Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lands were vast, wrapped around a hazy shore with an abundant forest, looming at the edge of a large mountainscape. Flora and fauna are abundant, dancing and embracing the sun as it settles on a new day, fanning over the plethora of life that seemed abundant in the realm. Within the confines of small towns and brick walls, forged by years of work and iron bars, lay a castle bustling with people, running about in a chaotic plea to save the realm before it descends into chaos.

Maids and loyal workers run about the halls of a normally quiet castle, scurrying about with herbal teas and fresh linens, trying to offer whatever sense of comfort they may to a dying king. His coughs and desperate calls for his wife and only son are heard bouncing off of the stone walls, dissipating past the open windows and into the breeze, carried out and into the world beyond what lay within Etheria.

The king prays for the pain to end, to be free of the misery that pulls at his lungs. His mouth tasted of rich iron, blood pooling from the corners of his lips, slipping past as his lungs struggled to free themselves from the grip of a brutal disease. Maesters and medicinal experts work their tireless magic, trying to ease the pain of the king, watching as his health slowly began to decrease, signifying that his time served here within this reality was soon coming to an abrupt end.

He reaches over, his forehead beading with sweat, his eyes bloodshot and red, tired from the will to simply stay awake, planting his grasp within his dear wife’s hand, holding onto her in a last known reassurance to guide her through the trials of his soon to be passing. Her tears were quick, rolling down her cheeks and landing on her dress beneath her, her hands, abundant with golden rings, clasped that of her husbands, pleading the mysterious Lord above for mercy, and for prayers for a safe and painless journey to the life he would venture towards after leaving this one.

The doors suddenly open, pushed in a frantic manner, revealing the form of a young prince, one who looked likely unprepared to face the terrible outcome of his father’s untimely death. His hair was long, descending and curling around his face, framing his sharp features and dark eyes, bouncing slightly as he walked with a golden crown adorned to his head, carrying a sheathed sword on his hip. His eyes were washed with tears, approaching the bed where his father lay, watching as his mother stepped back, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

“My son,” he speaks, smiling weakly, reaching for his son’s hand. “My time here has yet come to an end. It’s up to you now to lead Etheria into the new age, to guide the realm into prosperous wealth and a kind heart. You’ve always made me so proud, even in your younger years, and I know this will be no different.”

“I will, father,” the male speaks, keeping his tone steady, though his tears seem rather unrelenting. “I will make you proud and carry the family name with honor and compassion, ruling with that of not only my mind, but my heart.”

“Marry wisely,” the king warns, taking a sharp breath inwards. “Ruling over a kingdom alone is a lonely way to live. Choose a partner of noble blood, one who will form a strong alliance and forge our strength tenfold–”

The king suddenly coughs, his free hand raising to cover the spews of blood that seem to leak from his lips. “Promise me, my son. You will marry someone noble, someone worthy of your title.”

“I will not let you down, father,” the male responds, gripping his father’s hand tightly, watching as the elderly male’s eyes begin to slowly droop, followed by a significant slow in his heavy breaths.

“Take care of your mother,” he heeds, his eyes now glossed over, the life seeming to have been drained from his very eyes.

“We will be fine, father,” the male insists yet again, trying to force a calming smile onto his lips to appease his dying father. “Please, rest now. The God’s have graced us with more time than we had thought with you, and we are blessed. But it’s okay to let go now. You’ve protected us and fought long. It’s time to rest.”

A breathy exhale leaves his father’s lungs, a smile curled on the very edges of his lips, his eyes finally lulling shut.

“Lead them well–” he murmurs, “Prince Jung Wooyoung.”

Chapter Text

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┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

The morning came with an abrupt wake up call, sending the entire castle into disarray. The curtains were parted, the shutters open, the bed linens alight with the shine of the morning sun as patterns and shadows danced across the wooden bed posts, gleaming with a yellow sheen. The room was lowly lit, save for the windows that the Prince had allowed to remain open, embracing the breeze that flowed inwards to cool down the room from the summer’s usual heat.

Etheria, as it was known, held an unruly hot weather pattern for the summer, engulfing the kingdom in a wave of heat that all of its citizens nearly fainted to. Tree cover and mere hand-held fans were never enough to save off the weather, as most of the common folk moved their focus onto cool water, trying to keep their bodies from overheating.

The castle and those who worked within it, graciously had the cover of thick stone to ward off such heat, finding the interior of such a home rather cool in the ravenous summer weather. Wooyoung, heir to the throne, Prince of Etheria, didn’t mind the heat. He rather welcomed it, wanting to stay far away from the cold cusp of winter, disliking the frost that would accumulate on stained glass and chill the iron handles, making staying warm a much more difficult feat, especially since they always needed to import more pelts to even make it through the winter.

Now, as he stood in front of his open windows, he found himself staring out into the valley, listening to the vague bustle of the community beyond the threshold of the castle’s boundary wall, welcoming the subtle quiet that came with observing the kingdom like this. It was a rare feat, to stand and enjoy such calamity, even when the entire castle itself had been outrageously loud for the past hour or so. It felt nearly inescapable to ignore the pleas and conversations of those who worked beneath him, trying to prepare for the upcoming party that would arrive in a few days' time.

A ball, as it was called, would be held to entice suitors into adventuring into Etheria, making their appearance in court to try and woo the Prince off of his feet. Though, Wooyoung was hardly impressed. He didn’t fancy entertaining such a love, especially something arranged and motivated by the likes of someone seeking fame and power, let alone a fortune to help forge a new alliance. He wasn’t incredibly keen on even attending the ball itself, wanting to stick to the solitude of his vast library and the likes of his pet cat, gluing himself to his comforter and enjoying the true depth of quiet that came with beckoning an order to demand tranquility.

He was never truly alone, however. His guards were always close by, switched out every few hours, on an abysmal rotation, landing Wooyoung with constant protection and annoying social interaction. His guards, as much as he respected them for their undivided loyalty, were really the only people he spoke to outside of his court, making them really his only friends in a world that was beyond lonely. His mother was always making a fuss about his lack of presence within the castle itself, claiming that he needed to be more forthcoming, to demand attention and act as the Heir to the throne, not so much as the hermit that lives within the confines of his own chambers.

Wooyoung could care less, truly. He wasn’t here to impress anyone, nor did he seek the validation of anyone but himself. He knew what was asked of him, and he knew more than anything else, what his father’s final wishes were for him. He knew his mother just simply cared about him, cared about their future, and somewhat cared about the future of the kingdom itself. But all of this talking, all of the preparation and all of the pleas for Wooyoung to just come out of his room; it was beyond exhausting.

So, to put it plainly, to relish in such quiet, to find a single moment in the morning where he could just be by himself and truly take in the grandeur of his kingdom; to say that he enjoyed every single second of it was a mere understatement.

The world seemed calm, if just for now. The morning was warm and slightly tranquil, met with the faint shouts and commands of the workers here within the castle walls, but beyond all of the noise was a certain serenity; a call to a more silent day, though Wooyoung feared that it would all be ruined by the obnoxious demands of his own mother.

To his dismay, he hears the ring of a few knocks against the oak of his door, which was a preceding sound that came before the click of the door actually opening. Wooyoung turns, still adorned in his nightwear, ruffling a hand through the long locks of his ebony tresses. His eyes greet the sight of his royal guard, dressed in their day-to-day armor, wearing the emblem of the kingdom against their chest. Wooyoung smiles, rolling his eyes as the knight further trudges into the room, a smirk now pulling at his lips as their eyes meet, which had been a usual reaction that they pulled from one another.

“My Prince,” he greets, bowing his head slightly, his hand resting on the butt of his sword.

“Sir San,” Wooyoung greets back, pausing in his steps, raising his head slightly as he eyes his knight from head to toe, wetting his lips before speaking again. “What’s the problem now? Is there a reason you came to disturb my morning of peace?”

“You know I mean no harm, your majesty. I rather come to inform you of your mother’s incessant wishes, which have already begun to spiral out of control this morning.”

“It’s barely even at the sun’s peak, and she wishes to irritate me already?” Wooyoung scoffs, folding his arms against his chest. “What do they consist of now?”

“The usual,” San comments, gesturing idly with his hand. “Morning attire, plans for the arrival in terms of those who seek to wed you, while also complaining about the pets you’ve allowed us to keep in our quarters.”

“Ah, the dramatics,” Wooyoung says with a breath, shaking his head. “I have barely been awake for more than an hour and she’s already lost it. I cannot quite understand why the universe left me to deal with her, rather than the likes of my own father. She is quite irritating almost every moment that she dares to be awake.”

“Why do you think I have come to abandon my family line?” San asks, a smile curving on his lips. “They only ever referred to me as a bastard, so I rather chose to give them what they wanted; the life without a son.”

“You know, your past sounds quite horrible the more you speak of it,” Wooyoung explains, but San merely says nothing, giving a slight shrug to his shoulders. “I’m serious. You worry me.”

“There’s nothing to be worried for, my Prince. You know that I am plenty capable of watching out for myself, yes?”

“Yes, I do know that,” Wooyoung attests, pausing his sentiment, trying to gather the courage to speak the words that were settled on the edge of his tongue. “That does not quite mean that I cannot worry. I know of your past, and I know of how you handle yourself when you’re not on watch. Do not think that for even a moment that I am blind to your behaviors, San.”

“I know that you are always watching,” San admits. “Your eyes are everywhere, even to those who are faithful to you.”

“Can you blame me?” Wooyoung asks, raising a brow. “Someone within this castle poisoned my father all those months ago, and I fear that they have not executed the right man.”

“You seem lost in this ideal,” San expresses softly, taking a step closer. “You have always gone on in this scripture that your father was poisoned, though we have no true evidence of his decline. Did he not have the plague, my Prince? Was it not a flu that killed him off?”

Wooyoung turns around, walking towards his open window again. The truth was, he couldn’t be completely sure of the reasons surrounding his father’s death. It was true, his father had declined quite a bit over the course of a few months’ time, but for his age and for the sudden onset of such an illness, it all didn’t make much sense to Wooyoung at the time. Even now, having executed a member of his father’s council in the wake of such allegations, there still was an uneasy part of Wooyoung that struggled to believe that the terror was over.

He hardly drank wine, in fear that someone would be out to poison his drink, given that his father was notorious for his love of wine and the craftsmanship behind it. Wooyoung barely ate around anyone else but his mother, only trusting the cook within the castle to make his meals under the supervision of one of his guards. It was horrible to live in such a manner, but even still, Wooyoung couldn’t find himself to part from it.

“We cannot be certain,” Wooyoung finally answers, his voice a cent lower, too hesitant on being completely honest. “I trust you more than I trust anyone, as we. . . have shared too much with one another. I trust all of my knights completely, otherwise I wouldn’t have chosen them to be a part of my royal guard, but San, there’s a reason I come to you with these things. An instinct to cling to you, finding that your honesty never wavers. Tell me, why is that?”

“I think you know the answer to that, my Prince.”

“Please, spare me the formalities,” Wooyoung breathes out, his tone coming off a little more irritated than he desired for it to be. He turns around, his arms still folded to his chest, his hands now cupping his arms in a near-defensive gesture. “San, what we have shared, here in my chambers, amongst the cusp of midnight, alone and without the eyes of anyone else; we both know that we have a certain trust with one another, but I must know how you feel. I want the truth.”

“Listen, Wooyoung–” San pauses, glancing down, his words seemingly failing him.

“Please,” Wooyoung steps closer, trying to meet San’s gaze. “I do not care for formalities; I am not my father. Just because I am to be married to some stranger does not mean that I do not care for you.”

“My Prince–” A voice calls out from his ajar chamber door, causing Wooyoung to step back, looking beyond San’s frame and towards the noise from where the interruption occurred. “It’s urgent, I’m afraid. Your mother seeks your counsel in the throne room.”

Wooyoung offers a nod, hiding the disgruntled sigh that he nearly has to swallow back. “Thank you, Sir Hyunjin. I will make my leave in a moment.”

Hyunjin nods, offering a polite smile before he exits the room, closing the door behind him.

“Another time,” Wooyoung concedes, wetting his lips, watching as San’s gaze flicks up to meet his own once more. “Meet me here, at our usual time. Do not be late.”

“Mingyu won’t let me off my post, Wooyoung. You know of this.”

“I will pay him double,” Wooyoung mutters, taking a breath. “Send him to me and I will handle it, San. Just be here. . . please.”

San nods, taking a step back, trying to remain platonically distant, though the electricity that flowed from the tension bestowed between them seemed anything but just that.

“I will do my best, my Prince.”

“I know you will,” Wooyoung replies softly, glancing at his door. “Make your leave; I need to dress before I see my mother. Send the maids in, please.”

“Of course,” San replies, bowing his head respectfully before turning on his heel, trekking towards the door without preparing to usher another word. Just as Wooyoung began to turn around himself, he heard San’s steps suddenly pause, causing his own to pause as well, hoping that he’d turn around, just in the way he always had.

“Wooyoung?” San begins, turning slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder. “I do care about you. I do not want that to go unsaid.”

“Then speak the truth,” Wooyoung replies, brushing a strand of his hair back. “Fear not of how I may react, and just speak plainly, Sir San. If you care for me, please do not treat me as if I am but a fragile person. My father’s death is untimely, and the weight of the world feels to be upon my shoulders, but I am not weak. I am me, and that is humbly enough.”

“Yes, your grace.” San bows his head, almost in apology before he exits the room, the door softly closing behind him.

With a breath, Wooyoung turns back to his window, placing his hands delicately against its wooden frame. He rolls his eyes at himself, glued into a mindset somewhere near a place of irritation, but he finds himself questioning the true root of why he was actually frustrated to begin with.

San was a unique character within Wooyoung’s life, someone who started as a mere soldier, sworn to protect the heir to the throne. Over time, Wooyoung found himself growing closer to each of his knights, knowing that it was better off to have some sort of a relationship with the men who vowed to protect him. He supposes that if he were to have no friends outside of this court, he might as well befriend the ones he’d see the most.

There was Hwang Hyunjin, who was very kind to Wooyoung, as he always had been. But, on the outside, to the men he trained and served with, he was cold as ice. He was well known for his ability to train animals, as he had a hand in taming beasts known as dire wolves. Under Wooyoung’s protection, Hyunjin acquired two dire wolf pups, not of the same litter, but found in similar circumstances, who were now full-grown adults and apparent mates. Fenrir was a black wolf with golden eyes, who had been larger than his female counterpart, driven with a fierce loyalty to Hyunjin himself. Artemis, his mate, was sable in color, her coat laced with hues of gray, brown and cream, while her eyes radiated a myriad of oranges and greens. They were kind within the confines of the castle, but in the outdoors, sent away on hunting tasks, their true nature became of them, reiterating the knowledge that they were truly beasts.

Kim Mingyu, the eldest of his knights, was a quieter male, one who often observed more than he conversed. He was fiercely protective of the throne, as he served beneath the previous king, loyally sworn in as the crown’s highest ranking knight. He still withheld the same title, though he saw to much more mediocre tasks. He trained the military, scolding the infantry and getting their army up to par, to match that of their reputation. The crown couldn’t be seen as weak, and Mingyu was deathly loyal to that ideal. Mingyu, from Wooyoung’s perspective, kept the other knights in line, especially when they got unruly at the local tavern.

Song Mingi, the most stubborn of the knights, always personally sought to take care of the night shift. From what Wooyoung could tell, he was close with San, but he wasn’t sure of what the relationship was there. Childhood friends, brothers in arms, maybe even just sharing some similar interests. He couldn’t tell, as Mingi was always quite difficult to read into some days.

Lastly, there was Lee Minho, who was likely the strongest of the knights. Wooyoung had known Minho for quite some time leading up to this role switch between the both of them, acting as childhood best friends with the boy that happened to be the son of his father’s previous advisor. Minho didn’t wish to seek a path of renowned legacy, to be something worthy of a title; he rather sought to fight in battles and to claim a higher vow of dignity, making his own path without the pressure of living up to his father’s name. Acting as the captain of the infantry, Minho provided insight to the entire operation as a whole, paired with a companion that Hyunjin helped tame; a red-tailed hawk by the name of Aries. The bird, as inquisitive as it could be at times, was what Wooyoung referred to as a brat. He only ever listened to Minho, but played a delicate role in keeping the castle free of mice.

Vaguely, he could hear the voices of Hyunjin and San still outside of his closed chamber doors, as he assumed they would accompany him to the meeting with his disgruntled mother. He wasn’t quite sure what she deemed as urgent, but for whatever it may be, Wooyoung was sure that it likely held nothing of importance to be discussed.

The doors swing open abruptly, but Wooyoung doesn’t turn. He rather waits by the window, listening as the maids shuffle in, one by one, chatting amongst themselves with whatever ensemble Wooyoung would be forced to wear today.

“Here, your grace, your garments have been prepared. Your mother requested you wear red, today–”

“Red?” Wooyoung raises a brow, turning around to face the maid in question. Ji-soo, the eldest of his maids, and also the kindest, softened her expression, nodding solemnly. “Why must it always be red?”

“It is the color of our kingdom, your grace,” Ji-soo replies, smiling small, gesturing towards the red and gold ensemble that the other maids held. “The color is a statement, a rather regal hue that strikes the eye and tells of royalty.”

“I get it, Ji-soo, I am a Prince, after all. Does my mother know nothing of my own taste? Has she no idea of how much I hate when she dictates what I wear?”

“You know better than to assume as much,” Ji-soo comments, her tone suddenly firm. “I am not knowledgeable as to why she seeks to control you like this, but I would hope that it stems from her concern for you.”

“Concern or not, I am her only son. I have my own thoughts and feelings, my own expressions and dislikes,” Wooyoung expresses, stepping closer, his eyes trailing down the simple intricacies of the garment itself. “I am not a little boy. I am heir to the throne, and she should treat me as such.”

“You may be heir to the throne, my Prince, but you are her son, and she is mother to the crown. Respect comes as it is earned. You would be wise to watch your tongue.”

Wooyoung sighed, nodding his head, taking in Ji-soo’s words as earnestly as he could. He knew Ji-soo was only trying to give such advice from the kindness of her heart, as she has worked beneath his parents for many years. But, in being so averse to his mother’s actions, Wooyoung knew far too well what trouble he could get himself into.

His mother was quite demanding along with being the most strict person he’s ever come to know, but he knew better than to take her for granted. He had lost his father in such a rash means, unable to comprehend how his life was so carelessly cut short. Now, having only one parent left, Wooyoung finds himself treading a fine line, delicately trying to piece together a reality where he went against his parent’s wishes completely, versus the one where he acted as the doting son, completing his father’s plea of marrying wise, bringing more fortune and prosperity to their kingdom as a whole. Deep down, Wooyoung wasn’t sure what he wanted. His heart was a messily, strung together object within a chest buried deep beneath shore, and he wasn’t entirely sure on how to fix it.

“You know I mean no harm in my words,” Wooyoung tries to explain. “I just. . . wish for more freedom. I am the Prince of Etheria, and yet I feel as if I am chained to my title and glued to the wishes of my own mother.”

“I understand, my Prince. But the time is not now to relish in such hardships. It is time to be strong, to face your mother proudly, and to do what is necessary for the kingdom and its people.”

Wooyoung hesitates, lingering in the space before her with words that felt too difficult to express. Truth be told, he didn’t want to get married. The entire idea of having to pick someone from a list of suitors, to barely have a choice in who he wished to spend his days with, let alone share his heart with, was incredibly unappealing. His mother was gracious enough to allow him the chance to choose in who he’d marry, but even still, Wooyoung didn’t wish for this. He knew it was his role in life, to take the throne and to marry in the way his father wanted him to, but it couldn’t have been farther from what he wanted.

Not to mention, there was something, rather some one, who had claimed his heart, making this decision even more precariously difficult than it had been in the last three months.

“Now, get dressed. Your mother will likely be angry if she waits any longer.”

“Yes, of course, Ji-soo. Thank you,” Wooyoung says, smiling small, yet he could feel that the smile hadn’t quite reached his eyes.

As the maids make their leave, Wooyoung inspects the garments with a more steady gaze, running his fingers along the lapels and golden accents, taking note of the beading and embroidery that was carefully crafted for this affair alone. His mother was always ordering new items of clothing to impress the council itself, but Wooyoung wasn’t entirely sure if his attire would sway the opinions of those who sought to undermine him. He hadn’t yet chosen his council, still stuck with those who had been sworn beneath his father, but even if he had a choice in the matter, he didn’t know who to trust. His father’s murderer could still be out there, and for all he knew, his execution was next on their list.

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After getting dressed, with some more help from Ji-soo for the final details, Wooyoung watched as she polished his crown, carefully wiping off any debris and smudging from the dark crystals embedded within the dark gold itself. Delicately, Ji-soo lowered the crown onto his head, brushing strands of his hair off to the side and behind his ear, studying her work as she moved around Wooyoung’s chair, settling ahead of him with a gentle smile.

“Ready?” She asks.

“As I will ever be.” Wooyoung faintly smiles, almost in a way to reassure himself, though he could hardly convince any part of himself that he was the slightest bit okay with the impending conversation.

Ji-soo parts away, gathering the remnants of her maids as she makes her exit, the doors held open by its hinges, revealing the sight of San and Hyunjin both at their post, seemingly wordless, acting as statues to the world around them. Wooyoung smoothes out his jacket once more, wetting his lips as he rises off of his plush chair, feeling each piece of his ensemble weigh down on him in more than just a physical sense.

From the rings adorning his fingers, to the crown atop his head, down to the red and gold jacket covering his shoulders, hiding the silky white button-up just beneath; he finally felt the finality of his title looming over him. It was as if his skies were permanently clouded over, warned with rain and incoming storms ahead, allowing little light to permeate through what felt like a heavier burden than he knew how to carry.

But, he swallows it. He ignores the feeling of everything as he moves towards his door, keeping his steps lightly paced as he moves past the threshold of his chambers, glancing at Hyunjin and San with a polite smile.

“Please accompany me to the hall,” he says quietly, giving his guards a curt nod before beginning to walk off, listening to the heavy clanks and shifts of their armor as they followed without a word of hesitance.

Their walk was quick, yet even-paced, trekking through the corridors with a dignified air. Wooyoung finds the stairs, walking down elegantly, careful to plant one foot in front of the other as he descends the red-carpeted covered stairs. A plethora of staff members pass by, bowing their heads respectfully, straying to the sides of the wall, remaining still, allowing Wooyoung the space to move through the halls without being momentarily interrupted.

Before long, he finds himself reaching the throne room doors, which were automatically opened by the guards standing nearby. As the doors part, Wooyoung walks inside, spotting his mother settled in her throne, her hands on the arms of her dignified seat with her crown placed atop her head, looking down at Wooyoung as he moves closer.

“Mother,” Wooyoung calls, looking right back at her, completely unafraid. “What is it that you call me for? Is it not too early to be dealing with such pressing matters? Could this not have waited until after I had at least eaten?”

“Quiet yourself,” she commands deeply, narrowing her gaze. “Do not speak ill to me, Wooyoung. I am your mother, not your maid.”

“I will mind my tongue when you mind your own,” Wooyoung shoots back, pausing in his trek as he nears the altar. “Tell me, mother. . . what was so pressing that demanded my attention?”

“The upcoming ball that you are supposed to be hosting,” she pauses, clearly waiting for Wooyoung’s reaction to any of her words. “You have done nothing in preparation for invites, nor have you even written to any other kingdoms so they can prepare for the journey. We are not the only nation out there, Wooyoung. If you want an alliance with Celestia, Nautica, or Auretica, then you must heed with utter compliance. Why must you fight me on everything I try to do for you?”

Wooyoung swallows his bitter words and instead takes a breath, remaining as calm as he could. “I understand that you wish to see more progress on that front, but I was not under the knowledge that you sought for me to pick and choose who to invite. I thought you might take care of that, considering the ties you hold with each kingdom, lord and lady.”

She remains quiet for a moment, thinking in an act of pause, likely trying to form her words in a careful manner to not suede the conversation in a negative connotation. “I see. I can help you, but I expect more from you, Wooyoung. You are the Prince. You are to be making these gestures, extending a royal invite to these other countries that have not been in our good graces for quite some time.”

“I understand, but I also ask of you to see my side in all of this. You know how I feel about getting married, mother, especially to a suitor that does not claim the same ideals as my own. Father wanted me to marry well, and how are we to be sure that any of these suitors will do just that?”

“Do not speak of your father here,” she warns, her tone suddenly dropping into an icy murmur. “His final words were for you to marry wisely, and that was for the own benefit of this kingdom, not that of your own selfish desires. Do you honestly believe that your father and I married for love all those moons ago?”

Wooyoung pauses, feeling his jaw clench.

“Marrying for love is taboo, my child, and I ask for you to heed my advice instead of acting like a dismissive brat. Marry for power. Marry for fortune. Bring our bonds back with Auretica, Celestia and Nautica so our trade routes may stay clear and open. Do not give in to such selfish desires simply because you believe there is something worth in marrying for love.”

“I never spoke ill like that,” Wooyoung defends, but his mother instead, rises out of her seat, raising her hand, signaling her wish for silence.

“This kingdom relies on you, Wooyoung. The food, the imports of goods, medicine, wood, gold and stone; all of it depends on the bonds we maintain. Your father was friendly with these other kingdoms, but nothing was ever solidified before he passed. You must forge these bonds with steel, to lock them in writing. We cannot make ourselves look weak, for I fear that our enemy may try to take advantage of the lack of power that exists within Etheria.”

“Do you think Fleuria would truly come here and try to slaughter all of us? Unprecedented, without fear of a rebuttal?”

His mother shakes her head, slowly walking down the steps of the altar the thrones sat upon.

“Fleuria has taken advantage of every single enemy it has come across.” She steps down to the main floor, adjusting her dress slightly before clasping her hands together, leaning closer as her words begin to convey something darker afoot. “Do not turn a blind eye to Prince Sunghoon simply because he is living across the mountains, well past Auretica. He is conniving, just like his father, and he will grasp at any moment that he can to seize whatever power you withhold.”

Wooyoung glances down, feeling his breath hitch as his mother speaks once more.

“You are the son of King Jung Tae,” she warns in a near hiss. “Act like it.”

With that, she walks away, the sounds of her shoes clicking quietly against the carpet as she beckons her guards to follow in tow. Wooyoung simply turns, chewing on the interior of his cheek, feeling as the weight of his crown and title suddenly become that much more heavy.

Chapter Text

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┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

After the conversation with his mother, Wooyoung found himself at the throes of his own mind. He locked himself away within his study, picking apart different treaties and lists of previous guests, trying to decipher which houses to invite versus which ones to avoid. The list was incredibly large, and taking all of this on felt like a mere burden.

The sun was now close to setting, inching closer and closer to the horizon line with subtle beams of pinks and reds, dissipating into the indigo that would consume the entire sky. Wooyoung watched with a patient gaze, listening to the calls for dinner ring out into the halls of his castle, yet he ignored them, staying isolated and away from the duties of remaining anywhere near his mother. She had been so callous, so dismissive and irritated, but Wooyoung couldn’t ignore the fact that there were parts of her angry words that were true. He knew that he was procrastinating the inevitable, but could she blame him? Could anyone really, truly blame him? He was hardly of a man’s age and he was being practically forced into a role that was too demanding of him. The crown wasn’t even yet his and it still called his name vigorously, making him wish he could hide away in the fractures of the world, deep down where no one could find him.

