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Epilogue

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Luna

His footprints were easy to track. I'd become proficient at identifying his pace, the agility and quickness of him, the manner in which the marks twisted to indicate a sudden pivot or silent leap. I knew those prints. They belonged here in this forest. They led a path to his heartbeat.

I tipped my head and examined the outline of his boots in the soil. Not too deep, slightly smudged. He'd been running. Playing.

Ferns brushed my shoulders and made whispering noises as I toed past them.

The white rays of the early-morning sun combed through the leaves overhead, flashing brighter than a gilded frame.

The gabled roofs of mushrooms jutted from the ground. Wildflowers bloomed, yellow and yellower, the bud-like eyes blinking at the first signs of summer.

The splendor of greens and browns. The promise of strawberry patches—I recalled being fed their sweetness hours after giving my body, for the first time, to a boy.

I shook myself, amazed that my cheeks could flare so, even after all this time.

Suddenly, I recognized the melodic humming that rode the wind—it came from me. I loved this place, for the forest had become my home.

Every particular of this haven built up the walls of my life. My fortress. My canopy. My peace.

Numerous sounds brewed through the wild. It was a good morning for a hunt.

Someone else had thought so, too. Because I'd woken up alone.

I tried not to be cross that I hadn't been invited to come along. Somewhere in this wilderness, I felt him darting through the trees, weaving around cracked trunks and brambles, his eyes reflecting determination, sharp as they scanned the tightly-packed landscape, plush with majestic creatures all attuned to the new day.

A sight I refused to miss. I longed to witness him enraptured and full of energy.

A nut dropped from above and skipped over my arrow pack, landing at my heel. I bent to pick it up, break the shell, and chew.

I gathered a few more and tucked them into the pockets of my hose. Far from the noble world, I could dress like a man here, reserving the finery of a lady—velvet skirts, ermine-lined cloaks, godforsaken tassels—strictly for visits into the village or the palace.

I kept moving. He was close. In a minute, I could touch him, see his smile, hear his laugh…there. Right there.

Beyond a hedge, I spotted brown hair, a pale forehead, and irises in an unmistakable hue.

Aware of the smile that split my face, I lowered myself quietly to the ground, set my bow on my lap, and peeked through the leaves.

He bent forward, ear cocked as he listened for something. His boyish profile scanned the woods, the cliff of his nose naturally tipped upward, sunlight warming the slit in his chin.

Those eyes searched. They anticipated.

They widened, sensing a presence behind him—but it wasn't me.

My gaze narrowed, finally grasping a troubling fact: He was by himself.

By himself.

By himself!

How? Why? He wasn't supposed to be alone. Ever. Only now did I realize I'd been tracking a single set of footprints instead of two. There should have been two!

He pitched forward, aiming to run. I gripped my bow as I caught sight of the dark-hooded figure pursuing him, whom he must have heard coming.

But before I could muster a decent battle cry and launch myself at the unknown assailant, he leapt through the undergrowth with unmatched speed.

The sort of speed that I knew from only one person.

I halted.

A distinctive giggle—childish and only in its eighth year—bubbled from my brown-eyed boy as his small body dashed ahead. And just like that, I knew.

The larger figure caught my boy and scooped him up like a miniature sack of flour. As the figure did so, the hood slipped from his head to reveal a second thicket of dark hair. I sagged in relief, watching as Taehyung twirled our son into the air.

Our boy. Unharmed. And not, in fact, by himself.

The pair of them sang with laughter, a tuneless choir graced with Taehyung's cracking voice and Yejoon high-pitched squeals. They rubbed their noses together, as they usually did when indulging in something wicked.

"Does Mama truly not know we're gone?" Yejoon asked.

Taehyung pressed his forehead against Yejoon's. "It's our secret."

Their words trampled the adoration in my heart. I'd woken up to silence instead of the routine hubbub that Yejoon made as his voice jolted the rafters of our house most mornings, loud enough to rouse a snoring dragon: "I am king—kinger than king! I am warrior! Rooooarrrr! Mamapapawakeupwakeupwakeupi'mhungry! I want bread!"

Despite Yejoon being the very image of Taehyung, his hearty appetite and chronic demands proved he was also my son.

But, this morning it had been quiet. And when I saw that Taehyung's bow was gone, and that our son's bed was empty, I'd known Taehyung had taken Yejoon on his first archery lesson. Without me.

And now, while they'd been playing a game of chase, I nearly expired thinking Yejoon was alone and in danger.

