"She's whiskey in a teacup."

Tell me, have you seen a sunset
Turn into a sunrise
Kiss right through the night?
-What Am I by Why Don't We.

"AND HERE, APHRODITE, is where the final draft of the constitution of Sykaria was finally passed," he opened a humongous door, revealing a large hall-filled with wooden seats, sort of like an auditorium, except the stage was tiny, housing only one chair and table, "Because of its historical importance, this building is now the Parliament House."

Ambrosia stifled yet another yawn, her third since this excursion started nearly four hours ago, "Nice. I like the...uh, pillars. Nice pillars. Big."

"The Act of 1849 was passed here. That Act defined the sovereignty of our nation, it has brought us to where we are today. That's where the King, my father sits and mandates the sessions of the Parliament—" he droned on, pointing at a huge armchair on the little raised platform. He paid no heed to Ambrosia. Even the cooked snails she'd arranged for a French wedding last year would've caught on the fact that this tour was tedious, plebian and overall infuriating.

She'd managed to protect whatever little crumbs of her sanity were left by blocking out his usual silvery, but now monotonous voice. If he didn't look as sophisticated as he did, she would've assumed that a fanatic preteen Justin Bieber stan had suddenly developed an obsession for political history and had proceeded to tell her all about it.

If that were the case, said kid would now be in a straitjacket with animal control on the way.

The conversation took a dangerous turn. He began to recite the minutes of every single parliamentary session held in these holy walls since the stone age, making him extremely susceptible to a smack across his silvery head.

She had to work. Work didn't involve listening to one of his bajillions of speeches about his country. Knowing what which chairperson said a hundred years ago would be of no use to her in planning a coronation.

He didn't notice the sheer agitation and impatience on the girls face and continued anyway, "In the summer of 1966—"

She could stand this torture no more, "Uh, Prince? Can we head to the palace gardens already?"

Her tone was far from respectful, although every ounce of her power had gone into keeping that sentence as level as possible.

"Why, is there a problem, Miss Kang?" he asked, slightly thrown off, having been interrupted during his invaluable sermon.

She took a shaky breath before beginning, "As facinating as the Act of 1857 was—"

"1849."

She bit her lower lip, nails digging a little too deep into her golden pochette, "The Act of 1849 was, I don't see how obtaining that information will benefit my immediate cause. Forgive me for saying this, but I think you misunderstood what I meant by a tour of the royal grounds."

"The Parliament House is a part of the royal grounds, Aphrodite. It's an extension of the eastern wing," he sighed, annoyed at her.

She groaned. The patriotic Prince Jimin wouldn't understand. Her easygoing, happy-go-lucky Adonis sure would. She almost missed him.

"Permission to drop the honorfics? It's only for a brief moment," she asked, rubbing her temples. Her eyes were lowered in attempt to prevent him from seeing the vexation they hid.

"Granted. Go ahead."

She took a deep breath, prepping herself. Finally looking up, she let it out, "I have a hundred better things to do right now, Park Jimin. I'm in no mental state to sit and listen to you talk about a bunch of old cronies in wigs banging their gavels on a table. We can do that later." she met his eyes, trying her level best not to let her Indian upbringing take control of her tongue. "Now, I need to work. And for that, I need to get done with this accursed tour. Let's get to the garden, talk about flowers and cocktails  and move the hell on."

He was stunned into silence. The prince froze as he accustomed himself to the heavy blow she waged upon him. Staring at her through hooded eyes, he drummed his fingers on his thigh.

He pushed the inside of his cheek with his tongue, evaluating whether he should have her fired and the contract annulled for being so presumptuous.

She was already regretting running her tongue, especially when she knew her verbal filter signed off whenever she got antsy. She squeezed her hands together, her nails a fascinating new subject to observe.

About five minutes of painful silence later, he gestured for her to follow him while muttering under his breath, "Jeez, when you think 'Aphrodite', you'd expect a gentlewoman. Behind which dumpster this witch threw the woman I met in Greece, I'll never know. I swear..."

