Chapter Text
"Alright. All done."
Beomgyu swings his feet back and forth as he distractedly dresses himself again. Doctor Seokjin's infirmary is still quite chilly this early in the morning, despite the sunlight coming in through the opened windows. It smells of mint and bitters, just light enough to make his nose itch.
He rubs his eyes tiredly; Jiwon had woken him up at the crack of dawn because Doctor Seokjin was meant to go on a trip to the East Harbor today, and Yeonjun wanted Beomgyu to be checked up on before he went. It was weird, waking up for once before Yeonjun, making it so hard to leave Yeonjun's familiar embrace, his body putty and limbs like jelly as he let himself be dressed as quickly as possible. It was necessary, however, so he didn't complain much. Not when he is given sweet cough drops as a reward, like he is still a small pup going to the doctor for the first time.
"Done?" He yawns, small tears brimming in his eyes; Yeonjun had been quite energetic last night and they hadn't fallen asleep until all of the candles in Yeonjun's chambers had burned off.
Seokjin nods as he writes down all of his vitals. "Your recovery seems to be entirely complete. It may be scarred but I doubt it will cause you much trouble."
There is a shelf with medicine, to Beomgyu's right, like the dozens of others around the room. It's nothing that he wouldn't expect at an infirmary of the royal physician — moontea, balms, and pastes for wounds, oils, dried herbs for medicine making. Bittermilk.
He hadn't thought about it for a while. Beomgyu gulps, fidgeting as he looks down at his hands. "And..." He hesitates before his voice goes quieter. There is nobody else here, sans Intak and Jiwon waiting outside for him, but he feels like he still has to be cautious. "What of my heat?"
"Well..." Seokjin sighs, brushing back his fringe. Beomgyu feels bad; he must be stressed out, with the important trip looming over his head as soon as he is done here with Beomgyu. "Your meridians and pheromones were completely messed up after your attack."
Beomgyu knows that, but still he frowns. His heat was supposed to be here by now. It's July, a month and a half after he first awoke, and his cycle was supposed to have long since arrived by now. It had always been regular and easy to predict, making it easier for him to procure suntea under the table just in time before he was incapacitated by heat.
Despite that, there were still no signs of heat or even pre-heat that was due two weeks ago, and still, nothing. No fevers, no mood swings that made him cry at the smallest of things, no stomach ache that makes him rot in bed, writhing in pain for hours and hours, no bursts of carnal desire that signal his preheat arriving.
It couldn't be pregnancy, that was entirely out of the question. Seokjin checked on his vitals every single day and there were no hints of milk and soft powder in his scent.
If he were to have conceived, Yeonjun would know immediately, with how often they have been intimate with each other. Too often, judging by how he has to chug down moontea every single day.
"Beomgyu." Seokjin comes closer, patting him on the shoulder with a long look. "It will probably be delayed for a bit longer, but I won't worry too much, okay? Nature will do its course."
He agrees silently. He just wishes his fate wasn't dependent on nature.
Jiwon greets him with a tight smile once he is done. "My lord, how was it?"
"It was alright," He says, not wishing to elaborate much. He eyes her up, noting the tension in her squared shoulders. "She is there again, isn't she?"
Jiwon sighs, deflating. "Yes. Jungeun tried to send her away but..."
Beomgyu shakes his head as they begin to walk towards his chambers. "She just doesn't get tired of this, does she?" He isn't starting to get tired of this — he already is.
Jiwon purses her lips, not answering but her feelings are clear as day on her pretty face. He had grown close with his handmaidens during his stay here. Maybe not enough to the point he can say he trusts them with his life but enough to know that Jungeun and Jiwon have become quite protective of him, just like Kai has. Hansoo, the handmaiden that he didn't quite like, was removed from his post weeks ago, after rumors of him badmouthing Beomgyu had reached Kai and like this, Yeonjun as well.
Yeonjun hadn't hesitated for even a second to exile Hansoo from the Palace apparently, but Beomgyu cared little to ask about the details. He is sure he is going to meet many more rats, just like Hansoo, in the future.
He takes his sweet time walking back, walking slow enough to make Jiwon and Intak giggle as they take their third detour in a row, but time passes by all too quickly and he finally arrives in front of his chambers.
Ah, there she is again, waiting outside of his doors yet again.
"Good morning, my lord," Miyeon bows, a pleasant smile on her face. "How are you on this fine morning? Would you like for us to drink tea together once again?"
He doesn't answer, smiling tiredly as he walks past her. "Please take a seat," He gestures vaguely, breathing slowly as he plops down on the couch, the morning sun warming the back of his head. It's almost noon, the early morning birds no longer at his windowsill; his check-up had taken longer than anticipated. He turns to Jiwon, sweet, "Would you please prepare tea and sweets for us?"
He studies Miyeon as they wait, engaged in meaningless, easy conversations that he wouldn't be even able to recall later if somebody asked him.
"My lord, have you found the Palace to your liking, till now?" The smile on her face is bright, and beautiful, but the dullness of her eyes is anything but.
He hums, pretending to be in thought as he looks down at the handkerchief in his hands, the embroidered dragon and tiger lilies half-done but still vivid. He only started it yesterday but he's already almost done. "It's been quite alright so far." This is a question that she asks every single day, every single time that she comes to bother him, when he is alone and Kai is busy with morning training. "I have been taking walks in the gardens every day, they are very beautiful."
The gardens not even she is allowed in, but Beomgyu is. He thinks he would be imagining the slight twitch of her lips, if he weren't watching her intensely from under his lashes.
"Oh, that sounds lovely!" She claps, abandoning the handkerchief she had also been working on. Beomgyu pauses, confused. He has never seen such ugly embroidering in his life before, wonkier than a child's. Is that supposed to be an image of a dragon or a horse? "I have never been there, is it as lovely as I have heard?"
"Yes," He pauses as Jiwon finally arrives with the dark ginger tea he has been deprived off this entire morning. "All of the flowers have bloomed and the redthorns are the most beautiful this time of the year."
He doesn't waste time to down his cup after Jiwon is done pouring it, only briefly nodding at her in gratitude. The aftertaste of fermented, herbal bull milk had been tormenting his mouth since the moment he had woken up, and it had continued to do so after he couldn't consume his usual amount of five liters of tea per day to wash it off. Seokjin had told him to not eat or drink anything before his check up, except for moontea, and he had regrettably listened.
"Ah, finally," He sighs in content, closing his eyes as the steam of the hot liquid warms his face.
Miyeon tilts her head in confusion, her long hair falling like a waterfall over her shoulder, "Were you that thirsty, my lord?"
"Yeah," He resumes his sewing, nibbling on a piece of sweet rice cakes, "The aftertaste of moontea can linger in your mouth for a long time, and it was starting to bother me."
"I... I see." She stutters, her fingers shaking as she tries to resume her work on the handkerchief as well. Miyeon isn't blushing but her shoulder hunch as she avoids his searing eyes. Interesting , he thinks.
He can't help it, the words itching to escape his mouth. "Would you like some help with that?"
"What?" Miyeon startles, finally meeting his eyes.
"Should I help you with your..." He hesitates, aware that he's overstepping rules that he doesn't care much about. Miyeon technically outranks him, but he is the one with the Emperor's clear favor, so he isn't quite sure how to proceed. "Your handkerchief?"
"Oh, uh..." Miyeon bunches the fabric in her hands, hiding it from his gaze. "Is it that bad, my lord?" She laughs, strained. "I have never been quite good with my hands."
“Is sewing not part of the royal concubine training?”
Miyeon stills, gazing at him with caution. He can’t fault her — the question had come from a curious place, much to his own surprise, and not vitriol or jealousy like one would expect.
“It is,” She says after a moment of contemplation. “But my father found it much better for me to focus on philosophy and history.”
He hums, examining his needle; he needs to change it, he doesn’t like the way it sits in his fingers and keeps slipping away. “Mine wanted me to master everything at once. Thankfully, sewing was less dreadful than history.”
She laughs, the tension in her shoulders and neck melting away, “It was better than archery, at least.”
He snorts, undignified as the memories rush back, of him wielding a bow much too big for his small body to hold, “Archery was a nightmare, looking back. I would get yelled at by my teacher because I’d keep dropping the quiver.”
They remain silent for a while, before Miyeon finally decides enough time has passed for her to keep lingering in Beomgyu’s chambers.
“You are…” She starts, then halts as she makes to stand up. He raises an eyebrow. “Much different than I expected.”
He can imagine. He knows what the rumors paint him as — a vicious skank that corrupted the Emperor with his cunt and his beauty. That was simply untrue; vicious skank he may be, but Yeonjun had fallen in love with him years before they had even laid together. Still, a noble — royal — choosing a lowly courtesan as his lover and paramour (nevermind of the pompous plans of marriage that Yeonjun eld close to his heart) painted another picture.
“I know.” He doesn’t say anything else as he follows her to the door.
“You must think of me as an enemy,” Miyeon stalls, with a glower to her gaze that doesn’t hold anything negative. “But we aren’t. Not quite.”
“Not yet.” He corrects her, with a resigned smile. Perhaps, they could have been acquaintances, or friends even, if the blood of a rotten man didn’t run in her veins.
It’s not like Beomgyu is much different than her. His own father belongs in hell.
The door closes behind her with a softclick.
𓆸
"Our reports say that tensions at the borders are steadily rising, but mostly Seochon in the North and Hanshan in the West," Ok Byungho, the head of the Kim Clan, drones on gravely, almost sounding bored. "However, there are rumors of brewing riots in the capital of Hanshan, according to some of our intelligence."
"We should strengthen the security on the borders," Lee Minjun's oldest son, Heeseung, says, his fiery attitude reflecting his young age. Yeonjun watches it all, bored. Lee Minjun is absent today, thank the Gods above.
"Oh, you sure know a lot about politics, don't you?" Byungho, jeers, all sharp lines and a sharp edge to his beady eyes. "Who allowed you to speak, boy?"
"Aren't you getting too ahead of yourself as well, Lord Ok?" His uncle, Choi Soowon, asks, looking entirely too similar to Soobin's under the shadows of the council room, despite the deepening wrinkles around his eyes. Soobin is absent today as well, busy with wedding preparations, and Yeonjun misses him so.
Yeonjun's head throbs. Before Lee Heesung can open his mouth and sour the conversation even further, a command rings out through-out the room. "Silence." This meeting has been going on for far too long, and he has a meeting with the trading guild in less than an hour. God knows, he will have to skip lunch again today. At least he will meet his love again for dinner tonight. "Stop squabbling like little children and carry on with the topic at hand. I have other places I need to be."
They all grow quiet, finally. Yoongi snorts to his right. His uncle sighs, taking the mantle. "Very well. What do you propose we do about the potential riots, Your Majesty?"
Yeonjun leans back, crossing his arms in thought. He shares a look with his uncle, then with the man at the other end of the table who has been quietly grating on his nerves this entire meeting, with his placid smiles and annoyingly innocent demeanor.
Yeonjun isn’t his parents. Yeonjun isn’t his uncle either. He refuses to trust, Lee Sihyuk, the head priest. He will not be a fool like the ones who sat on the same throne as him.
He starts, making sure to hold eye contact with Sihyuk. "Send more men to the borders, as well as General Huening. He shall investigate it, and nip anything in the bud before it blooms." He reaches for his cup of tea, since long gone stale, and cold, then says, purposefully. "I assume the riots are due to the wedding preparations starting next week."
If a needle were to be dropped, it would echo in the grave silence of the room. This is why the council had to be called today, and yet nobody had the guts to mention it until Yeonjun had to step up. Typical. He is starting to grow tired of them.
"An astute observation, Your Highness." It's Ok Byungho, that speaks up after several beats pass. "The people of Hanshan must be worried to see their youngest Prince be wed to Choi Soowon's son."
His uncle doesn't rise to the bait, but Yeonjun does, tired of playing games before he has even had his first of the meal. "No doubt," Yeonjun drawls, glancing at the images of the Snake God Eunyu on the priest's robes, "Knowing the shameless snakes that slither in the Palace dungeons."
"How are the wedding preparations going, Your Highness?" Yoongi speaks up, looking as exasperated as Yeonjun feels.
It’s Yeonjun’s uncle that answers instead of him. "According to my son and the Hanshan Prince, they are running smoothly. The pre-wedding rituals shall begin in around a week."
"The Hanshan Prince," Byungho scoffs, shaking his head in disapproval. "Your Highness, why would you let a filthy foreigner like him have a hand in all of the planning? A royal wedding, no less."
A snarl curls on Yeonjun's lips. "Because that was my decision before the preparations started a month ago. Are you questioning my intelligence, Lord Ok?"
"Of... Of course not, Your Highness, I would never dare." The man reddens like a tomato, with contempt that he doesn't dare voice lest Yeonjun beheads him for his insolence.
Yoongi cuts him again, sensing the irritation that's starting to bleed into Yeonjun's scent. "What are the pre-wedding plans as of now, Your Highness?"
"A tournament shall be held a week from now, as I'm sure all of you know." Yeonjun slumps in his chair, aware of the ticking time. He hopes the head of the trading guild is as easy-going about tardiness as he is about talks of money and contracts. "Then flower crown ritual, and lastly, the Hunt before one last feast the day before the wedding."
It hasn't even started yet, but it sounds exhausting thus far. Soobin isn't officially a royal, but he is betrothed to one, courtesy of Yeonjun himself, and he is one of Yeonjun's only living relatives so it was only natural for them to decide to treat the wedding one would for a royal wedding. An entire month of planning and ironing out the kinks of a wedding that isn't even his, as well as entertaining all of the delegations coming from far to see all of the spectacles they have prepared. All the while dealing with the war and the riots rising on the borders.
Yeonjun dreads it already.
He suddenly misses Beomgyu, the warmth of his body next to his, and his soft sleepy kisses of goodbye, before he was so so cruelly stolen away from his embrace earlier this morning, to let Seokjin do a check up on him one last time before he went away on his trip. Seokjin must have already departed, which is a shame, because Yeonjun wished to talk to him about Beomgyu after the council meeting had ended.
Seemingly reading his thoughts and their dreamy detour to cherry red lips and whisker dimples as gentle as the Yeonghwan River's flow, Sihyuk speaks up, catching his attention. "Your Highness, speaking of the rituals... Are you going to participate in them?"