Yet, he remains. He sits at his desk, twirling his quill delicately between his fingers, staring at an invite to a kingdom he hardly holds any knowledge of. He rereads his words time and time again, allowing the ink to dry well past its due before he could even properly finish the invitation itself, lingering in a thought that was too consuming to ignore.

He had spent many hours scaling through lineage documents, gathering names and persons of interest who may yet be eligible to rule at his side, though possibly undeserving of such a title. It was a delicate balance, trying to weed out the weak and unworthy, while also trying to remain as unbiased as he could be. He knew of some of these other princes, though remained unsure of their intentions. Some came with previous knowledge of how they were raised, and given the relationships his father withheld with these other kingdoms, came a sense of sudden calamity, knowing that his invites wouldn’t be met with distaste.

Han Jisung, prince of Celestia, was a humble, soft spirit. From all he knew, Jisung was raised around nature, engrossed within it, rather. Celestia was a smaller kingdom, known for their abundance in pelts and herbal medicine, signifying their importance to the trade routes as a whole. The entire kingdom was surrounded in a large, redwood forest, doused in an abundance of nature, never once seeking to need an outside food source. Deer, hogs, and various birds roamed the lands outside of Celestia’s gates, making their importance key to any other kingdom’s survival; especially in the winter. Wooyoung hadn’t talked to Jisung previously, but Jisung’s father, King Han Wonsik, had always been an empathetic, simple ruler. Wooyoung supposes that inviting the Han family would not be the worst idea, so he chooses to sign the invitation, setting it aside to be properly rolled once the ink had dried.

Then there was Prince Kang Yeosang, taking the place of his father, King Kang Haneul, living on the coast in Nautica. Their kingdom was proud, though not incredibly wealthy. With their fishing ports, an abundant navy, trading harbors and overwhelming stock of anything that would come from across the sea, Nautica remained at the top of the trading list, finding that fish and other delicacies were hard to pass by. Yeosang was incredibly studious, from what Wooyoung remembers hearing about at least, spending most of his time enveloped in novels or riding his horse in the trails just outside the castle. It was almost as if the life of a prince was too much for him too, his inner soul calling out to something else, wishing for something with less purpose yet more of a chance to actually live. Wooyoung wasn’t sure what the Kang family would be interested in, considering that they hardly relied on another kingdom to act as an outside supply source, but an invite wouldn’t hurt, Wooyoung supposes.

Then there was Choi Yeonjun, prince of Auretica. Acting as son of King Choi Eun, Yeonjun remained an enigmatic figure, laden with surprises that echoed across the realm. He was the spitting image of his father, or so Wooyoung hears, both in looks and in personality. From what he had heard from his father, King Choi Eun was nearly ruthless, lacking empathy in those he ruled over as he sought to increase his fortune in any way possible. Auretica resided over a vast cave network, laden with gold and silver alike, feeding the fortune that Eun had always sought to conceal for himself alone. But, what Auretica didn’t have was pure access to water, or that of farmland and medicine. Though they were wealthy, they still relied on everyone else within the realm for anything they could obtain, making the idea of an alliance with them hardly likely. But, an invitation was an invitation, Wooyoung supposes, so he signed it anyway.

With three out of the way, Wooyoung places down his quill, sealing off his ink pot before he rises away from his desk, staring down at each of the letters with a hesitant gaze. These three men, of which Wooyoung knew very little about, let alone what they looked like, felt like the answer he should be seeking. But, these answers only sought to bring more questions, making him truly wonder if this path was worth divulging towards.

“Your grace,” a voice beckons from the otherside of the door, one that was unmistakable in its depth and concern. “You missed dinner.”

“I know I have,” Wooyoung responds, reaching his hands up to unbutton the top of his shirt, feeling a swell of warmth cast in from the world outside the open windows.

“May I come in, your grace?”

“You may,” Wooyoung allows, glancing at his surroundings before the door opens, revealing the figure who’s concern knew no bounds.

“Please, if I may talk plainly,” Hyunjin begins, closing the door behind him subtly.

“Go on, Sir Hyunjin, I do not mind.”

“Is there a reason of your sudden avoidance?” Hyunjin asks, his dark eyes shining with genuine curiosity, a glimmer of the man who lay beneath the facade of his armor. Hyunjin’s dark hair, though short, dangled in front of his gaze, giving him a near-angelic appearance, despite the violence he craved when faced with an adversary. Wooyoung knew, more than anything else, that he could trust Hyunjin with the innermost parts of his soul, but this truth felt too vulnerable to be shared.

“Nothing that is to be of worry,” Wooyoung replies, watching as Hyunjin’s eyes watch him intently, almost as if he was studying the words, waiting for a moment of error where vulnerability would seep through.

“Your mother was quite displeased at your sudden disappearance from the council this evening,” Hyunjin explains, resting his hand on his sword. “But I can imagine that there was good reason, was there not?”

“Excuse my lack of formality when I speak, but my mother quite literally fucked me over in asking for me to decide on the guest list for a ball I do not particularly wish to host. I have to decide my own fate here, with men I do not even know, writing letters to kingdoms we have not spoken to since my father took his last breath, and I cannot find the power within me to sign another one of these God forsaken letters because it feels almost as if I am signing away my life without properly knowing who I am to be wed to.”

Hyunjin stands there, quietly, taking in every word with a slight wince. He nods, however, understanding the stress in having to deal with such a task, though he will never be privy to experiencing it.

“I see, your grace,” Hyunjin replies calmly, glancing down at his hands, furrowing his brow. “I wish that I could take but a part of that away, but no one had ever said once that it was easy to be a part of the royal lineage. If it had been easy, I am quite sure a lot more people would invest their time into gaining a title, trying to be a lord or lady in an advance to gain something of higher standings. Some are content with the easy lives spent at the bottom of the food chain, working their life away without a care as to who rules and who dictates their future.”

“But I was born into this, Hyunjin. I quite literally do not have a choice in the matter!”

“I hear you, I truly do. But what I am trying to say to you is that the lot of us dare not be picky of the lives handed to us, as that is all we have. We must make the most of it, to try and survive in a world where famine and illness is common. We are lucky to have such wealth and prosperity here in Etheria, as I do fear that one day it will all disappear.”

“It is not that I am ungrateful, Hyunjin,” Wooyoung explains, folding his arms against his chest, seeking some sort of refuge against the guilt settling in his stomach. “I know my role, and I know what I must do to keep my lineage pure and safe from harm. All I am trying to express is that I feel like I am suffocating. I am above land, and yet my lungs feel so heavy and full of water, and I simply cannot breathe.”

Hyunjin’s gaze softens as reality sinks in, the truth finally becoming a sentiment that felt hard to truly ignore.

“I am trying. Not just for myself, but for my father, who rests in a grave somewhere in these lands, lost because of someone else’s disdain for the crown. I was not meant for this, as I fear I am too naive to rule such a kingdom. I know nothing of riches and titles, nor do I have ties to other kingdoms and alliances. How am I to marry when I know nothing of what I am to do as king?”

“I do not have an answer for you, your grace. But, I can try and tell you that not no one could ever be fully prepared to step into such a role. Yet, we take the time to learn, to roll with the tide of change, to lean on those who care for us so we can adapt in the only way we know how.”

Wooyoung’s voice is tentative and soft, a subtle whisper in a room where only candlelight warmed his features. “And what way is that, Hyunjin?”

“By being human, because that is the only way any of us know how to truly make it through this thing we consider life.”

For a moment, Wooyoung simply ponders Hyunjin’s words, taking them in stride, giving himself the chance to truly find the meaning in such a sentence. He could see where Hyunjin was coming from, but it didn’t quite feel as if he had the answers he sought after.

“I’ll return to my chambers,” Wooyoung mutters, glancing at the letters laid on his desk. “Please have those sent to the delivery riders and sent out at dawn. If I am to expect guests to arrive for the ball, they must be delivered within a days’ time.”

“Are you sure, your grace?”

Wooyoung nods, smoothing out his shirt before striding closer to Hyunjin, plastering a smile on his lips to obscure the turmoil that was slowly beginning to consume him.

“I have to be, I am the Prince, after all.”

Hyunjin nods, glancing at Wooyoung before glancing at the desk, taking in his orders before responding. “At once, your grace. I will have them delivered.”

Wooyoung smiles as he moves on, exiting the comfort of his study, leaving the door ajar as Hyunjin gathers the letters in a careful, delicate manner. Wooyoung turns to his right, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears as he treks onward, moving about the vacant corridors of his lonely castle.

Nighttime was a tranquil part of his routine, walking amongst the stone corridors without bothering to see who had been nearby, listening to the swaying of banners and curtains hung near the open windows and archways, highlighting the beauty that came with the moon’s rise to power. Each of Wooyoung’s steps echoed slightly, bouncing off of the walls, clicking with definitive steps that somehow matched the beating of his own heart.

He was tired, possibly exhausted from the relentless will of his mother’s undying wish to scold him in every waking instance, but all he could desire was the cusp of his pillow and bed linens. Eventually, he reaches his bedroom, turning the corner to spot no other than San and Mingyu stationed at their post, waiting as they usually had in this late hour.

“Sir Mingyu,” Wooyoung greets, offering a nod. “Sir San.”

“Good evening, my Prince,” Mingyu greets as both males bow their heads in tandem, pausing before rising back upright once more, their eyes locking with Wooyoung’s almost immediately.

“Is there anyone else on the rotation tonight for patrols?” Wooyoung asks, clasping his hands politely behind his back, raising a brow as he looks to Mingyu.

“Hyunjin is on patrol, my Prince. He paid you a visit in regards to your mother, did he not?”

“He did,” Wooyoung affirms, flicking his gaze between the two males. “Are you aware of our agreement?”

“Sir San has filled me in on the details,” Mingyu explains, sparing a glance at the male standing to his left. “You insist on this foolery once more? What would the council think?”

“I care not what the council thinks of me, Sir Mingyu, as they are not the men I chose to advise me. Yunho practically talks my ear off in the times I seek royal advice, thank you, and that is enough.”

“Forgive me, your grace, for speaking so plainly. I shouldn’t assume,” Mingyu says, lowering his head slightly.

“Mingyu, you must remember, I am not my father. I share his name and his blood, but our resemblance is little to none.” Wooyoung stands before Mingyu, offering a smile as he leans closer, wetting his lips subtly. “I like what I like, and I take interest in the things that captivate me. Do I need to sway you further, or will you just keep the Prince’s little secret?”

“You know I am loyal to you,” Mingyu explains, resting his hand on his sword. “If you insist that you will be careful, I care not of what you partake in. Heed my warnings, your grace. I can look out for you, but eventually this game must seize.”

“I understand,” Wooyoung chides, a playful smile curling on his lips. “Goodnight, Sir Mingyu.”

Mingyu nods, turning his attention away, giving Wooyoung the peace of mind to push his chamber doors open, listening to the steps that follow him indoors. The door closes with a definitive click, and all Wooyoung can do is sigh.

“You really had to interrogate him like that?” San asks, his hands moving to loosen the belts that held his armor together, slowly beginning to remove piece by piece.

“Who would I be if not the witty Prince? Isn’t that my reputation to uphold, Sir San?” Wooyoung turns around, his hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt, moving to undo the third and fourth, trailing further and further down to expose more of his toned chest. “You act as if he had been unaware of our foolishness for the last three months. If only he knew that we had begun this agreement months before that–”

“Mingyu is always aware,” San explains, finally undoing the remaining loops of his chest plate, using his hands to carefully guide the armor over his head, setting the piece down near the large red sofa to his right. “You know better than to reprimand him. He has been at this post for a long time, and he has only ever sought to protect you.”

“Can we stop discussing my guards and get to the task at hand?” Wooyoung nearly whines in a breath, undoing his shirt all of the way, allowing the silky fabric to part naturally.

“You have become so pushy, your grace–”

“Do not start with me,” Wooyoung says playfully, resting his hands on his hips. “I have had quite the day, and I wish to spend my night in your arms. Is that so wrong of me?”

“It is wrong of you, technically,” San chastises with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know that I have always been fond of this side of you.”

“Only because this is the side I save for you, and only you,” Wooyoung quips, leaning forward slightly. “We do not have as many of these rendezvous as of late, and I find myself wondering why it has become so hard for us to just meet like this.”

“Your mother,” San says, undoing the belt that kept his sword attached to his hip. “That is exactly the reason why.”

“You have become my only solace in all of this,” Wooyoung mutters, his tone suddenly becoming earnest, shying away from the playful jest that once adorned his voice. “You were all I had when my father took his last breath.”

San pauses, his jaw tensing before he fully removes the final bits of his armor, the noise of his shuffling the only thing that seemed to break apart the tension that stored itself in the candlelit room.

“These little escapades we embark on, even if we spend the night looking at the stars or talking until the sun comes up, regardless of what we experience together–” Wooyoung pauses, glancing down, unable to meet San’s gaze as the words he had been harboring consume his thoughts. “You feel as if you are the only person I have anymore. You listen to me, well and truly listen, and unlike everyone else in this God forsaken castle, I find myself clinging to you in a manner I know is far beyond appropriate.”

San is quiet, his movements at a pause as he simply listens to Wooyoung’s every word, his armor resting on the floor, leaving him adorned in clothes that Wooyoung thought made him look a little more like himself. A simple shirt, simple trousers and a gold necklace, something that San had been holding onto for many moons previous which only drew the Prince to become even more curious. He never fully expressed the reasoning behind such a piece, but Wooyoung knew better than to pry into his knight’s private life.

Wooyoung stands there, watching San from only a few arms’ lengths away, slowly beginning to fold his arms against his chest. San, for once, seemed timidly unsure of how to proceed, words failing his tongue as he stood there, brushing his palms against the sides of his legs. Wooyoung never wanted to admit to this, knowing entirely of what was at stake, especially with knowing that this was completely against what they agreed to.

This fling, or whatever Wooyoung wanted to refer to it as, had always been a means of intimate contact that would hardly ever touch on the cusp of feelings. Each and every time they sought to push away the things their hearts begged for them to reveal, it spurred on an intimate partnership that refrained from anything romantic.

They both understood what was at stake, as Wooyoung’s crown could be compromised, as could his chance at marriage because of all of this, and even more so, San’s career as a royal guard would see to be forfeit. They were crossing boundaries strictly set in place to avoid such telltale lies and conspiracies, shying away from tradition that Wooyoung paid no mind to.

In having been intimate with San, more than once, Wooyoung knew that the more they kept on with this facade, his heart would soon become compromised, yearning for something it could never have. San didn’t come from royal lineage, but rather the farm fields near their fishing harbors in Islan. San’s family wanted nothing to do with him, which landed him in the line of duty, wielding a sword when he was barely a teen.

Marriage with San was far from the picture Wooyoung saw his life turning into. He’d be forced to marry someone he didn’t love, and more than anything else, he’d be forced to bed that someone, to lead a country amicably and pretend that his heart didn’t belong to someone else. How his mother and father went so many years in a marriage where they didn’t love one another was far beyond him, as love felt like the only emotion he could ever feel anymore.

Between the stress, the anxiety, and the overwhelming mass of duty laid upon his shoulders, being with San intimately remained as the only steadfast thing his life could ever conjure. Deep down, he feared losing this safe space. He never shied away from being vulnerable with San, as he truthfully felt no reason to hide who he really was after having their skin and hips selfishly pressed together time and time again. But, even so, San felt like the only person who could see beyond the facade of his Princely antics.

“San?” Wooyoung mutters softly, rubbing his arm. “Can you just. . . say something? I know those words are far from what you wish to hear, as we try to stray away from such truths, but I cannot help but feel as if I owe you genuinity.”

With a breath, San finally looks up, his eyes meeting Wooyoung’s in an unfamiliar plea. His gaze held so many layers of things Wooyoung hadn’t seen before, and for a brief moment, Wooyoung found himself terrified that he had gone too far. But, just as he was about to scarcely apologize for his misjudgment, San walks closer quickly, using his left hand to cup the side of the younger male’s jaw before pressing their lips together, submerging Wooyoung’s every thought into forced silence.

Wooyoung melts into the warmth of the kiss, nearly arching into San’s touch, feeling his body react exquisitely, in the way it always had, especially in the presence of someone so commanding. San could unravel his every desire, taking that ribbon, tying him up, presenting him as a gift just to unravel him once more. The kiss, at first, felt like a slowly burning fire, churning warmer and warmer as San slowly began to take control.

His hands, once peacefully dormant, now drifted to Wooyoung’s hips, curling inwards to press into his skin that lay just beneath the fabric of his trousers. San slowly began to guide Wooyoung backwards in a familiar dance that had always landed with his calves pressed against the side of his bed before being carefully pushed backwards into his duvet.

“San, wait–” Wooyoung breathes out between fervent kisses, barely having a moment to utter another word before San is kissing him again, stealing away his breath and swallowing his sentences.

“Stop talking–” San mutters against Wooyoung’s lips, sliding his hands up Wooyoung’s sides, trailing up the bare skin that lay beneath the confines of his unbuttoned shirt. Wooyoung gasps, breaking the kiss, tilting his head back, giving San the perfect amount of access to latch his lips onto his neck deviously, kissing and biting his way along the line of his jugular.

“San–” Wooyoung breathed out again, his hands reaching to grab onto any part of his partner that he was able, needing a moment to ground himself with the influx of emotions coursing through him.

“Your grace–” San parts away, his eyes heavily lidded, a flush adorning his cheeks. “Please excuse me for speaking so plainly, but by the God’s, just for once, shut the fuck up.”

Wooyoung looks at San, a bit surprised in having heard such words come from someone who loyally served him, but at the same time, the words somehow lit a spark back within his soul, causing a laugh to breathe out from his lips. He nods, wrapping his hands around the back of San’s neck as he pulls him closer again, pressing their lips together in a more desperate manner.

San, a bit more insistently, continues to guide Wooyoung backwards, relishing in each passionate, hungry kiss. Wooyoung follows his lead dutifully until the back of his legs collide with the side of his bed, his hands leaving the back of San’s neck as they trail down to his waist, deftly moving frantically to undo San’s leather belt. Their kisses continue to ignite the flame brewing between them, smoldering and growing urgently, causing their breaths to run hot and their skin to burn with electricity.

With a definitive pull, Wooyoung pulls San’s belt away from it’s loops, tossing it aside somewhere to his floor, resuming his ministrations in guiding San closer, curling his fingers against the hem of his trousers before yanking them downwards, pooling at his feet as they clattered to the floor. San’s lips part away, his hands moving to find Wooyoung’s shoulders as he pushes him backwards, listening as he collapses into the bed back-first. The bed creaks and slightly shakes, its wooden supports shifting with the newly added weight in a familiar dance that Wooyoung found himself continually entertaining. He watched as San parted away with his shirt, tossing the fabric somewhere to the floor before he crawled onto the bed, hovering over him, letting the necklace that slung itself around his neck, dangle in the space between them. Wooyoung reaches up, wrapping the necklace around his fingers before slightly tugging, pulling San closer to connect their lips once more. 

With a few rushed movements, San’s hands deftly removed the remnants of Wooyoung’s clothes, tossing them away, unable to care about where each piece of clothing had landed amongst the littered floor. Carefully, they move towards the middle of the bed, finding the pillows, ignoring the subtle noises twirling in with the warm breeze from the open windows nearby. The candlelight warmed San’s skin, highlighting the effortless curves and sharp jut of his jaw, glimmering in his eyes the moment he paused and looked down at Wooyoung.

He had always done this, searching Wooyoung’s gaze in a rush to seek confirmation, almost as if he was giving the younger a chance to back away from all of this, to stick true to the boundaries that kept them socially adrift. But, Wooyoung smiles, untwirling the necklace, using his hands to cup San’s face, drawing him closer, feeling as their breaths warm the mutual space that hovered between them. Wooyoung could feel the sudden chill of San’s necklace pressing against his bare skin, sending sudden trill through his spine, only seeking to elongate this moment.

San connects their lips again, gently this time, using his left hand to trail down Wooyoung’s hip and thigh, hiking his leg higher, pressing against him in a tense moment of intimate anticipation. Wooyoung allows himself to melt into the kiss, knowing all too well what was coming, too entranced by the feeling of San’s lips to even bother worrying in regards to all of the social standards and principles they were breaking. He didn’t care about the rules set in place to prevent intimacy and relations like this, even though he knew what consequences were to come of such an encounter. But that was just the thing; they couldn’t get caught. Wooyoung vowed all those moons ago to protect San in any event that the council found out, which was partially why he involved Mingyu in the way he had. He would give everything to keep this part of his life intact, unwilling to ever release San from his grasp. Especially to have and hold him like this, to truly feel connected to him not only physically, but emotionally; it all became everything Wooyoung thought of.

San parts away, whispering a silent command against Wooyoung’s lips. “Take a breath.”

Wooyoung nods, reaching his hand into San’s hair, curling his fingers carefully into the male’s red tresses. The moment he deeply inhales, he feels the immediate pressure of San pressing into him, followed by the slight sting of such intimate contact. San waits, moving his lips to gently trail kisses along the jut of Wooyoung’s jaw, softly grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin of the younger’s neck.

Wooyoung’s back arches, pressing his body against San’s, sinking further into a familiar feeling that was a synonym to utter bliss. Slowly, San moves his hips, forwards and back, releasing a shuddered breath that spoke volumes of his relief. Wooyoung allows himself to remain pliant, relishing in every single movement, pressing his hips back against San’s to deepen the feeling that was slowly beginning to unravel him.

Hot breaths and quiet moans break free of their lips, submerging themselves deeper into the impasse of overflowing desire. Wooyoung’s hands fumbled about before curling into San’s back, desperately trying not to leave marks on the back of someone who wasn’t even supposed to be having intimate relations with anyone, let alone the Prince, but with every deepening thrust, a flurry of breathy moans slip past his lips, encouraging the elder even further.

San’s hips suddenly snap forward, quickening his pace, leaning down to tug Wooyoung’s lip in between his teeth. A strained noise leaves Wooyoung’s tongue as he lets San ravage him, feeling as his mind becomes a blur of utter need. Absently, his nails curl inwards, dragging lines down San’s back, which in turn earns a guttural groan from deep in the abyss of San’s lungs.

There weren’t supposed to be feelings involved in any of this, but Wooyoung was feeling everything. He wanted more, simply wanted to just breathe San in, taste him and relish in this feeling for as long as he shall live, to selfishly pluck San away from the arms of anyone else who would dare to take his safe place away. All Wooyoung found himself caring about was this, curling his nails in deeper, pressing his hips against San’s and arching his back, feeling the sweat of their bodies drip and mingle, trailing down to the linens beneath them.

He was finally feeling something other than the burdensome weight of a crown that felt too heavy to ever bear alone. He felt adored, wanted, possibly even slightly loved by someone who wasn’t forced to feel such things. If just for a moment, Wooyoung clings to the idea that he could escape from the reality of such duties, to drift away from the stress of having to marry a stranger. He could hold San, feel and taste him, kiss the breath from his lungs and press their hips together selfishly. He didn’t want any of these feelings with anyone else; he just wanted San.

But he couldn’t have him.

So, he succumbs to the moment, pulling San back towards his lips as he sinks into another kiss, moaning into San’s mouth as if he could elongate this moment and prevent it from ever seizing. But the familiar tightening in his stomach was a warning, a preceding feeling that would signal a snap, followed by a mass of heavy breaths and a tumble down from such sinful euphorics.

He can’t hang on to it. Everything was slipping away from his fingers, freeing themselves into the space that was drowned by candlelight, lost in the room that had always felt empty the moment San left this embrace. He was trickling closer and closer to that fateful end, hanging in the balance, harrowing in on the feeling of where their bodies were intimately joined.

With a sudden rush, everything he hopes to cling on to simply flees, snapping just like the cord in his stomach. He holds his breath, feeling as San buried his face in the crevice of his neck, letting out a shaky groan that belaid the true depth of how much he too needed this. Wooyoung catches his breath, his chest rising and falling in tandem with the steady thrum of his racing heart, climbing back down into a sense of reality, listening to the breeze rustle the curtains within his chambers.

“Thank you,” San mutters, pressing a kiss to Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“For what?” Wooyoung asks, watching as San slowly leans upright, looking down at him with a sated, satisfied gaze.

“For always trusting me, even with our circumstances,” San replies gently, reaching his hand up to brush sweat-riddled hair off of Wooyoung’s forehead.

“You are the only person who has ever truly seen me for me, beyond the whole Prince “heir to the throne, ruler of the seven kingdoms” bullshit. I cannot trust anyone else; you know this.”

“I know, and I hear you. Though, we do need to remain careful. With the upcoming ball and your impending marriage, I think. . . we should begin to stray away from relations like this.”

Wooyoung takes a breath in, feeling a thicket of emotions swell on his tongue. “Is that what you want?”

“This cannot be about what I want, your grace,” San mutters quietly, leaning away slightly. “It is about your safety, protecting your virtue, and keeping the crown’s reputation intact.”

“Not yet,” Wooyoung rushes out in a plea, moving to sit upright, feeling as San fully parts away, settled on his knees, sitting before him with confusion glued to his gaze. “Share in this with me for a while longer. I cannot lose you just because I am to be married to some stranger.”

“But I fear for you,” San expresses gently, his words falling to silence.

“Fear not, because with you, I am safe. Trust me, San. Please,” Wooyoung pleads, reaching his hands over, cupping the sides of San’s jaw. “Please.”

“A while longer,” San says, giving in just barely. “I will stay just a while longer.”

Wooyoung smiles, beginning to lean towards San in a motion to kiss him, but the sound of a haste knock deters him away, causing him to scurry backwards. San pushes himself off of the bed, bending at the waist to collect their clothes hurriedly. He tosses Wooyoung’s clothing towards him before redressing himself, tugging his pants over his legs, re-buttoning his shirt closed, moving to walk towards the area where he discarded his armor. Wooyoung slowly pulls his trousers up, re-fastening his belt before slinging his shirt onto his torso, allowing it to remain open for the time being.

“Must you leave so soon?” Wooyoung asks, disregarding another series of knocks that was likely from Mingyu.

“You know better than to ask for me to stay, my Prince,” San says, albeit sadly. “I must return to my post; we both know this.”

“I know–”

“I will see you first thing,” San reassures, quickly striding over, reaching across the small space to squeeze Wooyoung’s hand. “Sleep well, and do not worry for me.”

Another knock rings out, heeding as their last warning.

“Go on, then,” Wooyoung mutters, trying to force a smile to his lips. “Or shall I just lock you away in my chambers for the rest of eternity?”

“A fervent wish, my Prince,” San smiles, leaning closer, pressing a kiss to Wooyoung’s cheek. “A world I wish we could linger within. Please, get some rest.”

Wooyoung nods, feeling San’s hand drift away from his own, listening as the male hurriedly fastens his armor back onto his body with a myriad of creaks from the leather, followed by sharper noises from the iron of his armor. Wooyoung watches longingly, feeling an ache begin to build in his chest, radiating around his heart.

San turns to glance over his shoulder, offering a bow of his head before he makes his leave, his steps receding until he reaches the door and leaves without another word. Wooyoung takes an uneasy breath in, turning away, feeling the warmth of the outdoor breeze press against his bare skin. But, the warmth from outside had barely been enough to chill the sudden vacancy of shared warmth that San’s presence once held within this room.

This entire agreement had caused his heart to run astray, drifting away from the mannerisms that isolation had once taught him how to entertain. But, truthfully, Wooyoung knew what all of this was. A distraction, a lapse in time so he could forget about the reality that waited for him just beyond his door. He wasn’t sure how much time left he had with San, but he would hold onto it viciously, praying that the God’s above would grace him with more time.