My momentary scare, further fueled by the knowledge that I'd been left out on such a reserved occasion, made me grind my boot into the soil. I wanted to poke my husband's eyes out!

"Now, the first thing you must know…"

And so I would when next we were alone.

"…need to be patient."

I would make Taehyung pay until he renewed his allegiance to me.

"…do not make a sound."

I would reject his lips and industrious fingers.

"…take care to place your hands thus."

"...pretend it's an extension of your arm."

I'd been preoccupied, glowering at a prickly pine cone, when those words reached me. I recalled them from the day Taehyung first taught me to hunt.

I glanced up. Taehyung was kneeling behind Yejoon, securing our son between his thighs and helping him adjust a child-sized bow. Blast. My ire threatened to wilt at their feet. No one disarmed me as they did.

"Like this, Papa?" Yejoon asked.

"Like that."

The arrows and quiver I'd given Taehyung all those years ago, the night we announced our engagement in front of His Majesty, swung from my husband's shoulder.

The past few years had favored his physique, still broad beneath his tunic, from arms to torso to the hands concealed within his supple leather gloves.

His aim still unrivaled for a man of seven-and-twenty. Still considered a legend.

And still he favored my gift above all the newer bows King Namjoon provided him. Taehyung used it whenever he went hunting, in my company or not.

"As long as I have it, I have you with me," he once said.

I dug my teeth into my bottom lip. I wasn't entirely forgotten on this father-son venture, but that did not mean I would show mercy so easily.

As I expected, it took less than five breaths for Yejoon's wide-eyed enthusiasm to reshape itself and solidify into impatience.

Sweet as cherries was our Yejoon Kim. Yet I had somehow gave my son infamous scowl.

"Where are the squirrels?"

"We must wait a few moments, and if we don't see anything, we move along until we do."

"But where—"

"Patience."

"I can see far. To the end of the world. I can see bugs crawling all the way over there."

Taehyung ruffled Yejoon's hair affectionately. I frowned. For some reason, that statement unnerved me. Our boy liked to exaggerate, but...in this, he sounded sincere.

"Are they coming now?" Yejoon whispered.

"They'll come when you cease squirming."

"I am squirming because you hold me too tight."

"I'm holding you tight because I know you wish to run away again. One chase was enough."

"That was a game. This is hunting. I'm very good at it."

"That's a confident declaration." Taehyung raised an eyebrow. "Considering you've never done it."

"I'm with you, Papa. I have skill through association."

Taehyung and I gaped at him. The king had been giving our son an earful again. Namjoon had taken it upon himself to adore our son, though sometimes to our disadvantage. Skill through what?

We would have to request an audience with His Majesty. He could not insist on supplying Yejoon with such foolhardy notions.

If it wasn't his influence we had to fret over, it was Jimin's or Jungkook's. As well-intentioned as they all were, sometimes they forgot how seriously Yejoon took everything.

Taehyung argued, "You learn skill from here—" he thumbed Yejoon's forehead. "And here." He thumbed our son's heart. "And skill requires patience."

Patience, truly. Yet did Taehyung not realize to whom he was talking? Did he not know this wasn't the best spot for squirrels? Nor the ideal hour? I surpassed him at catching smaller animals. We both knew this. Why hadn't he asked me to join them?

Yejoon nodded and lifted his bow. It would come to naught.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"Where are they, where are they, where are they?"

I jumped from my hiding spot. "You tarry in the wrong place!"

Their heads snapped toward me. Guilty flushes colored their cheeks at being caught.

Taehyung confided to Robin, "I fear we're in trouble."

"These aren't the right trees," I grunted, wagging one of my arrows in the air. "North. The northern lip of the forest. That's where we'll find scores of furry creatures."

"Mama," Yejoon lectured. "You're not supposed to be here. This is a secret."

I glared at Taehyung, who shrugged and appraised me from head to toe. "Spying, my lady?"

"Advising."

"Spying?"

"Of course not," I lied. "I was—"

"Spying."

Very well. They could suffer this squirrel-less hunt without my assistance.

I pursed my lips. I lectured myself. No matter what I saw once I turned, I would not melt.

Slowly, I twisted back around. Taehyung had Yejoon in his arms, their temples pressed together as they stared at me. An unfair set of square jaws, brilliant eyes, and puppy faces pouted, begging my forgiveness.

Harder. I pursed my lips harder.

Taehyung mouthed, We love you.

I glanced away. I would not admit that being omitted from their excursion had wounded me. I sought a practical argument. "My presence could have been useful."