Yeonjun nods, furrowing his eyebrows. "Of course, I wouldn't want to miss out as Soobin's cousin."
"But..." The head priest glances around, unable to look him in the face. "Who are you going to choose for the rituals, Your Highness?"
They all wince, waiting for his reaction.
Oh, so this is what this is all about.
"Isn't it obvious?" Yeonjun speaks calmly but his eyes are sharp, unforgiving as they glance around. He can play this game too. "Must you ask me?"
"We were just curious, Your Highness." The head priest says, holding his hands up like he is trying to placate a feral animal. Yeonjun bares his teeth; treat him like an animal and he won't bark — he will bite. "We just thought that choosing your..." The word rolls off sourly off his tongue, fully aware that he is playing with fire. "- Paramour might not be a favorable look, per say."
"And who, pray do tell, might be more of a favorable look? If not for the person I am set to marry in eleven months from now?"
"My sister, perhaps," Lee Heeseung juts in, unusually bold and irritated, his usual demeanor of complete calmness utterly melted away. "Lee Miyeon, the one to whom you are supposedly betrothed."
It's sad, just a bit, because they had all grown up together, and Heeseung had been an ally and a friend, once upon a time, long before Yeonjun had become the Emperor and long before the war had started and forced all of them to mature.
Yeonjun squares his shoulders, refusing to answer. He understands that this is Heeseung's precious older sister but what can he say? That he would rather wed the one person he loves, than one of the snakes preying upon him? He knew Miyeon well enough and he knew her father even better; marrying her would be a death sentence. For him, for her, for everybody involved, because Yeonjun refused to go down without dragging his enemies with him.
He would be damned if he and Beomgyu didn't tie their souls for eternity, and he would be damned if he let these soulless bags of flesh and bones and bloodthirst dictate what he does.
Still, Yoongi had taught him better than that, so he doesn't say what he thinks, prolonging a future civil war for a little longer.
"I will not be questioned on my decisions," He says finally with a clenched jaw, then stands up, noting the way they all flinch at how the chair scrapes loudly against the floor. Good. If they need a bit of fear to stop annoyinging him so early in the day, then so be it. "I know what I am doing, and I will not be questioned nor will I listen to useless questions."
His meeting with the head of the trading guild should have started exactly two minutes ago. Yeonjun frowns, annoyed. He doesn't like being late, but also he doesn't like leaving things unfinished, so he returns his gaze to his councilmen. Out of all of them, only Yoongi looks bored, calm, like Yeonjun hadn't just scolded a bunch of old men like little children. Well, he doesn't count , Yeonjun thinks as their eye contact stretches on, feeling the air grow heavier, not when he has expressed his support for Beomgyu.
Yeonjun still owes him one. Let me help your Beomgyu , Yoongi had said one evening, barely three days after Beomgyu had woken up from his coma, let me teach him what I taught you. Albeit suspicious, Yeonjun had agreed because Yoongi was still one of the only people in his immediate circle that he trusts.
His gaze falls on his uncle, tired and silent on his chair, avoiding his eyes as if guilty of something. Yeonjun smooths over a growing sneer. He would rather trust Yoongi, the young teen who had stumbled over his words as he was forced to coach him a decade ago, than the uncle who had been there for him since he was still clutching at his mother's breasts.
"The council is dismissed for the day," He announces, already walking towards the doors. "Yoongi, please let General Huening know of the plans, and see that their trip be prepared."
Yeonjun doesn't pay them attention as they scramble to bow to him, already half out of the door. He wants to finish his countless meetings scheduled for today, preferably before dinner time comes. He doesn't wait to make Beomgyu stay up to wait for him again.
𓆸
"Kai." The sun is shining in his eyes, an oppressive weight to the humid, summer air. Beomgyu wishes he could have stayed outside, away from the prying eyes on them, cocooned in the coolness of his chambers, but he knows that today is too important. He calls out again, clutching at Kai's sleeve. "Kai!"
"I, uh... Yes?" Huening Kai startles, finally looking at him. "Is everything alright?"
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Beomgyu asks, feeling eyes following his every movement as he drags both of them to a quiet corner.
"I think so?"
"You think?"
There is a sheepish look in Kai's eyes, an unsure hand rubbing his nape. "Yeah?"
"Are you asking me or asking yourself?" Beomgyu deadpans, resting his hands on his hips. "Ugh, you know what? Whatever. It's just—" He gestures vaguely with his hands, making unfortunate eye contact with an older woman who seems entirely unpleased to see him. "Everybody is going the opposite way from us."
He smiles serenely as she scoffs at him.
“They aren’t!” Kai frowns, deflating. “They are… Actually, let’s follow them.”
Truth to be told, it’s not hard to find where they are supposed to go; Kai just barely has any sense of coordination, he has come to learn. They follow the crowd, the scent of fire and flowers growing stronger with each step. The Palace and its courtyard, a place Beomgyu had yet to traverse because he mostly kept to Yeonjun’s wing and their chambers, have been decorated with vibrant reds and whites, fragrant flower garlands everywhere Beomgyu sets his sight to.
It really looks like how Beomgyu imagines one would celebrate a royal wedding.
When they arrive at the rows of seats prepared in front of where the Tournament will be held, Taehyun is already there, along with a guard.
“It took you long enough,” Taehyun stands up, waving at them. “I saved us seats.”
“Thank you.” Beomgyu sits down with a sigh, fanning his face. It’s not even noon yet, but the sun shines without mercy. “Whoever had the mind to pull a tarp over the seats, has the mind of a legendary scholar.”
Taehyun laughs, handing him a small bag of sweets. “You came just in time, the royal guards struggled with the tarp the entire morning.”
Kai innocently looks around, not meeting his eyes. “Is this why you insisted on staying with me the entire morning?”
“...No?” Kai shoves an entire yakgwa in his mouth, trying to make his tall body smaller onto the small chair. “Soobin-hyung let me slip away after the guard meeting this morning, so I don’t think they missed me much.”
“...Aren’t you the head of the guards?”
Kai waves his hand dismissively, before excitement colors his face. “Look, it’s about to start!”
It’s Soobin’s father that steps into the center of the makeshift fighting arena.
“I hereby welcome everyone…” Beomgyu tunes him out within seconds, leaning towards Taehyun.
He covers his mouth, whispering, “Why does your father in law look so frazzled?”
Taehyun makes a sour face, grimacing. “He interrupted Soobin and I having breakfast earlier and tried to chase me around to have a ‘light conversation’.” The younger omega, shaking his head. “I took a random guard and ran, saying that I had to help with the preparations for the Tournament.”
Beomgyu pouts as they finish the bags of sweets, “You must have been busy then.”
Taehyun snorts unseriously, “I hid in the kitchens and stole as many sweets as my guard could hold. This is my 7th one, by the way.”
“Isn’t this unhealthy for—”
“My heat is due to arrive the day after the wedding.” Taehyun shrugs, face blank. “My preheat makes me crave sweet stuff, so I don’t care.”
“So soon?”
“Yeah… Seokjin gave me this absolutely awful concoction.” Taehyun groans, stretching his neck. “Almost made me throw up, but it’s tradition, so I had to suck it up. At least, Soobin had to drink it as well.”
“...And with that, I am given the honor of officially opening the sacred ritual that is the Tournament—”
“He just doesn’t shut, does he?” Beomgyu stares ahead blankly; it has been half an hour of mindless droning from Soobin’s father, and the groom himself is nowhere in sight. “Where is your husband, by the way?”
“Preparing.” A voice whispers, two hands gripping his shoulders from behind. He jumps in fright, turning quickly around.
“Did you really have to scare me like that?”
Yeonjun laughs, sitting down next to him. “What, aren’t you happy to see me?”
“I see you far too often to miss you, Your Highness.” Beomgyu crosses his arms and pouts, but still allows Yeonjun to scent his wrist. Yeonjun lingers, nosing along the protruding scent glands below his palms, and bites down. Yeonjun laughs as he startles, tearing his hand out of the alpha’s hold.
“You hurt me so,” Yeonjun’s eyes form crescents that make his heart skip a beat, a bright glint in his eyes. “And here I thought, you would wish me luck for today and offer me a blessing.”
“A blessing? I have no such thing, I have to apologize.” He tilts his head innocently, jutting his lips out. Of course, he has prepared for it. He didn’t sneakily sew a handkerchief for Yeonjun last night after the alpha had fallen asleep for nothing; the image of a dragon with golden scales and blooming tiger lilies around its body was a total pain to make, resulting in many nicks from the needle on his hands, but he had done it still.
“Should I find somebody willing me to offer me a blessing then?” Yeonjun teases, his smirk growing wider at Beomgyu’s heated glare. He rises to the challenge. “If you wish for me to find another alpha for the Hunt, then yes.”
“If you start humping each other in earnest in front of me, I will gouge my eyes out with a rusted pick and ruin your day.” Taehyun yawns, obviously unamused.
“I am sorry, my Lord,” Yeonjun laughs again, and the deep frown embedded between Beomgyu’s eyebrows easens. He reaches into the pockets of his chimu with a tired sigh, and pulls out the handkerchief that has brought him too many headaches for what it's worth. “For you,” He hands it to Yeonjun sweetly, before the corners of his mouth tug down again. “If you accept another’s, I will smother you in your sleep.”
“I would never,” Yeonjun takes it gingerly, gaze growing soft as he takes it in. “Thank you,” He kisses Beomgyu on the cheek, not minding protocol, “It’s really beautiful.”
He pats his knees briefly, before getting up. “I am afraid I must go,” A guard stands to the side, clearly waiting for him. Beomgyu misses him already. “A blessing from such a fair, young maiden may just give me the strength to wipe the floors with the famed groom himself. Goodbye, my love.”
It’s starting and Soobin is yet to come. Taehyun stands up as well, visibly disgruntled, “I will be back soon. I have to see what my dear fiancee is doing.”
Beomgyu laughs and waves, relaxing against his seat. Kai is well on his way to dozing off in the middle of duty, but he can’t complain as he eats his second bag of sweets.
It’s nothing that interesting, he will admit this to himself. Noble alphas of all ages try to show off their mediocre skills with the blade, taught by their pompous teachers that probably haven’t sweated once in the fields in their lives. It’s fun enough to watch from the sidelines, just enough to not make his eyes droopy in boredom.
He cheers as a snotty older man is defeated in a matter of a seconds by a man that Beomgyu recognizes as one of the guards that patrol the halls of Yeonjun’s Palace wing. Taehyun comes back then, blushing and out of breath, startling Kai out of his nap, “Did I miss anything?”
“Nothing too important.” Beomgyu eyes him up and down. “I didn’t know that handing your handkerchief was meant to be so… Strenuous on you.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Your otgoreum is untied.” Kai rubs the sleep of his eyes, stealing the honeyed cookie in Beomgyu’s hands. Taehyun splutters, looking down. “It’s not!”
“But you thought it was,” Kai teases, smug. They start arguing, as Beomgyu stares curiously; he wonders if he must ask Yeonjun about this later on. He wonders if Soobin knows as well. He probably does. Beomgyu shrugs, turning his attention back to two prepubescent alphas fighting with their fists, their swords abandoned on the ground.
He doesn’t have to wait long for Yeonjun’s turn. He is called to the arena, with flourish and with resounding gasps in the crowd, as if they haven’t seen their own ruler with their own eyes before.
Beomgyu scoffs as he waves at the crowd, and an older omega sitting in front of them chokes on nothing, growing red in the face from asphyxiation and excitement. “Show off…” He mutters, pouting.
Kai pauses, choking. “What is she doing there?”
“What?”
Beomgyu gapes as he watches Miyeon make her way down with an unreadable expression on her face, as she interrupts the fight between Yeonjun and a man whose name Beomgyu hadn’t bothered to remember before it can start.
He glances at his friends, incredulous, unable to believe his eyes. “Is she really…”
Miyeon bows to Yeonjun, almost mockingly, her voice loud amid the sudden silence, “Your Highness.” She takes Yeonjun’s hands in her own, lingering far too long for Beomgyu’s tastes, as she hands him something. “Forgive me, for I couldn’t give you my blessing beforehand.”
Yeonjun remains silent, his face like stone. He dismisses her with a flick of his hand, but he still takes what Beomgyu realizes with a flash of anger is her handkerchief.
The one he had helped her sew. He can see an image of pinks and oranges flash, if he strains his eyes hard enough; pinks like the pink camellias that made her stab herself with her needle and the orange anemones that had Beomgyu struggling to not laugh, because they had come out so wonky, the lines shaky and ugly.
He seethes silently, gripping the yakgwa in his hands tight enough to shatter it, crumbs falling onto his lap. His own handkerchief is tied around the hilt of Yeonjun’s sword, but he doesn’t care for it anymore.
Then, she leaves with a smile, her chimu elegantly flailing in the wind behind her steps. His friends stay silent, sitting by his side.
The Tournament passes by quickly after that. Yeonjun wins that fight with ease, and the next one after that, and the next one, until it’s time for him to fight for the winner’s title.
Beomgyu stews in his own rage the entire time. Miyeon is nowhere to be seen, not anywhere close to the seat either, and he is glad for that. He frowns; Yeonjun keeps looking over in their direction after each fight that he wins.
Soobin is his last opponent, because he too, like Yeonjun, won every fight with ease and fluidity that surprises him, as if his sword was simply an extension of his arms.
“I didn’t know Soobin-hyung was proficient in the blade,” He mutters to Taehyun.
“He is, surprisingly.” Kai quips back. “The three of us used to be separated from other noble kids during training, because we were so much better.”
“You have to teach me how to wield the blade one day,” Taehyun says offhandedly, distracted, not seeing how much that comment flusters Kai. Beomgyu files that bit of information for later.
The fight is intense, as they dance, seemingly familiar enough with each other to predict every move. But, as expected, it’s Yeonjun’s sword that clatters to the floor after a surprising of moment of distraction. It wouldn’t do for the groom to lose in the ritual held in his name, they all knew. Still, Beomgyu cheers loudly, clapping, Taehyun and Kai much louder than him.
“And the winner is,” Soobin’s father announces with a booming voice and a proud smile, raising Soobin’s hand up high, “Choi Soobin! Congratulations…”
Beomgyu tunes him out, instead focusing on Yeonjun as he leans on his knees, still panting.
