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Our Kings

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If Seokjin knew, prior to the grueling events of the night, what would occur he would’ve got on his knees and begged for his first handler not to sell him off all those years ago. Seokjin would have done anything. Anything. He would be the obedient ‘good little boy’ he was born to be, taking orders happily, doing whatever was he was wished to do even if his inner conscience and a basic sense of morals were contradicted. Sadly, though Seokjin in his blissfully ignorant youth did not get on his knee’s and ‘beg’. He had never been an obedient little lamb in his youth. He had been quite mischievous. That boy however was long gone now. After being sold around the country, sold to different men, sold for different men, he had lost that gentle enthusiasm he once had about the world. How naive he was back then. What was the saying? Ignorance is bliss.

He was quite overjoyed at the chance of leaving his first handler, a short stocky, squat man with meaty hand’s that far too often used to strike his slaves. Though the youthful eight-year-old Seokjin was naive he was smart enough to distance himself from his handlers after a few close calls. Therefore, he never received the truly horrific beatings that other whores had. Beatings that had left them bruised for weeks, fingers so swollen that they would never bend again, teeth that would never grow back, those were the beatings they received. Seokjin did not hate the man for his emphasis on obedience, the pink haired whore would most likely have died if not for that man hammering in the importance of pleasing one’s master into this child’s brain. However, he had a strong distaste for the grotesque man, his stench, his matted beard covered in food and the way he spat when he spoke revolted him more than his lively hood. It brought shivers up his spine even thinking about it.

His second handler was a lot nicer in regards to self-hygiene, yet he was also a cruel master to the then fourteen-year-old. He also quite often partook in sharing of his ‘goods’, of his property. After all, that’s all they were to him, an investment. Seokjin hated him the most out of all his handlers. He was the one that truly ‘broke’ him in. Before that man, Seokjin had only ever served female customers in their rarity. His master was his let’s say, first, in his preferred choice. Luckily, the savage brute became bankrupt after a long-standing drought that bled the country as a whole dry and sold the pink haired boy off for a good sum to a man who owned his past place of residence. Seokjin was after all a rare beauty.

The golden sun brothel in Quetain’s capital was not one of the finest establishments nor was it one of the worst. With its smoke burnt ceilings, peeling gold painted walls and gauzy red wall hangings. Found in the slummier side of the middle class’ district Seokjin had often seen both common folk and nobles of both genders enter his room and pay for his services and strange looks. Said service’s and looks were what brought him into the hands of his next owner. Though this owner had him for the shortest duration of time he had so far been the nicest, maybe not the best in terms of morals, but the nicest to Seokjin. The man had come in two nights ago into his undecorated room, no brothels had decorations in their private rooms as no one looked at the wall when the prospect of a good fuck was around. He had paid for Seokjin’s services, it was good money and he even left a tip. The tip never stayed with Seokjin though, his master had taken it upon the man’s leave. Though the man really didn’t leave. Instead, he bought Seokjin from his handler at the brothel for what he had heard was a small fortune.

“Master?” Seokjin had queried on his first night; “If I may be so bold as to ask where we are going?”

“To your next master sweeting.” It was the only answer the pink-headed male received from the undoubtedly Vianian man, his accent thick. It reminded him of Seokjin’s mothers' melodic voice and lilting accent. Seokjin had stayed quiet for the rest of the two-day journey, huddled in the back of a large cream carriage alongside a pretty female slave, sharing a grey woolen blanket and body heat to keep the nights chill at bay. She was petite with long brown curls and green eyes. An odd sight in a country that boosted mainly dark-haired mono-lidded people. Then again, Seokjin was rarer. His face and body beautiful and pale like the moon, dark eyes twinkling like stars, even with his age he still had a youthful look about him. His build was a desirable one, though it often led to his bed being empty some nights, not many men or women would desire a man who looked as if he could snap them in half Seokjin had come to realise. His most striking feature was obviously his fluffy pink hair. Born overseas in Vian, his home country, Seokjin would have still been rare. Most Vianian’s had blond hair, only some were lucky enough to have theirs tinged to the colour of rose gold. Seokjin didn’t know much of his homeland other than their melodic lilting tongue, other than that all he knew was that his mother, a woman told to be of immense beauty, had fled from the place. Why she fled Seokjin had little clue, but he was born wary of his once homeland. His mother, however, though fled always spoke fondly of the place in which she grew up. She spoke fondly of her home land until her death bed. Seokjin’s mother would be appalled of what he had become, a common whore used and abused and forgotten. She had worked herself hard until her death at his age of six to make sure that they could survive. Sadly, her efforts were in vain. At least Seokjin could remember his earlier years of childhood fondly. The thought of her brought an odd comfort to him. Sad happy memories of her were the only thing he had left, except for the tiny crystal gemstone pierced through his right earlobe and the medallion he had managed to take with him everywhere, it was always hidden on his body somewhere.

He would need fond memories for the events that were to come in the future. Seokjin was a smart man. As soon as the king of Quentain started spluttering up his own crimson blood into his pockmarked hand whilst pressing his other bejeweled hand to the wound at the side of his neck Seokjin knew that much. Said wound had been given to him by the green-eyed doe-eyed beauty Seokjin had spent the two nights prior sat with on the carriage ride. He did not know the girl’s name, did not know who she was. Did she have a family? Was she alone like Seokjin? Was she even a whore? The room was flooded into Chaos and someone yanked Seokjin’s golden chains pulling the man to the floor. Seokjin’s chains hadn’t always been gold. No for many years in his life he wore a heavy iron collar too tight for his neck and too heavy for his shoulders. It was only tonight that he had been gifted the pleasure of wearing the thin golden collar he wore now. Seokjin wondered if the king had been wearing a collar and groveling on his knee’s all is life like Seokjin had would he have been saved? No one would willingly choose to be a whore in Quentain so no, he wouldn’t have. His death seemed to be inevitable, all people must die after all. Even kings.

Blood stained the mostly pearly white night he had had. Seokjin started the night off with surprise, his new handler for which he did not know the name had brought him to, of all places, the palace. A mazework puzzle piece of white and grey spires and black tiled roofs. Seokjin was at awe at the sheer size of the palace, let alone the strange array of nobles around him. They wore all different clothes in all different styles. People bearing insignias from the far-off desert lands to the east conversed with sweating mountain lords from the lands of the west. A seafaring ambassador from Salthan spoke to one of the lords from the south, from the Forrest baring land of Genisa. All in all, it was an odd mix.

From the little rumours he had heard of the outside world Seokjin knew it was soon to be the king’s Seventy-fifth year of sun. He was quite old for a king, most either retired in their mid-forties or were killed trying to surpass forty by son’s and heirs. Then again, he had spent a long time of his reign putting off the need to sire an heir meaning that the current heir to the throne of Quentain was only a few years Seokjin’s junior. He was told to be a man of great beauty but with a foul and disgusting temper. Rumours had circulated that he had once ordered a man to be executed just for looking at him sourly. Now, Seokjin could understand his foul temper, the boy had been raised with no mother to teach of gentleness as Seokjin had. All he had was his father to teach him the ways of strength and in his case anger. However, Seokjin could not even fathom how a person could kill another let alone sentence another to death for the simplest action of a glance.

“Ah, Ambassador it is lovely to finally make your acquaintance. It has been a long time since we have entertained guests from the land of Vian,” Seokjin nearly blanched at that. The lord in front of his spoke with a thick Quentain accent. He was petite and slight of figure, with dark hair, moon coloured skin, sultry eyes, and blossom shaped lips. His voice was oddly enchanting. If Seokjin was one to believe in rumours, then he would think this man to be a cousin of the Crown Prince. Duke Park Jimin of the narrow waters.

Though many enjoyed Seokjin’s peculiar looks and company, Seokjin knew many people despised him for his blood and birthplace. The island nation of Vian had secluded itself from the world a century ago after a long-standing long-draining war with Quentain in which they lost. Most people believed the Vianans were to proud and thought themselves above others, others still despised them for the war and death of ancestors. Grandparents and Fathers of the now living slain during battle meant for quite a disliking of the Vianians. Not only did Seokjin blanch at thinking that a Vianian ambassador had come to join the festivities he blanched at the thought of what it meant. The closing of a chapter in history and an opening of a new one. No ambassador from Vian had been sent since the great war was ending. This was most certainly not good. Seokjin also wondered if the Vianian man had purposely gone to his brothel that night. The pink haired man knew that he was often a conversation starter in taverns upon his arrival to the city. His first month had been a busy one.

“It is nice to be here, Quentain is much different to Vian,”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Quentain is hot compared to Vian, my home for most of the year doesn’t see light through the storm clouds that hover above,” The ambassador smiled. Seokjin did not, he was tired and wanted to stretch his long limbs. He also wanted to change his garments, he wore nothing on his chest and broad shoulders and nothing on his feet. Instead, he wore the cotton black billowing pants that he always wore whilst working. The ambassador of Vian had bought him whilst he was working, after all, he had no time to change before being shuffled off and into that carriage.

The ambassador and the Lord spoke for a short moment before they departed. Seokjin and the green-eyed soon to be murderess followed closely on his heels listening to him jabber on about how they were being good little sweets and how soon they would be rewarded with something truly spectacular. Seokjin doubted that very much. The ambassador was being led by a small teen dressed in palace servant livery. They were taken to a lush room. Everything was drenched in midnight black, silver, and gold. The colours of the gods, and the royal family.

Quentain was a religious country and to be a non-believer like Seokjin was, was punishable by death. They believed the royal family to be descendants of their gods, gods which took the shape of the moon, sun and stars. Personally, the whore thought it was all bull shit coincidence and things didn’t need to have a reason for happening. He was not a superstitious man. He couldn’t, however, deny the charm of it though. Especially when faced with such a lavish room. A large window was left open with black thin drapes billowing as the sea-scented wind swirled around the room. Towards the right of the room, a four-poster bed sat waiting invitingly for Seokjin to sprawl over it. On the opposite end was a fireplace and glass table, an array of fruits presented colourfully on its length. A white divan splayed out before it. Underneath all of this, a handwoven rug depicting some long forgotten historical event sat.

After an hour of lounging around on that inviting bed, swirling in silken covers, and listening to the lilting voice of the ambassador and his brunette pet converse in a language unknown to him – it certainly wasn’t the common tongue of Vian as Seokjin would have recognised his melodic mother tongue – servants came in with clothes for the slaves, folded neatly and presented with a thin banded collar of gold. The servants spoke in hushed gentle voices to the Lord asking if he would prefer them to dress his slaves himself. Nodding softly the ambassador returned to his books. He seemed so calm and peaceful, unlike Seokjin who still tried to wrap his head around the week’s events. How in god’s name did a whore like Seokjin from the slums of Quentain end up being dressed by palace servants? They pulled off his billowing pants careful not to touch his smooth skin too much. Though they had permission to do so from his master, touching one’s ‘pet’ is deemed to be a great wrongdoing of the master. A ‘pet’ is a noble Lord or Ladies concubine nothing more nothing less. A whore worked the streets and taverns for money, where as pets only served one master, their master. They may be slaves and deemed to be less than human, a fact that Seokjin had become to hate but sadly tolerate, but they were treated like gods. Like delicate beings are known only for their beauty.

Seokjin was dressed in a similar outfit to the one he had on before. However, the black cotton material was gone instead replaced with loose hanging black silk embroidered with silver, gold and rose gold edging. The servant had also draped a silken robe over his shoulders which he was not allowed to tie, he was meant to show as much skin of his as possible. The silken robe was of the same colour and embroidering as his pants however around the cuffs were green ribbons. The colour the Vianian ambassador wore to the banquet Seokjin later found himself being presented in that night.

People sat at tables or mulled around the marble floor, in all honesty, Seokjin thought it was a mess. Bodies pressed into bodies upon accident, loud voices battling over loud voices. Seokjin just wanted to sleep. Luckily for him, no one touched him. With the golden band around his neck it was obvious he was a pet of whom Seokjin did not know, he had spent a lot of his whoring career learning how to be a pet. Now that his chunky iron collar had been removed, he felt almost weightless both figuratively and literally, however, he was brought back down to earth by the dark purple bruise on his shoulder from wearing the godforsaken iron item. The bruise had been covered up by a thick layer of powders and now it was almost invisible.

The ambassador pushed the whore’s forwards to stand just in front of a set of marble stairs. Before them, two men sat. Quentain’s small royal family sat staring down at them. The king was formidable, even in his old age he looked as if he could squeeze a bear’s head from its body with his thumb. He looked out of place underneath all his rich robes. His grey beard however was neatly combed and braided towards the bottom and his balding head was covered by his crown, he was a man of military upbringing yet born into nobility. He had been married into royalty. The late queen was actually the descendant. “His Majesty the king,” the ambassador sank to his knees. Beside him, the brunette followed suit however when she dropped to her knee’s she pressed her forehead to the ground as was the custom. Dropping to his own knee’s Seokjin hesitantly followed suit. Watching the woman in his peripherals. Even as the ambassador rose the pair stayed knelt, however, they did straighten their backs and look up.

“Ah, you must be the ambassador from Vian,” the King said suspiciously. Disdain evident and dripping off of his alcohol swollen tongue.

“Yes, your majesty, it is an honor to be in such a beautiful country as your own,” The ambassador spoke his accent thick, rolling like waves. He was cut off by the king’s hand.

The king then rudely and curtly spoke; “Enough bullshit Vianian, give what you must and be on your way to enjoying the festivities,”

“Yes, your majesty,” he paused motioning for Seokjin and the woman to stand. “I come bearing gifts.” The king snorted upon seeing Seokjin. It was not uncommon nor strange to have same-gendered couples. However, Seokjin had only ever heard of the King and Crown Prince being gifted women pets. It was generally frowned upon in the royal family to marry the same gender, the likelihood of procreation dropped to twenty out of one hundred, even then the magic behind it all was complex. Though in saying that he heard the prince never claimed his pets and instead gave them to his father or other nobles. Many a time Seokjin had heard drunkards that visited his room referring to him as the Virginal Prince.

“What’s with the lad huh Vianian?”

“I was unsure of your likings your majesty,” The ambassador nodded kindly. Seokjin knew he was only here by chance, the other whore that was meant to be here today in his place had thrown himself overboard on the ship bound to Quentain.

“Give the boy to my son, the lass can come here,” he smiled patting his thick meaty thigh. Hesitantly the girl stepped up the stairs. Her black shift hung off her body in a sensualistic elegant way. It was designed in a way that it revealed all of her slender back yet covered her most womanly regions like the gentle slope of her breasts and the most private part of all her body. Seokjin stayed by the ambassador’s side utterly confused at what to do before the crown prince finally looked at him. He had spent the moments prior looking off in the distance with pure boredom and distaste written across his fine features plainly.

Seokjin was pleased to find that his new master, though was looking utterly pissed was a pretty face. He still feared the rumours of the prince and hoped beyond belief that they were just that. Rumours.

The prince had round dark doe eyes framed by strong brows hidden beneath soft black tresses. His lips were soft and pink yet held in a straight line of distaste. He pointed at the ground by his feet with a bejeweled ruby covered hand and looked expectantly at the whore to hurry up. Said pink haired whore did just that leaving his blond ambassador and ascending up the steps. His bare feet softly hitting the marble floors. The noise went amiss in the chaotic epiphany that was the banquet.

For a moment he stood before the crown prince assessing him, his eyes gazing across his body before dropping to the floor. Seokjin knew even that was ballsy, pets were not permitted to make eye contact with anyone unless given permission to by a protector or a master. He sat a distance from the prince but still by his feet like a good pet. As soon as he sat down, he heard the crown prince mutter; “Cotton hair,” under his mouth. The term though sounded the least bit offensive was actually a common derogatory term used in reference to Vianians. Seokjin sat up taller at his words, unaffected. He had all twenty-five years of his life in which he has endured insults, the crown prince would have to do better.

It wasn’t until halfway through the festivities that Seokjin had noticed his ambassador friend leave. It was odd for him as no one else had left, if it wasn’t for the events that occurred next, he would have simply believed that he had fallen ill. No, in fact, he was a part of something much more, something that Seokjin had ignorantly been forced into. Not forced into in the same way that the brunette women had stabbed her blade into the king. But forced none the less.

Seokjin’s last memory of that banquet was being dragged to the floor by his golden chains as men and women screamed around him. Then his lights being stolen from his eyes as the world around him dimmed and the throbbing in his head intensified as a single star fell from his eyes.

Chapter Text

Jimin yelped when he felt someone force a hand over his mouth. His cries muffled by whomever they were’s palm. His dark slanting eyes wide he looked up to see his masked assailant. Equally dark eyes stared down at him in a piercing alert way. A dagger held to the sloping curve of his neck; “Scream and you die, got it?” He said in a surprisingly calm voice for the situation his Genisan accent thick. Jimin nodded. Though he did not scream when the man took his hand away, he did, however, want to. He wanted to cry out like the scared little boy he was. Jimin had been taught in the ways of politics not in defense, though he could hold a sword he could never do it well. He was soft tempered and better suited talking his way out of arguments that sorting it out with fists. That said he had never been slight of build. The slender his body was corded with muscles from spending long days training with the crown prince and his sword loving jester of a friend.

His hand itched for the jeweled dagger – a gift from the prince – he kept beneath his pillow, but he could not move though he was frozen. “Get up,” the man murmured. Jimin was frozen no more. He scrambled up, the cold air hitting his bare legs. Jimin at this moment was self-conscious though he was glad for his overly long tunic which stopped at his mid-thigh and fell off his hands. Jimin almost looked childlike in the oversized garment. The man grabbed the cuff of Jimin’s garment and ripped it with his hands. Fabric tearing rang out in the quiet room.

“What do you want from me?” Jimin demanded, finally growing courage. “Do you know who I am?” he hissed in disdain.

The man laughed and tied shoved the fabric into Jimin’s mouth gagging him, before binding his wrists with his belt which he tore from around his own hips with a soft scraping noise. The belt was nothing like the smooth leather Jimin had grown used to in his years of a privileged upbringing. No, it was ruff and cut into his skin with the tightness of it. “The reason this is happening is because of who you are,” The man spoke with mirth to his tone.

He then grabbed Jimin’s bicep, his grip vicelike and pulled him along. Jimin knew from the intensity in which his pale fingers pressed into the even paler fabric that he would bruise. Though it was something that did not matter in the slightest next to the events that were occurring Jimin was sad about that, in his life he had never been struck or mistreated. This was a new and unhappy experience for him.

Jimin had been practically raised in this very palace. He spent most of his days as a child following around Jungkook even though the younger was at the time smaller than himself. The mischievous pair often found themselves thieving cakes from the kitchen, running around the palace gardens, playing with the friendlier knights or messing around in the stables. That’s why Jimin knew they were going to the stables. The only place this one passageway lead to was the stables or back into the castle and his assailant sure as hell wouldn’t go back deeper into this place.

Digging his heels into the ground the barefooted Jimin did his best to slow his pace in a hope that a knight or a guard or someone could come to his rescue. Jimin had sworn a knight was left on duty down this hall. Not to mention his own guards which watched him around the clock. This only aggravated his kidnapper who paused and glanced over, his eyes bore deep into Jimin’s own orbs. Then in an unexpected flurry of moves, he pinned Jimin’s body to the wall, his fist driving upwards into the lord’s stomach. Jimin coughed loudly, the air knocked out from his lungs with brutal force that the small male possessed his gag falling out too. It was honestly surprising as he was of smaller build and stature than even Jimin. “Will you fucking stop?” The man pressed his body against Jimin’s, his voice ice like tickling Jimin’s neck. “I will fucking kill you,”

“You won’t,” Jimin wheezed. Mouth dry after being gagged for the short while.

“Fuck, maybe not. But I can make your life hell you pompous bitch,” The man said. His knee pressed against Jimin’s thigh. Jimin took the hint and sighed into submission his body curling inwards slightly as the man let go. “Now let’s fucking move it.”

Taking hold of Jimin’s bicep again he hurried his pace and they were into the Palace gardens, across the lawn and into the palace barrack’s stables in no time. Yoongi strode straight into the stables which at first confused Jimin as there were always guards on duty. However, upon seeing the pile of bleeding bodies stashed in the corner of the stable Jimin no longer had any questions pop up in his head. All he could think of was the murderer holding onto him.

His assailant stopped in front of a large grey horse. The mare was a gift to the king three years ago, all the way from the lands of Trairio. This particular horse had been known to have a lot of stamina, due to her bulky build however she was not as quick-footed as most preferred. Where ever the pair were going it was a long journey. His assailant took the horse out of her stall, she was already tacked up. This was not good, his attacker was not just some common cutthroat then, he had obviously worked out a long-standing plan and judging by the clinking coins from his back pocket he was in league with someone in a place of power.

Roughly his kidnapper grabbed him and shoved him forwards; “Get on.” His words were so short almost as if it were too much of a bother for him. Jimin’s barefoot shoved itself into the stirrup, he let his kidnapper help him up as he simply could not haul himself onto the giant beast’s back with his hands restrained behind his back like they were. The close proximity to his kidnapper unnerved Jimin. He should not cower the way he was, he was a Duke for god’s sake with probably more power in his little finger than his kidnapper had in his whole body. But he was still overpowered, why? Because Jimin was a coward. He was weak. He was worthless. A little petulant boy.

Jimin did his best to lean as far forward as he could so he could get away from the kidnapper’s firm and muscular body. He didn’t care if he was shivering and cold, or if the dull painful ache in his groin was becoming greater from his posture, he couldn’t bear to give in and lean into his body warmth. Though Quentain was warm in the days, the nights this time of year became un-bearingly cold. Jimin in his tunic was more aware of this now more than ever his skin prickled with hills.

Chapter Text

“Wake-up,” a foul-smelling liquid was thrown over Seokjin’s body from an equally rank looking bucket which was rusting from the inside out. Jin wanted to vomit at the putrid aroma of it as it clogged his airways and pores. Seokjin had seen death before, before even the prior night, he had never stayed around a body long enough for it to rot but he assumed the smell would be similar to that. He stood, peeling off the black silken robed from his shoulders that was now drenched, at least his pants were only damp. The soggy wet fabric felt to the floor with a slick slapping noise in a saddening bundle. Jin’s shoulders were covered in the gross liquid shone slightly from it, defining his muscles to a greater extent.

A guard grabbed his golden chains and roughly jostled him by them, pulling them along. The walk was in silence, though Seokjin knew the two guards were glaring holes into his pink covered skull. He wanted to hide, he had done nothing to receive this kind of treatment, yet he received it still. Did they honestly think him, a Quentainian citizen would do this? Would conspire to kill a king. Even if he wasn’t a Quentainian citizen any human alive with common sense would not do this. This was all a freak coincidence but of course, there must be someone to blame. People loved to blame others. That much was evident from the weekly barbaric hangings that happened every month in the city. Jin had never been, he refused to.

They rounded many corners, walked through many flights of stairs until eventually they left the foul-smelling dungeons and became re-immersed back into the world of finery and glamour. The only foul-smelling person here was Seokjin, still wet from being doused in that odious liquid.

Beneath his feet he felt the soft red carpet that lined the palace halls, running down the very center of it. It was oddly comforting and reminded him of the rug, as old as it was, that was pressed to the door of his small room in the brothel. For the first time in his life, he actually would prefer being a common street whore in that suffocating smoke filled sweat-scented box of a brothel. This thought almost shouted in his mind when he entered what he could only assume was the council chambers. A semi-circle of tables was presented before him, chairs behind them were all being used by council members and ambassadors. There were two chairs at the center of the semi-circle, one for the king and one for the crown prince. Yet today the crown prince’s chair was vacant as said prince sat where his father would. Upon his entrance, the prince sneered up at him glaring down.

“Well, are you ready to confess?” The head councilor spoke up. He was a greying man of considerable age; from his garb, he was the Master of Coin. Seokjin looked around unsure of whether on he should speak, his answer was spoken by the impatient Master of Coin. “Speak whore,”

“I cannot confess to a crime for which I did not commit,” Seokjin stated plainly, still dazed yet making no eye contact. A roar of noise met him as shouts erupted. No one believed him. It was likely that even if they did believe him they would still sentence him to death. He had no one here who could sympathize for him. They were all noble of birth, none had worked a day in their lives. None could relate to him. None wanted to give mercy. They wanted a show. A spectacle to satiate the masses.

“Blasphemy!” The master of coin shouts, spittle flying from his crusted lips.

“Will you all be quiet!” The crown prince shouted, his thumb and index pressed to his nose bridge. At that,t a deadly silence cut over the room everyone too scared of the prince. A silence not like one would have in mourning, a silence when one was too scared to move let alone speak. In the short time that Seokjin has seen the prince, the younger male had not smiled once. “Why should we believe you, you’re a fucking Vianian whore,”

“I may be a whore,” Seokjin said a matter of a factly, “But I was raised Quentainian, your majesty.”

The Prince scoffed; “So? You still undoubtedly plotted and helped in the death of my father, you also came from Vian with the ambassador so it is unlikely you’ve been raised to be anything other than a cotton haired freak,”

“I did no such thing, your majesty,” Seok spoke, the longer he spoke the more assuring his tone became. This was his life, after all, he needed to stay strong, lest he slips up. The people surrounding him already hated him just for his race, some had such strong hate of his race that they wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he was killed for just that. “I have never been outside of Quentainian except for my birth,” he continued, “The ambassador bought me two days ago from my previous handler.”

The room is silent, “Your majesty, I have been raised to serve my masters' needs and wants without question,” Another paused, “My master is you, I would never act without your asking so.”

The room was silent for a long time as no one dared speak whilst the crown prince thought. His mind pressed clearly in the curves of his brows. Out of the blue, a man spoke. He was by far the youngest of all the councilors present. The Master of Swords stared back at him, two swords crossed over into an ‘x’ pressed in a pin of his heart. Every councilor with importance had one. The master of the coin had a diamond jewel set atop a golden coin. The Master of Mastery had an open book. The Master of Justice had a scythe over top of a scale which sat atop a diamond. There was much more, the kingdom of Quentain was an old one with many traditions which needed many figureheads. “I will vouch for him, I believe him to be true of his word,” he did not address the prince properly which shocked Seokjin but then again he was new here. Seokjin was also surprised someone would vouch for him with so little evidence. When one vouched for another they essentially traded places with them. Meaning if Seokjin did kill the king then Seokjin not only would die but the Master of Swords too would face a penalty. Albeit his penalty would not be death in this instance, more likely to be a few lashes.

“Well, if you believe him to be true of his word Councillor Namjoon then I will too,” The prince nodded with an irritated sigh, he did not want to believe Seokjin, “I trust your word. If anything is to happen though you will be held responsible.” The prince stopped. “Be gone with him.”

Before Seokjin left the man-made eye contact with both his protector and master. The two men he was allowed to look at without having to ask permission, he drank in their faces.

Chapter Text

Seokjin found himself once more alone in his own rooms. The turn of events so far had been favourable to him, sure he had spent the night sleeping on a cold damp dungeon yet he had not yet had to use his ‘skills’, infact he had not yet had to do anything to receive his place of stay. Even though he caught a ransom worth of unfavourable glances from gruesome guards and primp proper palace staff he had for the first time in a long time a full stomach, a warm bed and a mostly safe place to be. Even if there were cutthroats around every corner. He had been gifted his own room, it was small as it was it was pleasant. It was part of a section of the palace made specifically for the kigns harem. However, there was no harem as there was no king. When a king dies his harem are freed, none chose to stay, which was understandable it was rumoured that the king found just as much pleasure in beating his pets as he had fucking them. Seokjin hoped his new master would not be like he father.

It meant that Seokjin was left alone in possibly one the prettiest places he had ever seen. White marble walls with dark hued veins an added golden shimmers decorate the octagonal shaped garden in the middle of the harem rooms, carving out a neat pathway between the bathing fountain and lush flower bed. Each of the eight small rooms were sectioned off with black satiny curtain that matched the embroidery of Seokjin’s garments, the fabric was so light that it allowed light to pass through but give just enough privacy that only scant silhouettes could be seen from inside. Within the middle of the section was a tiled pool with clear water running and tinkling as the fountain within the middle sparkles. All of this amazed Seokjin as it is inside a room with a tall vaulted ceilings painted beautifully with shimmering stars, the sky projected above. The pet would not be surprised if the actualy map of the sky was projected above.

The peachy pink haired male was completely enchanted by the wonderous room, though it was warm, dry and safe he did not sleep. It had been a day since the banquet and he felt utterly out of place. Though he did not know the exact hour as the room had no windows he knew it was late. He would retire soon but first he would bathe, he needed to. His body ached, and his skin still reeked at the odious layer of liquid poured on him earlier in the morn.

The pink haired boy pulled his beautiful billowing pants off his beautiful body and sank down into the warm pool waters. Water lapped around his ankles, Seokjin wondered if it was always heated as it was warm to the touch and a soft layer of steam curled around the fountain where new water was constantly being pumped in. He sank down low until he was fully submerged into the warm water. His pink hair sticking down to his scalp once he reamerged from beneath its inviting deapths. He could stay underneath the hazy edge of the water surface forever, even if the scented soap poured into it stung his star covered eyes. Seokjin ran his hands through his sensitive scalp and leant back, the base of his neck on the cool tiled pool edge. He thought about reaching over to grab the creamy pot of soap waiting for him but instead he decided to soak for longer. Jin wondered when his knew master would call for him, he certainly did not expect his master to come to him.

The Prince stood at the edge of the pool his calloused hand swirling around the silken water and his doe eyes watching Seokjin with disinterested curiosity. The pink haired male made no quick movements, he was in many ways caught between a state of fear and uncerntainty, his nudity was something he had become used to however. Many men had often paid for the pleasure of only viewing Seokjin. Instead he sat up letting the water drip down his slender back from his broad shoulders. “Your majesty?”

“I guess its king now,” The younger male spoke, correcting Jin, twisting around so he sat fully on the edge of the pool. Seokjin almost reminded him that he would not be king until he was coronated but he fear the youngers wrath.

“Would you prefer I call you that?”

“What else would you call me whore?” The queried distaste evident in his voice. His words stung but Jin shrugged them off standing and reaching for a towel folded beside the soaps. He strung it around his slight waist.

“Master is the most common,”

“Common,” The prince laughed, “How many men have you opened your legs for.” It was not a question; the prince was mocking him. Seokjin should have taken it like he always had but he was sleep deprived, sore and already angered by his foul treatment. This aggravated the Vianian, due to his upbringing in slummy towns he had picked up on some less that favourable habits in regards to his work. One of those was not keeping his mouth shut.

“More than you I hear,” Seokjin spoke plainly and curtly, mocking him with an equally disdainful tone.

The prince’s next moves surprised him. Though he had heard cruel things about the prince since he had arrived he had expected them to all be falsehoods. He believed the prince to be a foul tempered teenager and nothing more. That foul tempered teenager had let his anger get the best of him and gave heed to the rumours as his fisted hand stuck across the whore’s face, one of his bejewelled rings slicing into his pink cheek. Seokjin stumbled backwards, pressing his hand to the pool edge to steady himself, his other on his bleeding face.

“F-forgive me master, I have spoken wrongly of you.” The prince had no more words for him. Instead he strode out of the room anger shaking in his wake. Seokjin only noticing now that the prince had stepped forwards into the pool. He left a wet trail of boot prints in his wake and a less than happy concubine.

Later that evening when Seokjin had changed into his garment once more he had another visitor. This one was of a lot better temperament then his last. With him he brought a bottle of wine and two glasses. Jin was surprised that the Master of Swords would be one for such pleasantries. It was almost as if he was trying to court Jin.

“My Lord,” Seokjin bowed softly, his protector had returned..

“No need for that Jin,” Namjoon paused, “Or would you just prefer Seokjin?”

“Jin is fine, if it pleases you,” Seokjin nodded meekly, his confidence having been taken down since his prior incidence with his master, and sat down. One side of the Harem room was a large section with feather pillows and wool blankets a plenty, that’s where he found himself now. Seated across from the man that had saved his life hours ago.

When Namjoon sat down on the plush red cushions he had begun to notice the thin red cut across chins cheek and the purple bloom surrounding it. After the blow blood dribbled from the wound for a few minutes, Jin had spent the last half hour pressing a damp cloth to it in hopes of subduing both bruising and bleeding. He frowned softly. “I assume that would be from Jungkook-ah?”

“Jungkook-ah?” Seokjin rose a dark brow, tentatively touching his throbbing face. He was rarely beaten at his old-establishments but he had received a fair share of blows in his life. This was nothing, though his cheek and jaw still ached from the force behind it Seokjin knew it was only a temporary mark. A mark of his disobedience. Seokjin was an ignorant fool, he needed punishing. He was glad for the beating. It was justified. This was his training talking. He was taught to be obedient and tonight he was anything but.

“The prince,”

“Oh, then yes it was,” Seokjin nodded; “My new master has quite a temper,”

“Tell me about it,” Namjoon laughed handing a crystalline glass of the red liquid to Jin; “I practically raised the little shit,”

Seokjin took on the pallor of a ghost; “I’m not sure you should speak about him in such a manner my lord.” The whore quite truly believed that someone would hear them through these paper-thin walls.

“It’s fine Jin-ah, I’ll tell him to his face next time I see him,” The Master of Swords laughed a harsh soft laugh, he had a red flush up his neck. He had already been drinking. “Call me Namjoon, rather than My lord,”

“Yes Namjoon,”

“But only in private, I don’t want my knights thinking I have a soft side,”

“Do you?” Jin smiled.

“Do I what?”

“Have a soft side?” Seokjin took a sip from his glass. The red liquid staining his lips and warming his belly.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” with that the Master of Swords stood. “I have business to attend to, I will send the castle physician if you wish?”

“Don’t bother, I’ve taken a few hits before Namjoon-ah. I can take some more,” Seokjin waved his hand. Namjoon nodded, his face solemn, thoughtful.

After being stuck by Jungkook Seokjin had believed that life in the castle was not as nice as it had previously seen. He had never had a truly abusive master, none that hit him out of anger. In fact, Seokjin had believed that his master’s truly loved him. The only time they hit him, beat him or flogged him was to help in his teachings, so that he may be a better pet. He was grateful for them and their wrathful fists. They made him desirable, kept him pretty, kept him obedient – mostly – and kept him alive. He could say whole heartedly that though his past owners had been mostly gross and unpleasant to be around they had good intentions. That was his view at least. Deep down the young Seokjin, the one when he had freedom had thought otherwise. The little boy he once knew would be appalled to hear Seokjin now justifying his past.

Seokjin fell asleep feeling happy though, at least he may find himself a friend in this palace. He woke up feeling happy still even after the servants sent to help prepare him had jostled him around and were far too touchy with his body. His mood remained unbroken until he saw the Prince later that day. Seokjin had come to realise that the prince did not request his presence and the only reason he was out was that tradition called for him to be walked around every so often as when Jungkook became king Seokjin would become shielded from the world. It was strange, when a pet belonged to a lord or to a prince they were to be shown of like property as often as they were needed to be. They were meant to show off as much skin as possible without it being too much for social standards to handle. However, pets belonging to the king or in rare cases a queen were always veiled and hardly ever left their haram. Seokjin had been told this by an overly chatty servant who had served him his breakfast. Jin hoped that someone would kill of the princeling before he became king. Seokjin liked adventuring and searching, the castle would have many places for him to explore.

When he did see the prince though he was sparring with the Master of Swords in the palace barracks. Upon glance palace guards whistled at Seokjin and started hooting like the barbarians they were. They were animals. Seokjin had no say in where he went as he simply followed his eunuch guards; it seems they wanted to watch the castle guards spar for a while as with the presence of Seokjin they had been taken away from their usual duties. It meant for an awkward half hour of testosterone filled men jeering at Seokjin, half of them wanted to fuck him whilst the other half wanted to run him through with their swords. Jin wondered what side the prince would take.

He was still sparing with the master of swords. Neither wore armour, both in plain tunics. Jungkook was red whilst Namjoon’s was grey. They were drenched in sweat. A half hour earlier they both had swords but said weapons had been pulled from one another during the fray leaving them to sending blows each other’s way. Seokjin was no longer surprised by the strength of the prince. Even though they were beating each other to a pulp they kept quipping in witty comments and jokes. For the first time Jin saw Jungkook smile. It was only a for a brief second, then it was gone as he forced his face into the resigned look of disdain he always wore. Least it meant that the princeling had a soul.

Seokjin got bored easily and started to pick at his nails. He was never one for undue fighting. Eventually he leant back against the wall, the bench he sat on was far to uncomfortable and the eunuch guards either side of him did little to offer any entertainment. Jin yawned, scrunching his eyes closed. When he opened them, the match had ended and Namjoon had finally managed to push Jungkook out of the circle. It seemed that the arrogant prince was not good at all things.

Chapter Text

Jimin thought his balls were going to fall off from the cold. The still bare arsed Lord sat waiting for his kidnapper on a smooth dark rock in a small clearing. The Forrest leaves dense crumpled beneath the stolen horses hooves as it stripped bark off of trees a short distance from the duke. Jimin clung to his tunic, wishing for the horses soft fuzzy coat, his legs up to his chest. He wanted to cry. Jimin in all his years had never undergone something like this, in many ways he was extremely sheltered. He was an ignorant little boy.

He sniffed slightly rubbing his nose on the back of his shirt sleeve upon hearing his captor. Now that they were in the morning light Jimin could see that he was of the same height with a slight build, similar to Jimin’s own. The man had taken his black mask off for the first time. He was handsome, annoyingly so, not a chiselled could cut diamonds handsome rather was smoother, prettier handsome. Oddly alluring, even in his dark black clothes that had dark staining along them, for a peasant he must have spent quite the pretty penny on them Jimin thought. How many people’s lives had he destroyed to afford those. How many people has the cutthroat killed? The thought was rudely and abruptly taken from his head as a pair of thick pants and boots hit him in the chest followed by a dark brown cloak. Jimin grunted glaring at the man, he did not move to pick the clothes up. “Put them on,” His captor spoke softly.

“No,”

“Do you want me to dress you? Is this how you’re going to act the whole journey? Like a spoilt brat? I thought you were supposed to be some high lord or duke,” he mocked.

Like the child he described him as Jimin turned his head, any time he could take out of the journey was time needed. If he could slow their journey down maybe, just maybe the royal tracker could pick up their trail. He would have to endure his captor’s wrath but at least he would eventually return home, to the palace. To where his heart yearned for. His best friend waited for him them.

His captor sighed, rubbing his temples and stomped towards Jimin. With that vicelike grip he had he pulled Jimin off his freezing arse forcing the man to stand on a pile of scratchy twigs and dead leaves. Then he bent down picking up the brown slacks that had fallen at their feet. Straightening his back, he forced them into Jimin’s chest and glowered, hand pressed to Jimin’s sternum. “Put them on before I slice you up, my only orders are to keep you alive boy,”

“Fuck you,” Jimin growled, then mustering every ounce of bravery he had he spat in the man’s handsome face. A thick wad of saliva hit the man just below the right eye, trailing down his cheek. He wiped it off onto the back of his hand.

“You fucking brat,” the man growled harshly like a wolf. He grabbed the pants from Jimin’s grasp and after an hour of struggling, much verbal abuse and hand’s thrown from both sides, he had finally forced the other male into his clothes. It had ended up with their first full day of riding to be an awkward one. It spent with Jimin glaring off at the dense Forrest counting tree’s and Yoongi glaring at the dirt track. Jimin was pissed off, rightly so in his belief, after being manhandled and Yoongi was aggravated at the time loss. They’d have to ride longer to get to their first destination which surely meant more whines and stroppy behaviour from the younger boy. He could tell the Duke had ridden before on the occasional hunt, but he was not born for long haul Journeys. Noble’s usually never fought or took any adventures. Over a century ago that would have been unheard of as due to the long-standing war nearly every noble house fought alongside their men.

After an hour of sitting bolt upright in the saddle Jimin had finally decided to save his manhood from the excruciating ache that would come with riding and opted to lean back into his captor’s chest. To his surprise his captor placed a hand on his upper thigh, Jimin knew he didn’t mean it in a comforting way, more of a safety precaution if he fell asleep and fell. If. Jimin refused, he had not slept since he had been rudely stolen away and he could feel his body yearning for rest. Jimin did not trust his captor though. The man was tasked to bring Jimin somewhere alive, but from his harsh words earlier in the Forrest Jimin knew that whether he made it out with a few scars or not was a different question.

He wondered a lot on their first day of riding. Mainly of his friends back home, did Jungkook know what had happened? Would the king send men after him? The king had always been like a father to Jimin, surely he would. What was Namjoon doing? Was he still getting into arguments with councillors? Still training knights? Still whacking Jungkook over the ear every time the boy did something stupidly? What about his newest and now closest friend Tae? Was he doing fine? Jimin hoped that he wasn’t working himself too hard, he was a perfectionist. If Jimin were to return, he would spend every day of his life making sure his friends knew how much they meant to him.

Jimin also wondered about his captor. What was his story? How did he grow up to be a cutthroat thief in the night? Was he high born; did it matter? Maybe Jimin could offer him wealth in return for safety. He was after all one of the wealthiest men in Quentain.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere,”

“Okay,” Jimin sighed, “Where is that somewhere?”

“In the direction we’re going,” His captor chuckled, his chest jumping slightly with the motion, pressing to Jimin’s spine. It seems though he had a naturally annoyed aura about him he was easy to forgive. Short tempered yes, but at least the awkward atmosphere between them had lifted.

“You’re really not funny,”

“And why’s that little duke?”

“Little duke?” Jimin scoffed.

“You are quite small,”

 

“Really?” Jimin laughed in an annoyance. “Then you must be tiny,”

“Shut up,” the man grunted. Jimin mentally swore, he had sure cocked that up. He needed to befriend his captor. Get him to trust in Jimin.

“So, if you’re not going to tell me where we’re going then I assume you’re not going to tell me who’s so interested in my life?”

“No,”

“How about we play a game?”

“I’m not good at those, they usually end up with someone dead”

Jimin ignored him and continued; “Give me three chances to guess who it is?”

“That idea is shit,”

“Why?” Jimin pouted.

“What’s the point in playing a game if I don’t get to win anything?”

“Fine,” Jimin hummed in thought. “I promise to be good,”

“Good? I certainly don’t hope your evil little duke. You’re far to pretty for that,”

Jimin rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean,”

“Fine, I’ll play your stupid game,”

“Hmm,” Jimin smiled biting his lips, “Give me a clue?”

“No,”

“Okay,” Jimin paused, “Was it lord Hwang?”

“No,”

“Fuck okay, I always thought he was out to get me,” Jimin added. “Hmm, is it someone I know?”

“You’ve met them once, a long time ago but you would not remember them,”

“Have you met them?”

“Yes, we’re friends surprisingly,” Yoongi said softly almost in disbelief at his statement.

“Are they Vianian?” Jimin said, “They never like us Quentainians,”

“No, especially now,” Yoongi added. As soon as he spoke it dawned on him that the young duke had no idea what had happened two nights prior. Any common idiot would know that the duke was like a second son to the king. If Yoongi were to tell him he was sure the boy would break down.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing much, your second guess?’

“Hmm, okay,” Jimin sighed, he knew little of Vianian politics, “A lord of Vian?”

“No, guess number three,” Yoongi chuckled.

“That’s unfai-“

“No whining, remember I don’t have to keep you pretty,”

“Fuck, okay,” Jimin said. He was honestly surprised; the conversation had been going well. Almost to well. “The king of Vian?”

“Close little duke,” Before Jimin could speak the man spurred the horse up a notch. For the majority of the day they had been in a slow loping canter which kept causing the captor to get painfully close to the Duke in area’s he would rather not.

Chapter Text

“You’re telling me that the Duke is gone!” Jungkook growled loudly at a guard, “What the fuck were you doing?! You were on fucking duty!” The prince was losing his temper at the night who was now half coherent after receiving countless blows from the teen.

“I-I cannot remember my lord,”

Jungkook gripped the man’s chin forcibly turning it up from where he sat slumped against the wall, the back of his skull cracking against the wall. “That’s your majesty you fucking peasant,” Jungkook growled ferally, his thumb pressing harshly into the man’s chin, stubble pressing back against the prince’s calloused hands. Calloused from long hours spent riding and sparring with Jimin. The same Jimin this man had failed to protect.