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smirk as he lead the way. Getting the prince mad at her was a negligible price to pay for her peace of mind.

Upon exiting the Parliament House,—or as Ambrosia decided to call it, The Oh So Sacred Hall of Old Geezers—she let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't made for the indoors, not in the least.

The scent of wildflowers and wet mud encompassed her senses as they stepped into the courtyard of the palace. This wasn't where she came in from earlier on, it was probably the back entrance.

The entire ground was soaked, little rivulets running down the cobblestone pathways streaking the grass. During her hours spent indoors, the heavens must've opened, letting down litres of torrential rain.

She was brought up in Mumbai, one of the wettest, hottest, most humid places in India.  Four month long yearly downpours equalled nothing but her time to unwind. The sound of rain like bullets on the metallic sheet roof of her home brought peace to her, while the rest of the slum dwellers covered their ears with moth eaten blankets.

She understood rain. The certainty of it. The way it indiscriminately lashed upon every section of society. The way it poured in endless sheets. The way every drop had history, purpose and a goal.

The thick fog that would settle over her locality in the wake of a ruthless cloudburst mesmerised her the most. In the translucent fog, appearances didn't matter. Hidden behind the shroud, no one judged her. No one thought she was perfect just because she had an "auspicious" nose and fair skin. In a sea of black-eyed, black-haired impoverished Indians, she was the sole island. Worshipped for living outside the box.

All this, the dense fog would conceal.

She felt the cool breeze on her face, each molecule of air carrying a story and a staunch intention to recite it. She was one of the few people who actually listened.

They made their way down the stairs and onto the driveway. Probably because he was a royal, Jimin kept to the middle of the path. Ambrosia stuck closely behind him, maintaining a dignified distance, but her heart was leaping and dancing with the flowers lining the asphalt. The bright scarlet of the petals was whispering, coaxing her to come feel their velvety texture.

Following him into the cobbled path, she suppressed her desire to bend down and brush her fingers through the soft grass on either side of them. She loved nature, but she valued her extremely pricey white pantsuit a lot more. Plus, squatting on the ground with heels thinner than her patience was a whole other ordeal. She wasn't about to risk that.

They'd reached the centre of the garden, luscious green grass on either side of them. The area was huge, bigger than anything she'd worked with before, and this was barely half the event.

The lilac in these flowers was practically screaming her name now, like sirens inviting burly sailors to their deaths.

She must've looked like a puppy in a room of treats, for Jimin was observing her with a knowing smile.

"Take your shoes off, Aphrodite. And go," he cocked his neck in the direction of the flowerbeds, hands maintained in his pockets. He chuckled as she gave him a bewildered expression. What she didn't realise was that he knew her. He understood her. That one month for him was a lot more than just a summer fling. He knew the way she had to stop and stare at the ocean whenever they drove past. They way she gently caressed the vibrant hibiscus plantations on every resort. She looked so enchanted by the little things in nature that even though she never told him anything about it, he knew. Her gaze was enough.

"Your Majesty, I don't think—" she began, a reticent armour guarding her eyes.

"Your Majesty? That's a nice way of apologising for lashing out at me before," he snarked, humour hidden behind his words, "I know you want to, so just go ahead. I'll come with you."

"You know I want to what, Jimin?" she sneered, pronouncing each syllable in his name with a great deal of care.

"I don't know, play in the flowers, I guess?" He shrugged, face a platonic opposite of hers, "You're forgetting that I spent a month with you in Ithaca, literally the in quintessence of flora. I think I know you like flowers and birds and butterflies and rock formations and—"  

"Yeah, but this is the royal garden. Not a stupid island resort," she argued, "And you don't know me Jimin. Not in the slightest."

"I do. I know you, Aphrodite. You have this little star-shaped birthmark on your back just where your spine ends, you hate those teeny tiny little freckles on your hip but I personally think they're adorable, you always have to get your eyeliner perfect otherwise you completely flip out, you—"

"Okay, okay I get the point. You can stop listing my insecurities already. I'm taking my shoes off. See?" she bent down, whipped her snow white stilettos off and held them up for him to see. He chortled in response and gestured for her to get off the path.