Yeonjun looks up, in all of his sweaty, tired glory, and swipes the wetness clinging to his forehead. His face lights up when their eyes meet, radiant, proud, as if asking him if Beomgyu had witnessed him effortlessly take down all of his opponents and conveniently lose against the groom for whom these festivities were.
Beomgyu’s lips quirk up, but the sharpness in his gaze and the frown lines between his eyebrows remain. He stands up suddenly, interrupting the weirdly intimate conversation Taehyun and Kai had been engrossed in. That was very curious in itself, but he chose to mind his business for now.
“Kai-yah,” He says, turning on his heels. “I am going to the stables. There won’t be a need for you to escort me.”
Kai simply nods, with a knowing smile.
The ugly, green-eyed monster that had hung over his head hadn’t been as well hidden as he had thought.
𓆸
The stables smell of manure and of sweat and steel. Beomgyu wrinkles his nose as he approaches, narrowly avoiding the stable boy running past him.
“Beomgyu!” Yeonjun exclaims, in the midst of brushing through the tangled knots of his horse’s hair. “Here to congratulate me, my love?”
“On what? On your win of the glorious and fabled second place?” Beomgyu jests, curiously taking a step forward.The horse huffs loudly, and he jumps back, scared.
“Was I supposed to defeat the groom in front of everyone, including his betrothed?” Yeonjun pouts and then laughs, good-naturedly, placing a hand on his lower back in comfort. “She won’t bite, she’s a good horse.”
Yeonjun smells nice, of sugar and the sun, and like the strange liquids Beomgyu had seen him pelt his sword in before. He asks, tilting his head. “She?”
“Her name is Lightning.” Yeonjun takes his hand, placing it on the horse’s muzzle. The horse stays calm, only leaning further toward Beomgyu when his hands start stroking her. “She has been my horse since I can remember.”
Beomgyu hums, Yeonjun’s warm hand still enveloping his. A kiss is placed on his neck, before a pair of lips makes their trek up to his cheeks wetly. He tilts his head, offering more space with a sigh.
“I’m jealous,” His voice borders on a purr, breath hitching when sharp teeth scrape against his scent gland. “She knew you as a child, and I didn’t.”
A huff of laughter near his ear makes him shiver. “What was there to know? How I didn’t have all of my front teeth until I was 10 years of age?”
Beomgyu’s hand falls from the horse’s muzzle as a hand wraps around his waist, and they take a step back. He swallows down a moan, feeling his nape grow hot as Yeonjun’s muscular body presses fully against his back.
“Well, you must have been cute and full-cheeked. I would have loved to see that.”
Yeonjun turns him around, peering curiously down at him, then clicks with his tongue. “Sweet talk. You are trying to sweet-talk me into something.”
Beomgyu purses his lips, then wraps his hands around the other’s shoulders. “I am.” He says, plainly, remembering why he came here. “Can you guess for what?”
Yeonjun winces, noticing his tone, and his lips lift in a sheepish smile. “Surely not to simply greet me, hm?”
Beomgyu shakes his head petulantly. “No.”
The stables are entirely empty, and they are left alone, with no prying eyes to watch them. For now, at least.
Yeonjun sighs, dropping his head at the juncture of Beomgyu’s neck. “I am sorry,” He mumbles, almost whiny. “Lee Minjun and the entire council were there, watching, along with everybody else, so I was forced to accept it. If it makes you feel any better, I handed it to Mingyu, who I am sure has lost it by now.”
Beomgyu doesn’t know if he should be insulted that Yeonjun has accepted another omega’s handkerchief in front of him and the entire court, but he does feel a smidge of jealousy, still fraying at the edges of his mind. Miyeon’s handkerchief, at that, the one she had struggled to sew, and Beomgyu had helped her out of kindness.
He doesn’t feel very kind now.
“Have you lost mine as well, then?” It sounds less snappy than he intended, the small notes of hurt shining through. “I tried my best with the embroidery.”
Yeonjun stands up to his full height, serious, with a tight grip on Beomgyu’s shoulders. “No, it’s still wrapped around my sword, I promise you.” He strokes Beomgyu’s face, the calluses on his fingers scraping roughly. “I loved it. The dragon and the redthorns were beautifully made.”
Beomgyu nods, still feeling his jealousy persist, then perks up. “Make it up to me.”
Yeonjun agrees immediately, looking nothing like the ruthless fighter Beomgyu is starting to learn he can be. “Anything you want.”
He takes a deep breath, checking just once again if they are alone. They have at least a few minutes until the stableboy returns and Kai comes looking for him. That should be enough
Beomgyu kisses him hurriedly, before doubt and anxiety can creep in, and drags them close to the wall where he hopes they won’t be spotted if anyone were to come snooping.
“Like this?” Yeonjun murmurs, deepening the kiss, a tongue swiping across Beomgyu’s bottom lip.
Beomgyu’s answer is lost to a moan making past his lips, spit wetting his chin. He separates their lips, ignoring Yeonjun’s confused sound, and turns his attention to the other’s neck, suddenly ravenous.
“Beomgyu…” Yeonjun whispers, gasping as Beomgyu sucks a mark underneath his ear, right where he knows Yeonjun is most sensitive. He swipes his tongue over the blooming redness and licks his lips, tasting sugared spice and smoke.
“Like this.” Beomgyu takes a step back, adjusting his collar with trembling fingers. Yeonjun slumps on the wall, panting, eyes wide and shocked, with an obvious tent in his pants. He giggles and waves cheekily, scurrying off before Yeonjun can chase after him. “Goodbye, hyung, see you at dinner!”
Yeonjun only groans loudly, sounding defeated.
Beomgyu runs past a blushing stableboy and rounds the corner, knowing that Kai must already be waiting for him
𓆸
Taehyun is very nervous.
Beomgyu isn’t surprised, as they hold hands and try not to trip in the dark.
“This is…” Taehyun starts, then pauses, looking at him with wide eyes. He very much looks like a fish out of water, with trembling lips and the heavy garments on his skinny shoulders. He is clad in royal red, looking everything like the royal bride-to-be he is, rouge on his cheeks and lips, and fragrant flowers that Beomgyu had woven into his hair because he didn’t have a single family member to do it for him.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Taehyun had scolded him after he asked Beomgyu to do it for him with a shy smile, once the handmaidens were out of earshot. “I don’t like pity. I like you, hyung, and I’d like you to do it for me.”
Taehyun’s situation was very complicated, and everybody knew that, including Beomgyu. The youngest prince of Hanshan, with his siblings in hiding across the continent as their parents licked shamelessly away at their wounds after Hanshan’s capitulation, leaving Taehyun all alone to be wed off to a foreign alpha.
Soobin was nice to Taehyun, Beomgyu knew that very well, but he also knew of Taehyun’s quiet longing for his homeland, and the countless books, filled with fairy tales and happy endings, from Hanshan that he kept at his bedside.
Still, Taehyun was very cheerful today, despite his frayed nerves
“Crazy?” Beomgyu laughs, ducking before a stalactite can hit him in the face.
“Fascinating.” Taehyun corrects him, squeezing his hand harder. “I have had this ritual explained to me countless times before, but it still boggles my mind.”
Beomgyu hums. He supposes that it is quite fascinating. Like every other omega in Sujeong, he had grown up with stories of lavish royal weddings and the many rituals that predated them, namely this one. It wasn’t often that the head priest allowed people to set foot in the holy caves underneath the palace, with only the countless, glittering lakes filled with their Snake God’s water serving as a light source.
The entrance to the caves was cramped, almost dangerous in how slippery it was, and Taehyun’s handheld lamp was nothing against the deep darkness. They weren’t alone as well, with all of the concubines he has learned he can’t stand already, and all of the noble omegas that can’t hide their curiosity around him, closely behind, Taehyun and Beomgyu led them to their destination.
Everybody was lively, conversation easy and light, twinkling laughter echoing in the cave, and Beomgyu wished he could join in.
One day, perhaps.
𓆸
Blue light envelops them slowly, as they come across the site prepared for them.
“We are here.” Taehyun declares. His hands are sweaty, holding onto Beomgyu for dear life, but his voice doesn’t betray a single emotion. A chorus of ohs and ahs echo behind them, then silence takes over.
“It’s so…” Miyeon stands next to him and smiles. Beomgyu looks at her curiously; her eyes never held the contempt he expected from her. She breathes out, a hand on her heart. “Beautiful.”
It was. His eyes roam; the holy lake shines, not unlike diamonds, almost fluorescent in its light. The potent scent of flowers and incense floats in the air, making him breathe in through his nose. There is a shrine, with the metallic statue of Eunyu watching over every single one of their steps.
Beomgyu shivers, with the feeling of being watched closely nagging at him.
“Just in time.” An older woman sits on the center of a huge blanket, a mountain of flowers around her. “I am the priestess who shall guide you today. Please, take a seat.”
It’s quiet once they all settle down, with Beomgyu at Taehyun’s right, a certain electric energy in the air.
“Have you ever made a flower crown?” The priestess asks, taking a bundle of roses in her hands. “Today, the ritual shall consist of you making such a crown, with your loved ones in mind, and then throwing it in the holy lake.”
There is hushed excitement as they all chose something of their liking. Beomgyu chooses white roses and redthorns, to nobody’s surprise and to Taehyun’s great amusement.
“What do you have?” Beomgyu whispers, leaning closer, hoping the redness on his cheeks isn’t as apparent as he thinks it is.
“Irises and daffodils.” Taehyun gingerly strokes iris petals between his fingertips, almost bashful. “Hope for the future.”
Beomgyu coos softly. “Do you know how to weave a crown? I can teach you.”
“Please.” Taehyun smiles at him in relief. “I am bad at these things.”
“Can you teach me as well?”
Beomgyu whips his head around in shock, locking gazes with Miyeon. She laughs, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I am sure you already know of my skills with my hands.”
He stares at her, then sighs. He is tired of trying to read her. “Alright. Watch my fingers as I do it.”
The motions are familiar, something that he has done countless times before. Tear the stem near the crown of the flower in half, thread in another flower, then repeat.
“It’s similar to crocheting. It’s not really complicated, I’d say—” He flinches as his fingers get nicked by the thorns of a white rose. He drops the flower crown gently on his lap and searches for the handkerchief he always keeps in his chimu. “Do it preferably without getting nicked.”
His eyebrows furrow; it hurts way more than it’s supposed to, and the skin around his small wound burns, as if he had been doused in redthorn milk.
Poison. He had been too predictable in choosing his flowers.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
Beomgyu shakes his head, gritting his teeth, steeling his gaze. “It’s alright.” There are the barest hints of giggles around him, and he doesn’t need to turn around to see the predatory smiles on the other concubines’ faces. The priestess stares at him silently. “Come on, try it as well.”
Taehyun and Miyeon eventually manage to weave their crowns, with the help of his gentle murmurs of encouragement, a certain charm in how clumsily their fingers move. He finishes his own flower crown as well, after making peace with the fact that his finger won’t stop bleeding profusely in the near future, numbness clinging to the nerves in his arms, travelling up to his shoulder.
“Done!” Taehyun holds out his crown proudly, then deflates. “Hyung, are you sure you are alright?”
“You should go to the infirmary after this.” Miyeon frowns, yet again puzzling him.
“It’s okay,” Beomgyu reiterates, not mentioning that Seokjin is absent. “Let’s focus instead.”
“Now that it seems everyone has finished,” The priestess’ voice cuts through, serene and calm. “Let’s continue.”
They all stand up, huddling together as they walk towards the shrine.
“Pray and let our God bless your flower crowns.” The old woman instructs them gently, with her hands held behind her back. “Then, you shall throw it into the holy lake, and hope that you were granted blessings.”
Beomgyu has prayed countless times before — in his chambers, at the shrines littering throughout the capital, during breakfast back when his mother had been alive and more pious than a priest, in the softness of Yeonjun’s bedsheets against his skin as he prayed that peace will last longer for him — but it had never like that before.
He is not a pious person, and he may not have prayed with all his heart before, but the fire in his veins once he closes his arms and clasps his hands together is unmistakable.
He shakes. A deep voice hisses in his mind, shooting straight through his core. What do you wish for?
Health and happiness. For me and for Yeonjun.
He gulps, opening his eyes. Not a single person looks to be as shaken as him, not a single thing out of the ordinary. The priestess is staring once again, eyes prying and knowing. He closes his eyes again, a plea rising in his throat.
For the child we may have.
The spell is broken before he can get an answer.
Chatter picks up as excitement skyrockets. “It’s time for you to throw your flower crowns into the lake.” The priestess says simply, still watching his every move.
His fingers still shake as he lets go of the flower crown, carelessly running his fingers on the rose vines. Taehyun laughs, loud and twinkling, next to him, the lake’s blueish lights reflecting off the red of his clothes.
“It feels more real like this,” Taehyun says in awe. “I am getting married, aren’t I?”
Beomgyu smiles back fondly, his knees aching from where they are kneeling. The cold water of the lake licks at his fingers; he dips his hand in absentmindedly. It feels familiar, the clear liquid viscous and thick. It reminds him of the water Yeonjun would urge him to drink, and of the times his handmaidens used to wash his hair when he was still wounded and feverish on his bed.
“You are.”
“Next year,” Taehyun whispers, coming closer so that only he can hear his words. “We shall do this again. For you.”
Beomgyu doesn’t answer. His heart jumps, lodging itself in his dry throat.
He flexes his fingers. Surprisingly, there is no more pain, and he isn’t bleeding anymore, his blood washed off in the water. He trembles; his wound is no more, seemingly disappeared.
It’s a few hours later that they all gather together once again.
Celebrations have barely started, and Beomgyu already has a pounding headache in the back of his skull as he nurses a cup of something cloudy, vaguely smelling of summer fruits.
“The coast is incredibly beautiful,” Miyeon chats, a drunken flush already on her pretty face. “I spent a month there, and it was incredibly peaceful.”
Beomgyu listens with half a mind, only nodding when he is supposed to. It’s hot, and sweat beads on his forehead. Barely a few hours left, and then he can finally spend time with Yeonjun after such a tumultuous, tiring day.
Yeonjun had met him for a brief moment in his chambers while Beomgyu had been changing out of the clothes he wore for the flower crown ritual, heavy and wet to his knees.
