Treading Lines

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You've got to be fucking kidding me.

I instantly right my position, straightening out my neckline with a rapid jerk of my hand. But he's already seen. His crimson eyes mirror the exact thing— the only thing— I'd wanted to keep hidden from him.

He breathes. Just stands there, like someone hit him on the back of the head and he can no longer move. An uncontrollable, furious blush rises up to cover my neck.


The last person I wanted to show this to.

Don't look at me like that.


"Are you going to greet the Queen, or just stand there like a fool?"

His gaze wavers as he slowly meets my eyes, hardened with icy anger. Even slower, he bends into a distracted bow. His voice wavers even more than the gaze he'd given me.

"Your— Your Majesty the Queen."

He lifts himself. "Mistress, I..."

Even though half of his face is covered, just the look in his eyes are enough. He's praying that he'd seen it wrong. That it possibly couldn't be what he thought it was.

But it is.

Taehyung, it is.

I brush past him, breaking the moment. The edge of my dress grazes his hand, and I walk faster. I just want to get away, from facing him and his damn forlorn eyes. Did he know?

That he was my greatest weakness? That I'd gone through last night, only for him?

And I'd sworn to never be weak again for such a pathetic, petty thing as love.

I don't want to face him.


His hand wraps around my wrist. The words spill out of him like a waterfall, and I don't need to look at him to see that he's on the verge of losing it all.

"Wait," He whispers. "Mistress, please—"

I rip my hand away from his. Then I turn around.

It's funny how good I'd become at faking things. My heart is fracturing, yet my expression is steady and motionless as stone. My voice is full of disgust when all I want to do is embrace him and wrap him with warmth.

He looks cold. Awfully cold.

"Touch me again and I will have you executed before sundown, Taehyung."



It's because of me.

I'd been so fucking foolish.

There had been at least ten. Just from what I'd seen, and shadows of more underneath. Dark blurs marring her pale, delicate skin. Dark, red blots of ink.

Images fill my mind.

Images of that fucking snake of a man gripping her, his lips on her throat and his hands roaming over her as she forced her own silence, for me. He must've known that I was there, outside. It's what he must've threatened her with.

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