Chapter Text

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

The morning arrives quickly, followed by the swell of birds and a rougher breeze than the day previous, weaving in through open windows and wrapping itself around Wooyoung’s bed posts and curtains, warming the space that felt too cold; barren of a presence he longed to keep.

Wooyoung laid in bed, his hands absently messing with the duvet, hoping that a series of knocks would ring out before his usual morning routine, signaling San’s arrival and awakening after his late post, but the sound had remained void, nulled of the usual warmth his voice carried in the morning that led the Prince’s heart astray. Wooyoung knew not of what the day would bring, burdened with realizing that the ball was just mere hours away, two sunrises from now, patiently awaiting the arrival of those he graciously invited in the hope that one of them would seek to rule beside him.

Truthfully, no one had to respond to his request, as the other kingdoms could rule idly if they so wished, but based upon the mutual transactions that bore themselves between each small kingdom, lay the need for alliances and protection from that of the other two kingdoms that sought to vow themselves to no one other than themselves.

Fleuria was audaciously independent, seeking wealth from its notorious horse breeding program, selling Arabians and Andalusian horses for bags of gold per steed, finding themselves an honest fortune in just selling a dozen to a needy army. They hadn’t reached out for an alliance or a treaty in quite some years, as far as Wooyoung knew. Prince Sunghoon, the bearer of the crown for the last three years, ruled with an iron fist. He sought to not marry, fearing that his power would be split in half, and that was something he truly didn’t want. He wanted everything he could grasp, and Wooyoung had a feeling that if he were to wait any longer in his pursuit for a partner, Sunghoon would make a move, trying to claim Etheria for his own.

Truth be told, Wooyoung realized deep down that if Etheria were to fall, Celestia and Nautica would cease to exist either, as their armies were not as large and powerful, struggling to maintain the wealth and resources needed to provide such a giant military. They had enough to survive as they were, but nothing more. Wooyoung feared for them, truly, but there was nothing he could do. He’d have to marry Prince Yeosang or Prince Jisung in order to truly benefit them in some sort of manner, or they’d have to reach an agreement, a means of protecting each other in a time of dear crisis. However, there was a final kingdom that he hadn’t much thought of up until this moment, one that was rather a wild-card in a world of truths and lies. Calypsia.

Calypsia, ruled by King Heeseung and King Consort Riki, never spoke to anyone. They kept to themselves, not needing to rely on another kingdom to provide for them. They were self-sufficient, their castle resting against the bay of calm waters, protected faithfully by their navy, which remained as a force in itself. Calypsia hadn’t waged any wars with anyone, nor have they sought to choose sides when wars have come to pass upon the lands. They just weren’t particularly bothered by the idea of choosing a side, being faithful to someone, choosing to keep to themselves to keep their people, their resources, and their walls safe from those who would seek to destroy them.

Because of that, Wooyoung didn’t invite anyone from Calypsia, and he’d be marked a fool for daring to invite Prince Sunghoon from Fleuria in the hope that he’d seek to marry Wooyoung and sit to share power between their conjoined kingdoms.

“Your grace–” a voice beckons from behind the thick of his oak door, preceding the opening as steps trail inwards, not yet caring about the Prince’s state as he continues to rest in bed. “We have important matters at hand.”

“What is it now, Sir Minho?” Wooyoung sighs, turning his head to the left, spotting the knight in question. “Why must you barge in here well before my usual awakening time?”

“Word has arrived back quickly,” Minho states, bowing his head slightly, pausing for a moment before he looks up, allowing his words to continue. “Company is on the way, my Prince. We know not of when to expect them, but we must prepare the castle for the festivities.”

“Please, do tell me at how any of this pertains to me?” Wooyoung asks, raising a brow, using his elbow to prop himself upright. “As far as I can be concerned, the maids and my staff will handle the decor, as my mother might have better input than I.”

“She would like for you to oversee the preparations,” Minho explains further, gesturing with his hand, but then pausing yet again, likely having seen the look of annoyance cast across Wooyoung’s expression. “I apologize, your grace, as I realize this was not laid out in the things of which you would like to attend to today.”

“It is not,” Wooyoung sighs, looking towards his open windows before looking back at Minho. “But, I digress. I will get changed and attend to such. . . detailed matters. Please send the maids.”

“At once, your grace,” Minho replies, bowing his head.

“Oh, and Minho?” Wooyoung asks, sitting up further. Minho looks up, awaiting his command. “Have you seen Sir San by chance?”

“He was still within his quarters this morning, attending to Neukdae.”

Wooyoung smiles, nodding his head. “His precious pup, I see. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Minho says with a polite smile, bowing his head once more before turning on his heel, walking back towards the entrance of Wooyoung’s chambers, closing the door softly behind him.

Wooyoung takes in a breath, stretching out his arms, brushing a hand through his hair with a quiet yawn, forcing his gaze back onto the windows ahead of him. He smiles, if only briefly, welcomed by the thought of disturbing San’s morning with a bit of jest. He never usually visited San on such occasions, but hearing that he was with his loyal companion, Neukdae, Wooyoung could barely see to resist.

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

After finishing his morning bath and dressing himself to look the part, Wooyoung sauntered down the main hall, listening as Mingyu’s steps followed that of his own. The castle was bustling with activity, which was typical of mornings like these; filled with anticipation for an upcoming event that would cycle life and fluidity back into the routine. Wooyoung paid no mind, listening to the chatter consume the darker corners of the castle, spreading word of the incoming engagement that would likely follow such a grand ball.

Mingyu was quiet company as he followed behind Wooyoung’s every step, watching over him like a guardian, a protector against whoever may dare try to swipe the crown from atop his head. Wooyoung was always grateful to the men who protected him loyally, finding a strong bout of peace in their presence as they accompanied him not just in his every day-to-day life, but rather in every instance, standing steadfast and loyal, unwavering in the face of any facet of danger.

But, as Wooyoung rounds the corner after descending the stairs, he spots the wooden door that would lead to the knight’s quarters, a shared space with separate bedrooms, which used to be a communal maid’s quarter until Wooyoung had them moved upstairs, closer to where he himself resided on the off chance he needed anything from Ji-soo and her fellow women.

He turns over his shoulder, glancing at Mingyu, offering a curt nod and a smile, turning back to glance at the older, oak door.

“Wait here. I’ll be but a moment.” Wooyoung takes a few steps closer as Mingyu moves to stand near the wall, looking out into the middle grounds, observing the garden that Wooyoung’s mother often tended to in the late summers.

With a push, Wooyoung opens the door, choosing not to knock for fear someone else may be privy to the intimacy of this interaction. It was a rare occasion that Wooyoung truly ever visited this corner of the castle, and when he had, he tried to keep his visits minimal and hush-hush.

There he finds San, knelt down, cleaning one of his leather belts with a wire brush, seemingly focused on the task at hand as he scrubbed meticulously. Wooyoung raises a brow, closing the door with a soft push, watching as San’s gaze flicks upwards to meet him.

“My Prince,” San mutters quietly, straightening his posture, laying his belt down across his knee, setting the brush down on the desk to his right. “I did not know to expect you–”

Wooyoung raises his hand, letting a smile curl on his lips. “How foolish of you to assume that I came to bear your company, Sir San. Where is that lonely canine you harbor?”

San rolls his eyes, chuckling quietly. “I see that Minho expressed my morning to you.”

“I’d like to think that it was quite rude of you to not let Neukdae visit into my chambers,” Wooyoung expresses, biting his lower lip as he steps closer. “I am his other master, after all.”

“I never denied that, your grace,” San attests, watching Wooyoung with intrigue.

“Then where is he?” Wooyoung asks, clasping his hands behind his back. “I wish to see him.”

“Hyunjin took him out with his wolves,” San explains, gesturing towards their back door, one of which led directly outdoors. “He expressed his desire to go hunting for rabbits, well. . . not really for us, but rather the dogs themselves.”

“I missed him again,” Wooyoung says with a soft sigh, looking around the quarters of a room he wasn’t too familiar with. “Next time you meet me before dusk, bring him with you. Sapphire misses her canine friend.”

“Where was she when I was there last night?” San asks, resting a hand on his knee. “I feel as if I have not seen her in ages.”

“She hides,” Wooyoung says with a smile. “Sneaky little kitty, she is. I think she caught wind of how busy we are all to become in the coming days, so she has been more absent than I’d like to admit.”

“That cat has always been very fond of you, your grace,” San says lightly, rising out of his seat, placing the belt down on the back of the chair. “She has always been very emotionally in tune with you.”

“She senses things that others cannot,” Wooyoung explains, walking closer still, pausing his steps the moment he’s barely an arms’ length away. “Storms are the more frequent thing she warns to, but untrustworthy people. . . that is the thing she happens to be most keen of.”

“Neukdae is just happy to see anyone,” San says, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze. “It makes me happy to know that Sapphire brings you some sort of comfort. . . especially in my absence.”

“San–” Wooyoung says, almost too gently. The words feel heavy on his tongue, feeling both unsure and steadfast in what he wanted to say, completely glued to a crossroads of wanting to be genuine, while also trying to maintain the distance he knew he’d have to begin to entertain. But, just as he vowed last night, he would hold onto this, onto whatever feelings were being stirred up between them, if just for a bit longer. Maybe he was selfish, maybe he was reckless, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

“Please do not let yourself be absent more than you need be,” Wooyoung confesses, looking down at the space between them, fighting the urge to reach his hand across the few cavernous inches left between them. “Please. . . remain at my side, in whatever way you wish to be.”

“I am your knight, my Prince. I will always be at your side–”

“I imply in a way that means far greater than that. You. . . seem to understand the true depths of my heart, San, in a way that no other will likely ever achieve. Being with you, being. . . yours. . . it becomes something I dream of in every waking whim.” Wooyoung pauses, tightening his fist, struggling to leave his hand at his side. “I know of what I am asking, and I know of the risks, but a part of me, a very rational part of me, cannot seem to fend off the thoughts of what I would miss if I were to simply turn my cheek.”

San is quiet, but Wooyoung’s words do not falter.

“I am the Prince of Etheria, and you are but a knight in my brigade, but. . . that is not how I see you, San. You are more than that. You are part of the reason I wish to see another day. You are part of my routine, a part of my evenings, a part of– a part of myself that I fear I will have to lose the moment these other men arrive in my castle. My heart yearns for things I cannot have; peace, solitude, not so much a feeling for someone that goes deeper than mere attraction or prowess, but rather an emotion that makes me feel something I had not yet felt in several moons.”

Wooyoung timidly reaches his hand over, hesitating, glued in a pause; hovering in the space that felt insurmountable to reach across. Yet, he does it anyway. His fingers delicately wrap around San’s, a featherlight hold, a touch that was barely there, barely felt; yet it felt to be the only wrap of warmth Wooyoung had sought since the sun had risen. The feeling of San’s hand within his own was foreign, but not strange enough to be unwanted. They had never, truthfully, held hands, as they’d have no reason to. But, in touching San’s hand, in feeling their palms pressed together and feeling the sudden lacing of their fingers, Wooyoung now desires nothing more than to feel this again.

“I hear you,” San replies, his fingers delicately holding onto Wooyoung’s. “I. . . had not known what it was like to be so cherished. To have that, to have you, it means more than I could ever say.”

“I just wish to hold on to this,” Wooyoung mutters, glancing down, a bit too hesitant to meet the intensity of San’s genuine empathy within their shared gaze. “I may end up coming across as selfish, but I cannot help it. I want what I want and I–”

“I know, Wooyoung,” San interjects, reaching his free hand over, gently pressing his thumb beneath Wooyoung’s chin, slowly raising his head to entice the younger’s gaze to once again cross with his own. “I wish to obtain nothing more than that. Our lives, our intimacy– it is frowned upon to eyes that look from the outside. You and I, what we have found, is not even supposed to exist.”

“You really believe that I do not already know that?” Wooyoung asks gently, his brows slightly furrowing. “I know what risks we entertain, San.”

“I know you do,” San reassures, trailing his thumb downwards along the line of Wooyoung’s jaw. “But we must be careful, because I do not wish to endanger your future.”

Wooyoung pauses, wanting nothing more than to argue otherwise, but he rather bites his tongue. San was stubborn in his stoic, gentleman-like protests, doing what was just natural of him; protecting the Prince, as he was sworn to. He knew he couldn’t convince San to continue all of this after the ball would come to pass, and there would only be hours left to enjoy whatever connection lay between them. He longed to keep this part of himself, but even as he stood here, close and in the cusp of San’s embrace, he knew that all of this was fleeing right from his grasp.

“I have to prepare for my post,” San says quietly. “Mingi should be back soon, as well as Hyunjin. If you need accompanying somewhere, they will be here to assist you, my Prince.”

“Where is your post?” Wooyoung asks, watching as San takes in a breath, taking a step back.

“I am to be outside, overseeing the training that will partake today. The cavalry boys will be picking their mounts today,” San replies with a soft smile, almost as if he was reflecting on his own memory as a younger teen.

“You and I should take a venture out into the forest soon,” Wooyoung quips, biting his lower lip. “Reign misses her handsome stallion, you know.”

San laughs softly, a spark of mirth settled within his hues. “Byeol has been lonely out at pasture, as of late. He only ever sees Mingi’s horse off of his post.”

“Baekjo?” Wooyoung says, his smile growing. “Byeol is lucky that Baekjo is so calm. I fear that they would dare to fight over the prettiest of mares just a walk away, within the stable.”

“Byeol tolerates everyone,” San says. “He has always been so gentle, even since that day I picked him all those moons ago.”

“Reign has taken a liking to him, and she is quite the miserable mare. She hates nearly everyone,” Wooyoung says, stepping away, turning around as he observes the decor within the room. “She takes after me, I suppose. Though, I do wonder why my father chose her for me. She is quite the brat.”

“I think he chose the perfect steed for you, my Prince,” San replies, keeping his tone light. “But, sure. I will take you up on your offer, and after my post ends, we shall go out on a ride; just us.”

“You mean that?” Wooyoung asks, turning around on his heel.

“Every word. I dare not lie,” San mutters, smirking lightly. “After all, the guests shall be arriving soon. So, we should consider this our last rendezvous.”

Wooyoung nods, though the words pain his heart. “We must. One last time.”

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Hours pass, now nearing the sun’s descent as it slowly crawls to the horizon.

Wooyoung had been preparing for the ball, much to his dismay, ordering his staff around, decorating the foyer and grand hall to that of his liking, enhanced by the colors of rich crimson and lavish gold. The crest of a lion’s head was stapled around the place, hung to nearly every banner, signifying the royalty that lay within. Wooyoung sat by and watched with his advisor, Jeong Yunho, glued to his hip, meticulously laying out a plan for the evening to hopefully entice these men into wanting Wooyoung’s hand in marriage.

“You’ve prepared well,” Yunho comments, smiling small. “All of the finer details will be finished by the morning, but I must ask; what was the purpose for closing off certain quarters of the castle? Do you not wish for guests to entertain themselves in the garden?”

“I do not want the focus to drift elsewhere, Yunho. I want everything to remain present, in one area, especially so I can keep my eyes on those whom I do not trust. You forget that I do not yet know these men, and with my father’s death still looming large with an empty throne, I am a bit worried for this ball to even take place.”

Yunho shifts his stance, facing Wooyoung more directly, clasping his hands behind his back. “I see, your grace. I will see to it that we have guards stationed around the castle halls, in an aim to keep everyone huddled in the main foyer.”

“See to it,” Wooyoung comments, watching as his staff continues to shuffle about the space, carrying different floral arrangements and golden decor, moving with certain haste. “I have something to attend to, so I must leave all of this in your hands.”

“So soon?” Yunho asks, but Wooyoung nods, leaving no room for argument.

“I have already sat here well past the sun’s keep inspecting all of this, Yunho. See to this; I will be back at the cusp of the evening to prepare for bed.”

“What shall I tell your mother about your lack of presence in regards to dinner?”

“The same thing you always do,” Wooyoung says softly, turning his head to look at Yunho directly. “I will eat the moment my father’s murderer is hung.”

Yunho nods curtly, his expression not quite shifting beneath the weight of Wooyoung’s words, as he likely was too used to hearing them.

“Remain at ease, my Prince. I will handle the details. Please, enjoy your evening,” Yunho smiles, bowing his head slightly. Wooyoung turns on his heel, looking to his left, spotting Minho waiting for him at the door.

“Come, Minho, accompany me to the stables.” Wooyoung treks past the doorway, the sound of Minho following closely behind without protest, his steps an echo of each of Wooyoung’s.

The castle was yet crawling with activity, but he hadn’t been concerned about such a venture. There’d be no eyes on him, not at this hour, especially not with the current of duties to be held with the staff in regards to the ball. Yunho, as meticulous as he was with his fading blue hair, would be standing by, arranging everything in the wake of Wooyoung’s absence, seeing to the proper threshold that everything should maintain. There was to be nothing less of perfection, mostly in the eyes of Wooyoung’s mother, not much else. Wooyoung could truly care less in some aspects, but he was doing it all for appeasement, nothing more.

Wooyoung deftly walks through the castle, finding the front door as he nods to the guards stationed there, pausing for a moment as the doors open inward. The night was calm, slightly colder than usual, but Wooyoung didn’t mind. He continues his trek, moving out of the confines of such a place and off to the right, heading straight for the grand royal stables, decorated in red banners and lit by the light of the setting sun. The doors had been shut, but Wooyoung could hear the whinnies and soft noises coming from within, meaning that all of the horses had been put inside for the rest of the evening.

The usual stable keep had been outside, using a pitchfork to shuffle around hay, his eyes raising to meet that of Wooyoung’s the moment the Prince’s steps grew closer.

“Good evening, your grace,” he greets, bowing slightly. “Reign has yet to be fed this evening, so if you are to be planning a ride, now would be the perfect time to do so.”

“I shall take her out now, then,” Wooyoung says with a smile, slowly beginning to walk towards the tall barn doors.

“Would you like for me to fetch her saddle for you, your grace?” The keep asks, but Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Do not concern yourself with it. She is my horse, after all. I quite enjoy saddling her up myself once in a while.” Wooyoung turns away, listening as the keep says something in return, but he hadn’t heard it.

Minho steps forwards, opening the door with a quiet breath, allowing Wooyoung entry into the lavish stables, watching as horses turn their heads towards the noise with their ears perked forwards. Wooyoung smiles as he greets each horse with a gentle hum, finding intrigue in the way his men all chose a different breed, ranging with a variety of names, all fit to their purpose of cavalry men, guards, or even wagon workers.

“There is the pretty lady herself,” Wooyoung says, reaching his hand out, stopping at a stall on the left side of the building, almost isolated and by itself, left to harbor a deep gray thoroughbred, laden with dapples and a dark mane. Her muzzle was dark, her eyes a deep shade of sepia, her ears slowly swiveling as she listened to Wooyoung’s every word. “Would you care to see Byeol tonight, Reign?”

Wooyoung watches as the mare moves her lips against his hand, likely searching for treats or anything that might’ve been held in his palm. He smiles, brushing his opposite hand against her cheek, turning his head to look at Minho.

“Can you call for Sir San? He is to be accompanying me on this ride tonight.”

Minho bows his head. “At once, your grace.”

With a careful, practiced bout of movements, Wooyoung guides Reign out of her stall, getting her to stand compliantly as he tied her to a nearby hook. He moves to grab her saddle and bridle, searching about the tack room for the necessities of his equipment before returning back to his mare. He takes a deep breath, hoisting the saddle gently onto her back, settled on the saddle pad just beneath it. Reign shifts, not in an uncomfortable manner, rather just familiarizing herself with the weight, turning her head slightly, watching Wooyoung with a curious flick of her ears.

Wooyoung continues through his every move, gently securing the saddle to Reign’s body, fitting her belly strap appropriately before moving to attach her breast plate.

Just as he was fastening the last of the straps, approaching footsteps drew his attention away, followed by the click of hooves through the barn’s corridor. Wooyoung looks up and to his left, spotting San approaching with his gallantly stoic ebony Friesian in tow.

“You kept your promise,” Wooyoung mutters, leaning away from Reign, resting his hand on her neck. “You must really wish to venture on a ride with me.”

“I am not one to break my promises, especially to my Prince,” San replies, guiding Byeol with a gentle tug. Wooyoung rolls his eyes playfully, turning to grab Reign’s bridle before moving to stand in front of her, softly removing the halter that kept her tied to her post.

“Byeol looks like he is ready to escape the confines of this castle,” Wooyoung mutters, adjusting the bridle in his grasp, holding the bit in his palm. “Or maybe is it just you, Sir San?”

“Perhaps,” San replies, chuckling quietly. “I cannot deny that I am a bit. . . excited.”

Wooyoung hums in acknowledgement, raising the bit to Reign’s lips as she accepts it, allowing the male to finish his meticulous preparations, adjusting the straps as gently as he could. With a breath, he grabs the reins in his hand, turning around, facing San with a smile on his lips.

“Ready to venture past the walls?” He asks, watching as San nods, slowly beginning to turn around.

“Ready as I could ever be,” he replies, guiding Byeol into turning around, leading the way through the stable’s corridor. Wooyoung follows with Reign’s hooves clicking with their shared slow pace, matching that of Byeol’s gentle walk.

The setting sun slowly gleamed down upon them, making the horses’ coat shine subtly, the quiet shifts of their gear moving in tandem with each stretch and pull of their muscles as they walked. Eventually, San pauses, moving around Byeol as he settles near Wooyoung, offering his hand as he kneels down. Wooyoung laughs quietly, partially expecting this behavior and yet finding some sort of gallantry about the entire interaction itself. He carefully places his foot in San’s palm, grabbing the horn of the saddle while the other rests on the seat, allowing San to help him mount up with a gentle push.

Now, settled atop Reign, Wooyoung adjusts the reins in his grasp, feeling as she shifts and slowly moves, chewing on her bit with a trace of boredom. San quickly mounts Byeol, settling into his saddle with practiced ease, turning to glance at Wooyoung. His face was highlighted in hues of oranges and yellow, settling atop his features with an elegant glow. Wooyoung feels his heart stutter, his chest constricting, causing his words to fail and leave the cusp of his tongue.

“Lead the way,” San mutters, smiling small, giving Byeol a soft pat on his neck.

With a press of his heels into Reign’s sides, Wooyoung begins to lead the way, tapping her sides again to entice her into a trot. San follows, encouraging a matched pace from Byeol, riding beside Wooyoung, if not just barely behind Reign’s extended stride.

Wooyoung guides San towards the inner castle wall, watching as the gates open for them automatically, thanks to the stationed guards waiting at the ready. Wooyoung turns Reign off to the left, moving away from the innermost parts of Etheria and off towards the nearby forest, laden with trails and a hidden spot that Wooyoung had been fond of ever since he was young.

The warmth of the sun wasn’t much to compete with the chill of the evening breeze, dancing through the trees and settling atop the grass, weaving its way through the mane of each horse, reminding Wooyoung of the subtle space settled between himself and San, causing his head to turn, glancing at his knight with a raise of his brow.

“How was training?” He asks, watching as San gently pulls back the reins, slowing Byeol down to a walk as he rides side-to-side with Wooyoung.

“It was interesting, you know,” San begins, resting his hand on the horn of the saddle. “Watching these young men choose the horse that will lead them into battle one day–”

“Who says we’re going to be engulfed into a war?” Wooyoung jests playfully, earning a scoff from San.

“Who knows what the future will hold, your grace,” San replies, glancing at Wooyoung. “I know not of what may come, but we can never be too sure.”

“Do you think that Fleuria truly seeks to take my crown?” Wooyoung asks, causing San to widen his eyes slightly, almost taken aback by the sudden approach of a different subject.

“Prince Sunghoon–” San starts, resting one of his hands on his thigh as the saddle beneath him squeaks and shifts with Byeol’s every movement, his walk paced in tandem with that of Reign’s. “He tends to be more callous and reckless, does he not?”

“He is very unnerving, I cannot lie,” Wooyoung admits, listening to the soft thumps of each horses’ hooves. “My mother worries endlessly about him. He is quite far from Etheria, way beyond the mountains that lay behind Celestia, and yet, she fears that he will arrive suddenly, taking siege on our castle with an army that may outpower our own.”

“There is nothing to worry about, my Prince. Sunghoon may be rather. . . tricky to keep an eye on from this far, though we would know long before they were to ever come. Auretica and Celestia would know of their movements, as their kingdoms lay directly in Fleuria’s path.”

“I suppose,” Wooyoung says, looking ahead, watching as the forest slowly begins to envelop them.

The shift from grassland to the outskirts of a smaller forest was slightly relaxing, in a way that Wooyoung wishes to relish in. There felt to be a secretive layer of this different environment, making lines of sight harder to maintain with such thick foliage. The trees were tall and full of leaves, hanging delicately above the path that the pair was traveling down.

Bushes and branches lined the path, laced with the faint traces of animal tracks and leaf litter, woven between patches of grass and loose stones, guiding the horses as they walked without clear direction, simply content to just be walking together with their riders.

“Do you worry of what tomorrow will bring?” San asks, his tone softer, carrying something within the tune of his voice that Wooyoung hadn’t heard before. Apprehension, maybe.

“I assume that Prince Yeosang of Nautica will appear first, but I cannot be sure of the others. I am a bit. . . wary of the arrival of such esteemed guests, but I cannot show fear in the face of this. I must take it all within stride, handle it that way my father would have.”

“No one ever said that you need to remain expressionless,” San says, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of Wooyoung’s expression.

“I know,” Wooyoung replies, turning to smile at him. “But I must do what is correct of me, right?”

Wooyoung turns to gaze in front of him as San nearly was about to respond, spotting a fork in the road; a choice. He knew where these trails led, as he had run away from the castle on many occasions, but the place he wished to take San to was only but a short distance away.

“Off to the left, there is a secret place I wish to show you,” Wooyoung mutters, raising his hand to point towards the shift in the path, earning a noncommittal tone from San in turn.

“We must turn back soon, your grace. I do not wish to keep you out longer when the sun is about to set.”

“If you so wish to take me back to the castle, you will have to catch me first, Sannie.” Wooyoung turns, offering him a wink, kicking into Reign’s sides as he ushers her forwards, galloping away from San as he laughs and begins to chase after him.

He could hear Byeol’s hoofbeats behind him, following his every move as he guides Reign to the left, running through the paved trail, ducking down to avoid branches and leaves, laughing when he hears San call after him. His voice was nearly lost amongst the thuds and thunderous sound of the horses’ hooves, chaotically echoing throughout the forest as the two ran through the vacant woods.

“Catch me if you can!” Wooyoung shouted over his shoulder, giving another encouraging, but gentle, kick to Reign’s sides, feeling as she responded with a slightly bigger stride.

As Reign turned the corner, a break in the trees came into view. A wide, moonlit pond comes into view, barely overcast with vines and branches, laden with lily pads and sporadic throes of duckweed. Wooyoung pulls on the reins, guiding Reign into a halt, her nostrils flaring from the effort of such a chase. Not a moment later, Byeol comes trotting up, his breaths heavy, a snort rolling through his nostrils as San laughs, halting his horse to reach over and gently nudge Wooyoung.

“You trickster,” he mutters, earning a laugh from Wooyoung in turn.

“Come here,” Wooyoung replies, adjusting the way he was sitting before dismounting completely, pulling his reins over Reign’s head. “I want to share something with you.”

San complies, following completely, dismounting and leading Byeol to where Wooyoung had walked, tying the horses to a tree nearby.