“We won’t meet for dinner like you promised,” Yeonjun had kissed him deeply, after Jiwon left them alone to their devices with a giddy smile. “I have council meetings for the rest of the day, but we can drink tea before bedtime, alright?”
Beomgyu shivers in the memory of Yeonjun’s hungry, roaming eyes. Teasing always bodes well.
“So you saw the ocean?” A concubine no less than 18 asks in awe. He tries to work his brain for her name sluggishly — Hyeri. She is one of the only ones Beomgyu thinks he may not mind as much in the future. Not a single drop of ambition to become the queen mother despite the plans her merchant father had sent to the Palace with, and curiosity in her eyes instead of judgment when she had introduced himself to him.
“Oh, yes,” Miyeon sighs with a hand on her heart. “It shone deep, deep blue in the sunlight, and the sand was softer than silk. Hyeri, you must come with me next time! I’m sure you would love it.”
Hyeri squeals, unknowingly making his headache worse. He winces, smiling wonkily. “Oh, I’m not sure I’m allowed, my lady.”
“Nonsense,” Miyeon throws her long locks behind her back and refills his cup with more alcohol. He nods at her in gratitude, completely stunned. “The alphas there are quite the eye candy too, you will have a lot of fun!”
Beomgyu locks his eyes with Taehyun, sitting over at the end of the table, too far away for his liking. Did he just hear that right?
“...Alphas?” Hyeri chokes out in shock, her ears flushing brightly.
“If you have a liking for omegas or betas, they are quite the lookers over there as well,” Miyeon winks at her, giggling behind her hands. “Come closer, let me tell you all about it…”
Beomgyu shakes his head. He has misjudged Miyeon, it seems.
“So uncouth, isn’t it?” Somebody snickers, uncomfortably close to his ears. Beomgyu flinches, frowning. Jiyoung is one of the concubines that are the total opposite of sweet, innocent Hyeri. Bursting at the seams from resentment and jealousy, whether it be to sneer at Beomgyu while he wasn’t looking or to talk disgracefully of Miyeon without a single drop of shame. “For an esteemed lady such as her to openly talk about her…” The word is hissed out, acrid and pungent, despite the gleeful quirk of Jiyoung’s thin lips, “Dalliances.”
Jiyoung manages to annoy Beomgyu in less than a second with his arrogance and the awful stench of rice wine clinging to his figure. Beomgyu smiles back, sharp along the edges. “Is that so?”
The other omega, seemingly too far gone and too far drunk for how early it was still, downs the rest of whatever is remaining in his cup. Beomgyu clutches his own cup tightly; he would offer his own drink as well, but he unfortunately has no poison or bitters on his person. “It simply isn’t appropriate for the future Royal Consort to be going around with her skirts up to her chin, open and ready, don’t you think? I’d think His Majesty the Emperor wouldn’t wish to let somebody sullied and shameful to carry his heirs.”
“I’d say Lady Miyeon should be the judge of that, herself.” Beomgyu eyes Jiyoung up and down lazily, leaning his head on his hand. “Say, who would be suitable to carry His Majesty the Emperor’s heirs then, if I might ask?”
Jiyoung scoffs, swaying drunkenly in his seat. “Even the prisoner that haunts the halls of this Palace is better than the shameless daughter of a demon.” He shrugs, reaching for the pot of rice wine again, spilling everywhere.
“You are quite brave,” Beomgyu says airily, letting hints of a muted threat slip through his teeth like a hiss. “To talk like this at His Majesty Taehyun’s feast.”
Jiyoung scoffs, his laughter an ugly squeak. “What is that brat going to do if he were to hear me? Would he report me to His Majesty the Emperor? Or worse — the dirty whore that follows him everywhere, like a puppy following the first homeless man it saw on the street after its bitch mother had been kicked to death?”
The chatter around them dies down, Jiyoung having spoken loud enough for everybody at their table to hear. Beomgyu feels an angry flush crawl up his neck, his ears, his cheeks, as countless pairs of curious eyes suddenly pry into his very soul.
Jiyoung stares at him so, so proudly, awaiting his response, not unlike a man awaiting his reward to be hand-fed to him.
Ugly words bubble up in his chest, climbing their way through his burning airways, slowly chipping away at his composure. Beomgyu stares back, counting every little puff of breath he takes. This is nothing new, nor anything surprising; he is rather surprised that it has taken so long for anybody to speak like that to him.
Beomgyu is an outsider here, no matter what delusional plans Yeonjun holds for him near and dear to his heart. Beomgyu knows that. He had always been an outsider — be it the Palace, his mother’s birthing bed, and her cold, cold hands that held him like a corpse would, or the pool of tears and blood, littered with spiderwebs and dust, he had called his room back at Madame Han’s brothel.
Beomgyu may not belong here, or anywhere in this world at all, but he didn’t hold enough kindness and demurity in himself to not look Jiyoung straight on and say the unsightly words in his mind.
“Bold words,” Beomgyu snaps back, aware of Taehyun’s worried eyes watching him, and the heavy silence around them, “From one of Lee Minjun’s countless bastards that has never even seen his father with his own eyes. Are you any better as the son of a mere bed warmer with nothing to his name, yourself?”
Beomgyu may not have met Jiyoung until today, but he knew Jiyoung’s omega father personally very well. A decrepit, sour man who stole bread from starving children in the Red District and hurled insults toward Beomgyu whenever they happened to meet, like he was somebody above his station, as if he didn’t loiter around the Gang Estate in hopes of meeting the man who had slept with him once 25 years ago.
Jiyoung bristles up, slamming his cup onto the table with a bang. “Know your fucking place, you whore—”
“I do.” Beomgyu tilts his head in amusement. “But do you?”
Jiyoung’s drunken flush deepens even further as he stutters. “You…”
A quiet snicker to his right startles him.
“Alright,” Miyeon’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile, mirth dancing brightly in her eyes. “That’s enough, boys.”
Beomgyu looks around, to the sea of barely suppressed smiles and the quiet laughter echoing around them in the silence. He locks eyes with Taehyun, seeing their exasperation shared.
Beomgyu bows his head in regret. He should apologize to him for ruining his feast.
Miyeon pats him on the shoulder, weirdly comforting as she turns to Jiyoung with an edge to her voice, pointedly addressing him without honorifics. “Jiyoung, would you please move to another table? I wouldn’t want you to seek out another spat in the midst of such a joyful celebration.”
He barely suppresses a snort.
Jiyoung follows her words like a dog follows its orders, with his tail tucked between his legs and humiliation hanging over his head.
Beomgyu sighs, then drinks the contents of his cup in one go. He shudders; despite its fruity smell, it’s way more bitter and dry than he had expected, somehow worse than the countless amounts of bittertea he had consumed over the years.
“Not to your taste?” Miyeon giggles, pushing a plate of sweets towards him. “This is wine, imported from abroad.”
“Bitter stuff isn’t really to my liking, I’m afraid.” Beomgyu smiles weakly. Exhaustion creeps into his bones like the morning fog, and he just wishes to tuck into a warm, soft bed. Preferably, into the silky sheets of Yeonjun’s bed that have become more familiar than the ones in his own chambers. How much more left before he can excuse himself?
Oh, he said that out loud. Perhaps, he is more tired than he thought he was.
“Just a bit more.” Hyeri stuffs half a plate of plain rice cakes into her mouth, her cheeks cutely bulging like a squirrel. “We have yet to show off our talents as well?”
“Talents?” Beomgyu’s eyebrows raise in confusion.
“We are all supposed to display any abilities or talents we may have.” Miyeon clarifies, refilling his cup once again. “Singing, dancing, playing an instrument… You name it.”
“I see…” He didn’t know that. Was he supposed to prepare something?
Miyeon rushes to intercept as if to comfort him. “You are not required to. It’s just part of the tradition, with which you can celebrate His Majesty Taehyun.”
Beomgyu shakes his head. “No, no, it’s alright, I can manage.”
He has always been quite gifted when it came to the arts, something he had inherited from his mother. His father, once upon a time, had insisted he be taught everything possible to teach a young child. Beomgyu excelled in it all — calligraphy, painting, singing, dancing, and playing every musical instrument under the sun.
And then, his life as a courtesan had just honed it all to perfection. It’s not arrogance, it’s the truth. This is how he had become so popular during all of Madame Han’s feasts, enough to fill her pockets with enough gold for her to buy the entire Red District.
If he could manage to survive as Madame Han’s biggest money maker, then he could survive a surprise performance in front of all of the noble omegas and betas who look down on him like a filthy mutt. Really, it’s nothing new.
It’s strangely reminiscent of Madame Han’s feasts, he realizes as the night drags on and the energy rises and rises. It’s loud and it’s joyful, laughter and excited squeals as everybody shows off everything they can.
Taehyun sits in the middle of it all, overlooking and clapping along from where he sits above everyone else.
Soon enough, it’s almost his turn after what feels like hours.
“How was it?” Miyeon sits down next to him with a pep in her step and childlike joy on her face. She had played the gayageum to a crowd of awed faces. It was beautiful, and her fingers had played a pretty melody, soft as if soaring towards the clouds in the night sky. “I haven’t played in a long time, so I was quite nervous.”
“It was beautiful,” He says, looking at her curiously as she brightens up even more, a hint of a blush on her pale face. “You played quite masterfully.”
“Thank you,” Her head hangs low, a giddy curl to her eyes, before admitting softly, just enough for him to hear. “Your skills with the gayageum are…” She pauses, averting her eyes. “...Legendary, and I was hoping you’d like it.”
“Oh.” He blinks in surprise. “Thank you, I… I loved it.”
“You know,” Miyeon starts carefully, her voice dropping even lower in another admission. “I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For helping me with sewing.” He doesn’t let his regret over those actions show on his face. He had helped her with her gift for Yeonjun unknowingly, and it had stung when Yeonjun had been forced to accept it, but perhaps he should keep these feelings to himself for now. The words rush out of Miyeon’s mouth, as if sensing his inner turmoil. “And for defending me against that… Scoundrel.”
He laughs, startled. “Scoundrel?”
MIyeon sighs, shaking her head. “Thank you, really. You didn’t have to defend me, but you still did.”
Truth be told, he didn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart. He had done it because Jiyoung’s words were identical to all of the whispers people thought Beomgyu didn’t hear. He knows how it stings, how it itches on your skin like a branded wound. This is why he had done it.
He doesn’t answer her outright, mulling over his words. “I felt it was needed. Jiyoung ran his mouth too much for such an important celebration like today’s.”
“Thank you,” Miyeon says again, honestly.
They stare at each, Beomgyu in contemplation and Miyeon in something that he cannot read. He doesn’t feel like a bud of spring is blooming, like his hesitancy for Miyeon is fading away.
He doesn’t dislike her but rather what she symbolizes, if he were to be honest with himself.
Miyeon is not his friend, and will never be, not in the Palace, not in the courts, and not whilst the blood of a rotten man is flowing through her veins. But still…
He smiles, softer than he had the entire night. “There is no need to thank me, Lady Miyeon.”
Friendship shall never bloom between them while her hand is still promised to Yeonjun, as Beomgyu warms his lover’s bed every night, sated amidst sweet promises of a wedding and their future children. Still, he thinks he can perhaps begin to enjoy Miyeon’s presence, rather than just tolerate it out of obligation and honor.
“My lord,” Hyeri calls to his attention, having just returned from her sweet performance of a folk song Beomgyu had never heard in his life. “It’s your turn. Are you going to participate as well?”
He nods, standing up. “Of course.”
“Do you have anything in mind?” Miyeon asks him, her previous vulnerability hidden behind her composure.
“A dance,” He says easily. “I never need to prepare for a dance.”
𓆸
The world is spinning, Beomgyu swallows drily, as he shakily leans against the walls and tries to urge his feet to move. He curses, his eyes still unused to the complete darkness of the night.
“My lord,” Kai doesn’t laugh at him, but Beomgyu knows he would be grinning up to his ears, if he could, perhaps, be able to see it. Neither of them were smart enough to remember to bring an oil lamp to the treacherous trek to Yeonjun’s chambers in the middle of the night. “Let me help you, at least?”
“No,” Beomgyu hiccups, almost tripping over the fabric of his chimu. Sometime after his dance, the 4th cup of something that Miyeon had pressed into his hands, and Taehyun asked him to dance together, even more drunk than he was, he had lost his hairpin, and he is way too hot with his hair down and untamed, but also too uncoordinated to even tuck the stray stands that keep obscuring his vision to even brush them away. “I can do it.”
“If you are so sure,” Kai whistles, jolly skipping next to him with his sole goal being annoying Beomgyu to degrees Beomgyu didn’t know existed before. “If you trip and somehow die, I will not be the one to answer before Yeonjun-hyung.”
Beomgyu grumbles, squinting blearily as they finally reach their destination, the soft lights of the lit torches finally allowing him to see where he is going. “Your Yeonjun-hyung can shove it up—”
A voice laughs, startling him out of his reverie, “I can what?”
He screeches, losing his balance once more and almost falling onto his ass, if it weren’t for Kai’s quick reflexes. “Hello, hyung,” He coughs, tucking himself further into Kai’s chest. He narrows his eyes, pouting, “Why are you still awake?”
Yeonjun tilts his head and crosses his arms, mirth dancing in his eyes. He looks so soft, clad in his sleeping clothes, and his hair free and unslickened. “I happened to be waiting for you.” He nods at Kai, quietly dismissing him, and Beomgyu lets himself be guided into a gentle embrace. “I see you had a lot of fun tonight.”
Beomgyu’s face burns. He feels putty as he is being led into the chambers, the doors clicking softly behind him. “It was…” He mumbles, the tell-tale feeling of embarrassment heating his flushed cheeks even more. “Alright.”
Yeonjun laughs brightly, cooing as his hands cup Beomgyu’s face and squish his face. “You are always so cute when you are drunk.”
“Cute?” Beomgyu slurs, squinting, his pout deepening.
“Yes, cute.” Yeonjun smiles, deep eye bags marring his pale skin. “Come on, let’s get you ready for sleep.”
Beomgyu stands there obediently, allowing Yeonjun to undress him methodically, his nimble fingers working at his otgoreum faster than Beomgyu ever could. He yawns, brushing Yeonjun’s bangs away from his eyes. “Did you have a busy day, hyung?”