“I-I’m sorry your majesty,”

“Insolent brat,” Jungkook spat, quite literally at the man. “You did not see the man who entered The Duke’s room?”

“N-no, I didn’t see anyone enter the Duke’s room, he had…” The man looked guiltily and utterly ashamed, “Overpowered me first,” No, that was embarrassment. Rightly so, Palace guards were supposed to be well trained swordsmen not little children messing around with sewing needles.

“Pray do fucking tell how a palace guard was over powered by a simple fucking cutthroat?”

“He was quiet your majesty, I-I didn’t see him coming. The hall was unlit to help the duke sleep better,”

“Of fucking course, it was,” The king pressed his forefinger and thumb to his nose bridge out of habit. Whenever he was aggravated, he tended to do that, it helped him not only focus but relieve his stress.

“Did you at least see him?” Namjoon for the first time cut in from where he stood leaning against the grimy dungeon wall. It was slick with mould and looked as if the very wall itself was sweating. He wore no armour, no simple tunic like he usually did. Instead he was cloaked in a dark black robe, drenched in silver chains and wealth. He was wearing the customary mourning robes but still outshined half the councillors. Even the aging Master of Coins. The taller male had just come from a meeting no doubt.

“He wore a mask,”

“So you saw nothing? He was just a fucking mask?” Jungkook growled, he was in a foul temper today and had a raging hangover.

“H-he was short my lord, small for a man. Wore all black, quite nice for a cut throat but still the livery of a peasant your majesty,”

“So, you were over powered by a fucking midget?!”

“He had a weapon to my throat, your majesty, I could not do anything,”

“You could have died defending the duke and doing your job,” Namjoon said plainly. It was his job after all. No matter the cost he should have fought. Then he paused, “What did the knife look like?”

“It was dark, too dark to be steel, too dark to even be iron, it was black,”

“Vianan steel,” Namjoon groaned. This was not good, not in the slightest.

“It had blue and green jems too,” The man added.

“It was those fucking bastards; they killed my father and kidnapped my fucking brother in plain sight!” Jungkook growled. His voice restrained in the way he restrained his words. Jungkook almost spoke further, but he hesitated and stopped. He was pissed he kicked over a chair that had been set in the room sending it careening into a wall with an earth-shattering crash, fragments of wood flying this way and that. Jungkook’s earth was coming down and he had no way to rebuild it. “This means, this means-,”

“War,” Namjoon said, the tiredness in his voice evident. “I will call in our banner’s Kook-ah,”

“What of Jimin?”

“What of him?”

“He will die,”

“I won’t let that happen,” Namjoon said, devotion clear in his voice not only to Jungkook but to the duke.

“Don’t let him be a martyr Joon, don’t let him die,” the prince had seemed tiny in that moment. Fear evident in his voice. This was Deja-vu.

Chapter Text

Taehyung was drenched in pearly beads of sweat, his taught muscles ached, and he wanted nothing more than a soothing scented bath and a man between his legs. He was working himself to the very bone, his muscles felt like jelly. However, he had to. He could not simply just give up. He had to fight for this place as a knight of Quentain. Fight hard. Show all those idiots in the palace guard that he belonged to be here too. That he was not some simple street rat. His upbringing did not define him Taehyung was much more, at least that’s what his lover had told him.

Ah, his lover. Now that was a thought that lifted his frown off his face and into the stratosphere. Would he be waiting for Taehyung? The knight wished desperately for this to be so, but he also knew that he may not. With the death of the king, Namjoon would be in council meetings all week not to mention the rumored kidnapping of the duke. Taehyung hoped in his heart that it was not true and that his friend had just gotten himself lost in the palace gardens again. The last time that had happened was when the Duke was but five summers old, luckily the late queen – Jungkook’s mother – had found the boy.

Taehyung was a man of very optimistic thinking for the most part. Never one to speak without thinking thoroughly first though. Never one to overstep his boundaries. Always one to believe in someone’s abilities rather than their inabilities. With Tae’s upbringing, it should be anything but. Tae should be a man broken and bent with only enough room in his heart to loathe hate and despise.

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind like he always did. There was no need nor room for negative thoughts. He had to be happy if he seemed sad Namjoon would worry and he didn’t need that. He must be happy. The master of swords needed to be focused, more so now than ever. Everyone in the palace knew that much. As soon as the king’s body had lost its warmth the councilors had begun to start meetings. It was customary that there was at least one day of mourning before any councilor’s met for business, that day had passed and now no councilor nor ambassador could be seen walking the halls. He knew that Namjoon wasn’t in any ‘official’ meeting, rather he was in the dungeons doing gods only knows with the king to be. Namjoon himself had told him that he was gone to investigate the Duke’s disappearance with Jungkook. Taehyung had never had the pleasure of meeting the soon to be king but from what he had been told the king though was gifted with a bad temper had been kind to the master of swords. Which meant that Taehyung really could have no opinion of him, he was loyal to his lover, and if his lover was loyal to the prince when he was too.

Sighing the knight continued his walk through the ancient palace, this was his favorite time of day. Just before the sunset, there was an oddly quiet peace about the halls, like the calm before the storm. Night-time was the time that Taehyung hated most, it brought bad memories of hazy smoke-filled nights spent long ago. It was always followed up by drinking the night and memories away. The same went for the palace, that nice and soft silence was shattered in a bittersweet epiphany. Tae wondered if the same would be said for tonight. The king had passed two days ago yet Tae saw no mourning, sure the guard had changed their tunics to black and no longer wore their golden armor. The councilors and nobles now wore plain black silks, their fabric still fine while also missing the normal embellishments. He sighed, there was, however, never a night where the palace barracks were not heaving with drunk idiots.

No wonder the king had died, the men that were supposed to protect him that night were undoubtedly drunk. Namjoon, Tae knew, felt guilty for the death. Rather than joining in on the festivities and staying by the King he was with his lover in the sheets, hiding away from everyone. Tae spent most nights hiding away in his small room in the barracks or in Namjoon’s own rooms. Painting or drawing preoccupied a lot of his time, he also read quite a lot. The rest of his time was spent eating dirt after being thrown around by the bigger burlier knights that had always somehow chosen to spar with Tae.

Tae could feel the dirt crawling across his honey coloured skin. He had been beaten mercilessly today, whacked multiple times with the flat edge of heavy swords and the knuckles of meaty fists. The man could not think of one part of his body that was not going to be bruised by sunrise. He knew of all bruises. Blue bruises that lasted a few days, Purple that lasted weeks, the yellow that came after like dirt smeared across the skin. To say Tae hated his comrades would be an understatement. He absolutely loathed the men. All born of noble blood they had deemed it their divine right to spit on him and make his life similar to that of hell. Tae would quite happily watch them all trade places with the King and not bat an eyelash. In fact, Tae would take enjoyment out of taking their lives. Sliding his smooth steel blade along their Adam's apple. He’d cut them good. Like a butcher would a swine. Cut them from ear to ear. Saw through their jugular. Bat-. No Tae needed to stop. He shook his head and sighed. Fuck. Taehyung was fucking psychotic. Why was he like this? Why did he thirst so desperately for pain and suffering to brought on to men that did little more than bully him?

Namjoon can’t know, Tae nodded. If Namjoon knew he would freak. His lover would lose it. Not because he would fear Tae. Namjoon would never fear him? Would he? No! He can’t! Tae refused, he must please Namjoon. Tae would do anyth- No. Stop.

Shaking his head once more he continued off. His thick heeled boots landing harshly on the carpet lining the hallway. Either side there was the occasional table filled to the brim with cluttered artifacts from a royal household that had stood for over a millennium. The Jeon rule was one Tae thought would last forever. They may have had times where it almost seemed as if they were ready to blink out of existence, such as now, with only one member to the royal family. However, they persisted. That much was evident in the wall hangings that littered the walls, they depicted the Jeon family in victorious poses. All the battles they won. It seemed that there was one recurring theme throughout them, Vian always lost.

The feud between the island nation and large mass of Quentain seemed to have stood since the countries themselves had been founded. It was nothing new. Such long-stemmed hate they had between them would be impossible to break. They’d need a miracle for peace. Peace Tae was certain would never come.

Sighing he made a final turn into a hall which had only one exit. The walls here were bare except from a few swords and old armour littering the place, one painting of a vase with sunflowers was also pressed here. It was Tae’s own creation and he was abundantly proud of it. Smiling upon passing the art piece he pushed open the door to the large room and sighed. It smelt familiar, comforting, it smelt of Namjoon.

“Hyung?” Tae called out, his hand dropping down to his waist to his thick leather belt. The black material a gift from Namjoon.

“Yeah?” Namjoon popped his head out from the only door in the room. It was a small tiled room containing a wash basin, brass clawfoot bathtub and a few racks of clothing taken up with Namjoon’s fine tunics. A few drippings of fabric were Taehyung’s, most were peeled off the floor by Namjoon the morning after a hazy smoke-filled alcohol night of lust. Namjoon’s hair was wet and he had a silken robe over his lean frame. The taller male walked out into the bedchamber rubbing a towel into his black locks.

Tae smiled upon seeing him. Not caring that he was still damp Tae headed over and curled his arms around Namjoon in a clingy way. Pressing his forehead to Namjoon’s shoulder he chuckled; “I missed you,”

“I saw you this morning Tae,” Namjoon laughed.

“I know,” He clung tightly to Namjoon’s silken robe.

“Tae?”

“Mm?”

“Is something wrong darling?” Namjoon stepped back and tilted Tae’s chin upwards. The brown-haired boy blinking softly, his golden eyes bearing into his lovers. Tae had a soft look about him. Tanned honey golden skin, dark brows, one mono-lidded eye, the other double-lidded and a natural pout. To Namjoon he though Tae looked like a god.

“Nothing,” Tae smiled. It was a heart-breaking smile as Namjoon knew something was wrong with the younger male.

Namjoon sighed, patting Tae’s soft hair like a puppy; “Go have a bath, the water’s still warm and you smell like arse.”

------ SKIP HERE FOR NO SMUT (Essentially Tae gives Namjoon blue balls) ------

Taehyung gracefully walked out of the small side room into the bedding chamber with no clothes on. The room was dark by now lit by a few hazy pig fat candles Namjoon had put on to banish the darkness that Tae disliked. His golden honey skin complemented nicely by the equally golden lighting. Namjoon was sat hunched over at his desk, a long white feathered quill shaking violently as he wrote letters upon letters, parchment was beginning to pile up on his usually immaculate desk. Beside him a pot of warm wax sat waiting along with his insignia stamp, its contents a deep burgundy. Tae sighed; it was almost always what Namjoon did at this time, working rather than pouring his attention onto Tae. He was an extremely hard worker. He knew if his lover could he would have been a scholar; his family had forced him to be a knight after he had picked up a deep gift for swords.

“Hyung,” Tae whined like a mewling kitten.

“What?” Namjoon looked up, not at all bothered by Tae’s nudity. It was a regular occurrence for him now. Tae quite often lounged around his apartments butt naked.

“The letters can wait, come join me,” Tae held up a hand in offering. His wrist arched daintily and fingers slack, waiting for Namjoon to take him up on his offer.

“I can’t Tae, I have to do this first,” Namjoon ran a hand through his thick black tresses, pushing them away from his forehead, his skin creased in slight worry.

“I know what you can’t do Kim Namjoon,” Tae laughed walking to the elder’s desk with swinging hips.

“And what Kim Taehyung is that?”

“You can’t resist me,” Tae murmured softly running a hand along Namjoon’s shoulder. The man laughed at his words, his body quivering with the mirthful action beneath Tae’s palm. Soon Tae would have him quivering beneath him from an entirely different reason. Namjoon continued laughing, picking up his quill once again as Tae sat on his lap, his bare arse pressed to Namjoon’s lap.

Tae sprawled his long legs out in front of himself in a rudely masculine way, balancing himself on Namjoon’s lap as the man leant forwards writing letters to far off lords and dignitaries. Whilst his right hand wrote symbols that Tae struggled to decipher, his left curled around and pressed into Tae’s stomach comfortingly. Tae sighed, he frowned at the words before returning back to his first task, he had never learned to read after all.

“Joonie,” he whined. The elder male ignored him. “Nammy?” Tae continued to no avail, Namjoon seemed far too invested in his work to stop without some encouragement.

Tae growled softly, gripping the edge of the table before slowly grinding his hips in slow teasing motions across Namjoon’s lap. The flesh of his rear pressing into Namjoon’s clothed bulge. The long-lasting strokes elected a soft moan to tear from Namjoon’s plush lips. His voice naturally deep like Taehyung’s own was a sweet song to hear.

Tae moved his hands from the desk to Namjoon’s knees. He spread his leg’s wide, his untouched member semi hard and oozing precum onto the robed man’s lap. Tae squeezed softly on Namjoon’s legs continuing his rocking until eventually Namjoon stopped suppressing his moans. The older male tipped his head back and let out another low moan; “Fuck Tae,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

Tae sighed standing; “I guess you can’t resist me Joon,” He shrugged and padded off to their bed. Leaving the knight in utter shock, disbelief and with a dull ache between his legs.

Chapter Text

Their uneventful ride had finally ended long into the deep dark night. Jimin’s whole body ached and protested and his head thrummed loudly between his cold ears. He was dehydrated, tired, cold and scared. It had been a full two days since he had been in the palace’s safety and he was beginning to doubt he’d ever be saved. Even if they sent men after men for him Yoongi had been evasive throughout their journey. Half of it was spent walking upstream in a river, their horse plodding alongside them in the water as their boots had been soaked through. The other half was spent zigzagging across roads and dirt tracks. It was a safe assumption that Yoongi had done this before.

His only sign of hope was the thought of a warm bed for the night and food other than stale cheese with green corners and bread more akin to bricks than food. In the distance, his hope lay. A small bustling town welcomed him in the dusty orange evening light. Fireplaces were beginning to start, creating a steadily puffing cloud of smoke up above them. Lamps along the street were lit ang glowing and ones in windows of houses were too. It was inviting. It was easy, kind and what Jimin wanted most.

As their bulky horse plodded ungracefully down the muddy slick road Yoongi tightened his grip on Jimin’s thigh pressing a thumb into his soft flesh causing Jimin to cry out in pain. “Say anything at all and you’re dead little duke,” he whispered deadly sweet in his ear, lips warm tickling Jimin’s cold ears. Jimin nodded submissively and pried Yoongi’s hand away from his muscled thigh.

Jimin didn’t want to cross Yoongi, not at this moment at least. He’d wait until the right night had fallen to make the right move. Jimin found himself rubbing his wrists unconsciously every few minutes as they rode into town. He had a red burn around them from the tightness Yoongi had bound him with earlier. Jimin had been unrestricted for a whole day but still could not be free as he was stuck aching on this godforsaken creature, they called a horse. He would rather walk at this point, walk until the soles of his feet were cut bloody.

Gently the beast speed slowed down from a long loping trot to a slow hip-swinging walk. One hoof slowly in front of the other. It was safer this way as many people walked the streets of the town, drunkards most of them, stumbling about raucously. Travelers from around the country stopping for the night. With the number of taverns in the town, Jimin assumed they were somewhere along the silk road.

Yoongi chose to stay at a small tavern that looked old and beaten up, no one frequented its doors that looked remotely kind. Jimin could tell this was a place of shady business. Behind back there was a stable, Yoongi turned there first. Their horse stopping in an elegant pose just outside the doors. Legs strong and tense, mane drooping forwards across its triangular face, concealing its pale blaze.

The kidnapper, with a dull grunt, slung his leg over dropping to the muddy floor with a slick slopping noise. His hand tentatively running along the horse’s mane. After a moment Jimin sighed gripping the saddle and slid off too. The duke nearly fell over at the unexpected use of his legs, knee’s alight. After being rested at an awkward angle for so long they throbbed painfully. Every part of him hurt, his shoulders were tense and every so often a pain would shoot up his neck swan-like neck. Stretching his arms over his head Jimin’s back cracked in a wondrous cacophony of noise. Yoongi just gave him a sidewards glace and ordered him to stay put whilst he fetched the stable boy.

It only took a minute but, in that minute, Jimin had thought of numerous ways to properly escape, to fight his way through his captor was one of his favourites. He almost debated acting on his now concrete plans right then and there before the dreaded beast himself had returned. His black hooded cape donned once more. He looked like a reaper or an executioner, the look unnerved Jimin. “Come,” he muttered. Leading Jimin to his doom.

The boy followed, walking around the side of the building back to the front of it. The oak door was left open and the occasional roar of laughter jumped, leaped and bounded from the room along with hazy firelight. The light danced along dusty floorboards and muddy boots, skittering across the mud walked in and pressed into the strange array of carpets. The furniture inside was mixed, stools in front of tables beside couches and divans. All different colours, styles, and sizes. Jimin thought it had an oddly charming air about it. Comforting.

His captor pushed the boy forwards towards a large couch beside the fireplace, a man sat there. His features covered by a maroon cloak, he sat with on leg up, the other sprawled out precariously close to the fire. His arm across the back of the couch. Upon seeing Yoongi he smiled softly, it was a bright warming smile, the contagious type. “Ah Yoongi-hyung,”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi replied softly. For the first time, Jimin had a name to that face of his. Yoongi, he said it over and over again in his mind. Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi.

“I take it the information was valid then?” Hoseok chuckled, eyes reaching Jimin, they were crinkled softly around the edges. Was this the man that had ordered him taken?

“Yeah, that’d be a first,” Yoongi joked and slid into the seat, pulling Jimin beside him, their thighs pressed firmly against one another.

“Nice to meet you Duke,” Hoseok said in such an informal tone it surprised Jimin.

“H-hi?” He spoke hesitantly, utterly confused.

Hoseok then stood squatting down in front of JimIn. He reached his calloused hand overtaking Jimin’s own hands, he had a few scars on them from days spent with knives and daggers. His fingers curling around a golden band on Jimin’s finger. Then gently he pulled it off as Jimin protested. “Oi, that’s mine!” Jimin cried out rousing the attention of the drunk cutthroats in the tavern. Yoongi grunted and forced his sharp elbow into Jimin’s side causing the younger man to grunt and grasp his side.

Hoseok stood pushing the band onto his finger. The engravings were of stars and suns, it was no doubt something to do with the country’s religion. He admired it for a moment before squatting back down; “Thanks for delivering your payment Yoongi,”

“No problem,” Yoongi smiled not at all bothered by the wheezing Jimin. The young Duke rubbed his knuckles into his ribs, pressing himself deeper into the couch and further away from Yoongi. The man needed to make up his mind. One moment he was happy and quite friendly towards Jimin the next he was glaring daggers and quite literally throwing fists.

After listening to Yoongi and Hoseok speak for a while he had come to figure out a great deal about the pair. They were both from the same town of the same slummy area of the same country. Genisa. A small island off the shores of the Quentainian capitol, the one country between both Quentain and Vian. It was a timber giant in the sense that anything forestry was done there. Half the wood products found in the world came from the squat island.

It was flat mostly, except for a small mountain range. That was, Jimin assumed, with his various knowledge of geography, was where the boys came from. They spoke of winters spent in the snow, the only snow on that island would have come from the mountains. It seemed that they were both at one-point thieves but had split after they had left their orphanage.

While Hoseok had become a cunning jewel thief Yoongi had become a mercenary, a cutthroat a murderer. Hoseok seemed unbothered by his friend’s place of work, the current broker even discussed a contract with him. It seems Hoseok had retired from his thieving days and instead set up clients. It turned out that Hoseok was the broker that got Yoongi to kidnap Jimin for someone, that’s why Hoseok knew so much.

Yoongi grunted, his arse numb after being sat on the unforgiving couch for so long. He stood and stretched his back in a feline way; “Hoseok-ah watch the little duke for me?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Hoseok joked.

Before Yoongi left he smiled; “Don’t forget what happened the last time you stole from me Hoseokie,”

“I don’t think I can, I still have the scars to prove it,” Hoseok grumbled, putting a muddy boot up where Yoongi once sat. The latter going off to the bar to grab a pint of ale.

Jimin looked up, still annoyed at his ring being stolen from him. It was a gift from Jungkook on his tenth birthday and had allowed him the freedom of pretty much-doing anything he wanted. It was of course engraved with royal insignia. “What scars?”

“Hmm?” Hoseok looked over, confusion littered across his hopeful features.

“What did Yoongi do?”

“Oh,” Hoseok laughed. Then pushing himself up from the back of the couch, he grabbed the hem of his brown tunic pulling it upwards towards his throat. His golden skin now on display. Smooth muscles stared back at Jimin. Hoseok had the build of the dancer.

The only mar to his perfect physic was the few scars littering his body. He pointed to one of the smaller scars, it was pink and fleshy toned. Not that old. Though it was one of the smaller ones the scar still seemed huge. “I got this one last time I pissed him off,” he paused moving to a smaller one across his sternum, little more than a scrape now. From its pale colour it must’ve been a childhood scar. “This was the first one I got from him, he pushed me out a tree,”

“I take it he’s always been an arse then?” Jimin spoke only to be slapped across the ear like a disobedient child.

“Watch it,” Yoongi said sitting down on Hoseok’s leg causing the other man to yelp. Precariously balanced in his hands were three flagons of ale. Hoseok took one leaving Yoongi to hand the other to Jimin.

Looking down at the murky piss coloured liquid in his hands he frowned deciding on whether or not to trust it. After a long debate Jimin sighed and gave in, he hadn’t drunk any water in days and this was the best he was going to get. Bringing it up to his lips he took a gulp coughing slightly at its potency. The rough liquid burning fire down his throat. His reaction to the liquid stirred laughter in the two males beside him.

Chapter Text

Seokjin had had no visitors that day, no kind knights to bring him rich wine. No new gifts. No rude glares. He was bored, utterly so. Never once in his entire life had he been bored and alone during his nights. They were usually spent in the company of fine females or macho males. On a rare occasion, it had been both. It was amazing and astonishing how many people turned to whores to save their marriages.

Sighing the beautiful pet stood, running a hand through his silken peach locks. His dark pants sagging low on his slender hips beneath the ‘v’ of his waist. They hung draping at his ankles, tickling the tops of his feet. Embroidery scratching on his skin. Smiling down he wiggled his feet along the veiny marble floor. The marble had been infused with what he could only assume was gold as when it caught the light at just the right angle it looked as if the floor was a flame. A soft chuckle ran past his lips.

Those soft pink lips were aching for the cool green glass of the Genisan wine bottle Namjoon had brought him the night prior. The man walked over to where it was left, corkscrewed on, besides the mound of piled up red pillows. They had since created a dip in them where Seokjin had lain earlier that night. Squatting down, even with protest from his legs, Seokjin pulled the cork off discarding it on the floor before standing. He decided to stroll aimlessly in circles around the pool whilst sipping on the wine.

Namjoon and his self had only had half of the bottle the wine. Seokjin felt tipsy after one glass so he only took a few sips before feeling satisfied. Smiling he tapped the bottle thinking of himself a small tune. Glancing around Seokjin paused before bringing his melody to life. No lyrics were needed but a soft tune broke forth from his lips. His voice rich and mellow was able to sing both low and soar high. It had been a long time since he had the freedom to sing but his voice still sounded as silvery as it once did. Though now it had a deepness, rawness too it that came with maturity.

Seokjin put the wine down on the window shelf he found himself drawn to. A cage had been placed over the window, lest one of the pets had thought it wise to learn to fly. None the less it did not hide the view of the sky and the city sprawling beneath. Seokjin leaned out gripping onto the window ledge, his voice still singing softly. His eyes crinkling in the corners from his smile.

That smile faded when the door to the harem slammed abruptly. Jin looked over his broad pale shoulder, he could not see the dark crimson door from here so he called out; “Master? Is that you?”

There was no reply. The silence was all that echoed back.

“Namjoon?” Seokjin turned around fully, his fingers pressing to the ledge with hesitancy. He slowly stepped forwards, his arms dead by his side. “Hello?”

A new face stared back at him, cheeks and neck flooded red with rash between his wrinkles and grey-colored beard. The smell of alcohol lingered in a hazy cloud around him. His eyes were dark and lidded. No doubt he wouldn’t remember the night by morning.

His chest bore black cotton with a cross of swords over his bulging bicep, he was a guard. The man’s shirt was taught across his chest and biceps. He looked as if he could snap a man with his bare hand. Those exact hands that were reaching to Seokjin. Palms held upwards grabbing for Seokjin’s smooth arms even as the whore pulled away. The bottle on the ledge fell shattering and sending shards of crystalline emerald glass and blood red liquor across the floor. Seokjin gasped as his foot fell on one of the shards.

“Ah,” the man slurred, spluttering and coughing between words, “No need to shy away, I have permission from your master to be here lad.”

Seokjin strongly doubted it, his straight nose upturned at the drunk idiot in disgust. He pressed his slim back to the cold wall doing his best to get as far away as possible from the man and his prominent stench. The stench that only worsened as he got closer. The man gripped Seokjin’s toned biceps giving them a tight squeeze, causing the pet to yelp in pain. Then his body was pressed to Seokjin, his leg’s sliding between the shorter man’s. He was already hard and pressed himself to Seokjin’s thigh.

“Now that’s a good lad eh,” he slurred. The man’s hand suddenly gripped Seokjin’s slight hips pulling Seokjin closer to his warmth.

Seokjin had had enough, he had been manhandled before but with his newfound status, he should not have had to endure this. “Get your fucking slimy hands off of me,” Seokjin growled low and threatening. He may be beautiful but Seokjin was no princess, he had surprising strength behind his lean frame. His words only served to anger the drunkard, his response was to slam Seokjin’s body against the marble wall as if he were nothing but crumpled parchment. The whores head making a dull fleshy thud as it hit the wall. He grunted and glared at the man before returning the favour.

Seokjin had brawled before, possibly too often for his line of work. Bringing his head back he slammed his forehead down onto the man’s face, it connected with his nose and a loud pop sounded out followed by a cry of pain. With all his might Seokjin pushed the man off him and slipped underneath his arms, evading his hands which reached for him. The man swore and followed the limping Seokjin.

He stumbled forwards tripping over himself. His feet caught beneath him he stumbled to the floor, hands connecting with the floor and knees clacking on the marble. Before he could stumble upwards the man was upon him once more, pressing his face down into the cold marble as he flailed about helplessly. The whore cried out trying to push himself up, but the weight now sat on his legs stopped him. “What would your master think eh? Being such a disobedient slut?” The man spat a large lump of spit mixed with blood at the floor beside them. Seokjin had definitely broken his nose.

His free hand ran down Seokjin’s bare spine eliciting shivers from the struggling male. He still thrashed about, but he had begun to slow down as every time he thrashed it resulted in his body to be twisted at a strange painful angle. “Get off me now! Unhand me you fu-,”

The man slammed Seokjin’s head back onto the marble floor. His brow slamming against the coolness, his vision clouding as his vision reeled.

His meaty hand grabbed the hem of Seokjin’s pants and with a mighty pull, he pulled them apart from their very seams. The black fabric tearing rang out followed by Seokjin’s whimpering. Vein’s of thread stringing like saliva between the fabric.

“That’s right, you be a good lad now,” He muttered drunkenly. For a short moment, he pulled away from Seokjin to unbuckle his trousers, that was his mistake. With the weight now off his legs Seokjin had pulled himself free of the man. His body sliding along the marble floor, skin catching on shards of glass.

The whore pushed himself up, stumbling on his ripped pants. Grunting he kicked the rags off and stumbled forwards for the door. Just a short break now. Just straight through the pool and he’d be there. That was if the man behind him with his pants by his ankles hadn’t leaped upon him. Grabbing Seokjin and sending the man flying onto his back.

The drunk grabbed Seokjin by his neck pressing against his windpipe. The whore gripped the man’s wrist clawing at him desperate for air even as the man gripped Seokjin’s legs slinging them over his shoulders. Seokjin’s manicured nails dug into his skin drawing blood. Just as Seokjin began to lose vision and the pounding in his head grow almost too much the crimson door slammed open and he heard his savior speak; “Unhand him!” Odd, his savior was someone he had not heard before. They owned the deepest and soulful voice he had ever heard.

In the moment of his distraction, the man had let loose his grip of Seokjin. At that moment Seokjin had pulled his leg back. In that moment Seokjin’s foot, no matter how cut up it was slammed into the jaw of the man sending him flying backward. Seokjin’s own strength surprising him and surprisingly the two newcomers to the room. His protector and his master both stood in disbelief as the drunk man-made contact with the floor and did not get back up.

“What the fuck is going on here?” That was Jungkook.

Seokjin pushed himself up away from the drunk, still wheezing for breath. Thick beaded tears rolling down his cheeks involuntarily. Beside him a felt a warm hand across his back, Seokjin flinched at it. “It’s okay,” the voice cooed; “Shh, it will be alright.”

Chapter Text

Jungkook stood shocked in utter disbelief at the red doorway, though his physical demeanor and features did not let on his emotions to the outside world and to the three others in the room. The soon to be king deep down, in the pit of his black heart, felt utterly guilty. This, this was completely his fault. He had been sparing earlier, as he did most days, with some of the knights. Jungkook remembered it quite clearly, annoyingly so. They were joking around at first. As always, joking turned into mocking the young prince, they had seemed to forget who he was. They teased him about his cotton haired whore and the boy only got enraged. In his defensive way, he had straight out said; ‘I could not care less what happened to the slut, he’s already opened his legs for half the country. I would let you at him if you so wish. You seem to be interested in him after all.’

Shaking his head he sighed, thinking back to his vigorous lessons. A King should never feel guilty for his actions. His father had it ingrained into his head at a young age. It explained a lot about his fool hearted father. He was a very impulsive man even up until his death. Jungkook had never been held accountable for actions like these. When he was younger he’d occasionally get a whack over his head but most of his stupid, ignorant and foolish moments were left unchecked. When in his teenage years Jungkook had fully begun to grasp the amount of power he had, he used it well until people had feared him too much to say anything. People that angered Jungkook often found themselves coincidentally in bad situations, being flogged or being thrown from society.

In front of him, his pet silently sobbed, raindrop crystalline tears running down his pale rose pink cheeks. Gentle elegant honey colored stroking along his whores bareback. He had not asked permission from Jungkook nor Namjoon to touch the man but Jungkook knew full well that it was okay. The man had shed his burgundy robe, he was now dressed only in loose-fitting pants and a tunic that looked fairly familiar, Jungkook was sure he had seen Namjoon wear it. His robe draped over Seokjin’s lap, coving his manhood. Jungkook had not met this man before but he had heard rumors of him. The man that had caught Namjoon’s warm heart. He was not surprised that his friend had been infatuated with him. The older male had an exotic look to him. Dark brown hair matched with a golden gaze. He had seen him around the palace wearing kohl around his eyes on the odd occasion. He was however not as exotic as his pet, that would be quite the hard task to achieve. Jungkook had only ever seen three Vianian’s in his entire life. One he did not remember as he was little more than knee height, the other was the ambassador that had taken his father from him and third was his pet.

Namjoon confidently strode in keeping a distance from the pair of men, he squatted down, pants tight around his muscled thighs. He was crouched over the unconscious drunkard's body. Blood poured steadily from his broken nose in thick rivers of scarlet. His thin lips cut up after being forcibly slammed back into his grimy teeth. Seokjin was not as weak as Jungkook had originally thought. He never thought the man to be feeble but he did not expect this strength. For the first time since his questioning, he truly wondered where exactly Seokjin had grown up and what event had led him to this point. He shook his head once more, he simply should not care about this. Seokjin was a whore. No more. No less.

“Tae,” Namjoon spoke softly, the nickname quiet on his tongue.

“Mm Joonie?” Tae muttered in between his soft whispering not at all bothered at the presence of the soon to be king. The boy had not even glanced his way. Jungkook was irked by it, he pretended it did not bother him but he was unused to not being stared at constantly.

“Can you help me move him to the barracks?” Joon sighed in aggravation.

Jungkook instead stepped in before the other could speak; “Barracks? Doesn’t he deserve a bit more Joon-ah?”

“What would you have me do?”

“Have him flogged, publicly,” Jungkook nodded. Brow creasing softly, it went unnoticed by him, so his anger was left bare. “In front of his comrades preferably.” The soon to be king knew how important social hierarchy was the guard, this would damage his chances of ever being promoted.

“As you wish,” The Master of Swords stood. Gripping onto the man’s thick arm with a grunt, his slight lover taking the other burly arm. Together they dragged him from the room. His pants still around his ankles. It would no doubt humiliate the drunk. Good, Jungkook thought.

On the floor, his Seokjin had finally stopped his sobbing, a wave of anger taking ahold of him. Clutching tightly to him. He darkly glared up at the man that would have seen him raped. His master. Dark brows pushed downwards at acute angles. His cheek’s streaked with tears.

“What?” Jungkook raised one of his brows upon seeing the whores angered expression. Pretending to give off an air of aloofness and ignorance.

“You would have had me raped!” He cried out, fists clenching by his sides. The whore stood, not at all bothered by his nudity or the pain in the sole of his foot. His smooth skin had a few shards of glass littering it, blood scraped across his skin like a gruesome painting.

“Mm?”

“Mm?!” Seokjin cried out. “How fucking dare you!” There went his last shred of obedience for the moment. “I may be a fucking whore, but I am not some fucking object for you to throw around as you please!” He had stepped forwards, limping ever so slightly, glaring at the younger boy before him. The ignorant fool staring down his ignorant master. Their bodies so close Jungkook could feel Seokjin’s angered breath on his skin, warmth spreading across his skin. Jungkook just glared at him, an expression on his face saying all that he thought. Are you finished? “You’re fucking unbelievable!” Seokjin placed his warm palm flat the King’s fine robes across his pectorals and pushed him in his impulsive anger. The younger male stumbling backward but not at all toppling over. Boots crunching on the glass.

Almost immediately Seokjin regretted his impulsive actions as this only served to piss the royal off. Said Royal was often always in an angered state. All shred of guilt Jungkook had was overshadowed for the moment, replaced by annoyance. The prince leaned forwards gripping Seokjin’s fluffy hair in his fist. His fingers combing through it, squeezing harshly on his sensitive scalp. He brought the male closer to him. Bodies pressed against each other. Tipping Seokjin’s head back at a painful angle he forced the whore to maintain eye contact with him. Squeezing tighter if he avoided eye contact. “If I could I would let every guard, every man and every woman in the fucking place spread you open slut,” He growled.

Seokjin grunted, placing his hand atop of Jungkook’s which painfully pulled at his scalp. Warmth seeping down into Jungkook’s arms; “What did I ever do to you?” He gasped in exasperation. This was not the first time he had been mistreated but he had expected more for his life when he had been brought here.

Jungkook growled and let go pushing him back. The whore landed on the floor back onto the glass with a pained cry. His hands moving massaged his painful scalp. Jungkook looked down at his hands shaking with anger, he had squeezed so hard on his locks that he had pulled a clump of pink hair from his scalp. Shaking his hand, he stepped away from the whore at his feet and headed towards the glittering pool at the center of the room. As always, a pile of cottony wash clothes sat beside the jars of scented soaps. Jungkook picked one up and dropped it into the warm pool water, letting it soak and become heavier as it filled. “Come here,” Jungkook did not look up from the towel but did offer his free hand to the whore. His voice had changed drastically, it was soft now. Forgiving.

To both their surprise Jin took his hand, curling it around his masters. He sat on the pool edge beside Jungkook hand draped elegantly across the other man’s. The royal turned his pets hand around looking at his palm for a moment, then he let go of his whore and dropped to his knees. A gasp escaped from Seokjin’s lips. Gently he lifted the pets cut up foot from the marble floor wiping it gently with the wet cloth, drawing forth a breath of pain from the whore.

Seokjin gripped onto the marble pool edge as the silken cloth caught on a shard still in his foot. He swore under his breath scrunching his face and tipping his head back, teeth pressing onto his bottom lip. Jungkook frowned and examined his pet’s foot. There were no small shards luckily, just one large curved one from the neck of the bottle. Without words he took hold of it and pulled it out, letting it clatter to the floor as Seokjin grunted in surprise. He muttered no apology, in Jungkook’s mind he still was above the man he knelt before.

Jungkook finished with Seokjin’s foot with utmost care before joining him back on the edge of the pool. Dipping the cloth once more into the water he watched the blood bleed into the clear water in the bath. Staining it pink in a cloud around it.

Scooting closer their knee’s hit each other causing Seokjin to flinch away. Jungkook gripped Seokjin behind his neck, thumb pressed to the older male’s jaw and tilting his head upwards. The pink haired boy pressed away from Jungkook, bottom lip still encaptured in his teeth. “Stay still,” Jungkook chastised bringing the wet cloth upwards. Pressing it to the cut on Seokjin’s forehead he gently pressed it to his smooth skin. Wincing Seokjin scrunched up his nose.

Pressing a hand atop of Jungkook’s hand Jin opened his brown chocolate eyes once more. Jungkook blinked, caught off guard a little. It was then he dropped the cloth and stood. It was then he heard footprints reverberating around the hall just outside the door to the harem. Bolt upright now he shoved his wet hands into his cloak pockets. Seokjin wondered where he had been coming from before the incident.

When the door opened Jungkook sighed; “Get this cleaned up,” he paused, “Whore.” Demeanor changing. Face settling and brows pressing down low. He sent a final pointed glare before stomping from the room. The door slammed behind him as he left, hinges juddering. If it wasn’t for the crunching boots Seokjin would have believed he had been left alone. Instead, that honey-skinned beauty stared back at him, Tae was his name. At least that was what Namjoon had said.

Seokjin looked down at the floor not making eye contact with the man, his eyes looking at the ground instead. The man dropped down before Seokjin forcing their gazes to meet. In his hand he had soft billowy pants, they were red but the style like the ones Seokjin usually wore. They were traditional clothes of pet. He placed them in Seokjin’s palm. “I’m sorry that happened to you,”

“I’m fine,” Seokjin smiled weakly. In all honesty, he was weirdly proud of himself for knocking his attacker out. Still shaken, angry and very confused.

“I’m Taehyung, Namjoon’s companion,”

“I gathered that much,” Seokjin smiled down, running a hand through the fabric.

“You can keep those, it’s not like I’ll ever need them,” He smiled.

“Thanks,” Seokjin smiled and stood. Wincing as he stood on his sore foot. Though it had hurt a little less, thanks to Jungkook. Without bother of his nudity he pulled the red fabric on and smiled. It wasn’t as rich as his prior garb, but it was still nice to wear, less loose.

“I’ll be outside,” Tae smiled, “Your previous guards obviously weren’t much help. As Namjoon’s companion, I guess I have to protect you too?” Was the last words Seokjin heard that night. Seokjin slept well that night knowing that he had someone kind and of noble heart to watch over him.

Chapter Text

Cracking open his puffy dark eyes the young duke groaned throatily, his slender toned body ached and protested, and his swanlike neck was stiffer than a tree branch. Groaning he rolled ungracefully onto his bruised back, his spine cracking and protesting at he laid flat on the dusty wooden floor boards. He shivered as his lumbar region stretched after he was coiled up in a shivering ball all night. Jimin stretched out his arms as far as his rope bindings allowed and swore, arms alight. It was an aching joy for him to move. “Fuck,” he grunted as he stretched like a cat.

“Harsh language for a little lord like yourself,” That was Yoongi. He was currently packing a brown bag with what Jimin could only assume was food. His clothes were changed, instead of the billowy white shirt he once wore he had on a red tight-fitted tunic. Tucked tightly to his pale skin the fraying hem was pressed down beneath his dark leather braided belt.

Jimin sighed and pushed himself up, bringing his head down to his hands which were tied to the bottom of the bed he now leant against. He rubbed his dark lashed eyes and leant back against the wooden bed frame. They had stayed at the unpleasant tavern that night in one of the cheapest, dirtiest rooms Jimin had ever seen. One single sheetless bed was pushed up against the peeling cream coloured wall paper, beside it a metal bedside table with one candle stuck to it, melted wax oozing down its sides. There was a wooden chair in the corner with missing a leg, it was managing to stay upright though as it was leant against the wall.

That wasn’t the worst of it. Jimin had been rudely awoken that night by a large fat grey and balding rat nibbling his way through Jimin’s tunic cuff with its sharp rodent teeth. He batted the disease ridden thing away sending it careening against a wall with a splat and crack, it laid on the floor now in the same position it had fallen too last night. Yoongi had also awoken then upon hearing the rats skull concave inwards, his body rumbling with laughter upon seeing the boys terrified response. His captor had commented on how much he acted like a woman, a girl if that.

“What are you packing?” Jimin blinked softly, voice still hushed from sleep.

“Food,” Yoongi yawned. He had a soft low voice, words rumbly, were naturally slurred. “We won’t be stopping off in a town for a while,”

“Goodie,” Jimin groaned. “I hate the fucking wilderness,” this was to himself now. He was sure Yoongi had heard it though as the other man let out a soft snorting laugh.

After he had shoved the bulging packages into the pack and had tied it shut. It’s leather straps straining as it overflowed with only gods knows what. Yoongi had gone to untie Jimin. He squatted down in front of the small boy, their pale bodies uncomfortably close. Though in saying that, they had spent the last day riding the same horse together. The man’s fingers were strong and elegant with the occasional scar from his blade, he untied Jimin and took the rope, tying it around his own pack. Jimin in the meantime massaged both warmth and feeling back into his cold hands which had turned blue from lack of circulation. It hurt. Painfully so. He refused to let on his feelings though.

Jimin sighed looking at his fingers, he had only one ring left now. A russet coloured ring holding a pale green gem. The only materialistic thing that proclaimed him to be the Duke of Highwaters.

Ah, Highwaters. He longed for that beautiful place. Rolling green hills and valleys. Mostly flat plains divided up by dark forests either side. Muddy slick river banks that squelched and sucked at bare feet. Foamy green emerald water. Pink meaty fish and fine antlered creatures. That was his early childhood. Before he had been sent to the palace to learn the refinery of noble life. He had spent most of his days by the river side, under the shades of sprawling oak and pine trees. It was his favourite place to be. Water lapping around his waist, river growth tickling his legs.

Highwaters was sat upon the scout’s river the largest river in the known world. It had sprawled a long distance from the mountain down to the ocean, dividing Quentain from its neighbouring country Salthan. Highwaters had received its name from its largest monument. A tall dark black bridge that stood so high above the dangerous waters it could be seen above tree tops. It was so tall that fishing boats could pass freely beneath it, carried along by large mechanic systems that transported ships along through the use of pulley systems. It was ancient and sprawling and had been in his family since there was even a family.

It held possibly the most strategic value on the whole continent. Without it both Salthan and Quentain, would lose thirty percent of their total fresh water supply. Though Jimin had doubted they still worked after years upon years of neglect, there were huge rusted dam gates built to direct the flow of water from the mountainous river. If needed Jimin could quite easily order for one to be closed off, essentially starving off an entire country. Though he would never do that, even if ordered to do so by Jungkook. It did not affect the people that they would fight after all, it would affect the common folk which survived off the crops they grew.

Yoongi stood silently stretching his back in his calloused hand he held the brown pack, holding it up for Jimin to take. Jimin sighed unhappily, he obviously had never had to carry a single thing of his own before, they change was un-welcomed. He curled his soft hands around the backpack nearly dropping it as it pulled him down to the ground. His knee’s bend as he stumbled forwards. Refusing to give Yoongi the satisfaction of knowing how weak he was, the satisfaction of Yoongi laughing at him. Jimin picked it up. He grunted deeply and slung it over his slight shoulders sending a glare to the man who was already walking out of the door.

Tramping along after him Jimin sighed, his legs aching from the previous day’s ride. Would the pain and ache in his body ever subside? He would do the unspeakable just to be back in his bed in the palace. To be beneath silken sheets laying atop feather mattresses and being waited on day and night.

Jimin noted that the tavern was empty today, except from a few passed out men and women who in a few hours would wake up to raging headaches. Jimin wondered of Yoongi’s friend. What was it he wanted with that ring? Jimin wondered if he would sell it off or wear it.

“C’mon, we have to hurry up and get ahead of Hoseok,” Yoongi sighed holding the broken door for him. Jimin could swear it was not broken the night before.

“Why do we need to be ahead of him?”

Yoongi sighed; “Are you always this talkative?” To this Jimin had no reply, in a way his silence was a reply.