Wooyoung carefully walks his way down to the shore, sitting down on a cracked, yet rather large, log. The wood creaks beneath him as he sits, but it doesn’t break, holding strong as more weight is added the moment San sits down. Wooyoung looks down, smiling softly, listening to the noises of nature surrounding them beneath the gentle twinkle of the moon.

Frogs were croaking, insects chirping, trees rustling quietly as another breeze weaved its way overhead. It was serene; the perfect backdrop to allow Wooyoung the chance to be completely genuine, far away from the chaos of his own kingdom.

“You know,” Wooyoung begins, keeping his voice light. “No one makes me feel alive in the way you do.”

“In what way?” San replies, clasping his hands together, resting his elbows against his thighs as he leans forward slightly.

“In a way that feels hard to describe,” Wooyoung says, glancing up, watching the reflection of the moon shimmer across the subtle ripples of water. “You just know me for who I am, not for what others see that lay beneath the thick of a cloak and the gold of a crown.”

“I just see you, as you are,” San responds, leaning closer, pressing his knee to Wooyoung’s. “That is all I have ever saw.”

“Promise me something, Sir San,” Wooyoung mutters, turning his head to the left, looking at San with a plea of affection, watching as the male’s gaze softens.

“Anything, your grace.”

“Do not leave me,” Wooyoung asks selfishly, knowing fully well what may come of their continued foolishness. “I know what you have said, for what your fears may be after the arrival of such guests, but I fear I. . . I fear I will lose myself without you.”

“I will always be here,” San says, but Wooyoung shakes his head.

“No, San. Do not remain just as my knight, as someone who protects the dignified version of me. Remain at my side for the person you see beyond the lavish suits and gold jewelry. Be here, with me, not just for the Prince everyone else sees.”

San studies Wooyoung’s gaze for a moment, almost as if he was processing the weight of his words. Wooyoung holds his breath, listening as the ambient noises around them suffocate his thoughts into silence, clinging on to their shared warmth. The sounds of the horses grazing behind them, the flow of the water and the breeze rustling through the branches created an echoing backdrop to a persistent plea, one that Wooyoung found himself repeating, though he felt as if San wasn’t truly listening to his every word. He didn’t wish to just entertain this intimacy for the remainder of his marital freedom, but rather through the thicket of it all, marriage or not.

He was being selfish, sure; and yet he still couldn’t find it within himself to care.

“I will stay,” San replies, his jaw tight, surrendering to the vulnerability of the moment. “I will be there, for every version of you, even in the dark of night.”

Wooyoung smiles, his eyes lulling slightly as he reaches a hand up to cup San’s jaw, pulling him closer. He leans closer, pressing his forehead to San’s, feeling the male’s breath warm his lips.

“No matter what may come with the rise of the sun, just remember these words, Sir San,” he mutters, giving in to the pull that dares to bind them together, muttering his next words in a near-kiss. “You are all my heart ever desires.”

Chapter Text

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

The morning arose without the flutter of a word. The kingdom was oddly still at such an hour, likely laden with workers and the scent of breakfast to flutter about the vacant halls. Wooyoung didn’t care to eat at the grand table beside his mother, residing within his room once more, looking at his reflection within his enlarged mirror. The mirror was reflecting the morning sun just barely, the gold frame shimmering lightly in the light that shone inwards. Wooyoung shifts the weight between his feet, tilting his head, his fingers tracing the delicate golden buttons of his blouse, chewing on the interior of his cheek as he studies the appearance of someone he could barely recognize.

He knew who he was on the inside, but this facade that he was having to portrait forcibly was weighing over him, like a cloud hovering above an unsuspecting kingdom. The clouds were dark, laden with pouring rain and booms of thunder, and rather than fleeing inside to escape the onslaught of rain, Wooyoung stood outside, damp and drenched from the water pouring over him, threading through the long locks of his ebony hair and down the sensitive skin of his face. He felt it all; every tear, every streak, every surge of emotion. Even as he stood there in the mirror, perfectly dry and unscathed by a threat of rain, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was already drowning in this.

Ji-soo was moving about the space, her features seemingly worn with exhaustion, almost as if she hadn’t slept in a few days. Yet, her movements were far from mechanical. She was practiced, moving fluidly, folding garments and preparing Wooyoung’s crown for the usual polish it received every morning. The other ladies, ones of which Wooyoung rarely saw except for cleaning days such as these, also moved about the space with an act of ease, making his bed and tidying up his space, though it was far from disorderly.

Wooyoung sighs, his chest subtly heaving as he tries to decompress before the morning would be subdued with stress. He had always appreciated this quiet, taking a moment to soak in what he felt to be a sense of normalcy. The birds chirping, the subtle whisk of clouds loosely hanging above his kingdom, the palette of colors that shifted with every rising inch of the sun and descent of the moon; it was serene, to say the least. Yet, the moment that crown would adorn his head, he would feel all of the pressure his father once wore, knowing that he and he alone lay responsible for the lives that were led far beyond the confines of his castle.

It was almost as if Ji-soo knew, or at the very least, understood, all of the emotions raging through Wooyoung’s mind. She was a quiet accomplice, moving about her tasks, not bothering to ask meaningless questions that would fail to calm the tide of pressures looming just beneath the surface. Wooyoung was trained to be like this; to remain expressionless and even-keeled, to represent the enigmatic grace of those who were raised with poise. He knew people were always watching him, studying his every movement and shift of expression, observing for a single lapse that would crack in his armor, bleeding through with whatever vulnerabilities would present themselves. He knew better than to crack, especially with an evening ahead of him like this.

Though, as his eyes trailed upwards, looking into the depth of his own soul, he found himself feeling a little less than nothing. He was steel, cold as ice, immune to the threats of the day, even amidst all of the chaos bustling around him. It all faded away, just like the stars had with every rise of the sun, and in the same way that the fog dissipates after hugging the grass so tightly. He knew that Ji-soo could see this, even if she pretended to not pay attention. She was always watching, always in tune with whatever Wooyoung’s mood had been, trying to prepare him for the worst, while embracing the best. She felt like a mother he hadn’t deserved, while his actual mother seemed to be the remnants of a stranger, glued in a cast of someone who pretended to care.

He would never openly admit it, but the moment his father had gotten sick, his mother just wasn’t his mother anymore. She was different, stepping out of her role and leaving the duties that were expected of her, giving room for Ji-soo to become a place of comfort. Wooyoung didn’t wish to place so much on the woman’s shoulders, but she accepted it all, willingly and without a word of hesitance.

But, as time would have it, Wooyoung’s moment of peace was interrupted by a rather loud knock on his door, followed by the creak and loud opening of them afterwards. He glances to his right, raising a brow, watching as his mother strides inside with a rather irritated glimmer.

“Are you preparing well?” She asks, her tone commanding his attention, lacking any sort of empathy or motherly care.

“I am getting dressed, am I not?” Wooyoung responds curtly, turning his gaze away, looking at himself in the mirror once more.

“There is still so much yet to do, and I have not seen you once in the midst of planning, glued to these hellish walls in an act of resilience–”

“You act as if my resilience is of forced will,” Wooyoung replies, taking a breath, smoothing out his shirt and collar before turning to look at his mother fully, taking in the grandeur of her attire and presentation, wondering why she felt the need to wear such a commanding dress so early in the morning.

Her skirt was rather large, the petticoat ruffled outwards with golden details, fitted with lace and floral patterns, curled and hemmed appropriately to settle against the small of her waist. Her hair was curled and pinned up, off of her neck with golden earrings in the lobes of her ears. Her crown, smaller and adorned with red jewels, sat atop her head, pinned into her hair, completing the ensemble with a flair of the royal hues.

“You are defiant on purpose, my son.” She smiles, though forced and not quite reaching her eyes. Her hands move to clasp in front of her, taking in a small breath as she steps closer, her eyes scaling Wooyoung’s attire from head to toe. “By the God’s, you are not even dressed appropriately–!”

“Can you just give me a moment of peace?” Wooyoung asks, moving his hand down, adjusting his cuff, folding and rolling it backwards. “Why must you insist on being such a royal ache in my side at all times?”

“I am your mother, mind your tongue,” she hisses, losing her usual composure, allowing the faintest slip of her attitude to seep off of her tongue. Wooyoung raises a brow, deeply uninterested, glancing around the room to see if any of their staff had minded the distaste clinging to his mother’s tone, but they remained rather robotic, consumed by their tasks, too focused on their diligence to bother worrying about the conversation. However, noticing her tone, his mother straightens her back, gently releasing a breath she must’ve been holding before she turns, looking at Ji-soo.

“Leave us,” she commands, her gaze subtly piercing. Ji-soo turns, nodding her head, silently glancing around to her ladies. “At once. Please, Ji-soo.”

“Yes, your grace,” Ji-soo responds politely, setting down the items in her hand before giving a curtsey, ushering her ladies out of the room. Wooyoung watches them leave, swallowing the disdain lingering on his tongue as he spots Mingyu and Minho standing guard, closing the doors behind the ladies as they rush out.

“Must you be so rude?” Wooyoung asks, walking away from the mirror, striding to his large dresser, swinging the doors open. “You ask for me to be ready by a certain time, then come to ruin the harmony of my morning? You are quite preposterous.”

“Jung Wooyoung–” she sighs, raising a hand, her fists clenching in a rush to subside the anger before it consumes her. “Why must you act so damn defiant? Why can you not be the son I envisioned?”

“Sorry?” Wooyoung asks, turning to look at his mother, his hands now paused as he sifts through his jackets, in search for the final piece of his attire. “You expect me to just bend the knee to every single wish you conjure?”

“You behold expectations, and you must follow suit. You may come to realize that your efforts to be so dismissive will be met in vain. I did not raise you to be so callous, rash and heartless. You are the Prince, Wooyoung!”

“You act as if I am the one who has slain my father,” he retorts, stepping away from his wardrobe. “I act a certain way because I am my own being, with my own desires and wishes to behold. I care not for what you want from me, as I already know what is expected of me. But for once, I wish to seek a morning of peace before I am to marry someone I do not even know.”

“Oh, by the God’s, Wooyoung–” she exasperates, a breath fleeing from her lips as she dramatically turns, facing Wooyoung’s mirror, taking in another breath before she turns once more. “You act as if you have not been aware of your destiny this entire time. You knew what was to become of your status the moment your father lay dead in his grave.”

“My father was murdered–” Wooyoung sneers, raising his hand, pointing at his mother. “Do not just stand there and act so unbothered by the fact that your husband’s murderer is still out there, likely coming for my own throat next.”

“We hung the man responsible!” She responds, raising her voice. “You are ridiculous! You are the Prince of Etheria and to behave in such a manner that belies who you truly are is quite obscene.”

“You hung the man you thought to be responsible, not I.” Wooyoung’s jaw clenches, his hand falling away, drifting back to his side, a shaky breath sinking back into his lungs. “He is still looming, like a beast beneath the waves of a restless ocean tide. He is still out there, and my throne is at stake.”

“What throne?” She asks, gesturing blindly into the air before her, looking incredulously confused. “The throne you defiantly refused to get married for? The same throne you chastise and ignore because of your own selfish desires?”

“How dare you–” Wooyoung begins, but his mother cuts him off.

“How dare I? For what? Protecting you? Giving you everything that you need to become King of Etheria? For simply being your mother and guiding you through this hellish realm we consider life?” She nearly yells, her eyes brimming with sudden tears, causing Wooyoung to re-evaluate, swallowing his anger. “It is not my fault your father perished, Wooyoung– I. . . I loved him. Maybe not at first, as no marriage is quite perfect, but. . . I did. He was the father of my child, the only person who ever dared to take a chance on me in a competitive society filled with meaningless prowess and sex. But he truly saw me, and here I began to think that you could fit into the shoes he had left for you, to wear that crown with a sense of pride in knowing that you would make your father proud but–”

She pauses, her tone shaky and quiet, a sudden truth bleeding from her lips. “You will never be like your father.”

Wooyoung’s breath hitches, his heart cracking, revealing the frail layers of a shell just beneath. He tried desperately to live up to his mother’s expectations, to be the son that his father would desire for him to be, to be the ruler that Etheria truly needed; yet, he felt anything but. He thought of himself to be too young, too unruly, too chaotic, maybe a bit too rash in some thoughts, though he tried to harbor the weight of everything he withheld. It was a tightrope to linger upon, stuck between a place of needing to be himself, yet remaining glued to a facade of someone he barely recognized.

The crown, though not physically heavy, felt to be made up of cement and bricks, cast in stone and heavier jewels, weighing down not only his every step, but his every breath. He was too young for this, too naive, too lackluster. Surely there was someone else cut out for this? Perhaps his mother, or some other native born of Etherian blood with their mother tongue, raised as a lord in a rather royal household? Wooyoung knew he was delirious in hoping for such, but that was all he had. Well, that and a lonely bedroom within a vacant castle, harboring his isolating thoughts and behaviors well beneath the path of many stars.

But to hear his fear be spoken aloud, to hear that he truly will never be his father, crushed him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He wasn’t made of ice, nor was he truly heartless, but receiving such a sentiment after engaging in a rather passionate argument with his mother left his heart agape, bleeding out in the palms of his hand, seizing and beating, struggling to just be.

He knew he wasn’t his father. He wasn’t poetic in his every word, graceful in his every step, gallant in his every breath; and yet he strove to be the very thing he wasn’t. It was what his mother wanted, what the kingdom needed, and every portion of himself that he tried so deeply to just hide withered away, hidden beneath the mask of a crown and cloak. His father was always so dutiful to the council and the crown, putting the needs of his people before the front of his own, masking the pain of his illness until it no longer spared him the strength to even stand. He crumbled before his people, breathing out a final wish, hoping to instill some patience and wisdom into that of his own son. Yet, as Wooyoung stands there, before his mother, all he can hear is the words of his own father, the cries of his mother, the silence of the entire kingdom as the bell rung, signaling the departure of their dearest King.

Lead them well, Prince Jung Wooyoung.

But what kind of a leader could he ever truly be? What was to come of him if war was to let loose? What were to happen if the castle caught fire and all of its people died, or if an illness came and swept over the nation, destroying the immune systems of those who were healthy, killing those who were weak and unable to function? Wooyoung could feel his jaw clench tighter, the threat of tears surging to the surface, the sudden tightening of his chest; all a precursor to emotions he knew his mother would yell at him for.

“I am not my father,” he all but whispers back, clenching his fist. “I likely never will be. But I am his son, and as heir to the throne and future King, hear my words mother–”

He takes a step forwards, tilting his head up slightly, watching as his mother stands defiantly before him. “I will not be your plaything in a game of thrones. I am your son, and I am but a person in a world as vast as ours. You plea for respect and dignity, but you yourself withhold none. Treat others as you wish to be treated–” he pauses, watching as his mother’s face tightens with anger. “Isn’t that right, your highness?”

She’s quiet, not for long, but long enough for Wooyoung to fear that he’d gone too far in his absent anger. Suddenly she speaks, her tone dismissive yet irritated, clearly not having liked the words Wooyoung carelessly spat in a fit of his own anger. “Prepare yourself for your guests. Not more than an hour are you to be in this room.”

Without waiting for Wooyoung to respond, she turns on her heel and looks to her own guards, waving to them in a motion to follow. Wooyoung simply stands there, his fists down at his sides, expression falling, nearly at the cusp of falling apart as he watches his mother simply turn and leave without bothering to look back.

He knew he’d have no chance at reconciling every single fracture within this stagnant relationship between himself and his mother, and he couldn’t quite find it within himself to worry about the smaller details. He wanted to focus on himself, on this continual downward spiral of a web he’d entangled himself in, on the idea that he’d soon be wed to an unknown spouse, bedding that someone with a love that didn’t feel quite as resolute as the one he knew he couldn’t have.

There were so many things to finish, to meet and to prepare, but all Wooyoung could do was stand there, messing with his sleeves, delicately tracing his fingers over the golden buttons adoring his silk shirt. The room was oddly still now, left without the essence of a voice or a mere breath, laden with the unknown but so profoundly familiar that all Wooyoung wanted to do was sit there, standing idly, listening as the world around him moved without a care as he stood in the fear of his own reflection.

The sudden burst of a few knocks draws him away from his reverie, dragging his attention towards the familiar lines of his chamber doors as they slowly part open, revealing a sight of someone he hadn’t expected to see quite this early.

“Sir San,” Wooyoung says with a breath, clasping his hands together in front of him. “I did not know to expect you.”

“Forgive the interruption, your grace,” San says, bowing his head down, the doors behind him closing with a subtle click.

“I do not mind the intrusion,” Wooyoung replies in a calm tone, his lips graced with a subtle smile. “What brings you to my chambers?”

“I came to check on you,” he responds quietly, approaching with a few timid steps before stopping, left with a respectable distance between them. “I know this morning worried you quite a bit after our talk last night.”

“I will admit. . . I am the slightest bit on edge–” Wooyoung pauses, wetting his lips, his hands moving absently to fuss about with the cuffs of his shirt, almost a bit nervously. “My mother is on my ass about this entire ball, and I am sure that the council will have my head on a pike if I do not find a suitor after all of the stress of this.”

“Can you not rule alone?” San asks, curious and slightly probing, though Wooyoung hardly minded.

“Have you ever seen a King rule alone?” Wooyoung muses, raising a brow, trying to lighten the mood. “What King would I be if I were to take on no marriage? To have no one uphold the crown in the event of my death?”

“Please, my Prince, no harm will ever come to you–”

“But we cannot be sure,” Wooyoung attests, walking a few steps closer, slightly swaying in his walk. “Sunghoon is on the prowl, watching my every move, waiting for his moment to strike like some sort of vicious animal.”

“Why are you so adamant on Sunghoon coming here to ruin all of this progress?” San tilts his head, taking another step closer, causing Wooyoung to slowly smile with a shift in his posture. “You really seem to believe that I would ever let anyone harm a hair on my Prince’s head.”

“Mm, would you?” Wooyoung teases right back, allowing his tone to drop into a sultry murmur. “It is your sworn duty to remain at my side from this day onward.”

“And I will always be right here, giving you everything that I am, protecting you at all costs, even if it costs me my life.”

San’s tone, although genuine, strikes a cord of earnesty within Wooyoung. He’s taken aback, although brief and quietly, yet he can feel himself drifting into familiar feelings that were all but welcome. He knew what this was, and though he promised himself to remain honest to San and San only, this sentiment was a burden to acknowledge. He was placing San in danger by just knowing, and hearing that he’d so willingly risk his life to protect every essence of Wooyoung’s own, that furthered the risk of simply letting the words roll off of his tongue.

“Make me another oath,” Wooyoung says quietly, listening as the room fell back into a sudden chilled quiet, smothered in light from the rising sun. Wooyoung lingers closer, his teeth sinking down into his bottom lip, his left hand reaching out, just barely grazing up against San’s. “Swear to me that you will always be safe. No matter what we may face in this reality or the next; I want you here, beside me, in a way that no one else may entertain.”

“But what of your safety?”

“What of it?” Wooyoung returns, brazenly reaching his hand across the distance between them, gently tugging San closer, feeling the cool metallic press of his armor against his fingers as his hand raises, keeping himself grounded against the flurry of emotions tangling themselves further into a web of the unknown. “As long as you remain at my side, San, I fear nothing. You are my strength– do you not see that?”

“I do,” he replies, his voice low in a near-whisper. “I see you and I hear you, my Prince, but if harm may come to you when I could have prevented it, I will have failed the promise I swore to you to begin with.”

“Trust me–” Wooyoung pleads, inching closer, curling his fingers around San’s. “I beg of you to just trust me, San. The times that are coming are anything but easy, but I wish to bear them with you.”

Before he was even given the chance, Wooyoung nestles closer, his hand pressed to the armor adorning San’s chest, their hands slowly entwining as the distance between them runs null. Wooyoung brushes his nose against San’s, feeling the male’s warm breath pressing against his lips, a smile slowly curling on that of his own.

“Why must you resist this?” Wooyoung mutters, squeezing San’s hand. “Why will you not just trust me?”

San doesn’t answer, his words seemingly lost against the flurry of emotions clinging to the space delicately hanging between them. Wooyoung’s smile only widens, his lips brushing up against San’s in the ghost-like essence of a chaste kiss, leaving San to lean in closer just as Wooyoung leaned away.

“Tell me that you trust me, Sannie,” Wooyoung mumbles quietly. “Even amongst everything we are to face in the coming days, please just offer me this. Offer me your trust.”

For a moment, but a brief lapse in time, does San remain silent. Wooyoung watches him from beneath his lashes, biting his tongue, praying for the essence of San’s ever bountiful trust. Their eyes, locked into the depth of one another, seem to glimmer over with something unfamiliar; an ounce of a new emotion that Wooyoung felt mirrored within his own. Adoration maybe, affection seemingly too benign in comparison. Just as Wooyoung was beginning to fear that his plea was being met with deaf ears, San speaks, breaking apart their serene silence with the utterance of an oath.

“I do trust you,” San whispers back, closing his eyes as he leans closer, their foreheads now gently pressed against one another. “I trust you so much that it scares me.”

“Do not fear the unknown when you are with me, Sannie,” Wooyoung responds tenderly, running his hand up and away from San’s chest, now cradling his jaw. “I will protect you with everything I have, just as you would do for me.”

Wordlessly, San closes the distance, pressing his lips to Wooyoung’s in a languid, tender kiss. Everything that he seemed to want to express had been laced into their kiss. Wooyoung threaded his hand through San’s red tresses, pulling him closer, ignoring all of the noises of the world around them as it seemingly fell away, leaving them standing alone amongst a pedestal, lost in the abyss of their own tumultuous romance.

They break apart, albeit breathless, but Wooyoung can feel San’s eyes upon him. He slowly glances up, brushing his thumb against San’s cheek, feeling as if time itself would still, locking them away from the shadows of this realm and the next. Wooyoung wanted to live and breathe in this moment for as long as the universe would allow them, though it felt to be but a fruitless wish.

“I mustn’t take up more of your time,” San says reluctantly. “I will be at your post today. If you are ever not sure, or ever need reassurance, just find my gaze from across the room. In that, you and I will be together, even amongst a crowd of people.”

Wooyoung nods, slowly releasing San’s hand from his own, hesitantly beginning to inch away. “I will look for you. Please call for the maids as you make your leave.”

“At once, your grace,” San replies curtly, smiling small, offering a slight bow of his head.

“Oh– and San?” Wooyoung calls, biting his lip as the knight pauses in his steps before trekking away, waiting for his Prince to speak. “It is in your gaze that I find peace in knowing just how safe I am to remain.”

San offers another smile, but this time, this one felt. . . different. He turns and he walks away, every shift of his armor breaking the terse silence that became of Wooyoung’s room the moment the door had sealed them away from the rest of the world. San seemed to be more open, more willing, more accepting of a future where they could just be. Sure, they were hiding an affair beneath the nose of his council and mother, but what did it matter? Wooyoung felt something strong for San, albeit selfishly, and now having entrapped himself within San’s heart, it felt almost as if San’s eyes, for the first time in a long time, withheld a hope that their relationship could foresee brighter days. Or, maybe Wooyoung was a bit selfish in hoping so, but there was a possibility that for once, San was mirroring the depth of Wooyoung’s hidden testament, only allowing himself to show in it within his every glance and breath, giving his actions the power of words that remain unsaid, lacing an adoring feeling into his every action in the fear that the words would simply rush free, entangling them further into a web they weren’t sure they could free themselves from.

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

As the cusp of evening took over the grandeur of the sun, Wooyoung found himself standing next to Yunho, making last minute preparations for their ball. The scene was set, amongst a flurry of floral arrangements, golden decor, gallant red rugs and an obscure amount of wine. Everything seemed to be flowing perfectly, moving in tandem with each and every task collected on their feather-written list, alphabetically labeling the details of such an arrangement, yet finding that nearly everything had been crossed off of their list.

“Just a few more moments,” Yunho comments, looking down at the paper in his hands. “Our staff has handled everything to perfection, your grace. The evening is set up for complete success.”

“See to every guest,” Wooyoung comments, leaning closer. “I may be a bit. . . distracted. I need to try and lay my eyes upon a good suitor for this kingdom, as well as future alliances. Please keep watch in the places I may lay blind to.”

“Yes, your grace,” Yunho responds coyly, bowing his head, clasping his hands behind his back, the paper still firmly held within his grasp.

Wooyoung’s gaze shifts to move about the room, watching as his staff inspects and hustles about, carrying floral arrangements and other assortments to their proper places, completing the decorations for the festivities to the best of their capabilities. He turns on his heel, facing a rather large painting of his father resting in his throne, the same crown Wooyoung was now wearing adorned to his head, settled next to that of his wife. He looked overly stoic then, too composed and poised for his own good, almost as if the entire world was sat upon his shoulders. He was always so gallant in everything he had done, refusing to bend the knee, never turning his cheek, taking the higher road and demanding respect when other kingdoms refused to give him what he required of them. He was feared, but in all of the right ways. He could be your friend, a shoulder to supply resources from, or he could be a fierce enemy, striking at the cusp of midnight, slaying all of those who laid in their beds unaware of the impending storm.

King Jung Tae was everything Wooyoung had aspired to be, but even as he looked at the portrait of his late father, he found himself wondering if that was truly what he wanted. To rule with an iron grip, to be feared by his enemies and adored by those he ruled. To be wed to someone he barely knew, to lead a kingdom he felt undeserving of, to have such a large target painted across his neck, awaiting his enemies even in the depth of sleep.

His eyes trail downwards, hesitating, stuck listening to the hollow rumblings of thoughts that came to pass. Was it all worth it if it made him feel as numb as this? Was any of this sacrifice worth the ultimate price? Would the weight of this crown ever become any less burdensome than it was currently?

He didn’t have the answers, nor did he seek them, sat alone and stuck at a crossroads, feeling unable to dictate himself to a proper pathing. He wanted to venture elsewhere, to be free from the confines of chains that glued him to such a precarious role, yet he remained stuck in place, panicking about where his next steps were to be placed. He just wanted to be himself, but most of all, he wanted to love openly and without fear, to be cherished and to feel the things he felt robbed of as a child. He wanted security and safety, to be held at the cusp of night and adored in the shadow of the morning; he just wanted to feel loved.

He ached and he craved so much that it simply felt anything but human to desire such a thing. Yet, as he sits there, feeling the gaze from his father’s painting stuck to the very crown atop his head, he settles into a resolve, knowing that he needs to be stronger than this. He needed to bury himself deep, to forget the simple surge of need in terms of becoming but a person for a lowly day, to embrace his future as King of Etheria, even if he wanted anything but.

In the chaos of his own mind, Wooyoung turns, hiding away from the shame of his father’s deceased and painted gaze, looking around the room until he found the eyes from those of who he sought. San.

A place of solace, a moment to breathe, a lapse in time to just exist; San was someone who just understood based upon a glance, and in their shared gaze wove a deeper connection of intimacy, something far beyond the confines of conjoined bodies and languid kisses. This was deeper, possibly a calling to one another’s heart, a plea to come closer. But, Wooyoung stood still, soaking in San’s tender gaze, relishing in the comfort he found from within. He could hear Yunho vaguely speaking off to the right, too busy in his own given tasks to worry about the lingering stare that Wooyoung was giving to his own knight. But he couldn’t be too fucked to care.