“It was alright. Lots of council meetings, and annoying old men.” Yeonjun hums, the jeogori falling easily off Beomgyu’s shoulders. “Except for a few hitches in the road.”
“Hm?” Beomgyu rests his head against Yeonjun’s chest, sighing as a familiar sugary scent fills his lungs. He shivers against the chill, goosebumps rising on his naked skin
“You know,” He can hear the grin in Yeonjun’s voice as he slips Beomgyu’s sleeping robe over his frame. “Almost popping a boner in the stables wasn’t really fun.”
“Oh,” Beomgyu snorts, nosing a line up Yeonjun’s throat. “If I could apologize…”
A pause.
“Would you?”
Beomgyu giggles, “I won’t.”
“You are so cruel,” Yeonjun whispers theatrically as they finally settle in under the thin bed sheets. Beomgyu purrs, low in his chest, as gentle fingers card through his hair and undo all of the tangles. “How did the feast go for you? I heard you danced.”
“You know too much, hyung.” His eyes feel heavier and heavier as his body slumps against Yeonjun’s warmth. “It was fun.”
“It was?”
Beomgyu hums in agreement, pressing a fluttering kiss against Yeonjun’s pulse point.
“Nobody bothered you?”
Beomgyu groans, exasperated. “Hyung…”
“I just worry for you!” Yeonjun whines as Beomgyu pops his head out with a slight glare.
Beomgyu hits his chest without any real strength as he frowns, “I am sure you already know about it… And it was nothing, truly.”
“Okay,” Yeonjun surrenders easily, hugging him tighter. “You don’t want me to deal with it?”
“No.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes. “I can take care of myself, I promise you.”
“If you say so…”
A beat passes, and Beomgyu’s eye twitches in irritation, “Stop looking at me like a kicked puppy!”
Yeonjun giggles childishly and then shrieks in pain as Beomgyu pinches the skin of his arms. “Fuck, what was that for?”
“For annoying me.” Beomgyu kisses him deeply, then separates their lips, smiling teasingly as Yeonjun chases after his lips. “Now, shut up.”
“Shut up? After I have been so nice to you?” Yeonjun flips them over, fingers digging into Beomgyu’s sides.
“Yes, exactly.” Beomgyu shudders, arching his back as their cores press briefly. He has sobered by now, too coherent and clear-minded for this late hour. “Didn’t you say you were tired, hyung?”
“I never said that.” Yeonjun grinds against him, grinning wolfishly as Beomgyu gasps in pleasure. “I did say that your little stint earlier annoyed me, just a bit.”
“Do you want me to make it up to you?” Beomgyu asks breathlessly, the thought of their early start in the morning, just a few hours away, barely a thought in his mind. The candles burn softly, illuminating Yeonjun’s strong figure hovering over his own.
𓆸
Beomgyu inhales slowly through his mouth, then inhales slowly. He takes a sip of ginger tea, swishing the lukewarm liquid in his mouth.
“Are you doing okay, hyung?” Taehyun asks without looking at him as he adjusts his jeogori. He looks pretty, with his hair done up, gentle summer flowers littering the dark strands.
Beomgyu swallows the rest of his tea with a grimace and stretches with an audible groan. “As good as I can be. I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.”
Taehyun laughs, extending his hand towards him. Beomgyu takes it, hand in hand as they leave Taehyun’s chambers, Jungeun silently following them.
“Are you sure it’s just that?”
“Yes?” Beomgyu adjusts his collar with a puzzled confusion; it is way too hot for how early it is, with the morning dew wetting the ends of his chimu as they step outside into the courtyard.
“Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with,” Taehyun wiggles his eyebrows, looking him up and down, “A certain scent that clings to you?”
Beomgyu turns up his nose, “Perhaps.”
“Just perhaps?”
“What are you talking about?” Hyeri approaches them with a sunny smile and more energy than Beomgyu could possibly muster right now with his pulsing headache and the familiar ache in his lower back.
Beomgyu and Taehyun share a brief glance before snickering. “Adult stuff,” Beomgyu teases, “I’ll tell you when you grow up.”
Hyeri splutters, blushing, “I think I am more than grown enough to understand that, my lord.”
“Sure,” Taehyun pats her on the shoulder as they search for a place to sit. He looks around, curious, “What is everybody whispering about?”
“Jiyoung has been found…“ Hyeri hesitates visibly, wringing her hands together. “In his room, at the crack of dawn.”
“Oh… Was he…”
Hyeri shakes her head. “His handmaidens are keeping their mouths shut but there’s whispers of him drinking himself to death.”
Taaehyun shoots him a pointed look, then bows his head low. “May he rest in peace.”
Beomgyu frowns in worry. It couldn’t have been Yeonjun’s doing, right? He had promised him to let Beomgyu handle his own personal affairs, even if it meant moving past nasty remarks about himself and his upbringing.
There is a bead of sweat on his forehead, that weird heat he had woken up with still persisting in its haunting. He wipes it away.
He hopes it was an accidental death. Yeonjun promised. He did, with a defeated sigh and a placid kiss to the tip of Beomgyu’s nose, he remembers it clearly.
A moment of silence passes, before Taehyun finally acknowledges the gaping emptiness next to Hyeri’s side.
“Where is Miyeon, Hyeri? You two are rarely ever not together.”
“I am not sure. Lady Miyeon had to quickly rush off after we ate breakfast together.”
Beomgyu hums, watching the hustle and bustle around them. “She must be busy.” He thinks he knows where she must be, if judging by the passing glances Lee Heeseung and an older man whose identity he doesn’t have to guess keep throwing glances in their direction.
Beomgyu would think they would look eerily alike, if not for the vicious frown the man is sporting. Lee Heeseung at least doesn’t look like something has crawled up his behind and perished.
“She and her brother look a lot like him,” Taehyun whispers into his ear when Hyeri is distracted by a sweet little ladybug landing on her shoulder. “Do you see it?”
Beomgyu nods mutely. “Today will be a disaster.”
Taehyun agrees with a sad noise. “Just when you and she started becoming closer.”
Today’s ritual begins with much fanfare, as it is to be expected. Taehyun and Soobin’s wedding is exactly 5 days away, and preparations are at their height. Beomgyu hasn’t caught sight of Soobin in days, except for the rare ghost sightings of him in the Palace halls, always too much in a hurry to even spare Beomgyu or Taehyun, his own fiancée, a single glance or a greeting.
Taehyun says he is busy. Beomgyu keeps his mouth dutifully shut and doesn’t bring up the fact that even the Emperor himself makes time for Beomgyu, so Soobin could perhaps spare a single “ How are you on this fine day, my dear fiancée whom I am marrying in less than a week? ”
Yeonjun says to leave it, that they will figure it out themselves, so he does. What does he know, really?
Yeonjun opens the event as they all huddle together — all omegas of age, with no ring or bite on their neck yet, a huge group of rowdy alphas that reek of pride and pheromones too early for this fine morning that Beomgyu refuses to even look at for even a second — as they wait to be picked by the ones they fancy.
“Are we cattle?” Taehyun whispers to him drily. Beomgyu swallows down a laugh as Yeonjun steps onto the podium and the crowd around them grows silent in awe. “A branding iron has yet to touch us, my friend. It could be worse.” Beomgyu smiles widely, nudging Taehyun in the ribs. “Now, shush, it’s starting.”
Yeonjun talks and talks, and Beomgyu doesn’t hear a single thing, truth to be told. With the air messing his glorious hair that he had cut just this morning on a whim, with Beomgyu sleep-mussed and sated chasing after the warmth of the other’s body underneath the bed sheets, and the glorious reds and golden accents of his ceremonial jikryeong, Yeonjun is a sight for sore eyes, and everybody around him seems to agree.
“Oh…” Hyeri gasps, clutching her heart. “I have never seen His Highness so up close…”
Beomgyu just snickers. He tries to imagine what kind of a reaction the sight of Yeonjun naked and panting would cause. A heart attack, perhaps?
“Before I announce the official start to the Hunt,” Yeonjun’s eyes slither towards his direction for the smallest of moments, but Beomgyu still catches. He smiles; he feels calm, for once. “The couples that shall participate shall choose each other. I want all of you to remember carefully; you cannot change your decision — you must carry out the ritual with the person you have chosen, with thoughts of health and happiness for the groom and the bride.”
Beomgyu cups his face; Yeonjun is rarely this serious in private, but he always seems to turn into another person once duty calls.
“I wonder if an alpha would pick me,” Hyeri murmurs to herself, not intending for them to hear her.
“I am sure you will.” Taehyun comforts her with a pat to her back. It was unfortunate, for such a bright, young girl to be kept a concubine for an Emperor who doesn’t seem to have an interest in much else outside of his own lover. Beomgyu almost feels bad. 18 was the age he had experienced his biggest heartbreak and happiest moments of his life, and Hyeri wouldn’t get to experience that, unless Yeonjun was to dismiss her as a concubine and bring shame to her family.
(Yunjin and Sunoo always did say he was too empathetic at times. It’s not your business , Yunjin always used to say when he would mournfully watch as a courtesan would take a client older than Madame Han herself to the private rooms. Ah, he misses them.)
“Even if you don’t,” Beomgyu adds in quickly when the crowd around them slowly dissipates as couples come together. “That won’t be a bad thing either. You won’t spend three days wet and rolling around in the dirt with an unknown alpha.”
“I guess.” Hyeri looks around nervously.
Neither Beomgyu nor Taehyun share her worry. The Hunt was held in Taehyun’s name; it was only to be expected for him to carry it out with Soobin. Beomgyu knew his fate as well. Yeonjun would rather die, as he had so eloquently put it as they waited for his knot to go down just last night, than go along with Lee Minjun’s schemes and choose Miyeon.
The Hunt is perhaps the most anticipated part of the three rituals preceding a royal wedding. It is also, as Yeonjun, Taehyun, and Soobin, like to say, the biggest pain in the ass. All omegas and alphas of noble descent who are still unmarried and not yet bonded choose their partner of choice and spend three entire miserable days in the deep forest behind the Royal Palace.
It was a way for many to find a mate of their own, and to show that they are able to survive and provide for themselves in a place where there were no attendants to lick at their feet or guards to keep them safe from blood-thirsty forest beasts.
Taehyun hadn’t called it barbaric, but the sentiment was still there. A bunch of spoiled, overgrown children with jewels adorning their necks, rolling in the mud for days on end, and tripping over fallen tree branches that were older than Beomgyu’s own great-grandparents.
A spectacle to marvel at, truly.
A nervous female alpha approaches them, a guard that Beomgyu has seen out and about before. “My lady,” She stutters, towering over all three of them with ease, ignoring Beomgyu and Taehyun with the single-minded focus of somebody on a mission. She holds out a hand to Hyeri, trembling like a leaf in the wind, “Would you do me the honor of…”
Hyeri gapes at her, “I… Of course, I…”
“I guess that’s sorted out.” Beomgyu smiles as they watch them talk and both fail to speak without stuttering.
Taehyun glances to their left, contemplative, at Lee Minjun quietly stewing in his anger as his son whispers hushedly in his ear with Miyeon nowhere to be found. “That isn’t.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Well,” Taehyun smiles as somebody behind them clears their throat, “Somewhere more important, I assume.”
“Good morning, my love,” Yeonjun says, taking Beomgyu’s hand in his own, placing a kiss onto his skin. “I missed you.”
“We saw each other an hour ago.”
Yeonjun places a hand on his hand with a jolly laugh, “An hour too long.” Beomgyu arches his neck, pliant as Yeonjun scents him in an obvious show of possessiveness. Beomgyu smirks at the muted gasps it causes around them; as the Emperor, Yeonjun was allowed to step back and not partake, but here he was, making his intentions known.
“Eager much?”
“Lee Heeseung has been watching you for too long, for my tastes.” Yeonjun smiles down at him, wrapping a hand around his waist. “You look good in ceremonial robes, my love.”
‘I know,” He says simply, rolling his eyes. “Aren’t you more worried about the vicious bat lurking in the shadows of his son?”
“He is three cups of soju too deep for me to worry about him now.” Yeonjun scoffs, untethered. “Besides, he is too busy worrying about his mysteriously absent daughter.”
“You know where she is?” Taehyun questions, broken out of the reverie that he was in.
“She’s busy burying herself into the scent of the salt and sun. But I know that she will participate in the hunt, nonetheless.” Yeonjun chuckles, cryptid, before his gaze softens. “He will be here soon, Taehyun-ah… His father and a councilman held him up in the throne room.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Taehyun shakes his head. “But thank you.”
“Let’s walk towards the ceremonial site. We can wait for Soobin-ah there.”
Lightning and Kai are already waiting there, much to his surprise.
“She’s coming along, too?” Beomgyu silently marvels as the horse lets him touch her silky hair, braids more elaborate than anything he had ever seen woven into it.
“As tradition dictates.” Yeonjun adjusts the bags hanging onto the horse’s saddle. “But the forest’s terrains are way too rocky for us to ride in full-speed, so we shall mostly walk.”
“It won’t be so bad, will it?” Beomgyu rocks on the back of his feet, fluttering his eyelashes. “I’ll have a big strong alpha to protect me against the beasts blessed by Eunyu.”
Taehyun snorts undignified, “Worry about the rain and the mud, hyung. These forests are famous for their unpredictable temper.”
“Yeonjun-hyung was never one for rain either, was he? You always complained during our sieges.” Kai yawns, sitting down. “Ah, I am beat. Why must I still train every morning, if Beomgyu-hyung will be safe and sound, doing unspeakable acts in the Holy Forest for three days straight?”
“Because I need you quick on your feet, future General.” Yeonjun grins, standing tall, as he flexes his arms. “And that won’t be a problem.I am looking forward to seeing Beomgyu wet as a rat.”
“Very funny.” Beomgyu remarks drily. A tall figure is approaching them quickly, big strides enough to signal his panic. “There you are. Late for your own ritual, Soobin-hyung?”
“Hello,” Soobin pants as he leans down. He glares briefly at Beomgyu before ducking down to greet Taehyun with a kiss. “I am sorry I was so late. My father kept on going and going and beating the same horse over and over again to death.”
“He has been at it for weeks now.” Yeonjun sighs, crossing his arms. “You must tell uncle off eventually. It’s starting to annoy me as well.”
