"Sad birds still sing."

There won't be a night, there won't be a place
Where you don't cross my mind
Where I don't see your face in somebody
I hope you're thinking of me.
- I'll Wait by Sasha Sloan and Kygo.

ROYAL SECRETARIES ARE NO JOKE. And neither are princely duties.

It was barely four in the morning when Jeongguk woke him up. He was a silent man, one who barely spoke unless spoken to, but around Jimin, he didn't shy away. The prince had almost punched him square in the face in a half-asleep state, but his times stronger bodyguard had suppressed the groggy attack with ease.

He'd gotten up groaning and grumbling under his breath, as Jeongguk bit back laughter, deer-like eyes wide and lips pressed together, pushing him into the bathroom so he could begin his morning tasks.
The sun hadn't even risen yet and Jimin could picture himself bashing his secretary's head in.

Jeongguk escorted him to the palace gym for his daily workout, for a healthy lifestyle was something his father stressed upon, especially after their Thirty Minutes, Thirty Days exercise campaign was launched last year. Jimin would never be king, but he prided himself in being a public figure. An idol for the people. Besides, he enjoyed working out.

Staring out of the floor to ceiling windows lining their elite gymnasium, he admired the twinkling lights while keeping his feet moving on the treadmill. Even at 4am, Sykaria City was awake, a trait he especially loved about his city. As he increased the speed of the machine, he allowed his mind to drift off to the past few days.

Normally, waking up at four was part of Jimin's daily routine—even when he had a girl in bed with him. Ever since he returned from Greece, his entire schedule had gone out of wack. She, that all encompassing, mind-numblingly stunning goddess of a woman had absolutely driven him bonkers. Ambrosia—Ambrosia? What happened to Aphrodite? What right did she even have to fake her name? He was a prince, he had an excuse. She didn't. The whole issue still made his head throb.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't recall his legs stopping. Atleast, until he tripped over his own two feet and nearly fell. Screw this shit, he thought, getting off the accursed moving belt. Definitely not a place to think.

Mats pulled off the shelf, laid on the ground and resistance bands pulled on tight, he made himself comfortable. As comfortable as one can get around Jeongguk, at least.

"What set you on, Kook?" he breathed through a medely of grunts as he began a simple abs workout.

"Sixth, Prince Jimin," his training partner huffed, shocking him. He knew he was buff, but this was crazy.

"You're nuts," he muttered. When Jimin had just gotten Jeongguk as a secretary about five years ago, he'd tried to keep up with him. He realised the hard way that there was absolutely no point. All it took to increase his status from personal assistant to secretary-cum-bodyguard was one intense game of hand-wrestling, which obviously, Jeongguk annihilated Jimin at.

He was used to being good at everything. So much so, that all the people he met at university kept a respectful distance from him, fearing his power. They didn't realise that all the power actually lay in the hands of his brother. He never got the traditional freshman year ragging. The welcome into college life. Professors, lecturers, his seniors, everyone. Everyone bowed down to him.

He didn't mind. He was used to being lonely. No one really gave a shit about him, father too busy to and brother not bothered to. In a guilt trip, his father would often give him extravagant amounts of pocket money in his childhood, all of which he donated to charity. He had clothes on his back, food on his plate and a roof over his head. That's enough to survive.

He checked the time. It was six. Time to shower and get dressed for the day.

Stumbling out of the gym and into his bathroom, he tried his best to ignore the muscle soreness caused due to his strenuous workout. Warm water poured out of the showerhead and streams of rejuvenating hot water burst from the numerous faucets all around him. He could finally relax.

Yesterday was truly a leap out of his comfort zone. Being spoken down to was a whole new experience for him, yet, inflicted so ruthlessly by Ambrosia. He wasn't sure whether he should despise her for nearly humiliating him in front of Kangmin or making him have an extremely awkward conversation with Seokjin yesterday.

"You remember that girl I told you I met in Greece?" He'd started, quickly tossing his pen off to a side of the desk.

