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Seoreundeul
Thirty-two
Deep black ink sloshed against crisp white paper, soiling the floor. That bastard. How dare he?
"My Lady...shall we go for a stroll? Perhaps to put your mind at ease?" In her fury, her hair had come loose from her low ponytail and it spilled every which way around her face, giving her an unhinged and disheveled look. Turning wild eyes up at the servant who had spoken, she bared her teeth.
"Get out." The young woman blinked, mouth opening to offer some rebuke of her request.
"I said get out!" She screamed, turning and throwing another cup of ink, this time intending to soil the girl's hanbok. She missed narrowly and wisely, the girl scurried out. Inhaling harshly, she threw the whole of the table onto the ground, producing a loud crash. How dare he. She'd suffered this entire while... taking his brother as a replacement....and this was the thanks she got for her wait? It bruised her ego when he'd run away with the little bitch. But she had never anticipated that he'd spend three years with her...living in what seemed to be heavens ...cozied up with that dirty black rat.
At his return, it seemed their relationship had only grown stronger. Something about the two of them was different. They lived with no fear of consequence... no heedance to the present decrees or laws. It was as if they lived outside of the current society and it all but pissed her off. Whatever fairytale he'd lived while in her savage land was now over. He was back home now. Things would resume to normal.
Licking her lips, she smoothed the messy stray hairs back from her face. She didn't care what she was. Princess or no princess. This was her land. Her terms. Her way. And she would not willingly give it up to some heathen.
"Lady Jae-Hwa, Cheol-su wangja-nim is here to see you." Just the person she wanted to see. Good.
"Send him in." Clearing her throat, she reached for her hair and put it into a neater ponytail when he entered, eyes downcast on the ink all over the ruined floor.
"Throwing a fit?" He asked, lifting steely eyes upward.
"It's called the rage of an artist pyeha."
"Seems that's one thing to have changed about you. Not once have you ever painted."
"We've both grown haven't we?"
"Indeed."
"Come in. Sit. Please." A few gungnyeo came in, bringing with them tea and small treats on beautiful plates she'd selected herself. He reached up to remove his gat and eyed the tea placed in front of him. For a long while, he watched the wisps of steam waft up from the boiling tea mouth mum.