“I know.” Soobin grits his teeth. “With time, he will wear down. He knows I won’t do everything he expects of me.”
Taehyun just stares wordlessly, not offering comfort. “I would ask but I have a feeling it’s the same argument he has been unable to leave alone for the past month.”
Beomgyu chooses to stay quiet, not wishing to get in between. Choi Soowon's demands had been loudly proclaimed again and again, in private and in the middle of feasts with the entire court watching with barely concealed glee and in front of whoever may listen, often enough to the point it had reached Beomgyu's ears through hushed gossip exchanged between his handmaidens.
A babe no later than ten months after the wedding ceremony. An heir, worthy enough to carry the Choi Clan's name and abide the rising tensions and endless bloodshed in Hanshan. An heir, with which Soobin may finally be considered as the new head of the Choi Clan, despite his father never having considered him enough.
Beomgyu knew the sentiments of Soobin's father very well, for it had been a frequent migraine for Soobin ever since they had met. He is not his cousin and never will be; Yeonjun had been the apple of Soowon's eyes ever since his baby sister had introduced her infant son, the Crown Prince and now Emperor of Sujeong, one fateful September day, when the summer had been barely starting to step back to make way for the winds and the rains of fall.
Soobin is his father's youngest and only living son, and his biggest disappointment, simply because he had outlived all of his brothers and sisters that perished in sickness after an epidemic of hay fever before Beomgyu himself had even been born, and because he is not his cousin, destined for rule and for greatness. And now, days away before Soobin bound his heart and soul to another, he is his father's marvel of the day.
Taehyun is a Prince, from a land far, far away, with bloodline older than the tales mothers tell their children to scare into behaving, and Soobin's only chance to make his father see him as more than a waste of his seed. A chance of greatness, Choi Soowon keeps saying to anybody willing to humor him. A child with the blood of a Hanshan royalty as the heir to the Yeonghwan Choi Clan? It would be enough to clean Soobin's besmirched soul in front of his father.
It would be a dream come true for Soobin, if his friend didn't despise his father with spite dark enough to rival Beomgyu's feelings towards his own sire.
"No, you don't need to." Soobin exhales slowly, as if to calm himself. "I won't give into his demands. It shall happen when nature and the Gods above decide."
Taehyun and Soobin get an hour long head start, and then, as time passes torturously slow, the air charged with energy Beomgyu can feel thrum in his veins and in the borderline inappropriate tightening of Yeonjun's arms around his waist.
And then, the wait is finally over.
Yeonjun hauls over Lightning's saddle with a huge grin and not a single stutter or sweat, as if Beomgyu weighs nothing to me.
"Excited?" Beomgyu breathes out, a flush starting to redden his cheeks. "What do you think?" Yeonjun joins him on the horse, and Beomgyu's arms wrap around his waist without a single thought. He breathes in slowly, face pressed against the planes of Yeonjun's shoulders; he smells of iron and of incense, sweetness underneath it.
"I'm thrilled, my love. Three days away from all of my duties, whilst I have you all to myself — that sounds heavenly, does it not?"
The Hunt is an old, barbaric tradition, nothing more than an excuse for nobles to flaunt their gaudy selves like a peacock, a way for more babies and heirs to be born, because it always kickstarted one's cycle like a drug would. And yet, Beomgyu finds himself sharing that sentiment all the same. He can feel his instincts claw their way up his airway, through his temples, right into the dormant poison underneath his dull incisors, thrilled at the prospect of having his lover provide for him in an environment so unstable and dangerous.
He can barely wait, if he were to be honest with himself. The matters of his late heat sticks to the back of his mind, unwilling to let go of their grip around his throat.
The possibility is there, and with it, hope blooms in his chest, between the ridges of his ribs and tucked right next to his heart. If this doesn't kick him straight into the throws of his heat, then he doesn't know what else would. If it ever would, like Seokjin's worries that he refuses to say out loud, his bold, white lies that Beomgyu had to swallow down with each check-up every single morning.
"Ready?" Yeonjun's scent spikes as they all line up, the darkness of the Holy Forest awaiting them.
"Yes."
A horn is tooted and then Beomgyu squeals as pure chaos descends around him, holding on for dear life as they race through the cleared forest path and into the ominous darkness.
𓆸
Lightning, as her name aptly suggests, is as frighteningly quick. Much like actual lightning , Yeonjun had laughed at his own joke. They ride for what must be hours, fast enough for Beomgyu to quickly lose any semblance of knowing where they are, the trees taller than the Palace itself blurring in his vision, and fast enough for them to surpass everybody else with ease that comes naturally to Yeonjun and Lightning.
"There is a clearing nearby, at the foot of a river." Beomgyu strains to hear Yeonjun over the absolute stress that his heart has been relentlessly under. "But we won't be going there. I know another place."
Beomgyu coughs, flinching violently as a tree branch almost hits them head on. "W-why?"
"I don't like it." Lightning slows down as the path becomes narrow and dark, carefully stepping over fallen trees that must be older than Beomgyu himself. Yeonjun's voice is softer now, gruffy from the chilled winds, and still somehow pretty, lilting. "Too open, with nowhere to hide. I assume everybody will be going there."
"Men and forest beasts alike." Beomgyu hums; it's as dark as the night, with how little the sun manages to break through the thick crowns of the trees. It's eerily quiet, the snapping of the branches underneath the horse's hooves loud enough to make him flinch. "It's dangerous here as well." Beomgyu whispers, willing for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light faster. "We are too loud."
"We are." Yeonjun says quietly, squeezing Beomgyu's hands around his midriff. His chest rumbles as he speaks, the vibrations powerful enough for Beomgyu to feel. "But you'll be safe with me, don't worry."
They ride perhaps for an hour more, making his worry grow as to whether or not Yeonjun will be able to guide them back, but he doesn't voice it, a weird heaviness sitting atop his shoulders.
"We are here." Yeonjun gently shakes him, cooing as Beomgyu sleepily opens his eyes. "Beomgyu."
"Did I fall asleep?" He yawns loudly, letting Yeonjun help him down.
"You did." A calloused finger wipes away the drool at the side of his mouth. "I had to call your name thrice, before you even stirred."
His lips wobble in embarrassment. "I must have been very tired, I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, you were quite cute." Yeonjun stares at him in contemplation. Beomgyu squirms. "Are you feeling alright, my love?"
"Yes?" He shakes his head. He had been feeling weird all morning, hot flashes coming and going, an exhaustion he hadn't felt since he had been bed bound ever so persisting. Still, he didn't feel any different; not enough to warrant any worry yet.
There is a question in Yeonjun's eyes that he doesn't voice, easily conceding as his hand strokes Beomgyu's flushed cheeks. Nausea curls in his gut. Something feels wrong.
"Alright. If you say so."
Beomgyu holds tightly onto the front of Yeonjun's jikryeong, his knees trembling. He ignores it pointedly and instead studies their surroundings with curiosity. "Where are we?"
"In the heart of the forest."
It's significantly colder than Beomgyu expects, his skin pebbling underneath his light clothes, perfect for the July heat that seemingly has no chance of reaching this place. The area they are in is still dark, with just enough sunlight getting through for him to a few steps ahead and not much else.
Yeonjun leads him to the foot of an oak tree, tall enough for his eyes to cross as he looks heavenwards, stepping over what Beomgyu thinks are wards. Recognition flashes in his mind, as he takes in the sight of rope tied around its trunk, golden threads glittering in the corners of his eye. "Is this..."
Beomgyu stares at the crest of Yeonghwan Choi, carved into its bark, a serpent impaled on a Yeonghwan blade, like the one that sits snugly atop Yeonjun’s hip.
"This is one of the Holy Figures that belong to my Clan," Yeonjun hums against his ear, a gentle hand on Beomgyu's waist as he guides them into a hollow, hidden beneath bushes. "This is where I was conceived, and where my mother gave birth to me."
It’s much more spacious inside than it seems to be from the outside, the ceiling tall enough for a person of his or Yeonjun’s stature to stand to their full height comfortably. It’s clean, not a single cobweb in sight, and a lone mat lays on the floor, reminding him of the ones that sat in front of each holy shrine that were littered throughout the Palace. The familiar scent of incense and something woody and rich wafts in the air.
Beomgyu sneezes, dust itching at his nose. He gulps soundly. “Are you sure that…” That I am worthy enough to be in here? He settles for something less heavy. “That we are allowed to be here?”
“Why not?” Yeonjun drops their bags with a grunt in the corner. “Every ruler before me has brought their mate here.”
Mate. Beomgyu licks the front of his teeth. Mate. They aren’t mates.
Yeonjun sighs at his silence. “Come, let’s make a fire outside. I want to teach you how to hunt.”
“Me?” He blubbers out, pointing at himself and the robes that are not good for anything that warrants more than sitting prettily on the side or letting himself be undressed with ease when needed. “Hunting? Me? ”
“Yes, you.” Yeonjun chortles, reaching over to mess the careful braid Jiwon had spent an entire hour on. “Did you think I was going to let you sit there bored for three straight days?”
𓆸
That’s exactly what he thought would happen. Waiting at their makeshift shelter, with a hand on his heart and sweet forest berries bulging in his mouth, as Yeonjun went out there alone, acting out his wildest ‘feral manly alpha’ fantasies in the mud and in the escaping warmth of the animal carcasses he had struck.
Beomgyu thought that his biggest task would be to hand feed his lover with a cheesy coo or try and take a knot under the dark night sky, littered with bright stars and spirits he dares not name.
His pout grows, his cheeks bulging childishly. This is exactly the opposite of his expectations.
“Your stance is too tense,” Yeonjun is pressed tightly against his back, his wide, warm frame shielding him from the winds and the feeling of being watched that has persisted since they left Lightning to sleepily guard their small amount of baggage at their shelter.
Beomgyu tries to relax, but his back protests audibly, straight as a ruler. His hands tighten around the grip of the bow, the wood digging painfully into the skin of his palms. “Like this?”
“Yes.” His body trembles, but Yeonjun simply wraps his hands around his waist tighter. “Don’t be scared. Focus.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. His lungs stutter.
A rabbit stands there, a few yards away, innocently hopping in the tall grass of a wildflower field. It’s open and he and Yeonjun had been observing it silently for what felt like hours but must not have been longer than half an hour, hidden in the bushes underneath an acorn tree. Somehow, Beomgyu feels like he is the one being hunted as his heart pounds wildly in his chest, and not the innocent creature that may or may not be their supper tonight.
Yeonjun lays a calming hand on his hand, similar to how one would scruff a child right before the tears flood its eyes. It works, nonetheless, as pheromones flood his system, and the tension melts away from his shoulder blades. “It’s okay,” Lips ghost along the line of his neck, scenting him as they go. “I’m here. Even if you miss, that will be alright.”
Beomgyu blinks away the stars dancing in his vision. He steels himself; he can do it. He had undergone archery lessons once upon a time, together with his brother in the Choi Manor's training courtyard as his mother and Lady Choi watched them closely. It had been quite short lived, lasting only a few full week before a devastating fight between his mother and the Lady of the house, because he had shown better abilities than his dearest older brother at, well, everything, despite his short stature and weak composition as a child.
"There you go," Yeonjun's hands settle on his arms, correcting his stance, and then starts counting. "Do it on three, alright?"
"One." The rabbit sniffs at a blooming cornflower, a bright blue next to its pearly white fur, entirely still and innocent where it remains residing in the tall grass. Slowly, his fingers loosen up, letting go of the bow string. "Two."
They speak in unison, Beomgyu's voice quieter, rough in his anxiety, and Yeonjun's almost grounding, comfort seeping through the syllables. Something itches underneath his clothes, right over his chest, maddening and constant as it slowly makes its way up. "Three."
He lets go of the bow string completely. A spider crawls out of his collar, a short hellish image of long, hairy legs and big, big fangs flashing in his mind before a scream erupts out of his throat. He jumps back, bumping into Yeonjun, the bow clattering loudly as his trembling hands drop it without a second thought.
"Get it off!" Tears brim at his eyes, as the small creature crawls up, quickly reaching his face. Yeonjun curses, his hands rough as he swats at Beomgyu's face blindly. The spider is flung somewhere far, as a sob begins to form in his chest.
"Are you okay? Did it bite you?" His jeogori is flung open, rushed hands patting him down in search of another critter hiding. "I don't see any other— Oh."
A small, white egg sack is tossed in the same direction the spider had been flung into, so tiny Beomgyu would have never noticed it hiding underneath the sleeves of his robes.
"That was..." He breathes out, slowly calming down, despite the wetness still clinging onto his eyelashes. "I'm sorry."
Yeonjun carefully ties back the otgoreum of his jeogori, smoothing over the fabric with his hands. "What? Why are you apologizing?"
"For screwing up... I severely overreacted over a small spider."
The other snorts, patting his shoulders. "I would have panicked as well if I had a wasp spider crawl on my face after laying an egg sack in the clothes that are on my back. Besides," Yeonjun points behind them, to where he had carelessly flung the arrow. "You hit your mark head on anyway."
He spins around, still disgruntled. The deep lines in between his eyebrows melt off as surprise takes over. The rabbit lies there where it had previously stood, brilliant red on the white of his fur, as the arrow pierces its body, stuck into the ground.
"I told you, you aren't as bad as you think you are."
Beomgyu sighs, wiping the beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his clean hand. "Must I really add this to my endless list of talents, as you had put it?"
"Yes." Yeonjun sweeps the strands of hair that had been obscuring his vision, ever so helpful as he stands to the side. "This is not how you hold the knife. I think you should at least," There is a hint of a smirk on Yeonjun's impassive, carefully blank face. He knows Beomgyu is milliseconds away from smacking him on his head. "Look at what your hands are doing."
Beomgyu grumbles, his fingers tightening around the knife's handle but decidedly still unwilling to look down. "Is this okay?"
Yeonjun hums, clearly having fun in his misery as he sits on that tree stump as if its a throne worthy for him. "It would be. If you tried to watch what you were doing at least."
He chances a look downwards, at the sight of the rabbit he has been trying and failing to probably clean for the past half an hour. Saliva fills his mouth as his stomach lurches. His eyes squeeze shut, as Yeonjun snickers.
His lips pout naturally as he whines, “I seem to be doing well enough without looking, so why must I?”
