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He was there.  On her bench.  The next evening.  When she arrived to watch the sunset.

He stood up and bowed to her.  “Good evening, princess.”

She inclined her head towards him.  But she didn’t say anything.  She stepped past him to sit in her usual spot.  He joined her a moment later.  And quietly watched the sun setting again.

But she couldn’t concentrate on those beautiful streaks of light tonight.  She was too aware of the man sitting next to her.  Of his amazing scent wrapping around her head in delight.  Of his warm thigh just a scant two inches away from hers on the bench.  Of the steady give and take of his breathing.  Of his eyes, which she knew were clinging to her face.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, and she burst out, “Why are you looking at me?”

“I would have thought that such an answer was obvious.”

She turned her head to peer up at him.  After several moments of enduring his silence, she queried, “What do you mean?”

“You’re stunningly beautiful.  But, surely, you know that.  You don’t need me to tell you so.”

She gaped at him.  She knew no such thing.  No one had ever told her that she was beautiful.

“Surely, you jest!” she rebuked him.  “It’s not nice to tease a woman about her appearance.”

He frowned.  “You think I’m teasing you?”

She sniffed as she set her gaze back on the sky.  “Certainly.  I can assure you that I am quite plain.”

He snorted.

Startled, she pivoted to catch his eye again.  “What was that?”

“My stupefaction.”

“What?” Puzzled, she furrowed her brow.

“My disbelief of your statement.  That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all day long.  There is absolutely nothing plain about you.”  His eyes raked her from head to foot as though he was double-checking his assertion.  Then he gave a definitive bob of his head and declared firmly, “Nothing.”

When she still didn’t say anything, he continued, “Your gleaming, midnight locks are, of course, breathtaking.”

“There is nothing whatsoever special about my hair.  Nearly every other woman in this kingdom has black hair.”

His fingers were now itching to touch those silken strands.  Her hair was pooling on the bench just a bare inch from his fingertip.  He glanced down at it and finally ceased resisting the overwhelming urge overcoming him now.  That finger twitched, and as it straightened, it came to brush that glorious tress.

Curious about his silence, she glanced at him and saw the movement of his one rebellious digit.  She watched in shock as it slid along her raven lock.  Stunned, she sat, unmoving, unspeaking, simply observing his elegant hand.

It was elegant.  His hand was, in fact, a masterpiece of perfection.  Each finger carved as though from marble.  Her eyes slid along the grooves and valleys of that hand and its digits.  Long, slender fingers.  But not skinny.  They were strong.  Muscled.  Not obscenely so.  Just enough definition to convince her that they carried a precious strength.  She had encountered that strength firsthand.  When those fingers had curled around her wrist and refused to let her go.

Now one of those digits was tenderly caressing her hair.  She glanced up at his face.  He appeared to be completely fascinated by that midnight strand.  She could not understand it.

Was the man a master thespian?  Was he putting on a performance for her right now?  Trying to convince her that he found her utterly intriguing?  Even down to her last lock of hair?

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

He was lost in a memory.  His mother’s midnight tresses teasing his cheek as she bent to kiss him goodnight.  Their silken masses spreading out against his skin to caress him softly.  And envelop him in her scent. 

On a whim, he picked up the lock of hair lying on that bench and drew it to his nose.  He inhaled and closed his eyes as he was surrounded by the scent of cherry blossoms.  He had believed that he’d caught a whiff of that beloved fragrance last night when he’d held her in his arms.  He had not been wrong.  So he was not disappointed today.  Sook Myeong smelled like his precious eomma.

And that fragrance was bringing back a flood of memories.  Things he had forgotten.  He breathed in deeply, and as that scent wrapped around his head, a myriad of emotions assaulted him.  Tenderness.  Affection.  Loss.  Despair.  Devastation. 

And he could have sworn that he heard her laughter again.

The princess stared down at the man bent over a lock of her hair.  She was tempted to rebuke him, but then she caught the expression in his eyes.  And it took her breath away.  Was she truly discerning a great welling of grief in his gaze? 

Something vulnerable slipped over his features then, and she was certain that she hadn’t been mistaken.  He was mourning the loss of something.  And sniffing her hair while he did it.  How strange.

Intrigued, she whispered, “What is it?”

He blinked rapidly several times.  Then his eyes seemed to focus on hers.  Losing the faraway expression that had shrouded them for several moments. 

“What?” he asked as he straightened, her hair slipping from his grasp.  “Oh, nothing.”

“No,” she breathed.  “It wasn’t nothing.  You were remembering something.  Something that made you sad.”

His eyes touched hers then softly.  “I heard that you suffered the loss of your mother in recent days.  Please accept my sincerest condolences.  The loss of a mother is a terrible thing.”

She studied him.  “Why are you talking about my mother?”

He fell silent.  Then he spoke again.  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” she responded crisply.

Her eyes continued to probe his countenance.  He was meeting her gaze now. 

“Were you thinking of your own mother?” she asked suddenly.

And those cinnamon eyes embraced hers again.  They seemed to be weighing what they met within hers.  Finally, he nodded.  And sighed.

“She died when I was eight years old.  Giving birth to Eun Sook.”

Her eyebrow quirked.  “My brother’s fiancé?”

He nodded.  “Yes.  I lost my mother and my sister in the same moment.”

His gaze wandered towards the darkening sky.  “I never saw either of them again.  Until two days ago.  When I ran into my sister in this garden.  I’ve been looking for her for two years.  And yearning for her for sixteen.”

His eyes met hers again.  “Your hair…smells like my mother’s did.  She always smelled of cherry blossoms.”  His lips curved upwards into a sweet smile.  “Even in winter.”

“Remembering your mother made you sad,” she murmured after a moment.  “You must have felt loved by her.”

He cocked a dark eyebrow.  “I did.  Immensely.  She was the one comforting presence in my life….”

As his voice trailed off, he glanced back up at the sky.  And Sook Myeong took the opportunity to study his interesting face.  It wasn’t just handsome.  It was…intriguing.  Though, she really wasn’t sure why.

There was a special quality to it.  Something she’d seen in few faces.  It shared something with Jin Heung and Seon Woo, though.  What was it?

Tenderness?  Vulnerability?  Softness?

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.  But it gave her pause. 

Was Jong Su a man like her brother?  A man like Seon Woo?

If he were, then maybe there was hope for her yet….