The click of heeled boots accompanied a firm stride down the corridor. Halls of white marble and golden statues decorating round alcoves were doused with the dazzling light of the sun.

A white cape swished over the right shoulder of the man leading the trio. His posture was impeccable, his shoulders straight and pushed back with confidence. His fitted uniform matched his cape and was rimmed with gold. Braids were woven into his long blond hair, sorting it neatly around an angular face.

Six wings throned on his back in a snowy white. They were folded behind his figure orderly, as much in pose as the rest of him. A sword was belted to his hips, dangling on his right instead of left, as for most other warriors.

His golden circlet stood out against a tanned forehead. Diamonds and pearls bedazzled its vertical halo around his head, morphing into a pair of golden wings to determine his status.

Scrambling behind him to match his stride were his head servant and his advisor for internal affairs. The latter babbled without taking a breath, detailing a list of topics to be discussed. Listening with one ear, the seraph made for his chambers, done for the day with all matters concerning the court.

From the opposing end of the corridor, a woman came down their way. She was accompanied by her chaperone, a young beauty with brown curls framing her features, and a lovely dress of blue hugging her frame to fan into dazzling skirts. When her eyes met the delegation, she batted them down demurely in a polite nod.

They were only a few steps apart when she stumbled, tripping either over her own feet or her skirts. Her elegant wings flared, trying to catch her momentum, but the knight was by her side in a flash before she could hurt herself.

A gloved hand caught hers and tugged her upright. The shock had widened her eyes, and they grew with more surprise when she realised who caught her.

"Your Majesty..." She stuttered, humiliated to have tripped before him.

"San is more than enough." A dimpled smile flashed over his lips, courteous with the nod of his head. He let her hand sink, and she curtseyed with a golden blush before she rushed off. Hasty whispers passed among the two women. The lady glanced over her shoulder to see the handsome angel return to his stride, and her curiosity lingered on the vision of his figure.

Picking right up on the brief exchange, San's advisor huddled to his side.

"That was Lady Pippa Honey, daughter of Duke Honey. She is highly educated in the arts and music. In the last draft, she offered herself to be interested in marriage," he recounted eagerly. San rounded the corner, steadfast in his step and reply while his advisor ran out of breath.

"Offer her to meet some of our knights. They are so dedicated to training they can need the guiding hand of a lover."

A peculiar point of view in the Vault of Heaven. Most others would declare the utter commitment to the training for protection was a knight's grandest virtue and sole purpose.

The servant and the advisor exchanged a look. Once more, the latter huddled closer.

"Your Majesty, I was hoping you would consider her a match. Lady Honey is of a kind spirit and attention. Surely, you would benefit from such a guiding hand yourself. Once you produce an heir..."

"I shan't marry again," San replied, firm. While his scholar reeled with the shock of the blunt refusal against what was best for him, San continued. "Lady Honey is welcome at the court to meet her match, but I would prefer if you didn't include me among her options."

San was peculiar; they had learned that much. Not giving up, the advisor tried again.

"Your Majesty, please consider. However momentarily you are standing in for the throne, you need to continue your royal bloodline-"

San's voice became cold and sharp as steel. Opposing the way he had been educated.

"I won't remarry; this is final. And I would appreciate it if you kept it at the fifteenth offer." A blazing gaze from golden eyes found the scholar. He sunk into himself, biting his tongue against his comment.

San's role as the diplomat of the Crystal Empire had changed some nuances of his personality, and most of his kinsmen argued it was for the worst. Trained to be dedicated to his people and their preservation, San grew up a weapon. Without free will or desires that went against the interest of the group and his instructor's teachings.

Upon his return after the war, many found him to mismatch their community. His absence taught him new values, and many frowned upon those.

But he stood in when their old king fell sick and soon died of his illness. Prince Rowan was still too young to take the crown, so San was offered the position for his knowledge until the true heir would either claim his seat or give his consent to hand it over.

The whispers about him were plentiful, and San was most aware of them. People were awed by his knightly mannerisms and the wisdom of his eyes after his absence. He was charming to many, in his position and for his looks.

But at the same time, behind the beauty of his appearance, his eyes were void of passion. Whoever approached him quickly found their fire dying out from the hollow depths of his tormented eyes.

A darkness rotted in the core of their beautiful king. Though his consultants continuously scrambled to steady his standing in the royal family. Not that they could understand. The depths of San's soul were a secret only to him.

The seraph never stopped loving Seonghwa, the elven emperor he once married for diplomacy and who taught him love and self-acceptance. Aside from his interest in keeping those feelings and memories in his heart, San hoped he also protected any other potential match from the agony of becoming his pair. The pits of his despair were sinister, violent even. Nowhere as virtuous as expected of his kind.

Lady Honey might be sweet now, but she would break trying to shoulder his burdens.

No, their king was lonely at the top. While San found it easy to rule a kingdom compared to bearing the nightmares of his nights, he also wouldn't refute if the people of this kingdom didn't want to keep him in his position, since he contrasted their values.