Mentally cussing him out, she took her first step into the wet grass. Slowly allowing her soles to get accustomed to the prickly sensation, she breathed out deeply. This was a completely different experience to what she was used to in her childhood. The grass there was gravel, concrete and broken shards of glass, left in corners of the streets by drunken people at 2am. No matter how many times she stepped into a lush meadow, she couldn't get enough of it.

She almost forgot the prince who now stood right beside her. In a slow, careful motion, he took her hand in his. This would gone unnoticed by any woman but Ambrosia. The little sparkles that found an epicentre their point of contact caused tremors, if not entire earthquakes throughout her body. She'd missed the softness of his touch, the apprehensive calculation that he always approached her with. Just as she was about to reciprocate, she stopped herself. Kang Ambrosia wasn't going to let her attraction to Jimin—which, by the way, was entirely physical—get in the way of her duty.

"Workplace, Prince Jimin," she sighed, letting her hand go limp in his, hinting at him to let it go.

He groaned. Jimin was certain he'd heard that specific phrase more times in the past few hours than he'd heard her call him "Adonis" in a whole month. Retracting his hand back to the pocket where it seemingly had to stay, he rocked back and forth on his heels in embarrassment.

She was far too enraptured with the setting of the place to pick up on his discomfort. The fog had settled in on the place, creating a mystical haze as it enrobed the flowers, leaves and grass. In about an hour, she mentally predicted, the mist would be thick enough to keep her from seeing her own hands in front of her.

Taking a few steps towards the flowerbeds, she was determined to make the most of these sixty minutes. She pulled a notepad out of her purse and began mapping out the layout of the royal garden.

Jimin stood quietly by during this entire ordeal. Observing her. Her quick, accurate pencil strokes followed by the scratching of a fountain pen on paper. Her ponytail came loose, which she quickly fixed with a slight ruffle of her hair. It now tumbled down her shoulders, covering the lapels of her blazer.

The name Aphrodite suited her so well. She did look like a Greek goddess. Powerful, yet a unmistakable hint of fragility.

He remembered her scent, typical hotel shampoo. He figured it was because they spent most of their time in each others hotel room, but less than a minute ago, he smelled it again. He decided to ask her about it later, when they weren't at her sacred workplace.

"If His Highness doesn't mind," she asked—promptly interrupting his little session of reminiscence— and turned towards him, "may I get my shoes back on now? My feet are cold."

"Yeah, sure," he rushed back to the pathway and scooped the sandals up, dashing back to her immediately. Much against her protests, he kneeled down, holding a shiny white stiletto up for her to step into it.

She threw her head back and exasperated, "Workplace, Prin—"

"I carried you on my back along the coast for a mile with your flip-flops slung over my shoulder, Aphrodite. Don't get all prim and formal with me."

"That's before I knew you were a prince!"

"That's doesn't mean I'm a different person!"

She snarked, "Can't agree more, Adonis."

She knew she was playing a dangerous game. If he ever caught whiff of her secret, she would never hear the end of it. Till the end of this commission and seeing his adamancy, probably till the end of her days.

He threw his head back, letting our a deep sigh. This comment seemed to really agitate him. "You didn't recognize me in Greece, Aphrodite. That vacation was meant to be relaxing, a break from princedom. I can't help it if I wanted to preserve that, " he explained slowly, as if he were talking to a child, "Just step into the damn shoe, will you? I look like an idiot kneeling on a wet lawn."

Grumbling under her breath, she raised a foot up and slid it into the sandal he was holding. He held the back of her leg to enable a perfect fit. Having ensured it was on properly, Jimin let her calf go. She wobbled around slightly, her newly inflicted lopsidedness throwing her off balance.

"Grab my shoulders," he offered, "you'll ruin your suit if you fall."

Seeing no other option, she grabbed the sinewy base of his neck, his powerful pulse travelling up her arms in little impulses. The ordeal repeated once again, she now wore both her shoes.

