Chapter Text
Records of the class of 1178 will recount that the Blue Falcons lost the first mock battle, overwhelmed by an ambush from the Red Vipers. But the students will remember that Kim Minjeong cost the whole battle for her house in a matter of seconds.
It happens like this:
Crown Princess Yeji of the Kingdom of Sturgia suggests the Falcons charge across the bridge and then fan out to overwhelm the archers on the hill. Minjeong insists they’re marching right into a trap. The field of vision in the morning mist makes it impossible to see more than a few meters in front of them. And, despite her future queen’s protests, she crosses the river by herself—further upstream than her housemates.
In hindsight, Minjeong believed she could outmaneuver the Vipers by sneaking up and flanking them from behind. She blames the pond scum and algae that slithered into her boots as she trudged into Red Viper territory.
But most importantly, she blames—
Yu Jimin.
Lying in wait behind the mulberry bushes, she pops out and screams bloody murder.
Minjeong is too startled to speak or move. This is the first time she’s been in the proximity of the esteemed Imperial Princess, and the princess is panicking. Not from Minjeong’s boots making squelching noises with each step she makes.
Not from blood or injury. No. She’s terrified of a lifeless pigeon.
With her hand on the hilt of her wooden sword, Minjeong tries to slip away unnoticed. But Lady Luck is a fickle deity, and the heel of her boot snaps a twig in half.
Jimin’s attention snaps away from the dead avian.
“By the gods,” Minjeong mutters as she ducks down. Through the bushes, she can see dark eyes search the area while her rouge lips tremble with uncertainty.
She should strike now while the princess doesn’t see her or make a quick escape.
Weapons clashing in the distance make the decision for her.
She takes off into a sprint, unsheathing her sword, ready to flank the Vipers and come to the Crown Princess’s rescue.
A force surpassing her own speed and strength runs right into her and sends her tumbling to the ground. It knocks the wind out for a second, and when she hits the ground, her helmet dips in front of her face.
Minjeong lifts her helmet, breathing heavily as she puts her hands out in front of her to push whatever knocked her down off of her.
Her hands meet two shoulders, and immediately, her stomach drops.
The Imperial Princess hovers over her with wide eyes, just as shocked as Minjeong is over what the hell just happened. Minjeong exhales shakily. The first coherent thought that comes to her mind among agitation, pain, and surprise… is that Princess Jimin has the most ethereal features. Prominent beauty marks under her lips and on her cheek. Long neck that gives her an air of authority—like she can see all that’s hidden. Small face that accentuates her eyes, nose, and lips. Ears that poke out of long dark hair tied back into a ponytail. She’s gorgeous—it’s annoying that it’s all Minjeong can focus on now.
The rumors are true. Jimin was sculpted by the gods.
Yet here the Imperial Princess and (hopefully) future Dame Minjeong are, staring at each other like the other had just sprouted wings.
“Are you alright?” Jimin asks, coming to her senses first. “I didn’t watch where I was going. I was—“She briefly glances in the direction of the bushes. Her shoulders shudder.
Minjeong feels her cheeks redden. It is not becoming of a knight to be in such a compromising position in front of royalty, especially from a foreign state.
She opens her mouth to respond, but then a war horn sounds from the castle.
Realization dawns on both of them as Jimin helps herself to her feet, glancing down at Minjeong almost apologetically. But Minjeong cannot bear to look her in the eye.
Rule Four of Mock Battle Guidelines. When one fighter causes another to be knocked to the ground, i.e., through tackling, pushing, or wrestling—even accidentally—the knocked-down fighter is eliminated as if they had been defeated in battle.
The battle is over.
Minjeong was right about the ambush.
Minjeong was the last member standing in the Blue Falcons.
Most importantly, she blew it.
“Your Highness! You did it! You stopped the last Blue Falcon!”
Jimin composes herself, flashing a bright smile and waving as her housemates run toward her from the bridge crossing. But Minjeong can see something else in her eyes that doesn’t allow her smile to match her true emotions.
But she dares not speak to the Imperial Princess, or else she humiliates herself further. But she has enough dignity left in her not to stand here while the Red Vipers celebrate her downfall right in front of her.
All of this when the only reason the Red Vipers won is because Jimin is deathly afraid of birds.
Minjeong’s housemates will not let her live this down.
So, she slowly gets to her feet, throws her helmet to the ground, and storms off—enjoying the last shred of pride she has left before it sinks in that she has shamed her house and future queen.
