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The Yoo duchy was infamously known for the men it procured; over the ages and the years, many able men were born into the ducal family and served as important people by the royal family’s side. Advisor, head knight, prime minister—the Yoo duchy’s sons were famed for their status, the talents they were, the heroes they were hailed as.
But then, several years later, the Yoo duchy would see to bear no sons. All that came out the womb of the now late duchess was a lone child, a daughter, with hair the color of bronze, muted honey dripping down the length of her hair as she grew and grew into a woman scorned by society, yet adored by the very Goddess of beauty.
Yoo Sangah remembered her birth and the meek beginnings of her life clearly; her mother, crying as she held the just-born baby in her arms, wailed as she realized her body was too frail for another child. Her father, head over heels for her mother—which was a rare thing, really, as the nobility rarely ever married for love—looked down at her with sad eyes.
That day, the day of her birth, was a day to be recorded down in history.
Yoo Sangah was born that day, the only child—and a girl, no less—to the famed Yoos, and with her birth came the many whispers and rumors of the famed family finally falling to ruin. But the rumors were to be proved wrong. The condescending, clever mouths that blabbered off the days and nights all spoke of the opposite of what would happen.
Yoo Sangah’s parents had been lovely people, and even lovelier parents. They knew love like they knew how to breathe; joy snuck even to the smallest corners of the Yoo duchy, and Yoo Sangah only found out about the scorn the nobility faced her with at her debut.
The noble ladies laughed as they mocked the quivering smile on her face. Yoo Sangah’s shoulders shook. In the face of such obvious mockery, she had no idea what to do. Still, she kept a smile on her face and tried her best to go through the day without the thin line of her lips ever wavering into a frown.
After her debut ended, her parents had rushed to her side, spoke their apologies to her and finally, finally taught her how to handle the harsh whispers of a crowd. Her intelligence needed no more polishing; her mind was already leagues above her peers, and she already knew how to carry herself with grace. All she needed to know then was how to command a room, how to make her presence as large as the fullest of moons.
Then, years later, her parents passed on.
They passed on peacefully, quietly. The funeral had been a long few days full of grieving and quiet cries in a locked room, away from the servants and her distant family members trying to cheat their way into whatever riches her parents had left behind.
Yoo Sangah was a teenager when her parents died, but she never surrendered the Yoo Duchy to the greedy hands of her distant relatives.
She stood her ground and made herself the duchess. She stood her ground and, with the help of a dear companion, added to the many legacies of the Yoo family. A hero she was not; in the eyes of many other women, both noble and commoner, she was a Goddess among mortals, held in a reverie even the king that manned this kingdom never found himself in.
And it was all thanks to her dear companion, the assassin who helped her through everything, Han Sooyoung.
Han Sooyoung tilted her nose up, face covered in shadows as the light from the moon, high up in the sky, fell just before her feet. She’s hidden behind a marble pillar, stealthily having snuck through the windows and doorways of a corridor she knew by heart.
A lithe figure stepped in front of her, away, and the figure’s footsteps gradually faded into something quieter until they eventually stopped. Han Sooyoung peered over from where she hid, lips parted just so as she watched the scene that unfolded before her.
There, beneath the pale silvers of the moon, was Yoo Sangah—or Duchess Yoo, as many others referred to her as—the woman who had swept up the kingdom’s nobility, powered through the many men who stood in her way. The infamous woman, beauty renowned enough to reach the ears of aristocrats from other kingdoms, Yoo Sangah.
She took a few steps forward once more, shoulders bare as they glistened under the soft gleam of moonlight. Pink dusted the top of her shoulders, fading into the milky white of her skin, fading right into her collarbones.
Han Sooyoung found herself stunned for a moment. She would never get used to Yoo Sangah’s beauty no matter how many times she’s seen it like this—bare, raw.
Moonlight draped over Yoo Sangah’s shoulders, fell in soft cascades onto her silken gown. The tail end of her dress dragged across the cold marble floors, bringing with it the glow of a deceptively peaceful night.
Yoo Sangah looked beautiful.
In the dead of night, Yoo Sangah looked like life itself. Han Sooyoung's heart was caught in her throat; she feared the quickening pulse that threatened to leap out, and steadied herself.
The pale light haloed the top of Yoo Sangah’s head. Chestnut hair seemed almost golden for a quick, fleeting moment, held in such light and ambience befitting for royalty. Yoo Sangah was not royalty, but everyone in the kingdom knew of the air she carried with her, her deft hands lithe and regal as they glided through any matter of air. The white of her gown made her seem holier than the angels embossed in the ceilings of the kingdom’s churches. Forget princess or queen, she looked as if she’d been sent down from heaven after years of careful craftsmanship by the Gods above.
“Sooyoung-ssi,” came the smooth glide of a familiar voice, calling out Han Sooyoung’s name with little hesitance. Yoo Sangah’s voice dripped like dew, honey-like and slow and addicting as it lathered down the cold night winds. “What brings you here?”
Han Sooyoung forced a grin onto her expression, wide and cheshire as usual, and crept out the shadows. Her silhouette became clear as she made her presence known. She leaned against the marble pillar she was hiding behind just seconds ago, cold against her back, and tilted her head at Yoo Sangah.
“Duchess Yoo,” she greeted curtly. “Pleasure to meet you again. Requests for me to assassinate you have been overflowing. Don’t you think you’ve been a little too bold lately?”
Yoo Sangah turned around slowly, meeting her eyes. Her lips were drawn into an amused smile.
“Why, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Sooyoung-ssi,” she lied, straight through her teeth. She took one step closer to Han Sooyoung. Then another. “On the contrary, I’ve been laying quite low.”