Wooyoung needed a moment of reprieve. A measly second away from the pain of this crown and away from his mother, to flee the confines of his suitors that were surely to appear by the door with the clashing sound of hooves. He wanted to run to San, to grab him by the hand and rush into the stables, to gather their horses and to flee into the woods, lost amongst the branches and flora to lavish their bodies in adoring touches and lucid kisses. Wooyoung wanted to disappear from all of this, to finally feel the pressures give way and to just be a fucking person for once, but as he was feeling himself give in to such desires, the main doors creak open, followed by a bellowing welcome that came from Mingyu’s lips.

Wooyoung turns away, his posture straightening, his lips moving away from the smile that slowly crept onto his lips, watching as a tall male steps through the threshold, a genuine grin appearing across his lips. His eyes were blue, his hair a deep umber. The clothes he wore were loose-fitted, flowy in all of the right places, accented by hints of blue and gold, laden with whites while his slacks were a deep hue of black. Wooyoung feels his breath hitch, his eyes raising to meet those of a gaze he’s never crossed paths with before. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or simply shocked to find this suitor to be alluring in all of the most infuriating ways, but also, he could feel his heart yearning, screaming almost, to simply turn and leave. For the first time, he truly feels at war with himself, stuck in a place of longing to be himself and knowing what duties he must obtain.

Mingyu speaks, though Wooyoung isn’t sure if Mingyu's voice is any louder than the pulse thumping away in the sensitive cavern of his own throat. “Prince Jung Wooyoung, I am pleased to welcome Prince Choi Yeonjun of Auretica into the realm of Etheria.”

Chapter Text

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

The moment Yeonjun steps further into the castle, Wooyoung’s heart seizes. He’s confused, albeit briefly, watching as someone from a similar title to his own closes the distance between them with a curt demeanor. He’s gallant, maybe a bit stoic, but Wooyoung can sense something bubbling beneath the surface. A curiosity, maybe? Blatant arrogance in theme with his title? Wooyoung couldn’t be sure, but he forced himself to silence, composing himself to force a smile onto his lips, feeling the steely gaze of San’s eyes boring into him.

“Prince Yeonjun,” Wooyoung greets, taking in the full account of the male’s attire. “Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, your grace,” Yeonjun replies smoothly, bowing his head in a motion of respect. Yeonjun extends his hand out, which brings Wooyoung to briefly hesitate, if but for a moment before he raises his hand and lays it into Yeonjun’s palm. He watches the male carefully as he bends his head down, pressing a gentle kiss against Wooyoung’s knuckles.

A part of Wooyoung should’ve felt flattered, but a bigger half of him feels lost. He knew San was watching all of this, likely clenching his teeth and keeping himself silent, a composed figure in the corner of the room, anticipating everything yet nothing all at once. Wooyoung didn’t want to meet his gaze right then, knowing that it’d likely be too charged emotionally, causing his heart to rupture even more than it already had.

“On behalf of all of Auretica, I thank you for inviting me into your home, especially for such a ball,” Yeonjun says softly. Wooyoung eyes him for a moment, calming the internal storm of doubt with a small smile, trying to remain as composed as he could manage. His heart felt almost as if it was being ripped at the seams, but he was forced to pretend as if nothing was happening above the surface. He needed to be calm, to receive each gesture as if it were the most normal thing in the world to him.

“We are pleased to have you,” Wooyoung replies, keeping his tone steady, almost dignified. “Etheria welcomes you with utmost respect.”

“Tell me, your grace–” Yeonjun begins, straightening his posture slightly as their hands part, drifting back to their respectful sides. “What deals are you to propose if we were to unite under the covenant of marriage?”

Wooyoung nods, offering a polite smile as he watches Yeonjun’s body language, assessing his behavior in a move to gather as much intel as he could manage. “There are many things to consider, quite frankly. There is the widening of trade routes and supply chains, while also furnishing one’s army with utmost care, as well as broadening security for unknown threats.”

“Unknown threats?” Yeonjun pries, raising a brow. “Are you aware of something I am not?”

“No,” Wooyoung replies, offering a light chuckle to try and alleviate Yeonjun’s worry. “We can never be sure of what threats remain hidden in the shadows. Assassination attempts, poisoning, arson–”

“Expect the unexpected?” Yeonjun inquires, earning a nod from Wooyoung in turn.

“Precisely.” Wooyoung clasps his hands together, watching as Yeonjun smiles. His eyes were alight with something that Wooyoung couldn’t place, a possible mirror into the soul of a man he hadn’t laid eyes on before. Yeonjun was indeed handsome, Wooyoung wouldn’t be blind in admitting to it, however, there lay nothing electric to spark between them. It was barren, lost of anything romantic, a complete contrast to the novels and dreams he saw in the pictures played within his mind. This wasn’t that spark of immediate romance where he knew he could continue on as King with someone he loved at his side. This was a mere friend, an alliance, a will to extend his hand to offer an ally support when the world sought to be too tough.

Yeonjun was taller than he was, maybe a bit more stoic and gallant in his gestures and tone; Wooyoung could tell that the schooling his parents had done truly paid off for them to get such a well-mannered son, but Wooyoung could see beyond all of it. Partially, maybe. There was something brewing beneath the surface of Yeonjun’s coy smile and his endearing gaze, maybe a plot into marriage or seeking a genuine connection, though Wooyoung couldn’t tell. He was confused, if only briefly, wondering why his heart was screaming to be elsewhere. This was his duty, was it not? He was supposed to marry one of these three suitors, and if the first one went as disappointingly as this, what were the other two to withhold? He knew his heart longed to be with San, as every nerve and inch of his entire being ached to be at his side. San felt to be the one true thing he could never quite have, but yet, now that he’s tasted him and allowed him into his bed, he feels conflicted in more horrific ways than one.

“Tell me, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun begins. “What other things does the Prince enjoy on a lonely day here in Etheria?”

Wooyoung turns slightly, gesturing with his hand to move further into the ballroom, trying to guide Yeonjun away from the eyes he can feel boring into the side of his head. He knew San was trying to understand, but in the male’s little time within court, he knew that in seeing all of this would stir up a million emotions, making it that much more difficult to convey his true feelings in the matter. Wooyoung felt deeply for him. He well and truly did. But his sense of duty marred over every single urge to defy every part of this god forsaken role, loomed over by the portrait of his overbearing father, laden with responsibility, threatened by the gaze of his mother. He didn’t know what else to do, but in time, he’d hope that San would linger around long enough for him to simply explain.

Yeonjun follows Wooyoung’s steps as they move further inward, heading towards a few tables that had been set up nearby and off to an adjacent wall, laden with golden cups, filled to the brim with wine and other smaller foods, likely pieces of fish or some other delicacy that Wooyoung truly didn’t fancy.

“I quite like reading,” Wooyoung admits lowly, watching as Yeonjun’s fingers delicately wrap around a glass, raising the wine to his lips. “I also cherish riding my horse. My father gave her to me as a birthday gift a long time ago, so we grew up together, practically.”

“I do share in your love for riding,” Yeonjun says after a sip of the wine, smiling small. “Tell me, what did your father pick out for you?”

“A thoroughbred,” Wooyoung replies, glancing over at the glasses of wine, rather choosing to distance himself from the thought of enjoying one. “She is a lot smarter than I would rather admit, but she can be full of attitude. She knows what she wants and usually gets it–”

“Like her rider, I would assume?” Yeonjun teases, raising his brows as he takes another sip, earning a flush to saunter across the top of Wooyoung’s cheeks.

“I–” Wooyoung pauses, allowing a smile to break through his facade. “Yes, most likely.”

“I was gifted an andalusian,” Yeonjun explains, gesturing idly with his hand as he continues to speak. “He can be rather stubborn, but is the least reactive horse I have had the pleasure of riding.”

“I have heard wonderful things about andalusians, though my father had always been keen on horses with great athletic ability,” Wooyoung continues, raising his gaze to briefly scan across the room before he pauses. “He too rode on a thoroughbred, but he was the biggest horse I had ever met. He was very tall, almost a near gentle giant.”

“Why near?”

“He hated everyone besides my father,” Wooyoung says with a soft smile, looking down, clasping his hands together to keep his habits idle, nearly reaching to fidget with the rings on his fingers. “My father. . . I cannot express him in mere words. He really just had that aura around him, and the God’s saw that. He was too great for us, I presume.”

“I am sorry to hear about your father,” Yeonjun says softly, his expression softening. Wooyoung glances up, nodding subtly before he takes a breath inwards, steeling himself for the conversation as it turns an unexpected corner. “My father had always spoken so highly of King Tae. It was a shame to hear about his illness.”

“That was my father,” Wooyoung admits, keeping his tone light despite the heaviness settling over his chest. “Everyone loved him, regardless of what standing they wore or from where they harbored. My father was the kind of man that everyone respected, and though I grew up beneath his ideals, I only can hope to be as much of a king as he.”

Yeonjun nods, maybe in a quiet notion of understanding or something similar, but for whatever it may have been stirred Wooyoung into a place of ease, relieving the weight on his chest, if only briefly. Wooyoung watches as Yeonjun approaches, closing the distance slowly, albeit hesitantly. Wooyoung raises a brow, his shoulders slightly tensing before he sees Yeonjun reach across, taking Wooyoung’s hand into his own.

“I may not know or understand the true ordeal of one’s parents being gone from this world, but I do know that loss is a horrible thing to face, alas harbor alone. Do not carry such a weight on your own, your grace. Feel free to speak plainly, as I would never judge you.”

Wooyoung glances down before trailing his eyes back upwards, offering Yeonjun a subtle squeeze to his hand before he pulls his own away, feeling the slightest bout of uncomfort sink into his skin.

“Thank you,” Wooyoung responds, keeping his tone low. “I truly could never wish such a loss on someone, but to know that I am not alone in such a venture lessens the burden I carry.”

“Fear not. I am but a man who cares not for a social life or spectacle. I just seek a healthy alliance, and a well-maintained marriage.”

For the first time since meeting Yeonjun, Wooyoung feels an ounce of comfort bleed from Yeonjun’s words. He wasn’t completely sure if it was a false set of confidence, or if his heart was just yearning to be understood by someone within a similar situation, but there was something about the male that was oddly endearing.

“I appreciate your candor,” Wooyoung admits, bowing his head slightly, offering a smile. “I will consider everything, as your earnesty and genuine demeanor convey a lot, Yeonjun.”

“Appreciated, your grace,” Yeonjun replies back, offering a smile before he reaches for his drink, only to be briefly interrupted by that of his advisor, who remained quiet and off to the side for the beginnings of the evening.

“Apologies, your grace,” the male interrupts, bowing his head in sincerity. “Someone from the isle of nobility seeks your council, my Prince.”

“Thank you, Soobin’ah, I will make haste,” Yeonjun acknowledges, the sudden edges of his soft tone dismantling into that of command, lacking any of the tenderness it once held. Wooyoung stands idly by, clasping his hands together, feeling himself tense slightly as he watches Soobin, Yeonjun’s apparent advisor, walk away without flashing a single wince in the male’s direction, completely unaffected by the tone raised from Yeonjun’s lips.

Perhaps Auretica handled things a bit. . . taboo? Wooyoung couldn’t be sure, nor could he truly decipher what was actually happening beyond the closed gates of such a kingdom, since he himself had yet to truly pay a visit.

But, Wooyoung didn’t like the tone that Yeonjun offered. He was harsher, strict-sounding, a completely new person that Wooyoung feared he’d meet behind closed doors. Soobin didn’t seem to mind, as he was likely privy to this very attitude every morning that he attended to Yeonjun’s needs. Partially, Wooyoung could understand the need for curt behavior, but he couldn’t imagine talking to Yunho like that every day. Yunho didn’t deserve that, let alone anyone.

Yeonjun takes another sip of his wine, an amused yet irritated glare resting within his hues before he sets down his glass of wine on the table, discarding it completely.

“Well, your grace,” Yeonjun begins, gesturing with his hand. “I have matters to tend to. But please, save me a portion of your night so we may talk once more.”

“Of course,” Wooyoung replies, though he wasn’t even sure if he could believe the words he had been saying.

Yeonjun turns and leaves, leaving Wooyoung standing near the table, left at a loss. His words simply feel too frail to mutter, clenching his teeth together as his jaw tightens, glancing down to steady himself. The encounter wasn’t necessarily awful, but that glimmer of something else, perhaps a window into Yeonjun’s true self, wasn’t anything that he was expecting to see. Wooyoung raises his gaze, taking a subtle breath inwards, scanning the growing crowd as more lords and ladies began to attend the ball as the festivities began, intermingling and coexisting with bounds of laughter and drinks. He knew Yunho was somewhere within the fray, handling everything with his usual meticulous grace, seeing to the proper handling of every dish and guest. Wooyoung knew he didn’t have to worry himself with the intricate details of the evening, but he couldn’t help but think into the interactions he had held thus far. There were still two suitors to meet, and he couldn’t properly fathom just how uneasy he began to feel.

In a motion to soothe the ache in his chest, Wooyoung’s gaze drifts over to the corner of the room, finding the stature of San’s familiar figure, seeing that his attention was shifted elsewhere. Wooyoung watches him, a surge of pain sinking into the depth of his chest as he stood there, waiting and hoping, praying that San would simply turn his head to meet his gaze, even if things had seemed too difficult to understand. But, he never does, nor does he have the opportunity.

“Prince Jung Wooyoung, I am pleased to welcome Prince Han Jisung from Celestia into the realm of Etheria.” Mingyu’s voice was booming, loud enough to echo over the vast but subtle chaos from the crowd that stood between Wooyoung and the front doors. Wooyoung can feel the eyes of everyone in the room boring into him, staring daggers into his soul, but he pays no mind, offering a quick, subtle smile as he moves across the ballroom floor, walking between guests as they parted, offering a small walkway in a motion to clear space for the Prince to walk.

As Wooyoung nears the doors, he eyes Mingyu for a moment before his gaze shifts, raking across the figure of a more petite Prince. His hair was long and brunette, curled near the ends as it just barely reached his shoulders. His eyes were a deep umber in color, glimmering with a clear grace that was likely practiced to appear composed, though Wooyoung could sense the tension stored away in his jaw. He was nervous, playing his part like a dutiful son would, even if he desired not to.

“Prince Han Jisung,” Wooyoung welcomes first, offering a slight bow of his head, a smile smeared across his lips. “I welcome you to my home. I hope your journey was smooth.”

Jisung seems to appreciate the initiation in conversation as he bows his head respectfully, clasping his hands together, offering a polite smile back. 

“The journey to your home was pleasant,” Jisung responds, straightening his posture. “Your home is very beautiful, your grace. I have always heard of how beautiful Etheria is, but I did not yet expect all of this.”

“Etheria is the heart of it all,” Wooyoung says with a hum. “I have heard lovely things about Celestia, too. All of the trees, the lush forest, the animals–”

“We have no shortage of nature at my home,” Jisung says, a slight laugh accompanying his tone. “I would love to show it all to you one day, as I am sure the scenery would be well loved.”

“Gladly, I would accept such an offer,” Wooyoung replies, his smile growing by the second. Jisung’s eyes now seemed alight with something warmer, his shoulders burdened by less of an obvious stress, now catered to the calm atmosphere Wooyoung had greeted him with.

“Ah, where are my manners–” Wooyoung chastises himself lightly, stepping aside as he gestures towards the tables and other guests. “Did you need any refreshments at all? I know the journey was long.”

“I am alright, your grace. Thank you,” Jisung’s tone was softer than before, though his composure remained as another male approached, pausing off to Jisung’s left. “Oh, your grace, this is my advisor, Chan.”

Wooyoung looks up and towards Jisung’s side, now spotting a taller male with broad shoulders. His hair was dark and straight, though dangling in front of his friendly gaze. This male, Chan as he was so called, poised himself with a gallant grace that Wooyoung immediately took notice of. Perhaps it was purely just his demeanor, or maybe it was just the aura radiating off of him.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance,” Wooyoung greets, offering a curt smile.

“Pleasure’s mine,” Chan responds, bowing his head in a respectful gesture.

“Your grace,” Yunho’s voice appears from behind Wooyoung, laden with a gentler tone, likely to not startle the Prince away from his conversation. Wooyoung smiles at Jisung and Chan, wetting his lips before he speaks again.

“Excuse me, I have a matter to attend to. Please, make yourselves at home and enjoy the festivities.”

Jisung and Chan bow in near tandem before parting away side by side, mingling into the crowd without the utterance of a word. Turning on his heel, Wooyoung faces Yunho, a look of concern flashing over his features as he watches Yunho glance around the surrounding area.

“What is it, Yunho? Can it not wait?” Wooyoung whispers, looking up at Yunho as the male hovers close, dropping his tone into a murmur.

“There has been an anonymous letter received at your desk,” Yunho mutters. “Be calm, my Prince. I have not yet read the contents of what lay inside, but it seemed rather urgent.”

“How can you know if you have not seen the words within?” Wooyoung questions, his brows pinching together momentarily.

“The royal seal was enclosed around the scroll, my Prince,” Yunho replies, the words striking a chord within Wooyoung’s chest.

Wooyoung takes a moment, leaning away from Yunho, glancing down at his hands as he struggles to keep himself still. The royal seal, only ever being red in color, was hardly used for anything other than urgent requests, like supply or trade routes, or even the delicate webs of alliances. Wooyoung had rarely encountered such a situation where the seal would be needed, and now knowing that something had been settled at his desk with an urgent message, it all only made his heart feel that much more complicated.

Without wasting another moment, Wooyoung nods, glancing at Yunho to try and express his wordless worry in any way that he was able, especially when words felt to not be enough. With a breath, Wooyoung turns, now facing his grand front doors, watching as Mingyu eyes him carefully. With a subtle smile, Wooyoung tries to disengage Mingyu’s rather protective instincts, dismantling the tension that was stored away in such a gesture by simply pretending to be okay.

Mingyu nods, though hesitantly, but accepting nonetheless.

Just as he was about to turn once more, the doors opened with a creaking noise, welcoming the low light from the setting sun as it wafted inwards. Wooyoung watches, his eyes widening slightly in anticipation, dawning on the realization that his third and final suitor was approaching.

“Prince Jung Wooyoung, I am pleased to welcome Prince Kang Yeosang from Nautica into the realm of Etheria,” Mingyu speaks out, his voice carrying in a low gallantry that never failed to slightly catch Wooyoung off-guard.

The male was relatively his height, though his hair was darker with lighter streaks of blonde messed through it. He was lean, his eyes sharp, though alight with something calmer with the aura he presented. Wooyoung couldn’t tell if he held nicer intentions, but with the front that was portrayed, along with the navy lapels and gold accents of his jacket, Wooyoung could sense something prestigious radiating off of Yeosang. Though, he will admit, he was overwhelmingly beautiful.

“Prince Yeosang,” Wooyoung greets, almost about to speak again before he gets cut off by Yeosang’s surprisingly husky tone.

“I have heard such wonderful things about you,” Yeosang remarks, a smile falling onto the delicate lines of his lips. “I do not wish to be so forward, but I do look forward to our future chats together.”

Wooyoung allows himself to relax, smiling small, listening to the joyous tone of Yeosang’s voice carry through the small space between them. He was worried, only partially, that every single suitor may come with their hand extended, flattering their way to a position at his side. Though, not everyone had done such a thing. Yeosang was rather chipper; excited or enthralled, really. Wooyoung enjoyed having such a contrasting greeting with each of the males, Yeosang specifically, which only seemed to make this decision at choosing one of them that much less burdensome. He was still nervous about the entire concept of marriage to someone he hardly knew, but with how different each suitor remained, he felt himself grow to be more at ease knowing that he’d likely mesh well with one of them rather than none of them.

“I look forward to our meetings,” Wooyoung expresses, straightening his posture. “Tell me, was your journey far? I hear that Nautica is by the sea, though I have yet to see it.”

“I would love to take you sailing some time,” Yeosang remarks, raising his head slightly, a playful gleam stark in his eyes. “When the tide is not yet too rough, of course.”

Wooyoung smiles, a soft laugh bubbling at the back of this tongue. “Yes, of course.”

“I fancy a drink,” Yeosang says with a slight hum of mischief. “Care to join me?”

Wooyoung, just as he was about to respond, glances upright, catching sight of the front door opening once more, revealing two familiar faces he has long since missed.

“I would love to, but I must greet some other guests. But please, swing by my chambers at any time while you are here to stay, and we could even go to the lake for a moment of peace.”

Yeosang nods, though Wooyoung could tell that his words didn’t quite dim the shine there was to Yeosang’s demeanor. “I understand. I shall see you another time.”

Wooyoung bows his head respectfully just as Yeosang shares in the same gesture, parting away with his advisor in tow, one of which looked terribly young, yet the longer locks of his dirty blonde hair seemed to hide his fox-like features. Wooyoung offers both of the males a smile as they depart into the crowd, leaving Wooyoung to turn his gaze back to two familiar figures as they approach, hands delicately held between them.

“Lord Seonghwa, Lord Hongjoong,” Wooyoung greets, his smile widening as he watches the lords of Islan approach, gallant in their garments and adorned in Etheria’s crimson reds. “I am so happy to see the both of you.”

“Please,” Seonghwa says, waving his hand in playful dismissal. “As if we would ever miss an event hosted by the Prince himself.”

“You flatter me.” Wooyoung steps closer, holding his hands out, watching as both Hongjoong and Seonghwa place their free hands into his own. “By the God’s, I swear it. I have missed the both of you so dearly. You have no idea just how cruel it has been without either of you.”

“We are here now, your grace,” Hongjoong assures, squeezing Wooyoung’s hand. “Tell us; has your eye caught interest with any of those you seek to marry?”

“Oh, please,” Wooyoung laughs, squeezing both of the male’s hands back before he releases them, gesturing idly to the crowd behind him. “I have only but met these men, I would not be too keen on choosing love merely at first glance like the two of you have. I am not so lucky in the world of romance.”

“But you have suitors, do you not?” Seonghwa retorts, leaning closer. “Surely one of them is worth marrying.”

“It is not a matter of worth, my Lord,” Wooyoung says, rolling his eyes. “Shall I entertain you with the details over a glass of wine later?”

Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s eyes equally lit up, their expressions evertelling of just how much they were anticipating such a meeting.

“A lovely idea,” Hongjoong affirms, glancing to look at his husband. “We would never dare to miss it.”

Wooyoung clasps his hands together, turning to gaze at Mingyu who had stood nearby, watching as he simply nods, giving the signal to the end of arriving guests. With a breath, Wooyoung steps aside, gesturing towards the main room, delicately placing his hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder.

“Please, head into the ballroom. I will be making an announcement soon,” Wooyoung says lightly, earning a curt nod and a softening gaze from the pair. They walked away, hands still entwined, their steps graceful and moving in tandem, lost into the fray of evening festivities.

Wooyoung hesitantly moves himself back into the fold, listening as a pair of steps move themselves closer, but he doesn’t feel the need to look as a familiar presence looms over his right shoulder.

“Is everything ready, Yunho?”

“Yes, your grace,” Yunho replies, following Wooyoung’s every step carefully. “The crowd is beyond prepared for your speech. Your mother has noted a few things for you–”

“Of course she has,” Wooyoung says with a scoff, rolling his eyes. “Can she ever just stay out of my affairs? Must she always meddle in everything that I do?”

“She is your mother, my Prince.”

“I know that,” Wooyoung says hesitantly, slowing his steps, slightly glancing over his shoulder. “But she acts more like a thorn in my side rather than that of my own mother.”

“Be calm, your grace,” Yunho chides, placing a hand on Wooyoung’s lower back. “Share your words, make your statement, then we can simply enjoy the evening.”

Wooyoung nods, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket before making his way to the platform that was on the back wall, highlighted with a throne and large rose vases. Wooyoung could hear the murmurs of chatter and conversation bleed into silence as he approached the throne, delicately tracing his fingertips against the lapels and beads of fabric adoring his torso, straightening and smoothing out the ridges, hoping to feeling a wash of ease tremble over his skin to calm the tide of his anxious storms.

This speech was everything he didn’t wish to entertain, as he’d be declaring the impending chaos of his upcoming marriage to one of these suitors that he barely knew. He didn’t wish to dedicate his heart to any other relationship, but with an overwhelming sense of duty and an unfortunate reality, Wooyoung found himself truly torn at the seams, wondering if he’d ever claim the clarity he so desperately sought out.

As he reaches his throne, he turns, clasping his hands together, allowing his fingers to brush over his rings and knuckles lightly, turning to gaze at everyone who had been in attendance. He recognized many of his Lords and Ladies, as well as some newcomers within the society of Etheria. There were older faces amongst the sea of new ones, but all Wooyoung can focus on is the closed doors, the eyes of the crowd upon him, and the glare of worry coming from San in the corner of the room.

Glasses in hand, the crowd quiets itself, turning towards Wooyoung with anticipation laced in their gaze, waiting patiently for the Prince to finally speak.

“I thank you all for attending this evening, as the matters ahead will dictate the future of Etheria and those who wish to stand by our side. In the shadow of my father, I am reminded that loneliness is within the eye of the beholder. Ruling alone, being by oneself, handling the tides of this reality without someone to shoulder it with can present itself in a fearsome way, causing one to recoil in terror. My father, who had ruled alone for many moons, asked for me to marry wisely, to not follow in his path once I had succeeded his throne,” Wooyoung pauses, eyeing each of his guests with a subtle breath, likely thinking too far into his next words. The scroll of what he was supposed to say was sitting on the table to his left, and though he knew he should read from it, he chose not to. He didn’t care about what his mother wished for him to say, choosing to pull from the feeling in his gut, one of which he felt guided by the ghost of his father.

“By the order of the council and that of Etheria, I would wish to proclaim my official search for a partner to sit beside me beneath the crown. The moon is currently half renewed, and by the full cusp of a new moon, I declare that I will be married.” Wooyoung listens as the voices before him mumble out in a thread of gasps and shock, but he could hear the excitement laden within the crowd nonetheless. “Etheria is forever in need of allies against our enemies, both far and close to home. I am in search of a partner who will not only unite our kingdoms, but love Etheria as if it were their own. Etheria is not just a farming country filled with livestock and city folk, but rather royal titles, fishing towns, mines and a plethora of work. Etheria is my home, my country, and its people are the ones I wish to serve. I promise you, with every ounce of my heart, that I will seek to do what is right for the people of Etheria, and not of my own morals.”

Wooyoung watches as Yeonjun steps forward, raising his glass of wine with a smile, toasting with a slight raise of his voice, catching Wooyoung’s attention readily, unable to ignore the prowess Yeonjun’s tone held.

“To the future King,” Yeonjun suggests in toast, earning a hum of agreement and echoed sentiments in return, golden glasses gently twinkling in the candle light as they all were held upright, gleaming with promise to admire the future King.

Wooyoung smiles, meeting Yeonjun’s gaze before he looks upwards, biting his tongue, taking a breath inwards as he comes across San’s gaze, watching as the male’s jaw tenses almost immediately. Wooyoung kept his composure, even though he felt himself being ripped in half on the inside. San was looking at him, his eyes cast over in something unfamiliar, jaw set and teeth clenched, his shoulders tense as he stood like a figure of pure authority, leaving not a single ounce of the man he knew beneath the heft of his armor. Wooyoung’s gaze softens, if only briefly, but San refuses to look at him. His eyes move to glance somewhere else, the dark crimson hues of his hair slowly beginning to dangle in front of his gaze, making it harder to gauge his true expression, especially from this far.

For the first time in a long time, Wooyoung feels torn. A part of him longs to be with San, to reassure him in a bout of playful teasing and mischievous kisses, to press a hand against his bare skin, racing up and down the line of his abdominal muscles and lower, wishing to silence the thoughts in San’s mind. He wanted to be the only thing San thought about, dreamt about, talked about; he wanted everything. But, he’d be selfish in doing so.

