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Rear Palace

If I ever left you waiting, would you know it was not my will?


I’m standing here in the rain, waiting for only you. Can you feel my heart reaching out to yours?

The rain clung to his robes, soaking into embroidered silk that once only saw sunlight and ceremony. The crown prince stood unmoving, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, droplets tracing lines down a face carved by too much restraint.

The palace gates loomed before him, the lanterns along the stone path flickering in the mist. He had dismissed the guards, the attendants, everyone. Tonight, he needed no witnesses. Tonight, he was not heir to an empire—only a man waiting for the sound of footsteps that had always returned to him before.

He tilted his face ever so slightly toward the rain, as though it might wash away the ache lodged deep within his chest. Each beat of his heart whispered her name. Each passing second stretched into eternity, binding him tighter to the hope that she would appear, smiling as she always did, to scold him gently for waiting in the storm.

But the gates remained closed, the path remained empty, and the rain kept falling like the silence of a truth he could not bear to speak: maybe she would never walk through those gates again.

Can you not see how duty itself is tearing me in two? I could steal along the stone path, find you in the pavilion you’ve claimed for us—yet what then?

When you return to the palace, my Prince, would I be a consort? A concubine? A servant? Or only a shadow whispering your name?

When the memory of our love fades, and all I hold are these fragile hopes—snuffed as easily as a lantern in a storm… still I remain, hidden, watching you, as my tears vanish into the rain.

Your words are like a dagger. I see you. Every day. Don’t you feel my eyes on you when you move around the palace?

I have to sit on the throne next to my father, listening to them decide my fate, and yet all I can pay attention to is you. The way your dress flutters with your movements, your hair tied up in a bun, lips parted as you concentrate.

I’m drowning in their expectations, in my duty, when all I want is to hold you and wipe your silent tears. My hands are bound, and they’re bleeding from my efforts to escape. We’re both caged birds, longing for freedom.

My Prince… if you knew what your words do to me. You say you see me, that your eyes follow where I go—and yet I am powerless to reach you, to unmake the silence that binds me.

I want to believe your hands could sever any chain, but what if the world tears you away before I can ever touch you? What if my love is only a youthful dream, one the world might demand you wake from?

The thought alone feels like mistaking fireflies for stars. And still, on those nights at the hidden pavilion, I pretend the lords of heaven might take pity on our love—that they would grant us a bridge to find each other again.

If I am to be caged, then let me remain where your gaze can always find me.

Then let the world tear me apart! Let the court brand me a fool, let my father cast me from the throne. What is a crown worth if I cannot even touch your hand?

I would rather break under the chains of my name than live a single day pretending not to love you.

Let the court whisper, let the heavens judge. I will not look away.

I am suffocating in this golden cage. They say I was born to rule, but without you, I am nothing but a dying man dressed in silk.

I don’t care if heaven strikes me down. If I must betray fate itself, I will. Enough of silence. Enough of waiting. I cannot endure another moment of watching you from afar while chains tighten around our throats.

My Prince… when you call yourself a dying man, suffocating in silks, it breaks my heart; how could you be nothing? You are more precious than jade, and shine like the dawn.

If you suffer as I do, then let me be the lotus: rooted in the mud, yet rising clean, humble but proud, blooming in silence for you. Let them strip me of name, let the winter court whisper its poison, let my father disown me—I care not, so long as I may take root at your side.

I will be but a flower in your garden. When the throne weighs heavy on your shoulders, I will be the quiet strength that helps you endure. Your birthright is sacred, as sacred as the love that binds us. Do not cast it away. Rule as heaven decreed, and I will remain with you, steadfast in every season.

And when spring returns, when the lovers’ bliss silences gossip and the world softens once more, trust the heavens, and pray our love be redeemed..

---
My writing in italics 

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