Upon arriving at his chambers, San could finally shoo off his company. His servant lingered to ensure he had what he needed and then tended to his tasks. The advisor took off with a troubled expression, probably fuming on the inside for another failed attempt.

No one could force the king to marry. San firmly insisted on making that choice himself.

Once finally alone, the king allowed himself to exhale. He took off his crown and his coat, had no need for the glamour in the solace of his chambers. Soft clouds cushioned his step as he placed his cloak over a chair and fell into the seat behind his desk to sign the documents assigned to him.

After that, he would finally have some peace.

His left hand guided the feather, practised in the swirls of their letters. Shifting them aside was laborious. The king's right hand ended in a stump just below his wrist. He wore a leather cap over the unsightly end of his arm, usually hiding it under his sleeves.

After signing everything he approved of, San left the task of sorting out the letters to his servant. Usually, he would take care of things himself. The only reason he approved of having personnel tending to him was that missing hand.

With a sigh, San rubbed his eyes. Getting Lady Honey pushed in his direction reminded him once more of the past. Of a happy marriage of dedication and learning. Of his elf he had loved so dearly.

Before the darkness could overwhelm him with guilt and self-loathing, San pushed his chair back. He shrugged off his vest and changed into softer pants, stepping outside onto his balcony with his sword in hand.

A dazzling night sky stretched above him and a shudder ran down San's spine at its sight.

His love was with him, always. Haunted him from every corner.

If only he could have done more.

The song of his blade cut through the air for hours. San needed to exhaust himself to sleep until his blood rushed hot through his ears and dark spots danced before his eyes, so he could no longer hear his treacherous thoughts. Pushing himself until passing out was something he kept a secret from the palace healers, but he couldn't cope otherwise. So often, he wanted to claw his eyes out so they would stop showing him their visions. So often, he pondered the depths beyond his balcony, curious whether he could stop the itch of his wings from spreading in case he fell.

Becoming the king gave him a purpose. A responsibility for his people and his family. San clung to that urge, not ready to make others suffer from his selfish thoughts.

But the loneliness consumed him.

San returned inside, drenched with sweat. His wings drooped and his hair hung in lifeless eyes. While he washed up before bed, his mind was wiped blank of all thoughts. He emptily watched the water caress down his skin, scented with honey and milk.

In a fresh shirt and drying off his wings and hair, San was on his way to pick up his book. Sleeping was dreadful for him, his canopy bed of the softest pillows the only place he openly feared. In sleep, those shadows caught up with him, tormenting him worse than losing his hand ten more times.

The knock on the door came as a relief. His servant peered his head inside, apologetic to bother him at this hour.

"You have visitors, Your Majesty."

A joyless smile dashed over San's lips. At night?

"Is it Lady Honey?"

"By far not," his servant assured him, not in the position to push his ruler for marriage.

San beckoned to send them in. Anything was better than falling asleep, even when his eyes were haunted by the lack of rest.

Few would come so far into the palace, so they couldn't be ordinary town folk. Perhaps a diplomatic envoy?

Expecting another bunch of merchants complaining about taxes in a way most improper until they deserved punishment instead of an agreement, San turned around to the door opening again.

The cloth fell from his fingers when his three visitors made it inside.

A little girl held the hands of two adult men, one a dryad from the Glistening Walnut Grove, the other a gryphon-born from the Cliffs of Zephyr. They led her inside, and the dryad thanked the servant before he tugged the door shut. His eyes, framed by flowers and mosses groomed in endless dedication and personality that reflected his thoughts and feelings, found the shocked seraph.

San knew them.

"Hey there," Yeosang smiled at him, almost shy to barge in at night. Wooyoung's eyes were misty at San's sight, but that didn't stop the seraph from stumbling closer on legs like lead.

"Wooyoung, Yeosang," he whispered, never expecting to see them here. How had they been doing? So much time had passed since their last meeting.

San hugged them both, greeting Yeosang with caution of his hard work in his flowers. Wooyoung hugged him tighter, clinging to him with all his might. His fingers lingered, feeling over San's back and sides to make sure he was real and healthy. When he pulled back, he blinked rapidly.

San's heart ached at the sight of them. He had so many questions, but they had to wait as he sunk to his knee before the girl.

Two pairs of horns curled around her head of black and white hair. Her skin was a pale, translucent grey and the black of her eyes was filled with stars.

She had his lips. His slender build.

San took her in full of awe. She had grown taller, still a child, but the concentrated frown on her face tried to guess who he was.

"You brought our princess," San greeted her with a deep bow. When Wooyoung and Yeosang let go of her, trusting San with her life, he offered his palm. Upon her shyly taking it, he kissed the back of her little fingers.

"How are you, our Princess? Are you doing well?"

"Are you my Uncle San?" She asked instead of replying. When a dimpled grin flashed over his lips, she peered away, suddenly shy.

"I am."

Full of warmth, he peered up at the other two, just as nervous and vulnerable to their reunion as he felt.

"Get comfortable. I will provide anything you might need."