In the stables Jimin noted both fine and poor horses, their own beautiful horse nibbled happily on some dried hay, saddle discarded across the top of the stable door. Yoongi walked past it, ignoring the grey beast completely. His hand briefly resting on the saddle as he dropped a few gold coins on it. Jimin frowned but did not press the matter further.

Towards the end of the stables Yoongi had stopped. Before him another large horse stood, it chewed steadily on its wooden stable gate. In some ways it was like their last horse, the dappled grey mare they had ridden from the palace to where they now were. However, whereas that horse had been muscular and bulky with large shining hooves and a fluffy grey mane and feathers. This horse was a lot leaner. It towered taller than their last horse and still had been packed full of corded muscle, Jimin could tell the difference was to do with stamina and speed. They were giving up their last horses stamina in return for the quick-footed speed this black beast could provide.

It was all midnight black with a coat that shone brightly with youth, good breeding and health. Its wavy mane recently trimmed fell only a short distance, keeping out of its large expressive eyes. The beast reminded him of the horses the noble women rode, except this horse was more ferocious. Yoongi smiled patting the horses nuzzle, it tentatively nudged him expecting food which Yoongi did not offer as he did not have any. “How much was this horse?” Highly doubting Yoongi could have afforded it.

“Nothing,” Yoongi chuckled both darkly and smugly, opening the gate once he had successfully placed the horses bridle on over his fluffy ears. Jimin cocked his head. “We’re not buying it little duke, were stealing it,”

“Oh.”

So, Yoongi rode out of that small town into the large Forrest on a black stolen horse, with a bag of stolen supplies and a beautiful stolen lord. The move was not ballsy for a man like himself, but it still forced his heart to thrum loudly with adrenaline. He enjoyed his job, even if it was gritty and morally incorrect. It was like he was constantly having a good high, a high he didn’t want to come down from.

Chapter Text

Taehyung had fallen into a soft asleep sat against the hard wall beside the harem entrance. Back to the bulky door that even he struggled to push open. In his own little way, it was his good deed. His gift. He was returning a favour of sorts. The man he had come to know as Seokjin needed protecting not only from drunk idiots but from his master’s impulsive actions and Tae had taken on that job. He felt like he had to do it. From one similar to another. Who knows, maybe Seokjin would repay him one day with a kind deed to a friend. Were they friends? He had only just met the man but he hoped that they would become friends. Tae already felt as if Seokjin would be the only one to understanding. He had a soft maternal aura about him that made Tae trust him genuinely.

Yawning he scrunched up his perk nose, skin crinkling like fine linen, he had been awoken by the scuffling of leather soled boots down the hall. A small group of maids with buckets, mops, and brooms trundled up to Tae, heading towards the harem. All were old with pockmarked skin. Tae knew Jungkook had assigned them to be the ones to clean the harem. Jungkook had insisted that it was just a natural choice as they were slow and if put anywhere else they would be a nuisance. However, he suspected something much more. It was no secret that Jungkook had never kept a pet a night let alone a week. Jungkook was attached to his whore. Whether it was because he was genuinely attracted to the pretty man or something else Tae did not know. There was also the possibility that Jungkook was attached to the whore due to it being his father's last gift to him. Tae was an optimistic man, he hoped it was not the latter as that would make for poor quality of life for the Vianian.

Tae sighed softly, wispy breath tickling past his pink plump lips, and pushed himself up. Reaching for the golden brass door handle he pushed the thick, heavy, oak door open for the group of servants. They eyed him up and down in confusion, the usual eunuch guards were no longer posted here. It turned out they weren’t even guarding Seokjin at nights. Tae half suspected that they weren’t even here for the day time. They probably only were here to walk Seokjin around the palace once a day to make sure it looked as if they were doing their jobs. Tae sighed, it was not surprising half the people in the castle wanted to sleep with Seokjin the other half wanted to run him through with his sword.

“Good morning Seokjin,” Tae yawned following them in. His loping arms held high as he stretched ungracefully. Behind the cleaning staff was a maid with a platter of brimming food. She bustled past him setting the tray on a small table near the cushioned section of the harem.

The harem was left as it was the night before, expensive sticky wine attached to the floor surrounded by glass shards. The only difference is that the whore laid upon his circular shaped mattress had stopped weeping. Instead, he stared out blankly at the staff starting to clean up the mess. No. That wasn’t a blank star. Seokjin was glaring. Whatever he was thinking of, most likely the night before, was angering him. However, upon seeing Tae Seokjin had brightened. Smile stretching softly. He was no idiot and he knew that by companion Taehyung had meant lovers. Which meant that Tae was to be trusted. He no longer looked down at the floor in his presence as he did the night before. Though that was mostly out of embarrassment. Today, he stared him directly in the eye and smiled softly. No, not softly, weakly. Tiredness and fatigue were evident in his features.

There were dark pink eye bags under his eyes and his eyes seemed red, bloodshot and puffy. So maybe Tae was bad at reading emotions immediately, but he got there eventually. Seokjin wasn’t angry as such he was upset. Which, Tae knew, was understandable. More than understandable. Taehyung was honestly surprised that Seokjin had brushed it off so easily. Then again thinking back on it Namjoon had said that Seokjin had been a whore for all his life. At least that was the impression that the master of swords had got. Tae thought otherwise, there was defiance about him that suggested otherwise. Either way, life as a whore was not a pleasant one, Seokjin’s past experiences would have definitely acclimatized him to the situation he was forced into last night. Least Taehyung was in Namjoon’s room’s and had heard.

Because his lover had vouched for Seokjin he had been moved closer to Seokjin. Usually, when someone vouched for another it was like making them a ward. Technically Seokjin was now Namjoon’s ward. Tae smiled, Namjoon was a kind man. The knight knew full well that his lover did not believe Seokjin. Namjoon had thought Seokjin guilty in the murder of the late king. He had vouched for him. Tae didn’t know exactly why but he knew that something about Seokjin had pulled his heartstrings to pity the man. Tae thought it had something to do with himself. Namjoon felt guilty still for Tae. He shouldn’t though.

“Seokjin hyung,” Tae greeted tiredly. The informality of his tone surprising Seokjin. Taehyung spoke to him as if they were equals. This was new and welcomed to him.

“Good morning Tae, you look tired?”

“Mm,” The knight sat beside Jin who was currently pushing himself up on his mattress. Still wearing Tae’s red pants. “I slept outside.” Tae laughed.

Seokjin paled; “You didn’t have to do that! You must have almost frozen to death!”

“Mm, it’s alright. It’s my job now anyway,” Tae shrugged nonchalantly. Namjoon had assigned it to Tae after much nagging from the younger. Though the master of swords was oblivious Tae quite literally had power over all Knights, Guards and anyone who called to Namjoon. This was because Namjoon could not say no to Tae.

“Oh, sorry,”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Tae smiled shrugging, “I’d rather be here guarding you then guarding some unused door or getting thrown around a pit,”

Seokjin laughed at the younger’s expression of disgust. Tae smiled; his gentle laugh was unique for sure. High pitched and leaping. It was pleasant.

“Well,” Seokjin smiled clearing his throat, “You’re quite welcome to sleep in here tomorrow, there are eight room’s in here after all. None of which are being used except this one.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Tae smiled like a child. “Any plans for today?”

“Hmm, not really?”

“Well, I was thinking we could go for a walk down to the gardens,” Tae smiled in offering, “Really you can go anywhere as long as someone is around,”

“Oh,” Seokjin in the week he had been here had not been allowed anywhere else except in the palace. He longed to walk in the wilderness like he used to. Even though he was a common whore back then he had often spent his days in the comfort of the green forests that edge into the Quentainian capitol.

That was essentially how he found himself spending his days. Walking with Tae in the lush green palace gardens amongst singing sunflowers, lilting lilies and rambunctious roses. That was the second week, he had been in the palace and it was the best so far. Now, it was his third week. He had yet to see his master since the incident but he did not worry about it. He had pleasant enough company with Taehyung. The boy was boisterous and loud one moment and quiet and thoughtful the next. Seokjin hadn't learned much about him on a personal level, he was a lot more tight-lipped than Seokjin was. Once Seokjin had been filled with wine or compliments he could spill any secret he had. The whore wondered a lot of his friend and who he really was but he sensed an underlying pain and reluctance so he did not press the matter.

By his third week, Tae had begun to get restless with only walking around. That was how Seokjin had been forced to learn combat. He and Tae walked down to the rose garden every day and practiced for an hour before lunch. His life had become routine again and Seokjin enjoyed it.

Chapter Text

Jimin sighed softly, holding onto the high pommel of the horse’s brown saddle, his body aching and protesting as it had since he had been taken away. The more he rode, the more he was sure he would have less pain with the sport, his assumptions were proven wrong. After a few weeks of solid riding Yoongi also felt the pain. Their horse did too. Though it was still taken care of it did not have the pristine shine and glow that it once had. When they reach their destination, Yoongi thought, they would trade it off for another one.

Their relationship had not grown stronger nor worse. Words in their days were limited and were filled with no pleasantries. Yoongi mostly got his words across with grunt of annoyance and groans of displeasure.

It was late in the crimson afternoon now, the hazy sun dipping and banking low just above the golden green tree tops. They were riding steadily towards it which meant Jimin had leaned back twisting slightly to cover his face. His head resting upon his captor’s well-muscled shoulder. Yoongi had come accustomed to the unwanted feeling of Jimin leaning on him. The younger boy slept to often during their journey. Then again there was nothing else to do. Yoongi was not one to talk, once he was asleep, he was truly asleep. Nothing could wake him up.

Surprisingly most of his days as a child were spent asleep in the day time. He was a cat burglar after all. A nocturnal creature, swift-footed with quick fingers. He could lift anything off of anyone even now, granted he was rusty after all those years. Hoseok had always been better at it though. He was a devious little shit then just as was now. Yoongi had once watched him charm his way out of a situation in which he was in the wrong.

Yoongi still remembered it freshly, Hoseok in his Youth explaining to a burly butcher that he was not in his wives’ bed because he fucked her raw but rather, he was a healer ordained by the god of river lilies. Sent by his most beautiful floral lord to help the women bare child to the god. Yoongi was fairly sure that no child of a flower god came from her womb. Rather the child of a teenage idiot. Who, was too smart for his own good. Yoongi wondered how many tiny Hoseoks there were running around? Certainly, too many.

Hoseok and his-self had earned quite a name for themselves during their youth. Hoseok was the crafty pickpocket and leader of his own small group of thieves which he still led to this day. They were a subgroup of a larger group the at the time trio joined. Eventually duo.

Upon arrival in the dusty streets of Trairo after crossing the sea they had been immediately picked up by a group of pickpocket children. They had originally tried to pickpocket Yoongi but the then thirteen-year-old had shoved a knife near their throats. That was the end of their squabble. The leader of their group had stopped them from outright brawling in the docks of the desert city.

He was a crafty old bastard. His moral compass was a cracked one. His idea was that if you can’t provide for the family by paying up your dues you became the pay. The man was in league with the illegal slave trade. Slave buying and purchasing had been banned in Trairo but no one really paid attention to it. Especially when men like that crafty old bugger sold slaves to the city guards. They practically had ruled the slummy side of the city.

A group of children pickpockets that were run by an aging crippled man. It was a laughable idea but the Circled Sun as they had become to be known as a power to be reckoned with. Most people thought that they were made of men and women in adulthood but had younger children act as messengers. It was surprisingly the other way around. The children did the pickpocketing and thievery. Their tiny hand’s more adept at sliding into pockets. If they were caught, they were more likely to only loose fingers rather than a whole arm.

Their messages were passed between weary travelers in the form of ‘false’ rumors, which traveled to stall owners, which traveled to city guards, which traveled to palace guards which traveled all the way to the chieftain of Trairo. They were truly scary.

Yoongi fit in perfectly. His life long lasting nickname was gifted to him there. He was an odd looking one, Hoseok too. Though the tanned skin boy had fit in better than the ghostly pale one. He always wore black as he did now. Coincidence really. He had earned his nickname because of this. The Reaper was once the best thief in Trairo. Never had his face been seen. All they knew of him was that he had practically run the Circled Sun.

For many years he was feared by noble families, in one night he could have taken a fortune worth from their homes and have it littered about the city for unsuspecting beggars to find. Yoongi only gave the Circled Sun what they needed; the rest went to the poor folk. He had a hefty price on his head anyway so it’s not like he could have kept much or flashed his wealth. Yoongi wondered if he still had that price on his head?

The last time he had seen it was his last month in Trairo. He and Hoseok had decided that the life the Circled Sun had offered was not the one for them after some grueling events had taken place. The thought of the events still upset Yoongi though he wouldn’t let it on. After all the Circled Sun’s law was law.

Hoseok and Yoongi knew full well that they had no debts to the clan but also knew if they were to leave in the middle of the night without a hefty sum of money though would be hunted down by their fellow comrades. So, they hatched a plan. A plan that had earned Yoongi his infamous fear among Trairoan nobles. They had stolen directly from the chieftain. Took the one thing that gave him the right to rule. At the time Yoongi thought it was little more than an over bejeweled headdress. It turned out it was much more. By taking it from the sleeping chieftain he had not only thrown Trairo in upheaval but he also gave that crippled bastard claim to the clan of Trairo. Though the fool never took up on the opportunity. Yoongi was happy about that. He wondered if people still feared his name in that place? He had not been back to trairo since that day.

Ah, they were fun times. The times when he still lived along Hoseok and his honey-eyed little friend. Old times, but good times.

Jimin gasped suddenly causing Yoongi to straighten, up both out of annoyance and worry. “What?” He growled in agitation. A common mood for him.

“Do you hear that?”

“Mm?”

“River,” Jimin smiled, straightening his back. “Can we stop Mr. Min?”

“Don’t call me that,”

“What?”

“Mr. Min, that’s my dad,”

“What do I call you then?”

“Yoongi,”

Chapter Text

Tae yawned, he had been with the pink haired whore Seokjin all of the long week and he missed his darling Namjoon dearly. He had managed to get one of the younger knights, as scrawny and fresh-faced as he was, to stay and look after the whore. He had left the boy sat outside the red door, looking less than pleased. The boy was only fifteen suns, but Taehyung had known he would defend Seokjin well, truth be told Tae also knew the boy had a longstanding crush and devotion to him. Tae once more using his good looks and charms to his advantage. He was better at charming people then running them through with a sword. The knight, however, was still gifted in both.

When he had rounded the corner, which was in the east wing of the palace, the same as the harem, Tae immediately pushed the door to Namjoon's room open. It was not red like Seokjin’s, rather a dark almost burnt coloured wood with brass metal fastenings and heavy hinges. Namjoon was not there, meaning he was still in a tiring meeting with the tiring council members. Last week the king’s death had been made public and there were already riots. Not riots over who would rule, everyone had faith in Jeon Jungkook, even if the majority feared him. The best empires stood longer under the reign of a tormentor then the reign of a kind man. The rights, well, the riots were over an upcoming war. Many thirsted for blood yet the rest wanted no part in another noble’s war. Tae sighed. He was with whatever Namjoon sided with so he really did not care much for an opinion. Namjoon was good. He would know what to do. Tae would follow Namjoon to his grave for he loved Namjoon. As all good wh-. No. Tae shook his head. He wondered if people thought him mad? Every so often he would tick and shake his head to release him of his thoughts.

Squatting down he pushed a few logs onto the stone fire in their room. The dry log’s scratching his palms. Then striking a white coloured match he held the small flame over a clump of hay which was also left near the fire. Once it had sufficiently caught alight, and the hay was crackling orange in his palm, he dropped it into the pile of logs letting it slowly build up strength. It would take a while before there was a warming fire to bring warmth to the cold room. Tae sighed, it was not the first time in his life he had been cold, he could wait. Impatience never did anything good for anyone.

Standing up once more Tae groaned, rubbing his right thigh close to his groin. He was teaching Seokjin the best way to kick someone. He did not expect the usually timid pet to quite literally kick him. His bare foot slamming right into Tae’s upper thigh, inches from where it really would have hurt. Weirdly enough though Tae’s pride and dignity were hurt but he was immensely proud of the quick progress that Seokjin was making. It was as if he was made for a sword. Tae half wondered if he would be permitted to teach Seokjin ride. He also knew that if he asked for that then Namjoon would ask why he even thought of it. Then he would have to explain that he went off code and taught the whore to fight, which, he was not permitted to do by his protector or master. Then he would have to deal with a grumpy Namjoon for a week before he finally forgave him and gave into Tae’s charms.

Tae would do it anyway. Maybe not this week or next. Hell, maybe not even in the next ten years, but he would teach Seokjin to ride. He wanted to. Though Seokjin was older than him he reminded himself of his past. He wanted to help Seokjin open up more. The pet acted confident and sultry as he was taught to do. Deep down, Tae knew he was holding back a truly mischievous beautiful attitude that he had only ever seen brief glimpses of.

Sighing to himself he walked to Namjoon’s writing bureau and took a crystal decanter off of its length, pulling the glass cork off and putting it atop a pile of letters. He brought the dark cherry coloured liquor to his lips and took a swig.

“No glasses? I thought being around so many nobles you would have picked up some manners Kim Taehyung,” Now that was a voice he hadn’t heard in years.

“Hoseok,” Tae breathed.

Chapter Text

Jimin slowly sighed as soon as Yoongi had hopped off the horses sloping brown smooth saddle. His round arse sliding further down the saddle to where he would sit usually if it were not for the two of them being packed onto the same black horse. Jimin had strongly debated on walking until his feed bled throughout their tireless journey, he did not, however, trust the cheap quality of his ankle height brown leather boots though. They were not like Yoongi’s own which were rich, dark, smooth leather currently treading into grey, brown dusty leaves and pinecones. The browns crunching in with the oranges. Autumn was at its height, soon it would be winter. Jimin hoped that they would no have to walk through the winter. Their horse trailing along behind with clomping crunching hooves. Currently, the beasts long rein’s were seized in Yoongi’s bare palm.

Jimin bit his pink lip looking out among the greenly packed pine forest, a gentle smile on his gentle face. To his ears he gentle chirps and squawks of forest birds. Singing symphonies upon symphonies of calls to one another. Chirps and chimes. Chimes? Tinkering, Pickering water dripped and tripped a short distance away. The male, upon hearing the undoubtful call of a river immediately had perked up. “Yoongi?”

“Mm?”

“Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“The river?”

“The what?”

“I swear your deaf,” Jimin grumbled beneath his breath, “The river,”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Yoongi groaned. His body stilling with his face, brooding clouds hanging above head raining down upon the man’s slight shoulders. His only words were; “We need to get off the road,” which was less like speech more like a grumble of hums and ah’s.

He stopped leading them the way they were going, instead of heading off horizontally. Heading along the river rather than directly towards it. The tinkering followed them still, like fairy chimes and magic. Jimin slowly leaned down slightly ducking a stray twig filled dry branch that hung off like a limp appendage from the tree to which it was attached. The dark horse beneath him rolling with its swinging gait. His hips bobbing slightly with the motions. It was nice to ride alone, though Jimin feared he would never want to ride again after this. Most of his day’s for the past week’s were riding. Riding and well, more riding.

After they walked, well rode, deeper into the dense dark forest they had finally hit the river bank upon complete accident. By this time the red burning sun was touching the green rolling horizon and was soon to dip low, beneath its waves. The sky in front of them was the color of fiery bronze, behind them the colour of the blackest of ice. Waves of white snow hung in suspense across its silken lengths. Jimin smiled, breathing a deep breath in, the aromatic scent of pine, wet wood and river met him with a dense pang of nostalgia. “Off,” Yoongi sighed deeply and rumblingly, tying their horse’s rein’s around a tree.

Jimin sighed, mirroring his captor, his blissful peaceful moment was short-lived. Curling a tired leg over he allowed his body to drop to the forest floor, the dark soil soft due to their proximity to the river. If Jimin squinted, he could see it a short distance away through the undergrowth. Hanging like laundry on the line. The turning churning emerald green waters sliding and loping through the rolling ravenous landscape. Beautiful.

Patting the horse's muzzle he let the beast rest its head on his slight shoulder. His fingernails scraping along short black soft hair. It was greasy towards the root, Jimin sighed. “Yoongi?” The name was still soft on his tongue. It was strange to call him by his name, but then again, what else would he call him by? The man that stole him away during the night. The bogey man? What else was there?

“Mm?” The older male rose a straight brow looking over his shoulder with discontent amusement. He was unpacking his pack now, the bag looking almost deflated.

“Could I go wash at the river?”

“You won’t run away will you Jimin,”

No reply. Silence, chirps, and tinkering.

“You know there are bandits in these woods little lord,” A warning.

“I won’t run away,” A sigh. His small body already turning towards the rolling river. Leaving Yoongi where he was, squatted over the supplies.

Jimin breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to the river bank that offered him so much. To his content surprise, it was wet and sandy not mucky and mud cacked like the one at Highwaters. It was pleasant. Empty, secluded and perfect. Sat a short distance from the river bank he pulled off his boots, his feet were blistered and bruised from being shoved into them all day. Dirt in the shape of the seams of his boot’s pressed to his skin. He ran his hands along the curve of his foot relieving the ache in his wiggling toes.

Following the removing of his brown boots Jimin also tore away his white, no, it was grey now, tunic which sagged off of his frame. The overly large shirt getting folded and placed atop his boots so they wouldn’t get drenched. He shivered softly under the dim glowing eyes in the sky, they blinked down at him, his skin prickled up. He could tell that the river would be freezing, it wouldn’t bother him though. Not that much. After he pulled off his shirt his slack soon too followed. Once more he was undelighted to find his body battered and bruised. Jimin frowned, he did not like his pristine canvas white skin marred or scarred.

Sighing Jimin toed like a newborn at the slopping water before wading in. His breath held. Once he was in, he found it not to be as bad as originally thought. The water still cold did not chill him quite as much as possible. He let it lap onto his skin before sinking down. Knee’s pressed to the river bed, his hands massaging the water into his greasy scalp. He would give an arm or a leg for a pot of sudsy soap. He’d give even more for a proper feathered bed. Sleeping on sticks and stones was not comfortable. What was the saying? Sticks and stones could break your bones. Jimin was fairly sure they could do that, break bones. If they hurt this much to sleep on he could only imagine what damage they would do if thrown at a person.

Dipping down lowly Jimin took a cupped pale hand and brought the cool cold water to his warm hot lips. It tasted absolutely awful but his dry throat needed it. Ducking his head underwater he scrubbed harshly at his soft skin. He did this quite frequently, most of his time spent under lulling wondering waves, letting them wash him clean of dirt and worry until his mind, soul, and body was absent of all. He stayed in the river for quite a while. Until the sun had set deep and low. Eventually, he found himself shivering too violently to stay within the water's depth anymore. He was sat at the water’s edge. Letting the foamy green water lap at his toes.

His blissful moment of silence and peace were short-lived as they were interrupted by angry thundering footsteps. Jimin glanced over his shoulder to see Min Yoongi storming towards the river bed, his dark clothes like thunder and light skin like lightning. He was a short distance from Jimin when he reached the river bank. After a long moment, he scanned the riverbed his eyes landing on Jimin.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” He grumbled coming closer. Though upon seeing Jimin’s naked form he stopped and looked away, face turning a shade of red. A peculiar look upon the man’s cheeks.

“What’s the matter Mr Min?” Jimin chuckled darkly, all knowingly, standing up. His clothes a short distance away. It was surprising the amount of courage Jimin had gained when unclothed. Jimin was no virgin, he had lain with men and women of all sorts. Whores, nobles, commoners, the lot. This meant the lord could tell straight away that the man before him was most definitely the thing which he was not. “Never see a man before?”

“Man,” Yoongi scoffed, “More like a tiny little bra-,”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t see it,” Jimin cackled pulling on his slacks, putting ‘it’ away. “You can turn around now little miss riding hood,” the lord laughed. Yoongi turned around still beet red but managing to make eye contact as Jimin continued to dress. Jimin was half surprised he didn’t beat him there, turns out he had found Jimin’s remark most amusing.

Upon seeing Jimin’s smug smile Yoongi shoved him boyishly causing the smaller male to laugh. Yoongi seemed to be in a decent mood. Embarrassed, but not at all grumpy as usual. Who knew all Jimin needed to do was flash a bit of skin to get the male to act like putty in his hand’s.

Chapter Text

Namjoon’s plump dusty pink stained lips were parted invitingly, he sighed softly and harshly to himself, breath long and drawn. Behind him, closing, was his dark deep door to his study behind him. The heavy oak slamming, shaking and quivering on its hinges. As it closed violently it almost trapped his brittle ankle. Bones could break surprisingly easily. Namjoon, being as clumsy as he was, was one to know.

Though he was tall with long toned arm’s he had struggled to fit all the yellowed maps, ink smudged letters and an assortment of ancient parchment into his curled and furled arms. He had been called to visit the prince, not as the goofy Namjoon he preferred to be, but as the master of swords and war advisor to the king to be which men often foolishly feared. Now that one was a scary thought, not of himself but of Jungkook. The same child that once was scared of the kitchen cook’s shabby old cat that had a smashed in face and was missing an ear was soon to be King to the largest country in the known world.

A country that was once so formidable. A country once so superior. A country that was now in disrepair. Namjoon knew that in the surrounding regions, in the vast capital, it was alight in icey riots, but it was not as bad as the places outside the capital. Town and villages were burning and crime ran rampant. It was not a good time to be a Quentainian citizen. Soon, it would become even worse. Not only for their country but for the world known.

The royal houses bannermen had answered to their call. Not all, but a hearty sum. A hearty sum of loyal men and women prepared to fight alongside their allies. They all sent letters upon letters and with those letters came the few burly men they could spare. Namjoon was glad to see the ranks of the once formidable Quentainian army replenish slightly. A century ago no force could rebel against that army. An army so vast that it could not be contained in one city and was spread out through the entire country even up into the mountain ranges. Not even to mention the Navy. Tall warships once patrolled their waters, dark wood with black masts and blue flags. Some ancient relics still patrolled the water today. They were battered and old. True war dogs. They had not only the largest navy but the largest army, including a few mages in their ranks.

Ah, what Namjoon would do for a mage. The men of the mystic. He knew of only one in his entire life, he had been called into to help save Jimin when he was a child. The baby, only a few months old had caught the red fever. Namjoon never asked what he did to the baby to save him, even though he was curious. The idea of mages still was unknown to him in some regards. In fact, he highly doubted mages themselves knew what they were doing half the time. They had been known for going mad early on in life.

He hoped desperately the new biggest army known to the world didn’t have any. For every thirty men they had the mage could be worth even more. That alone was a fact to be worried about. All in all, the news he had to bring to Jungkook was bad. Not bad as in terrible. It was neither bad nor good. Adequate. Wars were not won on adequate abilities. Wars were not won by underdogs, even if the books had said so. No, wars were won by the strongest and for the first time in their country’s life, it was not the strongest. Its rival was much stronger. A rival soon to be upon them.

Namjoon clenched the papers tight to his chest, parchment crinkling, as he descended a tall loping spiral staircase. Stone stairs awaited him, each one shorter or longer than the one before, some high some lower. It was a bizarre hodgepodge of puzzle pieces stacked upon one another, layer after layer after layer after layers. Every so often a tiger colored lit torch brightened his way.

He was heading up towards the ancient council chamber. Heading up. He truly was heading upwards. He felt as if he were scaling the battlements of the city center. Yet these, well they were taller. Halfway up, his legs burned. For some ungodly reason, the blasted thing had been built into one of the highest spires in the entire palace. Not the highest, still it was stupidly tall. The highest spire which stretched tall above the rest was the prince’s own room.

It was no surprise how he kept his immaculate cut figure even if he did not gruelingly train every day as Namjoon did. He had to walk up hundreds upon hundreds of uneven precariously built stairs. Even then Jungkook could best half his knight’s in swordplay. A fright that had baffled Namjooon for the longest time. At least, Namjoon thought, the little shit can’t beat me. That was, he couldn’t beat the master of swords just yet. Only time would tell how well he progressed with his swords.

Truth be told Jungkook was actually more of an archer, but he didn’t let many people see that side of him. It brought grief to the man to think of it for the Jeon royal’s had always carried bows. In all the creamy oil paintings and woven hangings, they held the same golden bow. Men with thundering faces and women with faces of sun shooting arrows of starlight. The same elegant riser had been passed down through generations upon generations, the only difference was the curving limbs and taught strings of the bow. The relic still owned its original set of arrows. They too were tipped with gold however their shaft was made of thin durable metal. Soft blue feathers curled around the top, they were the hue of midnight. They, however, were framed somewhere in the palace library, left to collect dust.

Jungkook would never use the bow though as the last person to wield the beautiful item it was his sunlit mother, the late queen. She had been a fearsome huntress throughout her life and taught Jungkook how to wield the vicious weapon. Everyone’s heart ached when talking about the dead Queen. She was a kind woman loved by her followers. She was beautiful too. The source of Jungkook’s beauty was her. In her prime, she had long dark flowing locks, gently curved brows. Her lashes were thick atop her slanting warm doe eyes. Her petite nose perked. She had the prettiest smile which was framed by her red painted lips.

Her death was an untimely mystery to all. She was said to have died in her sweet soft slumbering sleep. Dead of an illness unnamed and unknown. An excuse the common folk took easily with sagging shoulders. Gladly taking the information shoved down their wanting needing throats. Though if anyone had been in the Palace in the months that had ensured it was plain to be seen that it was something much more. It was not a sad accident. No, the queen did not die of an accident. That much was painfully obvious to even the young child Namjoon. She most likely would have been murdered, who had killed her, they did not know. Namjoon half expected that it was the King that had killed his own wife. Men do not thrive often when living in the shadows of their wives. Jungkook believed he had done it too. The prince was never close to his father, the ‘death’ of his mother had driven any hope of a relationship akin to father and son away forever.

It did not matter though. Whilst Jungkook could have been spending time with his father doing whatever it was the king did, Namjoon expected it was most likely partaking with his whores, he had been laughing with Namjoon, singing with Jimin and on the rare occasion he would dance too. Jungkook was a splendid sultry dancer. With true talent and ear for the melody of music. Namjoon used to enjoy watching him twirl around, light and merry on his toes, Jimin twirling and twisting too. The older male was better than Jungkook, but both were still suitably skilled. Dancing to their own songs sung in their own voices. Jungkook singing warm hearty melodies whilst Jimin sprinkled in harmonies.

Namjoon never fully understood why Jungkook had changed or when. It had not happened suddenly he realized. Looking back on it now, the cold, distant Jungkook had always been there yet only in sudden glimpses. He had however only come to light in recent years. Namjoon would not press and ask him though. Not out of fear. Namjoon could quite literally beat the child up and Jungkook would still unconditionally love him. Though Namjoon would never do that for their brotherly love went both ways. Jungkook was like a little brother to him, though at most times Namjoon felt as if he was a grandpa constantly reprimanding his grandchild.

Namjoon continued up the flight of curling arching stairs, heavy breathing and panting becoming louder. Before Namjoon could even see the man, he knew straight away from his muttered grumblings it was the master of coin. The current chief advisor to the prince. Not for long though. Namjoon knew once the prince was crowned that his own job would be the chief advisor. “Good evening Master of Coin,” Namjoon spoke kindly, not stopping as he panted out a response with a wave of his hands.

It would seem that Jungkook was prepared for the news that Namjoon would bring.

The door, upon reaching the landing before the chamber, was left ajar. Namjoon could hear the crackling of the bronze lit fire in the room which cast the Prussian drenched furniture into a cacophony of mixed daffodil and rose lights. Tendrils of the fire leaping highly and warming the room. “Kook-ah,” Namjoon smiled upon entering.

“Thank fuck,” Jungkook smiled warmly, an action which was rare these days. “I was ready to throw myself from the balustrade.” Upon the council chamber table. A round granite thing made too harshly for its delicate environment was an assortment of letters and parchments.

“Not a good day then?” Namjoon joked gently, adding to the pile as he let down his own papers.

“No, and by the looks of it it’s only going to get worse,”

“I’m afraid so,” Namjoon sighed. “Shall I start with the good news or the bad news?”

“Good news,” Jungkook sighed too, rubbing his temples, “I think I need a refresher before I’m truly hit once more,” his hand was pressed to his heart. Feigning pain in a comical way.

Namjoon nodded opening up a list. Upon it they had the number of men under their lead from around the country. Twenty thousand men from Quentain. Though that was not surprising. The Quentainian capitol alone had centuries in order to grow. It took two day’s to from the border of the capital to reach the Palace. The Palace was surrounded by the busiest hub of trade known other than in Trairo.

Sat in the crook of a tall green capped mountain beside the churning blue sea they were secure here. They had the advantage of high ground when it came to battle In close quarters such as the city. They also had the royal navy stationed below in their own private port. Another large port stood for merchant vessels which brought goods from all over the world. They were a rich country.

The one thing Namjoon despised strategically about the country was its size. If they were to be attacked on land their men would be spread too far and too thinly to do any good. This is what made his life so tricky currently.

Their numbers still could not fully do which they wanted. Twenty thousand fresh-faced and battle-hardened men from Quentain. Three thousand strong-armed archers from Highwaters, it was all of their men. The small portion of land desperately wanted to see their lord returned to safety. Jimin was still unfound. One thousand seafaring men from Salthan and their accompanying battleships. Two thousand men from Garindal, a desert country bordering them. Finally a sprinkling of men from lords inside Quentain and small island bordering their coast.

No banners had arrived from Halin nor Trairo. The banners which they needed the most for they had the largest fighting forces. Halin was a country similar to their own minus the jagged snowy mountain range that had kept Quentain safe and distant from their neighboring countries. Trairo was a bizarre country with old relics and ruins. Its economy was driven through mainly crime but somehow managed to flourish. They boasted strange men with strange weapons and too many horses for a single army to own. Halin’s numbers were far scarier.

 

“Okay, so Twenty-five thousand isn’t too bad. As long as we don’t attack from the sea we should be fine,”

 

“Mm, that’s if the Vianian’s even let us get near to their shores,”

 

“Fuck, I guess so,” Jungkook nodded. “What’s the bad news?”

 

“Its about the banners that haven’t been called,”

 

“What of them? They could just be late,”

 

“Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke, the intensity in his soft tone clear, “Trairo is the only one that could possibly be late,”

 

“Halin then? What of them?”

 

“They aren’t bringing men to join our fight Jungkook,”

 

“They’re going to fight us,” Jungkook breathed, fear on his face. That was new for Namjoon.

 

“The Halin army was seen marching towards Quentain a month ago, the merchant’s that have arrived in the city in the last few days have started to speak of it. If they were seen a month ago we have possibly only another left to prepare. After all, they do still have to cross the mountain and with the number of men they have it will take a good few weeks,”

 

“How many?”

 

“How many what?”

 

“How many men Namjoon, how many men do they have?” Jungkook grumbled.

 

“Thirty-six thousand,”

 

“Fucks sake!” Jungkook growled. He turned around and brought his rapid ribboning anger out on the closest thing towards him. It happened to be an ancient painting, the thin canvas tearing beneath Jungkook’s curled fists as he brought his rage down upon it. That painting would have been priceless. Now, well it was worth nothing.

 

His hand still on the painting he breathed, “How many does Trairo have?”

 

“Possibly twenty? But who really knows, most of them are thieves and cutthroats. Not men of honour,”

 

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, “Men of honour don’t win wars Namjoon,”

 

“Jungk-,”

 

“I don’t care what we have to do, how much we have to pay, I am not losing Namjoon. If it means fighting beside cutthroats then so be it.”

 

Jungkook could not loose. He could not. He would not be a disappointment anymore. No more would he make a fool of himself. His father had died for this and he would not let it go even if he hated the bastard. Even if he in some forms was glad of his death he still headed his advice.

‘Be good Jungkook, do you know what that means? It means winning no matter what. You are nothing if you do not rise victorious over others. You will be little more than a common whore or vianian scum. Do you want to be that Jungkook? No? Then I suggest you stop failing me. There is a reason why your mother isn’t here anymore Jungkook. It was because of your failing. Your weakness. Your heart which gives too easily. You are weak Jungkook. You will never be a good king until you win.’

Chapter Text

Jungkook was just about done with everything, with everyone, with the world, when two new persons barged in uninvited into the golden bathed room. Jungkook stood straighter, stood taller, stood regal. Cold hands still pressed to the even colder granite table eyes fire with ice. His hands were hidden beneath the layers of maps Namjoon and himself were debating on prior to their intrusion. He was about to reprimand them, depending on who they are, have them flogged. His eyes met the honey-eyed, tanned skin man he had become to know as Namjoon’s companion. This, this had better be good. Very good. Behind the honey-eyed beauty, was a man with a maroon and gold embellished cloak pulled high onto his frame. The warmth of the fire radiating off of his features. He had no smile on his face, he was neither scowling nor was he beaming. His emotions were unreadable. Jungkook found him to be quiet attractive but the prince would not swoon for him. He had someone else he was swooning over, though he refused to let himself admit it.

“Apologies your highness, Namjoon,” Taehyung bowed deeply, his voice deeper. Behind him, the man made no move to bow, no dignitaries, which irked Jungkook slightly. In his life, only four people did not need to bow to him. Two of those were dead and one was taken in the night. Namjoon was the only one that was left to not bow to him.

“Who’s this Tae?” Namjoon looked up, dark eyes gazing across the peculiar matched pair. Taehyung wore no shoes, plain black slacks, and a knight’s black tunic, he must have come here in a hurry. Hoseok, on the other hand, was dressed in all sorts of mismatched finery. He was drenched in gold and silver, Jungkook half wondered if he needed to tie bags of stones to his feet in order to drown him. He could probably just thrown him in as he was. Namjoon was rubbing his temples. He too was bothered by the news he gave. The news that ensured the war to come.

“This is Jung Hoseok,”

“And who the fuck is that Tae?” Namjoon sighed out of irritation, he pulled out one of the large granite and metal chairs and took a seat down. The chairs were less than comfortable but it meant that council meetings were always precise and got the work done quickly. Jungkook half wondered if they were made strategically for this purpose, or just to cripple them all. Namjoon looked unbothered by the cold material pressed to his arse his long elegant fingers fiddling along torn, burnt and fraying edges of some of the yellowed parchments.

“H-he’s a broker,” Tae stepped forwards, closer into the light, that was after Jungkook too sat down. The prince covering his displeasured look as his body was instantly cooled by the chair. “He deals with uh-”

“Let’s just say I act as the in-between between one shady party and another,”

“Okay? What exactly does this mean Tae?” Namjoon raised a dark straight brow. Exasperation clear across his features as if someone had brushed them on with a bristled painting brush or carved them into his skin with a kitchen blade. Taehyung wondered if he’d angered his ma-his lover. He hoped most dearly he did not.

“It means,” Hoseok spoke, his voice soothing, he was fiddling with the gemmed golden rings on his fingers, “I was the broker for your missing duke,”

Out of nowhere, Jungkook moved. This was the man that had brought him so much pain, this was the man that had undoubtedly brought Jimin so much pain. With vigor to rival the rioting masses outside the palace he moved. Leaping over the table, booted feet sending papers and parchments flying in dusty clouds of yellow pages and black inwork. His reaching hands grappling around the leaner man’s almost breakable throat. He slammed him back against the wall, the male’s body resonating with the thunderous boom that was created. Jungkook grunted deeply, lowly and anamalistically. Lifting him up as if he weighed nothing more than the goose feathers his pillows were made from. “It's your fucking fault then,” Jungkook spat, spittle flying and hitting Hoseok’s warm skin, he was squeezing tighter at the male's throat. Feeling the wind move down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. Beneath his index, he could feel the blood flowing through his arteries. How easy, how easy, Jungkook could do it and be rid of the scum before him. He could do it. Do it quickly. Do it slowly. Did it matter? What matters is that he could do it. He would succeed. He could do it. If. If he wanted to that was.

“I,” the male wheezed, breathy and scratchy, Jungkook could feel the breath move. He could feel his vocal cords rumbling and vibrating. “Wouldn’t do that prince.” The final word was spat out made to seem as dirty as it was. People become princes because they were born into it. The reason they were born into it? Because their ancestors were murderous cutthroats that were stronger than their rivals. Jungkook was just like them, his father was too. Jungkook had to be like his father in order to survive, to succeed. To become king.

“Enlighten me as to why not?”

No words came from Hoseok, his throat compressed to harshly, only a knife was his answer. The dark blade made of silver shining steel and blood-red rubies pressed close into Jungkook’s ribs. Just enough to draw ruby scarlet blood, just enough to be noticed. Not enough to hurt Jungkook too much. Though the sting of the cold blade was unmistakable. Jungkook growled animalistically, slamming Hoseok’s head back against the wall before letting him go. The male’s skull cracking against the stone wall. As Jungkook walked away he had his hand rubbing over his ribs. The prince then slouched back down into his chair looking utterly deflated.

Hoseok coughed, raspy and needing before pushed himself back up from the Prussian blue floor. Bejeweled hands still clasped around his throat except for this time they were his own. “What do you want?” Jungkook sighed.

“Money preferably,” he wheezed.

 

“Done,” Jungkook grumbled in reply.

 

“A few ships?”

 

“Done, now tell me what you know and be gone,”

 

“Ah,” Hoseok sat down in the chair opposite Namjoon. He feigned an air of false ignorance, his feet propped up on the table. Crumpling the parchment below. Acting as if he didn't almost be choked to death. “That’s not how I work, I’ll stay with your men until the job is done,”

 

“The job?”

 

“Bringing back your Duke of course,”

 

“Why would we need you? We can do fine on our own,” Jungkook grumbled.

 

“Whoever wants him used a blood pact oh mighty princeling,”

 

“Blood pact?” Namjoon’s eyes brightened. His scholar side shining. He knew something of that, but only a scrap.

 

“It’s a deal made between two people over blood, once one is made these two people are bound until both sides of the deal are complete. If one was to refuse the blood pact their life would be forfeit”

 

“Who are these two people?”

 

“One is my brother, Min Yoongi,” Hoseok’s words caused Taehyung to groan into his hands. Was it because he knew of this Min Yoongi? Or was it because of Hoseok’s loose lips that spewed information too easily? Jungkook would no doubt interrogate the knight afterward. “The other I do not know, all I know is that he made a blood pact with my brother years ago,”

 

“What did this pact earn your brother?”

 

“Hmm?” Hoseok paused, “It made him the most wanted man in Trairo,”

 

“Is your brother by any chance the Reaper of Trairo?” Namjoon butted in.

 

“That would be him,” Hoseok said. At that Namjoon too groaned. The reaper was a formidable thief, pirate, and assassin. If it was illegal the reaper would have done it already.

 

“So this man that was involved with him wanted Jimin and called in this blood pact?”

 

“Exactly,”

 

“Do you know where they are bound?”

 

“Of course I do,” Hoseok laughed, “I am their broker after all. The message I received came from Vian,”

 

“Vian is a country, how the fuck does this Yoongi know where to go?!” Jungkook cried out. Once more his problems lead directly to Vian. It seemed Vian was the source of all his problems. It started off young when his mother was supposedly killed by a Vianian’s poison. Though the story later changed to a blade, then it changed to a thief in the night. There was also his father’s murder. He was killed by a Vianian ambassador, but from what he’d learned from his whore the man was no Vianian. Jungkook suspected he was of Halin origin. Now there was the issue of Jimin. Vianian’s must hate the prince.

 

“All was given to Yoongi was a place a date and a sum,”

 

“How much?”

 

“How much what your highness,” Hoseok’s voice dripped with amused mocking.

 

“How much was the duke’s life summed at?”

 

“One million,” Hoseok breathed. With one million you could buy yourself the world. If Jungkook had one million more he could fully buy himself the army he needed. The Master of Coin at the current moment has only been able to spare Jungkook one million, that was a lot. Yet Jungkook needed more. The odds were stacked against him and they continued to grow.

The room still and quietened. No one dared speak no one dared move. The room was plagued with the silence only found in crypts. The wind was all that stirred. Silence. The room was silent. Silence. It was Namjoon that broke that. “I volunteer myself Jungkook,”

 

“Namjoon you can’t go. I need you,” Jungkook looked up, the need in his voice. Namjoon was one of the few people left he had. He was literally the only one in the palace he could fully trust.