“If you were one of my soldiers, I would have had to punish you for your insolence.” Yeonjun stands up, stretching with a satisfied grunt. He shred his outer robe, seemingly unaffected by the chill that persists in the shadows of the forest, so his muscles bulge underneath the fabric of his thin undershirt. Beomgyu gulps but doesn’t avert his gaze. “But I am not one of your men, aren’t I, hyung?”
Yeonjun leans down, his lips soft and scent warm as they briefly kiss. “No, you are not.” A hand strokes Beomgyu’s head gently as he stands to his full height again. “Will you be alright by yourself? I need to scout the area before night falls.”
Beomgyu looks around, contemplative. Their makeshift bed in the tree hollow is finished, Beomgyu having tried his best to make something that may resemble a nest the slightest bit, there is fire prepared, warming him from where he is sitting, courtesy of Yeonjun, and he is almost done skinning and preparing the rabbit to be cooked.
He snorts as he watches Lightning lazily shove her head in a raspberry bush, unbothered by the sharp prickles of its thorns as she munches on barely ripened fruit. “I have my loyal guard here to protect me if a bear were to come and try to rip me apart.”
“I am not quite worried about forest beasts.” Yeonjun laughs as he picks up his quiver. “They know to stay away from a Holy Figure of the Hwa Clan.”
Beomgyu cheers silently; he is finally done preparing the meat! He hums, distracted, as he checks on the fire once again and searches for a pot that he is sure Jungeun had slipped into their bags. “Then what is it?”
There is silence, before Yeonjun starts rummaging in their bags in search of something. “Here,” He says, holding something into his hands.
Beomgyu startles. “What is this?”
“A dagger.”
Its sheath is leather as dark as the night, a gold dragon etched onto it. He traces over it with his fingers, feeling each ridge and dent; it feels older than Beomgyu himself. The dagger is beautiful, is the first thought that comes to mind once he unsheathes it. It’s sharp, and the blade is strangely dark, pristine and clean and clearly taken care of, smelling strangely pungent and metallic, despite no blood dirtying it.
“I won’t be gone for long, but I wish for you to be able to defend yourself, if anything were to happen.”
The words falling out of Yeonjun’s words are calm and gravely, almost methodological, but they don’t feel akin to the stern tone Beomgyu has heard him address the men that serve him with. He speaks like it’s a fact, like even here, in the deepest part of the Holy Forest their priests cover with all of their hearts, he must still be careful and fear for his life. Like even with his beloved at his side to protect him, there are still vile beasts waiting to pounce on him as they hide in the shadows.
He nods, resigned. “This is starting to annoy me, truthfully.”
“Channel your annoyance towards this dagger,” Yeonjun smiles, sharp angles and sharper gaze as he peers down at Beomgyu, the note of something feral in the sharpness of his fangs. “Aim it towards one’s eye, and hope the fight ends there.”
𓆸
Yeonjun was right, because he always is. Beomgyu hadn’t questioned him, as there was no need to do so, but even if he had — Yeonjun’s words rang true. It’s to be expected of him; a ruler, a fighter, a general that had spent his youth on the frontline and came back with his soul still intact. His blue blood separated him from mortal men, and yet, hindsight proved to be worth less when proven true.
However, Yeonjun isn’t here to protect him right now, and Beomgyu is starting to think that perhaps Lightning and the dagger he had been given will not be able to shield him from the worst before Yeonjun returns.
It starts like everything else that has ever happened to him — with great irony, as if the Snake God Eunyu is laughing at him and playing a sick joke on him.
Beomgyu is in the middle of trying to decide if the plant that he had picked up for the bubbling pot of rabbit stew on the fire is truly wild garlic or not, when there is a loud screech from within the bushes.
“Spider!” A manly voice yells out, high-pitched enough to make one’s ears ring in pain, like an older man who has yet to go through puberty. “Get it off—”
“Gods,” Another voice replies, exasperated and gruff. “Get it together, it’s just a bug.”
“It’s a huntsman!” A third voice laughs. "Jihoonie, it's barely the first day and you are already one foot in the grave."
'Jihoonie' sure is staring down at rusted gates of the afterword, Beomgyu thinks darkly as he reaches for the dagger nestled within the deep of his pockets. Lightning seems to have suddenly awoken from her raspberry ridden daydreams, huffing as she stares down the group of men carelessly walking over the blessed wards that were meant to warn against approaching the Holy Tree. He supposes that there is a potential escape plan brewing in his mind, but where can Lightning lead him, with the nightfall so near and Yeonjun so far away from him?
Beomgyu flinches as the sound of steps grows closer, branches crunching loudly under heavy feet.
"Oh! Look what we have here." His breath halts as recognition blooms. "Good evening, my lord," A man, no older than fifty, white, oh so familiar streaks in the little hair left on his scalp, bows in mockery. "I didn't expect for us to encounter you in a place such as this."
Beomgyu levels him with a muted glare, sitting up straighter. "Good evening, gentlemen." He shivers as the breeze blows, the leaves on the ground swirling in the wind; darkness is slowly starting to seep in as the sun hides beneath the horizon, and with it, his panic grows. Where the hell is Yeonjun? "It's a fine evening, isn't it?"
"Quite fine, now that such a beauty has been bestowed by the Gods before our very own eyes." A mousy, short man, hair frazzled and mussed from his run-in with that spider that Beomgyu had heard everything about, purrs.
"Gentleman," The older man of the bunch speaks again, eyes hungry as they rake over Beomgyu's body. "I'd have you know he has grown even more beautiful that the last time I saw him. That hair, that long neck... A beauty to be remembered."
"Is that so?" The smile doesn't reach his eyes, something more akin to a snarl.
Beomgyu remembers him, as much as he wishes he didn't. Mister Kim used to be one of his loyal customers, back at the brothel, the one with a husband younger than Beomgyu himself, seemingly unable to keep up with his disgusting mate's abnormally small cock and lust. Older than Madame Han, and older than Beomgyu's grandfather, if he were still alive to this day, Mister Kim was one of the noble men courtesans would try to avoid during his daily visits. He had taken a liking to Beomgyu, like many other men of his caliber, saying that he reminded him of his own late omega father.
Repulsive. Vile. Disgusting.
All words which come to mind, now that Beomgyu has the displeasure to meet him again. He wonders what such a group of alphas are doing here, despite the wives and husbands waiting for them at home. Security had been tight, as per Yeonjun's orders because nobody wished for a sacred ritual like the Hunt to be besmirched like this, but apparently not good enough, if Mister Kim and his dogs had managed to slip through.
His shackles rise, shoulders hunching, as Mister Kim slowly advances towards him, not paying any mind to Lightning's warning huffs.
"Yes," He leers at Beomgyu, notes of lustful hunger in his putrid scent. "Say, wouldn't you like to reminisce about all of the time we spent entangled in each other? I quite miss you and I doubt His Highness would mind if we got a taste of you."
Beomgyu's nostrils flare in anger. He unsheathes the dagger threateningly. "His Highness the Emperor has an aversion to sharing, I'm afraid."
Mister Kim holds out his hands tauntingly. "His Highness isn't here right now to bark out orders against us, is he? Come on, now... My Jihoonie is regretfully still a virgin, and I'd like to see my oldest son feel the touch of an omega as exquisite as you before I pass."
He is standing in front of Beomgyu now, too close for comfort, the rest of his party at his heels.
"I fear that won't be happening, my lord."
Now or never. Before Mister Kim can reply, Beomgyu is quick on his feet, thrusting the dagger with accuracy he didn't know he possessed. Yeonjun's words come to mind.
Mister Kim collapses on his feet with a cry, hands cradling his bleeding eye. "You whore!"
"Father!" One of the alphas rushes to his father's side, gasping at the rivers of blood pouring out of the marred wound. "How dare you— Get him!"
Beomgyu tries to jump back as they advance upon him, but fails, tripping over the tree stump he had been sitting on in his haste. He slashes with abandon, unseeing, as invasive hands try to restraint.
"Stop squirming, fuck—"
"Let go of me!" Beomgyu snarls, blood spraying all over his face as his dagger shallow slices one of the alphas' neck. "Yeonjun will be here soon and you shall see..."
Black spots flood his vision as a heavy handed punch hits him on the face. He gasps, a metallic taste filling his mouth.
"Your Yeonjun isn't here now to save you," Somebody snarls in his ear, as his dagger is ripped from his hands. Fingers paw at his jikryeong, a loud rip echoing around them. Lightning neighs, running off into the woods and leaving him all alone.
"No," He sobs out. "No, no—"
The twang of a bow string being released registers in his mind.
The man on top of him falls with a thud, an arrow sticking out of the back of his head. Beomgyu yells out in fear, knees weak and trembling as he tries to crawl away.
"Your Highness!" Somebody gasps, muted in the horror that overwhelms Beomgyu's senses.
"What is the meaning of this?" A familiar growl shakes him. Yeonjun. He feels sick, his lungs hungrily gasping for air. "Who do you think you are?"
"We were just..." Mister Kim bows deeply, as if begging for mercy. "We apologize deeply for our insolence—"
"That whore stabbed father in the eye!" Jihoon, the coward who had been content to stay aside and watch, spits out in anger, stalking over to Yeonjun. He points at Beomgyu, without an ounce of respect as he addresses Yeonjun. "That wrench is the one that should be punished for his crimes!"
"Punishment, you say?" Yeonjun's eyes are cold, calm as he draws out his sword. "I shall give out the punishment you speak of."
"Beomgyu..." Yeonjun pants, abandoning his sword as the last body drops, a lifeless head rolling into the plush grass in a puddle of blood, next to the mountain of bodies. "My love, I—"
Beomgyu blinks slowly, shock not yet wearing off as he is engulfed in a tight embrace. "Hyung..." He whispers, eyes unseeing and glazed over as he gazes at the aftermath of Yeonjun's rage.
"Are you alright? Did they do anything to you?" Yeonjun cups his face, frantic as he checks for any injuries. There is red everywhere, anywhere Beomgyu's gaze falls. There is red on Yeonjun's gentle hands and worried face, there is red seeping into the silk fabric of his jeogori. Beomgyu shakes his head, not a single word coming out of his mouth amidst the static in his mind.
Yeonjun frowns, his thumb gently stroking the tender bruise forming underneath Beomgyu's left eye. "They hit you... I shouldn't have left you alone, I am so sorry—"
Beomgyu breathes in deeply, burrowing his head into Yeonjun's chest. His tongue moves awkwardly in his mouth, his voice scratchy and rough. "You... You came, it's alright."
"It is not." Hands grip his thighs as he is picked up. Yeonjun seemingly hesitates, hugging him tighter. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then I will deal with… The rest."
𓆸
The rest being the pile of bodies Yeonjun disposes of, as Beomgyu averts his gaze.
A few hours later, he sits there, stiff and weirdly calm, sat on that same tree stump as he watches the flames of the fire Yeonjun had started dance in the darkness. Night has finally fallen, and the enveloping darkness is terrifying, deeper than anything Beomgyu had experienced before.
It's cold, the breeze biting through the sheer fabric of the scented robe Yeonjun had put over him, but he doesn't shiver.
"Are you hungry?" Yeonjun asks, his finger softly carding through Beomgyu's hair. He is clean, having changed his clothes and washed off the dried blood sticking to his hands, but the scent of blood clings to Beomgyu's nose all the same. They had been silent ever since Yeonjun had returned from briefly discarding the evidence of a cold hearted execution, and Beomgyu doesn't need to ask what he had done with the severed heads.
He already knows. Yeonjun's territory had been invaded and a warning must stand at the bounds to ward off anybody else who might want to encroach. Beomgyu is no soldier but he knows how warriors lay out warnings.
He coughs, patting his chest; he hadn’t spoken a single word in the past few hours. “I am not really—” His stomach growls loudly. “Hungry…”
Yeonjun’s hand falls to Beomgyu’s nape, brushing slightly against his scent glands. “Come, eat with me.”
It smells delicious, his mouth watering as Yeonjun hands him a small bowl of the rabbit stew they had forgotten about. Yeonjun had brought an elk, from his time hunting alone, but Beomgyu didn’t have the stomach to clean it yet, so his lover had taken the task upon himself with no complaints. Its cleaned pelt lays there on the grass, looking warm and thick. It would have been perfect for his nest in the tree hollow but it still needs hours and hours of work.
Beomgyu hums, wiping his mouth. He was never really a great cook, but the broth is rich and mild, despite the absence of proper seasoning.
“How are you feeling?” Yeonjun’s voice breaks through the silence, turning around to look him in the eyes hesitantly. He sits there on the ground, Beomgyu’s knees against his back.
“I am alright.” He says simply. It’s not a lie — the shock and the terror have worn off, but he doesn’t feel a single thing other than that. Numb, is the word that he is looking for.
Yeonjun sighs, shifting so his head is laying in Beomgyu’s lap. “I am sorry.” Beomgyu strokes his face, setting aside his food. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He nods slowly, chuckling as his fingers scratch behind Yeonjun’s ears, earning him a look of bliss. “But they would have come here anyway.”
Yeonjun’s lips lift up in a snarl, anger seeping through. “I would have killed them all the same but they wouldn’t have been able to come close to you.”
“...Will it not pose trouble?”
“What?”
Beomgyu pauses, before continuing.“You executing an entire group of noblemen.’ This had been plaguing his mind. There were many stories, countless, of spats between nobles that ended in bloodshed, which was a crime still. A crime for which beheading was its punishment.
“I am the one who carries out punishments.” Yeonjun shakes his head, nuzzling into Beomgyu’s clothed thighs. “This was a great act of insolence and no one can punish me for serving justice as I see fit.”
“I see.”
𓆸
They decide to retire for the night as soon as they are done eating.
He can’t sleep.
Beomgyu sits up, uneasy. The tree hollow is tidy and surprisingly warm, and their makeshift bed is softer than anything Beomgyu could hope for in the middle of the woods, but it still feels wrong. There are no heavy blankets standing tall as his nest’s walls, and there are no robes drenched in their scents serving as their blankets.
The elk’s pelt is still outside. It hasn’t been cured yet but it should still work. It should work. He stands up on shaky legs.
“Beomgyu?” Yeonjun mutters in confusion, disturbed from his rest. He rubs his eyes, squinting in the darkness. “Where are you going?”