Sighing, Taehyung set Yejoon down and crossed his arms. We had this same debate every summer.

"Squirrels are tricky," I clipped.

"Deer are tricky."

"Deer are harder to miss. With less places to hide."

"Squirrels aren't territorial, my lady. They're everywhere."

Yejoon's head pivoted between us.

I struggled to remain dignified, noble, calm. "You underestimate—"

Taehyung squinted and stuck a finger in his ear. "And if there were any squirrels here, they're long gone now."

"I am not yelling!"

"Luna—"

"Do not embellish my name with that honeyed tone of yours. Take up your bow this instant. We'll see who triumphs, for I am positively—"

"Mama!" Yejoon shrieked.

Taehyung's eyes flitted over my shoulder. His pupils dilated. They flashed.

Fear.

Protectiveness.

It happened in a blink. He swiped up his bow and fired. The arrow zipped past my cheek and hit something behind me. A troop of wasps bolted from an Elm and scattered into the air, a dark cloud splintering to pieces.

I spun around, expecting to find a lifeless mound of fur and claws and teeth. I saw nothing. What had Yejoon noticed? What had Taehyung struck?

My husband and I rushed to where the arrow impaled the tree's arm, pinning a wasp to its surface, the tip of the weapon engorged in its center.

Goodness. The insects were dangerous. Deadly to some.

They moved impossibly fast and thus were equally impossible to see mid-air, much less strike with an arrow. Unless Taehyung was the one firing at them.

Hands shaking, he yanked me against him and cradled my head in his chest. I hardly paid attention because…there wasn't just one arrow stabbing the wasp.

There were two, the points of both merely a hair's breadth apart. A direct shot at a swiftly-moving target, from a considerable distance.

An insignificant-looking creature, but a very significant kill. A life-saving moment only an unparalleled archer could master. One with improbable eyesight.

Two arrows. A larger one. A smaller one.

Taehyung's mouth fell open as though seeing himself from the outside for the first time. We stared at one another. Then back at Yejoon.

Our son lowered his bow, eyes glistening, plump with confusion at what he'd just done. He blinked. He shuffled his feet. His chest rose and fell in shallow little pants. He looked to us for guidance.

My hand clamped over my mouth. It was the wrong thing to do.

He started wailing.

Taehyung and I dropped our bows and rushed over to him. We knelt by his side, cooing over him as he rubbed his eyes and cried, frightened by the speed at which everything happened.

"I'm sorry, P-p-papa!" he lamented between gulps, his voice splitting like a dried leaf. "Mama, I'm sor-sorry. I d-d-didn't mean to shoot at you!"

"I'm fine," I whispered. "Nothing's amiss."

"You were trying to protect her, Yejoon," Taehyung said, his expression frayed, a tapestry of concern and awe. "Hush. It's alright."

"But I-I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean t-to k-k-kill the bug. I didn't mean it!"

Taehyung ran his hand through our boy's hair and tried to shush him—to no avail. The hysteria had fully taken hold of Yejoon because he was like me.

And, it appeared, even more like Taehyung.

- - -

I peeked through the window and watched them settle by the lake, just beyond our tree house.

I had the advantage of knowing what Taehyung was saying to our son without having to guess.

This was a moment I could not participate in. It was between them. Because Taehyung knew, he knew what his son felt. He knew the disquiet of discovering at a young age that he was different.

Gifted but different.

Taehyung balanced on his knees, his cloak flapping like a sail as he spoke to Yejoon in measured but soft tones, explaining what his gift meant, that it didn't make him strange or cruel. That he was special.

The breeze created ripples in the water, stirring its placid surface and irritating the Mallards. Taehyung removed his leather glove, wiggled Yejoon's nose, and gestured to the bobbing ducks.

Yejoon giggled. I smiled.

He tucked himself into Taehyung's chest, the way I often did when I needed the solace of my husband's embrace. I turned away, giving them privacy. I busied myself in the kitchen, stoking the fire in the hearth to warm a pot of morning oats. The stone niche surrounding it kept the flames secure.

Early in its timeline, His Majesty had insisted upon hiring an army of men to extend the modest dwelling Taehyung had originally built for us, adding support beams around the massive hulk of the tree.

As well as extra rooms, a spiral staircase that wound like a vine around the trunk and led up to the front door, a second and third level, glass windows, a lookout terrace, an underground larder, a pen for our goat, and a stable for our two horses.

For King Namjoon could not have his most prized archer living in "squalor amongst the animal kingdom."