 

“You really don’t Jungkook, you are better at strategy than even me. Besides, I don’t even trust my own men to carry this task out. They are knights because they were paid for by noble parents. Their loyalties lie with the crown, not the duke,”

 

“I will go too,” Taehyung nodded solemnly. It's not like he would have a choice anyway. Where ever Namjoon went he did too.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake I might as well send my whore too!” Jungkook cried in disbelief, head in hands. Black tossed locks curling around his elegant fingers.

 

Hoseok stopped twisting at his own fingers. An object finally removed, placed in the palm of his hands. The man stepped forwards heeled shoes snapping on stone flooring. He then placed a golden ring on the table. A sun, A moon and a star all stared back at Jungkook. It matched the ring that he and Namjoon wore. Namjoon’s was made of pale pink rose gold, its engravings less prominent. Jungkook’s was of white silver, engravings the most prominent in some lights they seemed black. The gold before him, it was Jimin’s.

 

“I will bring your duke back to you prince Jungkook, and in return, you will give me three ships,”

 

“Why do you want the ships?”

 

“Well, I’ve been a thief, dabbled in assasinery, I think piracy would be a good notch under the belt,” Hoseok smiled, it was a bright one. Kind one. It did not fit Hoseok well. Jungkook did not know him. He could be the kindest person to walk the earth yet he’d still despise him. The prince and knights in the room all scoffed. “If we want to reach the duke before he crosses the sea we should leave by dawn,”

 

“Dawn it is,” Namjoon stood looking apprehensive. His hands running down the seams of his tunic by his sides. He was fidgety when nervous. He looked to Jungkook wondering what was going on in the prince’s mind. His mono-lidded eyes dark and full of what lied below, not in his head but in his heart. The man was torn.

 

“Go, pack,” Jungkook’s voice icy.

 

They did just that, exiting the room. Their footsteps fading away until all that was left was the crackling of the fire. Silence filled the room once more, though this time there was no Namjoon to fill it. Silence. Silence. Silence. It was overwhelming. All consuming. Unforgiving.

He needed Namjoon now more than ever, he was after all The Master of Swords. Jungkook would have to rely on senior knights mostly now with the upcoming battle. Yet then again if he kept Namjoon here he could not be certain that his companion would save the duke. The Duke needed to be saved. The Duke took pri- no. His country took his priority. He was soon to be king.

Growling he stood and stormed from the tower. Easily bounding down the multitudinous number of stairs. By the time he reached the bottom his skin was flushed and breathing slightly hitched. He let his legs carry him. Where to? He did not know until he got there. Until he stood before that tall red door.

Chapter Text

Jimin was rudely awoken. The sun above him glaring down angry and hot between the shady canopy of pine trees. The sound of Yoongi’s leather-clad footsteps rustling upon dried underbrush and dead leaves. Jimin found his side uncomfortable and cold now. Empty. They had after all been sharing the same lumpy sleeping roll for the past three months. The grey coloured material scratchy on his and Yoongi’s skin. They had spent nights upon nights hidden under a blanket to escape rain and cold. The others spent in awkward silence staring at the stars glistening between the treetops.

“Yoongi-ah?” Jimin croaked softly his voice hoarse. Jimin’s dark slanting eyes and sharp face still puffy from a long sleep. He rubbed at his lashed eyes like anew born. Seeming almost childlike in his posture. Jimin was still dazed from sleep. Sitting up now he glanced around the campsite. It was packed and ready for them to go, their horse saddled and ready to go with saddlebags on either hip brimming with items. They were ready, that was once they ate.

“Food,” Yoongi sighed dismissively. He grumbled something about the food whilst sitting back down. His arse pressed to a could moss-covered green rock. Propped over some precariously placed dark charred and burning sticks in their roaring red campfire was a large white and grey meaty fish. Head still attached and eyes boiling and oozing grotesquely. Yoongi tore off a bit, cursing at its heat. He placed it atop his cloak rather than the ground waiting for it to cool down slightly. His fingertips immediately plunged into his mouth, pink lips around his fingers. Jimin followed suit, though with a lot more dignity and regality. Sitting up on the bedroll and pulling away at the hot fish he too sighed like his captor. After a few minutes, it had cooled down, leaving only a small haze of steam above its tender white meat.

Jimin sank his sharp white teeth into it, mouthwatering. Absolutely mouthwatering. By no means was it pleasant. No, no, no. It was tasteless and soggy. It had more charisma than a grain of sand. Jimin had eaten far finer meats. Fish from all around. Red ones from Genisa. Blue scaled ones from Trairo. Even mud dwelling ones from Halin. Though after three weeks of stale green coloured cheese and charred burnt black bread this was heaven. Jimin was ravenous for it. His mouth salivated at the mere smell of it. After a few minutes, the pair had consumed the whole fat fish, their stomach’s achingly round.

The lord wondered where Yoongi had got it from. Obviously the river near them, but where did he learn to fish? How many trades did his captor know? How much? How much? How much? Too many.

Jimin stood up stretching his aching back and rolling up the sleeping roll as Yoongi snuffed out the fire.

He was very cautious. Yoongi only used the red and amber-lit fire when they absolutely needed too. He said it drew too much attention. Attention? Even then it was only a small fire. So small it did nothing for them. Nothing to help aid Jimin’s aching cold bones.

Jimin once again was wondering of his captor. Why was he so cautious? What exactly had led him to spook at the slightest noises? Jimin thought he acted similar to a cat, spooked easily but not afraid to attack. Not to mention the almost feline way he carried himself. He reminded Jimin of that fat black mouser Jungkook was once afraid of as a child.

Before they headed off again Yoongi properly watered their beast of a horse and combed its mane down. Its coat was dirty and had leaves sticking to it. It must’ve rolled around in the forest floor while they slept. So be it. If the horse wanted to be a complete mess, then it a complete mess It would be. Jimin had little cares for the creature. It bit him three times already and was nothing compared to his elegant chestnut mare. The creature had the gentlest eyes and such a nice temper. Jimin’s heart ached for her.

His heart was doing that a lot. Aching. Mourning. He mourned his home now. The white veiny gold marble and black harsh cut stone palace built high into an evergreen seaside mountain. The sprawling bustling city of houses upon houses beneath it. The fresh green sea scented wind brought in from the harbor which curled and tinkled around wind chimes. The way the amber dandelion sun dipped between the crook of two green fuzzy hills on the horizon every night. Most of all, Jimin missed the company.

He missed Jungkook, not the Jungkook everyone else knew. Not the steely-gazed cold monster of a man the crown prince had come to be. No, he missed the soft-eyed Jungkook with laughter to set the sky alight in stars. The way his nose crinkled softly and so did his eyes when he laughed. Jimin remembers those fondly. Jungkook was not related to him but he was a brother. His other brother Namjoon, he missed every part of him. He was not like Jungkook who hid his true nature. He wore his true self proudly. His clumsy, goofy self. His curiosity of the world. His gentle smile and almost motherly actions. Namjoon was the big brother.

Jimin frowned, that made him the middle child.

Sadly though, it was not as if he was without company, he had Yoongi. The cold-hearted man himself had been known to, on the rare occasion, crack a few jokes. Jimin found himself stuck between how to feel towards the man. He went from fearing him, to hating him, to now? Well, he didn’t know. He simply couldn’t comprehend it. It was in-between tolerance and a possible acquaintance. Jimin wanted neither. Yoongi was the man that had stolen him away from his cushy life of safety. Yet he could find no reason to hate him and because of that Jimin hated himself most.

Jimin watched as Yoongi pushed himself up into the brown sloping saddle. His feet left dangling freely and simply leaving the stirrup free. Jimin pushed his own boot into the stirrup and with surprising flexibility and expertise maneuvered himself in front of Yoongi. Jimin thought it probably would have been easier if he sat behind Yoongi, but he did not feel like asking. Besides, it means that the older male often shielded him from wind and rain. Who was he to complain?

“Watch it,” Yoongi growled like a wolf as Jimin nearly booted him in the face whilst getting on. The heel of Jimin’s foot nearly taking out his eye.

“Don’t be a baby,” Jimin growled in return. He was becoming less shy and hidden towards the male. Which scared him. He should be scared; he should be whimpering. This man was supposed to be a monster. Yet Jimin, even though every time he did it regretted it, was boisterous as always.

Jimin sat down closely on the saddle, hand’s gripping into the horse’s mane as they began on in a low loping walk. He could feel Yoongi doing his best to keep a distance. Ever since Yoongi had untimely come across Jimin last night there was an awkward aura between them. Anybody would think that Yoongi had a crush.

Chapter Text

Jin was laid sprawled open and invitingly upon silken ruby cushions, the red velvety smooth fabric woven neatly and curled around his slender pale body. Stomach pressed to their billowing churning folds. In his long elegant hands was a russet coloured leather-bound book, words upon words scrawled before him in thick black ink. Scrawled before him like the roaring red rambunctious fire. Crackling and churning in the lit hearth casting a burgundy warm tone on the already blood red painted room, curling around every pillar, every column and every curtain casting marine toned shadows across the room and the plains of his sculpted back.

Seokjin’s skin pale as the moon was carved out heavenly by the contrasting warm and cool tones scattered and littered across his arched back. That same light reflecting ghoul like in his dark shining eyes. His brow furrowed as he concentrated on the symbols before him. Half was written in loping Vianian scrawl the rest in dark handwritten block Quentainian.

Jungkook wondered what Seokjin was reading. Well from here it looked more like he was struggling to read. He cursed under his breath every so often in a language unknown to Jungkook. Vianian, Jungkook realised. The melodic lilting tongue and blight to his ears.

The prince ever so slowly closed the red door behind him doing his best to let it swing shut without a sound. In a room draped so heavily in a thick cottony blanket of silence the crack of the door, the hinges, and the lock turning, cut through that cottony blanket like scissors. The prince almost winced at the sharpness of it. So too did Seokjin, the whore practically leaped out of his skin. His eyes were wide like a doe. “Y-your majesty,” Seokjin squeaked. Quickly he tumbled to the carpeted floor, knee’s cracking on the floor, hands beside his head. The whore bowed pressing his pick head to the floor.

Jungkook sighed walking past the whore leaving him bowed down on the floor. Ungracefully yet also regally he sunk down low into the pillows on the floor. One leg bent and arched towards his body. The other long and languidly laid before him. His thumb pressed to his lip, rubbing back over his skin. He had his brow furrowed in thought.

They stayed like that for a moment more, stuck in heavy, suffocating, all-surrounding silence. No breathing filled the warm air of the room. No words. No, well, no nothing. Except for the involuntary sigh, Seokjin let slip past those crimson red lips of his as he straightened his back. Curling backward like cat, spine arched deliciously. Slowly he stood. His form and demeanor graceful, not commanding like Jungkook’s was. No, it was almost ethereal. Seokjin had the beauty to rival a god, Jungkook haphazardly thought. “Master,”

“Seokjin,” Jungkook looked up at him with his gentle cruel eyes. Thumb still pressed to his lips. Seokjin would have been a fool to say Jungkook wasn’t handsome. He would also be a fool to see Jungkook’s true thoughts of him. Jungkook was the first man, first handler he had that hadn’t been cruel to him. Sure, the man hit him, and his stupid impulsive actions had almost seen him raped. Jungkook even through all of this still held guilt over his actions and Seokjin knew it, he also saw the way that Jungkook kept a protective eye over him. At first, it was his failed eunuch guards. Then it was Namjoon. Seokjin was fairly sure Taehyung protected him out of boredom. Now, however, Seokjin was noticing much more. Staring kitchen maids bringing him his food every day. Servant boys trekking down the east wing on ‘business’, they always lingered by his door, listening.

It hit Seokjin all too late that his name was uttered on the prince’s lips. His name. Not ‘whore’ not ‘cotton head’, his name. Seokjin.

The whore almost gasped. Instead, he feigned ignorance, letting the brief moment of surprise wash over him. “What brings you here my prince?”

“Who told you, you could speak to me?” Jungkook glanced up and away from the fire and into Seokjin’s eyes. The pink haired man immediately shrunk back. After a long pause the prince sighed, not used to such meekness. Most often he was speaking to Namjoon who often verbally abused Jungkook if he was in a crappy mood. “If you must know I needed somewhere to think,”

“Oh?” Seokjin’s dark wavering eyes lit up. Information.

It occurred to Jungkook that the man had been starved of this. He had been locked up in his room for almost a month. Did he even know what day it was? Jungkook once more found himself feeling guilty because of the ill’s resting upon Seokjin’s broad shoulders. Once more he hated himself for feeling guilty. Once more he felt himself giving into his barrier of strength and caving in. His father would disown him here right now if he still breathed.

“We’re at war Seokjin,” Jungkook chuckled. The idea was bizarre to him. For the first time since that night, he truly admitted it. Saying it out loud like that, scattering it out so carelessly on the wind, truly meant it was happening.

“What?” Seokjin whispered, fear evident in his eyes. Jungkook had noticed him trying and failing to conceal his emotions. For this, he felt sympathy towards. Jin was inside constantly at war with emotions like Jungkook, yet he was not skilled enough to conceal as Jungkook all too easily did.

“The Halin army is marching this way, Trairo will no doubt soon join,”

“B-but Halin and Trairo are our allies? Or have I gotten that wrong?” Seokjin frowned.

Jungkook wondered how much about Quentain the whore actually knew. From the prince had pieced together Seokjin was a free man raised by a Vianian mother in Quentain until around ten? Possibly younger, as the slavery laws in Quentain are far too lenient. That meant that most of what he had learned before entering slavery had been of Vian. Jungkook felt once more, pity. For this he was stupid. Jungkook is soon to be a king. He should not be feeling this way towards a common street rat.

“They were,” Jungkook bristled, “But those greedy fuckers in Halin want more,”

“More what?” Jin looked dumbfounded. His innocence and ignorance amused Jungkook enough to allow on a small genuine smile.

“Land Seokjin, Land and the wealth it brings,”

“Oh,” Seokjin mumbled. His eyes looking up to the right in thought. It was almost as if he was processing each word and burning it into his memory. Jungkook could see the thirst for knowledge Jin had in him. Pity. Pain. Regret. Disgust. It was a vicious cycle that he entertained whenever he spoke freely. “What do you plan to do?”

“There isn’t much I can do,” Jungkook sighed. Pity. Pain. Regret. Disgust. “I have called in all my banners except one. I just hope that they reach us in time before Halin truly lays siege to Quentain,”

“No army can set siege upon a city as vast as this,”

“No, but they will take the upper section and pillage the lower section,”

Seokjin took on the pallor of death. Quentain’s capital could be divided into three sections. The first two were vastly spread out consisting of clustered towns surrounding the upper section. It took two days from the outer section to reach the inner section. Every section was divided neatly by class. Poor. Middle and Upper. The sections were also divided by walls though the first two were compromised nearly three hundred years ago and left to become ruins. The only functional wall still standing was the one around the upper section. If the Halin army marched this way the bulk of their society would be wiped out. “T-they can’t do that, so many people will die,” Seokjin breathed, heart, aching for them.

“War is war,” Jungkook said plainly, “People die.” His eyes were black as coal. It scared Seokjin to a degree but he didn’t let it show; “And some just,” a pause, “Disappear,”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who disappeared Master?”

Jungkook laughed. Partly at the new name, he found himself being called. It was comical in a way to him as it made him almost cringe every time the ignorant man said it. Yet he could not bring himself to ask the whore to call him something else as to do so would admit to weakness. The rest was at the long list of people in his life that disappeared.

“Too many people disappear Seokjin,” Jungkook’s voice was tired. Once again Seokjin was hit by his name. So odd. So peculiar. It stung. Not in a bad way. In relief. Jungkook was cruel to him before, oh so cruel but now? Well, Seokjin didn’t know. What he did know is the man presented before him was at war with himself. Let alone a war with other countries.

“Oh?” Seokjin pressed.

“Leave it whore,” Jungkook growled. It was not as harsh as spewed out before. Seokjin took his master's order though. Obviously, it was a touchy subject. Seokjin took note of this.

“As you wish,” Seokjin sighed, leaning further back into the pillows. His index fingers trailing along the fringed seam of one of the larger ones.

“Whore,” Jungkook yawned, looking almost childlike. Innocent.

“Yes, master?”

“Tell me about your upbringing?”

“Are you sure you want to hear it, master?”

“Mm,”

“It’s not a pleasant story for the most part,”

“I was never one for fables anyway,” Jungkook rubbed his brow, fighting off his sleep.

“Well, I guess it starts with my birth,” Seokjin chuckled. It was nice. Different, strange and extremely peculiar noise. But Nice. “I was born in Vian, I’m not sure where my mother never said,”

“How did you come here?”

“Ship of course,” Seokjin looked at him dumbly for a second. Jungkook could have sworn he had the mannerisms of a blond, not a rose gold. “Oh,” he finally understood, “My mother never gave me a reason as to why she left. I always assumed she had difficulties with my father, who ever he is.” The whore nodded, “On arrival, my mother said their ship crashed, at the border of Quentain and Garindal. My mother decided she would find more help in Quentain then Garindal as she knew the tongue,”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How did your mother know how to speak Quentainian? She must have been high born,”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that she was high born my lord. She had a way,” Jin smiled reliving the memory, “She was proper. Perfect almost. She carried herself with such grace and dignity. My mother was-,” He paused looking sad. His tone changed, hardened.

“It doesn’t matter what she was. I guess she learned Quentainian through her education. Though she was never any good at it,”

“I-I was five when I joined the slave trade. I wasn’t the best at thievery and after being threatened with limb removal for the fifth time I had decided I had two options. Slavery or death.” Jin sighed, “My mother put in too much work for me to just throw my life away,”

“Your mother sounds like a lovely woman,” Even, Jungkook thought, if she was Vianian born.

“She was,” Jin skipped over that quickly. The subject of his mother a touchy subject too. It seemed they had one thing in common.

Jungkook also noticed that he skipped out a large chunk of his life. His golden years of childhood almost completely missing. From birth to the age of five he had neglected to spill. Jungkook didn’t want to press, if he did that, he would feel pain, guilt, regret then disgust.

“My first master, well he wasn’t too bad. At first, I was a laborer, just small things, things like helping build people walls and other things. I wasn’t strong then, but my first master saw potential in me for well… my current line of work. He was a strong man; he resembled a bear actually. For years I had nightmares of him, he was just so…gross,” Seokjin turned his nose up looking absolutely disgusted, “After him, though I was more, let’s say, acclimatized to my work,”

Jungkook stayed silent.

“My second one was worse,” Seokjin nodded. Once again, he left out a large chunk of his life. Jungkook was interested. He wanted to know more. No, he needed to. He would not be starved of information. “You want to know more, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You have that look in your eyes, your curious,” Seokjin nodded.

“Your good at reading people,” Jungkook said with surprise.

“I may not be good at hiding my emotions, master, but I am quite good at reading others. My job does depend on that much,”

“Fair enough,” Jungkook nodded, “And yes, I am curious but-,”

“It’s fine,” Jin sighed, bottom lip quivering slightly; “You are my master after all,”

Jungkook stayed silent. He knew he shouldn’t. He should have said something. He should have told the whore to stop being foolish and to keep his secrets secret. But his ignorant thirst and curiosity for knowledge and hunger for it drove him to stay silent.

“My second master was cruel, he didn’t beat me as much as he would other slaves. He wasn’t abusive in that regard. He found other ways. Snide comments. No food. He’d make the rest of his slaves hate you, so you sat alone, ate alone, lived alone. He was a cruel man who I would wish a world of pain on,”

“How old were you? It’s just you skipped over a lot…”

“By then, I was eight,” Jin nodded. Eyes glassy. In his dark lashes’ stars dance threatening to spill into the creamy white sky of his cheeks. They did not for the sun still shone in Seokjin.

“My whole life I was a laborer, I spent my days doing hard, hard work. The work I had suffered on my first night with that man was the hardest in my life,” Seokjin bit his lips, “I-I was eight. Eight,”

Seokjin took a moment to recompose himself. Sniffing slightly and running his bare hand across his eyelid. An indrawn breath caught between his lips. Jungkook wanted to reach out and comfort him. Just like his mother wou-. He forced that thought back down into the bit of his empty soul and stared at Seokjin blankly, waiting for him to continue.

“He was the one that broke me in. You see, up until then, I was allowed to act free beneath my iron collar. I acted as a normal child would. Sure, I got the occasional belting, but that was normal. Kids get beaten by their parents, it’s just how it is. After him, I was a child no more. I was a whore by the age of nine. My mind is so wizened by my time there I felt as if I have more knowledge of the cruelty of the world than an aging old wise woman,” Jin smiled.

“By the time I was fourteen I had traveled practically everywhere in Quentain. I had slept with people from practically every country on the continent. I had been to the capital twice. On the third time was the last time I found myself in his company. Do you remember that drought that happened? It bled the country dry and dry and never seemed to stop,”

“Some, I wasn’t that old at the time,”

“Well, that drought which had killed so many had saved me,” Jin smiled. “He sold me for quite a lot to a rich whoremonger in the city. Out in the lower region. That man was my favorite master. He built me back up to some degree. Until I was work ready,” Seokjin laughed cruelly, “That man taught me the importance of obedience. I genuinely thought he loved me,”

Jungkook was about ready to vomit. Hearing this story made his gut churn and his face storm. This was a new experience for him. Pity, yet this time it was not followed by regret nor disgust. It was followed by anger. He was not angry at the whore, rather his masters.

They had broken a child and they had broken a man down into have such a dependency on them until the man had believed they loved him. No doubt Seokjin would have once believed that his master beat him out of compassion. Jungkook knew prior to this that he had a dependency of sorts on his masters, but not to this degree.

He had seen how the whore had wilted in the weeks spent in lavish lush freedom away from his master and bloomed under his cruelty. Jungkook had hit him, taken his anger out on him and almost had him raped, yet Seokjin’s loyalty to him on seemed to strengthen each time. Each time he saw the whore the pink haired man, yes, would still hide away but he was more comfortable in Jungkook’s shadow than before. It unnerved him.

“He never loved you Seokjin,” Jungkook whispered.

“I know. He never loved me. No one will ever love me, master. I am a used vessel. No one want’s me, not even you,” Jin smiled sadly. Oh, how wrong he was. Seokjin had already charmed both Namjoon and his companion into friendship. Give Seokjin a friendly unbound knight and in a few months, the whore could have him begging on the knees. Give him a prince? Well, that would take a much longer time.

“What happened after him?”

“Oh, well,” Jin looked down. His emotions once wiped clean again. There was still a haze of sadness, yet it did not linger long on the whore. “You know the rest,”

“Mm, I suppose I do,” Jungkook nodded.

“What else do you want to know master?”

“Nothing I would willingly pry from you,” Jungkook murmured. “Not after that,” in the three words, he let a tiny shred of himself free. He let his weakness show. Jin, captured those shreds and remembered them well for this was the true Jungkook before him. A man that was capable of compassion, guilt, sadness, and honesty. Not the cruel soulless king to be.

“You said you could stomach it, I’m sure you too have some gruesome stories,”

“None too,” he paused, “That degree,”

Seokjin smiled softly and chuckled. Jungkook chuckled too, his eyes crinkling around the corners softly. “What about your mother?”

Seokjin’s face fell again. It seemed Jungkook was in a prying mood, a mood that Seokjin did not like on his master.

“What of her?” Seokjin’s voice was almost hostile. It was amazing how one person could change from such a pleaser, who would willingly give up and arm or a leg to make ones master happier than the next moment be so hostile. Seokjin was just that. His mother was the one good thing in his life, sure she had not been a constant throughout it. Her memory however had.

“Not a good topic huh?” Jungkook murmured, eyebrow raised.

“No, it is not one I wish to share, not willingly at least,” Seokjin glared at his own hands. He was not angry at Jungkook, nor was he angry at himself, in fact, he was scared. So utterly scared and paralyzed in the feeling of fear. He had built walls upon walls of that memory, those walls throughout his life had been untouched unscathed. No one. No one ever, ever asked him about his mother. Until this night. He had stupidly let a shred of her out, let it fly on the wind. Stupid, he was so stupid. The most beloved person in his brutal life and he had in some forms dishonored her memory.

“What would be your reaction if I ask you of your mother?” Seokjin whispered, voice a tone of fear and wrath.

The wrath that mirrored Jungkook’s face. It was no secret that the subject of the dead queen had been a touchy subject for Jeon Jungkook heir to Quentain. It was in many forms one of his only weaknesses. Jungkook had for the briefest moment let his whore, his own property, see a glimpse at his weakness and the real him. Out of what? Pity? Yes, to some degree. Longing? Oh, too much.

Yet that whore, that cotton haired man used Jungkook. While his back was turned, and his body spread whole for the whore to lay picking at. He stabbed him. Jungkook who had for the briefest moment shown him compassion even if he did pry into his back story had shown him some cruel sort of way friendship. He did not belittle Seokjin. Nor did he cruelly abuse him. He was kind. This? This was his repayment for that. Seokjin. Seokjin had betrayed him. He thought this whilst hurtling through the halls of the palace looking like one of the seven sins himself, of wrath.

Maybe, maybe his father was right? Maybe Jungkook’s true weakness was his carelessness. Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook was weak.

Chapter Text

Tae shivered softly he was alone now in the bleak stables; his elegant hands were curled tightly around the dark reins of two large horses. He shivered ever so softly, breath turning to fog before his honey eyes. The marine blue haze of the morning light drafting in through the shutters of the stables mixed in with his foggy breath. Its light cast hazy shadows across the expanse of the smelly stables. Hay bales looked grey in the light and the warm coloured wooden stable gates seemed to look almost black.

Blacker than Namjoon’s own horse. Taehyung was nervous around the brute. Its tall figure stood confidently, corded muscles tense in its legs. The horse’s mane had been cut short and it stood on end. It was a lot different to his own one, a gift from Namjoon years ago. Though then the mare had only been young. It was pure white, with a short soft silken shining coat and curly white mane. It had a gentle temperament which suited Tae well. Taehyung knew perfectly well why Namjoon had given him such a timid creature, but he didn’t mind, least he wasn’t wrestling for control constantly.

In the distance, the clicking clacking of horse’s hooves pricked his ears. It seemed Hoseok was early today, Namjoon was still fixing up Tae’s armour and weapons for him. They both spilt the jobs between them leaving Tae to scavenge the castle kitchen’s and tack up the horses. Even if Namjoon’s brute had bitten him. Taehyung almost cuffed the beast before he controlled himself. Remembering that if he did do that the beast would probably do him twice as bad.

“Taehyung,” Hoseok whispered.

His horse still trotting towards them slightly. It was tall still but not nearly as fearsome as Namjoon’s. It had large brown splotches across its mostly white body with a fully white face. He got down from the horse a small smile on his face. It was strange to be back with Taehyung after so many years apart. Yet even though there was a lack of words there was a strange comfort there too. Hoseok had grown up with this man, they had slept together, ate together and did everything together whilst they lived in Genisa.

“Hobi,’ Taehyung sighed. He stepped forward and pressed his body to Hoseok’s own. Curling his arms around Hosoek, “I missed you,” his voice had a childlike charm to it. It was amazing how good it felt to finally say those words to Hoseok. Especially as he doubted, he’d ever see the man again after their separation. There was so much between them that he could not not miss him.

“Oh?”

“What?” Taehyung smiled softly stepping back. Hoseok wondered if he had always been this meak.

“I thought you didn’t, especially not after last night,”

“Oh,” Taehyung laughed, “Duty first, I am a knight now.” The younger one joked.

“That’s scary,”

“Mm, not as scary as Yoongi hyung,”

Hoseok chuckled nervously, “Yeah, he lost control for a while there,”

“Mm, h-how is he?” Taehyung looked at him with wide eyes. “It’s just for a while all you heard of was the reaper, everyone spoke of it, and now…” he paused, “Well we don’t hear of him,”

“He’s fine, he’s actually the one, he-,” Hoseok trailed off unsure of how to approach it. He had been told first hand from Namjoon that this was a touchy subject and that Taehyung though looked strong was the complete opposed. There were just some things the human mind nor body could get over. Taehyung had gone through those. Hoseok wondered if Namjoon blamed him for the ill’s befallen on Taehyung. Hoseok did too blame himself for the events that tore them apart. For the events that had rendered his once-fearless Tae to a delicate breakable item. Namjoon had lectured Hoseok before now on how to act around Taehyung, stressing that he wasn’t the same. Yet looking at him now Taehyung saw the same boy, sure he was no longer a teen but a man. It was still Taehyung.

“He?” Taehyung pressed. Hoseok had zoned out once more.

“He took Jimin-,” The older male eventually said.

“But-,” Taehyung looked surprised.

He knew Yoongi was a killer, he himself had seen Yoongi in his youth slit open men’s throats. Taehyung himself had done so in order to survive. Yet now, now that it was Jimin Yoongi was terrorizing it was worse. A lot worse. Taehyung in some strange way felt guilty. This was his brother, not his blood but his brother that had stolen away the Duke. The Duke did not deserve this. He did not. Jimin was too sweet to kind for this torment to be bestowed so evilly, cruelly upon him. He was too delicate for this hardship.

“But what?” Namjoon yawned lazily walking in. He missed the rest of their conversation at least. Taehyung knew Namjoon wouldn’t be angry at him for his curiosity, but he did not know how he would react.

Taehyung’s life was here, beside Namjoon. Besides his companion. The man that had in many ways saved him from himself and still was saving him.

“Nothing Nam,” Taehyung smiled softly. “Did you bring my bow?”

“Mm,” Namjoon nodded. It seemed this was too earlier for the master of swords. The man lived a structured life of ease, the dawn wake-up would have thrown off that schedule of his. Taehyung was unbothered, he often awoke at strange hours in the night and slept at odd hours in the day. Whenever he could catch a break from his nightmares he would sleep, if not he would restlessly walk the halls until he could walk no more.

Namjoon side eyed Hoseok whilst handing over a long dark wooden bow and a quiver full of black-tipped arrows. Taehyung smiled, fingering through the arrows and counting them before slinging the bow over his shoulders and strapping the quiver to his belt. They sat snugly against his hip and thigh. Once he had set them onto his frame well Namjoon had handed him a simple dagger. It was long and straight coming up to a fine point. The scabbard concealed it for the most part, but he could see a fine leather hilt. Tae smiled and tuck it from Namjoon, slinging it around his belt on the opposite side of his hip.

Disdainfully Namjoon glanced to Hoseok; “I assume you have your own weaponry?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Hoseok pulled aside on edge of his cloak revealing the leather harness around his slim upper body, knives upon knives lined his torso. He most definitely did not need any weaponry. In fact, Namjoon wondered if it was quite possibly too much. Then again look at the number of jewels on his fingers and his over joyful personality Namjoon got the vibe that he was quite, let’s say, extravagant.

Namjoon just nodded emotionlessly and took the reins of his horse from Tae. Gently he guided the leather straps over his horses’ soft ears. Making sure they fell down, close to the saddle. Then shoving his foot into one stirrup he with practiced ease pulled himself up onto the horse. Taehyung followed suit with equal grace, it was Namjoon after all that had taught him to ride. Namjoon had taught him a lot. More so that Taehyung’s own parents, where ever they were.

Chapter Text

Jimin loudly yawned, childlike and innocently. His dark obsidian hair stood out in curling tufts due to the angle at which he had been curled asleep. Untill that was he was awoken. He ran a tiny pudgy hand down it, his birth mother, Jimin thought would be appalled. That was if he had one. “Jimin,” A soft hesitant voice whispered. The noise echoing through the room and into his very bones.

 

Jimin blinked and looked around. He was curled up on a plush deer and rabbit fur ottoman at the end of his tall sprawling bed. His room was huge, more of a museum than a room. It was the customary room of any lord or lady living in the palace, and he had it all to lonesome. That was when his friends weren’t bothering him.

 

He didn’t like it though, it was drenched in black, like everything in the old parts of the palace. Dark. Jimin didn’t like the dark. Not many people did. The queen didn’t either. She always had a light on in her room. Jimin was confused at first when he had realised it but now, he had realised they shared the same fear of the dark.

 

The queen hadn’t quite yet gotten around to replacing everything. The vast majority of the place was now clean-cut white marble. Only a few parts remain cut out of dark black stone. Stone as dark and black as the child’s eyes that now stared at him. “Jimin,” he whispered again, this time a little more harshly.”

 

“What?” Jimin whispered back, blinking at the harsh candlelight. “Can’t you sleep?”

 

“No,” Jungkook admitted. Eyes wide. Jimin doubted that very much, no doubt the young prince just wanted to play. “Jimin?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you want to play?”

 

“Not really,” Jimin muttered.

 

“Jimin?”

 

“What?”

 

“Will you play with me anyway?”

 

“Always,” Jimin smiled. He clambered down from the ottoman. The seven-year-old shivering at the cold touch of the tiles beneath his bare feet.

 

He walked, more like stumbled over to where he had left his shoes and coat. Dark leather ankle boots which were a hassle for his tiny chubby hands to tie and long blue cape, tied at his neck. Jungkook wore black. It was either black or white, one of the two. White if his mother dressed him black if the palace servants dressed him. He did however have a burgundy jacket on that was far too big for his tiny frame. Everything seemed too big for the five-year-old. His hair was long and fell to his brows, his eyes too large for his smiling face. He was adorable.

 

The two after a long time had scrapped the idea of playing as they simply couldn’t see. Their lantern was long distinguished. “Jimin?”

 

“What?”

 

“Let’s go explore?”

 

They did that. For a long time actually. Until the guards had changed rotation and until all the stars were bright. The halls were dark and silent. Eerie. Silence in itself is a scary thing. The idea that all was supposedly empty. That nothing moved, lived or stirred here. Or, silence could be terrifying for you did not know what was in front of you, what was there.

 

Jungkook knew that. He had never been afraid of the dark as most people had as a child. He enjoyed it actually when the dark came, he too shone like a star. Finally, free of watching eyes.

 

“Jimin?”

 

“What?”

 

“Hold my hand?” The younger boy pouted. There was no response. Jimin took his hand and squeezed it. Truth be told they were both scared. Jimin of the dark. Jungkook of silence.

 

They found themselves wandering about the empty palace looking for more fun, more challenges. That’s when they came across it. The tallest pair of spiraling stairs they had ever seen. Stairs upon stairs, some past their knee’s. This was their playground. They had climbed and climbed for what felt like an eternity before reaching the top.

 

At first, they thought it was magic.

 

Blue light shone from the room and a heavenly sound of strings being plucked wafted along with it. Someone was playing the harp. It was beautiful a melody, rich and sweet strung together with such ease.

 

Yet like all good songs it had to come to a stop. When it stopped a woman began to speak. Her voice soft and gentle; “Mother!” Jungkook blurted out smiling. He pushed himself up from where he and Jimin hid and scampered up the stairs. Jimin was less quick to do so, he didn’t want to get into trouble.

 

In the blue room above he and Jungkook heard a scuffle and a door click shut loudly. They by the opening he saw Jungkook’s mother. The queen. She had her black hair braided neatly down her spine, no golden diadem resting on her head. Nothing rich about her, yet she still oozed regality. She was a perfect queen and an even better mother. Jimin wondered what it would be like to have one of those.

 

“Cookie Bear,” Jungkook’s mother smiled. Dropping down slightly to rest on one of her knee’s. “You’ve found my hideout,”

 

“T-this is your hideout,” Jungkook looked smug with himself.

 

“Mm, do you want to come in? No doubt your little adventuring buddy would too?”

 

“I think so?” Jungkook cocked his head to the side.

 

“Who is it this time huh? Jimin or Namjoon?” Jungkook’s mother smiled warmly, scanning the dark staircase. Jimin popped out and their eyes met. Her smiled broadened. “Chim Chim, come join us?”

 

“Yes, your highness,” Jimin nodded, following along behind her.

 

Truth be told, that hideout was never Jungkook’s mums. At least not since they had stumbled upon it.

 

Originally it had been all three of them but after much protest from Namjoon, they all found themselves here during days and nights. Jungkook’s mother was a lovely woman. She always wanted more kids. If she could she would have had more but the current King did not want any. In fact, he didn’t even want Jungkook, though he had never said it allowed.

 

In some way’s Jungkook’s mother had been his too. Jimin never called her that, but they both knew in their hearts she was a mother to the three of them.

 

Jungkook had a father that never wanted nor loved him.

 

Jimin’s father had killed himself after Jimin’s birth mother died in childbirth.

 

Namjoon’s mother had left for a noble lord, leaving his father a knight with their son.

 

Yet they all had a mother. One, beautiful, kind and caring woman. Who, took them all in under her wing.  

 

Jimin cracked open an eye, dark crystal orbs glancing around. Click, click, click. Hooves clacking loudly on the dirt track they plodded down. His face hurt from smiling. He wondered momentarily what his dream was about? He had forgotten it almost instantaneously. Jimin sighed, it was not important. Looking up he blinked, there were no starts. The only glittering thing was the thick drop of water that hit him in the cheek. Leaping from green heavy leaves. It must have rained. Jimin yawned, mouth wide, he moved to cover it. “Nice of you to finally wake up,” Yoongi grumbled.

 

“What,” yawn, “Time is it?”

 

“Early morning,” Yoongi nodded. Jimin rubbed his eyes again, he had fallen asleep at sunset as it was the last thing he remembered. That meant that Yoongi had ridden now for a full day now.

 

“Morning,” Jimin sighed, sitting up. Not realising that he had leaned on Yoongi for hours straight. The older male’s right arm arching with pins as a result. “Why don’t we stop?” He sighed softly, back and arse aching.

 

“No,” Yoongi sighed.

 

“You know you’re not invincible right?” Jimin sighed.

 

“On the contrary, I think I may be,” Yoongi joked.

 

“Oh please,” Jimin rolled his eyes, “Don’t be so cocky, you always act so cockily,”

 

“Cocky?” Yoongi scoffed.

 

“Mm,”

 

“How do I always act cocky?”

 

Jimin sniggered; “You act like your God,”

 

“Actually, little duke you’d be surprised at the number of people who worship my alias,”

 

Jimin cackled. Yoongi in return just smiled to himself. The Reaper in some parts of Trairo had earned himself quite the following, or so he had last heard. Hoseok had always been an embellisher.

 

“What alias is that? Little Meow meow, cutest kitten in the south,”

 

“Little Meow meow?” Yoongi chuckled. “You sure about that?”

 

“Quite sure, I’ve been pressed to your morning wood a few times now and don’t forget who rides practically sat in your lap,” Jimin joked.

 

It was a joke after all. In no ways, from what he had gathered, was his captor… small. At least in that sense. Yoongi was actually a petite man like Jimin. His limbs skinnier than Jimin’s own but that made him fast and agile. Jimin had come to realise that, every time he had done anything remotely dumb and decided to take his anger out on Yoongi, Yoongi had somehow evaded Jimin’s punches and landed his own. Jimin was utterly useless and defenseless towards him.

 

“Harsh, you really know how to hurt a man’s ego,”

 

“Yours is quite big enough as it is Yoongi,” Jimin chuckled.

 

When had it changed to this? Friendly banter? Who would have thought that a month alone with the grumpiest person in the world would have done this? Made him crack a joke. Jimin sighed. Then again, no doubt in a few days Yoongi would be back to his cold brooding self. A vicious cycle Jimin couldn’t seem to break. If he could only break it. Then he could worm his way out of his captors grasp and get back to the castle. Though he suspected Highwaters was closer to where they were than the palace.

 

Jimin chewed at his lip; “What is your alias?”

 

“Do you want to know?” Yoongi asked, hesitance in his voice.

 

“Mm,”

 

“The Reaper.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

Seokjin yawned cracking open an sleep filled eye, his dark heavy lashes fluttering softly like butterflies. The warring sky was still slightly dark, pink-oranges and red-violets filling the horizon outside of the barred steel prison like window before him. Beneath those pinks and reds was a twirling purple violent violet thunderstorm brewing dark on the horizon with crack flashing thunder and lighting. It was both scary and beautiful. Majestic. The unknown was often like that. People could find beauty in all sorts of things, even that which they did not understand.

Yawning once more he ran an elegant hand along his face and sprawled out to a greater length upon his cushioned mattress. The silken fabrics below sticking to his body.

To the left of him he saw the same palace staff he saw every morning. They were early today. Seokjin frowned; they were never early. His life in the past month had fallen in boring pleasant bitter sweet rhythm. His schedule never changing.

In their hands they held different items. One held a silver platter with different puffy pastries and breakfast foods. There was also a man there with a thin band in his arms, a long screw also there and a tool to drive it in. The band was silver and gold with sapphires and rubies mixed between diamonds, a priceless piece. The final maid a short girl with black shoulder length hair held dark navy-blue silk avoided his eye contact. They all did actually. Seokjin was the one that was supposed to avoid eye contact, but these people feared his master too much to even risk it.

Sighing softly, he stood up, the oldest maid, the friendliest. Gripped his hand and tugged him down to the small table and towards his meal. Seokjin wasn’t hungry, he often wasn’t. After living a life in which he went hungry so often being forced to eat three meals a day was strange to him. He took a few bites before sighing and standing up, ready to don his new clothes. He still wore the slightly too short pants that Taehyung had given him.

Seokjin for the first time wondered where he had gotten them from. He never seemed like a man to own pets. Or partake in the usage of whores. Taehyung seemed to always hold pity and sympathy for Seokjin, almost like an understanding. Not to mention on knights pay he would struggle to purchase a decent pet.

Flinching softly Seokjin sent a glare towards the man handling his collar, his rough hand pressing harshly to his shoulders and the base of his neck. He grunted softly as if to tell him to stay still. With a deft click his current collar fell apart, the key in his hand prying them apart. Seokjin felt no change, it was loose, light weight. Not at all like the one he used to wear, the heavy iron collar used to cut into his skin, bruise him all over and leave him aching. Seokjin was glad it was gone.

When the collar was off Seokjin ran his hand over the base of his neck, feeling over his collarbones and the curve of his neck. Skin smooth beneath his hands. It was nice to be free of the thing. He was spoilt in a way. Seokjin had the pleasure of dining in finery, sleeping in a palace, wearing a golden collar and being owned by the prince of Quentain. Yet he still did not like it to a certain degree.

To say that he enjoyed living beneath his master’s rule would be an overstep. He did not mind his master, even if he did have a bad temper, Jungkook was nicer than most and the nicest he had had. Even then with a master most pets would be envious of he still did not particularly enjoy his life. For this Seokjin despised a part of himself. He was ungrateful for his life and the opportunities he had been given.

His ‘freedom’ was short lived. The man who had taken off his golden collar now placed the darker one around his neck. It was heavier due to the added gemstones, but still did not affect him to the same extent as the iron one had. The metal was ice cold and felt as if it cut into his pale skin. He drew in his breath as it rested against his skin. With a snap the man clamped it around his neck, a small part of his skin caught to. He yelped and received a string of rude muttering from the man, most directed at his race and work. Through the insults the man continued to work, screwing the long thin peg down the join of the collar, there was no way in which he would easily find his way out of this one. No lock to break. No, he was well and truly stuck with this beautiful prison around his neck.

His whole life was a beautiful prison.

“Will you stop manhandling the lad,” That was the old maid, swatting him away as soon as he had finished his work. Then she gripped his shoulder helping him up. Her calloused hands warm and harsh on his skin.

Without warning she bent down and pushed his only garment down past his ankles, body fully nude. Seokjin did not blush though, nudity was not something special to him. Neither was sex. At this point it was just an act to him. A façade. A portrayal.

With a blank face he stepped from the red garment, the maid throwing it to the younger kitchen staff member who was piling up his breakfast plates, most of which were untouched. It hit the person square in the chest, the staff member begrudgingly began folding it.

Seokjin almost sniggered but he remained straight faced and passive as the woman tugged up his new billowing navy blue pants. They sat better on his frame, not as short and near the ankles as the red ones. Snug around his hips, loose around his legs. Seokjin smiled, twisting his leg slightly to admire the fabric, the woven material glittered softly, Seokjin noticed tiny black and blue beads embraided onto them. The embroidering copied that of the silken robe pushed over his shoulders. Seokjin hadn’t worn a robe for a month. Since that fateful night of death and horror.

“Where am I going?” Seokjin asked, to no reply. They all looked at him as if he was dumb. Was he? He sighed, ignorance, well it is bliss Afterall.

