"May you prosper…"
Seol meets his eye over the rim of her teacup, lukewarm tea that he had pronounced safe, trickles down her throat. It tastes of well-aged tea leaves, a hint of honey and a dash of rosewater. Lightening of fury in his eyes ebbs and thickens into something more twisted as she lowers the cup.
"Young master Kang."
There is a draft of winter that makes her shiver imperceptibly. Outside, just beyond the sheltered terrace where they stand – feathery snow begins to fall. Seo watches her for a moment longer, conversations around them falls into an irrelevant hum. Seol feels the shift in the air, the imperceptible shift of his gaze. He watches her as if she had crossed a line, done a foolish – yet endearing act which he is uncertain whether he should admonish her or not. The realization brings color to her cheeks and she drops her gaze, fingers tightening around the teacup.