The other half of him, the rational, saddened half, knows that he’d put San in danger just by simply being near him and lavishing him in affection. He knew that this path he was on was anything but steady, but this is what his father intended. To be present for his coronation, to play the part of royalty, to bleed himself dry for the people of Etheria and to bed someone that would only enrich the kingdom further.

He was conflicted; his heart left in two dangling pieces, clinging to the ideals of one another and somehow trapped within the confines of his chest. He wanted to rip his heart out, plead for a new one, to find a sense of clarity in a world that felt overcast with smog. But he stands there at the foot of his throne, listening to the subtle cheers from those who were beneath him, cheering on his every move as if it were the last he’d make. He knew what he had to do, though he rather not do it. But he would, just like he promised his father he would.

Even if that meant tearing himself in half.

Chapter Text

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

“What of the trade routes between Etheria and Celestia?” An advisor asks, his hands resting palm-down on the table. “What of the impact of our own actions? Surely the royal wedding will cause an influx of popularity here within Etheria, and we cannot stop nor prevent people from seeking shelter within our walls.”

“Fear not, maester Jeon, we have plenty of resources here within our walls in the event that others seek shelter,” another advisor chimes in from the other end of the table, pleading with a softer tone and a gentle expression.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat at the end of the table, rolling a delicate polished marble between his fingers, feeling the weight of his crown slowly press against the top of his head as he leaned backwards, glancing at the ceiling with an emptiness settling into the pit of his stomach.

The night had passed uneventfully. For what he had hoped to spend with San, he rather spent alone, sitting upright in bed, his arms wrapped around his legs with his cheek pressed against his knee, listening to the ambiance of such an unusually still evening. He felt hollow and unkempt, messily tore in half even despite knowing that he was doing what was expected of him. San had every right to be angry and upset, but in the times that they usually sought solace from one another, San rather chose to isolate himself, straying away from what once was their safety net and was now a place of stress.

The weight of the morning was just as quiet, if not more so, drowned out with the sound of his maids running amuck, gathering his clothing and polishing his crown, talking amongst themselves as if the Prince himself wasn’t even there. Wooyoung just sat by and watched, staring at himself in the mirror, wondering why he began to hate the very man that looked right back at him as if he were a mere stranger. He didn’t know who he was anymore, nor was he sure if he even cared, but he knew that he had to fix this. He had to coax San away from this place of isolation, to bring him back into the comfort of their shared warmth, to remind one another at just how much their souls mutually healed the other.

But, Wooyoung couldn’t do that. He was lined up with meetings and other princely-duties that he couldn’t even fathom, listening as the council his father had chosen bickered over something as meaningless as trade routes, talking amongst themselves without bothering to seek opinions. Wooyoung didn’t really have much to say, anyway, he just rather sit there and think for himself, wondering at how he could even begin to fix anything that he had destroyed.

“What do you think, my Prince?”

Wooyoung allows his gaze to slowly fall back to the table, observing the faces that watched him closely, studying his every move in a gesture that was ticking with unease. He knew these men and women fairly well, but not well enough. His father had elected each of these people with a purpose, but Wooyoung trusted none of them.

Maester Jeon, a man of medicine and exponential knowledge, had served beneath the King for more than a decade, and yet Wooyoung felt little trust in his every breath. The male was elderly, adorning a red cloak and dark garments just beneath, a golden chain holding his cloak against his chest while his eyes watched Wooyoung curiously. Maybe he was worth trusting, maybe he wasn’t. Wooyoung couldn’t tell.

Across from Jeon were the Lord and Lady of Aveon Harbor, a local town on the other side of Etheria, far from Islan where his friends, Seonghwa and Hongjoong, resided. They were. . . peculiar, per se. Wooyoung didn’t much appreciate their opinions, as they came from a wealthy home with their noses up their own ass, likely seeking to be a part of the crown in any way they could manage. They seemed like snakes, too consumed in their own way of thinking to care about the future of Etheria, rather seeking their own selfish desires over the likes of anything else.

Wooyoung shifted his gaze to then look at Knight’s Regient Su-hyeok, a man of noble prowess yet seeking power in the form of managing the entirety of the knight’s brigade. Wooyoung didn’t exactly know Su-hyeok well enough to form an opinion, but he’d heard murmurs of his character through the likes of his own protectors. Mingi had always said more than enough, expressing how tough and cold Su-hyeok is, stating that the winter in Etheria was warmer than the likes of Su-hyeok’s own heart. Minho had expressed something similar, but without the dramatics.

“Think of what?” He responds, twirling the marble hesitantly, shifting his gaze between each of the faces before him.

“Lady Aveon seems to think that we cannot harbor any more people within Etheria’s walls. She is adamant that we must be careful in the coming winter, bracing ourselves for the likelihood of famine.” Su-hyeok seemed unsure of the comment himself even as he spoke, gesturing idly with his hand before sitting casually in his seat, his eyes wandering about the room before settling back upon Wooyoung’s, clearly unfamiliar with this approach and topic.

“I see,” Wooyoung replies, raising a brow. “There is not anything to worry about, my Lord and Lady. You forget we are a kingdom of harvesting, farming, fishing and barter. We know not of what this winter will bring, council. Why worry now?”

“Are you insisting that we wait, until it is too late for any of us to seek action?” Lady Aveon retorts, her voice casting out across the long, oak table, her brows slightly furrowed as irritation laced itself within her tone.

“Is that any of what I just said, my Lady?” Wooyoung replies, shifting in his seat as the marble pauses in his grasp, delicately held between the press of his fingers. “You forget your place amongst this table and I ask of you to reconsider your tone. I am the promised King of Etheria, Lady Aveon, and I expect for you to treat me as such.”

“Yes, your grace,” she says quietly, bowing her head down. “Please forgive my inconsiderate behavior.”

Wooyoung nods, taking a breath inwards. “Humble yourself, my Lady, as it will save you the embarrassment later.”

Adjusting in his seat, Wooyoung leans forwards, setting the marble down in the small dish that was settled before him, adorning other colors of the same exact marbles, all glimmering with a slight polish that the maids had performed earlier. He glances at each of his council members, those of which he hadn’t chosen himself, yet somehow still needed to find peace with.

“We trade in the same manner that we always have,” Wooyoung reiterates. “We barter, we remain fair, and we continue to make peace with those around us so we can all live within this realm.”

Wooyoung watches as each member nods their head, shifting their focus elsewhere. Jeon continues talking, indulging into another topic entirely, leaving Wooyoung to lean back into his seat, crossing one leg over the other. Taking a deep breath inwards, Wooyoung raises a hand, brushing a strand of his hair aside as he looks up, seeing the familiar forms of Minho and Mingi standing guard, complacent and unmoving, their postures similar and somehow comforting. He knew shift change was coming any moment now, and soon San would take Mingi’s place, Mingyu occupying the other, leaving him to wonder if San’s eyes would meet his own today, or if they’d share words to soothe their souls. But, he didn’t know.

He listened as the people before him talked and talked, discussing issues with farmland, husbandry and essential medicines. He couldn’t find it within himself to care, allowing their talk to go without interruption, his gaze focused on the open doors ahead of him, waiting for any glimpse of San.

Before he realizes, he watches as Mingi and Minho both bow their heads, trading off their post as two other forms settled in their previous place. Wooyoung saw the familiar curl of San’s bright red hair, how it framed his face and settled against his features, shimmering in the sunlight from the nearby window. Wooyoung traced the jut of San’s jaw with his irises, wanting nothing more than to reach and pull him closer, to sit on his lap and whisper a myriad of affectionate nothings, and yet he couldn’t. He just simply sat there, bored and uninterested in the details of his kingdom, hoping for a love he couldn’t quite have, yet yearned for.

“That’s enough,” Wooyoung says dismissively, a hand barely reaching upwards as he feels his fingers press against his temple for a fleeting moment of relief. “We can reconvene another day. I believe we have discussed enough.”

“Your grace, I understand that you might be tired–”

“Enough, maester Jeon,” Wooyoung says sharply, standing and rising from his seat. “I said that we are to be done. Nothing further, please.”

“Yes, your grace,” Jeon replies, looking away as he bowed his head, his hands falling away from the table and down towards his lap. Wooyoung raises a brow subtly, glancing at each of his council members before moving away, wetting his lips tentatively in thought.

“I know that you all mean well,” Wooyoung begins. “But may I remind all of you that I am not the one who has placed you here. My father was a smart man, but you were his council, not my own. The moment I am married and crowned King of Etheria, you better pray to the God’s that I may have mercy on your place here within these walls.”

Wooyoung’s words seem to hold their weight as he smooths out his crisp linen shirt, maneuvering away from the table and towards the open doors, listening as no words become of the people he spoke towards. They all seemed to grapple with the real consequence of Wooyoung’s sentiment, and even more so, they had come to see that their places may only be but temporary.

“Mingyu, San, to my chambers, please.” Wooyoung barely spares a glance as he moves past the threshold of the doors, listening as the males follow in tow without a word, loyally trekking just behind as a private escort.

The halls were quiet at this hour, nearly at the sun’s peak of noon as Wooyoung gathered himself in a poised-rush as he sought the comfort of his chambers. He needed peace, privacy; something away from the chaos of expectations and the weight of his crown. He needed serenity, if just for a moment, to breathe and see himself as something other than a pure disappointment. Maybe he was naive, or perhaps just oblivious, but he needed to bring himself back down from the edge before he teetered over and tumbled beneath the hazard of tumultuous waves.

The light danced across the stone floors as Wooyoung moved through the corridors, listening to the breeze twirl through the nearby trees and scatter across the pond, reminding him of what lay just outside, even despite the rage culminating inside of himself. The weight of the world felt ungodly brutal, like a burden meant for someone else to harbor, a storm raining down on someone who didn’t know how to swim and remained at a loss, drowning in nothingness.

Upon reaching his door, Mingyu stepped in front, opening the door before stepping aside, allowing Wooyoung to trek inwards, his hand immediately reaching upwards to grab onto his crown, curling his grip around the fair metals and jewels as if they were nothing. He takes a breath, setting down the crown on its usual cushion, abandoning the feeling of the world set against his shoulders so he could breathe with reprieve, reaching his windows and curling his fingers over the sill of the open wall, looking out into the world he was set to rule.

The buildings were cast beautifully in the light, the walls stretching out towards the horizon, keeping everyone within their perimeter safe and without worry. Wooyoung’s eyes trail along each of the rooftops, inspecting the details of each home and each towering building, listening as life went on just outside of the castle, bustling without bothering to acknowledge anything else. The citizens moved assuredly, carrying boxes or driving wagons through the stone streets with the lively sounds of chatter, nearly aloof to the tribulations within their very own kingdom. Wooyoung simply watches, resting his head down on the edge of his window, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, aiming to calm the storm from inside.

He hears the doors close behind him, clicking shut, cutting him off from the rest of the world as he rests there, breathing in the familiar air of his kingdom, trying to calm himself so he could face the world again. He felt slightly inept, unable to adapt to all of this pressure, and yet he remains, pushing through every single day as if he feels none of the stress of having to live up to his father. His mother, as estranged or odd as she may be, was the only reason he kept pursuing this lifestyle. He didn’t wish for any of this. He didn’t want to be king in this fashion, nor did he seek marriage, but here he was, promising himself to his kingdom to be wed to someone he just met mere hours ago. He ached in a way that made his heart feel empty, void of the life it once held before the weight of all of this. He worried that he was allowing himself to trek too deeply into these feelings, to harbor so much guilt and grime, to be a fraction of the person he once was.

But worrying wasn’t enough. He was just there, living and breathing, going through the motions of his daily, chaotic life, watching as the people who worked beneath him moved in a blur, disassociating himself away from their conversations as they worked through the same routine, just like they had the day before, and the day before that.

It was an endless cycle of self-pity, one that Wooyoung wished he could steer clear from, and yet he stayed, simply because he thought he deserved it. He was hurting San simply because he was selfish, ruining himself in fear that he’d disappoint his father, all while trying to live up to his mother’s expectations, even if she felt to be too hard to reach. 

A shuddering breath sinks inwards, causing his head to tilt down, crying out and into the void, praying, hoping; wanting nothing more than to be free of this. He was scared, beyond the facade he portrayed every single day. He was just terrified of everything that was to come. He was sinking in all of this, trying to patch the holes of his ship in a means to justify all of the self-inflicted wounds he was dealing himself, trying to avoid the inevitable plunge to his death. He knew where this path was leading, this singular wish to be free of whatever burdens he entertained, and yet he couldn’t rid himself of it. He floated in the abyss, watching water flood the bottom of his boat, dragging him beneath the waves of a sea so dark, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever breach the surface again.

The sudden wrap of arms around his waist only brings his tears to emerge stronger, his breath to hitch, his thoughts to pause. A warm body presses against his, chest to back, a familiar surge of comfort radiating through his veins until he takes a moment to open his eyes, clutching the window with one hand while the other drifts beneath, wrapping around the contours of a hand he had held before.

“I am here, Wooyoung,” San murmurs quietly, tightening his embrace. “I am right here.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, feeling the rapture of tears sink down his cheeks, curling beneath his jaw, falling somewhere near his shoes and onto the floor, drowning in a sea of emotions that were hard to contain. He had been holding himself together for so long, swallowing his fears and masking his unease, falling for a fake sense of pride, hoping that someone would pull him out of this.

Wooyoung can feel that San had taken his armor off, leaving the warmth of San’s body to press against his in a familiar touch, slowly beginning to pull him away from the cusp of teetering over.

“Just let me go, San,” Wooyoung breathes out, pressing his forehead against the sill of his window. “You cannot be a part of this.”

“I wish to be,” San reiterates, pulling Wooyoung closer, allowing his head to rest near Wooyoung’s right shoulder. “You are not alone in this, Wooyoung. I am right here, I am with you.”

“You cannot be with me, San. Do you even hear yourself?” Wooyoung leans his head upright, turning to gaze over his shoulder. “Look at me. Look at us. Can you even see the reality of what we have been entertaining, as if we hold no consequence?”

San is silent, almost as if he was listening, or as if he couldn’t quite speak. Wooyoung straightens himself, standing upright, feeling as San’s hold grows lax, yet his hand remains curled on his hip.

“They are looming just outside of those doors, San. Our fate, our future, cannot be. Has that not yet set in?” Wooyoung asks, his eyes watching San carefully, almost in a plea for reassurance.

“Do you think I do not know any of that?” San’s voice was a near-whisper, tentative and quiet, almost as if he was too afraid to break any fraction of Wooyoung’s very essence. “I know all of it, Wooyoung. I know of every single thing we fear. We have discussed and talked for hours about how we are selfish in every action we take, and yet we continue. What of that has changed?”

Wooyoung shakes his head, allowing his tears to fall continuously, not bothering to stop himself from feeling any second of this. “I cannot help but feel terrified, San. The moon nears its renewed state, and I have to bed one of these men. I have to choose one of them, and I must see through to it all– does that not bother you?”

“I will not stand here and lie to you. It does bother me, it bothers me every day, Wooyoung. What do you expect for me to say?”

Wooyoung shrugs, chewing on his lip, feeling the stream of tears begin to slowly curl to a stop as he looks at San, wondering if his anxieties trickled a bit too far out of control.

“I wish to be here, Wooyoung. Is that not what you asked of me?”

“I did,” Wooyoung replies, allowing his head to tilt downwards. “I just– I–”

“I fear the same thing, my Prince,” San comforts soothingly, reaching a hand upwards, gently pressing his palm against the jut of Wooyoung’s jaw. “I can feel your fear, your tribulation. I am weary in the same manner.”

“If they find out–” Wooyoung breathes out, lifting his gaze, watching as San meets his eyes. “If my mother were to find out about us, that my virtue is stained–”

“She will not,” San reassures. “We are only stronger if we are together, Wooyoung. Do you trust me?”

Wooyoung raises his arms, hands resting on the sides of San’s jaw, as he steps closer, allowing his fear to finally bleed freely from his tongue.

“I do not wish for you to die,” Wooyoung breathes out shakily, allowing his lip to quiver. “If I were to lose you, I would simply cease to exist.”

“Why would I ever die?”

“My mother would have you hanged,” Wooyoung says quietly, swallowing a shaky breath. “If she were to see us together, like this, or. . . intimate–”

“Then we wait,” San says, a soft smile curled on the very faint edges of his lips. “We take all of this, one moment at a time, and we communicate openly, without fear of what is to come. If we remain honest, seek out these small moments together, then what is there to fear?”

Wooyoung shakes his head, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he bites back the negative thoughts settling on the edge of his tongue.

“There is plenty to fear, San,” Wooyoung murmurs. “But I do not fear my own death. I do not fear my enemies and nor do I fear my incoming marriage. I fear losing what matters most to me in this realm, in this fracture of life that hangs loosely, like a thread.”

San’s expression softens, likely as the realization of Wooyoung’s fear finally settles in. For a moment, Wooyoung hesitates, brushing his thumbs against San’s skin, hoping for a reply that would simply smooth over the surface of his aching, fracturing heart. But then, San leans in, pressing his lips to Wooyoung’s without an utterance of fear.

Immediately, Wooyoung melts into the kiss, his hands sliding to cup the back of San’s neck, pulling him closer, allowing himself but a moment to sink into the feeling of something he desperately needed. There was nothing more he wanted than this, to bottle up this moment, cast it into the sea, only to be washed ashore again, to be remembered in a time when he needed this exact same thing later down the line. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to cherish this, to hold it close to his heart and to harbor it, but the simple selfish feeling of desire burns brightly, causing him to only pull San closer and deepen the kiss.

Carefully, San pulls away, brushing strands of hair away from Wooyoung’s eyes. He’s quiet, if only but for a second, studying the contours of Wooyoung’s face, almost as if he’d disappear from his grasp.

“You make me feel protective in a sense that I cannot describe in mere words,” San expresses softly, allowing his eyes to drift closed, leaning close enough to rest his forehead against Wooyoung’s. “I know there is a role for you to maintain, a certain presence to flaunt. I. . . I was angry yesterday, I will not lie. I. . . did not like how they looked at you, how they kissed your hand and how they spoke to you.”

“You know I cannot avoid those interactions–”

“I know,” San assures, but Wooyoung can hear the hesitance in his voice. “I hate this, Wooyoung. The difference in our worlds, the ties that constantly pull us apart when all I want is to drift closer to you.”

“I hate this, too,” Wooyoung replies, trying to ground himself, attempting to calm the tide of his raging emotions. “How are we meant to exist in a world where we are so different, yet pulled together by the same universe that seeks to tear us apart?”

“We try,” San mutters, leaning away just enough to brush his lips against Wooyoung’s forehead, placing a delicate kiss there. “That is all we can do, Wooyoung. We try.”

“Yes,” Wooyoung replies, sniffling quietly, feeling as San brushes away the remnants of his tears with the soft touch of his thumb. “We can try, San. For as long as we can.”

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

As the sun began its descent, Wooyoung found himself on his balcony, a bowl of ripe green grapes settled on the table nearby, along with a golden chalice of some sort of tea that Ji-soo had made. Wooyoung had a book of open scriptures on his lap, his eyes moving through the words as he sought to further his education by any means possible, though he was sure that nothing could truly prepare him for life beneath the crown and atop a throne.

So, he settles in, taking a breath as the wind curls around him, carrying the breeze warmly, tinted with a hint of salt. The sea wasn’t too far from Etheria, just a short ride on horseback to the coast, though Wooyoung had always loved the scent of the sea, melting beneath the haze from the setting sun as the light danced along the stone railing of his balcony. It was peaceful here, and after spending a few hours in the company of San, he found himself seeking a new mindset, hopeful and doing everything he can to simply survive the tribulations of this.

San stayed for a while after they had talked, laying in bed with Wooyoung, soothing a hand through his hair as he offered words of affirmation, soothing him into a state of peace that led Wooyoung into a subtle slumber. Wooyoung wasn’t sure as to how long he had slept, but San had left at some point, leaving the Prince to wake to a lonely bed, barren of warmth and the tranquility that came with being around the one person he adored the most.

Now, he was seeking peace of a different kind, the kind he found in literature and thick pages, woven in ink with a feathered pen. Each scroll held something different, lost in a separate page of fiction that felt too hard to believe in. He wanted something real, or at least, something that sounded real when he read it to himself. These books and poems, they were nothing special, but everything about them felt to be drawing him in, allowing him the peace of mind to sink into a different reality. That was all he needed, or, that’s what he thought he needed.

The sudden sound of his balcony door opening causes him to sit upright, setting the papers aside on the table where his other supplies sat. Mingyu appeared, stepping out with an expressionless stupor, one that had always followed him in his line of duty.

“My Prince,” he greets quietly, holding the door open with one hand. “Prince Yeosang wishes to speak with you.”

“Right now?” Wooyoung asks, raising a brow. Mingyu nods. “Let him through.”

Mingyu stands aside, and just as Wooyoung rises to his feet to properly greet Yeosang, the male walks through the threshold of his door, a smile woven onto his lips.

“Pardon the intrusion, your grace,” Yeosang says warmly, earning a small wave of dismissal from Wooyoung.

“Please, I welcome your company. Care to join me?”

Yeosang nods, almost eagerly, moving over to the empty seat that lay on the other side of the table, leaving Wooyoung to nod at Mingyu, dismissing him without a word. Mingyu leaves, closing the wooden door behind him, leaving Wooyoung and Yeosang to their private conversation, broken up only by the sound of passing birds.

“What brings you to my balcony, Prince Yeosang?” Wooyoung asks, settling back into his seat.

“I rather sought a moment away from court,” Yeosang replies, adjusting his jacket slightly. “I thought it might be appropriate for us to seek a moment alone, given our circumstances, no?”

“I see,” Wooyoung agrees, nodding his head, reaching for his chalice. “Being in court can be draining, and I find it difficult to exist sometimes.”

“I understand, more than you may know,” Yeosang counters, turning to glance at Wooyoung. “The pressure my parents place on me to succeed is rather. . . tiring. Truth be told, if you do not mind me speaking so plainly, I really do not seek to be married.”

Wooyoung pauses, the chalice sitting in his open palm, the liquid inside shifting with his every breath, though Wooyoung feels unable to meet Yeosang’s gaze. Was he seeking to pull out of his race for the throne beside him? Was he making it clear that he held no desire to be married to Wooyoung in the first place?

“Marriage feels definite,” Yeosang contemplates lightly, taking a break inwards as he looks out into the scenery ahead of them. “I do not wish for such finalities just yet. I am still young, left with passions and desires that would likely be contained by the cusp of something like marriage. I want freedom, more than anything else, your grace. I desire to be able to do anything else that I wish to, without having to worry about a husband lingering over my shoulder.”

“I. . . do not seek the covenant of marriage, either,” Wooyoung admits, setting down his chalice with a subtle clink. “It was not in my cards of destiny told by the fortune teller, and yet here I am, hearing otherwise from my own mother.”

Yeosang lets out a brief chuckle, overly amused by Wooyoung's apparent honesty. “You? Not seeking marriage? Was that not the entire point of your whole gathering?”

“It was, I will admit, a bit brazen of me, was it not?” Wooyoung smiles, chewing on his lip afterwards. “I have to fool the masses, somehow.”

“Your secret is safe with me, your grace,” Yeosang says with a smirk, his eyes shooting down to glance at the scrolls of paper. “Do you read, my Prince?”

“I do quite enjoy literature,” Wooyoung admits, gesturing towards the papers themselves. “Take a look, if you are to be so curious.”

“Are you a romantic, your grace?” Yeosang asks, reaching for the papers, inspecting the lines of ink and script with a curious gaze.

“Maybe,” Wooyoung teases, watching Yeosang closely. “Are you?”

“I am but a princely poet–” Yeosang pauses, his eyes moving to look at Wooyoung. “I have to be a romantic to be into something as creative as pure literature.”

“Maybe I then too, am a romantic,” Wooyoung supposes lightly, turning his head, gazing out at the setting sun.

“Have you ever been in love, your grace?”

Wooyoung hesitates, taking a breath inwards, contemplating internally before he nods, nearly afraid to let the words slip.

“Yes, but–” he pauses, closing his eyes tightly, feeling his jaw tense. “They do not know I harbor such a feeling.”

“Why have you not expressed it?”

“Can you truthfully blame me for keeping it to myself when I am to be wed to one of my suitors?”

Yeosang shrugs before he too sighs, shifting his gaze to look at the setting sun. “I cannot, I am afraid I experience the same sentiment; the same fear.”

“What fear?”

“The fear of losing someone you love,” Yeosang mutters, breathing his words out into the open, even if they were anything but gentle in their delivery. “I have someone too that I adore, and yet I am here, partially hoping that you will seek my hand in marriage.”

Wooyoung turns, glancing at Yeosang, his brows slightly pinching together. “And the other half?”

“It hopes, and it prays, that you will choose someone else and leave me to fool about in my own choices once more,” Yeosang murmurs, looking down at his hands, daintily messing with his rings. “Maybe, and truly only then, can I entertain the freedom I seek to maintain if you were to deny me.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softens before he turns away again, and for a moment, he begins to question if all of this was worth a single moment of acknowledgement from his mother. It wasn’t only his life at stake, but everyone else’s in return. Yeosang’s future was hanging so delicately in the balance, right in between his fingers, dancing and weaving through as if he were the most fragile thing known to man. Wooyoung didn’t wish to tether him down, to take him away from the person he apparently loved, nor did he wish to conform him into a societal court that he sought to abandon. But, he was the same way. Maybe they’d be better off together in that sense. Free to see the people they love, free to wander off, run amuck, leave with the gust of fleeting winds, only to come together when necessary.

They’re wordless in that moment, accepting that they were but two princes in love with partners they could never have, either bound together in a marital sense or rather not at all. They were so different, yet so similar in the same toss of a golden coin, but Wooyoung can’t help the feeling of simmering guilt building within his stomach. It’s grasping him by the throat, causing his own words to simply fail him.

Wooyoung wouldn’t do that to Yeosang. He didn’t wish to take away his freedom and tie him into a life he desperately didn’t want. He just couldn’t.

He didn’t wish to see someone else’s life ruined just for the sake of salvaging his own, and that in itself was enough of an answer to narrow down his choice.

Even if it pained him to do so.

Chapter Text

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┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

An abrupt knock stirs Wooyoung awake from his bed, sending his eyes to slowly peel open, drifting back into a sense of himself as he clambers into reality. He hadn’t slept until late, too glued into the thoughts consuming his inner self as he contemplated almost everything in his path. Before he could even manage to mutter a response, the door slowly peered open, causing him to sit upright, turning his gaze towards his intruder.

“Apologies, your grace,” San greets softly, bowing his head, his hand resting on his sword. “I was sent to check on you.”

“Check on me?” Wooyoung asks groggily, raising a hand to gently rub his eye. “I was sleeping, San. What trouble could I have gotten into so early?”

“Your mother insisted,” San replies, leaving Wooyoung to groan in protest, flopping back down into his pillows.

“Spare me the details, I no longer care,” Wooyoung says with a huff, tugging his blankets further upright, all in a motion to hopelessly cover his face. He could hear San chuckling quietly, followed by the door softly closing behind the push of his hand. Wooyoung wanted to stay in bed, locked away in his room, safe from the responsibilities that would try to pull him beneath the tide of worry. He just wanted a moment of levity, to just exist in a simple space, to finally just breathe.