The men and women departed from his room leaving him now. Outside his window Seokjin noticed the sun was a little higher now, he guessed it was about seven in the morning. Early. At least for him now. Under his past masters’ care, he would have been up at the crack of dawn preparing the brothel, making breakfast, or doing some sort of labour to keep up his physic. On rare occasion he’d spent the morning with his masters, practicing. Practicing. Seokjin frowned, could a whore go out of practice? The man sighed; he’d hope not. He wouldn’t like to spend more of his time doing that. That. Seokjin shivered he hated it.

Hated it almost as much as the eunuch guards that now stood before him. Their faces still masked and hidden to him. Seokjin wondered what cowardly men they looked like. These men had failed to do their duty and therefore leant to him being bloody and bruised and nearly raped. Seokjin still had a small limp from the night, his foot bandaged. The bandage was tightly curled around his right foot and at this point did little to help him more to aggravate him.

“Come,” one of them grunted and turned to him with a nod of his head. His black armour shining slightly, they were still obviously in mourning, but protection was vital apparently.

Seokjin debated on staying put and being stubborn but decided not to. These men were taller than him and built like bears, they could easily lift him up and carry him to where ever they needed to without a blink of an eye. The whore didn’t want to be manhandled again in such a fashion. So, slowly he followed.

The way that they walked was a different one he had taken before, but he knew here they were headed. It was simple for Seokjin now to figure out where they were going. East of his rooms were the barracks. North was the throne room and south was the entrance to the palace. Seokjin wondered what exactly was west of his room. That would be for another day no doubt. When Taehyung returned from whatever he was doing Seokjin would ask him about the palace more. For the most part they had worked on Seokjin’s punches.

They were all feeble. Seokjin preferred to cower on his knees then fight but he humoured the younger male. He had yet to land a punch on the knight. However, he had landed a pretty brutal kick to the male. Truth be told he missed completely, he was going for the groin like Taehyung instructed but ended up slipping on the slick ground and booting him in the thigh. It ended up with both of them covered in wet mud.

It was raining a lot more now. Seokjin had noticed that it was chilling too, and the nights had seemed to grow closer and closer to them. Winter would be here soon. Seokjin wondered if he’d have to wear these infernal garments through the winter season too. He surely hoped not; he’d end up with frost bite if that were too happen. Maybe his master would be merciful.

Seokjin doubted that very much when he saw his master. Waiting in a small room at the edge of the barracks. A black curtain draped over a door way before him. Seokjin wondered where it led. Outside he could hear a loud crowd, but he was still confused. Jungkook didn’t look confused. He looked apprehensive, nervous slightly. Only for a moment though as his eyes laid down onto Seokjin. For a moment Seokjin wondered if he was mad still. The whore had after all over stepped his boundaries completely after their last meeting. Then again, he was also at war with his emotions, let alone duties.

“Master,” Seokjin slowly approached him. Jungkook for once did not scold him for speaking out of turn. Instead he just nodded in greeting, muttering the same words he always did.

“Whore,” Jungkook greeted. The words stung more than usual, which hurt Jin. Why he did not know. Yet, also they hurt less. The words no longer had that sharp dull sting to them that rolled off of the prince’s tongue like an insult. They were empty, hollow. No meaning there, just a word.

“Sir, we’re ready to proceed,” A man in all black grunted. In his meaty hooks and black steel axe with a large chip missing. Draped over his belt was a black cowl. He was an executioner.

It was then, that Seokjin finally figured out where they were.

The monthly execution. He had heard rumours of royalty and nobility attending on the off occasion. Only when it was a large-scale criminal put to death. Seokjin shivered, who was to die tonight? The woman responsible for the king’s blood was already dead. She was slain almost as soon as the king’s body hit the floor. Her blood intermingling with her last kill. Seokjin personally watched as the life left her eyes.

Death had never fazed Seokjin, only his mother’s death had drawn deep into him. So, the prospect of watching a public execution did not affect him as much as it should. What affected him was that he would have to sit there like the pet he was and look pretty by Jungkook’s feet.

With a nod, the official party of nobles and the Heir himself followed out. Seokjin followed close on Jungkook’s heels, the prince having a firm grip on the silver and gold intermingled chains. He was not pulling on the chains, more of lifting the weight for Seokjin. They all took their places and surprise surpise, Jungkook was sat at the centre above the rest on a podium cut from stone. His chair cushioned nicely.

The prince took a seat there, sitting back languidly with a regal aura. His jewel encrusted hands curling over the arm rest and his head tipped back in dignity. It was only now that Seokjin was in the full day light that he noticed the gold and silver crown nestled between Jungkook’s hair. It stood tall with spirals joining in loops. It was both beautiful as it was majestic. Seokjin remembered this crown. It was the one fallen from the king.

Seokjin realised he was staring and let out a gentle gasp, surprise of his actions flooding him. He scrambled to the floor by Jungkook’s feet. Face souring as his arse got wet. It had been raining earlier and no doubt would rain again soon. Seokjin in all his selfishness wished they could be done chopping heads already and go in.

The pale whore sat upright his back as straight as possible to avoid contact with his master. He didn’t know if Jungkook was still touchy after their argument, then again that was over a week ago now, maybe he had come to terms with it. Seokjin hoped so. His stomach flipped when he was reassured that his thoughts were true. Jungkook’s hand pressed gently to the curve of his neck, thumb pressed to the tight collar, the rest of his hand pressed to the skin of his shoulder. He pressed lightly, guiding Seokjin backwards so that he didn’t seem so frightful. The whore’s shoulder not as tense, he leant backwards as guided, finding himself situated between Jungkook’s legs. His back pressing to the chair.

Seokjin didn’t pay attention as the names of individual were shouted out and the crimes committed. He focused on the warmth at his shoulder, index finger tracing whirlpools on his creamy skin. Seokjin bit his lip to cover his smile. He didn’t know why but this was nice. He did not hate Jungkook, nor did he like him to that much of an extent. Yet the fact that he was being so affectionate towards Seokjin in public of all places was warming. Jungkook the virginal prince, was acting like this to him. Seokjin blamed it on his ignorance and eagerness to please his masters, yet he also knew that this master did not want him to please him. Seokjin half wondered if Jungkook preferred being at war with his who anyway.
Yawning Seokjin tilted his head, blinking up to the dark brewing sky. A drop of water landed on his cheek curling down his face like a tear. Mother nature cried. Who was she crying for?

 

Looking forwards he eyed the crowd, many of them broke protocol and eyed the whore directly. Seokjin wondered if he’d become the source of rumours again, it wouldn’t be the first time. Most eyed him with disgust and some avoided him all together. Seokjin noticed a mother pressing a child to her skirts; “Don’t look at him, he’s the prince’s pet. You’ll be hung if you do.”

Seokjin, ignored them. He focused on the warm hand kneading into his shoulder and the comfort it brought. Even if he was shivering, cold and wet, least he had some scrap of calmness in this storm.

The storm that only seemed to get worse. Before him the next man soon to be hung stared Jin down. Dark beady eyes bore into Seokjin’s very soul, burning and searing the whore. The image of this man will forever be burned into his memories. For Seokjin knew, in some small way he had condemned this man to death. The man who’s scent had never really left Seokjin’s nose after that night. Whose touch had not left. Who’s fists and hands had not left. Who’s weight pressed to him did not leave. Seokjin had not admitted it to himself but this man he feared. A minute any longer and Seokjin once more would have been forced to endure the torturous life he had left. If it wasn’t for his master and his protector and Taehyung, this man would have pushed him back down into the abyss.

Seokjin let out a soft breath of surprise and fear, his back once more going rigid. Skin chilling and electrifying. Hair’s standing on end both from cold and fear. Seokjin was a murderer.

“For his crimes he will be sentenced to death,” The crowd cheered, and both cried out. Men were not hung for assault. They were hung for murder. Half relished in the man before him dying the other saw the brutality and unfairness of this. “As ordered by the crown,” their cries and hushes stopped. Seokjin’s mind felt as if it were about to explode.

Jungkook had personally requested for this man’s death. This was why he had shown himself. He purposely brought JIn. What sick fucking torture was this? What was wrong with his master? He was beginning to warm to him but-but this?! Seokjin couldn’t handle it. His breathing intensified and he turned away. Face pressed to Jungkook’s thigh, settling between the fabric fabric.

He felt the prince’s hand on his head, was he attempting to sooth Seokjin? It did not do much. Those hands, they had blood on them. Seokjin’s now too did.

He had never killed a man. Seokjin had never killed a fly. This was not how he imagined it. Seokjin knew that in this world he might have to kill someone. It was just the way it was. This though, this was cruel. So, so cruel. Seokjin was not only a murderer he had sentenced this man to one of the most torturous death’s possible. What was it like to drown suspended in air?

Seokjin knew the man had fallen through the podium for the blood thirsty cries on the crowd. The rope snapped taught, Seokjin heard it protest as its length straightened, bearing the weight of the beefy knight. The weight of it thrashing. The weight of death. If only Seokjin could have a rope to help him bear the weight. The weight of the man’s loud death.

Seokjin looked up, putting an image to those sounds. The man’s face was red, eyes bulging and blood shot. His tongue swollen and saliva dripping down his face as he spluttered for breath. His tied legs kicking and flailing, kicking at the man that pulled harshly down on them to ensure his death. His hands tied behind his back would have reached for his neck if they could.

His body twisted and twizzled at gross angles rope constantly turning him like a rotisserie chicken above the pits of hell. The hell he would soon be condemned too. Seokjin bit down into his plush lower lip as the ropes turning slowed and slowed, his thrashing weakening. The crowd continued to cheer but to Seokjin it was nothing, all he could hear was the thrumming beating of his heart in his ears. All he could see where those beady black eyes. Seokjin knew that the last thing the man would see were the eyes of his murderer. Their eyes made contact and Seokjin watched as the innocent man’s body fell silent and that alive human look bled dry from his eyes.

His body was cut carelessly free, piling down upon the mound of corpses below the podium. He was flesh now, that was all. His body being rained upon, face pressed to the mud. This man may have assaulted him, but he did not deserve this. Did he have a family? He was a knight for god’s sakes. Knights were supposed to have honour.

Behind him he felt the very honourless prince shift as he stood. It was followed by the soft weight of his chains being removed as they were lifted from the ground. Seokjin followed those chains, leaving the blood thirsty roaring crowd behind them as they ducked back into the cover of the barracks. Seokjin had stopped his tears. They were silent ones out there, in front of everyone. Only a few, for he could not let people see him destroyed by this. Seokjin should be happy. If his master wanted him dead, then so too did Seokjin. Right?

After a long period of walking and walking they reached the palace again. The safety of the harem was present before him as the prince led him into the red threshold.

The whore stood silent. He was a murderer and so to was the man stood before him.

“Why?” Seokjin breathed, his voice cracking.

“What do you mean why?”

“You killed,” Seokjin sobbed. “You killed an innocent man!” He cried.

“Innocent?!” Jungkook tipped back his head and let out a laugh, a fearsome blood curdling one. “By no means was that man innocent Seokjin,” Jungkook stared down at Seokjin’s weeping form. “That man, that man hurt you Seokjin,”

“So what?”

“So what?” Jungkook growled, “ Seokjin, you’re mine. No one else’s. No one is allowed to disrespect you or hurt you. Only me. Only I can so much as lift a finger to you Seokjin. Only I can do anything with you,”

“Well you’ve done enough to me,” Seokjin cried softly.

“What on god’s name are you on about Seokjin?”

“You’ve hit me, belittled me, not to mention you, you were the one that almost had me raped, and now this!” Seokjin cried pointing a finger at Jungkook, “You made me a murderer!”

“Oh, for god’s sake, you are so ignorant,”

“Ignorant!” Seokjin cried, “You’re the ignorant oaf here. You are nothing more than an overgrown child with the brain the size of a fucking walnut. You care about no one, no one. Only yourself. Do you even think?! Do you?!” Seokjin growled, shoving the prince in the chest purely out of anger. The prince stumbled backwards but did not fall. His hands gripping onto Seokjin’s wrists not allowing the older male to pull away. Seokjin turned his head to the side scrunching his face and waiting for the beating to come. Instead the prince gripped Seokjin’s chin, roughly, but not painfully pulling his face towards his. Jungkook’s breath mere inches from Seokjin. They stared each other down.

“I am the one that is thinking here Seokjin,” Jungkook whispered all to calmly, “Every move I make is planned out. Methodical. I know what everyone is planning two steps ahead, I know exactly what you are thinking and what you think of me. I am not the ignorant one here. That is you Seokjin. In what world does a common street whore like yourself get treated with such finery?”

No response.

“Answer me for fucks sake!” Jungkook jostled him earning a yelp from Seokjin.

“I-I don’t know master,” Seokjin blinked, heart racing.

“No one would have let you live Seokjin, do you know this?”

“Y-yes master,”

“No one would have given you such a nice cushy stay, do you know this?”

“Yes master,” Seokjin’s tears of fear and sadness were reducing and so too were his stuttering.

“No one would have been able to resist laying a finger on you, no one but me, do you know this?”

“Yes master,”

“No one would protect you Seokjin, do you know this?”

“Yes,”

“No one would have killed the people who hurt you,” Jungkook’s voice softened. “That man was bad. You were not the first man or woman he has hurt Seokjin. He has done bad upon plenty. His sins are being paid for justly. If it not for his repeated offences I would have only seen him flogged but his noble heritage lead him down a path with no discipline. This was not unwarranted Seokjin,”

“Y-you killed him for me?”

“Oh Seokjin,” Jungkook ran a hand along the whore’s cheek, brushing away a tear, “How ignorant you are.”

Chapter Text

After much heated debate Jimin had finally managed to get the stubborn Yoongi to stop riding. The older male grumbling and grunting in response, his eyes dark chocolate, darker that the violent bags beneath them.

Though he wouldn’t let it on Yoongi was tired. Awfully so. Jimin was fully aware of how little sleep his captor had gotten in the last month. Since his capture the stupid man had always slept with one eye open. Not literally of course, but he slept lightly. Like a feather. Jimin had often noticed how he’d startle awake at the slightest movement, the slightest noise. Maybe it was his past? Being an assassin, thief an pretty much everything in the illegal trade, Yoongi must not get much sleep to begin with. He was naturally paranoid no doubt, but still no one could sustain this for long. Yoongi was not a god.

Jimin, was worried. Fearfully so. He didn’t want to admit this, but his captors lack of sleep and paranoia was scaring Jimin. Jimin feared for Yoongi. For this he was confused, he should hate the man. Yet he did not. Why didn’t he? Why?

“You’re thinking loudly,” Yoongi grumbled, pulling the leg off of a charred squirrel.

The older male had left momentarily to catch them dinner. He had returned with two grey fat squirrels with long arrows sticking through them. Jimin nearly gagged. Especially as the older one skinned them and gutted them before the squeamish lord. Blood trailing up his hands and arms. Like burgundy gloves.

Once they were clean and resting on the red burning fire though his queasiness dissipated and his hunger set in. The two of them were cleaning the meat from the bones current. Succulent meat sliding across their wet pink tongues and getting caught between their straight white teeth.

“Huh?” Jimin looked up, lost in his own world of worry.

“Stop thinking, it’s not good,”

Jimin chuckled, eyes smiling too. “In what world is thinking not good Mr. Min?”

“This one,” Yoongi chuckled.

He had finished eating, a small pile of broken bones by his feet. With his greasy hands he pulled out a short dagger from his boot and began cleaning his nails with it. Jimin eyed the dagger. He was uneasy around all weapons, even with the extensive training he had undergone with swords. Daggers, small like the one Yoongi carried, after al,l were what sent his parents into the abyss.

Glancing upwards Yoongi noticed his eyes darkly slanted towards the fine thin metal in his hand. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jimin shrugged. Looking back to his almost finished meal. The squirrel looking now more unappetising as it had before.

Yoongi hummed deeply, thoughtfully for a moment before piecing every little piece of evidence he had seen so far together. Their first night together when Yoongi had threatened him, Jimin had shied away, but when he saw the knife sheathed by his side the boy paled beyond the living. Every time he hunted with his bow, which was currently tied to his saddle, the Lord seemed scared of it. Now this, his smallest blade made the lord look ready for death. “Are you afraid of me Park Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Surprisingly, no,”

“How come?”

Jimin awkwardly rubbed the nape of his neck; “You’re grumpy I’d give you that one, but I doubt you’d very much hurt me too much or kill me,”

“Then why do you keep shying away from me whenever I have weapons on me?”

“Oh,” Jimin blushed it, “It’s stupid really. Especially for a lord,”

“Not at all,”

“I’m afraid of weapons, just.” He sighed, “Gah, I don’t know why but they just make me nervous. On edge you know. They can do so much bad… kill people,”

“Weapon’s don’t have to be bad Jimin,” Yoongi flipped the knife in his hand, the hilt skimming across his knuckles before he re caught it in an effortless display. Letting it fit comfortably in his palm.

“What do you mean?”

“They can protect people too Jimin,”

Jimin frowned looking at Yoongi’s outstretched hand, the blade sat there, reflecting the dark gorgeous firelight, sending it skittering across his pale skin. An offering. Even though it was one of the things he most feared Jimin took it. For it was in many ways a sign of trust between the two.

Yoongi stood up and turned to Jimin; “Come here,” he pointed at the ground by his feet. Jimin did that, scampering up easily and standing before him. The knife clutched in his palm.

Yoongi with his bare palm’s raised stepped forwards, hand’s pressing to Jimin’s shoulders to steady him. “When someone comes at you like this, from the front,” Yoongi began. His hand’s running down the length of Jimin’s toned arms, trailing along the seam of his shirt and to his bare palm. Curling around his warm hands, squeezing softly. “You go for their ribs, not straight for them though,”

“Why not?”

“Well if you go here,” Yoongi moved the knife to the centre of his chest pressing it lightly to the fabric there. “You’ll get your knife stuck. Then you won’t have one,”

“Oh,”

“And, if you go here,” he moved it to his side, the knife pressed to one of his ribs, “It can get stuck here too,”

“Bones?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi laughed. It was nice, deep and throaty with a pleasant warmth to it. Unique. It made something in Jimin flutter. “They tend to be a bit hard,” he joked sarcastically.

“So where do I go?” Jimin murmured, skin across his cheeks still inflamed red.

“Here,” Yoongi clasped Jimin’s hands with both of his own now. Warmth enveloping them. He brought the knife down across his shirt until the tip pressed just below his ribs and above his gut. “This is where you stab,”

Jimin nodded; “W-what if they come from behind?”

Yoongi smiled and let go, Jimin’s hand dropping back down to his side. The older male turned around back exposed. He lifted up the bottom hem of his shirt revealing the white plane of his skin. The slender arch of his ribs, the divots of his spine and the gentle line of his ribs. Light amounts of muscled packed there. “Just below the ribs,” Yoongi murmured.

Jimin moved forwards placing his bare palm on Yoongi’s skin at the base of his spine. Cold fingers pressing into the warmth. Yoongi swore at the icy touch. “Here?” Jimin murmured, knife still by his side. He could do it. Kill Yoongi right now if he wanted to. The man wouldn’t be able to do anything. Jimin would be free then. He could return home. Oh, he missed home. Namjoon would still be training the knights in the day and Taehyung would be stealing away his free time in the night. Jungkook would be stuck with the King, his father, in boring tedious meetings all day and spend his nights exploring. He missed them so much and the only thing stopping him was this man before him. All he needed to do was bring that knife up, right up through the place Yoongi told him to.

“No, your knife will get stuck in their spine, they won’t die but they won’t move,” Perfect, maybe Yoongi wouldn’t die? He didn’t have to have unnecessary blood on his hands.

“W-what about here?” Jimin brought the knife up, the cold blade pressing down slightly but not enough to cut him. Just below the ribs. It wouldn’t get caught there. It would cut through skin and what else lied beneath. If he drove it up and twisted, he could get away easily. So, so easily.

“Yeah, if you press upwards, you’ll cut right through their kidney,” Yoongi nodded. Then he stepped away from Jimin’s grip. Pulling his shirt back down with a soft sigh and turning around.

His eyes widened at the sight before him. Jimin was looking down aghast at his palm’s, the knife shaking there was teetering softly, ready to slip. A single tear rolled down his cheek and his lip quivered. Utter fear curled and pulled at his features.

“Jimin?” The boy dropped the knife and gulped looking at Yoongi.

It was then that the assassin realised why he was scared. Not of the blade. Not of Yoongi. No Jimin was afraid of himself. He was about to killed Yoongi. Yet… he didn’t. Jimin didn’t kill him.

Yoongi smiled; “I think this is a good place to leave our first lesson huh?”

Chapter Text

 

Seokjin whimpered ever so silent and softly, his bones shivered with teeth cracking violence. The small puddle of cold still brown water did nothing to help the chill his body fought. He was an outcast among outcasts. The outcast surrounded by outcasts. So many of them were piled up here in this room. Oh, how they stared, how they looked. They hated him, didn’t they. They hated him and it made him want to cry. Why did so many people hate him? He was only a child, what could he do?

 

All he was good at was crying.

 

He felt a small warm hand on his back and flinched away; “Shh, it’s okay dear, you cold?” It was a young woman. By young Seokjin meant she could only be a teen, she was obviously the youngest here except for him. He himself was only seven. The rest of the lot were adults, they all glared at the girl as if she broke some unspoken rule.

 

Seokjin gently and hesitantly nodded, he was freezing. His breath fogging out like puffy clouds before him. The girl smiled, she had a lovely smile. It wasn’t perfect, it was slightly crooked to one side, but it was a warm nice smile none the less. Her dark charcoal eyes were round like almonds one mono-lidded the other double-lidded with thick dark brows and heavy curling lashes. She was beautiful. “It gets cold in here,”

 

“I-is it always so c-cold?” Seokjin shivered, eye’s round and teeth clashing. The girl nodded and curled around him. Tucking the smaller younger boy into her side beneath her arm, her hand spreading warmth into his curled boney back.

 

“Yeah, it’s not so bad in summer though,” She smiled her eyes glistening as if remembering something of the summer. After a while she sighed, her eyes losing that warmth, that happiness the joy draining from her features. “If you’re lucky the master will have you sleep with him, his bed’s nice and warm”

 

“What’s the master like?” Seokjin asked with childish curiosity. His last master had a funny smell and a matted beard, but he never allowed slaves to share his bed. It was a peculiar idea to the boy.

 

“He’s absolutely lovely,” the girl said through gritted teeth. Her face turned away from the rest of the group. Even in Seokjin’s youthful naivety he could tell she was lying.

 

“You're ly-,” he began. His mother had told him lying was bad, but he didn’t want this kind girl to be bad. Maybe if she confessed, she might be good like him. Seokjin was good. He cried a lot, but he was good. He hadn’t sinned. His mother wasn’t a sinner either. She was pure. When she was alive, she prayed to their god’s every day. Seokjin once did that too, though now he didn’t have much time.

 

“I’m sure he’ll like you just like he loves us. You see-,” she paused not knowing his name.

 

“Seokjin,” the boy added.

 

“Well, you see Seokjin. The master loves us so dearly, we’re like a family here,”

 

“But you looked like you were ly-,”

 

She laughed softly, fake and dripping crimson; “Oh what a silly boy you are Seokjin. I love my master. You will love him too. He will come for you soon Seokjin, be sure to show him the love he deserves,”

 

“D-does the master love me?” Seokjin whispered. Only his mother had ever loved him.

 

“Oh, he most definitely will. As long as you do one thing,”

 

“What?”

 

“When he shows you how much he loves you promise me this,”

 

“Promise what?”

 

“Just promise you’ll do as I say,”

 

Seokjin paused, cogs whirring in his head; “I-I promise,”

 

“When he shows you how much he loves you Seokjin, when he lets other people show love too, you won’t cry,”

 

“W-why would I cry?”

 

“You’ll see Seokjin, you’ll see,” The girl patted his head.

 

Seokjin bolted upright body drenched in thick warm sweat. His chest heavy, burning with the need for oxygen. He pressed a hand to the base of his neck skin meeting the thin cold collar around his neck, fingers pressing over the gemstones there. He needed it off, now. He couldn’t breathe. He was struggling to breathe even if the collar was so loose.

 

The whore pulled at it with a cry to no avail, just leaving the skin around his neck red and irritated with scratches across it.

 

Everything was too much. Too much. He needed to breathe.

 

Seokjin pushed himself up, his feet getting caught in the blanket that had gotten wrapped around his body in his fitful sleep. Silk slippery against his skin. Stumbling forwards, he hit the ground with a fleshy dull slap, his palm skiing across the sharp edge of the floor, cutting it slightly. Leaving a thin gash in his palm.

 

Kicking backward like a bucking stallion Seokjin freed himself from the entangled ropes of his blanket and skittered up across the floor. His bare feet hitting the marble with thundering loud thuds. Need evident in his speed. With a grunt the red door before him swung open, slamming with a band and quivering on its hinges.

 

He was running, his legs pumping and carrying him as fast and far as he could. His lungs dragging in the air with each press forwards. Seokjin kept pressing. His lungs kept forcing him to breathe.

 

The whore had ran and ran. His body careening out of the palace with such ease. No one was around. No one. He had no guards. No friends here. No one. Seokjin was free for a moment. Only a moment.

 

Flying through the gardens his feet slammed against the pebbled path beneath him, sending sharp pain up his legs. Usually, he walked a nicer, paved path with Taehyung but today he went a different way. He did know where he was going.

 

Rows after rows of hedges. Neatly trimmed tree’s columns of shrubbery and bouquets of wild flowers greeted his senses. The smell was intoxicating. He breathed and breathed them in. Thick tears rolling down his face and slipping beneath his collar.

 

The male stumbled to the ground hands meeting unkempt pathway. Moss poking at his fingers in-between the gravel; “One,” he counted. Slowly, shakily crawling forwards. “Two,” his breath was wispy and fogged before him. Seokjin continued counting, and counting, and counting.

 

Before him was a tall fountain, it had long stopped working. It’s waters a murky green colour to match the moldy stone work and pavement. Shrubs were left to grow here, hanging low and sprawling across the place. Moss too. Everything was green and lush and natural. Perfect and imperfect alike.

 

The fountain at the center had a stone carving of a woman. She was stood tall, shorter than Jin though. Her hair was in a long braid down her back and in her hands,  she clasped a bouquet of roses. A veil placed atop her head beneath a crown. A bride.

 

Seokjin continued to count. “Five hundred and fifty-three, five hundred and fifty-four-,” his voice only managing them out between sobs.

 

How long had it been since he dreamed? Years.

 

His nights were spent in darkness, Seokjin never remembered his dreams. He knew he had nightmares, but he never remembered them. He used to get nightmares like this constantly, every night plaguing his mind. This one was one that never stopped coming back. Seokjin had thought he was rid of them but alas it seemed not to be true. He wished he had slept through it, so he didn’t remember it in the morning yet his body only half asleep knew where it was going.

 

Seokjin knew the events that he would have had to relive if he was to continue sleeping. Seokjin let out another choked sob. Rocking himself back and forth.

 

Oh, what a fool he was. Seokjin was a fool an ignorant fool. All things bad in the world and Seokjin exhibited all of them. He was dirty and used. He was stupid and ignorant. Not to mention he was now a murderer with blood on his hands. Seokjin should be hung. Hung for his crimes and sins. He was a sinner and in the eyes of his mother’s gods, he was condemned. There was a reason why he had lost faith in them. He shouldn’t be here. He was a waste of time. He only wasted time for others. Just a blight on the earth.

 

Seokjin heard the crunching of gravel beneath booted feet and screwed up into a ball tighter. Knuckles going white as he gripped his arms around himself. Another person’s hand’s slid across his own holding him. Seokjin felt his back pressed against someone’s chest as they brought him close. Whoever they were had their legs either side of Seokjin, cradling the man. Arm’s tight around him rocking him back and forth. Seokjin twisted slightly so his face was buried into the crook of their arm.

 

Whoever cradled him didn’t speak and that was fine. They rocked back and forth sharing each other’s warmth until his breathing had steadied and he had reached the mid-eight hundred’s. Seokjin eventually stopped counting altogether. It was an old habit of his that returned when needed.

 

What Seokjin needed now though wasn’t his old habit. He needed sleep. As best as he could he couldn’t fight it off and fell asleep cradled by a savior. A guardian angel. A prince.

Chapter Text

Hoseok with deft well-practiced movements slowed down his dark brown horse, they had been riding for days now and his arse felt as if it had been shoved through his spine. Hoseok was unused to the sensation and definitely did not enjoy it. He often rode, he rode everywhere. From Trairo all the way to Garindal. He rode horses and ships. Hoseok had been everywhere, that was in the back of horse drawn carriages. Never had he rode with such speed. Spurred on by Taehyung and his angry knight. Hoseok hated him in many ways and had spent the last two days glaring him down.

Namjoon. That was the brutes name. Hoseok thought he was a prick. He had this air of superiority about him as if he were above Hoseok just because Hoseok had chosen the criminal life. Hoseok scoffed as if his morals were any better than Hoseok’s. The master thief was great at stealing jewels and secrets. He knew Namjoon’s secret well enough.

When Taehyung was stolen from him, he tracked him across the continent. Like any brother would have done in the position he was in. He tracked Taehyung all the way until he reached the palace. Until he reached Namjoon. The Master of Swords. The man who had his nose turned up so high his eyes were blinded by the sun. His morals were no better nor no worse than Hoseok’s. Hoseok had committed crimes, he stole and murdered and sent others to their deaths.

He was crime. Hoseok ran crime organizations in almost every known country, his pinky finger had more power in it then half the kings and queens on this god forsaken planet. Yes, Hoseok was a murder and had so much blood on his hand’s it coated them like thick leather gloves. Yet Hoseok was not a torturer like Namjoon was. His prey did not suffer long. No, their eye’s dimmed within seconds before they died.

It was amazing how a person changed so quickly once they had given up, once they knew that their time was here, and death was near. Their eyes lost their fight and their body went limp. It was always just before Hoseok pressed his cold sharp knife to their yielding throats, right then. Always.

That same lack of life could be seen sometimes in Taehyung’s eyes. Only occasionally had Hoseok noticed it, only in brief glimpses. Only tiny shreds. Taehyung in many ways was still healing after all. Yet Hoseok knew that in the darkest moments Taehyung would have that look on his face. It made Hoseok on edge.

Those who had lost it all or were so devoted to the small amount of good in their life could do drastic things.

“Taehyung-ah?” Hoseok looked over his slender shoulder. His horse still plodding along at the front of the group.

“Mm Hoseokie?” Taehyung looked up. There was that look again, it left as soon as he smiled though. Boxy and brilliant as Hoseok had remembered it. Taehyung hadn’t aged a day. He was still the same person to Hoseok. Even if his frame was taller and broader and his mind wizened beyond his young years. He was still Taehyung.

“You tired yet?”

“Mm,” he yawned, “Yeah, more sore than tired though,” he made a face of distaste.

Hoseok nodded and turned his horse to the side slightly off the track they travelled, the beast stopping with a square pose, its head held high. Taehyung’s own horse followed suit stopping, though his horse pulled at the reins, wanting to eat the grass by the side of the dirt track they followed.

Behind them Namjoon spurred his horse forwards, the large beast having lagged behind most of the time. Hoseok wondered if it were the horse’s size and lack of stamina or its rider’s in ability to properly ride. “Why are we stopping?” The knight asked.

Hoseok frowned; “We’ve been riding for a whole day, we need to water the horses and rest,”

Namjoon nodded and slid from his horse. His hand curling along his horse’s mane feeling the tossed locks beneath it. He seemed to be at thought.

Hoseok sighed with a grunt of pain he slid from his horse’s tall back. The brown mare snorting softly as she took in the scent’s around her. Every so often her ears flicked backward and forward as the forest full of birds filled their surroundings. Hoseok smiled, it reminded him of his home, the orphanage back in Genisa where they all met. All the important people in his life though. “C’mon we should get off the road,”

“Why?” Namjoon rose a brow, he didn’t trust Hoseok.

Hoseok chuckled; “Take a good look at yourself Kim Namjoon, you ooze wealth without even meaning too,” Hoseok gently pulled the horses reins over its soft delicate ears as he spoke.

“What about you then?”

“What about me?” Hoseok murmured, looking up and down, his eyes skittering across his apparel.

“Have you seen yourself,” Namjoon laughed in disbelief.

“Well yeah,” Hoseok glared at the knight.

“I mean your hands are drenched in fucking ring’s. Who needs that much?” Namjoon growled.

“Namjoon,” Taehyung sighed. A hand on his shoulder followed by his chin resting atop that. “Let’s not argue?”

“We’re not arguing Taehyungie,” Hoseok said, distaste written in his voice.

“Not at all,” Namjoon nodded in equal distaste. This had escalated quickly though after days of glaring at each other during the ride It came with no surprise.

Hoseok smiled; “You want to know the real reason I wear so many rings Kim Namjoon?”

“Delight me,” he spat.

“Each one is a blood pact; do you remember what a blood pact is Kim Namjoon?”

Namjoon glared at him. This man was a murderer a thief and the man responsible for Jimin’s fate. He was also the decider of other’s fates. So many rings. So many medallions. How many people were in debt to this man? How many blood pacts had killed people? How many had seen them enslaved. Hoseok had done all those things. Things to change or ruin people’s lives. Namjoon knew in some way’s he was powerful. He never expected this much though.

Chapter Text

Yoongi sighed, a long drawn out breath, whispering and curling past his lips and fogging before him. Waves of warm breath curling and rolling out before him. His slight body curled around a tree trunk, in his hand a bow pressed to his skin. It’s wood smooth and well loved. Worn beneath his grip. Even though it was worn and old it was well taken care of. Even the arrows which he made by hand were well kempt. Cleaned after every kill.

Glancing back around the tree trunk Yoongi eyed up the young deer. It stood small, peeling off old soggy bark from the pine trees. Food getting scarcer and scarcer now. Yoongi noted that winter had set in early this year. It meant that they would have a bumpy ride for now. Who knows, at the rate they were travelling they would reach their destination by summer.

Yoongi sighed lifting his bow and pulling out an arrow from his quiver. His finger pressing the nock into the bow string with a gentle click. Then he straightened the arrow as he straightened his posture. His bow arm straight out handling the weight of his bow. His other arm curled backward; three fingers wrapped around the bow string. Said fingers covered by a dark leather glove. His hands were calloused, but he did not enjoy the sting of the bow on his flesh. Truth be told he wasn’t strong enough for his own bow, but he persisted anyway.

The hunter let his breath slide out as soon as he brought his bow fully back, his arm quivering slightly under the strain. “Fuck,” Yoongi whispered as the wind changed sending his scent curling forwards.

The deer perked up, eyes bright and wide. Its black nose twitching along with its long white ears. It’s whole body twitching with apprehension and fear. Then it moved. Leaping forwards and bounding off. Away from its small clearing.

Yoongi sighed letting the bow go slack, he picked a hand full of leaves up from the ground. Crushing them in his fist and letting them fly on the wind. Carried far to the senses of the deer. Deceiving her.

Going around the back way, keeping careful so that his scent didn’t travel to the deer. His boots crunched far too loudly for his liking but he managed to reposition himself before bringing up his bow. His stance apart, shoulder width, legs tense. Arm’s straining and breath caught. Arrow ready to fly.

“Yoongi!” Jimin cried out in the distance behind him.

Yoongi let the arrow fly. The deer was already gone though, moving off through the forest. Hooves scraping on branches, twigs, leaves and knotted roots of trees.

“Oh, for fuck sake Jimin,” Yoongi growled stomping towards his arrow. The long wooden arrow embedded deep into a tree. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Why the fuck would you? Why kill that deer?”

“I’m hungry that’s why,” Yoongi growled. His hand gripping the base of the arrow embedded deep into the tree trunk. With a grunt he pulled back trying to pry the arrow from the tree.

“So what?” Jimin growled back in return, though less angry. More upset. Yoongi weirdly felt guilty.

“So what?! Jimin I don’t think I’m going to see another deer that fat until spring!” Yoongi cried out in frustration. Leaving the arrow where it had landed in the tree.

“So what? What are we going to do with all that meat huh? It’ll spoil before its even useful,” Jimin sighed. His small hands clenching around Yoongi’s arrow. He may have been timid – most of the time that is – but he has never been that weak. His body corded with muscle after days spent dancing, climbing and on the off occasion training. With a grunt he pulled the arrow out of the tree.

It slammed back into Yoongi’s gut making the older man cough loudly. His air forced from his ribs and his stomach throbbing painfully; “Watch it you twat,” Yoongi growled moving to cuff him across the cheek. Jimin dodged, well used to his habits. It was strange to think he knew his captor so well. He knew that when he went to discipline Jimin it was always a right hook. Jimin wondered why but shrugged it off.

Dropping to the ground he picked up a pebble. He had only seen this happen a few times when hunting with Namjoon and Jungkook. He prayed it would work lest he look like a mad man; “Stop trying to beat me and catch me my breakfast,” Jimin grumbled. With a grunt he launched the pebble up a distance in the scarce tree’s around them. With squawks a flock of birds leaped from the tree’s and allowed a smile to spring forth onto Jimin’s lips.

Yoongi groaned, pulling the string of his bow back and notching an arrow with expert speed. Then relaxing his fingers on the bow, he let it fly out of his fingers and send the arrow twisting through the air and into a bird’s body. Yoongi smiled; “That still doesn’t let you off little lord,”

“Oh?”

“Don’t get cocky yeah,” Yoongi grumbled stomping off to recapture his dead dinner.

“Never,” Jimin muttered happily. It was strange how easily they fell into an almost friendly routine.

The lord tramped after Yoongi his boots slapping loudly on the floor. Its not like it mattered anyway they were alone in the forest and they had no need for stealth anymore. Jimin looked over his shoulder and smiled seeing the deer’s hoof prints alongside their own boots. That was his good deed for the day done.

“Yoongi-ah?” Jimin murmured hurrying up.

“Yeah?”

“How many weapons do you own?”

“On me? Or in total?”

“Total,”

“Ah fuck,” Yoongi chuckled softly; “I’ve lost count,”

Jimin nodded; “How long have you been able to hunt?”

“Since I could walk, I was born in Genisa, grew up everywhere else. That’s why I don’t have an accent,” he rambled on.

“Oh, Taehyung was born in Genisa,” Jimin murmured softly to himself.

“Who?” Yoongi lookedover his shoulder, not quite catching the name.

“Ah, Taehyung. My friend,” Jimin smiled, “He’s a knight, I doubt you’d know him,”

Yoongi shrugged; “I used to know a Taehyung but he was never a knight,” he chuckled.

“So Genisa?”

“Mm,” Yoongi smiled, “Tree’s and that’s it really, nothing interesting,”

“What about your family?”

“What about them?”

“Do they still live in Genisa?”

“Fuck knows,”

“Oh,” Jimin frowned, utterly puzzled.

“I grew up in an orphanage Jimin,”

“Oh, I’m sorry,”

Yoongi growled; “Don’t give me your pity lord, I don’t want it,”

Jimin glared back; “I wasn’t, you’re not the only orphan here.”

Yoongi looked him up and down and scoffed. “Least your parents wanted you, all you noble kids are always wanted. I’m just a fuck up born to a drunken whore mongerer and a tavern wench,”

“Not all of us are wanted,”

“Really?” Yoongi laughed; “Name me one noble brat that isn’t loved by their parents,”

“All of them Yoongi.”

Yoongi scoffed.

“Being born into a noble household is being born into a snake pit. Everyone fights everyone for wealth and power, but they don’t fight with fists or swords Yoongi, they fight with poison and whispers,” Jimin glared back. “Only a few of them are good,” he thought of the late Queen. Of Namjoon. Of his little brother Kookie. All born into nobility, all beautiful and kind hearted people.

They trudged on in silence, the conversation having no place to go before Jimin butted in again, causing the older male to sigh. “Yoongi?”

“Why did I kidnap the most talkative fucking lord in Quentain,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Will you teach me how to use your bow?”

“You have to be shitting me Jimin,”

“What?” He said dumbly.

“You’re a lord! Shouldn’t you know how to use one?”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed already but I’ve never been adept with well…” Jimin shrugged; “Manly bullshit,”

Yoongi cackled; “Manly bullshit,” he muttered under his breath. His smile bright. Jimin burnt the sweet gummy look into his mind.

“Will you?” Jimin smiled, “Stop laughing at me! It’s not funny!” His cheeks were blushed.

“N-not laughing,” Yoongi cackled. Holding out his bow for Jimin to take. His other hand reach for his quiver at his side gloved hand curling around his arrows.

Jimin glared at his half heatedly and took the light bow. It was comfortable in his palm, not to heavy not to light. Then he took an arrow from Yoongi’s hand looking dumbly at the pair.

“What are you waiting for?” Yoongi smiled sofltly his arm’s crossed.
“Instructions would be nice?”

“Oh fuck,” Yoongi smiled; “I forgot, manly shit isn’t your forte,”

“Fuck off,” Jimin laughed; “I said manly bullshit,”

“Fine, fine,” he smiled, “Notch the arrow first,”

Silence.

“And how does one notch the fucking arrow?” Jimin smiled looking over his shoulder as Yoongi.

The older male stood up. With a short few steps he stood slightly behind and off to the side of Jimin. His hand’s trailing over Jimin’s hand once more, just like they had done the night before when teaching him how to use a knife.

If only Yoongi knew why Jimin was asking to be trained. After so many years of not wanting to train it should be strange for Jimin to find interest in it all of a sudden. Jimin needed to learn though. He needed to protect himself until he could get back to the capitol and that involved learning the ways of pure thuggery. However, for once in his life Jimin found he didn’t mind learning ‘manly bullshit’, especially as it meant Yoongi’s hand’s ran along Jimin’s body. Jimin frowned, he should not be thinking about Yoongi like that. This man would quite happily see him dead if paid to do so.

Yoongi pulled on the fletching bringing the end of the arrow close to the bow string. Then he pushed the arrow back, the notch snapping around the bow string. “There,” Yoongi smiled. “Now, line the arrow up,” He murmured breath tantalisingly tickling along Jimin’s ear. His hand skimmed down the wood shaft of the arrow and he gently lined it up on the arrow rest. “Pull your arm back,”

“Like this?” Jimin murmured. He arched his arm, fist gripping the bow string. It wasn’t too hard for him to pull back, but it wasn’t fun either.

“Straighten,” Yoongi slapped his arm softly. “Not your fist for fucks sake,” Yoongi murmured sliding Jimin’s hand into the correct position. His arm still holding the string back. Jimin’s arms burned and quivered. “Three fingers see?” Yoongi murmured, curling Jimin’s index middle and ring finger of his right hand around the arrow string. Jimin blushed at Yoongi’s words. The older male noticed his smirk and flicked him on the back of the head. “Don’t act like a child,”

“Sorry Mr Min,” Jimin chuckled.

“Can I let go of the arrow now?”

“Mm,” Yoongi murmured; “Just aim at your target and relax you’re fingers okay,”

“Okay,” Jimin let out a shaky breath and did as told. His fingers relaxed and the arrow flew through the air whistling as it went. It thundered into the distance lost in the forest. He let the bow dropdown and relaxed his shoulder and arm, it burnt slightly but it was satisfying. “I did it!” He laughed.

“Yeah, but uhm…” Yoongi paused, “Where the fuck where you aiming for?!”

“The air,” Jimin said plainly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that was my favourite arrow too.”

Chapter Text

“Seokjin?” A large warm hand nudged softly at his smooth broad shoulder. Warmth seeping into his creamy white skin.

“Mm,” Seokjin yawned and protested pushing his face further into the fur and cotton blankets piled beneath him. Eyelashes fluttering on them.

“Seokjin, wake-up,” An irritable Jungkook grunted nudging him more harshly this time.

The whore needed no further prompting.

He, hearing his unhappy master’s voice yelped and launched himself out of bed like a cat. Heart racing. However, cats land on their feet and Seokjin was not a cat. On accident he tumbled off the side of the lavish warm bed, knee slamming into the stone floor with a bang followed by a cry of pain. “Ow,” Seokjin bit his plump red lip, cradling his soon to bruise leg beneath his billowing silk and bed embraided pants. He hated silk. He hated it for one too many reasons.

Above him still sat on the bed he heard Jungkook laughing loudly. His lips curled into a bright smile and nose crinkled like paper. Seokjin smiled even though his leg throbbed and ached for his fuss and attention. Jungkook’s laugh was so sweet and so… pure. How could a man that had been so cruel and so malicious to Seokjin steal his heart with a true bout of laughter? Jungkook confused the living daylights out of Seokjin. One moment he was beating down on the whore with insults and the occasional fist, the next he was being kind, even if it was his strange sort of kindness.

