Your Highness | Jakehoon

Song Recommendation: Dynasty - MIIA

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The Palace Throne Room

The candlelight flickers against the gold and crimson banners hanging from the towering marble pillars, but the warmth does not reach Sunghoon.

He stands at the center of the throne room, his shoulders squared, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The weight of his ancestors presses down on him from the portraits above, their painted eyes watching, waiting, judging.

On the elevated dais, his parents sit in their gilded chairs, silent and unmoving. Mr. Park's fingers drum slowly against the armrest, a rhythm that grates against the silence. Mrs. Park, ever composed, watches him with a gaze so sharp it could cut through steel.

"You ran through the streets like a commoner."

Mr. Park's voice is calm, but it carries the power of a storm.

Sunghoon does not flinch. "I did."

Mrs. Park exhales quietly. "For him."

Sunghoon holds her gaze. "Yes."

A tense silence stretches between them. The only sound is the distant hum of the wind against the stained glass windows.

Mr. Park leans forward, his expression unreadable. "You are to be crowned at sunrise, Sunghoon. And yet, you chose to disgrace yourself-"

"I did not disgrace myself." Sunghoon's voice is steady, though his heart pounds against his ribs. "I did what any man would do for the person he loves."

Mrs. Park's fingers tighten around the jeweled brooch on her chest. "Love?" she echoes, as if the word itself is an offense.

Sunghoon's jaw clenches. "Yes."

Mr. Park's eyes darken. "Then you are a fool."

Sunghoon breathes deeply through his nose. "Perhaps."

His mother exhales slowly, shaking her head. "This cannot continue."

Sunghoon feels the ground shifting beneath him, the cold walls closing in. "And if it does?"

Mr. Park stands. The movement is slow, deliberate. He descends the dais with measured steps, the long train of his royal robe whispering against the floor. When he reaches Sunghoon, he stops just short of an arm's length away.

His father has never been a man of grand gestures. He does not shout, does not raise his hand. His power lies in his words, in the quiet, calculated way he wields them.

"You are not a boy anymore, Sunghoon," he says. "You are a ruler. And a ruler does not let personal affections dictate his reign."

Sunghoon meets his gaze head-on. "You expect me to choose the kingdom over my own heart."

"Yes."

The answer is immediate.

Final.

A thick silence settles between them, suffocating.