"do you... trust me?" it's a low whisper, the king's soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never...
too much (or just enough?) is exposed in the sunlight.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
You are still breathless when the king rolls over in bed, one arm outstretched as he reaches for his royal robes to once again begin the process of leaving you.
Except— the light that illuminates his bare body is from the early afternoon sun and you have never seem him basked in it like this before. It's unnatural, you think. Too bright. Makes it all feel less like the midnight trysts, the reluctant surrender to darkest temptations that these meetings really are. But you could not refuse him when he appeared at your door. When he reached for your warmth and pressed hungry kisses to your neck, your collarbone, your chest.
Despite the sticky summer heat, you wrap the sheet around your body and turn over on a muted exhale. Watch him slip on the first layer of white underclothes. This routine is, at least, the same.
You calculate that he must have come directly from his daily morning meeting with the officials, skipping his meal to be with you. Perhaps the conference hadn't gone well. You try not to think about how many might be executed soon as a result. Though the rate of imprisonment and subsequent punishments has certainly slowed... it has by no means stopped. Your healer's heart hurts. Aches for those who might be innocently killed before their time, swept up in the claw of circumstance.
"Do you have enough space in the apothecary?"
The question, thrown at you without prelude, makes you pause.
"Um. Huh?"
The king looks at you, his robes pulled midway up his arms. "Your apothecary. Do you have enough space to work? Do you need an expansion built?"
Honestly, the mere thought of an expansion throws you off balance. Growing up, you and mother had long gotten used to that tiny, cramped infirmary, where you bumped into each other at almost every turn. Women's health was barely more than an afterthought, and the room reflected that. Now, you've already been moved to such a large space, and yet he still asks if you need more?
"No, jeonha!" You sit up, the sheet slipping slightly from your chest. His eyes flash down, distracted for just a second. "Of course not! I'm very grateful for what you've given me. I promise, I am making good use of it."
He licks his lips. "Hm. And what is it, that you are currently making?"
Instantly, your face lights up. "The draft I'm creating uses a mugwort base, intended to ease muscle strain and stomach pains for the palace maids, so that they will not be forced to work while enduring such discomfort every month." You hum, a pleased sound as you think of how far you've come. "I've just discovered how to reduce the chance of allergic reactions after consumption. I'll be trying to incorporate houttuynia next, to increase the strength."
Though the king is now fully dressed, he takes a tentative seat on the corner of a nearby table and tilts his head to the side, as if he is interested. "It will be effective?"
"Hopefully! Earlier renditions of the medicine could only work for half an hour, and could only be consumed twice a day without causing further symptoms, so I'm looking to create a better version. So far, the few brave maids that have been testing it are showing excellent preliminary results." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling a sudden need to make an excuse, or at the very least, an acknowledgement: "I know it may seem less useful than pain remedies for the soldiers or men but..."
"No." He stops you short. "It doesn't seem that way." His voice is soft. "You are doing important work."
When you look at him, a faint smile ghosts his pink mouth. A precious sight you've not seen in quite some time, especially given in your direction. Unfortunately, it is paired with his getting upright, finally prepared to go.
Still, you offer him a small grin in return. "Thank you, jeonha. But I simply try my best." And perhaps the sunlight makes you courageous, for you whisper, "as do you." (Because he is. You know he is, despite everything.)
He doesn't quite acknowledge your words, but that slight curve remains on his lips even as he turns, bathed in the afternoon's glow as he leaves to face the rest of the world again.