“Come on, my Prince,” San coos gently, the clink of his armor shifting with every step as he approaches the bed. “Let us start the morning correctly.”

“I wish to be left in bed, I do not care to eat or to make friends with those who seek marriage. I just want to be alone.” Wooyoung hides beneath his blanket, barely shifting when he feels San sit down on the edge of his mattress.

“I know that is not true,” San contests gently. “Is there something on your mind?”

Wooyoung pulls the blanket down, moving it to rest against his chest. “No, San. There is nothing on my mind.”

“Yet, you speak as if there is something harboring within,” San teases lightly, raising a brow. Wooyoung arched a brow in return, watching the soft smile that wove its way onto the male’s lips, almost in an infuriating, yet utterly handsome smirk.

“Can I just choose to handle it alone? Or must you remain so persistent, Sir San?”

“We are partners, are we not?” San leans closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Your problems are my own, remember? Are those not the words you chose to use?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “I suppose you are right. . . for once.”

“For once?” San mocks in a tease, almost looking appalled at Wooyoung’s choice of words.

“You seem incredulous,” Wooyoung says, reaching a hand upright, pressing his index finger into San’s cheek, smiling when he watches San smile in turn. “It is not fair of you to be so cheerful this early. I am still quite tired.”

“I can always give word for Hyunjin to carry news back to your mother, you know,” San suggests, glancing towards the door. “Maybe you could rest more, if that is truly what you wish to do.”

“Only if you promise me to stay,” Wooyoung murmurs, watching as San’s gaze turns to flick back onto his, a question simmering beneath the surface. “I slept horribly last night, San. You just. . . you make me feel safe.”

“You know how dangerous it is for me to lay here with you, my Prince,” San attests, though he makes no move to lean away when Wooyoung sits upright, cupping his cheek properly with his hand.

“I do not care about the masses,” Wooyoung speaks quietly, his voice carrying no real anger, yet somehow firm despite the tender smile glued to the faint edges of his lips. “I care about you. Let us have a moment, lost in the safety of such an early morning. Surely we have but an hour, do we not?”

“You are something else,” San says, though his smile belays his interest.

“I am yours,” Wooyoung reiterates, raising a brow. “All I wish to have right now is for you to hold me in your arms. Is that so terrible of your Prince?”

“Terrible, no,” San replies, leaning closer. “I would never consider anything for you to have done under the mark of terrible.”

“Alright, you sweet talker. Give Hyunjin word to carry to my mother. Let him express to her that I have a headache, or something similar, wishing to be tended by no one. I will make an appearance for lunch.”

“Will she not question Ji-soo on that matter?”

“Fear not, San. My mother may be intrusive, but she rather accepts my requests for peace.”

For a moment, San thinks through the request before he finally relents, giving a curt nod as he rises from the bed. “Alright, your grace. I will seek to enact your lie. But stay here, I shall return in a moment.”

“San,” Wooyoung calls out, reaching to catch San’s gloved hand before he could move too far away. The male raises a brow, the gleam from the nearby window shimmering through his red locks of hair as he turns, causing a faint blush to creep onto Wooyoung’s cheeks.

Wooyoung pulls him closer by the hand, using his other hand to gently guide him by the jaw, colliding their lips together in a slow, gentle kiss.

“You best come back and not lie to your Prince,” Wooyoung breathes out, his breath warm against San’s lips the moment they part away.

“I would never,” San whispers back, his eyes opening just enough to look at Wooyoung from beneath his lashes. “I will return in just a moment. Stay put, my Prince.”

Wooyoung leans away, chewing on his lower lip as he watches San saunter away, trekking towards the door and just barely peeking outdoors, muttering something that he could barely make out. He knew Hyunjin and Mingi were on duty right now, which made the transition of duty that much easier. He waits patiently, standing by his bed as San continues to speak with Hyunjin before he eventually closes the door, turning on his heel.

“Alright,” San says, moving his hands to slide his gloves off. “I am all yours, my Prince.”

“Armor off,” Wooyoung insists, placing a hand on his hip. “I just wish for you to become a person for a moment, away from your duties and responsibilities.”

“As you wish,” San says in a lilt, his hands moving towards his buckles and straps, un-fascening every single strap as he slowly begins to dismantle his chest plate.

“You should call for Neukdae,” Wooyoung muses, quipping a brow. “Sapphire is hiding around here somewhere, you know.”

“Hyunjin is already carrying out a favor for me,” San begins, lifting the chestplate over his head, holding it steadily with his arm, now revealing the tightly fitted shirt that lay beneath. “Do you really believe that he would carry out another?”

“I can ask.” Wooyoung begins to walk towards his door, unable to miss the smirk that raises to San’s lips. “There is nothing wrong with a simple ask from their Prince.”

“You are impossible, my Prince.”

“Impossible?” Wooyoung retorts playfully, strolling past with a slight bounce to his step. He turns, glancing over his shoulder as he meets San’s gaze. “I would rather care to think that I am but an innocent, witty Prince, am I not?”

“You are something special, that I will not deny,” San returns, moving to set down the pieces of his armor elsewhere, somewhere near the grand, velvet couch. Wooyoung rolls his eyes, smirking all the while, strolling towards his door as his hand reaches out to grace the golden handle.

Wooyoung opens the door, peering outside, watching as Mingi turns over his shoulder to meet the Prince’s gaze.

“Mingi’ah?” Wooyoung chimes cheerfully.

“Yes, your grace?”

“May I be so selfish to ask for you to fetch Neukdae from the Knight’s quarters? I know Hyunjin is carrying out a duty, but do not worry about abandoning your post but for a moment.”

“Are you sure, my Prince? What of your mother–?”

“I will be alright, Sir Mingi. You know of what secret we maintain within the safety of my quarters; I am safe. I am protected. Please, just carry out my ask.”

“At once, your grace,” Mingi says, nearly without hesitation. He bows his head before he turns, striding down the hall with an attentiveness that had always been true to his demeanor. Wooyoung smiles, almost to himself, closing the door as he encloses himself back into his private sanctum with San, turning to see that San was removing the final layer of his armor.

“Who knew you could look so incredibly devouring?” Wooyoung muses, unable to hide the amusement glued into his hues. San glances up, a sparkle gleaming in his eyes as he hastily adjusted his belt, now left in a pair of trousers and a well-worn, tight under shirt.

“You have seen me like this many times before,” San quips, bending down at his waist to remove his shoes.

“But that never has once changed my opinion of you,” Wooyoung admits, slowly beginning to walk over. “You have become everything to me in just a short time, San. To me, everytime we share in something quiet, just like this, it reminds me of just how much I admire you.”

San’s eyes shimmered with something new, alight with a realization that Wooyoung hadn’t seen before. He was calm, maybe at peace with a new ideal that he hadn’t fully grasped before. Wooyoung smiled softly, approaching with tentative steps, reaching his hands out in front of him, feeling as San took a hold of his hands softly.

“I mean it,” Wooyoung expresses, tilting his head to the left lightly. “Every word. Every action.”

“That will forever mean more than I can say, my Prince.”

“Will you ever stop calling me my Prince?” Wooyoung says teasingly, smiling still, arching a brow.

“A trained behavior,” San admits, pulling Wooyoung closer. “I wish I were to refer to you differently, but it would be frowned upon.”

“Then call me something in private; something meant just for the two of us,” Wooyoung murmurs, tilting his head back slightly, accounting for the space now occupied by San as their lips begin to brush up against one another, warmed by the other’s breaths.

“What shall I call such a lovely Prince?” San asks, keeping his tone low and husky, bringing a smile to Wooyoung’s lips.

“Anything my Knight desires,” Wooyoung mutters back, feeling as San’s hand trail from his waist and up his sides, thumbs smoothing circles against the fabric of his shirt before a hand rises to cradle the back of his neck, lingering even closer, nearly an insufferable inch away.

“How about my heart?” San says, earning a looming flush that immediately colored the sill of Wooyoung’s cheeks. “That is what you are to me, Wooyoung. You are my heart.”

Wooyoung looks up, crossing paths with San’s gaze, taking a moment to truly study the male ahead of him. His eyes, always shone with genuine affection, laden in a deep umber hue, glimmered with something unspoken, something that Wooyoung knew they both had been teetering around for weeks on end. I love you. Both unspoken and feared, Wooyoung knew just based upon a pure glance that they simply mirrored the same emotions, yet remained silent because of how terrified they both were because of unprecedented consequences. Wooyoung didn’t know what to expect, nor was he entirely sure of how to control these strengthening emotions, but as he stood here and looked at San, he knew the words would simply tumble off of his tongue eventually, unable to be kept like a caged animal.

Instead, he forces himself to silence, leaning closer, pressing a deepening kiss to his lips, keeping their connection alive with the spark of a few shared breaths and a warm, languid press of lips against lips. Wooyoung’s hand raises to cup San’s jaw, aching to have him closer, to feel and lose himself in the depth of it all, only to be interrupted by a knock at his bedroom door.

Parting away, Wooyoung turns amply on his heel, watching as Mingyu strolls in, a small smile gracing his lips as he studies the scene ahead of him.

“Getting into mischief, are we?” He greets, holding the door open for a second, the sudden sound of nails clicking against the floor, stirring Wooyoung’s attention downward, only to catch sight of a familiar canine friend, one of which he had missed dearly.

“Us? Mischief? Never,” San says teasingly, observing the entire scene with a smile on his face.

“Oh, my handsome boy,” Wooyoung coos, moving down to crouch, his hands reaching out to gently caress the canine’s head, running his fingers through his ebony fur. “How I have missed you.”

Neukdae, a rather large German Shepherd with black feathering and longer tendrils of hair, looked up at Wooyoung, moving closer to try and lick the sides of the male’s face. Wooyoung giggles quietly, pretending to kiss Neukdae back with a similar grace of affection.

“Be careful,” Mingyu chides playfully, keeping his voice low. “The Queen is quite unlike herself this morning. I understand that the both of you are entertaining. . . this, however, I ask of you to be mindful.”

“We are always careful, Mingyu,” Wooyoung mutters, standing upright, allowing his hands to fall away from Neukdae as the canine strolls over to San, settling down near his feet. “I appreciate your kindness in words I cannot simply express in mere words. Your protectiveness and loyalty speak volumes to your character, and for that, I am utterly grateful.”

Mingyu, usually hardened and expressionless, softens himself to allow the faint trace of a smile to curl against his lips. “I will be at my post, right outside. Remember the warnings.”

“Always, Sir Mingyu.” Wooyoung smiles as he steps closer, raising his hand to gently rest upon Mingyu’s armored shoulder. “Thank you. I mean it; genuinely.”

“I too, was once in love, you know,” Mingyu says quietly, turning on his heel as he moves towards the door. Wooyoung raises a brow, listening carefully, following Mingyu towards the door.

“What happened, if I may ask?”

“He lies in a grave, just north of here. Jeon Wonwoo, of a noble house well past the confines of Etheria. His parents were openly against same-sex relations, and yet he still chose me out of everyone who threw themselves towards him.”

Wooyoung pauses, watching as Mingyu reaches for the door handle. “Have you not expressed to me before that you were once of noble blood? Yet, you chose to serve in the brigade?”

“The life I once held, well before you knew of me, was lost the moment the life drained from his eyes.” Mingyu opens the door, pausing, his eyes gracing the back of Hyunjin’s armor as he stands at his post, uninterested in the likes of their conversation.

Realization stumbles back into Wooyoung’s core, finally understanding the meaning of why Mingyu truly watched over him so dutifully, so thoroughly. It wasn’t out of pure loyalty to the crown, but rather as a hope that he could prevent Wooyoung from falling into his own mistakes, especially after learning about his affair with San.

“Do not walk on the same path as I have, your grace,” Mingyu chides, wetting his lips, turning to gaze at Wooyoung briefly before looking away once more. “Love is a dangerous thing, and yet, the power of it can become the most powerful emotion one can harbor. Cherish it, embrace it. You never quite realize what you withhold until you can no longer grasp it.”

A bittersweet smile crawls onto Wooyoung’s lips, causing him to nod, dismantling the tears that surged forth, nearly sinking over his lashes. Mingyu steps through the threshold, wordless and completely stoic, his usual facade hazing over whatever emotions dared to leak over the impasse.

Wooyoung wants to say more, but he rather chooses to remain silent, knowing that Mingyu understood the silence more than anything else. There was an acknowledgement within their wordless void, a complete understanding that always seemed to mend wounds that Wooyoung hadn’t even known existed. Mingyu was always present and sincere, brutally honest, and at times, a bit more realistic than Wooyoung could’ve ever asked for. He was a key part of his every day, and even having this shred of privacy with San all with the guidance of Mingyu, only wove his gratitude deeper.

Closing the door, Wooyoung turns, finding San settled on his bed, Neukdae laying elegantly at the foot of it, his ears perked forwards, his eyes trailing Wooyoung’s every movement. Curious, Wooyoung moves into his space on the opposite side of the room, scanning the cushions and luxurious furniture, only to see the familiar contours of a leopard-spotted bengal cat, royally resting against a lush cushion, purring contently the moment her eyes blinked awake to spot Wooyoung approaching.

Gently, Wooyoung runs his fingers through the cat’s luscious fur, extending from the top of her head and down the back of her neck, all the way down her spine. She arches her back, greeting Wooyoung’s touch with a purr, stretching out as if she had been sleeping the entire morning away. With a familiar touch, Wooyoung picks up the cat, entrapping her safely within the hold of his arms, scratching her chin and cheeks as he carries her towards the bed, pointing with his finger as he approaches.

“Look, Sapphire,” he coos quietly, his eyes flicking back down to the curious cat. “Neukdae came to cuddle with you.”

San raises his brows, an amused smile crossing over his features as he reaches a hand out, greeting the cat with a soft pet against her head. Wooyoung gently flips her around in his arms, setting her down on the bed next to the calm canine, watching as she instinctively curls up near him, rubbing her head against his shoulder with a content purr.

“I told you that she missed him,” Wooyoung chides, smirking the moment he makes eye contact with San.

“I know you have,” San says as he scoots backwards, adjusting to make room for Wooyoung to settle in bed, their pets content at the foot of the mattress, unmoving and completely used to this familiar routine.

Wooyoung slides into bed, carefully maneuvering the comforter and pillows as he makes himself comfortable, feeling as San tugs him closer, wrapping an arm around Wooyoung to only draw him nearer. Wooyoung smiles, leaning against his pillow, embracing the warmth shared not only from the blankets, but from San’s shared proximity.

Wooyoung raises a hand, gently drawing shapes against San’s chest. San hums warmly, lingering closer, pressing a kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead in a featherlight press, connecting them deeper into their entwined moment.

“This is all I could ever wish for,” Wooyoung murmurs, letting his eyes flutter shut. “You have become the half of me I do not wish to live without.”

“I will remain right here,” San replies, his tone low and husky. “You are the one safe space I never knew I needed.”

“I share in that sentiment, Sannie,” Wooyoung mutters, his hand stilling, drawing a heart on San’s chest after a moment.

The timing felt right. The words were there, settled on the edge of his tongue, dancing with the threat of possibilities that he wasn’t sure if he would ever be prepared to face. But, the fear, the rapture of Mingyu’s words, brings a sudden nausea to take over the place where his words once lay. He swallows it all, tightening his jaw, choosing to remain close, yet deepening his breaths, almost afraid that if he were to open his eyes, the words would spill out like vomit.

He wanted their words to be shared at a time more meaningful than this. To express just how cherished and loved San truly was, even despite all of the ties threatening to pull them apart. Wooyoung wanted nothing more than to envision a future with San, one where they shared a crown, settled on thrones together, ruling over all of Etheria with entwined hands. But, that was a dream, a mere figment of reality that he knew would never come. San wasn’t meant for a life of nobility; he wished to be stationed as he was, to be placed as a Knight and to fight for the kingdom he was sworn to.

But, even as he laid there, holding on to San, keeping him close, listening as the male’s breaths deepened and even out, he felt his resolve grow even stronger, more than it ever had.

He would tell San how he felt before the wedding. He had to. He would keep holding on to this for as long as he could, no matter the cost of his own afflictions.

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In the cast of the afternoon, Wooyoung finds himself settled in a leather saddle, holding the reins delicately with one hand while the other rests on his thigh, listening to the world around him transcend into a bout of tranquility. Reign, his devious mare, was walking with a nice pace next to a horse she hadn’t met before, though seemed to get along with. Cyprus, a deep bay stallion, walked with an elegance that was likely taught to him, carrying the colors of his kingdom with a sense of pride. Purple and gold, a lovely but deep contrast to the gallant colors of crimson that Wooyoung had always wore, gave way to a more lux aura, and yet he finds himself questioning why Celestia had chosen such colors, given the area they chose to settle within.

Jisung was carrying himself with a shyness that seemed to be a habit for him. He was quiet, though contemplative, taking in the scenery of the forest as they delved deeper into the grounds just outside of Etheria’s walls. Wooyoung sat quietly, patiently; listening to every shift of his saddle atop his steed, counting the steps and listening to the breeze pass through, carrying warmth and salt from the sea.

Behind them, Minho and San followed atop their mounts, quietly and at a fair distance away, allowing for momentary privacy, giving Wooyoung some sort of confidence to strike up a conversation with the shy Prince.

“Tell me, Jisung,” Wooyoung begins quietly. “What is Celestia like? I have heard stories, but I imagine they cannot do it true justice.”

Jisung’s eyes light up, almost in a cast of joy as he ponders the question, keeping his voice quiet, yet heard nonetheless.

“It is quite tranquil, your grace,” Jisung comments, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Being surrounded by the forest, seeing no end to your horizon, listening to the birds and feeling almost as if you had been swallowed whole by nature itself; it is everything I could have ever asked for. It feels freeing, almost as if I can move into a different realm, far away from the likes of my responsibilities and duties that come with carrying my crown.”

“Do you ride often, then?”

“Oh, plenty,” Jisung says, turning his head to glance at Wooyoung. “Cyprus loves the forest just as much as I do, so we spend as much time outdoors as we can manage, even amongst the rain.”

“It must be beautiful there, truly,” Wooyoung says, tilting his head, trying to imagine a castle completely surrounded in layers of ivy and dense forest. “All I have ever known are these lands, laden with farmland and fisheries. I have not yet seen differently.”

“Maybe there lay a future for us, one where I could take you to visit my home country, to experience the truth of Celestia in all of her glory,” Jisung attests, earning a smile from Wooyoung.

“Maybe so,” Wooyoung agrees, only partially. “We will just have to see.”

“Where is this spot you are leading us to, your grace?”

“It is the perfect picnic spot,” Wooyoung says with a gleam in his eyes, turning to glance at Jisung as the male smiles back at him. “The lake is just up ahead, cast about with nature that I had always found to be beautiful. Surely, it is nothing like Celestia, but I hope the scenery brings you some sort of comfort.”

“My gratitude knows no bounds, your grace.” Jisung shifts slightly in his saddle before settling into a harmonic quiet, only slightly disturbed by the sound of the horses’ hooves and shifting leather, carrying them through the dirt trail that wove its way towards a secluded lake.

Wooyoung adores this lake, for more reasons than one. Given that this was the same lake he had taken San to just days prior makes his heart swell with memories, allowing a slight flush to rise onto his cheeks. They had been so close then, so honest and intimate, reminding Wooyoung of just how much he truly adored privacy like that. There was no one else around; just the pair of them, vulnerable beneath the haze of the moon, stealing away one another’s breaths, almost as if they needed to feast upon one another for survival.

As they reached the spot just minutes later, Wooyoung carefully dismounts his horse, giving her a gentle pat on her neck before handing his reins off to San, taking a moment to watch as he ties Byeol off to a tree with Reign in company, all of which made Wooyoung’s heart blur with adoration. Minho tended to Jisung’s horse, Cyprus, tying the stallion next to his own, a dusty stallion by the name of Soonie.

Wooyoung waits as he watches San for a moment longer, rustling about in his saddle bags until he pulls free a blanket, all while Minho gathers the food and other supplies from his own equipment off of Soonie’s back.

“It is quite peaceful,” Jisung says, stepping closer to Wooyoung, though he was facing the glimmering lake, his hands clasped behind his back. Wooyoung turns, looking at the same view as Jisung was, smiling softly to himself as he nods.

“It always has been. I used to come here a lot, especially when I was young and clueless, seeking answers here even if I knew of them myself.” Wooyoung listens as San and Minho set up the small blanket and food items, allowing the Prince and his consort to converse freely, even if Wooyoung ached to ease the burden from his Knight’s shoulders. “I knew what was asked of me, even from such a young age, but somehow, I thought that this lake would give me the confidence to deny it all.”

“You really think that there would be a different path for you if you were to deny the throne?” Jisung asks, almost in a manner of shock, though Wooyoung could tell that he was being genuine, nothing else.

“I cannot know, simply because I did not wish to go through with it,” Wooyoung replies, keeping his tone quiet. “After my father passed, I felt as if I were to bear no other choice. If my father had another son, maybe even a daughter, perhaps I could have swayed the decision in some manner, but. . . alas. Here I am.”

“Tell me,” Jisung begins. “Was it ever a thought to you that you would ever wish to flee from the confines of your castle? To just be free in a world that felt to be rather endless?”

Wooyoung glances at Jisung, shifting the weight between his feet before he answers, allowing a breath to settle his stomach. “I seek refuge all the time, in many forms, really, but the one way I wish to seek it most is deemed inappropriate and rather frowned upon.”

Jisung glances back, his expression softening, a likely tale of understanding unraveling in the few inches between them.

“We all feel things, do we not? We all succumb to the pressures of a world that seeks too much of us, and we all feel the pressures from our peers to do what is destined of us. Yet, I feel as if I am tethered to this title, to this crown, to be the one thing I truly do not wish to be simply because I am the end of my father’s line. I will bear no children, that much was clear in the discussion for the throne; and yet, I still gain no choice in who I bed.”

“We all must entertain duties we rather ignore,” Jisung attests, though his tone was light. “It is not in my ventures to seek a hand in marriage, as I much rather would take my time in studying nature and everything around me, to write and create poetry, to ride to the farthest hills and collect samples of anything and everything. Yet, I am here, vying for your hand, praying that you may understand my hesitance in simply offering it.”

“I understand, more than I care to admit,” Wooyoung replies smoothly. “But I am here, too. We are not in this alone, Jisung.”

For a moment, Wooyoung watches as Jisung nods, turning away to face the lake again, a deep breath rolling through his lungs silently. He knew this was hard, not just individually, but together, as two people who hadn’t known one another before and were now forced to interact, even if they didn’t wish to. Wooyoung liked Jisung enough, that wasn’t the issue. He could sense the male’s hesitation, but he could also feel the longing for freedom, to be unchained from his destiny bestowed onto him by his parents. Wooyoung could empathize, overly so, wondering if he too would ever be free of his own tribulations.

Eventually, the pair guide themselves onto the blanket, sharing in a light snack and a few harmless sips of tea. Jisung was quiet, as he always seemed to be, leaving Wooyoung alone with his thoughts as he continued to peer over his shoulder, watching as San tended to their horses with gentle care. San had always loved Byeol, but the tenderness he had shown to Reign also, who wasn’t always exactly kind in return, made Wooyoung’s heart swell even more so.

Time and time again has Wooyoung watched Jisung steal a glance at Minho, a fleeting moment that he brushed off as pure curiosity. Though, he’ll admit, he was the same way when he first laid eyes upon San all those moons ago.

“Tell me, your grace,” Jisung begins, settling closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Are all of your guards chosen simply for their looks?”

Wooyoung chuckles, a bit caught off-guard, though he nods. “Partially. But their skill remains at the highest mark of satisfaction. Why do you ask?”

“The guards at my castle are all old, quiet and stern. Nothing like the two that have accompanied us on this trip.”

Wooyoung hums, nodding his head. “I suppose they’re all a bit. . . young to be royal guards.”

“Deftly handsome too, may I add,” Jisung quips, earning a smile from Wooyoung in turn.

“It does help on the days that run a bit more lonely than others,” Wooyoung says. “Maybe I am a bit foolish to entertain such an interest, but I would become a liar if I were to admit otherwise.”

“I do not fault you for it,” Jisung says, peeking over his shoulder, gazing at Minho once more. “You do have a keen eye, your grace.”

Wooyoung, too, glances behind them, watching San, smiling softly the moment the male’s eyes turn to meet his own, sending a warmth to shoot through his veins like a wildfire.

“I do,” Wooyoung admits breathily. “That I do.”

Chapter Text

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┗━━ 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰'𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 ━━┛

Days had come and had passed, leaving Wooyoung to tend to a few different matters that required most of his attention. He was busy, albeit sadly, rushing around his own kingdom with a scroll full of things to attend to.

On the other hand, Ji-soo had kept Wooyoung incredibly busy with outfit fittings, all of which would be used for the upcoming events tied to Wooyoung’s inevitable marriage. Beyond that, Ji-soo watched Wooyoung with a careful eye, making sure that he ate at least twice a day and took care of himself, even if his attitude protested otherwise.

Wooyoung, truthfully, was feeling a bit intense with his mood swings, feeding into the negativity that settled into his skin. He hadn’t seen San in nearly a week, or so, Wooyoung felt it to be. He didn’t know what had happened between them, as their last conversation ended up with them holding one another, settled in his bed, sharing in their mutual embrace with passing kisses and warm smiles. Now, it felt to be the opposite.

Cold, alone, quiet; everything that Wooyoung didn’t want. The moon was slowly curling closer and closer to its renewed state, leaving Wooyoung with little time left to enjoy the peace that came before his looming marriage. He didn’t want to spend the remainder of his time like this, alone and separated, kept away from the person he adored most. But, Wooyoung couldn’t do anything to fix this. He could just sit and watch, allowing the world to pass by him, waiting in his chair as he stared at his bedroom door; praying and hoping. His jaw would be tight, his teeth biting into his cheek and tongue, feeling as his chest would tighten the more time that had passed, feeling as the sun’s warmth would fade and the chill of the moon would crawl along his skin.

San’s absence wasn’t just physical, it was emotional. Wooyoung knew where they stood, and for what they shared, he hoped it’d be enough to draw San back from wherever he had gone. Times were becoming more and more difficult, he knew that; he wasn’t completely oblivious. Yet, he wanted to remain tangled within his own resolve, muttering words to himself in hopes that someone would hear his thoughts, even if it were only his barren bedroom or Sapphire’s ears.

“Your grace, you seem exhausted,” Ji-soo dotes, quietly shuffling about the room ahead of Wooyoung, mindlessly folding linens. “Why must you be so stubborn? Take a rest, or at the very least, bathe in warm water. The steam will clear your mind.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, his eyes darting downwards. “I cannot, Ji-soo. I am on edge. I cannot help but feel tense.”

“But why is that, your grace? What seems to be bothering you?”

Wooyoung glances up, looking at Ji-soo, struggling to try and place his feelings anywhere but against his shoulders. But, how could he? He couldn’t sit here and explain everything that was happening with San, let alone the affair that they had been having for the previous weeks. It was all too revealing, too raw, too vulnerable; leaving Wooyoung to settle for silence, choosing wordlessness over the sake of sharing this burden with anyone else.

“Ji-soo, I do not think now is the time to delve into my personal matters,” Wooyoung begins, glancing away, trying to plead wordlessly for the topic to be left alone. But, Ji-soo eyes him, if only momentarily, her words quiet between the space left amongst them.