"You mean the one Hoseok guessed you hooked up with?" Jin had scoffed. Loudly.

"If that's how you want to put it, then yeah," he sighed, "Well, she—"

"She's Miss Kang Ambrosia," his friend had butted in, accomplishment and pride in his every syllable.

That was a little less than twelve hours ago, but Jimin was still shell-shocked. He knew Jin prided himself in being a self-declared "love guru", but never really believed it. Until now.

Once again, he checked the time. It was now seven. Time for breakfast with his father and obnoxious brother.

Once that concluded—thankfully ending the absolute torment of listening to Kangmin talk about his ridiculous ideas for the coronation after-party—he headed over to meet Jeongguk in the garage.

"Prince Jimin, you have no actual duties until four, when you have a meet-and-greet at the children's cancer hospital," he spoke, opening the door of Jimin's steel gray Mercedes.

"That's great news," he stepped into the driver's seat, "I'm heading out for the rest of the morning. Send Miss Kang to The Oriole and give her my number—or wait," a smile grew on his lips, eyes mischievously glinting. He mumbled, confusing his secretary further about his relationship with their event planner, "she'll call me, alright."

SHE PUSHED her rose gold sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose, hoping they stay there. Tapping her fingernails on the black screen of the tablet hugged to her chest, she looked the handsome dark-haired man up and down, "Jeongguk, wasn't it? Where's Prince Jimin?" she asked, a wide-eyed, eager Yoongi peeking out from behind her.

"Prince Jimin won't be coming to the palace until later today, so he has requested your presence at The Oriole for lunch. I will escort you and Mr Min down to His Highnesses favourite restaurant by 1pm. I assume you will either be in the chapel or in the royal gardens then," he put a hand out, gesturing for them to get going.

She grumbled under her breath. Staying up until three for the second consecutive night had gone to waste. Prince Jimin wouldn't be there to review her hard work.

As her shoulders slumped, she crossed the picturesque royal garden, tailed by a mesmerised Yoongi. She showed him around, a brief overview of what they were working with, completely unlike Jimin's palace tour yesterday. Yoongi's nerves steeled, sharpening his focus to work. Phone in hand, headset in another, the twenty-six year old was poised to make calls.

Ambrosia lead the duo into the chapel, ordering her secretary to ring up and book appointments with the uncountable hands required to organise an event. She'd done this a billion times before, and every one of them knew, she wouldn't take no for an answer. She and Yoongi shared a joke involving the light guys shuddering in fear when they see her name on the caller ID.

"OH, MISS KANG, wasn't it? Who's this young man here?" The King of Sykaria strode into the room, two armoured men behind him and two guarding the entrance to the chapel.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she bowed down. Slowly standing up, she gestured towards Yoongi, "This is my personal assistant, Min Yoongi."

Yoongi greeted the king, hiding his nervousness well, for even Ambrosia couldn't see through his confident veil.

"I will be meeting Prince Jimin later to run some forms by him. Would you like to read them too?" She brought the topic back to the matter at hand, hoping to maintain conversation with a man of power.

The king chortled, a hearty laughter. She could swear, if his blazer buttons weren't done up, his belly would've jiggled through his dress shirt, "There's no need for that. I trust his opinions and your caliber. I've come here to put these two young men, Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok under your guidance. They'll be at your beck and call day and night. They're my most trusted men, so I'm sure they'll assist you well."

She then noticed the two statue-like men standing at attention behind the king. The shorter of the two—Hoseok, she recalled—sent a wink her way.

"I really appreciate the offer, Your Majesty, but Yoongi provides more than enough assistance for me. Please, don't bother yourself with the coronation," she put her hands out in front of her, shaking them in refusal, "As you said yesterday, as soon as I was hired, this entire responsibility became mine. I'll do everything possible to make it a success without becoming a hassle to you or the princes."

