You asked him recently how he was. Witches, how does he even begin.
He couldn’t muster the courage to even respond truthfully—and he prided himself on honesty. He’d pined for years, he’d admired from far, he’d stared longingly hoping one day you’d turn around and notice.
He was supposed to be fearless, but you made him quake in shame. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. Wasn’t supposed to hold his tongue in the presence of anyone. He’s a marveled hero, nothing would stop him from carrying a heated argument, but when he had to discuss his feelings he froze.
That makes him weak. How ashamed Father would be, to see his son crying on the balcony imagining a life he would never have with a man that wasn’t his.
He’ll yearn to be for you forevermore until he dies. A pitiful, lonely death.
He’d practiced his vows to you since you both were children, but he never dared utter them near your ears. It’s shameful, he said to himself too many nights out of the year.
He’d picked out matching binyeos while window shopping in the snow. He’d imagined your face as you walked down the aisle, the orchids in your hands. But now it’s too late. You’ve met another person and it’s not him.
He doesn’t wish you to be sad. No, he’s too kind for you inside the rock wall he puts up. His gloved hand clutches the wedding invitation. You’d always been clueless.
It’s likely the talk of your town, probably considering you and the monarch you’re getting married to are both influential. He could be him. He’d be better than him.
Maybe you’re soulmates in a different universe. Maybe he asked you out all those years ago. Now he’s nothing more than an affair, if he even gets lucky.
He’s ran out of time it seems. Way too late, Dark Cacao.
He’d tried everything to remedy the feeling. Affogato Cookie swore he’d never seen His Majesty drink this much wine before. His solution was a hand over a waterfall—but when he was plagued with the image of your face in his dreams he was helpless.
Way too late.
“Your Majesty.” A voice cut through his quarters. Caramel Arrow, his beloved archer. He would’ve greeted her already if he wasn’t slumped half-dead intoxicated. He set the glass down in reverent shame, embarrassed to be caught like this by one of his own soldiers. He was a King, damn it!
Dark makeup streamed down his face like rain, his nose congested from the crying. The cold winter wind didn’t help much for how messy his face was. He could barely feel the snot and tears flood his skin.
Caramel Arrow, the kind soul she is, leaned against the balcony with him, her hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder.
“It’ll be okay.”
“It won’t. They’re gone. Permanently,” he thrusted the letter into her grasp—the words burnt in his head. ’I’ve been promised to marry.’
“I’ll just be a jester to them. Always the groomsmen, never the groom,” he slammed his hand into the railing, burying his face into his folded arms, “fuck!”
Caramel Arrow’s hand glided over his back as his sobs wrenched through the silent night sky.
“I should be who they’re engaged to. Not some pompous prince who won’t love them correctly. I know everything about them. I’d be better.”
“I know it’s hard truth, Your Majesty, but they’ve moved on so you have to too. You can’t kill yourself slowly reminiscing on times that are long gone.”
“I know.”
He stood at the gates to your citadel unannounced. The guards had stopped him, but him—being the socially inept mess he was at the moment—tried to brute force his way in.
When that didn’t work, the commotion pulled you rushing out.
You looked at him. Really looked at him, eye contact and all. He could’ve sworn in the moment it was like an orchestra swelled in his heart. You dismissed the guards back to their posts, albeit confused why he was attempting to sneak into your citadel.
“Dark Cacao Cookie?” Your voice sounded like lotus petals falling on water.
“We need to talk. Like, immediately.”
“I mean… alright? Can I ask why you’re here? Or—“
“I love you,” you froze dumbfounded, “for twenty years, I’ve loved you.”