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Snow n' Starlight

First born princess of Goryeo is promised to Silla in marriage. What has begun as a promise between families becomes a pact sealed in blood when her betrothed is mysteriously killed. Now what binds Seol, the lady Ha In of Goryeo to Silla is a blood debt – to turn away from it would be to topple the country into irreparable chaos. Yet, her heart lies with another. Raised from obscurity of illegitimacy, fate of concubine - born last son of northern Kang clan rests on the emperor’s grace. However, being tasked with the guardianship of the imperial princess is the last of his worries. In the whirlwind of emotions that she brings along, it is not just his title that is at stake, but his heart and a secret that he had brought from a grave of a different time. Theirs is a fate from an age gone by, but a love impossible to attain. Theirs is a story written upon dying stars. *** From inside: The snow caressed him in a way she yearned to; fluttering against his lashes, tangled up in his hair. She has always felt home in north, in the valleys that filled themselves with her namesake and with this man beside he, arrows slung over his shoulder and laughter in his eyes. Silla and her betrothed would never take that place. Seol opens her mouth; it is now or never. “Don’t say it,” he cuts her off, a hand stretched out for a lonely snowflake to perch upon. It turns translucent against his roughed palm. “My hand isn’t made for snowflakes,” he sounds joyous, as he always does – when she is weeping within. His eyes remain resolutely elsewhere. “I’ve been summoned to the garrison,” he continues in that same flat tone. “My last duty here will be to deliver your highness to your betrothed.” She is unaware of the tear that has escaped, until an ice cold thumb brushes it off. “Don’t cry,” he says then and she sees the laughing spark in his eyes for what it truly is; longing. “It breaks my heart.” ***

Sakura_Charmash · 奇幻言情
分數不夠
141 Chs

Torn Heart - III

The winter is white and timeless outside the keep of Kangs. The cold as ageless as the turning of the seasons. It is the broken edged visage of endless swirling snow that reminds Yul of the legends he had read, the accounts written in the dead language of the mountain people – the records of the endless war by the right hand of the war maker and God tamer; Lain, the second commander Rune. 

The dead language was the only lock keeping his secrets, once Yul had cracked it through, it had taken him barely a three nights long stretch of attempt, the first hand recounting of Lain's descend to cruel madness was all his to analyze.