Han Sooyoung placed her hand on her hip, shifting her weight to one foot, and snickered. “Sure you have,” she mocked. Han Sooyoung knew Yoo Sangah like the back of her hand. “I know you, Yoo Sangah. What, are you going to say that a hundred nobles suddenly got exposed and arrested for their crimes thanks to the king? A pig is more competent than him.”
“You’re being dramatic, Sooyoung-ssi.”
Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes. Fine, maybe a little. It wasn’t a hundred nobles, but semantics.
Yoo Sangah coughed into her hand, clearing her throat. She stalked over towards Han Sooyoung, gazes locked. Han Sooyoung stilled; Yoo Sangah’s eyes were like pearls, shining ever brightly even in the dark of night, piercing through her very being. They were brown, not white, but even then, they were brighter than anything Han Sooyoung had ever seen. She lost herself in them, let her thoughts stray, strung by the dark caramel that Yoo Sangah’s irises held.
“So,” Yoo Sangah said, breaking Han Sooyoung out of her stupor, “what brings you here, Sooyoung-ssi?”
At this, Han Sooyoung immediately flushed red. The shell of her ears embarrassingly reddened as she swivelled her head to the side, refusing to meet Yoo Sangah’s gaze.
“I was just bored,” she supplied. A weak answer, very obviously a lie. Even when she’s not face to face with Yoo Sangah, Han Sooyoung knew what expression that damn woman had on her face—an amused smile, fond and affectionate all at the same time, reserved just for her. “Don’t smile like that,” Han Sooyoung grumbled. “I told you: bored. I was just bored. That’s all.”
Somehow, she could hear Yoo Sangah’s smile irritatingly widen. “Sure,” Yoo Sangah hummed, “and not because you missed me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You’re not denying it.”
Han Sooyoung scoffed.
Yoo Sangah laughed. Han Sooyoung felt Yoo Sangah’s breaths of laughter skid across her own skin, running into the laps her heartbeat’s racing. It’s almost hypnotic, the melodies of Yoo Sangah’s laugh. Han Sooyoung would never get tired of hearing it.
“If it makes you feel better, Sooyoung-ssi,” Yoo Sangah began, and grabbed her hand. Han Sooyoung sucked in a breath. Their fingers were now entwined, interlocked, slotted against each other. Yoo Sangah played with Han Sooyoung’s fingers, then murmured out a continuation, “I missed you, too.”
Han Sooyoung slowly turned her head to Yoo Sangah’s direction. She grasped the palm in her hand just a tad bit tighter, feeling the warmth that spread from her fingertips to her veins to her chest, and breathed.
Her eyes flickered to the pinks of Yoo Sangah’s lips, not at all chapped, very unlike her own.
“I never said I missed you,” Han Sooyoung argued weakly. “I’ve been hired to kill you. To assassinate you. Hired, you hear me? Do you know how many nobles have asked the guild to quickly deal with you?”
Yoo Sangah laughed. “How much did they offer?”
Han Sooyoung grinned. “Five million coins.”
“Hm.” Yoo Sangah let go of Han Sooyoung’s hand and winded her arms around her neck. “And are you going to listen to them, Sooyoung-ssi?”
Han Sooyoung’s arms instinctively coiled around Yoo Sangah’s waist. Han Sooyoung leaned her forehead against Yoo Sangah’s, the gap between their lips shortened. Han Sooyoung’s eyes never left her lips.
“Maybe,” Han Sooyoung whispered. “Unless you bribe me with something sweet.”
Another laugh—lighter, this time—escaped Yoo Sangah’s mouth.
“Ah, that’s right. You like lemon candies, don’t you, Sooyoung-ssi?” Yoo Sangah easily feigned innocence. “I could buy an entire store of those for you if you’d like.”
Han Sooyoung let out an amused huff of breath. “I was thinking,” she started, and leaned her face slightly closer, “of something sweeter, less sour. Something pink, not yellow.”
Yoo Sangah smiled sweetly. “Strawberry candies?”
Han Sooyoung shot her an unimpressed look. Yoo Sangah laughed again, and again, Han Sooyoung’s pulse sped up.
”Alright, alright,” Yoo Sangah finally relented. She leaned closer, tilted her chin just slightly, and whispered, “I hope this is enough to appease you, then.”
Their lips met. Han Sooyoung sucked in a breath just before they did. Yoo Sangah smiled into the kiss; Han Sooyoung quickly discarded the thought of her lips being sweet, sweeter than any kind of candy she’s ever had, and tightened their embrace. Yoo Sangah leaned closer, closer, and closer—until Han Sooyoung could hear—feel—her heartbeat as if it was her own. Her chest warmed over with something familiar, and just as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, Yoo Sangah broke it off with a taunting smile.
Han Sooyoung scowled lightheartedly. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”
Yoo Sangah reached for the hand on her waist, tied their fingers together, and let their intertwined hands dangle at their sides. The moonlight shone down upon their bony fingers—the fingerless black gloves that Han Sooyoung wore and the clean hand free of calluses that belonged to none other than Yoo Sangah.
Yoo Sangah’s smile widened. There was something fond in it she only ever showed to the assassin before her.
“I know,” she said, then leaned her head against Han Sooyoung’s shoulder. “But you still love me anyway.”
Han Sooyoung huffed as she looked down at their tangled fingers. “You’re a pain,” she said, again, “but you’re right.”
Yoo Sangah laughed. Han Sooyoung found herself smiling as she heard the familiar sound, eyes still fixed on where their skin met. Moonlight fell through the large windows beside them, nestled itself into the smallest crevices between their bodies, and laid itself across the skin of their hands. Han Sooyoung looked at their joined hands. On mirrored fingers, a pair of silver bands glistened just slightly beneath the moonlight. Han Sooyoung couldn’t help but look at the glimmer fondly, affectionately, before dragging her gaze back to her lover’s face.