Han Jisung

XIX century. Florence.
Minho was lounging in his cool bed on a warm May morning, leafing through yet another novel. He was a little bored, and thoughts of soon-to-be king kept popping into his head. And then there was this wedding with the princess... this stupid, obsessive thought constantly clung to his mind like a nagging fly he couldn't shake off. Minho doesn't even know this girl! He's never even seen her, and already they're getting married! And even if the prince knew this girl, he'd hardly marry her. He wants to be a prince in rough, labor-intensive hands, and smell like his man, not flowers. Minho sighed, looking out the window, dreamily, waiting for his prince to appear on a white horse.
The young heir wanted some herbal tea, so he decided to harness one of the guards to make him some. What if they were just standing there, doing nothing? At least he'd give these good-for-nothings something to do.