A lot has happened since I got stuck in this gilded prison people call a palace, saving a stranger from bandits, who later turned out to be the Crown Prince of the kingdom.(Talk about telenovela-level plot twists.)
How in God's holy name have I been trapped here for two months? Two. Whole. Months. I can't even go for a stroll outside without a battalion of guards shadowing my every step.
No one tells me why, just polite smiles and "orders from above." Great. Love that for me.
Meanwhile, Hyejin seems to be living her best life, eating like she's in a royal buffet challenge. Honestly, good for her. She's been through a lot because of me, but still… does she have to look that happy?
If I stay cooped up here any longer, I swear I'll lose my mind. Confinement is not for the likes of Isabella Autumn Wild.
Nope.
I'm not built for captivity.
"Ha-neul?" A familiar voice called.
Now what?
"Come, we're going to miss it!" Hyejin said, practically dragging me out of my resting place.
Does she know I still barely understand half of what she says? Her dialect twists differently from the one my tutor keeps drilling into my skull.
"Okay, okay! Slow down!" I laughed as she effortlessly pulled me along.
Speak of the devil and she appears, I thought, grinning. This girl doesn't understand the word "no." And her grip? Aggressive. For someone barely five-foot-three, she could out-arm-wrestle a soldier. I'm taller, but that means nothing when she decides I'm coming along.
As we approached a doorway, the sound of laughter and giggles drifted through. A puppet show was taking place a tragic love tale between a beautiful maiden and a handsome young man who, surprise-surprise, turned out to be the king in disguise.
Wow. How original. Even Romeo and Juliet looks fresh next to this recycled plot.
My mind wandered back to my first week here, the confusion, the awe, and the weird new rhythm of palace life. So much had changed since then.
I remembered the look on Hyejin and her mother's faces when the king gave his final verdict, mercy, wrapped in curiosity. The Crown Prince's stare that lingered too long, the faint smile that played at his lips. He's cute, okay? Dimples, perfect jawline sue me for appreciating God's perfect creation, a walking human sculpture.
Then there were the court ladies, kind, yes, but overly handsy.
They tried to bathe me.
Bathe me.
Nobody touches my body unless I'm ninety and in a retirement home, thank you very much.
And it felt weird, like they were trying to wash away my skin.
And the eunuchs? Avoiding me like I'm contagious. (Do I smell weird? Or are they just terrified I'll curse them?)
Oh, and the royal wardrobe, a crime against comfort. Those layers are heavy enough to crush a small horse. I told them flat-out: "If I can't breathe or move, I'm not wearing it."
The King treats me kindly, but the Queen… something about her gives me chills. She's the Crown Prince's stepmother and mother of the second prince, and every time her eyes land on me, I feel like she's mentally setting me on fire. The woman radiates aristocratic frostbite in the flesh.
Then there's the prince's bodyguard. Tall, stoic, eyes like a thunderstorm. He's handsome, sure, but there's a darkness around him, like a shadow that refuses to leave. Ever since that night in Sungjoo village, he's been watching me, too closely.(Then again, can I blame them? I am one of a kind. Exotic. Too hot to handle.)
The communication lessons have been… slow. Painfully slow. My teacher seems lost, like he's not sure which part of my accent to correct first.
And then came the combat lessons.
Apparently, I was brought here to teach the Crown Prince how to fight. Easier said than done. The guy's defensive skills are practically fictional. If average ability is five percent, he's sitting at a proud negative one.
He can't even lift a bowl of water without spilling it, let alone hold a sword.
For a crown prince, future king-that's terrifying.
People are literally trying to kill him, and his best weapon are… his face and dimples.
The past few weeks have been exhausting. Every day, training. Every night, him sneaking to my quarters to "check on me", which really means standing there silently as I eat dinner like some sort of royal cat.
Sometimes I can't tell if he's adorable or slightly unhinged.
The strangest part? His eyes. The way they linger, the way they study me, like he's searching for something I don't even know if I have. And against my better judgment, I've started catching butterflies in my stomach. Tiny, annoying, fluttering things.
But yeah, its there, alright.
So this is my life now: living in a palace where time moves like honey, teaching a hopeless prince to hold a sword, and trying not to fall for a guy who might very well belong to another century.
Home sweet home, until I figure out how to get back to my own timeline.
If I don't die of boredom first.
(God help me. Even my name now sounds like a historical curse.)