The first rays of dawn had barely kissed the palace rooftops when chaos began knocking at Han Seoryu's door. Quite literally.
"Young Miss Yura! Wake up! The Crown Prince has summoned you for breakfast!"
BAM BAM BAM!
Seoryu bolted upright from bed, hair shooting in ten different directions like a deranged sea urchin. "WHAAAT?!" he shrieked, voice cracked and scratchy. "It's only seven AM! Can't I snooze?!"
"He personally requested it," the maid called nervously from outside. "He… he said he wants to eat with you in his study."
Seoryu's brain short-circuited. 'Breakfast? With him? Alone? PRIVATE? Did I save a whole country in my past life?!'
He dived out of bed, tripped on his own hanbok hem, and slammed into the vanity.
"HELL! Why is this dress trying to kill me?"
———
A Very Not-So-Royal Preparation
Inside the dressing room, the maids were moving like a Formula 1 pit stop. Powder. Pins. Perfume. Panic.
"Ouch! That's my eye, girl, not a rice field!"
"Sorry, Young Miss!"
"And why is my blush brighter than my future?! I look like a k-drama ghost!"
After much struggling, Seoryu emerged wearing a peach-pink hanbok with golden embroidery, hair in a half-up twist that made him look too ethereal.
'Shit. If I looked this good in the operating room before, maybe even scalpels would've had a crush on me.'
———
The royal study was peaceful. Too peaceful.
There he was. The Crown Prince. Kang Hyunjoon. Sitting with straight posture, blue and white robe, tea gracefully swirling in his hand. His hair was tied back with a dragon clasp, his expression calm, and yes, he looked like he was drawn by a very thirsty fan artist from Twitter.
"Good morning, Lady Yura," he said, voice deeper than an underground parking lot.
Seoryu sat slowly, trying not to trip on air.
"G-good morning too, Your Tallness—I mean, Your Highness!"
Seoryu's mind: 'God, why does this feel like I'm on a Running Man guest interview?!'
The table was filled with delicacies: grilled fish, steamed dumplings, egg rolls, fancy rice porridge—and no ramen in sight.
Seoryu picked up chopsticks.
"MAY I ASK WHERE THE SPAM IS?"
The prince blinked. "Spam?"
"You know… canned meat from heaven? Or at least hotdog?"
Silence.
He coughed. "Never mind. Let's pretend I didn't say that."
The Prince actually… chuckled?
Seoryu's mind: 'HUH?! Did he just… laugh?! Is this real life?'
"You're not like the others," he said.
"Oh, thank you. I try to keep my mental illness fresh and mysterious."
He paused, then added, "You speak of odd things. And you're not afraid to look me in the eye."
Seoryu sipped tea nervously. "Should I be?"
The prince leaned slightly forward.
"Most women tremble around me."
"Sorry. I only tremble when I see my credit card bill."
The Prince's smile widened, ever so slightly. Enough to short-circuit Seoryu's neurons.
Seoryu then screamed in his mind : 'Don't smile like that, sir—I wasn't ready!'
.
.
.
As Seoryu clumsily tried to grab a dumpling, it fell, bounced, and almost hit the prince's lap.
Seoryu panicked. "OH MY GOSH I AM SO—I—Let me just—"
He reached to grab it, then their hands brushed.
Warm. Steady. Long fingers.
They both froze.
"You're… very warm," the prince muttered.
Seoryu's mind: 'EXCUSE ME?! Why does it feel like an OST should be playing while we're sharing eggs and destiny?!'
Seoryu yanked his hand back. "I'M GOOD. THANKS. NO TOUCHY."
"You're strange," the prince repeated.
"So are you."
A long silence followed. Not uncomfortable—just thick with unsaid things.
Until finally, the prince set down his tea.
"You interest me, Yura."
Seoryu stood so fast he nearly launched his soul. "THANKS FOR THE MEAL! Gotta go! Uhh, I still have a—prayer meeting with the gods of anxiety."
He bolted before the prince could say anything more.
———
Later that night, Seoryu was curled up on the windowsill of his room, sipping stolen cold tea while plotting his escape like a K-Drama villain.
Seoryu's mind: 'I can't keep doing this. This is a fever dream with no end. I need to leave. Before that Ice Prince gets more curious. Or worse— Before I catch feelings.'
Plan A: Fake illness? Already tried. Failed.
Plan B: Start a small fire? Risky. Might actually die.
Plan C? Genius.
He smirked.
DISGUISE. AS. A. MAID.
At exactly midnight, Seoryu sneaked into the laundry hall like a drunken ninja. Stole a plain maid outfit. Tied his hair back. Removed all ornaments. No blush. No glam.
"Let's see if they recognize me now," he whispered.
He stepped out into the open, holding a laundry basket.
A guard walked by.
"You. Maid. Where are you going?"
Seoryu squeaked in the highest voice possible: "To the… uh… outer garden! Lady Yura needs her undergarments steamed!"
The guard grimaced. "Disgusting."
"SAME."
And just like that, he was out of the royal quarters.
Seoryu's mind: 'One step closer to freedom. One step farther from the prince's eyes. One step away from…'
The wind brushed his face as he slipped into the shadows.
But he didn't notice that from the far-off tower, behind a sheer curtain...
A pair of familiar eyes watched him disappear into the night.