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He hated being king.  He had never wanted this role.  It was supposed to have been his elder brother’s responsibility.  But then the “accident” had happened.  Three months ago, all the pressures of the kingdom had fallen on his slender shoulders.  

He was quite young.  Not yet twenty years old.  But that hadn’t mattered one whit.  A kingdom needed a king.  It didn’t care how many years that king had graced the earth.  Only that he ascended the throne and took the kingdom in hand.

His royal advisors expected much from him.  They expected him to dress the part of the king.  So they’d provided him with a long wig that had been pulled back to form a topknot on his head.  He hated the heavy, hot contraption.  And it was bright blond.  

Why would he want to hide his beautiful, raven hair under a yellow wig?  But it was the custom of the time into which he had been born.  So it was expected of him.  He would much rather have worn a satgat, the conical hat worn by the laborers.  As he preferred their hats to his wig, he also felt more at ease around the common folk than he did around the officials of the kingdom.  He would much rather have been in the paddies harvesting rice than in the palace giving directives.  Yoongi enjoyed the sun on his face and the wind in his hair.  His real hair, that was.  

But his advisors dragged him into stuffy meetings between the palace walls.  Nearly every day.  He had little free time.  Little opportunity to pursue his own desires.  Until the sun had set and the stars had risen to shine down upon his fair land.  For then, everyone else headed to bed, and he could finally be alone with his thoughts.  And his flowers.

His favorite time of day was late in the evening when the entire palace was asleep.  He would venture out into the garden alone.  To enjoy the moonlight and the cool, night air.  It was also the only time of day he could see his favorite flower’s face.  Though, it was also beautiful in sunlight.  When the sun was high in the sky, its hiding, pristine petals twisted into the shape of a white star.  Now, he approached the green vine which sported the lovely moonflowers.  Their open countenances were now glowing in the moonlight.

He loved this garden.  It was the one place where he could be himself.  He had not been born to be king.  He had not been groomed for it.  Not really.  He had always loved music and movement.  He loathed sitting still.  And making others listen to him.  He was not born to issue commands.  Or expect armies to move at his word.  Yet now he found himself in such a scary position.  With the responsibility of an entire kingdom falling upon his shoulders.  

The one facet of self-defense that he did enjoy was swordplay.  He was a master with a sword.  In his mind, it was akin to dancing.  Something which came quite naturally to him.  He had a fluid grace.  Both with his limbs and with a sword.  That liquid grace was serving him well now as he wandered through his garden in the dark.

As he trod down the familiar path, his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the darkness.  There were torches placed throughout the garden from time to time to offer some illumination.  Still, much of the garden was hidden in shadows.  Which was why he suddenly found himself flat on his face, his nose pressed into the dirt.  Which wouldn’t have been a problem, if his face hadn’t also contacted a rake that had fallen down.  Thankfully, his eyes had automatically closed on his quick descent, so the sharp blade of the last rake tine had miraculously missed his eye.  But it had left neither his forehead nor his cheek unscathed.  He lay bleeding into the dirt for a few moments.

“Goodness!  What was that?” he heard a breathless voice approaching him.