"Miss Kang, they're not only for your assistance, but for my peace of mind too. My men will be monitoring you," he gently explained, as though he were speaking to a five year old. Or a golden retriever, "They respond to orders from me and my sons only, and now they've been ordered to supervise and aid you. There's no getting around that now, is there?"

Feeling shameful of thinking too much of herself, Ambrosia bit her lower lip, "I have no objections."

"That's great, then," he snapped his fingers twice, "Namjoon, Hoseok, you two are relieved of your bodyguard duties until further notice. You know your new responsibilities now, so get down to work."

The two men bowed down, thanked the king and proceeded to march forward. They stood behind her, stomped a foot down loud enough to freak Ambrosia out and put one hand up in salute.

"This is why you're my best men," King Changmin smiled at them, like a father would his sons, "I expect a lot from you, Miss Kang. I'm leaving you to your work now. And Mr Min, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"Thank you so much, Your Majesty," Ambrosia bowed down again, at the same time as Yoongi blurted out something that sounded like "uh-dub-duh". A thank you, hopefully.

With a bewildered air, the King of Sykaria left, the guards standing by the door marching off behind him. She began to wonder whether he ever got annoyed of the constant thump, thump, thump of their feet.

"MISS KANG, are you busy right now?" Yoongi asked, his gruff voice filling the silence in the chapel.

"Kind of," Ambrosia replied, marking the light fittings of the upper perimeter on her tablet in a rough, haphazard sketch, "Why? Anything important?"

"Miss Cha just emailed you asking for an opinion. Should I tell her you'll respond later?"

"No, no," she opened her inbox, seated herself at the base of a pillar and dialed the phone.

Even if she was showering, sleeping, eating, sleep deprived, working, whatever. She'd always, always make time for her senior. Cha Iseul practically made her the woman she was today. Rich. Successful. Able to support her parents.

At fourteen, she had to drop out of school to work. She found a job working as an errand-girl/maidservant at a large event planning company. Years passed by and she ended up as Iseul's personal assistant. The then number one Indian wedding planner either saw potential in her or felt pitiful for her fellow part-Korean, and promptly put her in charge of a small scale wedding. From that point on, she went up. Straight up. People began asking for her by name. She practically assumed the status of a mini-celebrity.

At twenty, she quit and went global. And that's exactly where she was now. All thanks to a moment of kindness and sympathy shown by Iseul.

"Good morning, ma'am!" She spoke into the receiver.

"Morning, Sia. And please, don't call me ma'am." Iseul's voice sounded tired.

"Wait, you're in Greece, right? What time is it there?"

"About 2:30am." She sighed, "This dress fitting has been on since 8."

She shuddered at the thought. Dress fittings were nothing like Say Yes to the Dress. No bride tries on two dresses, cries and bitches about the world being unfair to her and then picks the third. That would've been a blessing. Real dress fittings were bloody. They were brutal. And lasted for hours.

"Oh, Lord. The bride must be one of those," Ambrosia shuddered, laughing internally as they recalled a shared joke.

"She's the unofficial leader of those brides," she chimed in, mood seeming a little more elated than before, "She's been arguing with her mother over the style. Mother dear is old fashioned, she wants a Cinderella-style poofy ballgown. Daughter wants something a little sexier. They've been driving me crazy!"

"That's a tough one," she mused, mind running a mile a minute to find a solution. Almost immediately, it sparked, "Miss Cha! Show them a mermaid style gown. A lace and net body-hugging bodice for the sexy part and a nice splayed skirt for the Cinderella part. Fussy daughter: happy, mom: happy."

Radio silence. Iseul contemplated the idea proposed by her junior.

Ambrosia chewed her nails in unrest.

"That-That's fucking genius!" She exclaimed, putting the anxious girl at ease, "I have no idea why I didn't think of that. Ah, I wish I'd called you earlier. You know, I would've been lounging about watching Netflix in my hotel suite by now, but this unbelievably pig-headed client—"

"Rule number one, Miss Cha. It's never the clients fault. Always ours."