Still kneeling down, Jimin began, "If we're done with the royal garden,—"

"Chim! I haven't seen you since you returned. I almost thought we'd find you in a ditch somewhere," a loud voice boomed, cutting through the peaceful silence of the foggy garden.

Jimin looked like he wanted to actually hide in a ditch. Painfully getting up while grinding his teeth, he bit his lower lip. Looping his thumbs through the belt loops of his dress pants, he slowly let out a sigh.

Ambrosia didn't even know who the trespasser was, but realised that the prince didn't like him very much.

"It's nice to see you too, Kangmin," he said, painting a smile on his face. The action seemed to hurt him physically.

"Is that...?" she asked, recognising the name from her 3am research spree the night before.

"Yup," Jimin rubbed his temples, "let me introduce you to brother dearest, AKA the future king of Sykaria."

They trudged over to the burly man, Jimin subconsciously keeping Ambrosia behind him. Upon coming closer, she noticed that Prince Kangmin was wearing white dress pants with a royal blue shirt, hugging his humongous biceps. He was visibly ripped. Muscular to the point that it was ridiculous. He looked like someone who should be in protein shake advertisements or on gym membership brochures. Ambrosia found it repulsive.

"How was Ithaca? A nice distraction from your duties here, I'm guessing," king-to-be scoffed, pounding his brother on the back multiple times. He didn't seem to realise or care that he was times stronger then Jimin and that every time his palm made contact with Jimin, the breath was knocked out of the poor man's lungs.

"It was a much needed vacation before stuff got hectic," the silver-haired man slid his hand over to Ambrosia's wrist, protectively pulling her behind him. In doing this, he maintained eye contact with his brother. He clearly didn't like being undermined by Prince Kangmin.

"Vacation, liasion. There's no difference," he brushed Jimin off, angering the younger man all the more as his grip around Ambrosia's wrist tightened, "Who's that behind you? Don't tell me you brought your Greek flame home."

"She's planning your coronation, Kangmin." 

Ambrosia took this as an opportunity to introduce herself to the future king and hopefully get into his good graces. She had only one problem: should she introduce herself as Ambrosia or Aphrodite?

Screw Jimin, she concluded.

"It's nice to meet you, Your Highness. I'm Kang Ambrosia, a professional event planner specialising in weddings. I'm beyond honoured to organise your coronation," she stood to Jimin's side, bowing down once she freed her hand from the shackles of his fingers.

Completely disregarding her existence, he turned to Jimin, who seemed to be in shock.

"She's too fine to be from around here, where'd you pick her up from?"

"Dad hired Miss Aphro—uh, Ambrosia. She's an event planner, Kangmin. I suggest you show her some respect, especially now that you have a wife," Jimin chided as though this were an everyday occurance. His little speech sounded rehearsed.

"What little Aera doesn't know won't hurt her, eh?" he brushed Jimin off. Now looking at her with beady eyes travelling all over her body, he grinned. Teeth bared like a snake about to wrap around its prey and sink it's fangs deep into its neck, he surely made her uncomfortable enough to step back behind Jimin. He had his brothers eyes, but not a stitch of his chivalry.

She really, really missed having Yoongi beside her.

"We have a lot more of the tour left, Your Highness. If you'd excuse us, I would like for us to get back to it," Jimin took her hand in his again, this time, unopposed. The king simpered, an action Jimin took as a yes. "Miss Kang, let's resume your tour."

He quickly carted her out of there, leaving the future king to bask in his own self-generated, self-declared awesomeness.

Once they were out of earshot, she coughed, clearing the thicker-than-fog air surrounding them, "He was, uh—"

"Nasty, uncouth, chauvinistic? I know," he butted in, tone the absolute opposite of princely. Continuing with a lowered voice, as though it was something he shouldn't say, but couldn't help saying, "Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who knows."

Ambrosia replied with silence, unsure of how to follow up his mini confession. The thick shield of awkwardness began dissipating, allowing her to breathe. Still, she couldn't even imagine the consequence of faking her name now, but if the gods were in her favour, he would be way too torn between his oppressive brother and princely duties to get back at her.