When she tells the tale of this battle to the squires she’ll train in the future, she’ll remind them never to let their guard down.
“You should have stayed with us.”
“What difference would it have made, Ryujin? I was right about the ambush! I would’ve been another casualty surprised by Aeri and the other archers.”
“Do you know how humiliating it is for us to say we lost because the Imperial Princess of the Avidius Empire took you down with little to no struggle?”
Minjeong stops in the middle of the stone stairs and spins around to glare at her unkempt, dark-haired housemate. “But that wasn’t the only reason we lost like I just said—“
“You were the last standing. Everyone is going to remember your mistakes.” Ryujin shrugs and then snorts with amusement. “Blaming Her Highness will only get you more backlash.”
Her eyebrows shoot up as she looks at Ryujin incredulously before walking up the stairs again.
Ryujin clears her throat and then exhales sharply. “Yeji is taking this hard, and you know I hate it when she’s upset.”
This is completely predictable of Ryujin of House Shin, who has been attached to Yeji’s side since they were children. House Shin has been the warden of the coast for centuries and House Hwang’s most loyal vassal. Their close friendship is just as much destiny as it is their duty.
In fact, most of Minjeong’s housemates are her childhood friends—not just Yeji and Ryujin. Yunjin of House Huh in the northeast, whose family frequently has border disputes with one of the neighboring houses of the Cilon Aristocracy. Yizhuo of House Ning descended from a line of accomplished scholars whose families guarded the northern borders.
Many moons they spent together at each others’ family estates while their mothers and fathers trip over their words to impress the king.
Perhaps it’s the years of knowing each other that give them the right to tease Minjeong endlessly. Perhaps it’s the years of knowing Minjeong could do so much more that they’ll chastise her until she makes up for it.
“—Did you hear a word of what I just said, Minjeong?”
Agitation bubbles up in her chest; her face presses firmly into a scowl. “I’ll talk to Yeji tomorrow.”
“Apologize to Yeji, you mean.”
Minjeong scoffs. “Apologize for what? Trying to win?”
Her friend’s eyebrow cocks upward—Ryujin can see right through her bullshit.
She gestures like a believable excuse will come across if she expresses herself more vividly. “She came at me out of nowhere!”
Ryujin smiles, stuffing her hands in her trousers.
“I mean, really, Ryujin?” Minjeong rolls her eyes. “Are you asking me to do this for my sake or Yeji?”
The color her friend’s cheeks turn says it all.
“Don’t answer that,” she backtracks, swallowing the lump in her throat.
She spins on her heels and marches further up the stairs, but Ryujin’s reflexes are quicker and catch Minjeong’s wrist. The pleading look in her eyes is almost enough to melt the ice that protects Minjeong’s heart.
“I’m sorry, Minjeong,” she says gently. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure your father will be proud you outlived Her Highness in the mock battle?”
Minjeong scowls. Wrong answer. “We still lost. My father only cares about results.” She crosses her arms as she lets out a long sigh. “I’m sure the news has already reached the estate. My dear sister must be cursing my descendants for three generations.”
“Your sister’s such a bitch.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t catch herself half-smiling until Ryujin points at her mouth, a triumphant grin beaming proudly at her. “There. I managed to make you smile again.”
“Pfft.”
“Come on, grumpy. Let’s go to dinner. I heard they are serving fresh trout from the northern rivers.”
Minjeong shakes her head and pulls her hand out of her friend’s grip. “I have to decline, Ryujin. I’d rather not face the rest of our house now. Or the whole academy with their stupid smirks and sneering—“She cuts herself off with a disgusted snort. “I should draft a letter of apology to my father.”
A flash of disappointment washes over Ryujin’s face. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast?”
She nods.
Ryujin leaves her in the dark corridor with no distraction to protect her from her self-deprecation. Not much can be done about it anyway. There is no cure for the demons that taunt and shame her after every failure.
She retreats to her room in silence.
Dear Father,
Ink drips from the quill to parchment. Candle wax rolls down and stains the spruce wood.
I have brought shame to the Noble House of Kim.
She dots her ‘I’s and crosses her ‘T’s.
I disobeyed the orders of Her Highness Yeji of the Royal House of Hwang, future Queen of Sturgia.
The night winds howl out the window, slamming tree branches against stone.
It is because of my false judgment that the Blue Falcons did not win the first mock battle.