She grumbled, "Sometimes I hate my brain," chuckling, she continued, "Anyways, you get back to work. I'm sure you have a lot more weight on your shoulders than me atleast."

"Sure, Miss Cha," she cut the call, giggling like a teenager who just spoke to their favourite celebrity. Iseul was in some form her idol anyways, so it was the same thing.

She got back down to work, ignoring Yoongi's highly exaggerated eye-rolls at her now bubbly attitude.

They began discussing brands of light fittings and the style that would suit the coronation. Fancy and noticeable, yet subtle and elegant. From light fittings, the topic somehow changed to carpets and seating arrangement.

Such was the relationship between Ambrosia and Yoongi. Strictly professional, yet the elder sometimes thought of the austere wedding planner as a younger sister. He'd never tell her this, though. He'd express it through the tiniest little actions that she rarely ever noticed. He didn't mind. He just wanted her to be okay.

She was well reputed for forgetting to eat while working on a new commission. The beautiful—yet dumb—idiot would work until ungodly hours of the night and then wake up early to work again. The thoughts of eating, bathing and sleeping just seemed to slip her mind, he guessed.

He often joked with her about not recalling exactly where in his job description the task of spoon-feeding an abusing boss instant noodles was listed.

But of course, it was just a joke. Over the past few years, he'd grown to love her. The crazy, uncontrollable, wild Kang Ambrosia. As his friend, as his sister.

"HE WENT THERE, didn't he?"

"It's been two months since he last visited. The poor boy—"

"It's been six years and I still can't fathom how terrible it must've felt. I mean, they were just eighteen!"

Jin sighed, ear pressed to wood as he heard the hushed and sympathetic conversation inside.

He knew what they were talking about. He knew better than any of them.

14th October 2014. D-day.

The day Jin's childhood companion's world came crashing down.

The day his screams were heard above the sound of his shattering heart. Park Jimin. The epitome of sophistication.

"Morning, soldier boys," he announced, striding in with a fresh air—well, atleast fresher than the ridiculously thick atmosphere of the room.

He received a dampened welcome, one that annoyed him.

"So? What are my favourite bitches gossipping about? Don't tell me Namjoon broke something again," he joked, trying to uplift the mood. He got an unsatisfactory response.

Flopping down on the couch like a sack of potatoes, he gestured to the rest to join him. Again, being palace officials, they retained attention position.

Twenty-seven years of living in the palace had taught him one thing. If you needed to get work done, you needed to use power. And his power was the benefit of age. He decided to exploit that.

"You abominable fuck turds, get your sorry asses on the couch and tell me exactly what's going on. I'm going to flay your sorry hides—"

"Keep up the abuses and I can tell that Jeongguk is going to fill your pillowcase with shaving foam," Hoseok put a hand out, closed his eyes and rubbed two fingers against his temple.

"Ah, Hoseok, Hoseok. Our personal shaman. Want a crystal ball so you can actually start to look kooky?" Namjoon chastised, shaking his head in amusement at Jin's raging expression.

"Can't say he wasn't wrong this time," the youngest of the group stifled a smirk, "Jin, you might want to change your toothpaste before you brush tonight."

"You—" Jin's mouth hung open, gasping loudly at his failed attempt to grab power, "You insolent boy, I've been so nice to you and—"

"Alright, alright. Let's not fight," Namjoon, the second highest authority among the men ordered. He was known to despise conflict, "Jin, the prince went to the hospital."

"I know."

"I wish it never happened, you know?" Hoseok sighed, giving up on being uptight and crumbling onto the couch beside Jin. An arm slung around his shoulder as Namjoon took his place beside the thinner man. Jeongguk stared at the three of them with his hands on his hips before nestling himself beside Jin.

Jin found himself often caring for Jeongguk the way he did Jimin. Probably because he reminded him of the prince. Small and quiet, yet incredibly deadly. He ruffled the younger's hair, before throwing his head back.