"I won't have it. I won't, I won't, I won't," Namjoon had declared, his voice booming down the neck of his banquet table as he rammed an empty goblet against the surface.

He wouldn't have it. Though he reserved rooms for us at Court, it would appear unseemly for him to disregard the living conditions of his treasured marksman. Anything less would have made the king look bad. The man was in love with his generosity.

So as a wedding gift, Namjoon knighted Taehyung and presented us with a rolled parchment plan to "dignify" the tree house.

"A vertical estate in the sky," he'd puffed. "Befitting your stations. I will be seen as an architectural innovator. Ahhh, I can see by your open mouths, Sir Taehyung and Lady Kim, that my elegant foresight has left you speechless with gratitude."

The design was ostentatious and impossible to imagine in the woods, but we could not refuse a gift from King Namjoon.

To prevent him from mutilating our home, Taehyung convinced the king to scale down his efforts to something we became enchanted over.

We kept our life simple, though not without luxury. Heavy green draperies. Fur mats. Feather pillows. Taehyung's sketches. Yejoon's toys scattered in various corners.

The hearth blazed. I laid out plates of cheese, meat, and berries to accompany our bread and porridge—unrefined, but a preference of Taehyung's from his days as an outlaw.

I rubbed my hands and checked the pot, in the middle of stirring when I heard his footsteps. Taehyung emerged in the doorway, carrying with him a sleeping Yejoon. Our son loved to wake up before the birds, and since it had been a taxing morning, it didn't surprise me to see him unconscious prior to breakfast.

The boy's head was snuggled into Taehyung's neck, cheeks covered in dried tears, fist pressed against his mouth, legs wrapped around Taehyung's broad chest. I didn't think I would ever grow accustomed to such a sight. I watched my husband move through the kitchen and disappear up the stairs that led to Yejoon's room.

Moments later, he returned, tossing his cloak on a chair and drawing my back against his frame. He circled his arms around me as I inhaled the sweet scents of leather and cinnamon.

We stared at the fire.

"He'll sleep soundly," he said.

"Until midday," I finished.

I felt guilty and unsettled as something perched at the edge of a table. To be sure, I did not have to gaze upon Taehyung's features to know they were drawn.

We marveled that Yejoon had inherited Taehyung's rare gift of sight, a truth we failed to notice in all of eight years, which blunted the edges of our confidence. This was the sort of skill that could turn Yejoon into military gem.

I did not care for that idea. Neither did Taehyung.

"Have you ever seen him accomplish...such a feat?" I asked.

"Why would I keep such a secret from you, Luna?"

"How did we miss the signs?"

"Don't do that," Taehyung said. "Don't punish yourself."

"It shocked him. It scared him."

Our expressions—shaken, confounded—hadn't helped. Yejoon had done something unusual by hitting that wasp. He'd seen the proof of it on our faces. Our reactions had undone him.

"He'll learn to manage it," Taehyung said. "As I did. We'll teach him."

I thought about that. "He needs a compass."

"He knows how to read the sun's position. He knows this arena of trees."

"I do not care. He still needs a compass. He needs to know where north is." I hiked up my nose. "Where the squirrels are."

He nipped my ear, playfully reprimanding me for that statement. "As he grows, he can decide for himself what he wants to do about his gift. No one will force him to be an archer because he'll have his own mind, he'll have your strength of will."

And Taehyung's cunning. Together, we would nurture Yejoon's gift so that it safeguarded rather than burdened him. Taehyung's words restored my spirit, reminding me that survival ran through the veins of our compact family.

"I'm glad you were there," he murmured.

"I almost wasn't," I rebuked. "Why did you not take me with you?"

"Luna, you know how you are with him. You become nervous and critical, and it makes him nervous and...shall we say, cranky. I wonder from where that tendency comes."

I tried to pull away, but he shackled me against him.

"I needed him to be focused. It's how my father taught me to use a bow. We were alone. It had naught to do with not wanting you there. I always want you there, but today wasn't a day to need you there. Until...well, we wouldn't have found out if you hadn't spied on us."

"I'll say it again: I wasn't spying, Taehyung."

"Think as you will, my lady. About your endeavors as well as the squirrels."

I could not help the laughter that escaped me as I realized the silliness of it all. Taehyung Kim, the natural leader, the one to whom men looked up, the one whom His Majesty relied upon. And he'd been standing there, patiently arguing with me about squirrels.

Taehyung joked, "If Yejoon gets that upset over catching a wasp, maybe he's not ready to hunt fluffy animals for supper."