I do not want to be a military commander, Father. I do not have the tactical foresight. I want to be a knight. I implore you to let me change my course goals to reflect such. I do not ask for mu—
Her quill snaps from pressing too hard. Minjeong sits straight and looks down at her letter, ink drying and setting in her hasty complaints. No, this will not do. She balls up the parchment and throws it into the corner of the room.
Minjeong feels her chest tighten and a heaviness in her heart. She will not weep. She will not cry.
Then, she hears a gentle knock at her door.
Minjeong leaps out of her chair and grabs her cloak. She is not decent. White shirt with two buttons undone. Bare-footed. She did not desire company tonight. She made it quite clear to Ryujin.
Wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, she opens the door, barely poking her head out to see who is there.
The Imperial Princess, holding a plate of bread.
Minjeong stands straighter and opens the door all the way. She takes a step back and bows. Is she supposed to bow to the heir to a foreign state? She racks her mind for forgotten manners.
“Your Highness, I am surprised to see you.”
“Please save the formalities. I would much rather speak peer-to-peer with you,” she insists. “And do call me by my name.”
She clears her throat and bows again. “My apologies, Jimin.”
Jimin’s eyes light up with amusement. A gentle smile grows. “May I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” Minjeong moves out of the way and gestures to Jimin. “My room is a bit stuffy. I fear when the summer comes, I will have to sleep in the stables,” she muses. She could get away with speaking like this to Yeji because they’ve known each other since they were babies. But Jimin is a stranger to her and of higher rank. Sturgia used to be a province of the Avidius Empire.
Maybe she deserves the disrespect for her cheap win on the battlefield.
She quiets her inner ramblings and holds Jimin’s gaze. “Is there a reason you’ve come to visit me at this hour?”
“I didn’t see you with your housemates at the dining hall. I was worried that you had chosen to skip this meal.”
“Your intuition was correct,” she answers with a hum. “Disappointed you could not gloat in front of everyone?”
Jimin’s expression falters. “I wanted to thank you, Minjeong.”
“Thank me?” Minjeong blinks. “Did I hear that right?”
“Yes. You did.” Jimin puts the tray on the spruce desk, fingertips running over the melted wax, before looking back at Minjeong. “You saw me at my most vulnerable. The Imperial Princess, nowhere near the housemates she’s supposed to be leading. Cowering over a—" She cuts herself off with a strangled breath. “Bird.”
Minjeong crosses her arms. The agitation she had tried to suppress before on the battlefield is bubbling up inside her. She keeps her mouth shut, though. Lest she causes a diplomatic crisis.
Her tone darkens, eyebrows knitting together as she continues to explain herself, “I took you down by accident. It was not an honorable way for either of us to end the mock battle. Yet when my housemates came running toward me—proclaiming me your vanquisher—you stayed silent. You didn’t refute them. You let the entire academy think I had bested you. Why?”
Minjeong shrugs. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Jimin’s lips curl upward, hands resting on her hips. “I suppose it would be naïve of me to think you did.”
The lingering disappointment in her tone unsettles Minjeong. She finds her gaze shifting from side to side, suddenly feeling small under the Imperial Princess’s watchful eyes.
“If I had tried to tell the truth, nobody would’ve believed me, Jimin. It would be my word with the weak credibility the second daughter of Count Kim has against the Imperial Princess.”
“I wouldn’t have rebuked your claims if you challenged me.”
“My honor has already been stained enough today,” Minjeong dismisses.
Jimin reaches for the tray and grabs one of the buns. The smell envelops Minjeong like a warm embrace. Sturgian Sweet Buns. Filled with honey and gooseberries and drizzled with frosting. When she was little, she and Yizhuo used to sneak into the kitchens at the Royal Palace and stuff as many as they could into sacks before the cook chased them out with a broom.
Tension leaves her body as she stares at her favorite sweet treat. If she were a dog, she’d be drooling.
“Regardless of your intentions, your silence protected me from humiliation. You had no obligation to do so, but you did anyway….” Jimin breaks out into a smile. “I don’t want you to think poorly of me or that I took advantage of you to save my skin. What you did for me was an act of kindness that no one has ever done for me.”
She holds her hand out, presenting the warm, sweet bun before her. “So, I saved you a dessert from the dining hall as a peace offering and a token of my favor.”
Minjeong’s eyes widen. The arms around her chest tighten. What is she supposed to make of this? Jimin had not even crossed her mind when it came to today’s misfortune after the initial frustration. She had blamed everything on herself for not being on her guard and letting Her Highness walk into an ambush. But her single act of ineptitude had blessed another with fortune.
