"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...
how cruel fire is. how it consumes indiscriminately and leaves ashes in its wake.
a/n: events depicted in this chapter are based off a real historical event!
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June begins in a blaze of flames.
Defensive gunfire booms through the air, filling it with the smoke of destruction when American warships, imposing and deadly, are discovered in the Han River. The foreigners are there unlawfully, disregarding Joseon's laws of sovereignty, and they know it. Yet they still have the audacity to demand apologies for the assault of their troops, of their property. Yoongi refuses to give in. Instead, he sends them another rejection for their trade treaty, his scowl set deep at the mere thought of cooperating with the United States.
But then it escalates quickly.
Ten days later, more warships, sent from far across the sea, breach the rippling waves of protected territory under the dark blanket of midnight. They haul armed, vicious men onto Ganghwa shores. Before even the slightest glimmer of dawn's light, these men do what they are trained to do. They capture. They kill.
Miles and miles away from the palace, over two hundred of your countrymen's lives are snatched away in but minutes. Towering fortresses crumble, rock bashing down to the ground to become rubble and dust once more under the artillery fire of cruel, cruel American weaponry.
Yoongi breaks his promise to visit you that afternoon, though the reason why eludes your ears until the night. Until Eunuch Kim comes to you to briefly summarize the day's happenings on the king's command, all you know from rumors is that an emergency imperial meeting was ordered immediately upon receipt of news from the Ganghwa station. The doors to the meeting hall had remained shut for hours and hours, the wood rattling with furious voices shouting about diplomacy, politics, and revenge.
Now, you meet Eunuch Kim's eyes, the usual warmth in them snuffed out. "How many men survived?" You ask quietly.
"We don't know yet. But at least twenty."
"Twenty?"
The eunuch closes his eyes. You think he might be clenching his fist. "They captured them. To use as hostages."
Your heart shatters.
You hold the pieces of what is left in your shaking palms when you think of how much fear they must feel, how much pain. But you are so far away, and you have no place on the battlefield despite your want to protect. Are there enough doctors to aid the injured? Do they have enough supplies? ...Will the Americans come back?
You wonder how many of their men they've lost, despite it being their victory. Would their leaders think it a worthy trade? Your mouth goes dry. You hate battles. You hate war. All you've ever wished for was a bit of peace.
You turn away, suddenly wanting to be alone, and to grieve. "Thank you for the information, Eunuch Kim."
"I will return when I can. Is there anything you would like me to relay to jeonha?"
You know you cannot distract him with thoughts of love or affection, even if it's offered as a balm for the stress that must be weighing on him like stones. Slowly, you shake your head and murmur, "only to remember that he is strong."
Five long days later, the king wakes you from sleep as he stumbles into your chambers with a flickering lamp in hand. Only when your blurry vision clears do you see how his face is ghostly white, his eyes already half-closed and brimming with fatigue. The lamp clatters to the ground and he all but collapses to his knees before you.
"Jeonha," you gasp, rolling out of bed. You brush fallen hair back from his face. "Jeonha—"
"Fuck." The curse drops from his mouth, his bottom lip slightly cracked and threatening to split. He reaches for you, pulls you against him. Like this, he holds you for a few minutes, his breathing slowly calming, steadying against your body. He is so cold, despite the warming temperatures of June.
"They want to negotiate the treaty." He enunciates each word, breath blowing against your neck, as if he can't believe it himself. "The Americans want to negotiate the fucking treaty when they've killed two hundred and forty-three of my men, and taken twenty more."
What can you say? You don't want to make him relive the arguments he's had with his advisors. As much as you want to know, want to help, for now you remain the only one able to offer him something different. So instead, you listen, fingers tightening against his broad back.
"Why now?" Yoongi whispers, his face full of shadows from the dim light. "Just when the country was beginning to heal from the worst of the famine. Beginning to trust me again. Now they must be afraid of invasion, and the possibility of war."
You nod. Such rumors have begun to swirl among the townspeople, of course. You've sought them out against your better judgement, needing to know the truth of it all. But the chatter is not like it was before, when the executions were commonplace in the palace, when the people were chiefly afraid of him.
The king quiets and looks at you, wanting your opinion. You love him for that.
"You have not undone all the progress you've made over the past year, jeonha. You just need something to unite them again, and to signify that you will not abandon your responsibilities to them."
As soon as your words are in the air, something stills. Cools. Have his thoughts landed on the same conclusion as you have? The one that is too painful to be said aloud, to be acknowledged as such?
His fingers run down the silk on the outside of your arm. Instead of words, he leans forward and kisses you. This, you think, is an answer in itself. But you push those thoughts from your mind again, like you are so accustomed to doing. You taste him, and let him take all the strength he needs from you to face harsh reality come morning.
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there is a lot of anti-American sentiment in this drabble. please know that i am writing from a historical perspective, and i am striving to remain true to that mindset (especially as during that time period, Joseon remained very isolationist), though i do admit that i share uinyeo-nim's feelings about this battle and about war in general. be assured that no matter how i aim for historical accuracy, i will not be using any racial slurs or anything of that kind in my work.