In a weak attempt to palliate the aftermath of their unexpected meeting and her equally unsuspected confession, they decided to head over to the chapel, location for the actual coronation. 

"I GUESS THAT'S ALL, Miss Kang. I believe today has been very productive. I've given you a tour of the event venues, along with some rebuffed political history," his tone flipped on the last part, "I'll ask Jeongguk to escort you to your hotel."

She nodded in response.

The two had returned to the lawn, for right across was the royal garage. Sighing in relief that this tour was over, Ambrosia looked forward to going back to her little suite and doing her favourite thing all night long: work. She wasn't tired, but was feverently awaiting lying on the plush bed in a silk robe, stylus in one hand and a cup of tea in another. Especially after examining the chapel, she was elated.

Whereas he, was done. Beat. Exhausted. He'd run into his borderline narcissistic brother, been lied to and been told to shut up in the most polite way possible. Half of which was inflicted by the event planner.

No one, no one was this straightforward with him. No one dared to.

This woman—the one who had the audacity to be so crude, fake her name and to ice the cake, lie to him—did it quicker than he could snap his fingers.

He was raging, forget just angry. He could–he could–

Who was he kidding? He couldn't do anything. She had him so well wrapped around her little French-tipped fingers, that if he wasn't a prince, he would be on his knees begging to return to Ithaca with her. 

He didn't mind her sharp tongue. He didn't just not mind, he could chortle along. Anything Ambrosia did, he didn't have any objection to. She was perfect, quintessential even. He couldn't say no to that.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she bowed down, "I'll spend tomorrow at the chapel and the royal gardens to really get a feel of how I want to plan everything out. I'd also like to run the forms I'd mentioned earlier today by you and His Highness. Please let me know when we can discuss the same," she clasped her purse in front of her, both her arms flat on her abdomen.

"I have no objections. You and your secretary have free access to the the event locations 24/7. I'll make sure the royal guards know that," he assured, all his bursting cheer and playfulness from before, melted away into weariness, "When my father said that he didn't know much about the coronation, he wasn't lying. He's in over his head with work and transferring the assets to Kangmin without our subjects knowing. It's best not to involve him for the coronation, especially when he's busy with stepping down. My duties for tomorrow are in-house, so I'll be free to help you anytime. Drop by at your comfort."

Turning around, he gestured for her to follow him, his coat sleeve dipping below his wrist in the process. She noticed that no watch adorned him, unusual, as most royals have strict schedules. Only a thin band made of interlocking silver rings glimmered in the hazy sunlight.

"Jiminie! I'm heading over to the mall for a new pantsuit, anything I should pick up for you?" A tall man called out from the other end of the royal gardens. Ambrosia was thankful for being interrupted while staring at Jimin's wrist, but still amazed at the power the man's lungs carried, for she had to squint to see him.

"Why? Why did everyone pick today to agitate me?" She heard Jimin mutter as he rolled his eyes. The duo continued on their way and began walking towards the source of cacophony which had further disrupted what Ambrosia thought her new Elysium was.

Upon reaching him, her first thoughts were about his dressing. The evergreen combination of a white t-shirt with palace-appropriate ripped Stygian denims, dressed up with a black and white striped cardigan. Completed with Givenchy slippers, this could in no way be shopping attire.

"Why do you even ask, Jin? Everyone knows you're going to get me something ridiculously tacky again," Jimin exhaled sharply, his posture that of an exhausted man.

"Tacky? That was a limited edition Chanel belt!" The brunette's sparkly eyes widened. He pouted, lips very similar to Jimin's, except better defined. He continued to protest, voice nasal and complaining,"I paid a fortune for it, you thankless ass toe! You could've atleast worn it. If only I didn't care..."