He stood and brushed himself up watching as Jungkook’s laughs subsided. It was the first time he had heard him laugh. Not chuckle, not snigger, not some cruel laugh of torture. Happiness at well, Seokjin’s pain. It was a step forward at least.

Seokjin glanced around the almost bare room he was in. Stone walls decorated with hanging pots of flowers and blue wall murals stared back at him. There was a small stone fireplace, ash spewing out slightly onto the white wool rug by it. A long divan sat before it covered in rugs and pillows, it looked skewed. Seokjin wondered if the prince had slept on the divan.

“Master?” Seokjin glanced around confused. He had no recollection of arriving at the room he was in now. Only the moment’s that happened prior to his hazy memory blank. Only of his nightmare, of his mad dash through the gardens, his discovery, and the soapy scent of his saviour. Said saviour smelt oddly like Jungkook often did. Was it his master that saved him? Jungkook would never stoop that low, Seokjin reminded himself.

“Jesus, you sleep like a fucking log,” Jungkook yawned. His face sliding back into its normal cool look of distaste. The male stood up from the bed and stretched his aching back with a groan. His bejewelled hand running along his neck soothing it. “I’m never sleeping on a couch again,” he murmured so quietly it was hard for Seokjin to hear it.

Jungkook yawned once more and stomped off to the armoire, then slowly he flicked through some clothes throwing them behind him where they landed on his bed, a boot from the bottom of the armoire hitting Seokjin in the chest. Seokjin almost berated him before remembering he was his master. Even if Seokjin was older than Jungkook, his master held the respect here.

“Get dressed, I was nice letting you sleep in so hurry up,” he grumbled. Seokjin doubted it was even a decent sleep in. The sun was still drafting horizontal beams of light through the window meaning it wasn’t that late in the day. Seokjin usually awoke at noon nowadays.

“Master?”

“Oh for the love of g-,” Jungkook sighed, “What?”

“Why am I getting dressed?” Seokjin looked at the clothes that seemed, well, normal. He wondered when the last time that he had worn boots. When had he last worn a shirt? Years. Is it possible to forget how to dress one’s self? Seokjin looked down at the shirt in his hands, then to the almost corset looking thing beneath it.

He picked it up dumbly and frowned at it. Was this for his waist?

“Because I told you so and I’m you’re master, now hurry up,”

“Yes master,” Seokjin blinked. He scampered to pick up the grey toned pants. For a moment he debated on wearing them over the top of his current apparel but decided not to. Yanking off his embraided silk pants and letting them fall to the floor. In the corner of his vision, he noticed Jungkook watching unaffected by his nudity. Maybe Jungkook was a virginal prince after all? Seokjin paused momentarily. Did Jungkook’s… Did it even work?

“Hurry,” He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to miss anything because of you whore,”

“Y-yes master,” Seokjin nodded. He pulled on the pants. They fit loosely around his thighs and arse, obviously made for the more muscular Jungkook.

Following the pants, he yanked on his new shirt roughly. It was a dusted orange colour and did little to compliment his skin tone. Not that he could complain. This was the first time wearing proper clothes.

Seokjin surprisingly didn’t like it. After so many years of being half naked all the time, the clothes were constricting. He felt as if he wasn’t prepared. When dressed how he usually was, he knew exactly how people would look, or not look at him. Clothes added uncertainty to the picture.

Squatting down Seokjin stretched out one leg, balancing on the other. The warm brown boot’s sliding over his thigh and resting loosely just below his knee. He wiggled his toes, his pinkie toe hitting the side of the shoe with the action. Constricting.

Standing up now, Seokjin patted down his clothes and looked expectantly at Jungkook; “What?” Jungkook looked at himself then back at Seokjin.

“I’m dressed,” Seokjin stated a little confused.

“That’s not done,”

“What?” Seokjin looked at his body, “I’m dressed though,”

“Not in the way I want,” Jungkook sighed stepping forwards.

From the bed, he lifted the corset-like item and tugged Jin close. His hand resting on Seokjin’s back for a moment. Finger’s spread along his ribs just below his shoulder blades and forearm resting against Seokjin’s inner bicep. Seokjin turned red. Who knew that after almost two months of not working as a whore the simplest touches would send him swooning? That was until Jungkook roughly twirled him around so that the male stood with his back to Jungkook.

Seokjin remained wordless and his master surprisingly carefully pulled the thing around his waist. It sat just above his hips and below his ribcage. It wouldn’t do much else other than accentuate his small waist and broad shoulders. Seokjin wondered if Jungkook was going to flaunt him off today. Then again, how would he do that with every inch of Seokjin’s body covered?

“Suck in,” Jungkook murmured.

“Wha-,” Seokjin started to ask before the strings at the back of the strange leather garment were pulled tight. Forcing Seokjin’s organs to squish and rearrange themselves. He yelped, a hand pressed to his stomach. It had barely done anything to change his figure but once more was Seokjin surprised by the constriction of clothing.

“Turn,” Jungkook murmured, his voice tickling tantalizingly across Seokjin’s nape making the peach coloured locks stand on edge. He stepped back his hand’s placed on his slim hips, assessing his handiwork. Seokjin turned his hands down by his side, his cheek’s blushing pink. Why were they blushing?

“Good,” Jungkook murmured. Then he turned around heading towards the door. Seokjin followed him to see a few cloaks resting there and a scarf. Jungkook pulled the red shaggy scarf abomination of the hook and balled it up in Seokjin’s chest. “Hide your collar whore,”

“Yes Master,” Seokjin nodded though the prince couldn’t see it as he was busy pulling off a black and brown cloak from the hook.

The whore wrapped his scarf around his bejeweled collar making sure none of the priceless gemstones escaped its cover as Jungkook perfectly concealed his identity with the draggy brown cape he wore. The prince looked like a commoner. Seokjin grabbing the patched up black cloak from Jungkook realising that for the first time in his life he would look like a normal Quentainian citizen. His collar was hidden. Beauty was hidden and his pink fluffy hair concealed.

Seokjin was normal.

Chapter Text

Taehyung smiled snuggling ever so close into the tanned bare crook of Namjoon’s neck. His scent pleasant to Taehyung. The knight wove calming circles along his back and breathing fluttered along his skin, warning off the cold.

Hoseok on the other hand had no knight to curl up besides, not like he’d want too. It left him shivering softly beneath his bed roll. It was not the first time he had slept under the stars in a wet cold forest. In fact, his childhood alongside Yoongi and Tae had been spent in these conditions but… he was Jung fucking Hoseok. He could do whatever he wanted. He was wealthier than half of the fucking aristocrats in the known world. This was the place for poor common folk, thieves, cutthroats. Not a master thief, not ‘The Broker’. Jung Hoseok could not only afford better but deserved better.

Grumbling to himself he rolled over in his sleeping pallet. Only a few month’s now and he would have those ships he and Yoongi wanted. He’d take Taehyung with him too. Tae may have been free of his chains but not of his mind. Hoseok wondered if Tae stayed with Namjoon because Namjoon was once his master or if it were truly for love. Hoseok glared daggers into Namjoon’s sleeping body. He could do it now. Right now. Cut him for ear to ear like a grinning cat, steal back his brother. Go back to their old life.

He needed those ships though. Hoseok sighed, he was rich but he wanted the best of the best. Everyone knew that the best ships you could buy were from Quentain, that was if you didn’t want to bare the trip to the secluded land of Vian. Vian was so cut off from the world people wondered if they were still caught in the dark ages.

Yoongi had once spent two summers privateering out on the salty waters off of Genisa. He racked up quite a debt to the man captaining his ship though. Turns out pirates can’t simply retire. Once they are on a ship they don’t leave unless they walk the plank. That how their whole story and journey started.

Yoongi’s first and only blood pact. Hoseok didn’t personally know the man. Hoseok somehow managed to set up illegal deals completely through the grape vine. He didn’t even know his name, but he knew Yoongi’s life was in debt to this man. In some ways Hoseok and Taehyung’s were too.

It started the day Yoongi left the life of a pirate. The day that they would no longer be welcomed on illegal Genisian shores. Yoongi knew the consequences well. He had planned his leave well. Striking up a blood pact with a passing noble who allowed the three passage on his ships. In return Yoongi would not only give him the blood pact but act as an informant for where he chose to go. He struck up lucky, who knew that the short foul tempered teenager would one day become the most feared assassin and possibly the best person to smuggle people across the country. Yoongi still was his informant now whilst undergoing his blood pact. Hoseok knew that he’d give it up as soon as they fulfilled their childhood dreams though.

It was Taehyung’s idea as a child. To sail until they could sail no more. To see what was beyond that horizon. To run away from the world. Hoseok and Yoongi were hesitant at his brash dreams at first, but after a while of homelessness, thievery and a life of crime on Genisa they too wanted to see what was beyond the pine forests and sea stormed horizons.

“Hoseokie?” Taehyung had turned away from the crook of Namjoon’s neck, his eyes trained on Hoseok. Large and expressive.

“Mm Taehyungie?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Hoseok smiled.

“What about me?”

“The trip from Genisa to Trairo,” Hoseok smiled mischievously to himself.

“Hoseok!” Taehyung half whispered half scolded the softly laughing thief. They spent a moment in silence after their laughter dissipated; “Hoseok-ah?”

“Mm Tae?”

“Why do you want those ships?”

“You know why Tae,” Hoseok turned onto his back looking at the sky. His hand outstretched pointing to the stars; “Our dream,”

“Our?”

“You and me,” Hoseok smiled, clenching his fist and covering up one of the stars.

“What about Yoongi-ah?” Tae laughed.

“Him too,” Hoseok nodded, “Just us three like it used to be,”

“Mm,” Taehyung yawned, sounding hesitant and unconvinced. He rolled over and curled back up into Namjoon’s side.

Chapter Text

“What’s the occasion?” Seokjin muttered hesitantly, the two of the taking up a hasty pace down the curling cavernous halls of the palace. Drenched in darkness, looking like cutthroats and common criminals.

“It’s my coronation in a week,” Jungkook murmured looking hesitantly around a pillar which had metal engraved vines curling along it.

“Congragulati-,” He paused, “A-are you running away master?” Seokjin frowned, lines creasing his face.

“You really are a fucking idiot Seokjin,” Jungkook sighed looking at him disdainfully, “Of course I’m not running away, my whole life has led up to this point,”

“Oh,” Seokjin murmured, blush on his cheeks. Maybe he was a fool?

“There’s a festival, have you forgotten whenever a major noble becomes of age that there’s one of these infernal things?”

Seokjin in fact didn’t know. He’d heard of them, but on the day’s that the festivals occurred business had been booming and he was too busy or spent out to enjoy them. The last one happened two years ago when the Duke of Highwaters was finally decided mature enough to fully rule his own lands.

He was well past the usual age. Most nobles were declared to be mature around fifteen or sixteen. A year or two younger than Jungkook was now. Jungkook traditionally would not have been coronated anyway until his father had passed. Since he was a royal, he was however promoted in some form from Prince heir to Crowned Prince Heir. That had happened a few months after the Duke of Highwater had become of ‘age’. Buisness had boomed that month.

“Oh,” Seokjin murmured once more.

“You really are an ignorant fool,” Jungkook added whilst Grasping his wrist and tugging him along, his touch wasn’t harsh though which surprised him. Surprised him a great deal. No master hand ever led him like a lamb to the slaughter in such a manner. A non-aggressive finger-scratching manner.

“Master?”

“What?”

“Why are we dressed like this and why are we acting well… suspicious,”

“I may run this fucking country, but I don’t feel like having that old bastard shit on my day,”

“Old bastard? Master?”

“Oh, the Master of Coin, the first thing I’ll do is send him to his grave once I’m coronated. I’m surprised age hasn’t taken him yet,” Jungkook grumbled.

They continued down and down into the cavernous halls and slopes inside the palace, battling stair cases and dodging maids. Their adventures left both of them somewhat on edge. Seokjin was mainly on edge for he was not baring all skin he usually did which unnerved him.

They rounded a hallway and Jungkook stopped a small smile on his face; “Help me lift this,” He said, squatting down over a large marble sculpture, long broken and in need of repair and polish. There was a scant amount of light here and for once there were no red carpets running along the centre of the halls. It was bare. It dusty. It was hidden, and it was perfect.

Seokjin took the other end of the of the marble busk and gripped it. The muscles in his thighs and legs bunched up as he helped to lift the busk off of the floor. A small grunt being pulled forth from Jungkook and Jin’s throats as they pulled it up. Groaning they lifted it a short distance where it still covered what it once hid but also gave them enough wiggle room. It was sat behind a large mouldy green toned grate. Seokjin wondered where it led to.

Jungkook would find out that answer first as he was busy lowering his body down through the floor and into the dark abys below. He dropped a short distance before Seokjin heard a squelch and a small groan of disdain. It was then that the stench hit him. There was another reason for that busk to cover the grate for it no doubt led to the castle drainage system. A system that not only dealt with rain and other water but sewage.

“Seokjin, come on down,” Jungkook called from the darkness. Seokjin blinked, looking over the edge to see his master’s face stare up at him.

“Yes, master,” he spoke loud enough for Jungkook to hear, then, under his breath he sighed; “This is how I’ll die, in the fucking sewers with an overgrown child.”

Placing his palms flat either side of the grate he lowered himself down as far as he could. His legs dangling in the free air. With a prayer of cleanliness Seokjin dropped.

His boots slammed down into the sewage water with a thick gloopy squelch. It was ankle deep with a stagnant lingering stench. Seokjin landing unbalanced toppled off to the side, almost falling face first into a literal pile of shit before being caught. Jungkook’s hands and arms tight around his waist, cradling him. Holding him above the sewage water. Seokjin sighed, his body losing its tenseness at the thought of not having to swallow a mouthful of muck.

“Watch it,” Jungkook growled, standing up straight and helping Seokjin stand too. Though the prince pulled away Seokjin still felt the prince’s hands and arms pressed to his body. Weirdly enough it was new to him. Never before had his master’s hands on his body made him feel this way. Seokjin blamed the new clothes.

“Hurry up whore,” Jungkook grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and squelching along the passage. Each foot sending a new scent into the air.

After a while of walking through the maze Seokjin had come to realise the warmth in his boots was not his own body heat but rather the muck beneath them and that the rustling noises he heard weren’t his imagination, large fat rats travelling along the same passage as them.

Seokjin wished all of this was his imagination. Then again, his imagination got the better of him most times. For when he first stepped into the passage of darkness, gloom and filth he wondered if his master planned to be rid of him. Seokjin was after all a burden on the younger male. He was surprised Jungkook hadn’t sold him off yet.

Seokjin wondered if his master pitied him. Yet then again, it was Jungkook, did he even have the capacity to feel emotions other than anger, let alone pity. Seokjin sighed, that beautiful smile and laughter ringing out from this morning, or the night before when Jungkook cradled Seokjin’s cold body into his warm chest contradicted all of these things. His master truly was the first person he couldn’t read.

Seokjin was scared whenever he was around Jungkook. It was once more not the same as his old masters. For Seokjin did not feel the same fear as he used to. The gut-wrenching skin-crawling vomit inducing fear he used to feel. Fear that left him paralysed and running alike, left him many nights sleepless on the dirt ground or locked up in a cell. The fear he felt with Jungkook was different. It was almost… nice?

Fluttering, not in the pit of his stomach, but up in his chest filling his lungs and spreading through his windpipe. Heart leaping and dancing rather than thumping and thundering in his ear. Seokjin hadn’t experienced the feeling before, the nice fear.

Jungkook turned a corner and Seokjin gladly found himself in the light. The hole before them was large enough for one man at a time. It had a metal door over it, its cross worked metal cage like appearance seemed strong. Jungkook stepped up to it and smiled; “If I’m right then the maintenance workers always leave it,” he pushed, the door swinging outwards, “Open.”

Seokjin smiled, glad to be rid of the gross confinements. Once again, he was shocked to find it not the worse place he had been in; “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Seokjin murmured following closely behind Jungkook into an empty alleyway.

“A little bit of both,” Jungkook smiled, pleased with himself. It wasn’t a full smile but least it wasn’t hollow like usual.

The prince turned around taking Seokjin by surprise His hands curled along the scarf covering Seokjin’s collar, he smoothed it out softly for the whore. Then reaching over the whore’s broad shoulder Jungkook pulled up Seokjin’s hood concealing his pink hair. Seokjin hadn’t noticed but it had fallen down.

“Keep yourself covered, you may be mine but whose to say if fear will keep drunkards from caving your skull in,” he shrugged, “you are Vianian after all whore,” Jungkook said. His tone almost justifying the action he previously described. That, hurt.

“Fun,” Seokjin muttered following Jungkook. “What are we doing here anyway master?” The whore said, his tone obviously deflated.

“We, Seokjin, are going to enjoy the festivities as any travelling nomads would.” Jungkook smiled, “Call me Kook?” With his last statement his voice almost brightened and his trimmed accent changing to a softer thicker tongued one found commonly with the poorer folk. It was like Seokjin’s own accent.

“Alright, Kook,” Seokjin tried it out on his tongue.

“Good,” Jungkook nodded and turned around padding off down the empty street connecting to the alley. Upon following Seokjin noticed that this street connected to a busier one which connected to a busier one.

The pair ended up walking and walking all day through the maze of streets all filled with festivities, all filled with stalls. Stalls filled. Filled with people. Filled with spices. Filled with anything colourful. Jungkook bought nothing. He just admired the surroundings. On one occasion Seokjin noticed the prince giving a blind beggar a gold coin. That beggar was lucky indeed. Only the nobility really saw gold coins. Jungkook was a powerful man if he could freely give them.

Seokjin smiled following Jungkook back, they hadn’t spoken at all today but Seokjin enjoyed the day nonetheless. His feeling of happiness heavy on his shoulders and lids. He was content.

Above him the sky had turned the colour of the spices sold previously today along the bustling streets. Orange, Gold, Reds. In the corner though, Seokjin could see greens, turquoises and violets. Dusk was a beautiful time.

“C’mon whore,” Jungkook yawned, “I want a drink,”

“Sure Kook,” Seokjin murmured nodding politely at a bunch of drunk passers. “Where exactly do you want to drink?” For some reason the whore had almost become an escort for the day. The prince was utterly hopeless at the common life.

“A tavern,”

Seokjin laughed; “A tavern? Do you know how many taverns are in this city?”

“Too many, they pay a shit tone of tax money,” Jungkook smiled smugly.

Seokjin smiled, his humour amused the whore. Turning around he plodded along the road. There were three here in plain sight. All of them already bustling with energy as weary travellers and happy newly rich stall owners went to celebrate the day.

The whore looked up blinking softly at the sign above him, he couldn’t make out the logo but the name was clear as day; “Wet dog?” Jungkook murmured not at all convinced.

Seokjin smiled looking over at the tavern opposite; “Or would you rather go to the Good Shag?” the whore laughed.

“Fair enough, they all have shit names anyway,” he murmured stepping in through the door and making his way through to the bar. Though Jungkook was oblivious with directions, unless it came to battle fields, he managed to buy Seokjin and himself a pint of ale. He also managed to bring said drink back without spilling it on himself or anyone else.

Seokjin smiled taking the pint of ale from Jungkook. He had drunk ale on the off occasion at his old brothel. Enough to know the warmth that it brought to his belly, the heat in his cheeks and the searing headaches that came the next morning. Because of that he sipped slowly, drinking it even though it had a foul taste. He preferred the fine taste of palace wine. Jungkook on the other hand seemed to enjoy the taste of plain ale.

“So,” Jungkook smiled, giving permission for Seokjin to talk a little more freely.

“So?” Seokjin paused, “What do you want me to say huh?”

“I don’t know, but you’re burning holes into my skull. Is it that I’m too darn good looking or are you plotting my murder?”

“Well, I can’t be the first to plot your murder,”

“Mm, you definitely wouldn’t be the last either,”

“Is that not a scary thought for you?”

“Not really,” Jungkook took a sip from the ale, “It comes with the job,”

“I guess so,” Jin nodded.

Job. What came with his own job? Seokjin probably would prefer murder than half of what his job required. Well, used to require. Seokjin found himself truly believing for the first time he wouldn’t be that bothered by serving his masters requests. If they ever came that was. After all, to Seokjin, sex was meaningless. Sex was sex. An action. Nothing more, nothing less.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How meaningless sex is,” Seokjin blurted out, un-fazed at all.

Jungkook snorted, blowing directly into his mug and ending up with it splattering his face. He coughed, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve; “By the gods, is that all you think about?”

Seokjin smiled hollowly; “It comes with the job I gu-,”

“Oi you two better not be talking about work,” a burly drunk man stumbled over; “It’s a holiday, were meant to celebrate!” He was in a good mood. The man slid in next to Jungkook as cheers went up through the tavern at his words. Cheers and rasping mugs ringing out.

“Cheers to no work!” One drunkard shouted.

“Cheers to a fucking break! Thank fuck for festival right lads?!” Another cried out.

“Thanks for the Virginal Prince!” This one was by far the loudest, it resulted in more sloshing of ale and mugs clinking. Another group of men sat down this time. They all wore the same yellow livery. They were obviously from Garindal. Seokjin frowned. At first it was strange but then he remembered the upcoming siege, Garindal had long been a Quentainian ally. It was known.

“I heard that the prince aint a virgin no more,” His Garindal accent thick, blunt and heavy.

“Then why the fuck would ‘e be known as the virgin prince than aye?” His companion sat beside him and took a swig of his beer.

“Apparently ‘e’s got a knew whore of ‘is,” The first spoke, then looked to Seokjin and Jungkook; “You lot ‘eard anythin’?”

Seokjin shrugged, in the corner of his eyesight he could see Jungkook quietly fuming; “Nah, we don’t hear much. Travel around a lot hey Kook,” Seokjin nodded. Jungkook smiled tiredly and thankfully.

“Well,” the man continued, “I ‘eard this slut of ‘is was a Vianian lad, like thirteen or somin?” Seokjin frowned. Not because he was unknowingly called a slut, he’d been called that many times. Yet the story was hard to believe, child sex slaves wasn’t an uncommon idea nor was it frowned on. Yet knowing Jungkook, even if his master was a dickhead, he would never do that.

“I ‘eard that too,” the second one chimed in. The third friend stayed silent. He did not have a red tint to his cheeks like they did for he was miserably sober.

“Who’da thought a prince like ‘im would’ve been a fag aye?” The first laughed as if his words were funny. Seokjin frowned. Being gay was not illegal here, nor in Trairo and Halin. It was however an illegal and shameful thing in Garindal.

“Fucking faggot,” the third growled; “They’re right gross, the lot of em.” The man paused and laughed, “Do you think the prince does the mounting aye?” The three of them laughed loudly. “Or is ‘e a fucking gir-,”

“Mind your fucking mouth, will you?” Jungkook growled setting his empty ale down.

“Don’t tell me you’re a fucking fag mate?” The first laughed. He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, but his friends seemed disgusted.

Jungkook laughed; “Actually I am,” He paused, “And I like taking it up the fucking arse.”

The third sober man stood looking utterly pissed off and Seokjin stepped forwards, easily taller than the stockier man. “I’d watch it, he can pack a punch.”

Jungkook was already steadily striding off out of the door. Seokjin had noticed his ale was finished. Jungkook was obviously unbothered by the situation and the insults, he was simply waiting until his drink was finished.

“Kook!” Seokjin called following him out the door. Jungkook walking slowly along the road a short distance away hands in his cloak pockets.

“Hurry up whore,” Jungkook called out. Hurry up must be Jungkook’s favourite combination of words. His favourite word would definitely be whore.

They headed back to the place where they started their day. A new silence over them. Seokjin was at thought for the most part. Even throughout the walk through the busy loud streets. Through the sewage.

Seokjin waded along ahead of Jungkook his scarf still around his neck and his cloak still over his head. He wondered for a moment how exactly they’d clamber back up as there was a short drop before they hit the ground before. Frowning Seokjin paired things together. He would not only get wet, smell like shit but had to squat down in it to help the prince up. He was not looking forward to it.

To his surprise that however didn’t happen. Jungkook did it for him. Lowering himself below the whore both figuratively and literally. One knee pressed beneath him, the other stretched before him. He patted his thigh and Seokjin stepped forwards. One of the whore’s hands resting on Jungkook’s shoulder, the muscles beneath it both smooth and taught.

Pushing his drenched boot against Jungkook’s thigh he leapt up. The extra height allowing him to grapple the edge of the grate. With a grunt Seokjin slowly pulled himself up, he was not a weak man by any means, but the new life of luxury had left his body being softer than usual. In some ways that was good though, since currently there was a prince pushing him up by his arse. Seokjin laughed at the thought. The soon to be king literally sat in shit below him.

“Hurry up,” Jungkook whined more like a child than a prince.

Seokjin rolled over the side and sighed a breath of relief. The he looked back down at Jungkook below him. Holding out his hand for the prince. The prince took it. Allowing Seokjin to pull him up, with much struggle. However, once Jungkook was high enough he easily grabbed hold of the ledge with one hand and pull himself up. Seokjin at this point had recovered and stood up too. He paused momentarily, what an eventful night that was.

“What are you thinking about now?” Jungkook sighed, disdain once more.

Seokjin chuckled to himself; “You like taking it up the arse huh Kook,”

Jungkook chuckled, Seokjin wasn’t expecting that response but he was glad to have it; “Not really, but I’m not going to turn it down without trying it first, and whore,” he paused, “its master to you,”

Seokjin still smiling spoke; “Yes master, may I be excused to go back to the harem?”

Jungkook looked at him as if he were dumb; “You most certainly can fucking not,”

“Why not master?”

“You smell like arse, look like it too,”

“Then where am I to go?” Seokjin frowned.

Jungkook shrugged; “I guess the only place we can go is back to my room,” Seokjin didn’t like that. The journey up those stairs was one his already tired legs did not want. Seokjin wondered if this was pre planned.

“You’re sleeping on the floor though,” the prince added.

Chapter Text

Yoongi had strapped their things back down to the horse hours ago but still found himself looking back ever so often. The saddle bags hung limpy like the dead were mournfully empty of provisions.

Yoongi wasn’t all too bothred though, they had just enough stale food to get them through the pass and onto the next town. What he was bothered by was the cold, he would be fine but Jimin’s body wouldn’t be used to the cold. The Quentainian capitol was warm for most of the year and dreadfully humid for the rest. The snowy pass had only one thing, and that was cold.

He could see it in the distance, looming, maybe a day or two’s ride out and they’d be there, verging on the edge of the snowy peaks. It hadn’t snowed down upon them yet but Yoongi knew it would anyday.

Yoongi hated the snow. When it first rained down from the dark roaring heavens it was white and lacy, delicate and forgiving. Soft to the touch like churned powder. After days of sitting on the frozen earth though it turn grey and thick, icy and clumpy. Heavy and crunching beneath the feet. Then it eventually thaws out and melts before refreezing and turning into glassy black obsidian ice. Cold and unforgiving. A pain in the ass.

Beneath them his horse snorted softly, ears flicking. Its gait halting for a moment before continuing. Yoongi leaned forwards across Jimin, one hand holding Jimin’s hip to keep him steady as he did so. Jimin’s hip fitting perfectly there, warm beneath his palm. He ran his hand along the horse’s cold black coat, its hair pricking against his skin. Jimin frowned; “What’s wrong?’ he murmured, voice soft and scratchy from lack of use.

Yoongi slowly straighten his back in a feline way, his hands trailing back around Jimin’s front to reach the coarse reins. His hands then fisted around the reins resting on the younger’s thighs.

Leaning closer he murmured softly into Jimin’s ear; “I think we’re being followed,”

Jimin stiffened beneath Yoongi’s words. The older squeezed his thigh, reminding him not to be so tense. “I saw some tracks by the side of the road a while back” Yoongi explained, “On their own not that strange but the horse has been on edge ever since,”

“Bandits?”

“I hope so,” Yoongi murmured.

He paused, breath fanning across Jimin’s skin. The hair’s at the nape of Jimin’s neck standing on end. One of his hands let go of the reins and trailed to the small of his own back, to the tiny dagger sheathed across his belt. He pulled it out with a soft scraping noise, pressing the cold steel of the dagger flat against his flesh to conceal it. “Jimin,”

“Yeah,”

“There’s a dagger in my hand, take it and hide it up your sleeve yeah?”

“O-okay,” Jimin murmured.

Yoongi’s pale hand curled back around Jimin’s torso his forearm bare for Jimin to see the blade there. Angled just perfectly so that only Jimin could see the shining blade. Hastily Jimin took the dagger and sheathed it down his sleeve. The cold metal making him shiver, Yoongi’s warm touch however made it all that bearable.

“Yoongi?”

“Mm?”

“Why did you say you hoped it was bandits?”

“You know the saying keep your enemies close Jimin,”

“Mm,”

“Well my enemies are very close, and If they’re who I think they are it could go one of two ways,”

“Huh?” Jimin frowned in an improper fashion. His courtly manners wearing off after month’s in the wilderness. His only company being a barbaric Genisan killer.

“They could butcher us here on the side of the road and take my head from my shoulders for the money it promises,”

“Oh,” Jimin paled. Paler than the snow.

“Or they could take us to Trairo to an old acquaintance of mine,”

“Yoongi?”

“Let’s hope they’re feeling kind aye?”

“Who’s this acquaintance of yours?”

“Have you ever heard of the circled sun?”

“No?” Jimin looked confused, though from their positioning Yoongi couldn’t see this. For the younger found himself leaning back and pressing his spine to Yoongi’s chest.

“Well, it’s an organization of sorts. They pretty much run Trairo,” Yoongi began, “I used to be their leaders’ right hand before I left.”

“Why did you leave?”

“He did something to me,”

“Oh?”

“Not to me directly,” Yoongi murmured, “To my family. Things that I can never forgive,”

“I’m sorry,” Jimin murmured. Whatever it was it hurt Yoongi greatly for when he spoke of it his voice dropped and became hollow.

“It’s fine, by the time I realised what had happened there was nothing I could do,” He nodded. Jimin knew this because his head butted against his shoulder. “Anyway, I left. The thing is jimin, with the circled sun you leave in a casket or you leave as something much worse,”

“What could be worse than death?”

“They sell you off to the slave trade. Not just to any slave owners either, the meanest they could find. They break you bit by bit bone by bone until you become nothing more than a feral beast,”

“Oh,”

“Then your masters can do only two things with you,” Yoongi’s jaw tightened, “Re-build you, or kill you,”

“Yoongi?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re family,”

“What about them?”

“You said that the leader of this gang, th-that he did something to them? Something unforgivable,”

“Yeah, he did,” Yoongi murmured.

“W-what did he do?” Jimin nervously asked. He was anxious because he didn’t know how his captor would act.

“He sold my younger brother off to the spine breaker,”

“The spine breaker?”

“The man most notorious for destroying the minds of his slaves. He’s famous in the underworld for it. Him and his little brother. They’re sick fucks,”

“Is you’re brother dead?” Jimin hoped that his younger brother had met that fate, the easier way out.

“No, he’s off serving some fancy palace lord or something from where you came,”

Jimin frowned, he had never seen whore’s in the palace mistreated. Not badly at least. They were beaten yes, starved, occasionally. But not to the point that Yoongi had stressed. “If you were in the palace why didn’t you take him back”

“Don’t worry litte lord I am getting him back, and once I’ve delivered you my family is getting far away from here,”

“What’s his name?”

“Taehyung,” Yoongi smiled bittersweetly.

Chapter Text

 

“Seokjin?” A small cold hand nudged at his even smaller shoulder; “Seokjin wake-up,” this one was even rougher. The small girl pushing him off of her. He’d fallen asleep curled on her lap. Leeching her warmth like a parasite.

 

“Huh?” Seokjin yawned, wide-eyed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His small hand’s curled into tiny petite fists. He sat like a duckling, sitting in a pool of cold murky brown water. Seokjin shivered. His back hurt and his head throbbed. He felt as if his face itself was heavy and snot dribbled from his nose. He could tell he looked a mess.

 

“C’mon, we have chores,” the girl stood up. Smoothing down her dirty nightshift and hair. She had it braided into two braids now. Making her look younger than she was. Even with her large round eyes and pouted lips.

 

“Chores?” Seokjin yawned, standing up and dusting off his own soggy pants and baggy shirt.

 

“Mm, cleaning. Cooking. Chores,” The girl yawned, one hand covering her mouth the other outstretched for Seokjin to take. The seven-year-old taking her warm hand in his. They walked side by side, Seokjin sticking close to her. Her small thumb running comforting circles on his skin.

 

Together they walked out of the small shed they’d slept in and outside into the bright green world. Seokjin hadn’t seen where he ended up the night prior. He had been stuffed in a chest for most of the journey and following that they had him thrown directly into the cell. “It’s pretty ain't it?”

 

“Yeah, pretty,” Seokjin said.

 

 Before him, looking as if it were pulled from a painting, were rows and rows of green hills, fields, and meadows as far as the eye could see. Everything was green or yellow, spotted in pinks and whites. The smell of freshly cut grass and flowers hit him in the nose. Seokjin smiled.

 

“It’s not all that nice,” The girl grumbled hollowly like Seokjin’s empty stomach.

 

“Why not?”

 

The girl looked around at the other slaves departing the shed. “No particular reason,” she yawned. “Now stop talking, you’re gonna give me a headache kid,”

 

“Oh, sorry,”

 

“Ah, don’t apologise. It doesn’t matter,” she sighed. Trudging off her bare feet hitting the slightly damp ground with squelches.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

The girl sighed; “Are you always this talkative Seokjin?”

 

“Sorry,” Seokjin whispered under his breath, hurrying his pace to keep up with her.

 

She was fast for her height. She wasn’t that tall. Seokjin wondered how old she was. Last night he thought she looked about fifteen. Nearly an adult. However, now, in full light, she seemed only twelve. Which was still pretty old considering Seokjin himself believed he was about the age of eight or seven.

 

The girl continued walking, her feet getting dirtier and dirtier. Mud sliding up both of their knees. Seokjin was used to the feeling of grit on his skin. Though usually it was up his arms too from day’s spent bricklaying, harvesting and doing random chores. Seokjin had once been shoved up a chimney pipe to fetch down a nest of birds. He was seeing and coughing up soot for days. Not to mention he had nightmares about it too.

 

Seokjin sighed, scratching his thin twig-like arm. They climbed above a small hill and Seokjin could finally see it. In the distance was a small town nestled in the crook of a forest. Between the hill and the town was a large blue house. Seokjin wondered if it was his master’s home. That’s where they were headed at least.

 

The girl along with half of the slaves he had spent the night with all trudged that way towards the house. No one spoke, they all eyed each other, sizing everyone up. Seokjin thought that the slaves acted as if they were all criminal’s and wrongdoers. A snake pit. He’d heard older slaves belonging to his last master say things like that. This is what he imagined it was like. Seokjin wondered if his friends were missing him.

 

“Don’t mind the other’s, they’re just suspicious,” the girl whispered, “They don’t like us,” she whispered even quieter.

 

“Why?”

 

“Well you’re Vianian Seokjin, you’re different, beautiful,” the boy blushed. He had never been told he was beautiful before. “And I’m the master’s favorite,” she said, tapping her neck. She didn’t wear the thick iron collar Seokjin wore, her’s was made of leather with loose ties. “I’m his pet,”

 

“Oh?”

 

“He wants you to be a pet one-day Seokjin, some of the other’s overheard him say so,”

 

“What’s a pet?”

 

The girl frowned slightly; “You’ll see Seokjin, you’ll see. Now stop talking and help me fill up this bucket.” She said lifting the metal bucket from the ground. They had reached the house now. It’s blue painted wooden boarded sides looking less pretty here. Its paint was chipped and peeling and it looked quite run down.

 

“Does the master live here?” Seokjin murmured. He took hold of the metal pump that fed water directly from a well. His small arm’s straining to pump it so that a steady flow of water trickled out.

 

“Oh, swap, your too weak,” the girl sighed taking his place. Leaving Seokjin to hold the bucket in place so the sloshing water didn’t knock it over. “And no, the master doesn’t live here. This is just one of his establishments. He actually lives in Garindal, work’s for the king there or somin’. Travels around a lot,”

 

“Do you travel around a lot?”

 

The girl laughed; “No silly, I stay here,”

 

“Oh its just-,” Seokjin trailed off.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I just thought that you were special or something since you’re his favourite and all,”

 

“Nah, I’m not his favourite, I’m his favourite here. He has a lot of other pets Seokjin. I’m not the only one,”

 

“Oh,” Seokjin murmured.

 

Hands gripping the bucket’s rusted handle. He straightened his back, bringing it upwards and hauling it up with a grunt. Then together they lugged it inside the house. The lower floor was empty, the rest of the slaves tending to the bedrooms or making breakfast. Though Seokjin saw one or two guards lounging around looking bored.

 

The girl sighed, setting it down in the main room. It’s metal bottom hitting the floorboards with a slapping metal noise.

 

Seokjin glanced around the room. It smelt of smoke, alcohol, and sweat. Every piece of furniture was mixed in with the smell of it and the stains from it. The red gauzy rugs, the shabby patchwork couches. Everything was a mixture of colours and it all baffled his senses.

 

“It doesn’t smell too nice, but you get used to it,” The girl murmured lifting the large rug from the floor and rolling it up into a coil. Seokjin helped her leaning it against the wall.

 

“Why is it so smoky?”

 

“If the room is hazy people are less likely to see what they're payin’ for Seokjin.” The girl explained. Seokjin wondered what they were paying for? It certainly wasn’t anything to do with farming or building. He was good at those. Seokjin wanted to be a farmer. He loved animals.

 

The pair of them spent the next few hours scrubbing the floors of the building clean only stopping twice to eat a small meal of mushy burnt oats and have a small sip of water from the well. Seokjin enjoyed most of the day. He enjoyed speaking to someone closer to his age. He’d learnt a great deal about the girl.

 

She was thirteen, born in a village not too far from here. Seokjin was amazed at how many sibling’s she had. Apparently, she was the twelfth child of her parents. She had five sisters and seven brothers. All older than her. The young boy found it amazing that one person could have so many kids. He said that her mother must really love kids if she had so many. The girl only said that it was her father that kept having more, him or the alcohol he drank. Apparently, the girl was named after her mother; Lalisa. She said to call him Lisa though.

 

That’s what Seokjin did. He called her Lisa. Lisa was nice. Seokjin liked her, she was a good friend.

 

Blinking he looked up and around. His neck burned and ached, protesting at the angle he fell asleep at last night. His hand ran along the crook of his neck, his bare palm meeting the cold gems there. Groaning he sat up, his shoulder sore too but not an uncommon pain. He was used to it. Seokjin had slept on the floor many times, this surprisingly was the nicest floor he had slept on.

 

Behind him he heard a soft knock on the door to the room. Not his room. The prince's room.

 

Yawning softly the whore pulled the blanket he had slept on around his shoulders. Bundling it up around his cheeks and laying back down on his side. His head making contact with a plush pillow he had stolen from his master’s bed. “Seokjin-ah,” said master grumbled from the bed. “Get the door,” he groaned.

 

Seokjin groaned rolling back over onto his back. Pushing himself up he sighed.

 

Stumbling forwards over his feet to the door. His bare feet hitting the cold tile floors with thuds. Thuds that led up to the doorway. The whore put his hand on the doorknob, the crystal cold beneath his palm. Slowly he turned it and stepped away. In front of him, a young maid with a plate stacked high with food stood. Her eyes widened seeing the whore before him. Seokjin himself was shocked at waking up in the prince’s room.

 

The girl blinked and looked down, her breathing hard. Seokjin wondered what time it was and how long it took her to clamber up all those stairs. There were far too many. Seokjin wondered why the prince had decided to seclude himself so far up here. Palace life wasn’t too bad? Was it?

 

With shaking hands, the girl outstretched the tray of food for the whore. Seokjin smiled, though she wouldn’t have noticed as she was too busy staring at the floor; “Thank-you,” the whore whispered softly. As soon as Seokjin had grabbed the tray she squeaked and hurried off. “Strange,”

 

Jungkook groaned face down in fur blankets and cotton pillows; “What was it?”

 

“What Master?”

 

“Who was it,” Jungkook yawned, still face down in the mattress. Seokjin laughed softly looking down at the half-asleep prince. His bare back exposed, Seokjin could see the fine muscles there, his back sloping and arched as he curled around pillows.

 

“Food,”

 

“Oh!” Jungkook looked up immediately more awake now. He pushed himself up and patted the mattress beside him. Holding the rest of the blankets up to ward off the cold.

 

“Master,” Seokjin murmured politely setting it down on the mattress beside him. He then stood stretching his back and looking for his discarded blanket on the floor.

 

Behind him, Jungkook started to eat on the freshly cooked food. It wasn’t like the sickly-sweet food Seokjin was force-fed every morning. No, it was surprisingly plain. Bread, pale sausages and a few cooked vegetables. Seokjin found it weird that Jungkook would eat something so plain when he could eat literally anything in the world.

 

“Master?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Can I go back to the harem now?”

 

 

“If you wish,” Jungkook smiled upwards, though his facial features changed upon seeing Seokjin’s look of confusion; “What?”

 

“Why are you being nice to me master?”

 

“What are you on about?” Jungkook said dismissively.

 

“Well you’re acting less,” Seokjin shrugged; “Mean.” It sounded childish but it was the truth.

 

Jungkook shrugged; “You don’t like me being nice?”

 

“What?” Seokjin coughed.

 

“Would you rather I am mean to you?”

 

“No,”

 

“Then why are you complaining?”

 

“I’m not, it’s just-,”

 

“Seokjin,” Jungkook smiled, still somewhat tired and sleepy; “I may have a temper, but I’ve always been or tried to be nice to you,”

 

Seokjin had no response.

 

“The council would have had you killed, Namjoon put his word forwards yes, but if I hadn’t sided with him you’d be dead. I have made sure that you have guards with you all the time, even if they have disobeyed my orders. You are waited on all the time even if you do not partake in it. Seokjin, I have literally killed people to make sure that you are safe in the future,” Jungkook yawned, “I am sorry for not being the best master, I am sorry for hitting you, truly I am. But I have always tried to keep you safe though.”

 

Seokjin’s eyes were wide. The world just loved slapping him in the face. It kept on doing that; “T-thank-you master,”

 

“Hurry along now, I’ll need you later.”

Chapter Text

Hoseok sighed deeply, patting his russet coloured paint horse and handing the dark reins to a short dark haired stable boy. The group had decided to journey to Trairo a different way once realising they wouldn’t beat the winter storms that came in early this year. Instead they’d travel to Highwaters first, which was about a days ride from here, taking a boat down to the coast before traveling along the Trairo via sea. That way they’d get to Trairo a month before Yoongi and Jimin. It was Namjoon’s idea which surprised Hoseok. The idiot did have a brain knocking around in that skull of his.

“Watch the muzzle, she bites!” Hoseok called after the tiny stable boy who continued walking away with his horse and Namjoon’s, wrestling the reins of Namjoon’s larger horse.

“Hoseok-ah!” Taehyung hit him lightly, playfully on the arm; “Why’d you do that?”

“It’s funny!” Hoseok laughed loudly and somewhat obnoxiously in Namjoon’s belief. His lips curling back revealing straight white teeth.

“I’ll get us a room,” He grumbled trudging past. Their bags pulled over his broad shoulders.

Hoseok smiled, he may be an oaf but he could lift for sure. From this distant he could see Namjoon’s muscled shoulders well beneath his shirt, not to mention his arse. Riding pants could do wonders. Hoseok smirked evilly to himself Namjoon may be the worse man possible, may be a hypocrite, may be evil, but damn did he have a nice body. Hoseok could admire him even if he loathed the man.

“Stop staring Hoseok-ah,” Taehyung nudged him in the side, elbow digging into his ribs.

“I wasn’t, I was figuring out where would be the best place to stab him,”

“In his arse?” Taehyung laughed. “And what would you be stabbing my companion with in the arse?”

“One or two things,”

“I though you hated Joonie?”

“Oh,” Hoseok laughed hollowly, cruelly even. Taehyung truelly believed that Hoseok was imagining Namjoon’s death. “I do,”

Taehyung sighed; “He’s really nice you know Hoseok-ah. If you knew him the-,”

“I know all I need to know about him Tae,” Hoseok growled. “He used you,”

“So has everyone else Hoseok,” he growled storming forwards towards the entrance of the inn.