“The nest is not done.” He sounds crazed to his own ears, but his limbs move by their own will. “I need the pelt and then… We should have brought more of your shirts—”
The nest smells weird, enough to make bile rise in his throat. It's too... Too clean, too much of that metallic scent that has been following Yeonjun ever since he slayed those men like cattle. Too deep and woody, nothing like the spiced sweetness that clings onto his nest back at his chambers.
Before he can clamber out of the tree hollow, crawling on his legs not minding how the floor scrapes roughly against his bare knees, a hand grips his arm, pulling him backward. He falls back onto a sturdy chest with a surprised grunt.
"Hyung," He struggles against Yeonjun's hold, eyes watering. "Let me go. I have to—"
"Beomgyu." Yeonjun's chest vibrates as he croons, fully enveloping his arms around him. "I am right here, you have no need for more of my scent."
"But..." He doesn't know what he is fighting for either, but he knows that he needs a better nest, something sturdier, warmer, something that could ward off any evil from attacking during the night.
"Would me scenting you help?" Yeonjun asks softly, burying his head into Beomgyu's neck. He noses along his pulse point, waiting.
Beomgyu tries to think, but his head is muddy, each thought jumbled, heavy as if cotton is hanging onto each vowel. "...That may suffice."
It doesn't.
His body doesn't go lax, his heartbeat doesn't slow down in bliss, and he doesn't feel the distinct calmness that Yeonjun brings him he has come to crave in the recent weeks like one would water. Instead, he only feels frustration, burning and itching at his skin.
Noticing the rigidness in Beomgyu's muscles that has become worse, and wilted notes of his scent, Yeonjun states plainly after his lips stop sucking on his throbbing scent glands, not quite a question, "That didn't really aid you, did it, my love?"
Beomgyu sniffles, deflating, "No, it didn't."
He is maneuvered gently onto Yeonjun's lap, burying his head naturally into Yeonjun's neck. Yeonjun sways softly, hugging him tighter, "What would you like for me to do?"
"I..." He has never been reduced to a frantic state such as this — not when his mother had passed, not when a dear friend of his at the brothel decided death was a softer sentence than living under Madame Han's thumb. It reminds him slightly of the time after Soobin had told that Yeonjun had passed away in battle. He had been cacophonic for weeks, unable to live his life without feeling suffocated and trapped. Still, this is still not as bad. "I don't know."
"Aren't you tired? We have had quite a..." Yeonjun takes a deep breath, "A long day."
"I don't feel tired at all." Beomgyu frowns; he should be. It has been days and days of running around with Taehyun, a ritual after ritual, a feast after feast with other concubines and noble omegas that he couldn't stand, a night after night of endless turning and no sleep because there was an itch underneath his skin that he just couldn't scratch. "Can you..." He gulps, searching for Yeonjun's eyes in the dark. "Tire me out?"
There is a pause, surprise evident in what little Beomgyu can see in the other's face, even though his eyes are used to dark. "Are you sure? After today, I thought that..."
"I think I am." He nods, now feeling clarity slowly come back to him. There is still that tension in his shoulders, that feeling of something being very wrong, but his thoughts aren't as sluggish. A knot would help, he thinks, it always stripped him down to his barest, and then put the pieces back together. It should help, at least. Seokjin always told him that the rush of pheromones was one of the things that had helped him recover from his wounds, both physically and mentally.
Beomgyu can finally feel his heart calm down once plush lips are pressing gently onto his own. It's soft, teetering along the edge, like a bird hesitant to leap off a branch just yet. It lacks the usual heat, the lust that makes his eyes cross, but the wings of a butterfly flutter all the same in his stomach.
As the kiss deepens, a skillful tongue licking the front of his teeth, Beomgyu finally feels himself relax, going lax in Yeonjun's arms. The first trickle of slick wets his thighs as his hips grind down experimentally.
He swallows Yeonjun's muffled groan hungrily, unable to stop circling his hips, stuttering every time his clit grazes against the seam of his sleeping pants. The fine hairs on his arms stand up, shivering violently as he feels Yeonjun slowly begin to harden under him.
Yeonjun breaks off the kiss with a pant, nostrils flaring once the cloying scent of slick hits his senses. His hands fall to Beomgyu's grips, his grip tight as he thrusts up. "How do you want it?"
Beomgyu whines, feeling the telltale of an erection throbbing under his ass. "Like this. Please."
He must be more high-strung than he thought, because a familiar coil in his belly is beginning to unfurl, pants completely moist with slick. He whimpers, throwing his head back, as their hips move earnestly in tandem. A plea falls from his lips as Yeonjun gnaws at the tender skin of his neck, sucking new marks on top of the fading ones.
"Yeonjunie-hyung..."
Yeonjun growls, spreading his legs further apart as his hands fumble around, and then before Beomgyu can blink, there is a hand sneaking under his ruined darisokgot, sneaking towards his core. He trembles, slick gushing in waves, as his clit is stimulated in circles, mind-numbingly rough. His back arches, pushing himself onto his knees, a gasp escaping his mouth as his muscles lock in, before his climax finally hits him in waves, seemingly never ending. He slumps against the other, shaking like a leaf, wet pants leaving his mouth.
A tongue licks at the sweat beading at his hairline. "Can you do it again for me?" Yeonjun whispers, with an iron clad grip around his waist keeping him in place. He doesn't have the time to even as much as nod, his vision swimming, when two fingers fill him up all at once, thrusting in quick enough to make his head spin.
"Stop, stop—" His voice comes out hoarse, broken, but Yeonjun doesn't listen, pressing wet kisses against his lips in a trail of fire. His muscles seize, his thighs locking in, and he tries to move away to no avail, his protests fall on deaf ears. Desire burns at him, quickly making the world around them spin.
"Take off your sokjeogori," Yeonjun finally says, pawing at his clothed chest. Yeonjun's fingers, so long and so thick, don't cease their thrusting in Beomgyu as they try to clumsily undress him, the flimsy, transparent fabric getting thrown to what he is sure must be outside of the tree hollow. Frustrated, Yeonjun rips off his heoritti in one motion, leaving it in tatters near their thighs. Beomgyu laughs breathlessly, throwing his head back, tone playful. "Did you have to do that? That was the only one I brought with me!"
He didn't have much of a chest and he didn't care much to wear a heoritti as a formality, but he always liked to — Yeonjun liked it the sight of it on him too much, for him to not make sure to wear it every single day. It always got Yeonjun going, so Beomgyu didn't complain much. Not when it always gets him what he wants, how he wants it.
"You won't need such a thing with me." Yeonjun scoffs, greedy fingers massaging the small flesh on his chest that Beomgyu wasn't delusional enough to call breasts. It didn't bother him; he was a male omega, after all, but Yeonjun had a strange fascination with his chest anyway.
“Why?” He flinches when the palm of Yeonjun’s hand grazes against his sensitive clit, the rivers of slick pouring out of him aiding the quick, snapping motions of his fingers in being so much more loud and inappropriate than it should be. “You don’t like seeing it on me, Your Highness?”
A third and a fourth finger squeeze themselves into his cunt. He shivers, mouth agape in a silent moan.
“I like seeing you better without it.” The corners of Yeonjun’s plump lips lift up, his twinkling eyes almost predatory.
Soon enough, his climax creeps on him, the tides of pleasure pulling him with a beckoning hand, before his stars, bright and utterly blinding, burst in his vision and the world around him stills.
His body collapses against Yeonjun, feeling as if he is underwater, his lungs burning as he tries to gasp for air.
“Woah,” Yeonjun laughs, so boyishly, smug, as he presses a long, lingering kiss against his spit slick lips, gentle hands roaming all over his body. “You came all over me, my love.”
There is wetness everywhere, from his completely ruined darisokgot that feels so heavy and uncomfortable against his feverish skin, to Yeonjun’s own undergarments and shirt, to the bedding underneath them that he had so lovingly placed there back.
His throat feels raw, parched, and his words are jumbled, giving out around the syllables with an embarrassing squeak. “I would apologize but…”
“But?”
“That would be dishonest of me.”
Startled, Yeonjun laughs, his giggles high pitched and so sweet. Beomgyu kisses him because he can and because he wants to and because despite the two earth shattering orgasms he has just had in the span of ten minutes, he still feels that unquenchable thirst, his lower stomach quivering with something he just can’t name.
He cradles Yeonjun’s face as their lips move together, shivering when the chill of the night makes the wetness on his skin feel so much colder. His thighs are sticky, the hair strands around his face matted with sweat, his limbs heavy and useless, making the task of wrapping his hands around Yeonjun’s shoulders an impossible task, but he isn’t tired at all.
Fingers massaging the kinks in the small of Beomgyu’s neck, Yeonjun sighs against his lips. “How…”
“You already asked that.” Yeonjun hadn’t chosen to wear a sokjeogori like him, and had instead chosen to lazily wear his jikryeong with nothing underneath, thank the Gods above. He sighs as his fingers sply over a naked chest, the shape of the defined muscles making his mouth water. Beomgyu doesn’t know if his shaking fingers would have been able to wage war against Yeonjun’s otgoreum, a losing battle that seems to happen again and again, every time they lay together.
Lifting him up with one hand as if he weighs nothing, Beomgyu’s sokchimu is ripped off him, followed by destroyed darisokgot, making an embarrassing wet, plopping noise when Yeonjun’s fingers peel it off his skin.
Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, “Should I not ask you that anymore then?”
“Yes.” Beomgyu huffs. Yeonjun shimmies out of his underpants and godarisokgot teasingly, almost awkwardly in the little space the nest allows him, as if daring Beomgyu to smack him on the neck. He seats himself onto Yeonjun’s lap once they are both entirely naked, a hand fanning his weirdly flushed face. Purposefully, he grinds down with a growing smirk, “I want you to use context clues instead.”
Yeonjun breathes in sharply, frowning deeply when his cunt grazes against his cock. Beomgyu stands up higher, hovering just enough for his hips to start to burn.
“There isn’t much context here for me, my love?” Yeonjun thrusts up with a grunt, his weeping cockhead bumping against his clit. Beomgyu breathes in sharply, taking hold of his cock in hand. Slowly, he guides it towards where he wants it most, looking at Yeonjun through his fluttering eyelashes. “Is this enough context for you?”
Whatever clever retort lies atop Yeonjun’s tongue is swallowed up with a kiss, as he slowly sinks down. Beomgyu shivers, panting wetly in the other’s mouth. It takes him a full minute to bottom out, a tremor in his legs once he feels the growing knot sit snug against his cunt.
“Breathe.” Yeonjun coos, fingers pinching at his perked nipples. Beomgyu whines; it’s a tight fit, but the stretch lights his nerves on fire, a burn that he didn’t realize he has been craving this entire time. A few beats pass, and then he steels himself, hands holding onto Yeonjun’s shoulders as his hips slowly begin to move.
His head feels like mush, making sparkles burst behind his closed eyelids every time he drops down and Yeonjun’s cock presses against that one spot that makes him squirm uncontrollably. He rolls his hips in earnest, mouth slack open from pleasure
Yeonjun grips his thighs, pressing searing small searing kisses everywhere he can reach. “Can I—”
His breath stutters, his hips quickly growing tired. His orgasm is so near, his blood boiling hot in his veins. “Please…”
His world spins as he is manhandled onto his knees roughly. He yelps in surpise, letting Yeonjun spread his legs apart.
“Excited, are we?” It sounds less biting than he intended, more breathy, almost sad at the emptiness now that Yeonjun isn’t searing him open and carving a space just for himself inside of him. Yeonjun snickers, hands greedily kneading at his ass.
“Very.” Yeonjun smiles with all teeth, his hair falling messily into his eyes. He runs a hand over Beomgyu’s back, tracing the ridge of his shoulders to the curve of his small waist, before pressing down. Beomgyu goes down willingly, pillowing his head onto his arms. As animalistic and unseemly it was, he loved when Yeonjun made him present; it always stroked the more feral instincts of his that he already had trouble containing ever since the Hunt had started.
Not wasting any more time on teasing, Yeonjun enters him again in one smooth motion, his hips pressing against his ass as he bottoms out. Beomgyu moans, loud and unabashed; his knot has grown considerably in size, throbbing and imposing where it teases his cunt every time Yeonjun thrusts in.
Loud, wet sounds echo in the small space, making the flush on his face and neck deepen even further. Slick coats his thighs in waves, a nasty sound each time Yeonjun’s thighs hit his own. His arms give out, muscles quivering, spit running down his chin amidst his gasps of pleasure.
“Yeonjun—” He begs, tears brimming at his eyes, as he plops down, unable to hold up his legs anymore. Yeonjun reaches underneath him, trapping him under his body, powerless against his powerful thrusts, and strokes his clit in quick, little motions.
Beomgyu gasps as his limbs grow taut, his back arching painfully as the pressure in his lower stomach finally explodes and his orgasm consumes his psyche all at once. Not minding the pool of slick gushing out of his cunt, Yeonjun shoves his popped knot inside of him, hissing through his teeth.
“Fuck,” Yeonjun curses, grinding his hips in circles. Beomgyu’s eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent scream; cum fills him up in pulses, scorching hot, blistering.
After a few moments pass as they try to catch their breaths, Yeonjun rolls them to their side, mindful of the knot plugging his cunt, and embraces him from behind.
Sweat beads at his hairline. His eyes feel heavy as exhaustion finally sneaks up on him, but the ball of heat low in his stomach is still there, and the fever starting to cloud his sight feels like an omen. The knot had brought him the clarity that he needed, but it had made way for him to notice something that he should have seen by now. Embarrassing.
“Hyung,” Beomgyu calls out, wincing as his parched throat protests, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. How did he not realize? It had been so obvious.
Yeonjun hums in answer from where his head is buried in Beomgyu’s neck, sharp teeth gnawing at his scent gland. There is a hand, reverent almost as it strokes the indent from his knot on Beomgyu’s stomach. His knot sits snugly inside of him, fat and pulsing, showing no signs of deflating anytime soon. He should know by now as well.
“Yes?”
“My heat has arrived.”
“I know.”
His eye twitches in irritation. Beomgyu’s hand is faster than his brain, as he reaches blindly behind him and smacks whatever he can hit.
“Ow! What was that for?”