My laughter deepened. Taehyung nestled his lips into the curve of my neck, nibbling over the column of skin, causing my pulse to quicken. My head fell back onto his shoulder. The fire crackled and spread an orange light over us.

He whispered, "Do you remember when we made him?"

Sighing, I reached behind me and weaved my fingers through his hair, my stomach fluttering from the memory. We'd been quarreling on that late summer day, just before my birthday. To calm myself, I threw off my clothes and dove into the lake.

The lake. The place where I first discovered the shock of his embrace, the molten results of what happened when lips collided and the world became so very singular. When I first learned that simple touches were not always so simple.

In his fury, Taehyung came after me, storming across the dirt while ripping his jerkin over his head. I'd known his intentions. The ferocity of his expression had stirred me, unwound me from my petty tantrum, but I was stubborn.

He caught me before I turned my back on him. He pinned me flush against our favorite rock surface. I wrapped my legs around him.

It was beautifully harsh. The slick nakedness of his body, his thrusts digging my hips into the rock, the untamed shouts that flourished from our mouths and echoed through the woods, the artistry of Taehyung's face lost in ecstasy and the knowledge that I was responsible.

We made Yejoon. In that lake, he became a grain of sand inside me, sealed with a breathless kiss.

The memory strung my thighs as tight as rope cords. My sudden desire—it was always sudden—directed my actions. I dissolved against Taehyung, welcoming his mouth as he sucked the tender flesh of my neck, his hands slipping beneath my shirt to palm my breasts.

He groaned, "It never fades."

No, it never has. Our desire.

Since Yejoon, it had grown less frequent, the blissful but bottomless job of raising him commanding our time and energy.

But with the decrease in quantity came a potent silver lining during the private moments we managed to steal: a starvation that unleashed upon us and violent climaxes that left us dazed.

I turned and threaded my arms around Taehyung, whose eyes were now fogged. "Is Yejoon truly asleep?"

"Don't ask questions you know the answer to."

"Perhaps you should check again, just to be certain—"

"Stop toying with me," he growled. "I don't have the tolerance."

Barely finished with his sentence, he seized the back of my head and stole my breath. His hot lips latched onto mine, tongue dominating the inside of my mouth, ebbing and sweeping back in. The need spiraled between my legs as I clung to him.

The still-life of our breakfast remained untouched on the table. I wasn't hungry. I was thirsty. I tore my mouth away and kissed a wet trail down his throat, lifting his tunic to span the contours of his chest.

I landed on my knees.

Taehyung made a wounded noise as my fingers eased down at the waistband of his pants, revealing him to me. We gazed at each other. The unspoken rule passed between us.

He will not wake up. Nevertheless, we must be careful. We must be quiet.

Under the guidance of my puckered mouth, Taehyung dissolved. His spine arched, his freckled nose wrinkled, his eyelids flickered.

"I..." he mumbled. "I..."

"You," I praised.

My lips drew him deep, each tug producing a hushed but needy response. A vignette of moments followed. His fingers, my hair...his waist, my nails...his restrained sobs...his head thrown back...open-mouthed anguish...so, so good...my husband...the tension in him...twitching...once...twice...three times.

His taste. My moan.

I released him only when he slumped against the table. I kissed the slice of bone that outlined his hips, my favorite part of him. I spoke against his abdomen. "Have I exhausted you?"

"It would not matter," he said, dragging me to my feet. "We're not finished yet."

We stumbled into our bedroom and shut the door, fumbling with one another's clothes. Taehyung shoved me onto the mattress the second he removed the final garment. My thighs welcomed him. He landed between them.

Grinning, he covered my mouth as he buried himself into the narrow cove of my body, locking our hips together. I bucked against him, a muffled Ohhhh grinding out into his palm. This would not be easy. I concluded as much as he slipped out completely. Then thrust in again.

Do.

And again.

Not.

And again.

Stop.

And again. All the while, he covered my moans with his hand. Until it was too much for him.

"Speak," he gasped.

"I love you."

"And I love you, dammit, but that's not what I meant. Sentiment only makes me harder," he panted. "I need help. Please."

"So close, then?"

"So very close."

Defiant, I lifted my hips and rolled them against his, joyfully inducing his pain. My hands clamped onto his backside. He could not resist whenever I did that.

He bit his lip, grunted, and then chuckled breathlessly. "Cruel person. Stop that."

"Never."

"Heartless."

His passionate gaze set me to humming. My body arched as he hit a particularly tight spot, the sensation bolting through me. "Oh...oh...oh, I hope the oats don't burn."