Hoseok grabbed Taehyung’s arm, fingers digging into Taehyung’s bicep; “I’ve never used you Taehyung. You deserve better than him. He’s- he- What he’s done to yo-,”

“I don’t want better Hoseok,” Taehyung smiled softly, sadly, “I want him.”

Hoseok let go of Taehyung’s arm and followed him inside, he flicked his hood back up as he went. The fabric sitting heavily on his locks as he walked along. The folds billowing behind him in clouds as they walked.

The pair waltzed up to the inn’s bar. There was a surprising amount of people in here for the small town that they found themselves in. They had to jostle around a lot of people before they made it up to the small bar and ordered themselves a drink and a meal. Neither was particularly appetising, but it was better than grainy military rations.

The plate chipped at the side was slick with watery pale gravy, and heaped with sloppy mashed potatoes. A stale role of bread sat precariously on the side of the plate soaping up gravy on one side. Hoseok frowned along with Taehyung and ate his role of bread. The crust breaking beneath his teeth, flaking along his lips and drying his mouth. He downed it with some piss tasting ale.

“You’ve grown up,” Tae murmured in-between bites of his meal.

“How so?”

“You’re taller,”

“So are you,” Hoseok smiled. “And your voice-,” he began. Lowering his voice to as low as possible, dropping his chin and looking like an idiot whilst doing it.

“Shut-up,” Taehyung laughed punching him in the arm.

“One thing hasn’t changed,” Hoseok laughed.

“Oh? What’s that?” Tae smiled.

“You’re still weak,” Hoseok laughed, squeaky and wide smiled.

“Ru-,” Taehyung began, ending up getting cut off by a burly man stepping between the two and jostling Tae slightly as he pushed by. “Move fag,” the man grunted pushing past.

The man was greying but still built of pure muscle. Muscle and fat. His beard was twisted and gnarled and covered a good portion of his lower face. His skin was already flushed red from drinking and his breath reeked of it. From his clothes Hoseok knew he was a farmer, a poor one at that.

Hoseok growl animalistically; “The fuck did you just say about him?” he stood tall. Hand’s fisted by his side. Eyes molten, they bore into the farmer.

“Huh?” The drunk man looked over his shoulder the face of ease. “The fuck do you want?”

“I want you to apologise you fat fuck,” Hoseok glared.

“Did I hurt your whore’s feelings did I?” he laughed to himself.

Little did he know that to call Taehyung that would be his undoing. For the previously unbothered Taehyung was now visibly saddened by it and angered at the same time and if anyone knew anything about Hoseok was that Taehyung and Yoongi were his only weaknesses. If you fucked with Yoongi, you fucked with Hoseok. If you fucked with Taehyung, then you would wish you were dead.

Hoseok grunted leaning over the bar and reaching for his clay mug. His fist palming around its cool length. With a cry of anger, he brought it down on the man’s balding shiny red head. It cracked, splintered and shattered breaking atop his head and sending shards into both of their skin. The man cried out and flung a fist at Hoseok, the fisted ball of meat slamming into Hoseok’s high cheekbone sending the man reeling backwards a few steps. Hoseok stood up again, a small cruel smile on his lips.

Hoseok spat on the floor, a wad of saliva and blood landing there. Then with surprising ease Hoseok stepped forwards hand’s reaching around the man’s neck, bringing him towards Hoseok. Their chests hit and Hoseok brought his head back. Neck cracking as Hoseok brought his forehead down onto the man’s nose. Crack and splatter. The man’s nose broke beneath Hoseok’s force. Blood flew out of the man’s nose splattering Hoseok in the face.

He stumbled to the floor holding his broken nose and spluttering as Namjoon charged forwards. He pushed Hoseok backward, taking the broker by surprise. “What the fuck is going on here?!” He glared at Hoseok. The broker didn’t speak, no matter what he said he knew Namjoon still would see him in the wrong.

“Namjoon,” Tae placed a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, calming him.

“No Tae,” Namjoon pulled away; “He may be your friend but he’s a fucking psychopath,” Hoseok scoffed. Earning another glare from Namjoon. “How the fuck do you even trust him? He fucking sold you out!”

Hoseok laughed somewhat manically; “Oh Namjoon, you’re a fucking hypocrite. Not only that but you’re a fucking idiot.” That was the last word’s they had that night as Hoseok stomped out of the inn. Instead of joining the pair in the room he stormed off and spent the night with the company of his horse in the stable.

“Namjoon,” Taehyung sighed, utterly tired.

“What?” Namjoon growled; “Am I wrong?”

“Joo-,”

“Tae, he’s a fucking murderer,”

“For fucks sake Namjoon,” Tae sighed, “So am I,” with that he turned up away from the crowd. Most were unbothered by the fight; in inns and taverns it was a regular occurrence. Other’s watched on hoping for entertainment.

“Tae!” Namjoon called hurrying towards him. Somehow the younger male made it too their room before him, even when he didn’t know which one it was.

As soon as Namjoon walked into the room Tae slammed the door behind him. It shook on his hinges, behind the boy. Tae had his back to it, palms still on the door, shoulder’s hunched slightly. Namjoon couldn’t tell if he was upset or angry.

“Taehyung I-,”

“You need to apologise to Hoseok in the morning,”

“Tae, I wont,”

“Why not?”

“He just broke a man’s nose!”

“Do you know why?”

“Is there ever a reason to break someone’s nose?”

“That man,” Tae looked at the floor, “Th- Hoseok was defending my honour,”

“Tae?”

“He called me a whore Namjoon,” Tae bit his lip, “A whore,”

“Oh Tae,” Namjoon stepped forwards. Stomach dropping low to his feet with guilt. “I’m so sor-,”

“D-do I look like a whore?”

“What?” Namjoon’s brows furrowed. “Tae you’re not a wh-,”

“No, but I was,”

“Taehyung, that’s you’re past,” Namjoon stepped forwards. He cupped Tae’s cheek in one hand, thumb grazing his skin. The other falling comfortably on Taehyung’s hip. His thumb wiped away a stray tear. “You’re a free man now Tae. Free. You hear me? You belong to no one,”

“No one?”

“No one, not unless you want to,” Namjoon smiled softly.

“I-I want to,”

“What?”

“I want to belong to someone,” Tae smiled. He leant forwards and kissed Namjoon’s lips; “I want to belong to you,”

“I want to belong to you too,” Namjoon laughed bringing his lips forwards.

--------- SKIP THE FUCK HERE FOR NO SMUT --------------

Taehyung rocked his lips against Namjoon’s. Tilting his head back and sliding his lips apart, Namjoon’s tongue pressing to his lips. Sliding across his tongue and exploring his mouth. Taehyung groaned into his touch. His hand’s sliding around Namjoon’s side feeling his muscles beneath his shirt. The shirt soon to come off as the younger male found the hem of it. Pulling it up over Namjoon’s head.

Namjoon let Tae pull his clothes off of him. His shirt now balled in Tae’s fist. The younger let it drop to the floor, admiring his lover’s perfect physic. “Tae,” Namjoon whispered.

Taehyung had no answer, instead he dropped down to the floor, his knee’s hitting the wooden boards beneath him. His hand’s reaching around Namjoon’s thighs, one hand pressed to the back of his thigh keeping him heavy. The other curling around Namjoon’s belt. Tae deftly unbuckled it, sliding it open with clinking metal. The older’s pants now slack around his hips. Tae pulled Namjoon’s pant’s down to his ankles letting them bundle there. The older’s large member unclothed, straining slightly and leaking pre cum.

Tae smiled looking up mischievously at Namjoon. The older biting his lips. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He whispered, breath getting caught as Taehyung swirled Namjoon’s head around in his mouth. Licking up the precum there before trailing the tip of his tongue down Namjoon’s shaft. One of his hand’s cupping Namjoon’s balls and eliciting a moan out of him.

There was nothing special about this, it was sloppy and needing. Taehyung didn’t want to spend hours being fucked slowly and sensually, he wanted to be dicked down hard. Fucked so hard that the only memories of this night are the sheets he will be laid on.

Taehyung swirled Namjoon’s tip in his mouth once more, pink plump lips pressed to the head. His tongue tasting Namjoon for a moment before he let his jaw go slack. Opening his lips wide he slid in Namjoon’s lengths. Bobbing his head down once, twice then thrice. Namjoon groaning above him. He felt Namjoon’s hand’s curl around the back of his hand, palming in his hair, gripping his locks. Then he pressed Namjoon down into his throat. Down until his nose hit the base of Namjoon’s stomach and he felt the stretch in his throat.

Tae moaned softly, throat vibrating around Namjoon’s length causing the older male to tighten his grip in the younger’s hair. The younger pulled back from Namjoon’s length, gossamer strings of saliva and precum between them. Tae’s lips were wet and shining red.

Standing up he pressed a kiss to Namjoon’s lips, not at all bothered by his own taste on Taehyung’s lips.

“Fuck I can’t wait any longer Joonie,” Tae pulled at his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders and revealing his smooth golden skin once more. The dim light in the room casting shadows across his skin. Namjoon never stopped being awestruck at his companion’s beauty. Beauty which Namjoon got to see even more of as Taehyung rid himself of all of his clothes. Namjoon took initiative and pulled off his own until they were both their naked.

They both stood their naked for a moment, drinking each other in. Namjoon was taller with a leaner frame. The planes of his smooth skin relatively smooth, though a few old scars from sparring littered his skin. Taehyung’s skin was free of all scars except one. By his hip Taehyung had a small branded burn into his skin. It was a lotus flower. One of the many mark’s given to whores. Most went unbranded but some with crueller masters were branded. Taehyung’s master had branded him before selling him.

Taehyung grabbed Namjoon’s hand, pushing him back onto the small lumpy bed. He missed his bed in the palace, but a bed was a bed. It was better than sleeping on pine needles.

Taehyung straddled Namjoon’s hips sitting atop of him, the base of his cock pressed to Namjoon’s shaft. Slowly, Tae slid his hips back, arching his back and sending his cock sliding along Namjoon’s with a groan. Namjoon bit his lip his hand reaching down to his and Taehyung’s members. Curling his palm around them both and pumping them together.

Tae tipped his head back and let out a little moan of pleasure. He muffled it and bit his lips. Flesh pink and roar beneath his teeth. He began to grind against Namjoon’s shaft and hand, his brow creasing. Moan’s curling out of their lips, each thrust brought both of them closer and closer to their climax. Their moans and noises lewd and needing.

Namjoon tipped his head back letting out a groan; “Fuck I’m gon-,” his moans took over his voice. Brow furrowing and creasing, plump lips spread wide and body tense as his orgasm swept over his body. His body twitching and gossamer strands of white trailing up his stomach and some across Taehyung’s body too.

Tae ran a finger down the centre of Namjoon’s body. Index curling up and soaking up the cum resting there he brought it to his lips and smiled, finger in his mouth. “Fuck,” Namjoon groaned. He pushed himself up, curling his hand around the nape of Taehyung’s neck bringing the younger down closer to him, pressing their lips together.

Gently he gripped Tae’s waist pushing him down to the bed below him. Then he trailed kisses down his body. Pink lips pressed along his jaw, throat down his chest, below his navel. Namjoon pressed his lips to the base of Taehyung’s straining cock. Then he slipped it inside his mouth. Tae groaned; his member engulfed by Namjoon’s warm wet mouth.

Namjoon wasn’t nearly as good at taking head as Taehyung but it still felt amazing. Taehyung’s back arching, his toes curled, and his fingers gripped the sheets. Every pump, every lick, everything sent him careening closer to his orgasm.

His orgasm came strong, making his scrunch up his face and let out a deep low guttural moan of pleasure, Namjoon continuing. His tongue flat along Taehyung’s shaft as he swallows thickly of Taehyung’s cum.

The two fell asleep entangled in limbs, blissful even whilst they were still covered in cum.

Chapter Text

imin blinked looking upwards, eyelashes fanning against pale skin. The whirling sky before him grey and clouded. No light shone through them, only in tiny strings and beams. Though the sky was not fully dark, in some sense it was still alight. Alight with bright ash. Only nothing was burning. It was too cold for any fire to be started. Jimin was painfully aware of that for last night he had been pressed so close to his captor in order to ward of the cold.

 

“Yoongi!” Jimin sat bolt upright in the saddle. His captors gloved hand squeezing his well muscled thigh.

 

“What?” He grumbled not at all amused.

 

“Look,” Jimin glanced at the horizon. Small speckles of the white ash falling from the heavens. They started to land. Landing on his skin before disappearing in a tiny puddle of water.

 

“Fascinating,” Yoongi muttered sarcastically and dryly. “Snow,”

 

“It’s beautiful!” Jimin laughed holding his hand out, cupping some of the falling snow in it.  He had never seen it. Not even when he visited Highwaters in the winter time. It was towards the centre of the continent meaning it was relitivly warm, to warm for snow. Jimin had found himself situated at the centre of the huge continent. For downwards lay Garindal covered in peaks of snow and upwards of Highwaters lay Trairo blanketed by sand.

 

“It’s a pain in the arse.” Yoongi yawned. He hadn’t slept much since they had come across the tracks in the forrest. Since they felt prying eyes watching oh so closely.

 

“How so?”

 

“When winter thaws it turns into sludge and fucks up all the roads,” Yoongi grunted. Never one for pleasantries like his captor.

 

“Oh,” Jimin frowned, “We’ll be through the pass by then right?”

 

“Jimin,” Yoongi laughed, “We’re entering the pass by tomorrow and we’ll be through it within at least three days as long as-,” he trailed off.

 

“As long as what?”

 

“As long as our friends don’t make another appearance,” Yoongi murmured, fully aware that his voice could carry far on the wind; “I haven’t seen much to indicate they’re still following but the snow keeps on covering up any and all tracks.”

 

Jimin nodded sombrely. They both knew that much as they were back on the small cooked rations, they had brought with them. The pair had had no lucks with hunting.

 

“I bet you’d do anything for that deer now huh?” Yoongi laughed, chest rumbling. Jimin smiled and elbowed him. His own lips quirking hesitantly upwards.

 

It was amazing how their relationship had changed over the past three nearing four months. Jimin had found that he no longer feared Yoongi and that even though Yoongi was still his captor he almost saw the older male as a friend. Their journey was no longer filled with awkward silences, only comfortable ones and the occasional joke.

 

“Shut up,” Jimin laughed. Cheek’s inflamed rose and fuchsia.

 

“Ah,” Yoongi chuckled; “You get uneasy when I don’t talk yet tell me off when I do!”

 

Jimin blushed harder, though Yoongi couldn’t see Jimin’s face as they rode, he could see the reddening tips of his ears. “Shut-up,” he whined again louder.

 

“Yes, little duke,” Yoongi laughed.

 

The nickname once more returning. Though this time Jimin didn’t hate the nickname. It actually brought a flush to his chest. Butterflies swarming there. Gosh, what was Yoongi doing to him. Jimin sighed and leaned back into Yoongi’s warm chest. “Tired little duke?”

 

One of Yoongi’s arms curled around Jimin’s lower body, bicep resting against Jimin’s chest. The younger male found himself curling his own arm around Yoongi’s, placing his smaller hand atop of the older’s. “Yeah, a bit,”

 

“Well,” Yoongi smiled softly, not the beautiful gummy one he usually had, “We could always stop for a while, and look for decent shelter,”

 

Jimin frowned. He didn’t want to wait anymore, he just wanted to sleep. They hadn’t stopped for a whole day now and Jimin was feeling the strain.

 

Yoongi however was well used to it. He’d once spent days upon days with no sleep, Hoseok too. The first time was when they were fleeing Genisa after Yoongi had pissed off a decent portion of the pirate population. They spent days upon days of taking night watches, mainly him and Hoseok. They both cared too much for Taehyung, so the younger boy never got many night watches. Yoongi cared for him in a brotherly, family way. Taehyung was his little brother after all. The only reminder of the life that came before the orphanage. Yoongi wasn’t born in that place after all, he was about five when he was shipped off to that infernal place with Taehyung. Hoseok had been born there though, that was  how the infamous trio met. Hoseok had befriended the pair almost immediately.

 

They loved each other like brothers. They slept together, quite literally as there was only enough money for a few beds, so up until their teenage years they had shared a tiny bed. They ate together, even if the food was meagre and quite often disgusting. They had once eaten food that had seen all of them squatting over the basin for a week. Hoseok swore he saw it move. They spent every waking hour together. That’s how Yoongi’s brotherly love for the two of them grew. Yoongi was in some strange way the oldest brother to Hoseok too. His adopted family. His love for the two was endless. Hoseok too loved both of his newfound brothers. Even if his love for one had eventually gradually grown stronger.

 

Yoongi knew Hoseok had favoured Taehyung.

 

However, it was not a choice of who was the better ‘sibling’. No Yoongi knew that Hoseok and Taehyung had feelings for each other once upon a time that stretched far past friendship. Hoseok and Tae once upon a time when they were young, and ignorant of the world had shared many things. One of them being a first kiss, which Yoongi had awkwardly walked in on. He never let them live it down.

 

Yoongi sighed. Would Taehyung still love Yoongi in the way that Yoongi loved Taehyung? Would he even be capable of that?

 

Yoongi knew the man that Taehyung had been sold too. He knew the monstrosities that he had committed, and he had not doubted for one second that he had done those things to Tae. That he raped and tortured his younger sweet brother. The brother to kind for this world. Taehyung was so innocent when they had last met. He struggled to hold a knife. He struggled to steal for he believed it wrong. He was not made for the life Yoongi had ignorantly forced upon him.

 

Yoongi was the one that did these things to Tae. He did not hold the chains. He did not lay a hand to Taehyung. Yet he was the one that shackled Taehyung. He was the one that beat him. For Yoongi was the one that had destroyed his brother’s life at the expense of his own.

 

If Yoongi hadn’t been such a fuck up in their youth, then they wouldn’t have fled Genisa and they certainly would have never ended up in Trairo and the clutches of the circled sun.

 

“Yoongi-ah,” Jimin murmured, “Will that do?”

 

Yoongi looked down at the half-asleep male pressed to his chest. He had never had time to feel much for others other than his brothers. He had only one friend, that was Hoseok. So, the feeling that befell him in the presence of Jimin, of his little lord, was something different. Yet, Yoongi was no idiot. He was no fool to what he felt. He may have never experienced it before, but he knew what it meant. He could not deny his attractions for his prey any longer. He hated himself for it. For he knew in order to save his family, his brothers, he would have to give up his little lord. The one man in his life that he had been not only physically attracted too but emotionally.

 

“Perfect,” Yoongi murmured looking at the cave Jimin pointed too. There would be plenty of time for him to fall in love when he had his family returned and they had sailed so far away from these shores that they would never see them again.

 

 

Chapter Text

Jin found himself being called once more by Jungkook, his master, just as the prince had promise, though this time it was later in the day. When the sun had set and the castle was lit with candlelight. He also found himself in the company of more maids and servants, each one with some random thing in their hands. Seokjin frowned upon figuring out what it was. Paint and gem stones.

He knew nobles loved flaunting their wealth but Seokjin had thought that him being Vianian would have been enough. Pink hair definitely stood out in the crowd. Seokjin disliked his hair, he would still catch attention though even if he did have black hair like most Quentainians. He was known for his features after all.

Those features were being covered in strange metallic paint. It was rose gold coloured, fitting since it went with his hair oh so well. The servants painted it onto his smooth skin with their bare hands. It was so thin it didn’t change the colour of his skin in the slightest only add a shining glow atop it. Where ever the light met his skin he shone slightly. It gave him an ethereal, god-like look.

He shone even more when tiny small individual gems were pressed to his skin around his face. They only pressed a few gems to his skin. On his cheeks towards the higher points of his face. Across his cheekbones. Seokjin didn’t like them for he could feel them on his skin. Unlike the shining paint across his skin which was weightless. These stuck to his skin somewhat uncomfortably.

Seokjin wondered why exactly his routine was being change. What special event was in store for him today? His stomach clenched. The last time he was dressed up it ended with a man dead before him. Seokjin thought of that daily. The red-faced guard going purple, his eyes bulging. Foaming spit running down his face. Choking for breath. Seokjin shivered, he had seen death. Seen so much death. Why did this affect him so much? It shouldn’t. His life was so easy now. He was lucky. Yet he was still affected by things that happened.

He still woke up every night plagued by nightmares. Dreams of his mother, worn and old. Dreams of his first master, often beating him, not with a whip because that would leave scars, but with his fists. Seokjin’s second master. Pressing him into his silk sheets, spreading him wide with no mercy. When he received the marks on his body that will never fade. The first murder he witnessed, though it isn’t murder if a master kills one of his slaves. The day Seokjin himself in his mind became a murderer.

Every single night. Every day. Every waking hour. Seokjin was plagued by his pasts. All he could think of was the negative in his life even whilst he was surrounded by good. For the first time in his life Seokjin was not an object for common use. He was almost free. Free in a cage. Seokjin was ungrateful and he hated himself for that.

The whore rubbed his eyes and sighed; he was tired but if his master needed him then he would be there. It was his purpose in life after all, to serve. Seokjin wondered if he still had a purpose in life since it was obvious Jungkook did not want to be served in the way that Seokjin could provide.

Once the servants left, he found himself alone. He knew where he had to go. Seokjin had been told where to go minutes ago whilst being painted up in god only knows what was on his skin. He was just hesitating though. The last time he’d been in that room he’d watched a man be killed. Not just a man. A king.

Sighing he shook his head; he shouldn’t be so anxious all the time. Taking hold off his robe he walked out of his room, his billowing pants his only comfort, closing the door behind him and walking down the hallway. His feet pressing down into the red carpets running along the hallway. He’d been here for three months, give or take, in that time he’d managed to scope out most of the palace. He’d even found a few decent short cuts palace staff had used. He used them now too. Even if he wasn’t a palace staff member, he still thought of himself as one. His services were required by the prince after all. What services they were he didn’t know. For once again, the services Seokjin had spent his life learning were not required. It was strangely saddening for the whore. His life spent in torture had been spent for nothing. Wasted time, wasted years.

Because of the new found short cuts he had found he found himself not too far from the throne room after a few minutes of walking. From here he could hear people loudly talking and people singing. A feast? A banquet? Whatever it was people were acting merry and happy. He could tell that before seeing them. The first bunch of people he saw were happy slightly tipsy nobles he had seen before around the palace.

The rest were new to him, wearing the colours of Salthan. It wasn’t that strange but Seokjin found it peculiar they’d be here with a large number of Halin troops due here any day now. He’d have to ask the prince about that.

Though Jungkook had recently shown him a lot more attention he knew full well that the prince was spending his days at the barracks, teaching knights. Teaching common folk too. Many of the poorer people in Quentain had offered up their bodies into service. It meant they had a hefty number, it also meant that the more well-trained knights and men were spread amongst new comers. Jungkook however was happy, from what Seokjin had heard most of them would end up as battering rams anyway, meat shields to defend the masses. It was sad but as Jungkook would have put it, war was war.

Taking a turn, he entered the main foyer, the room before the throne room. Men and women dressed in their finest clothes laughed here, all sipping on wine, ale or any drink they could get their hands on. It was a merry event, for people laughed loudly and happily.

Seokjin smiled politely making his way through the crowd. Every group of people he walked by quietened down. All staring him down and eating him up with his eyes. He was used to it.

Continuing on he walked through the open throne room doors. Once more the usual bare room had been re-arranged filled with large tables stacked high with aromatic foods. The food looked delicious and made Seokjin’s stomach growl. Said food was all around the edges of the room because the tables were too. It made room for the centre of the hall to have a dance floor. Men and women twirled around in unison dancing to old folk songs played by a string quartet sat in the corner of the room. A beautiful Salthan woman singing along with the quartet. It was strange, far too common. He expected stiff lipped tiring music but here, tonight, it was like any other festival. The nobles though still dressed finely acted the same way the commoners did when merry albeit less drunk.

Seokjin ignored all this heading to the front of the throne room. Last time he was in this room there were two tall thrones. Now there was only one. Jungkook sat in it looking bored and disdainful as always. However, this time there were pillows by the side of his thrown and a blanket too. Seokjin smiled. Last time he was only sat down for a few moments, but the cold marble floor was unbearable to sit on. He’d no doubt be in pain the next morning if he sat on the floor for hours straight.

Jungkook glanced up from where he was inspecting his nails. His hand dropping to his lap, the other one by his lip, propping his chin up. Seokjin’s stomach fluttering in the annoying way it did when he was near his new master. He didn’t know why he felt the way he did. But, it felt strangely nice. Especially when Jungkook smiled at him, not literally. With eyes eyes. His face loosened slightly. Seokjin knew that surrounded by so many people Jungkook had to keep up his cold unloving façade. A façade that many times now Seokjin had seen broken down.

Only people who were around Jungkook often would notice how the prince visibly lightened in the whore’s presence and those men weren’t in the castle. The duke was stolen away and Seokjin’s protector and his companion had gone to steal him back.

Seokjin gracefully broke the distance between them a smile on his lips, a pleasant, pleasing one. His public smile. Blinking softly, he sat down by Jungkook’s feet. The pairs whole aura had changed since last night when they had snuck into the capital streets like common thieves. Seokjin had noticed it. It had become much more comfortable. Seokjin still feared Jungkook’s temper which would undoubtedly come back any moment now. Yet for now he would be happy to bask in this joy.

“Good evening,” Jungkook whispered softly under his breath and leaning forwards.

“Master?” Seokjin murmured, leaning back slightly.

“What whore?”

“Why are there so many people here? Do they not know of Ha-,”

“Shh,” Jungkook growled; “Don’t fucking mention Halin until they are within sight of the city okay Seokjin?”

“O-okay,”

“People are here to celebrate my coronation tomorrow,” Jungkook murmured, “Because there are so many noble lords and ladies in one place it also means more guards that they bring too, and more fighters. When Halin marches here they besiege not only me but they lay war on the nobles in here, when those nobles men come to defend them they will sandwich Halin and Trairo against our forces,”

Seokjin’s jaw went slack and he gasped; “You’re forcing them to ally with you?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook leant back a small evil smirk on his face. “You know, when you want to be you are quite smart,”

“Thank-you master,” Seokjin smiled. He wasn’t often praised but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

“I had to explain it word for word with my councillors earlier, I swear they were all dropped down a flight of stairs as infants,”

Seokjin snorted un gracefully. He brought one of his hands up to cover his face while he chuckled softly.

“Stop laughing Seokjin, the Queen of Garindal has just arrive,” Jungkook whispered lowly amusement still clear in his tone. Seokjin bit his lips forcing himself to stop laughing and sat up tall and straight. He flinched, feeling Jungkook’s bejewelled fingers curl through his hair. Gently, possessively stroking his head. Seokjin knew it was a power play, he was flaunting his wealth, yet he didn’t mind it. The whore leant backwards, into the touch pretending it didn’t affect him in the slightest. That it didn’t send his heart flying.

Not nearly as much as the eyes bearing deep into Seokjin’s own eyes. It was not the Queen of Garindal who stood beautiful before the pair. She was a year or two older that Seokjin was. Her long brown hair braided down her back and her blue eyes watching the pair closely. Seokjin made no direct eye contact with her for he was not permitted to do so. He wasn’t however blind. He could see her beauty. Seokjin would have been a fool to say that he wasn’t attracted to her. Yet currently that was the least of his worries.

The tall dark-haired man behind her was. His hair greying at his temples and the skin around his eyes sagging slightly. He was a few years older from when Seokjin had last seen him, but the man was unmistakable. Seokjin gulped, the scars on his body burning as his second master looked him down.

Chapter Text

Tae yawned somewhat loudly, his mouth wide like a cat, waking up embedded in Namjoon’s side. His own arm thrown over his lover’s tanned bare torso. Palm flat on his sternum trailing circles on the smooth skin there, beneath the clefts of his pectorals. Beneath his fingers he could feel Namjoon’s chest rising and falling at steady even paces and his heart thrumming softly beneath his sternum.

Tae smiled, looking upon his lover’s form. Namjoon face relaxed and peaceful. His brow soft and light. Eye lashes tickling his high smooth cheeks. Jaw slack letting his lips fall open slightly. Tae leant over slightly and pressed his lips to Namjoon’s own. Namjoon’s lips were slightly dry from sleep and Taehyung knew they both had bad morning breath. That stopped neither of them as Namjoon leant up and pressed into the kiss a chuckle on his breath; “Good morning,” his chest shook with quiet silent laughter.

“Morning,” Taehyung yawned less than beautifully. Sitting up, his legs beneath him. He arched his back and stretched his arms out. A cacophony of pleasure running down his spine as he stretched his coiled muscles. The light morning light sending warm colours across his tanned body.

Namjoon smiled sitting up too, one of his legs dangling off the plush side of the hay-filled mattress. He didn’t stretch out immediately like Taehyung did, instead he admired his companion. Taehyung’s beautiful body. He admired it not for its physicality. Though that too was splendid. No, he admired it for the way that Taehyung now held himself.

The younger male’s demeanour had changed so much since he had first met him. No longer was he broken down to nothing. Namjoon had helped rebuild Taehyung but most of it was his lover’s own doing. Taehyung now was so vulnerable to Namjoon, naked to him and not just literally. In his sleepy rest filled state Namjoon saw Tae for the real person he was. He enjoyed moments like this when it was just the two of them. No clouds of doubt, misery or worry following them like the monsoon season.

“What?” Taehyung laughed, throat deep and raspy. His smile not full but pleasant and his honey eyes crinkling in the corner.

“You’re pretty,” Namjoon said dumbly.

Tae laughed, boxy and bright; “Just pretty?” He pouted, acting coy and playful.

“You’re also fucking hot,” Namjoon laughed joining Tae too.

The younger male blushed and pressed his lips to Namjoon’s for a quick peck. He enjoyed the praise, even if he denied it. Namjoon knew he loved to be praised and petted and treated like a delicate flower. Tae was a delicate little thing at heart, however physically Taehyung was still a knight. A knight that could quite literally break all of Namjoon’s fingers if he wanted too.

He’d seen it happen before. Taehyung in a fight gripping a man’s arm slamming it down into his knee, not only breaking the man’s arm but popping quite a few fingers out of their joints. Taehyung was a force to be reckoned with. The male himself ended up fearing his own ability in battle because of it.

Namjoon knew it was something deep and evil rooted beneath the layers of beauty. Something engrained in him after years of abuse and torture. Taehyung had no restraint in battle. The knight had once gotten beaten down so badly in a spar that when he got back up and started to spar again, he had not only beaten the man but had beaten his face to a bloody pulp. Namjoon knew that for some reason Taehyung both feared and lusted for violence. Yet never was it aimed at the men he spared or fought with. Namjoon knew the men that his anger was aimed at.

Taehyung wanted vengeance. He had heard Taehyung once late in the night muttering names on his breath. Names he had later figured out to be the people that had ever done wrong to the knight. The first one was long dead, Namjoon knew this for he inquired on all of the names. The first one was a priest who used to run a decaying orphanage in Genisa. Second was not a name but a group, an organisation. The circled sun. Then came another name. An alias. Lotus. A nickname given to an infamous slave breaker. The same slave owner that Tae was sold off too.

“Namjoon-ah,” Tae stood up, scratching his nape and searching for his clothes on the floor. Not at all bothered by the way he effected Namjoon every time he bent down to pick up an item.

“Yeah?” Namjoon murmured, rubbing his eyes and picking his pants off of the floor. The belt still in the belt loops clinking and jingling.

“How long do you think until we reach Highwaters?”

“Highwaters,” Namjoon pondered, “Maybe a week? That’s if we travel along the trade route, it’s just following the High river after all,” The high river was the largest river in the known world.

It travelled down from the mountain peaks of Quentain, the large mountain range that surrounded the country and its bordering foe. Sat at its entrance was Highwaters, a kingdom that once long ago ruled its own lands before uniting with Quentain. Its land built high up in the mountains, the palace that lay at the centre of it itself was built into the side of the mountain. Right above the entrance to the largest river system. The High river received its name from the high point it flowed down from, it flowed down from the Highest Lone peak. A mountain that stood higher than the ones surrounding it. It travelled down to the High Lake before splitting off into the High River, Kings River and Rangers River. The High River running from high water all the way down to the coast.

“Why wouldn’t we travel along the trade route? Its guarded by soldiers after all,”

“Soldiers that have a pretty price on your pretty friend’s neck,” Namjoon himself had bared witness to the signs plastered in towns on their travels. Their drawings beheld Hoseok’s likeness, give or take a few things but it looked very similar to Hoseok.

Tae laughed; “You think he’s pretty?” The boy smugly pulled up his pants. His belt folding around his slight waist easily.

“T-tae!” Namjoon spluttered, looking shocked. His cheeks red. The same pink that flushed down his bare neck. He held his shirt to his chest, the look of mocked disbelief still on his face.

“I know I’m beautiful,” Hoseok laughed. He was leant against the door frame, toned arms over his well-muscled chest. He was lean of frame. Yet not thin. It fit him his job after all. Master thief. Namjoon wondered just how many people he had stolen from. From the rich and from the poor alike. He wondered if he thought he was a vigilante. A robber for the good of men. He wasn’t. Hoseok wasn’t good. He was a criminal.

He has stolen. Stolen so much wealth that he had sent wealthy affluent families crumbling. Made cousins of kings beggars. He may have made beggars rich but what good was that for? Destroying one persons life at the expense of the other.

He was no god. He looked down on Namjoon for his place of wealth. A place he may have been born into but has spent his entire life fighting to maintain. He looks down on Namjoon for simply being in the wrong, or depending on how you saw it, right, place at the right time. He was not the man Hoseok painted him out to be. Hoseok painted him out to be a filthy scumbag that used and abused his lover. Yet it was not Namjoon that condemned him to this life. Namjoon had saved his companion. It was Hoseok, the man that smile at every tiny thing. Smiled at the passing of a colourful butterfly. Smile at the way the wind bristled his skin. Smiled at Taehyung with such love and adoration. It was him that sent Taehyung into a life of pain, torture and rape.

Chapter Text

In that moment Seokjin was forced back into his mind, his memory, the one that feuld his nightmares resurfaced, and he couldn’t force it back down this time.

Seokjin told her about his story. Told his new friend his kind mother mother. About the father he never knew. About pretty much everything decent and good in his short-lived life. Lisa was amazed by his childhood. She asked him what hopscotch was when he mentioned it. The boy gaped at first. Seokjin wondered why she had never heard of it. Maybe it was just a Vianian thing. A Vianian game.

After all their chores were done Seokjin showed her how to play. Apparently, their master didn’t mind what they did in their free time as long as their chores were done. This amazed Seokjin, never had any free time before. He imagined his master was really nice. Caring even if he let them have such freedom.

“Good job!” Seokjin cried as Lalisa managed to do it perfectly. Her weight balanced evenly on one leg as she hopped along the drawn-out lines in the sandy dirt. She smiled brightly, not used to the strange new game. Her skin a warm orange tone in the setting sun’s light. It was nearly evening and Seokjin knew he would no doubt have to go back to that cold shed again soon but for now he played.

“Wow!” She laughed; “This is so much fun!”

“I know!” Seokjin too laughed; “Wait until we add in the peb-,”

“Pet?” A strong man’s voice called out.

Seokjin turned around to see a tall man step out of the building. He hadn’t seen him yet today, even as he cleaned every room in the establishment. Maybe he only just arrived. Or maybe he was really good and hide and seek.

“Pet?” The man called again. He had a warm baritone. It matched his physic.

His shoulders were broad, straining underneath his dark black tunic. He had on used leather riding boots and matching pants. He must have been riding, for he looked tired. The strings on his shirt done loosely revealing a chest full of hair twinkling with perspiration a large lotus shaped medallion between the hairs there. Seokjin stayed where he was watching as Lalisa hurried forwards. Dropping to her knees before him in a bow; “Master,”

“Ah, there you are,” He murmured, “Go fetch that new friend of yours and make yourself useful for once will you,” the man then turned back inside. Stomping off. His shoes echoing as he went. Dark eyes watching the halls as he walked. Seokjin thought he looked quite handsome. Especially in comparison to his last owner.

Lalisa returned. She looked sad. Seokjin frowned, why was she sad? “Lisa?”

“The master wants to see you Seokjin,”

“Okay,” Seokjin smiled. He wondered what his master wanted.

“Remember what I said last night Seokjin?”

“Yeah?”

“You promised me,” she held out her shaky hand. Her pinky finger held out. Seokjin thought about what she said last night. Not to cry when the master showed his love, that if he cried the master would get angry with him.

“I never break a Promise Lisa,” he curled his short finger around hers and they shook on it.

“He’ll be upstairs. Knock on the door. It’s the red one,” She let go of his hand and turned away. Leaving him where he stood. She trudged off towards what he only could assume was the shed.

Seokjin wondered if this meant he got to sleep in a warm bed tonight. Lalisa did say that the master let his slaves sleep in his bed. Seokjin smiled at the thought. He didn’t want to sleep on the cold wet floor again.

So, Seokjin went into the house. He ignored the few slave’s eyes as they watched him walk up. They were all seated around men and women, some seated upon them. Seokjin coughed slightly, the smoke from their lips filling the room. It made Seokjin feel light head and heavy at the same time. Seokjin wondered what it was that they were smoking. He was also confused as to what they were doing. Their lips locked on the men lounging around, bodies pressed to one another, men exchanged money and in return they’d do these things for them. Seokjin sighed, it didn’t matter.

The red door. Red.

Down the hall and to the right it lay. The door was ajar and a warm light from a candle drafted out into the hall.

Seokjin knocked on the door frame, hanging back in the shadows. He saw his master look up from the glass of alcohol he held. His dark grey eyes hitting the boy. “Master?”

“Didn’t you ever learn not to be spoken until spoken too boy?” he scowled.

“Sorry master,”

“Never mind, I guess I’ll just have to teach you some discipline eh?”

Seokjin frowned. He didn’t like discipline. His old master used to hit him to discipline him. Seokjin didn’t want to be hit. Then again, it couldn’t be as bad as last time. This man was dwarfed by his old master. His old master was huge. Bigger than a giant.

“Come,” the man held out his hand for Seokjin. The boy took it. Letting his master guide, him into the room and into a night of torture. A night forced down into silken sheets, pressed to silken mattresses. A night that would scar Seokjin for the rest of his life. The night Seokjin had wished good bye to his happy childhood.

Chapter Text

“Oi Yoongi-hyung!” Jimin shouted loudly, his voice raspy. Watching the older turn around to glare at him darkly. Jimin then launched it at him. The white snowball flying through the air before splattering along Yoongi’s body. It landed on the nape of his neck, snow tumbling down down his black cloak. He grunted and glared at Jimin.

“Oh now you’ve done it,”

“Done what?” Jimin laughed, reaching down. Bare hands reaching towards the snow that was now knee deep.

“Awakened the beast,” Yoongi laughed.

He gripped a handful of snow and launched it at Jimin. The younger yelped and jumped backwards barely missing the snowball. He tumbled backwards but kept upright, making a break for a large snow-covered rock to hide behind. He skidded and slid behind the rock. His hand curling around more snow. He began putting it into a round ball. Once it was sufficiently rounded, he looked over the edge of the boulder searching for Yoongi only to find he wasn’t there.

Standing up ever so slightly he frowned, searching around the snowy clearing they had found themselves in. A few snowy pines surrounded them and not much else. Jimin flinched when a snow ball connected with his shoulder. He ducked down immediately trying to figure out where it came from. Peaking over again he could see Yoongi’s raven hair poking out from behind a green snow-capped bush.

Jimin laughed and launched his snow ball, his aim wasn’t great, so it landed in the bushes leaves. Sending snow shaking from the bush.

Jimin ducked back down as Yoongi launched a snow ball at him, missing and also and sending it flying into the distance. Jimin cackled taking another snow ball. He peaked over and frowned once more noticing that Yoongi no longer crouched behind the bush. Standing up he stalked out into the clearing, hand still clenched around a snowball.

“Yoongi-ah?”

Jimin’s voice was knocked out of him as he was tackled to the ground into the snow. He cried out softly as his body landed on the soft snow. He laughed loudly looking up to see Yoongi pressed atop of him. His eyes perfect crescent moons. Yoongi to laughed silently.

Their eyes met and time slowed down.

Surprisingly Jimin moved first. Pressing his lips to Yoongi’s, one of his hands sliding around Yoongi’s neck to rest at the nape of his neck, the other on Yoongi’s hip. Yoongi moved his lips against Jimin’s, his tongue pressing against Jimin’s soft lips. Jimin tipped his head back and let his lips part.

“Well aint this quaint?” Jimin bit down on Yoongi’s tongue out of surprise. The older male yelped and jumped upwards. Both from his tongue being bitten and the new voice. His hand reached for the knife Jimin knew he kept in his boot.

He glared down the man. His hair dark and eyes darker and slanted. Jimin might have found him attractive if it wasn’t for gruesome scar cleaving down his face.

“Who’d think I’d find the Reaper out here ruttin’ in the snow with a fancy lord aye boys?”

At his words the rest of his crew stepped forwards. All strong and grizzled. Battled hardened and fearsome.

Chapter Text

Seokjin’s heart thrummed deeply and painfully in his chest and his body stilled completely. His breathing slowing and sharpeneing. He counted in his head, ticking on up and up and up. Calming his nerves. An old trick he had learnt from the old master before him. Everytime he felt like he could not handle his nerve, his pain, his master had made him count. Seokjin had counted so often as a child he was near perfect at it. Never missing a number. He remembered clearly the first time he had to count to endure pain. It certainly wouldn’t be the last time he did it either.

He watched the floor for a moment, the reflection of the candles in the chandeliers high above head flickering there like upon ocean waves. The golden bronze veins in the white black striped marble shimmering. The edge of the step that held them that much higher above everyone else.

He knew his brow creased ever so slightly and his usual public coy, sultry demeanour disappeared. Only for a moment. His jaw hardened and his gaze did too.

The whore leant back into his master’s cool calming touch as the foe before him loomed ever closer like fog on the horizon. Jungkook’s hand pressed possessively into Seokjin’s shoulder, fingers curling around ever so slightly to rest mere centimetres from the base of his neck and just below his golden collar. He felt the side of his arms touch either one of Jungkook’s legs as he sat back between them. His back resting at the base of Jungkook’s throne.

“Jeon Jungkook,” The Queen spoke through her tight-lipped smile, her accent making her words slur. Her lips painted a soft pink tone similar to that of the rouge splattered on her smooth cheeks. She curtsied low, the braided length of her brown hair sliding over her shoulder, Seokjin noticed beads of pearls were braided within it.

“Analise Gevien,” Jungkook nodded with a similar air of familiarity.

Seokjin wondered if they knew each other prior to this meeting but it was only a small thought in the back of his mind, for all he could hear was the pounding of his heart shooting between his ears.

“It’s been a long time,” Jungkook spoke, his voice plain as usual though this time there wasn’t the lingering air of superiority that dripped from his tongue for he was equal to the woman before him.

“You’ve grown up,” she quite obviously looked him up and down, blue eyes lingering on him before the man between his legs, “Filled out nicely,” she licked her lips a mischievous smirk on her lips.

“I’m taller than you now,” he nodded, not reacting to her obvious movements. Seokjin knew for a fact Jungkook wouldn’t ever be interested in her. Simply for the fact the Queen was a she and not a he. He wasn’t like Seokjin who was open to the idea of being with both female and male company. His eyes were set on that of the same gender.

“Mm,” She nodded once more, the golden amber gems in her dark crown glittering in the light. “Ah,” the Queen smiled brighter; “Let me introduce you to my company,”

Jungkook nodded as she motioned to the man on her right. He was grey and aging, his robes crumpled, and tiny round spectacles sat on the perch of his nose. She introduced him to be her head advisor, the master of books. He smiled softly, he seemed nice enough but the way his eyes followed Seokjin with distaste irked the whore.

“This is my second advisor, my Master of Coin and Master of Slaves, Jules Lotus” now Seokjin knew the man. Though to Seokjin Jules Lotus was not named that, to Seokjin he was named Master.