Jimin didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of this.

The boy had been through more as a teenager than people had seen in their entire lives. He knew that he had no place chiding a prince, but his worry surpassed all boundaries of etiquette and decency. They were raised by Jin's mother—Jimin's childhood nanny—as brothers. And that's exactly what their relationship was.

Jimin was his baby brother. And seeing him hurt killed Jin. Six years ago, he nearly lost his mind when he saw his little brother cry for the first time.

At the time, he could atleast pinpoint an emotion: devastation. But lately, Jimin was acting weird. That wedding planner—Aphrodite, Ambrosia, whatever her name was—was messing with his friends mind. Jin didn't know what to feel about this.

Whether Jimin liked her or not, she seemed aloof. He didn't want his friend to be lead on.

He was certain of one thing: she wasn't a gold digger. She didn't seem like one at all. Rich, beautiful, successful, independent. Women like that tended to mind their own damn business. And he liked women like that.

"Jin, have you found out who Prince Jimin's mystery girl is? I have a sickening feeling she's closer than we think," Hoseok exasperated, breathing out heavily as if he'd been holding his breath.

"Prince Jimin's who?"

"Mystery girl?" Namjoon and Jeongguk exclaimed, sitting up with a start. They clearly had no idea of the secret conversations the other two of the group had about their intuitions.

"Shut up, you two. It's not our fault you never believe us," Jin waved them off, "And you're right, Hoseok. She's much closer than we thought."

"I wonder who she could be. If she managed to snag our prince, she's either flipping gorgeous or has a heart of gold," the thinner guard rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

"Oh, this one, she's both. Remember the event planner they hired the other day? For the coronation? That woman, I swear, if I didn't sway the other way, I'd be fighting with Jimin over her," Jin shuddered, "She's kinda cold, but huh-nny, she's a bad bitch."

A few minutes of silence followed, as the boys tried to comprehend what exactly Jin meant, for none of them were familiar with the latest lingo he so often sprinkled in.

"The crap this man spews, does he even hear what comes out of his own mouth?" Namjoon shook his head slowly, eliciting giggles from the group and a stern glare strong enough to burn a hole through his head from Jin.

The crowd dispersed, getting back to their duties. Namjoon and Hoseok lifting boxes that Ambrosia requested to have moved, Jeongguk to drop her off at the Oriole and Jin, shopping.

The Chanel sale was on and Jin always needed new handbags.

"SCREW FORMALITIES. I'm calling him."

Pulling the crumpled piece of tissue paper out of her purse, she slapped it into Yoongi's outstretched palm. He immediately shielded it from the ruthless rain. She whipped her phone out, ordering her secretary to read out the barely legible digits.

"Damn, this is the handwriting I want on my tombstone," Yoongi extolled, compliments gushing out of him like a fountain even though she knew he was bombed, "Hmm, so let's see, 'This has just started, my goddess. I'll always come back home.' Oh my God! You've been busier than I thought, Ambrosia. And during work hours? This is so unlike you—"

"Zip. And lock. Read out the numbers," she snapped her fingers twice, pointing down at the tissue. Already preempting absolute hell from Jimin, she didn't need Yoongi adding to the mess. She didn't have the heart to correct the shivering man's informal tone.

"Fine, but I need an explanation later on," Yoongi raised a free palm up in surrender, finally proceeding to call out the digits. Punching them in, she held the phone to her ear, listening to the mundane ring.

Finally, he picked up.

"Hello?" She mumbled, hoping for a humble response.

A slow, staggering inhalation later, he responded, "So that's what it took for you to call me, huh?"

"My secretary and I have been waiting for you since 1, Jimin. Treating me in this manner is bad enough, but you didn't have to drag Yoongi into this," she immediately jumped into defending her older friend, her only companion for four years now, "He shouldn't have had to wait in the rain because you wanted to punish me—and what the hell did you think you'd accomplish by doing this? Me calling you? That's ridiculous, I can't believe—"

"I didn't mean to. I really didn't. The hospital—I just—Where are you?" Jimin blurted out, his incoherent words making the freezing wedding planner frown.