"I'm sorry, but it was a little too garish for my taste," the prince raised his hands in surrender, "You've known me all my life, you should know I hate rubies. Especially on a belt. They're so bright and vulgar and—"

"For someone with so much money, you have terrible taste in clothes," Jin scoffed, rolling his eyes in the most exaggerated way possible, "You're impossible. So, tell me, who's this? Wait, don't tell me. Oh, come on. Jiminie, your loneliness is crossing all bounds. You can't be hiring women to give you company in the daytime too now. This is ridiculous! This is—"

"The event planner. She's planning Kangmin's coronation," Jimin sighed, in lieu to shut him up, "Jin, meet Kang Ambrosia, Ambrosia, meet Jin. Jin is a part-time model, full time pain in the ass."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kang. I apologize for my misconception earlier, I didn't intend to offend you at all," he bowed down, immediately holding a hand out to her. His outburst at Jimin earlier did show his feisty side, but his candid, yet suave greeting showed his royal upbringing. He didn't seem like a true Royal, though. More like an errand boy or a family friend. Definitely not worth her time to impress.

Still, his immaculate outfit and polished composure compelled her to speak, "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. I didn't take any offence at all, don't bother yourself," she took his hand, bowing down slightly.

"I'd heard from Namjoon and Hoseok about you, but really didn't expect you to be this beautiful," he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, a casual, yet incredibly debonair gesture. She assessed his gaze as that of a tiger stalking its prey. It was either that or an artist admiring his newest canvas. She hoped it was the latter.

Her typical response to such compliments would be to smile, make a miserable excuse and get the hell out of there. But, with the prince standing right next to her, she couldn't really apply her expert strategy. She mumbled a weak "thank you" in response.

Jin didn't respond, clearly expecting her to follow through with a compliment in return. In order to cut the silence, she spoke with a sudden increase in pitch, "Who's your designer? I apologize if I'm being too frank, but I absolutely have to ask you this."

Jimin's eyes widened before he launched off shouting, "You're apologizing for being too frank with him after nearly annihilating me. I swear, Aphro—uh, Ambrosia, if anyone in the Parliament House heard you, my reputation—"

"Man up, Jimin, uh—Your Highness," she snapped, quickly correcting her tone upon realising that their broad-shouldered companion wouldn't be very accepting of her tone with the prince.

Jin glowered at her, previous light-hearted bubbliness in his eyes a thing of the past, "Watch your tone, honey. He's the Prince of Sykaria, not your little purse pup."

Jimin put a hand up, immediately silencing his older friend, "It's alright, Jin. She's, uh—What time do you get back from the mall?"

"Seven, if Prada isn't having a sale."

"Come to my study then. I'll consider explaining."

Jin gave him a once over, kissing his pearly whites with a loud smack. His judgemental eyes deliberating over what the prince just said. Jimin didn't seem to be breathing until Jin finally shrugged, impling his acceptance of his friend's condition. "You're staying at Hotel Magnificent, aren't you?" He turned to Ambrosia, "I'm heading in that direction. Mind if I drop you on the way?"

"Yeah, sure," she replied instantaneously, eyes wide and voice high enough to make him think she was on something.

"Let's move then. Versace just launched their fall-winter collection and I need the new Chain Reaction Sneakers," he turned around, pulled a remote out of his pocket and pressed a little button. In the distance, a car horn sounded. "Royce it is today," he mumbled.

"Thank you for today, Your Highness," Ambrosia bowed down.

Jimin smiled in response, accompanied by a little bow. He put his hands behind his back, legs pressed together as the caramel-haired woman followed Jin into the parking lot.

The fog was now thick enough to obscure close vision, just as Ambrosia had predicted. She turned around before getting into the large car, taking in the hazy form of her summer paramour's silhouette. All she could make out was a blur, like someone had squirted silver, white and black paint onto a green canvas and smeared it around with their fingers. Messy, but still beautiful. Somehow, his bracelet still glinted almost as brightly as his hair.

"You're the girl he met on vacation, right?" Jin asked once they were out on the road, eyes gleaming with confidence, juicy lips pulled up in a lopsided smirk.

"How—You and Hoseok—" she practically squeaked, mouth ajar.

"Just Hoseok. He's the clairvoyant, but he didn't guess it was you. That was all me. I'm a relationship expert, you know? All gay guys are," he ran a hand through his luscious ebony locks, a habit he no doubt picked up from the prince.

