Sakura_Charmash

First born princess of Goryeo is promised to Silla in marriage. What has begun as a promise between families becomes a pact sealed in blood when her betrothed is mysteriously killed. Now what binds Seol, the lady Ha In of Goryeo to Silla is a blood debt – to turn away from it would be to topple the country into irreparable chaos.
Yet, her heart lies with another.
Raised from obscurity of illegitimacy, fate of concubine - born last son of northern Kang clan rests on the emperor’s grace. However, being tasked with the guardianship of the imperial princess is the last of his worries. In the whirlwind of emotions that she brings along, it is not just his title that is at stake, but his heart and a secret that he had brought from a grave of a different time.
Theirs is a fate from an age gone by, but a love impossible to attain. Theirs is a story written upon dying stars.
***
From inside: 
The snow caressed him in a way she yearned to; fluttering against his lashes, tangled up in his hair. She has always felt home in north, in the valleys that filled themselves with her namesake and with this man beside he, arrows slung over his shoulder and laughter in his eyes. Silla and her betrothed would never take that place.
Seol opens her mouth; it is now or never.
“Don’t say it,” he cuts her off, a hand stretched out for a lonely snowflake to perch upon. It turns translucent against his roughed palm.
“My hand isn’t made for snowflakes,” he sounds joyous, as he always does – when she is weeping within. His eyes remain resolutely elsewhere.
“I’ve been summoned to the garrison,” he continues in that same flat tone. “My last duty here will be to deliver your highness to your betrothed.”
She is unaware of the tear that has escaped, until an ice cold thumb brushes it off.
“Don’t cry,” he says then and she sees the laughing spark in his eyes for what it truly is; longing. “It breaks my heart.”
 ***

Snow n' Starlight

He had been dreaming. Seo knew this for certain as the ruins scattered around the dusk

The lit landscape did not belong to that time. It was a battle eve, an age ago, he realizes as he watches stars reflected in stringent pools of blood. Mere inches from his outstretched hand they are, those clusters of stars. He flexed his fingers, numbness giving way to feeling, weariness to life. From the edge of his sight the star of battle rises in the eve sky, foretelling bloodshed of 'morrow. A battle without him. His eyes flutter, dwelling between sleep and wakefulness, pain and dullness. It is then that her shadow falls over him.

Unbound long hair falls over her shoulders and across her bosom, ends of her tresses brushing against him when she moves. With cold tips of her fingers she traces the lines of his face.

Trump Card - I