skin, broken only by the sound of my careful footsteps.

I was inching to be alone, to cry in fear, to thaw the freezing solid exterior of myself, to have freedom like the bird outside my windowsill every morning.

Every step and movement is a prick in the gut, a sword down my throat as I solidify to ice from the outside.

I longed to be burning.

I hated to admit. I wanted the hearth of fire back once again to deliver overwhelming feelings; to help battle this anxiety.

My hand's grip on the glass beside the pitcher is hard, like a baby clinging on its mother's pinky, hoping for the flow of warmth and comfort - but the glass wasn't the same as a human hand.

It was cold and glossy, almost blinding from the reflection of the lights above.

It was inhuman.

Twining glass roses decorated the pitcher, climbing up to rest firmly at the edge of the top, its bumpy drawing beneath my hands are soft, round and even.

Still, my emotions are jealous of its feature - my emotions, per se, were crooked, shaped differently at its base, and uneven.

Lacked of path to a successful end.

Impossible to finish, as a throng of surreal and vivid feelings keep gliding inside to fill the cavern.

I down the glass and set it on the table, the gulps I had promised the king long gone from the anxiety cantering inside, pressing on my lungs 'til there is no more breath I could take.

His eyes are still on me, devoid of any emotions, anything they could give out.

My feet are about to shuffle outside and rid myself of the foul mood set upon me, when his voice sounds against the still air. The sound but a poker, smoldering my fire to give life once again.

"Do you have time?" he called, my breathing is frozen solid.

Slowly turning to acknowledge his query, "Is there anything I can help you with?" I ask. I had developed an odd respect for him, not because he was powerful but because despite of his tantalizing aura he had a big reverence between our boundaries; I was the girl caught up in a small jist of the universe, had no identity in his land and ran when he offered help.

He respected me much more than I to him.

"Yes, you can help me with something," he stands up and ambles towards me, the blurry image of the woman beyond his shoulder dissipates at his proximity, "Give me your time."

"I don't quite understand what you mean, your hig- I mean, sir?" A smack in my head at that word, my stuttering quip finally emerges from within.

His lips form into a grin, a small sound emits through his teeth - nowhere near mocking, much nearer to amusement.

The dimple once again displayed, but only a small fissure formed from the lack of muscle pull.

"Come with me, I wish to have your audience," he says, nearing much closer, his proximity punched my gut and extracted the breath in the making.

I could smell earthiness, flowers, soil and spring from him, not the usual smell of men that stank of heavy musk.

There was no other choice other than to accept, so a careful nod moves my head making him grin much more, like forcing the bright sun in the deep night at this moment.

It didn't belong to my image of him, I've always thought he was tantalizing and fearsome. But I guess I bias boxed him the wrong way.

But there's something odd about him.

He leads me to a room which shocked me when the ceiling is so high above, a thin mist spattered the ceiling above and twinkling lights poked through the mist; like clouds and stars in the night sky - yet, the ceiling is spanned black from the door we enter in to the other side.

But across from us were an array of black roses, all lined and grown like they were taken great care of, the thorns of them brushing against each other gently, like a loving caress to a loved one. I had never seen this place before and I had never encountered a black rose before.

I thought they were rare. That thought is pushed aside as my giggly inner child rises from my core, I could almost want to touch it, I could almost want to smell its petals.

I wanted to feel it against my skin. I could almost feel how soft it was, like a lover to a lover.

"Go ahead, touch it," the King urges from behind me. I almost forgot about him and the kid inside dies down. I shake my form and compose it once more.

A longing feeling rumbles through me.

Thirst.

For the pure black color, for the child inside, for freedom.

For love.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" I get straight to the point, afraid to displace from the path.

"Touch the rose first," he urges, but it's more of a command than a plead. Yet his face still holds the austere aura he emitted, which is completely different from what I have seen before.

"Why?" I ask, a part of me blooms and another dies. That part of me is the hearth, flicking with yet another start of a small fire.

He just stares on ahead, his urging smile is somewhat comforting.

Without any hesitation I pad forward, crouch and brush one protruding flower from beneath the mass with the back of my pointer finger. As I had expected, it was as soft as a lover's caress.

I could feel the love it gives off surge through the crest of my finger and up my arm to rest firmly on my heart, satisfied as it plopped down with a grunt and it beats through me.

His eyes are watching, studying my back. The touch of the single flower sent ripples through the others, waving with a cheer from the sheer delight of my interaction with their sibling.

Cool air brushes and brings them to me with the wave, interlacing with the tresses of my heavy hair.

And as if the flowers were a mirror, I cannot falter the sense of the full smile the King adorns. As if we were looking at each other through the flowers, just sensing and gazing at the emotions spilling from our eyes and lips.

"These flowers are here for a reason," I can hear his footsteps coming closer to me, careening his body so that we were side by side, "They are to symbolize the King of this very city."

Brushing the invisible dirt on my nightgown I pull up to a stand, my silence a statement for him to continue.

"He brushes a look towards me, settling on my eyes - but it wasn't the one that bore deep, trying to wrench out whatever I couldn't give. It was the look ending just an inch from my lashes, my lashes but a scant of a border to meet with his core.

It's not because he was afraid to look in deep but because he simply carried the respect he had for my boundary.

"Do you know what they mean?" he asks and I shake my head.

The wind pushes past us, his scent of spring floating by my nose with a teasing manner.

"From the ancient it was said that they have several meanings, but we only bore two from them," he looks back at the flowers, sadness seeping through him, "One was tragic romance, and one was change."

An ominous feeling presses on me.

"Which do you prefer, Y/N?" He asks.

----

UNEDITED.

The draft of the next chapter has been accidentally deleted (I do not know if the glitch was from wattpad or my laptop) and it was so long. I now have to pray for Mother Mary to help me write that LONG-ASS chapter once again while cry-laughing through a roller coaster of emotions. I'm gonna sue wattpad, screw this damn incident.

Anyway, I'll probably publish the next chapter some time this weekend. Thanks for reading!

Also, stream BTS's new English single coming out on August 21, there are lots of sites that educate on proper streaming and goals. But honestly, I kid you not, the teaser is SO AMAZING, how good it must be when you hear the full✊🏻🥺