"That's good," he said. "Oats. Tell me about them."

"They're not supposed to cook for this long. They'll dry up."

"Did you add barley?"

"I did. And millets and rye."

"Yes. I love rye," he moaned.

"Oh, Taehyung, this is...I can't..."

It felt too good. He felt too impossibly good. I could do nothing more than babble.

"Very well," he said wickedly. "You don't wish for it to last. You fail to give me your cooperation. Therefore..."

He hitched my right leg over his shoulder and lashed into me, whipping my body into the pillows. I lodged my fist into my mouth to stifle the sounds.

His eyes turned black as night. "Do you pine for me, Luna?"

I nodded, helpless, rendered speechless by the force of him.

He withdrew again.

And slipped in again.

"My Luna," he said. "My wife. My love."

Pleasure coiled at the spot that joined us, pushed me to the brink, and then sprung free. I bit into the muscles of his shoulder, crying out repeatedly, even more so when he reached his own peak. He swore into the blanket, shivered, and collapsed.

He sighed. He kissed me.

Chin. Nose. Temple. Lips.

We fought for breath. I ran my fingers over the dip in his lower back. I felt him smile into my neck.

I blinked. "Did you give Yejoon his milk?"

Our son always needed a cup at his bedside, even during a brief rest.

Taehyung lifted his head. His hair was a knotted mess. Had I done that?

We studied one another, contemplated, and then burst into chuckles. Still flushed from making love, and already our minds had skipped away to a place outside of this room.

We rolled around, clinging and kissing, relishing the quiet, the sun beaming through the window and quilting us in its gauzy light. After, Taehyung pulled on his pants and left to check on Yejoon. And the oats.

As I draped my tunic over my head, he returned. Our son hadn't stirred yet, but he had his milk now.

Taehyung cocooned me into his body, his breathing evening out, on the cusp of dreams, where I followed him...

The sound of the door squeaking open woke me. I fought a grin, kept my eyes closed, and listened to the patter of feet crossing the room. They stopped at Taehyung's side.

"Papa," Yejoon whispered. "Are you awake? Papa."

The landscape of our bed bounced, hills of blankets shifted as my husband rolled over, sighing happily. "Well, well," he murmured. "Behold. A knight who has misplaced his armor."

I heard the shy smile in our son's words. "Never fear. I keep my armor in a treasure chest."

"Have you gotten into the bread?" Taehyung asked with a chuckle.

"Mmm...no."

"Then what are the crumbs all over your mouth?"

"They're not important...they're...I..."

The sudden hitch in our boy's voice made my heart twist. So often I wanted to tuck him safely in my pocket, where nothing could harm him. He was our sky and earth.

"Come here," Taehyung said softly.

The bed rocked as Yejoon climbed in, bringing with him the childish aromas of apple cores and curiosity. His bare feet curled over the cliffs of my knees. Taehyung urged him to whisper.

"What ails you, Yejoon?"

"Is there something wrong with me?"

My chin quivered. How quickly he could reduce me to a shower of tears. He had no idea the effect he could have on me. On Taehyung.

My husband countered, "Is there something wrong with me?"

"No."

"Then I wager we're both fine."

"I'm like you?"

"Every bit."

"Will I be a legend, too?"

"You can be anything you want. But having a title, or being a legend, isn't important. Kindness, generosity, helping others, being a loyal friend. Doing so because it's right, without expecting a reward. That's what matters. It makes you strong."

"I can do those things," Yejoon confided.

"I know you can."

"We saved Mama today. Is she well? It didn't sting her?"

"I promise she's very well. She's forever safe with us. We'll protect each other."

Yejoon paused, the room blossoming with the sound of his tiny exhales. "You and Mama will teach me?"

"Every day."

"I should maybe learn how to catch a squirrel first."

The mattress shook with gentle laughter. My feelings climbed to new heights, because my husband's words were firm as a shield. Exactly what Yejoon and I needed to survive. To keep hope.

"Do you trust me?" Taehyung asked.

"Always," Yejoon said.

A minute later, he fell asleep again. I opened my eyes and stared into a pair of dark ones. Taehyung flashed his fetching grin, unsurprised that I'd been eavesdropping. He kissed his three middle fingers and placed them on my lips, which I kissed back.

Our son snored between us. There was so much to do, but I was glad Taehyung had doused the fire in the kitchen hearth. Breakfast could wait. It was summer. The days were long.

There was no reason to hurry.

- - -

The end.