Her sacrifice for the favor of a lady. Like the legendary knights in the Cilon Chronicles once did for Queen Miyoung.
Those are fairy tales, Minjeong.
In Sturgia, you are honor-bound to your monarch. Your people. Not lofty ideals and certainly not a foreign princess. Knighthood is for the cravens in Cilon; Sturgia only has room for real warriors. That’s what her sister would say if she were here.
But she’s not.
Only the gods and Jimin can judge her.
“I accept.” Minjeong takes the bun out of her hands, stomach grumbling in anticipation. She takes a bite, the gooseberry filling tasting just as delicious as she remembers it. She pulls out her handkerchief and wipes her mouth.
Jimin tilts her head to the side. “Good?” she asks as if she was the one to bake them.
“It reminds me of home.” She smiles, and for the first time tonight, it doesn’t pain her to do so. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Jimin,” she corrects with a wag of her finger.
Minjeong bows her head slightly. “Sorry.”
Jimin makes a noise of disapproval, but Minjeong is certain she is teasing. The gentle laugh that escapes her as she meets Minjeong’s slowly rising gaze confirms it. “Please finish all of them. Bolster your strength for when we next meet in battle.”
“Oh?” Minjeong cocks an eyebrow. Then, she, too, laughs with Jimin. “Are you challenging me to best you? You may not get so lucky next time. I won’t lose twice.”
Something shifts behind the Imperial Princess’s eyes, lips pressing together. She tries to hide it, but Minjeong can observe a wariness in her expression. “You will win the next time we cross blades. That I can guarantee.”
Minjeong scowls. What does she mean by that? Is Jimin going to throw the fight to make them even? No. She won’t let her do that. That’s not right! She deserves a fair chance at victory.
She asks her how she can be so sure.
But it doesn’t come out like that.
Minjeong, who had never once paid attention in her court etiquette lessons and was forbidden from learning diplomacy, blurts out, “Are you afraid of fighting me?”
She slaps her hand over her mouth a few seconds too late. This is a woman much higher in rank who likely had been trained by Avidian praetors. She is the second most powerful woman in her nation; she should fear nothing.
But Minjeong can’t keep her damn mouth shut when she’s supposed to.
“No. I’m not, Minjeong.” Jimin cracks a weak smile.
The jovial mood they shared has soured like the aftertaste of gooseberries.
Jimin glances at the door. “I must return to my room before Aeri suspects something is amiss.”
A shiver runs down her spine. She’s occupied too much of the Imperial Princess’s time. Wasted and spoiled her kindness with her goading. Disrespected and accused Jimin of cowardice.
Minjeong shifts her weight uncomfortably. “I apologize for keeping you,” she murmurs.
Jimin holds her hand up dismissively, shooting her a glance as if telling her to stay quiet. “Rest well, Minjeong. Classes start tomorrow.”
Maybe she didn’t want company before, but now…
“Wait.”
The Imperial Princess’s hand stops as she grips the doorknob. Long hair brushes to the side as she looks back at her.
“Let me walk you back to your room. It’s the least I can do.”
“How sweet, but you don’t need to do anything for me.”
Minjeong furrows her brows. She steps across the room, closing the space between them. Jimin does not move from her spot.
“Your Highness…” she breathes out—the distance between them about an arm’s length. “A knight is supposed to escort their lady.” She tries hard not to cringe at her own words. The possessiveness. The implications. It’s too late to double-check if what she said was part of the Chivalric Code.
Jimin tilts her head to the side. Humming softly, she looks at Minjeong with incredulity. “I’ve never heard of a Sturgian knight. Only berserkers, famed warriors, and relentless raiders.”
She bites her lip, unsure what to say. Unsure how to explain herself.
(She’s the first person Minjeong has told that she wants to be a knight.)
A soft sigh leaves her lips, and Minjeong swears her cheeks are tinted differently. Brighter and pinker. Like a beautiful rose (waiting to be freshly picked). “Goodnight, Minjeong.”
Minjeong brushes her hair behind her ear and whispers “Adieu” as the door closes.
She finds her stomach churning—an unfamiliar sensation. Different from hunger that rumbles like thunder or nausea that squeezes her innards. It’s light and urges Minjeong to spread her wings and fly. To where? To what?
She doesn’t know, but the thoughts make her pleased.
The wind howls again, and Minjeong retreats to her desk. Her hands grab the sweet buns and squeeze them until gooseberry juice stains her hands.
But not enough to distract her from an overwhelming question.
How soon until they speak again?