She replied, toning down her anger, having sensed his discomfort and exhaustion, "Outside the Oriole, Prince Jimin.

In less than five minutes, a deep silver mercedes pulled up in front of the impatient duo. A man with a similar hair colour stepped out, running his hands through the locks that seemed to have a richer colour than the extremely pricey car.

"Aphrodite," Jimin breathed, getting out of the car and pulling the unsuspecting wedding planner into his arms. Grip tight on her shoulders, the pain wasn't nearly as much as her disorientation at hearing her childhood nickname.

For any other man—even her Yoongi—she would've pushed them away, pulled off a stiletto and rammed it straight into their face. Maybe not as violent for her secretary, but the rest would be hammered. These were the protective reflexes she'd acquired as a result of her childhood.

What really baffled her about what the prince meant to her was that she let him hold her. No men went flying, no shoes were whipped off, no eyes were gouged out.

She stood unmoving for a solid five minutes. A record, for any sort of physical contact was shunned by her.

Finally condensing back into a somewhat straight posture, Jimin ran a hand through his messy hair. She finally got a chance to see exactly what was wrong with him.

The crisp baby blue shirt was now untucked, wrinkled and the tie hung loosely from his sweaty neck. His eyes were glassy and skin tinged red. Around her, his complexion usually held a pinkish hue, but that was smooth. Airbrushed even. This, this was blotchy, like red sores across his perfect skin. Like he'd been crying and clawing at his cheeks.

She met his eyes and nearly gasped, "Jimin..." She whispered.

"Miss Kang?" Yoongi piped in, finally stepping between the two, subconsciously pushing the prince off his boss. He didn't like this overly touchy behaviour.

"I'm good, Yoongi," she gulped loudly, hands rushing to her cheeks to keep them from heating up. It didn't work, of course.

"Is everything alright?" She turned to Jimin, hands tightly gripping the hem of her black blazer. She was glad the diamond encrusted belt cinching her waist didn't get caught in one of Jimin's shirt buttons.

Jimin seemed beyond out of it. He pressed the bridge of his nose tightly, "I, uh—let's head inside."

His head hung low as he turned around and slowly walked into the restaurant. She barely recognised his walk. She knew her Adonis to be suave, poised even. This was far from that. This was the walk of an exhausted, worn out man who deserved better.

Meeting Yoongi's eyes, she shrugged, expression matching his.

"What's up with you two?" He hissed.

"Beats me."

Author's note.

So like, this was a fun chapter to write.
There were so many POVs (Ambrosia, Yoongi, Jimin, Jin) that I kinda got confused with constantly changing the "voice" to suit each characters personality/manner of speaking.
It was fun, but kinda exhausting.

Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter. A reader of mine expressed that Seokjin was her favourite character (especially the sass and the insults) and I have to agree with her. Jin's a bad bitch. I fucking love him. But Ambrosia, though. She's my babygirl. I love that bitch.

I'd love to hear who your favourite/least favourite character is. Comment down below!

What do you think is going on with Jimin?

There was a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter lol it kinda exhausted me.

I've already gotten a large part of chapter 5 written (there's some shit about to go down, so I had to write both simultaneously) so expect that update a little sooner than usual.

Thanks for reading and do vote. It really motivates me to write!

I'm sorry for taking this long to write each chapter, but I am going through a really tough spot with my studies and stress management and shit. I don't want to make my grade 10 an excuse, but I can't help it. Each chapter is over 4000-5000 words long and it's very difficult to keep up—all while providing quality content. I know there are authors who write equally long chapters and still manage to update weekly. I really admire such people and at some level, do envy their talent and stamina. I refuse to write when words don't flow out of me like a river (wow, that was fucking cringey) so I'm really sorry for this updating schedule.