“What happened to the king’s face?” murmured one of his advisors upon entering the royal chambers the next morning.
“Clearly, he was in a sword fight in the middle of the night!” exclaimed another.
“Who would dare to attack our king?” gasped the first one in outrage.
“If he marked King Yoongi like that, where did the king bury him?” queried a third man.
But the king refused to be forthcoming. Even when directly questioned. All he would say was, “I have dealt appropriately with the offender.”
Then all his attendants fussed over his face. They called for the royal surgeon who applied disinfectants and salves. And rebuked the king for not calling for his aid in the middle of the night.
“‘Tis but a scratch,” the king replied carelessly. “I had no wish to disturb your sleep.”
“Your Royal Highness, it is not disturbing my sleep to call upon me when your life is in mortal danger. We must ensure no infection sets in.”
Yoongi sighed. “You may check on my wounds as often as you like to give you peace.”
“It would have given me peace to attend to them right after they were inflicted,” he murmured.
“Are you concerned?” Yoongi asked carelessly. “Do you think I’ve acquired an infection?”
The short man shook his head. “They seem to have been well attended to.”
Just the conclusion Yoongi had come to in his room last night as he had stood before his mirror and carefully examined his face. Moonflower had done an amazing job of caring for him in a garden shed. He had brought the bottle of alcohol back to his room with him and found a clean piece of linen. Then he had applied more of the stinging solution to the lacerations. He had winced the entire time. And wished that Moonflower were still sitting on his lap, distracting him from the pain with her fascinating breath and her lovely scent.
Even now, as he sat before his attendants and advisors, he was dreaming of tonight. Of a moonlit garden and a glowing girl. Of hushed tones and tender touches. Of kissing the girl he had met only last night.
He was half-tempted to ask the assembled group about the night gardener, but somehow he knew that she had no wish to be brought to their attention. It was clear that she preferred to work in the dark, away from the reach of men. And distant from their scrutiny too. But why? She was a beautiful woman. Surely, many men had desired her.
Perhaps that was the problem. He just knew she’d be exacting in her preferences. That she wouldn’t agree to a match with just any man. She had certain standards. Perhaps they were just too high. She had seemed to like a king.
Not a king. Just plain Yoongi. A midnight-haired boy wandering through a garden alone under a full moon. Oblivious to the lurking danger. How ironic that he had been trained to anticipate an attack from any corner, yet a simple garden rake had felled him and nearly stolen the use of his eye. That rake had left its mark on him forever. Just like she had.
He had to admit to himself that he didn’t mention her name in their presence because he wanted to keep her to himself. Like a fine wine one savors in private. Or the last rose in a garden. He would leave it alone so that it would bloom longer than if it was picked for the masses to enjoy displayed in a royal vase.
Yes, Yoongi wanted Moonflower all to himself. So he would let his attendants continue to build his encounter with a gardening rake into a grand sword fight accomplished under moonlight. And his simple laceration would become the stuff of legend. A sword slash endured. An assassination plot foiled by a master swordsman. Yoongi would be a hero.
He didn’t care one whit about that. He just wanted to keep Moonflower safe. Unnoticed under the cover of darkness. Yet glowing in the moonlight.