“I may only be your maid, your grace, but I can offer an ear to listen if the world seems to be too heavy to bear on your own,” Ji-soo says softly, pausing her movements before setting down the linens in her hands, stacking it on the pre-existing pile nearby. “You have been glued to this chair of yours for the last few days, my Prince. Not only can I see it in the way you behave, but your eyes. . . they tell a tale of someone who is searching for something, or perhaps, someone?”

Wooyoung winces, biting his tongue, shifting his posture around to lean back casually in his chair.

“It is not something to worry yourself with, Ji-soo, please leave it be.” Wooyoung tilts his head back towards her, watching as she continues to fold the laundry, unaffected by the subtle firmness laced within the Prince’s tone.

“You are just like your father, you know,” Ji-soo comments, a sigh bleeding through her lips as she pauses again, placing her hands down against the folded linens, glancing up to meet Wooyoung’s gaze. “Stubborn, slightly defiant, isolating; practically the same man if you ask me.”

“Was he truly so stubborn? I did not know him to be like that,” Wooyoung asks, watching as Ji-soo offers a small smile, nodding her head.

“He was stubborn in his younger years. That is what I was told, at least. The chatter within the maid’s quarters never ceases to amaze me, lingering to several moons back, practically to when you were but a babe, toddling around, demanding snacks from anyone who would come to pass.”

“I always wanted whatever was within my grasp,” Wooyoung says, amusement laced into his tone. “Maybe I have not yet changed.”

“Oh, but you have. Subtly, if I may add.” Ji-soo straightens out her gown and garments, brushing a strand of her hair aside before she settles into the seat across from Wooyoung, a golden table settled between them, filled with the Prince’s laundry.

“I do not mean to be a spitting image of my father,” Wooyoung explains. “I want to be myself, someone who shares the blood of my father’s lineage, but not quite the same attributes. I do not want the kingdom to think of me as a fake, nor someone who was trying to pretend to be my father.”

“I do not think you are, your grace. King Tae was a lot of things, and yes, stubborn being one of them, but you and he are different in some ways, ways that I find to be rather interesting.”

Wooyoung raises a brow, his hands resting against the arms of the chair, curling around them, completely intrigued by Ji-soo’s comment.

“Care to explain?”

“Certainly,” Ji-soo says, smiling. “Your father was humble beyond his years, always seeking to please the people before that of his own seat beneath the crown. That is where you are alike, sharing in the sentiment to take care of your kingdom before lavishing yourself with delicacies the peasant folk could never attain. But, where your father spoke of love, that is where you are to be different.”

Wooyoung swallows quietly, his jaw tight, watching as Ji-soo continues to speak, gesturing with her hand and glancing off to somewhere around the room, her voice utterly soft, yet awed with wonder.

“The King never doubted his place within the realm. He knew what was asked of him, what he was to entertain, and for all the prices that he would have to pay. When he chose your mother as his suitor, it was not for the sake of love, but rather strength. He sought out a partner that would fortify him, stabilize the kingdom, and of course, to bring him children.”

“I have never once spoke of wanting children,” Wooyoung confesses, earning a nod from Ji-soo.

“I could tell just by the way you carry yourself, your grace,” Ji-soo comments, her eyes glimmering with subtle amusement as she continues. “It is a first for Etheria to take on two male Kings in marriage, but I have no doubt that you will do it with poise and grace, just in the way your father had when he chose the kingdom over himself.”

“What are you saying? Did my father not love my mother?” Wooyoung’s brows furrow slightly, watching as Ji-soo’s smile fades, her posture straightening, not yet exactly rigid with unease, but Wooyoung could sense the tension.

“I am sure you know of what it is like to seek approval from the council, my Prince. King Tae did that, and even more than just that, really, he sought to gain approval from his people. Seeking a marriage that would lavish the kingdom in fortune, good health, and approval was all he sought to maintain. But I can see it in your eyes, your grace. You want more than just that.”

Wooyoung shifts uncomfortably, glancing down at his hands, tracing the lines of his rings and jewels, listening as Ji-soo’s voice breaks through his momentary reverie.

“You want love,” she says, leaning forward in her seat. “That is the difference between yourself and that of your father. You want to lead this kingdom with someone who sets your heart aflame, who sees you as you are, who seeks to not only make the kingdom happy, but also you. You want to be cherished and loved, but there is nothing wrong with that.”

“I–” Wooyoung cuts himself off, tilting his head up, tightening his jaw. He grips the chair tighter, feeling a surge of tears surge forth.

“It is not a terrible wish to seek love, your grace. It is noble, maybe a bit selfish, but that is what makes you just like everyone else, and I would rather think that that is more pleasing than a King who seeks to rule for the sake of peace. Sacrificing your own wishes, letting your desires melt away with the pour of rain, giving up everything you dare to hold close to you, and for what? A crown?”

Wooyoung gazes away, gripping his chair tighter.

“Being in love is not a crime,” Ji-soo says quietly. “But pretending not to be is the worst crime one could commit to themselves. Do not be your father.”

Wooyoung takes a breath in before he gazes at Ji-soo, tears brimming on the edges of his lashes before he blinks them away, feeling the swell of emotions that he had long since ignored bubble towards the surface.

“I am the Prince, Ji-soo. I seek marriage for the comfort of our kingdom, otherwise I would rather not have it.” Wooyoung runs a hand down the line of his embroidered, red coat, messing with one of the golden buttons before his hand stills. “To protect the people, to protect Etheria’s walls; that is all I am to be crowned for. Not of love, nor for the sacred upholding of bloodlines. I am the last in my father’s lineage; so I must seek to maintain a rule of life and longevity, no matter the cost.”

Ji-soo nods, though her disappointment seemed to be awfully evident. “Yes, your grace. I understand.”

“Why is it that you speak of love so openly?” Wooyoung questions, watching as Ji-soo rises from her seat, her hands moving to tend to the linens once more. “You act as if you’ve experienced such a fleeting thing before, especially in the position I am within.”

“King Tae was many things before he passed, your grace. A husband, a father, a king; but he was something else, too, once upon a time. A lover, a confidant, a place of solace and an escape to the one who sought to open his heart rather than just use it.”

Wooyoung’s brows pinch, scanning Ji-soo’s demeanor before he settles into the words that she had spoken, realizing that the life his father had led wasn’t as just as he believed it to be. He knew his father was rather. . . unloving towards his mother, but that had always been their relationship. They were cordial, amicable even, sparing themselves of the words love towards one another until the remnants of his breath were leaking past his lips. His mother claims to have loved him, but where was that love once upon a time? Where did her love ever get his father? He was dead, buried six feet deep somewhere outside of these walls, gone ill with a sickness that seemed to root itself within his lungs, taking his breath away until his heart stopped.

“What are you saying, Ji-soo?” Wooyoung asks, his gaze steely, tone direct; but Ji-soo didn’t waver.

“The walls have eyes, your grace,” Ji-soo whispers, keeping her voice low, tending to another piece of clothing. “Do you truly believe that someone from outside of these walls killed your father?”

Wooyoung hesitates, watching as Ji-soo meets his gaze one last time, pausing her ministrations.

“I was once in love, and I withhold that secret like a poisonous vile. The people within this castle are corrupt, laden with lies and words that I cannot express to you openly. Us maids hear everything, staying quiet until the moment is daringly perfect. I urge you, your grace, to be mindful of what words you share within this room. If you truly love someone like I believe you do, they will rip them away from you before you have the chance to protect them.”

“Ji-soo–”

“Not another word, your grace. Heed my advice,” Ji-soo comments, straightening her posture before grabbing the pile of laundry with her hands. “It is well past noon, your grace. Please eat something. I will be back later to tend to you, if need be.”

Wooyoung stays silent as she makes her leave, walking through the doors of his bedroom before he could even emit a reply. What was she claiming to know? What kind of warning was that to even proclaim? Did. . . she have an affair with his father? Was the marriage between his mother and father a fluke? Was there more lingering beneath the surface?

Wooyoung rises from his seat, pressing his palms flat against the arms of his chair, allowing himself to walk away from his lounging space and back towards his window, folding his arms and leaning against the sill. He looks out to his kingdom, taking in the scenery for everything that it was, chewing on his lip as he swallows and absorbs Ji-soo’s every word. Being in love is not a crime. But pretending not to be is the worst crime one could commit to themselves.

“By the God’s–” Wooyoung expresses quietly, letting the wind hear his words. “What have I done?”

He felt hopeless, standing there, letting his hair curl with the flow of the warm breeze, rustling against his coat and twirling against his skin. The kingdom itself seemed peaceful, running without worry, stockpiling resources and enacting in trade, bustling about beneath the flutter of Wooyoung’s eyelashes, leaving him to gaze off further, tilting his focus towards the horizon line.

He knew what waited beyond the mountains and the thicket of forest, laden behind a tall barrier, detailed in gold and stone, lavished with well-bred horses and an arrogant Prince.

Wooyoung didn’t fear Sunghoon, nor his army. He just hoped, prayed rather, that Sunghoon would keep his focus elsewhere, worrying about the details about his own kingdom rather than seeking to grasp even more power than he could likely manage. How Wooyoung’s father had gotten away with minimal wars and rough trading, he didn’t know. He just hoped that for whatever lay waiting far past the cusp of the new moon, wasn’t the entire tide of a war he wasn’t sure that they’d win.

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Hours pass, leaving the kingdom now lavished in moonlight. Wooyoung was still within his chambers, looking down at a plate full of food that he should’ve eaten, yet refuses to. He was unraveling at the seams, stuck with a growing pit of unease mingling where his stomach should’ve been, making him feel more and more ill as the night drew long.

The flame from his nearby candle warmed the room in an elegant glow, but Wooyoung couldn’t help but feel rather cold. Sapphire was nestled on her pillow to his right, curled up into a comfortable ball, her sides rising and falling back down, breathing deeply as she allowed sleep to carry her through the evening. Wooyoung looked at her, his elbow resting against his thigh, his palm holding his jaw as he watched her breaths, counting each one, trying to calm the storm from within in whatever way he could manage. He didn’t want to break apart, not now, not again; there were bigger problems to face. San’s disappearance, his lack of attention to his post, all became overly concerning to Wooyoung as he sat by and simply watched, too afraid to make a fuss over it before he drew unwanted attention towards their relationship.

He had asked Mingyu where San had been just hours ago, but Mingyu waved off his worry, stating that he was training the younger men, preparing them for the possibility of war that might come after the crowning of a new King. It was a palpable threat, but it wasn’t one Wooyoung fully acknowledged. Mingyu assured Wooyoung that San was fine, just tired. Wooyoung just didn’t believe him.

Now, as he looked back down to his plate, looking at his food, his stomach began to churn uneasily. He rolled his eyes, pushing it aside, leaning back into his seat as he huffed, allowing the flicker of candlelight to ease his stress. He slowed his breathing, eyes flicking about his space, trying to lull himself into some sort of peace, though he felt unable to relax. His chest was tight, his heart aching, mind rushing around with conscious thoughts that seemed to pull him further and further away from whatever bliss he chased after.

He looks at the portraits within his room, framed in gold and brass, painted with an intricate detail that made his room feel less like the self-isolating prison that he transformed it into. The furniture, velvet and accented with golds and reds, laid out on the far left of his room, settled atop a patterned red rug, met in the middle with a golden table. Wooyoung’s eyes move, settling over his bed, taking in the thick of his comforter and white of his pillows, the heaviness of his dark headboard and large dresser; all elements of a life he felt himself floating away from.

Now, after listening to Ji-soo’s words and properly digesting them, Wooyoung felt hollow inside. He let himself grow weak, to try and part away from every single inch of this life, to truly imagine a world where he could exist with a husband of his choosing while still loving San. He couldn’t sit there and lie to himself; he wanted San. He didn’t want anyone else. He didn’t want Yeosang, Jisung or Yeonjun. He wanted the one person who had always seen him, the one male who could unravel him and then properly put him back together, to see beyond the throes of a crown and a title. San did all of that and more, time and time again, regardless of what the universe had thrown at them.

He just wished he could marry him.

A sudden knock at his door stirred his attention away, bringing his focus towards his double doors as they opened, held there by the figures of Mingi and Minho.

“My Prince,” San breathes out, his usual armor gone, replaced by a thickly knit white long sleeve and his belt, carrying his sword on his hip. “Sorry to disturb, but Mingyu has sent me.”

Wooyoung rises out of his seat, listening as the doors close behind San with a divisive click, but Wooyoung can’t stand idly. He moves between his furniture, steps leading him quickly towards San as he closes the distance, throwing his arms around his neck and sinking his face against San’s shoulder, holding him tightly against his body with a shuddering breath of relief.

“Wooyoung–?” San questions, but Wooyoung shakes his head, his hand moving to cup San’s jaw, head tilting away to purely look him in the eyes, swallowing the thicket of tears trying to breach through his shaky composure.

“I have been so worried, San,” Wooyoung breathes out, watching as San’s brow creases in confusion. “You disappeared on me. I did not know of what to expect, and I– I–”

“Wooyoung,” San interrupts, wrapping an arm around the younger’s waist. “My Wooyoung, I am so sorry. I had no idea my lack of presence would cause such concern for you.”

“I know that we both maintain duties that bring us apart, but by the God’s San, I thought– I do not even wish to entertain what I had thought of. You are here, with me, and that is all that matters to me now.”

San leans closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead, his other hand moving upwards to cup the back of Wooyoung’s neck.

“I will not do that again. I promise,” he dotes, leaning away, catching Wooyoung’s gaze once more. “The training got out of hand, I will admit. The days blurred together and I. . . got lost in it.”

Wooyoung leans into San’s hold on him, swallowing his tears as he truly looks up and studies the male before him, catching sight of the bruises against his cheek, along with new scars settled near his collarbone.

“San–?”

“It is but a small wound, my Prince. I am unharmed.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Wooyoung mutters, watching as San smiles warmly, nodding his head in acceptance.

“Of course, how could I forget? You are my heart, after all.”

“Smooth talker,” Wooyoung says with a lilt, rolling his eyes. “Why did Mingyu send you, by the way?”

“He said that you have seemed like a lost puppy without me, so I took it upon myself to end training early and to come by your chambers, hopefully to make up for lost time.”

Wooyoung’s expression softens, a smile pulling at his lips. “A lost puppy, huh? Do you take your Prince to be such a thing?”

“Maybe,” San teases, leaning closer. “But I am here, Wooyoung. You have me for the entire night, and I promise, I will not leave.”

“Really?” Wooyoung asks, soft disbelief covering his tone. “You will stay with me until sunrise?”

“Really,” San replies, tightening the grip his arm had around the younger’s waist. “Mingyu. . . he informed Minho, Mingi and Hyunjin about what was going on. I wanted to ask you first, for permission, of course, but Mingyu insisted.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, but San continued.

“They just think of us as close friends, nothing more. They know not of our intimacy nor the words we’ve shared. Mingyu still remains as the one who knows most, but not all.”

Wooyoung nods, pinching his brows together as he thinks through the claim of San’s words, trying to understand every facet of it.

“I suppose. . . that is for the best, is it not? They are my King’s guard after all, and I suppose I need to trust them more.”

“Do not think too much into the details of it. They know, they understand, and their opinions of you have not changed. What we have is still very much protected, and I refuse to let anyone get in the way of that.”

Wooyoung smiles, threading his fingers through San’s slightly unkempt hair, pulling him closer until their lips were nearly brushing up against one another. He could feel the warmth of San’s lips heating up the space between them, their breaths mingling, eyes lidded with mutual affection as they linger there, hearts beating in tandem.

“Let me take care of you,” Wooyoung mutters, brushing his thumb against San’s cheek, taking care to not press too hard as he moves over San’s fresh bruise, trying to further his point in any way he was able. “You can be the strong, impressive, brooding knight any other time. But for tonight, just be with me. Be mine.”

San rolls his eyes, but he relents, squeezing Wooyoung’s hips before he kisses the male’s forehead again, smiling as he speaks. “Alright, jagiya, take care of me.”

Wooyoung feels his heart tumble around in his chest, beating rapidly and seizing all in the same notion, all because of a damn pet name. He wasn’t used to being called such a thing, though, he didn’t entirely hate it. He didn’t care much for formalities anymore, especially with San, wanting to rather hear other words fall from his tongue. San could call him anything, truly anything, and Wooyoung would simply just adore him for it.

Maybe it was the way San spoke, lacing his words with a specific tone and fondness, wrapping his words in a swirl of warmth. Or, maybe it was his expressions, his teasing smile and the slight glimmer to his eyes, the faint blush that would creep onto his cheeks followed by the redness on the tips of his ears; Wooyoung just loved him for all of it. His tone, his words, his mannerisms and his gestures. Wooyoung loved San, wholly and completely.

Wooyoung reaches down, lacing his fingers with San’s, slowly beginning to walk backwards, watching as San follows his every step without a single word of hesitation. Wooyoung turns, his hand dangling behind him, entrapped within San’s gentle hold, pulling the male along and through the small living space and towards the back corner, where a wooden door lay ajar, revealing a large, quiet bathing space.

The room was dazzled in moonlight, yet in the middle of the room lay a large bathtub with a wooden stool nearby. A large rug fronted the tub, met with other delicate linens like towels and cloths.

“Let me call for some things from Ji-soo. Just stay here, relax; I will handle it all.” Wooyoung lets go of San’s hand, leaving the male standing in the center of his bathing room before he makes way towards his bedroom doors. His steps carry him quickly, hand finding the door handle as he pulls it open, watching as both Mingi and Minho turn to glance at him.

“Please call for Ji-soo and the maids, please. I am to run a bath, but I need warm water.”

“At once, your grace,” Minho says politely, bowing his head down. Wooyoung offers a smile before he turns to look at Mingi, issuing another plea.

“Can you fetch something for me from the maester?”

“Of course, my Prince. What is it that you need?” Mingi asks just as Minho turns away, heading down the hall in search of the maid’s quarters.

“Salt, a bit of it. Anything the maester would give for relaxation in the bath. He will know.”

“At once,” Mingi says, offering a small smile before he bows his head, trekking off in search of the maester. Wooyoung waits at his door, leaning against it rather, listening as he eventually hears the familiar sound of footsteps drawing near once more. Minho had returned, padding back towards his post without any further expression.

“The maids are gathering your warm water, your grace. They should be but a moment.”

“Thank you, Sir Minho,” Wooyoung replies, adjusting his coat before decidedly taking it off, moving further into his room to lay the garment over the back of his chair with a subtle thud.

“Sannie?” Wooyoung murmurs quietly, moving back to pace towards the bathing room door. San turns, looking at him, standing near the open window with his shoulders slightly relaxed. “The maids will arrive in just a moment with the water. Hide behind the partition, they will not notice you there without light.”

San smiles, offering a curt nod as he pushes himself away from the window, moving towards the opposite side of the room where a dressing partition lay, thick and opaque, not quite see-through without a source of light. Wooyoung takes a breath as he turns, listening as a myriad of steps loom closer before trekking into his room.

“Ji-soo,” Wooyoung says, smiling small. “Thank you for coming at such an hour. I know it is late.”

“Anything for you, my dear Prince,” Ji-soo replies, stepping into the bathroom, pausing for a moment with a bucket within her hands. “Do you wish to bathe in the dark, your grace?”

“A moment of peace before the duties of tomorrow,” Wooyoung begins, watching as Ji-soo nods as she moves closer to the tub, slowly tilting the bucket. “I thought it to be best in order to relax.”

“Do you wish for us to tend to you?” Ji-soo asks, the water tilting over, splashing down into the tub.

“No, I will be alright on my own for one night, Ji-soo,” Wooyoung explains, earning a smile from Ji-soo in turn as she steps to the side, allowing the other maids to pour their own buckets. Wooyoung stood by watching, clasping his hands together in front of him, listening to each pour of water being emptied into his tub.

After a few moments, the last bucket of water was tilted into the tub, filling it just over halfway. Wooyoung offers a nod and a smile to the ladies, assuring them that he’d be okay for the remainder of the evening. Ji-soo led the ladies out afterwards, leaving Wooyoung to move back into his space, reaching for as many candles as he was able before trekking back into the bathing room after retrieving salt from Mingi. San helped him space out the candles, using the shared flame from the candle he had lit earlier to spread the warmth and light into the room, casting the space into a warmer glow, which was more subtle than anything else, but elegant and intimate, nonetheless.

Wooyoung stood by the tub, tracing his fingertips over the surface of the water in a motion to test it before he felt San come up behind him, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung’s middle. A soft hum leaves Wooyoung’s lips as he leans backwards into San, resting his head back against San’s shoulder before turning, letting his lips press a delicate kiss against the male’s jaw.

“I mean it,” Wooyoung mutters. “Let me take care of you.”

San nods, giving Wooyoung a subtle squeeze before he lets go. “Okay.”

Wooyoung turns around, placing his hands on San’s hips before they trail towards the hem of his shirt, glancing up to see San nod, almost in wordless affirmation. Gently, Wooyoung lifts San’s shirt, pulling upwards before tossing it away, leaving the male bare-chested before him, laden in scars that he had seen numerous times before, but hadn’t fully grasped. He was too lost in the moment, too swept up in their intimacy to realize all of his marks, causing his eyes to linger for a moment too long.

Blinking down, Wooyoung unfastens his belt, carefully threading the leather through the loops of his trousers before setting it aside, carefully resting it down on the floor, taking care to not damage the sword or any facet of his gear. His hands continue, unlooping the button to San’s trousers before letting them fall away, averting his eyes as he glances up, watching as San leans closer, his lips lingering against the skin of his jaw, moving in slow, teasing kisses that trail longer down to the vein of his neck.

San’s hands, slowly and gently, unfasten all of Wooyoung’s blouse buttons, revealing his bare chest and abdomen, letting the fabric fall away onto their ever-growing pile of clothing. Wooyoung feels a chill wander up his spine, suddenly warmed by the feeling of San’s hands roaming against his back, pulling him closer before moving to the hem of his bottoms, slowly beginning to discard them before letting the fabric pool at his ankles. Wooyoung tilts his head back, threading his fingers through San’s hair, meshing their lips together in a kiss that was languid and passionate, whispering every word that still seemed too fruitful to express.

Wooyoung feels as San pulls him closer once more, deepening the kiss, making all of the emotions within Wooyoung’s core swell to an impossible threshold. He wanted to confess, to be honest, to express the truth. San deserved to know, in every single possible way that he could, but Wooyoung couldn’t do it. He bit his tongue as he parted away, pressing his forehead to San’s, allowing their breaths to mingle and dance in the delicate space left between them.

“Get in,” Wooyoung mutters, allowing his eyes to flutter open, pleading silently and verbally.

San follows Wooyoung’s will, stepping into the tub before lowering himself inside, leaning against the back of it while his arms remained draped open, giving Wooyoung all the room he needed to follow him inside, the water rising and slightly spilling over the top, dampening the rug and remnants of clothing as the water shifted around before settling around them. Wooyoung straddled his lap, his hands resting against San’s chest before falling away, his head turning to glance at the stool beside them that now held their towels and small cloths. He grabs the cloth with his left hand, dipping it into the warm water before leaning close, allowing the fabric to press against San’s chest in a gentle motion.

His gaze travels down, scaling over San’s skin, his free hand moving upwards, fingertips tracing over the largest scar that went down the center of San’s chest. He watched as San’s skin twitched, likely having unlocked some memories that the male would rather ignore. He glances up, watching as San meets his gaze, his hand stilling, almost as if he was waiting for confirmation.

“It was a long time ago,” San says, breaking the silence as gently as he could. “Ambushed, out in the open. It was before I became your guard.”

Wooyoung listens devotedly, allowing the cloth to move over the scar, almost in a physical way to discard the memories, pushing them away, but he could still feel San’s body tensing beneath him with every subtle movement. He glances up again, watching as San’s eyes closed, brows pinching, jaw tight with a memory that Wooyoung hadn’t heard of before.

Slowly, Wooyoung moves the cloth away, leaning forward, hesitantly pressing a kiss to the middle of the scar, resting his free hand on the back of San’s neck, holding him steady, almost in a physical reassurance of his presence against wounds that still hadn’t mentally healed.

“Wooyoung–”

He continues, brushing his thumb against San’s skin as it rests against his neck, allowing his lips to hover over each scar, each wound, each reminder, kissing away the sins of his past with delicate intimacy. San’s breath hitches with each one, but he makes no move to push away or ask for space, but he rather pulls Wooyoung closer.

“You do not ever have to tell me what has happened to you, in the past, present, or even for what is to come in the future. But just know that I am here, always willing to listen. Always, San.”

Wooyoung allows his words to warm the space between them before he leans back, catching a sight of something he never thought he’d see. San had tears in his eyes, a subtle redness that hadn’t quite yet spilled over, but was threatening to. Wooyoung feels an empathetic frown meld over his lips, dropping the cloth and moving his hands up, cradling both sides of San’s face in his hands.

“Did I push too far–?” Wooyoung asks. “I did not mean to bring up something you have not yet healed from, San. I apologize–”

San cuts him off, stealing the words from his lips and the breath from his lungs, fusing them together in a kiss that seemed to convey everything Wooyoung needed answers for. The water shifts around them as they sit there, mingling around with the sound of their lips gliding together, breaths meshing into one, bodies pressing irresistably close.

Wooyoung can feel it. Every single nerve was alight in this moment, the voices internally screaming to just be honest, to just trust that what he had with San would weather every storm, and to know that not only did he feel deeply for San, but that he loved him, just as deeply. But, he was scared. Even as he clung to him, lathering him in kisses and swallowing his breaths, encaptured by the warmth of candlelight, he couldn’t say it. He was too afraid, too aware of the consequences in bearing such a sentiment. He was heeding Ji-soo’s warning, remaining silent, trying to keep his words attuned to that of his mind only, fearful that whoever may be listening wouldn’t yet destroy this. But, even then, Ji-soo’s statement only confused him further.

The walls have eyes, your grace, she warned. Being in love is not a crime. But pretending not to be is the worst crime one could commit to themselves.

Wooyoung was confused. He was sitting on San’s lap, lingering into kiss after kiss, pretending that the weight he was carrying felt to be rather nothing in this moment, even if the guilt of not being honest with San was bleeding him dry. He thought he was protecting him from diving any deeper, to guard his heart from the onslaught of what was to come at the cusp of the new moon, looming with marriage and another man, but even still; the words ached to be free, sitting on the back of his tongue.

He parts away, seeking a breath, feeling as San’s arms wrap around his waist steadily.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Wooyoung,” San confesses, his eyes closed, their foreheads resting together.

Wooyoung shakes his head, biting down on his bottom lip, shutting his eyes tightly as the words tear and scream, but before he could even process a reply, San speaks again, breathing out the very words that Wooyoung himself remained too scared to simply speak.

“I love you.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flutter open, his head leaning away, arms moving down to wrap around San’s neck. The water moves around them, the candles flicker, the breeze from outside wafting inwards; but Wooyoung can’t hear or see anything else but the man in front of him speaking words that they danced around, avoiding the crushing feeling that would come after.

Wooyoung feels himself crumble, tears trickling past his defenses and sinking down his cheeks, curling around his jaw and down into the tub. He couldn’t believe it, left nearly wordless and in a flurry of emotions as San sat there, waiting; listening.

“I love you,” Wooyoung whispers back amidst his tears, shaking his head once more, but not in a negative connotation, rather disbelief. “So much, Sannie. I love you so much that it kills me.”

San presses a finger beneath Wooyoung’s chin as he raises his gaze, melting the younger with a smile that seemed to express it all.

“I meant it when I said it, Wooyoung,” he begins. “You are my entire heart, and I will love you until the day I die.”