"I'm her," she admitted, "He didn't land me this commission, though. The king did. I didn't even know he was the prince when we met," she explained, desperate to keep him from thinking she seduced the prince into giving her this job, "And yeah, I kind of figured you bat for the other team. No guy could dress this well and still be straight."

"You don't look like the type to get your work done by sleeping around. And Jimin's certainly not someone who'd be swayed by a woman," he mused, "And honey, I'm my own designer."

SHE NEARLY TORE OFF HER SHOES the second her suite door beeped with a green light. Twirling her hair and locking them in place with a pencil, she threw herself onto the soft white mattress, picking up her beloved: her tablet, on the way. This little baby had been with her for years, helping her please even the most difficult clients with meticulous precision and ease.

Reaching over to her nightstand, she fumbled for her stylus. Upon finding it, she twirled it in her fingers once, enjoying how simply right it felt there. She was certain she could conquer the world with her tablet, stylus and a little pinch of Yoongi.

She bounced out of bed and headed to the washroom. Stripping her now favourite outfit off, she slipped on a snowy silk robe, almost shuddering at how soft and cool the fabric felt against her skin. With a quick rinse of water, her makeup was off. In her line of work, makeup was a compulsion, even though she didn't enjoy it much. She was glad to finally have it off especially since she'd gotten all sweaty and oily underneath.

At the minibar, she heated up some water, grabbed a cup and softly caressed her vast array of teabag infusions she always carried with her. Picking out the hibiscus flavour, she sighed. With tonight's level of work, she was definitely going to need something stronger than just hibiscus tea.
Unfortunately, if she drank while working, Yoongi would drag her ass for it.

Remembering her secretary, she quickly rung him up. He picked up, muttering a drowsy greeting, undoubtedly a result of last night.

"We're meeting Prince Jimin tomorrow. Get two copies of the form ready and dress sharp. We might even run into Prince Kangmin. And remind me not to wear heels, okay?," she ordered before slamming the receiver.

Author's note.
Boom. That, was clarity.
Can't say I don't feel bad for Jimin, even though he's got worse issues to deal with before even thinking about Ambrosia's lies.

Speaking of issues, I want to elaborate on Ambrosia's past. She was brought up in extreme poverty, so much so, that she couldn't afford to eat most nights. This is a royal AU (Alternate Universe) story and the Kingdom of Sykaria doesn't exist in real life, but Dharavi is very, very real. While some, if not all of us, have had a chance to have a decent childhood (by decent, I mean we can afford to eat three meals a day), there are lakhs of us who don't. I'm privileged enough not to be one of them, but I still want to make use of this platform to spread awareness.

Poverty exists. Hundreds of slums like Dharavi litter the globe, each of them full of diseases like cholera and AIDS, miserable sanitation, open sewers and predators like rapists and thieves.

Here's a picture of the aforementioned, which happens to be the largest slum in Asia.

I recommend searching up Dharavi, because it is important to know about what kind of perils people face while trying to keep their family alive. It's a very interesting topic that will surely make you humble yourself.

Back to the story, here are the questions for this chapter:

What do you think about Ambrosia and Jimin's chemistry? Is it perceivable?

What kind of a person is Kangmin? What does he make you feel?

What about Jin? Describe him in one word(bad bitch for me)

On a more positive note, do let me know what you think of this chapter.

Just because I feel like a nice person today, I hope your crush asks you our and your asshole of an ex dates a shoe :) [I bet he/she deserves to ;)]

VOTE AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU'RE READING.

I saw map of the soul one today and I don't think I can function anymore. I-I-I have no words. I cried with Jimin.
If anyone saw it too, please message me. I need to vent about Jimin's little hand action in filter and Jeongguk and Jimin's lace shirts in black swan. Don't even get me started on ugh by the rapline. Don't.

For those who didn't see it, this is what I'm talking about:

Me:

I see what they're doing to us. 

SPOILER ALERT!
Here's a little sneak peek of the next chapter.