“The name is a bit much,” Jules Lotus laughed, shoulders shaking slightly, but Seokjin could see the blank look in his eyes. “You have my mother to thank for that,”

“I have your mother to thank for a whole lot,” He gritted out. Jungkook’s jaw clenched and momentarily a flash of anger slid across his face; “I know who you are Jules Lotus and I don’t want to know anything more of you.”

Seokjin’s master looked surprised, not his current master but his old one. Jules Lotus nodded and bowed, taking his leave from his Queen’s side and mingling with the crowd. It was no doubt not his first poor reception. The man was either fear, hated or loved. He didn’t bat an eye in Seokjin’s direction. This the whore was grateful for that much. For he did not know how he would react if his old master was to look upon him. He let out a shaky breath, Jungkook’s hand still on his shoulder would have felt the long-held breath. Would have felt the terror below him.

“I take it you two know each other?” The brunette Queen smiled, lifting her green skirts and walking up the steps towards Jungkook’s throne. Beside Jungkook his guards made a move for their swords sheathed by their side. The King held up a hand, dismissing their actions. His gemmed fingers glinting deliciously in the light.

“Sadly,” Jungkook nodded; “We’ve never met but I’ve had the unfortune to meet one of his previous… properties,”

“Mm,” She nodded. Not at all bothered. “He can be a bit ruthless, but his hard work shows.” Cocking her head, she stared down at Seokjin. “And who is this?”

“Seokjin,” Jungkook answered for the whore who only now looked up at the Queen. “My pet,”

She frowned; “Your pet is male?”

“Is there an issue with that Analise?” Jungkook leant back in his seat. His tone wasn’t defensive though.

“None in the slightest, at least not in this country,” She smiled. “He’s pretty,”

“Mm,” Jungkook agreed, hand still moving across Seokjin’s shining skin.

“Is he mute?” She laughed, “Or do you like your whores like that? All submissive and obedient.”

“He’s whatever I want him to be,”

“Mm,” She smiled; “I’m jealous. You always seem to get the best of everything Jungkook.”

Jungkook scoffed at that.

“You’ll have to let me at him before I leave next week,” the Queen smiled. Jungkook remained impassive and silent. “Oh, congratulations on the coronation. It was about time.” She was practically saying she was dead for the old kings death. In a room full of men who loved the ruthless old king it sure did turn heads. She didn’t care though; she was above them all. The Queen turned around her curved hips swinging and the teal lengths of her skirts shifting in the light alongside her golden rimmed arms, fingers and hair. Seokjin also noticed a small golden rim dipping from the middle of her nose like a bull’s rings, only thin and dainty.

“You know her well?” Seokjin murmured, still shaky.

“Mm, I spent five years living in Garindal,” Jungkook sighed. “Ten through to fifteen,”

“Oh?”

“It’s not a conversation to be discussed in public,” Jungkook said, voice almost melancholy.

“Oh, sorry,”

“It’s nothing to be sorry about,” Jungkook yawned; “I’m tired, shall we leave?”

“Yes, master,” Seokjin nodded. He pushed himself up from where he sat, waiting for Jungkook to stand up. Seokjin looked to the palm of Jungkook’s hands noticing one of them was glittered in rose gold paint. Smiling softly and demurely to himself he followed Jungkook through the door behind the throne, the exit only for the King. As they walked no one followed. They were left to themselves.

Jungkook stopped looking over his shoulder at Seokjin who was lagging behind. The King waited until the whore caught up before continuing. As they walked, they spoke of nothing. Yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. Jungkook preferred silence when not in his own private quarters and Seokjin was still recovering from the earlier shock. His mind a storm of clouds of confusion.

He knew his previous master was only here by coincidence. He doubted the man would even remember Seokjin. Seokjin had been one of his many, many slaves. Even if he knew the man favoured Seokjin enough to bring him around Quentain as a personal whore along with a few others.

Lalisa, an old friend had accompanied him on the annual trip where he took money, he was owed from all his establishments. She had told him they were special to be brought along. At the time Seokjin didn’t feel special, he felt used and dirty, only a boy of nine. Though now looking back on it he knew he was special. His master noticed him out of the masses. He was special. Even if his current master didn’t notice him and he in some ways was failing at being a pet. To his previous master he was special. Even if his previous master sold him off when things got rough. By the looks of it the money that Seokjin brought him had set him up nicely.

Seokjin frowned looking up at the tall stair case before him; “I can’t believe you choose to take all these stairs every day, no wonder your thighs are huge,”

Jungkook snorted looking at his legs; “I like them,” he pouted.

“Oh, I do too master. It’s just tiring,” Seokjin yawned behind his hand.

Jungkook sighed a small smile on his lips; “To the harem then?”

“Y-yes master?” Seokjin murmured. His cheeks red.

For a moment Seokjin wondered if Jungkook would ask for his services tonight. He decided that was unlikely, even though he now knew Jungkook was interested in sex since the night at the bar. Yet he still wasn’t interested in Seokjin. The whore frowned, was he interested in Namjoon? No, he heard first hand from Taehyung how devoted Namjoon was to him. Seokjin bit his lip. Jimin? Was it the lord he never met? No, it couldn’t be. The way Jungkook had described him to Seokjin in the past was in a brotherly way there was nothing intimate there.

It took them a short while but eventually they made it to the harem. Immediately Jungkook moved to the pillows and flopped down with a sigh. Seokjin however wanted to be rid of the gems on his face and the paint on his skin. He walked over to the pool at the centre of the harem, as always it twinkled with water from the fountain. It was warm as usual. Seokjin wondered why exactly it was always being heated, it’s not like he used it every moment of the day.

Pulling off the waist of his pants he slipped out of the billowing folds and stepped into the fountain, its waters lapping up to his knee. Sinking down he sighed, a small smile on his face upon seeing the paint peel from his body and land on the water’s surface, floating there.

“Why were you so nervous tonight?” Jungkook asked. His back towards Seokjin and eyes trained on the fire before him.

Seokjin gulped; “Just a lot of eyes,” he lied.

“Seokjin,” Jungkook glanced over his shoulder, knowing full well he lied.

Sighing he gave in, he was never that good of a liar. Unless it came to faking orgasms; “T-the man, Jules Lotus, I-I’ve seen him before. Just a face from my past,”

“Just a face?”

“Just a face,” Seokjin paused; “You knew him?”

“Sadly,”

“Will you tell me about it?” Seokjin turned around. He placed his hands on the edge of the pool, resting his chin on his still half rose gold forearm.

“It’s not a story for me to tell,” Jungkook turned around to watch Seokjin; “Ask Taehyung about it when he returns from his journey,”

“Mm,” Seokjin nodded; “I hope he’s doing well,”

“As do I,” Jungkook smiled. “It shouldn’t be too much more time before he returns with Namjoon and Jimin, hopefully the man who took him will be dead by then,”

“Who did take him?”

“Some big shot criminal,” Jungkook yawned; “Nothing Taehyung can’t handle. That man is scary with a sword,”

“What about Namjoon?”

“Oh, he’s a tulip next to Taehyung,” Jungkook laughed softly. So too did Seokjin.

They spent a few moments in silence, a smile in his eyes. Eventually their pleasant laughter died down and they were left in the fire light in each other’s gazes.

“Master?”

“You know you can call me Jungkook in private,”

“I-I know it’s just,” Seokjin shrugged; “Strange.”

Jungkook nodded.

“Will you tell me about your time in Garindal? I’ve heard it’s beautiful,”

“It is,” Jungkook smiled. “Every morning when you’d wake up the sky would be bright pink, and the sun would glow behind the clouds in the sky. The earth would be white with fresh snow. Behind us would be the mountains and to the front of us snow as far as the eye could see, all the way to the coast.”

Seokjin smiled softly. “Why did you go there?”

“Well,” Jungkook laughed uneasily, “My father never really liked me as a child. Before his death we had only started to become friendly. He used to do it quite often. Especially after my mother died. Used to send me off to highwaters with Jimin for a few months. Once I acted up so badly, he not only belted the shit out of me but sent me off to Garindal to live with his cousin,” Jungkook chuckled darkly.

“What did you do?”

“Huh?”

“You said you acted up? What did you do that annoyed him so much?”

Jungkook laughed softly; “He caught me with a stable boy. It wasn’t one of my finest moments. Caught with my pants at my ankles,”

Seokjin chuckled softly; “So you were gay?”

“As gay as a man could be, though at the time he still thought there was hope for me. Sent me off to Garindal, you know they have some pretty classy monasteries,”

“Oh gosh,” Seokjin breathed.

“Turns out gay conversion doesn’t help much, I spent most of my time praying or fucking these two ridiculously hot monks. That or exploring with Jimin who sadly kept his virtue, he’s always been an innocent little lamb,” he smiled. “In all honesty it was mostly pleasant memories,”

“How did you meet the Queen of Garindal?”

“Mm, well,” Jungkook murmured, Seokjin leant forward genuinely interested in his past; “When I was at the monastery, repenting my sins, I was at the Garindal High Court with my father’s relatives,”

“The king wasn’t Quentainian?”

“No,” Jungkook nodded; “He married into the throne, my mother was though,” his master nodded. Watching as Seokjin continued to scrub water into his skin, washing the paint like substance off of his body.

After a while Seokjin smiled; “She likes you, you know? The Garindal Queen,”

“She’s not interested in me she’s interested in my crown,”

“I’m not so sure about that, I think she actually does,”

“Possibly, it wouldn’t matter though,”

“Mm, I suppose,”

“You, on the other hand she does like,”

Seokjin laughed; “She said I was pretty, it meant nothing,”

“It meant a lot, if I gave her permission, she would have you right then and there,” Jungkook chuckled. Seokjin turned a bright shade of pink. “I wouldn’t let that happen though,”

“Why not?”

Jungkook frowned; “Do you want to sleep with her?”

“No, she’s pretty but I would rather not,”

“So why care?”

“I’m just curious, why wouldn’t you let that happen?”

Jungkook smiled in amusement; “If you hadn’t noticed Seokjin, I’m a tad bit possessive of my belongings,”

“Oh,” he continued to redden.

Turning away from Jungkook he stood and reached for a towel, which was always folded at the edge of the pool. He tied it around his waist and stepped out of the water, walking towards his clothes only to find Jungkook baring his path. He looked at his master in confusion. His master in turn looking at Seokjin. Water droplets running down his body.

“You lied whore,”

“What?”

“You said Jules Lotus was only a face of your past,” He glared angrily at the whore.

“H-he is,” Seokjin stuttered.

“Then explain this,” Jungkook gripped Seokjin’s slim hips spinning the whore around. The whore knew what he was doing. He knew what Jungkook was pointing at. Peaking at the base of his spine just above his towel was a small tell-tale scar. A brand burnt into his flesh at a young age, now healed to a pink shining shade. A brand of a lotus.

“I-I’m sorry,” Seokjin murmured, looking at his feet. He had lied to his master and disobeyed him. “I’m sorry for disobeying you master,”

“Seokjin,” Jungkook’s voice softened, his painful grip on Seokjin’s hips loosening. He turned the other male around with his hand again. “I’m upset. Upset you had to deal with such a man. Upset at what he’s done to you. What he still does to you. I felt your fear earlier tonight Seokjin, I’m no fool,”

“B-but your mad at me?” Seokjin frowned, confusion on his face. Was this sympathy coming from his master? Seokjin had never seen this before.

“I’m not mad at you Seokjin, I’m mad at myself because until this war is done I can’t do anything,” Jungkook’s hand was on Seokjin’s chin, thumb brushing his jawline as he gazed sorrowfully into his pets eyes.

“What will you do to him?”

“Haven’t you heard that curiosity killed the cat?”

Seokjin smiled softly, prettily; “And pleasure brought it back,”

Jungkook chuckled; “This country is still barbaric in many ways, so I guess it will be an eye for an eye,”

“J-jungkook?”

“He will pay for his crimes; this is twice now he has hurt my close friends. Twice and it will not happen again. Mark my words Seokjin I will protect you from him.” Seokjin smiled sadly. All the protection he needed was not needed now. It was needed years ago when he was eight, when he was ten, when he was still growing. For now, Seokjin understood the world and he understood how to protect himself from the world. Jungkook if anything was doing the opposite. The layers of training, of reform, of pure servitude and submissiveness Seokjin had learned to keep himself safe was being broken down by the prince in front of him. Seokjin was both overjoyed and scared for it. For he had never let down those shields for anyone.

Chapter Text

Jimin’s beating heart stilled as the weak old cart he’d been unceremoniously thrown into shook and shuddered to a halt. His hands were tied behind his back and he was thrown over some bags of grain beside Yoongi. The elder’s pointed elbow jabbing maliciously into his side. Yoongi not only was bound like Jimin but was gagged too after he bit a guard, he still had dried blood stuck to his chin. Scarlet and burnt umber colours contrasting against his lace coloured skin.

“Well hello there, how was the ride lads?”

Jimin looked up as their original captor stepped up into the wagon, snow tipped on his hair like frosting. His boots caused the wagon to creak and rumble, shaking beneath his movement. The man gripped Jimin’s ankles, fingers digging into his skin, sliding the boy along the wooden base of the wagon closer towards him. Jimin frowned, splinters rubbing along his spine. Then, he continued to untie the bonds there, removing the ropes forcing his ankles together painfully. Once it was done Jimin pushed himself up and stood up in the cart. He walked around the man who was reaching for Yoongi and stepped down. Boots sinking into the white pool of snow below.

His hands still behind his back he couldn’t do much to the men before him huddled at a campfire. Not that he’d want to either. He’d seen a man picking at his teeth with a dagger the size of his forearm earlier.

Jimin stood at the edge of the cart for a moment glancing over his shoulder as the man untied Yoongi’s ankles. It was a mistake, as soon as Yoongi’s legs were free he brought his leg back and slammed the heel of his boot into the man’s face sending him sprawling backwards. Nose crumpling under the force.

The man growled pushing himself back up and sending a fist into Yoongi’s stomach. The man coughed through his cloth gag and resisted no longer. “Be grateful I’m even feeding you traitor,”

Yoongi made a noise that sounded oddly like a muffled; ‘fuck you’.

Jimin smiled and turned his back waiting for Yoongi to step down beside him. Sure, enough the man stepped down beside Jimin, boots crunching in the snow. Jimin smiled weakly at Yoongi and stomped off towards the fire, stomach growling. It had been three days since they’d been taken and two days since their last meal. To say Jimin was hungry was a grave understatement.

Jimin hesitantly waited in the background, he hadn’t spoken to these men before and didn’t know how they would react. Yoongi on the other hand charged right in and sat down on the ground they’d cleared of snow. Jimin sighed and followed, squatting alongside Yoongi. As soon as he touched the ground he frowned. Though it was clear of snow it was still freezing.

“Cut the pretty one’s bonds, he can feed the traitor. I’m going to get the doc to re-set my fucking nose,” the man spoke. He was no doubt the leader of the twelve men before them. A few of them chuckled to themselves.

All of them nodded and a skinny grizzly looking man got up, reaching for his dagger by his belt. The dented metal glinting dangerously in the dim fire light. Jimin’s heart raced, he knew he was only going to cut him free of his bond’s, but it still scared him.

The man squatted down behind Jimin hand resting on Jimin’s bicep as he cut the ties at his wrist. His thumb pressing into Jimin’s muscles. Jimin almost blushed if the act didn’t enrage him. He was about to do something before Yoongi himself did something; “Watch it,” he growled, somehow, he’d manage to be rid of his gag. His lips were cracked and dried from the cloth. Chuckling darkly the man held up his hands a mischievous smile on his face.

By the time he stood and began stalking off another man handed the pair a bowl of sloppy stew. Jimin looked down at it and sighed, taking hold of the tiny metal spoon floating within it. He took some of it on the spoon and blew on it.

Blushing softly, he held it up for Yoongi. “I fucking hate this,” he growled taking the spoon within his lips and lewdly sucking the stew off of it.

“I can find some perks but overall I preferred being your captive,” Jimin sighed taking a spoon full himself.

Yoongi chuckled; “Really? I’ve been told I’m unbearable,”

“Oh,” Jimin said blowing on the spoonful of stew he held; “You are,”

“Rude,” Yoongi grumbled, his lips quirking in the corner. He took a bite of the stew which was utterly flavourless and had a strange grainy texture.

“How quaint,” one of the men spoke; “A traitor and his bitch. Very domestic,”

Yoongi turned to glare at the one who spoke. He had tanned skin like the majority of the men, golden honey eyes and dark brown hair. Trairoan. They all had similar features, dark hair, matching golden eyes, caramel skin. If Yoongi didn’t loath the men he found himself in company with he might have found him oddly attractive, even if he wasn’t Yoongi’s type.

“Fuck off,” he glared. “Pig,” Yoongi spat at him.

Jimin sighed, he really did have a terrible temper. The Yoongi before him reminded him of the Yoongi from the first week or so of their journey. The Yoongi he hated for being and arsehole. Jimin frowned, this was going to be a long journey.

Chapter Text

Hoseok finished checking the horse’s tack. Hands roaming along the horse’s soft coat as he went. Each of them were already tacked up. He’d tacked up the three horses before checking on Taehyung and Namjoon. He was always an early riser.

Luckily for him they both had their pants on when he found them, but he knew if he’d been a minute earlier, they’d still be in a state of undress. It’s not anything he hasn’t seen before. Hoseok had definitely seen Taehyung before in full nude. But he didn’t feel like learning that much about Namjoon. Even if Hoseok thought he had an appealing face and rear he still in many ways loathed the man. He was competition, something foreign to Hoseok.

Turning around from the horse he saw Namjoon and Tae laughing to each other, looking full of bliss. Hoseok would be lying if he said he was happy for them. He was jealous. Jealous that Namjoon had something that belonged to him. Namjoon didn’t deserve Taehyung.

“What’s so funny?” Hoseok yawned, feigning a tired emotionless face so he didn’t seem angry nor jealous.

“I was just telling him of the time Yoongi threw that octopus at you in Genisa and we couldn’t get it off of you,” he smiled.

Hoseok vaguely remembered it, though it wasn’t a memory that stayed with him well, he’d forgotten most of it. He remembered being mostly pissed off at Yoongi who threw the slimy grey creature at him, missing his back the thing curled around his leg. Taehyung though, he remembered how he reacted. The younger boy laughed about it for weeks after the event. Though now it seems he’s been laughing about it for years.

“I still hate octopuses,”

“It’s octopi,” Namjoon corrected haughtily.

“What?”

“The plural of octopus is octopi, you have one octopus and many octopi,” Namjoon yawned, speaking to him as a teacher would a petulant child. Hoseok sent him a glare and stepped forwards towards his own horse, mounting the brown creature. Neither Hoseok, Yoongi or Taehyung had received any education in their youth. It was a wonder that both Hoseok and Yoongi even knew how to read and write. Hoseok was fairly sure Taehyung still could do neither.

Taehyung yawned; “I never want to ride again after this, everything hurts,”

Hoseok snorted; “Are you sure you can’t sit down straight because of something else?”

“Oh, shut up,” Taehyung laughed, reaching across from where he had mounted his timid horse and landing a gentle punch into his arm. Hoseok smiled softly to himself, familiarity in the demeanour of his friend comforting.

“C’mon,” he smiled, spurring his horse forwards into a soft trot before quickening the pace to a canter. The horses stride even and quick-footed.

The group rode out of that small woodland town for an hour before reaching any sign of the high river.

The path they’d taken, a long winding dirt road carving through the town finally reaching the trodden in road. The high road. One of the most frequented roads in Quentain, other than the silk road that was. It did however stem off of the silk road meaning it saw quite a few travellers.

It meant it was heavily guarded and kept most travellers safe. Sadly, they could not and would not participate in that safety for the numerous signs and billboards along the way showing wanted criminals.

Hoseok had been stupid enough to be seen while thieving and pity the man who saw him enough to leave him alive. He should have been more ruthless like Yoongi, otherwise he wouldn’t have to stare at rough sketches of his face and a big reward underneath it every time he went anywhere.

Yoongi had killed everyone who had ever seen him whilst working. Meaning all his bounty posters were free of his face and instead showed his numerous crimes against the crown and people. Though the list in Quentain was far shorter than the one in Trairo. Surprisingly there was barely a list in Garindal or Halin even though Yoongi frequented there quite often.

Hoseok sighed watching Taehyung, whose horse plodded along ahead. Namjoon’s beast to the side of Hoseok.

Would Taehyung forgive Yoongi for his crimes? Taehyung knew Yoongi was a thief and a hired mercenary in Trairo. Taehyung himself had killed people. But now it was different. Yoongi unlike Tae who had only killed a few was considered a mass murder, sadist and in some cases, people thought him to be the son of gods of death and war. None of which he was, except for the mass murderer.

“You seem to know so much about me,” Hoseok started.

“Mm, Taehyung speaks of you and…” Namjoon paused; “Your friend,”

He snorted; “You know my friend is Taehyung’s brother, right?”

“Sadly,”

“How do you think he’s going to feel when you cut up his precious brother?”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened; “Who says I’m going to do that?”

“Your princeling,”

Namjoon glared ahead. Hoseok smiled to himself, he was always one step ahead of the Knight beside him.

“Tell me something about yourself, it’s only fair since you know so much about me,” Hoseok yawned. Trying to fill the silence. It was honestly stifling and awkward. Not a bone in his body cared that much but he said it anyway.

“Is there any point? You will always think terribly of me?”

“That’s true, but I’m still curious,”

“Curious of what?”

“What you’ve done to deserve Tae,”

Namjoon sighed; “Why do you care so much?”

“I just do, he means a lot to me,”

“As does he to me,” Namjoon glared; “Truth be told he doesn’t deserve me. He doesn’t deserve you either if that’s what you’re thinking,” the knights voice took on a steely edge. “If you think for a moment whatever fucked up relationship you had before is going to re-ignite your sorely mistaken,”

“Fucked up relationship?” Hoseok scoffed.

“Yeah, I mean what person would sell out one of their own huh? You don’t know what he was like when we first met. He was a fucking mess and I’m not letting you fuck up all his hard work,”

Hoseok glared at him, not an angry look, more of a sad one; “I would never hurt Tae. I didn’t sell him out. When it happened, I was fulfilling a contract in Garindal with Yoongi. When I returned there was nothing I could have done, he was already gone… and who’s to say that I can’t help him?”

Namjoon laughed silently in disbelief.

“He was happy you know. So, fucking happy. That was before obviously. We had so many dreams, all of them were his but I was so invested that they became my dreams too.” Hoseok smiled sadly, “I just want to see those dreams fulfilled Namjoon,” his voice hardened; “And I will do everything I fucking can to see those dreams happen, no matter the cost,”

Namjoon’s voice had no emotion as he spurred his horse forwards to join Taehyung; “Dreams change Hoseok,” was all he said.

Chapter Text

When Seokjin awoke Jungkook had left. By the looks of it he was long gone.

Every time Seokjin had been in his room overnight he slept until late in the afternoon. Seokjin sighed, it just meant that he would be in a council meeting. His coronation was in two days’ time. Then he would be king. He would be a King of a country that is doomed. A king that single handily created a mutiny. In the castle there was so many nobles from so many countries. It would not just be a war between a few countries but rather the whole world.

Seokjin sighed. It wasn’t looking good. Quentain was fighting a war on all sides. It’s once strategic position was now useless, relying on its allies that were now raging war towards them. Its navy now long neglected was only a shadow of what it once was a hundred years ago. Its soldiers had grown used to the cushy comfort of not fighting unlike their foe who had been training for this.

They had Trairo closing in from the west, Halin coming up from the South and Genisan war ships bearing down from the north. Their only side left was the East, where Garindal lay. Seokjin frowned, the odds were not in their favour. For a moment he thought what would come of him if the palace was to fall? He was known for being the King’s pet. The only Vianian known in Quentain. Never once in his life had he seen another Vianian until the ambassador came. He was long gone now though.

Seokjin would die if the palace fell.

Not before he had been beaten and obviously thrown around the reigning soldiers like a trophy. Biting his lip, he sighed. If worse came to worse, he’d slit his own throat before letting that happen. He was beginning to realise that being used and abused was something he shouldn’t deal with. Something that he had to deal with. A human however only had a certain level of strength to hold back before they gave up though.

Pushing himself up he yawned rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms out. There was a plate of food ready to eat as there always was. He looked at it towards the same fluffy pastries there always was. Seokjin felt guilty. He was bored of being given the finest and best possible. Seokjin honestly missed waking up at the crack of dawn to do his chores. Usually he would be helping carrying things down to the market. His last master had not only run whore houses but regularly sold different items at the markets. It’s how he kept his lean yet still toned figure.

Seokjin sighed sitting down, hand pressing to his stomach, it was no longer thin and lean with slight outlines of muscles. He wasn’t fat, yet neither was he as slim as he used to be. The whore assumed it was the lack of movement he had recently partaken in. That or the food presented in front of him. Pushing his plate away he reached for the still hot black tea. Blowing on it and sending the umber stained liquid rippling.

Smiling he breathed it in, the fruity aroma lingering. Bringing it to his lips he sipped on it for a moment whilst deciding what to do with himself. The fruity bitter liquid ran across his tongue for a moment before he swallowed it. The liquid warmed his body.

Once he was finished, he stood, leaving his robe where it sat across the end of his bed. He sighed fixing the hem of his pants which naturally hung nicely on his hips.

Seokjin was always conscious of the small lotus branded in his skin at the base of his spine but no longer did he need to conceal it.

At first, he concealed it from his current master because the whore believed it was ugly. Not many people had found it beautiful in the past, except for the man that gave it to him. Then he hid it when he realised how much Jungkook hated the man. Though Jungkook had noticed it anyway. Seokjin was weirdly still surprised for Jungkook’s change of heart the night before.

Biting his lip he frowned. His new master was strange. He hadn’t hit Seokjin in three months. He could be rude, but mostly he had been nice to Seokjin. Last night Seokjin saw that. The way that Jungkook was angry for him and not at him. Seokjin smiled, maybe his master did like him after all.

Seokjin yawned. Not many people had liked him. The one person he could have truly called a friend was long dead. Murdered in front of him before he was sold to the whore owner of the Golden Sun whore house. Seokjin sighed, his biggest regret in life was being helpless as he watched her being sent to her to her death.

He and Lalisa had planned to run away together and run to Vian. He had taught her a decent amount of Vianian, in turn she helped him improve his sorely lacking Quentainian. His accent which was once prominently Vianian, earnt from time spent with his mother, had sunk back until you couldn’t hear the lilt to his tone.

They were going to run away and save themselves, start a family. He was fifteen then, Lalisa in her early twenties. They shared no true love. Both had been together for so long and been through so much they couldn’t. But they were the closest you could possibly be. Seokjin loved her like a friend, and weirdly a little sister.

Lalisa at first had looked after Seokjin and guided him. She herself had cradled him asleep to many sleepless nights. The night after his first nightly meeting with his master. The man had taught him the true meaning of obedience that night and made him compliant and easy. Not only did he take Seokjin’s virginity from him, but he beat him senseless for struggling against his master’s wishes’. His wishes were for Seokjin to stop crying and fighting against him. Eventually Seokjin had lost his fight but the thick tears rolling down his cheeks that night had earnt him the beating.

However, Seokjin eventually grew accustomed to his master’s ways and fit in seamlessly with his new life, eventually becoming a favoured slave. Seokjin in some ways was proud of his work in order to become a favoured one. Even if it meant his morals were tarnished. He was ultimately less defiant that most of the slaves but unlike the others constantly with his master he had not lost his mind and succumbed. The same went for Lalisa, except she always kept a defiance which meant she often got beatings.

Because of that once Seokjin had gotten older he started to take care of her, helping her wash out her cuts and bruises. Helping her sleep at night and ward of nightmares. They had become inseparable, they were the best of friends.

Seokjin would have died for Lalisa and so too would she. It was only natural that together they had planned to run away when Lalisa had become pregnant with the master’s child. The plan was perfect. Everything was ready to go but it was not meant to be.

Lalisa and Seokjin were to be sold off together to the Golden Sun whore house. Then from there they’d stow away on a ship to Genisa. Genisa was the only country to trade with Vian. Together they’d stow away on a ship bound for his homeland. They’d pick up work in Vian, after all they’d just look like normal travellers Seokjin had learnt how to pull off the iron collars they wore. He could also cut through Lalisa’s leather one.

However, Lalisa was found out. Whenever they got sold, they were always inspected. Lalisa ate so little before being sold that her tiny bump was not visible, but she’d still been found out. At the news his master had her killed and sent Seokjin to the establishment on his own. He hadn’t seen her die, but he heard her screams.

Her screams haunted him up until this day.

Stretching his legs he left the harem. His bare feet padding down the halls as he silently walked. For the first time in a while he walked past many people. The palace was teaming with nobles and their guards. As he walked past them, he noticed their eyes watching the walls and the floors. It seemed no one dared to look at him, unlike the normal palace guards who were all too daring.

It seemed that the hatred towards Vianian’s was one only shared with Quentainian citizens. It was extremely refreshing.

Seokjin found himself walking to the place where his relationship with Jungkook really changed. The over grown garden. Green fountain. The goddess looking statue.

The whore sat down there and just laid on the soft grass. His body stretched out before the sun above. Skin practically growing underneath its warmth. Smiling softly Seokjin brought his hand up, reaching towards the clouds. Fingers outstretched yet still gracefully slack. His arm casted a mellow shadow over his skin.

Seokjin wondered what his life would have been like if his mother didn’t die early.

He assumed it would have been a mundane one. Seokjin would probably be a farmer, spending most of his days tending crops or cattle. Maybe he would have pursued his dream and become a minstrel or an actor. His life would be out of his pockets and he would have spent his days travelling at his own will. Meeting new people. He’d probably have found a wife or a husband by then. Married and settled down. Who knows maybe he would have had kids by now? Maybe his mother could have met the grandchildren she dreamed of.

Maybe Lalisa’s child could have become his too.

They both did not love each other in a romantic way. Yet they had plans, they were going to marry once they were safe. Live a loveless marriage. At the time love was an idea foreign to them and neither was capable of it after the years of abuse they’d endured. They’d marry for safety and the comfort it would bring. Seokjin would have been a father to a daughter or a son. Lalisa would have still been alive.

He sighed, dropping his hand to his warm chest. What use was dreaming? His life was a nightmare.

Why dream of how things could have been different when they were the way they were? Seokjin wouldn’t be a free man. He would never taste the winds running through his rose gold hair as he stood on the sandy beaches of his homeland. He would never see his mother or his precious friend again. All he had of his mother was his precious crystal amulet he had kept hidden with him for so long. It was still hidden with him today, shoved deep into the feathers of his mattress. Least it was safe there, all he had of Lalisa was memories, most of which were cruelty filled.

His life was as it was. He was a whore. A human body. A sack of meat whose only purpose in life was to have people dick down. Even that he failed at. His own master hadn’t bedded him, barely even touched him. Seokjin was an utter failure.

His mother died of over working herself so that he could survive and be free and happy. When she died, he sold himself into the slave trade a year later.

Lalisa died dreaming, her last words to Seokjin were ones of love, compassion. She willed him to be free one day and live for both of them. He was still a whore and he wasn’t free. He barely lived his own life.

Biting his lip, he let a stray tear role down his cheek. He just wanted to be free of it all. He was so confused and so lost. What was he doing here? If he didn’t have any purpose, then what was his life worth? It was worth nothing.

People had died for him, all for waste.

He, in his mind, didn’t believe he should be here.

Chapter Text

“Have you got it?” Hoseok looked at him from where the two of the boys stood. Hovering by the doorway, hands pressed there, holding themselves up. Bare feet on the bare timber wood flooring.

 

The boys looked into the room, four beds were crammed in here, each one having a tiny timber beside table beside them. There was a window too, the curtains made of blankets nailed into the window frame. Their thick wool lengths casting an orange tinge on the room.

 

Each of the beds were full except for one. Three per bed. That was so for the tiny two-bedroom orphanage they lived in. There was thirty-three orphans in the tiny house. Some slept on the floor here and others down stairs on the floor near the fires.

 

The tiny orphanage only had two rooms, one of those rooms was being used by the pastor. They were forbidden to enter the room though. It meant that children were sleeping on practically every floor space. Only the oldest got the beds.

 

Yoongi was one of those. In fact, he was the oldest orphan here, then there was Hoseok and a few others who were the same age. Taehyung was the baby of the older group, two years younger than Yoongi. Luckily for him since he was Yoongi’s brother he got special privileges. Yoongi was both the big brother of the orphans here and the bully. He made sure shit got done and the pastor didn’t get angry with them.

 

“Yeah,” He nodded; “I got it,”

 

“Good,” Hoseok smiled turning back around and dodging a few sleeping bodies. He stumbled over one almost crashing into another sleeping form. Yoongi laughed, there was a reason why Yoongi was the better thief and Hoseok was the diversion.

 

Hoseok sat on the edge of the bed, his hand coming round to grip Taehyung’s shoulder, he slept on his side, forehead pressed to the wall. His face utterly peaceful and sweet. He was only twelve and still hadn’t properly filled out yet.

 

No doubt he would scream when he saw Yoongi. Though Yoongi still lived here and was under the pastor’s care he had spent his summer out on the ocean pirateering off the coast of Genisa and Quentain. In that time, he had managed to pick up a gift for all of them, a shared gift.

 

It was for his brothers. From him.

 

Yoongi smiled, he missed seeing Taehyung asleep like this. All peaceful, not that he minded his brother bouncy attitude.

 

Taehyung groaned as Hoseok continued to nudge him; “Hoseok-ah, let me sleep,” he yawned rolling back over. Hoseok laughed and harshly pulled on his arm forcing him to roll over onto his back. The younger boy staring tiredly up at Hoseok in annoyance.

 

“Happy birthday,”

 

“Gee thanks, great birthday gift, waking me up at the crack of fucking daw-,” Taehyung’s eyes widened as he saw Yoongi. He let out a breath of disbelief at seeing his brother for the first time in three months. Yoongi still the same but now much more tanned and his dark hair had lightened. He looked like he was a pirate, with a few more rings in his ears and braids in his hair.

 

“Hi V,” Yoongi laughed referring to his brother by his nickname. No one knew where the nickname came from except Yoongi. It was the nickname their mother had given him. Named after a beautiful purple flower that grew near the whore house, they’d been born in. Taehyung’s nickname was V and Yoongi’s was gloss. His name did mean it after all.

 

“Oh my god! You fucking prick!” Taehyung laughed launching himself at Yoongi and hugging him. His body taller than Yoongi’s as he was knelt on the edge of the bed. In actual fact Yoongi was still taller than Taehyung, for now that was.

 

‘Where’d this language come from?” Yoongi laughed, squeezing him tight.

 

“Hoseok,” Taehyung laughed. Yoongi smiled watching Hoseok glare daggers into his younger brother.

 

“How have you been?” Yoongi smiled pulling away from Taehyung.

 

“Bored as fuck, Hoseok has more common sense than you so nothing fun ever happens,”

 

Yoongi laughed; “He is the designated mother goose of the orphanage.”

 

The boy dug into his pockets a small gummy smile on his face after seeing his brother after so long. It was nothing like his brother’s boxy smile. They both had the same mother with whom they shared little resemblance of but different fathers. Yoongi’s father was Quentainian a merchant that had come and gone and never been seen again. Taehyung’s father was a quarter Trairoan which explained his brother’s naturally honey coloured skin and bright toned eyes.

 

“I have a gift, for all of us actually,” Yoongi laughed; “It was what you wanted Tae,”

 

“Oo goodie,” Taehyung laughed sitting back down on the bed as Yoongi unwrapped his gift. It had a linen cloth wrapped around them, but Taehyung could clearly see what they were. In Yoongi’s palm were tiny orange coloured gemstones. They had gold settings with matching backs. They were tiny little studs. Taehyung wanted something that they all could have to keep with them. He originally wanted tattoos but Yoongi didn’t like the idea.

 

“Do you like them?”

 

“I love them,” Taehyung smiled.

 

They got up after a few more moments off chatting and pierced their ears. Yoongi had already had his ears pierced quite a few times so he shrugged it off. Taehyung and Hoseok had whined about it for a long time after wards.

 

 

 

 

 

Rolling over Yoongi yawned, his fingers trailing to his ear where he himself still wore his own stud. There were two orange studs though. One slightly darker than the other. One was Taehyung’s, it was the only thing of his brother he had. Yoongi wondered what Hoseok was up too. He knew whatever it was it wasn’t anything good. He wouldn’t have looted Jimin’s ring otherwise. Yoongi hadn’t asked, he knew better.

 

Sighing he looked at Jimin who still bore the rest of his jewels. Even now asleep by Yoongi’s side between sacks of god knows what he looked regal. Yoongi smiled, he looked over towards the entrance of the cart, there was still time to rest.

 

Laying back down he curled closer to Jimin before falling into blissful silence.

Chapter Text

Seokjin found himself still in that clearing hours later. He wasn’t sure when, but he had fallen asleep. Fallen asleep after letting silent tears roll down his cheeks. The remnants of them still here, crusted around the edges of his eyes, there was also a faint sting to his eyes indicating they were there. Blinking he rolled over and groaned, his body shaking violently with the onset of night. Chills corsing through his body.

Running his hands down his arms he frowned, they were warm and slightly sunburnt, no doubt it would turn into a warm tan by the end of the week. Giving him a golden tone to his ice pale skin.

Yawning he rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up from the grass, patting down his pants, pushing them down to rest by his ankles. They had ridden up to his mid-calf whilst he slept. Tight around the flesh there.

Sighing he walked back to his one place of comfort here. The harem.

At first, he didn’t like the place. It was far too much for someone who had far too little in his life. His previous homes were barren and empty. Only in his last master’s company had he even slept on a bed. Now he was bombarded with rich and lush bedding, plush seating areas. Practically anything he could want he had here, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He was still figuring out how to cope with the changes in his life.

It was all a lot. Some of it was positive. He knew that, that all of the things he was gifted with now were blessings. But he had never received anything like this, he still didn’t trust it. Half of him thrived and half of him shied.

Turning down the hallway to the harem he frowned, the door was still open. For a moment he wondered if the cleaning staff left it open.

Stepping inside he pressed his back to the door, closing the heavy wood with a click followed by a breath of peace. The harem was a very peaceful place. With water constantly tinkling, candle light constantly casting a warm glow on the red, black and white room. The scent of flowers constantly circulating around. They also had positioned the room above the palace orchards, birds constantly chirped out there, their songs drifted through the room.

Seokjin smiled walking to the window, the cleaning staff had put the thick curtains down, they hung low all the way to the floor. The whore curled his fingers around the hemmed edges of the black curtains, pulling them aside, parting them only in the middle. He sleepily, only now recovering from the chill of the outdoors, sat on the window sill. His hands pressed to the cold glass, knuckles running along it.

From his perch he could see out to the orchard, it was now dark out so he couldn’t see much more. He could barely distinguish the lines of trees from one another. However, further on he could see the city below. There were lights upon lights packed here, in beautiful cascades of rivers sprawling red and orange along the ground, carving out roads, streets and homes. Seokjin smiled resting his forehead on the window. He, for a moment, wondered what was happening out there.

Who was living there, what was their life like? He smiled imagining the fun some people out there had. Children playing and laughing. Parents sat by the fireplace. A perfect domestic life.

“The view’s nice,” a voice spoke from behind him.

Seokjin for the first time in a while didn’t flinch at the familiar voice. He turned around and gave a small smile; “It is,”

“You should see the view in the morning from my room, we always wake up late,” Jungkook smiled. His window faced towards the sea, towards Genisa. Seokjin knew that on clear days you would be able to see the island from the perch high in the sky.

Standing up Seokjin sat down and joined him by the fire. Squatting down on the rug before it, hands outstretched and reaching towards the fire’s warmth. “Are you okay Seokjin?”

“Mm?” The whore glanced over his shoulder at Jungkook; “Never better,” he yawned.

“Your eyes are puffy,”

“I fell asleep earlier,” Seokjin nodded, laying back on the floor. Back arched, head pressed to the side to watch Jungkook, his legs curled. Toes retaining warmth from the fire, heating up his body. “You look tired yourself,”

“Mm, I had a lot of last-minute meetings to attend,” Jungkook yawned.

“What about,” Seokjin daintily had his hand draped at the base of his throat. Finger trailing along his golden collar.

“Siege preparation mostly,”

“Fun,” Seokjin said dryly. “So, what is the ideal plan of battle?”

“Ideal plan huh?” Jungkook laughed. Resettling himself he laid on his side beside Seokjin. One arm holding up his head, the other placed in front of him. “We win?”

Seokjin smiled, still sleepy and coy; “I know that much.”

Jungkook smiled, rolling onto his back in a similar way that Seokjin was. He looked up at the painted ceiling. The stars and constellations depicted above in blue whites and blacks. Smiling he looked over the wonderland before him, looking childish for the first time in the company of others.

Well,” he sighed, his smile disappearing and his brow straightening out. There was that king he would become tomorrow, the strong stone hearted male persona Seokjin knew wasn’t his. He wondered when Jungkook had created this cold persona of his, or who created them for him. “Ideally Halinl would lay siege to the middle section of the city. The city is large enough to hold out for a few months, that’s all that we need to wait for in order to have Garindal caging them in,”

“What about Genisa?” It made sense so far. They’d crush Halin’s army between their own and their allies. However, Genisa was a sea faring island, most of their men were in the army not the navy.

“We can deal with them with our naval forces, hold them at bay that is,” Jungkook sighed. Genisa may have been small but the size of their navy was twice as large.

“Trairo?”

“We’re hoping that the Garindal armies reach us before they do,”

“If they don’t?”

“We lose,”

“Then what?”

“I guess I could do the heroic thing and lay down my life for my kingdom and country,” he sighed.

“You could,” Seokjin frowned.

“I don’t think I would though,” Jungkook sighed. “There’s one thing that I could do that could help us win this war but…”

“But?”

“I don’t want to do it Seokjin,” Jungkook sighed, his heart and head heavy. Seokjin realised this was the first time Jungkook was showing weakness before him.

“Do what Jungkook?”

The prince sighed, throwing an arm over his face, concealing his eyes. He bit his lips, white teeth pressing into pink flesh. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter whore,” Jungkook’s voice took on a defensive icy edge. His mind whirring with thoughts of self-hatred and loathing. The soon to be king was still a child.

“Well,” Seokjin began, “It obviously is something,” The whore smiled almost sadly. “You know Jungkook, sometimes the strongest thing you can do is admit your weakness and ask for help,”

“Are you calling me weak whore?” Jungkook sat up. A taut arm propping his body up. His dark eyes fiery as he glared at his whore.

“W-we’re all weak master,” Seokjin shied back. He wasn’t scared of Jungkook more of his impulsive actions. The whore sat bolt upright, shying away slightly from his master.

“Seokjin?”

“Yes master?”

“Do you fear me?” Jungkook asked calmly.

“You?” Seokjin shook his head; “No, not you. I fear what you could do,”

“You fear I’d strike you again?”

Seokjin shook his head; “I fear that you could become like all the others,”

“The others?”

“My previous masters,” Seokjin nodded; “My other masters were cruel to me. Beat me, humiliated me, tortured me for the fun of it.” He gulped taking a breath; “Y-you’re different. T-that’s why I’m scared,”

“You’re scared of me because I don’t abuse you?” he said in disbelief.

Seokjin nodded. “M-my other masters weren’t like you. You’re nice, kind to me. Even if you don’t like me, you don’t find enjoyment in other’s pain. That’s why I’m scared.”

Jungkook just continued to blink at him in confusion, eyes wide. He looked oddly like a rabbit.

“I’m scared Jungkook, that this could all be fake, that you are only being nice to me to prolong my suffering,” he explained further.

Jungkook’s brow creased; “I’m not,” he began; “I’m not like the others Seokjin,”

“I hope so,” the whore smiled.

“Seokjin,” the prince shuffled backwards, pushing himself up from the floor. “Thank-you for talking to me, it helped me clear my head,”

Seokjin’s smiled brightened; “I’m always here master, I am yours after all,”

“In what way?”

The whore’s smile turned sad; “In all ways.” He admitted to himself and to the man before him. Seokjin’s heart racing. He had been denying it for months now. Dismissing it as just a coping mechanism. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Seokjin’s heart loved to freely. He still Jules Lotus, a man who had shown him nothing but pain but ultimately helped him cope the most.

Seokjin was shaped most by Jules. By the man who had raped him repeatedly, beaten him bloody, and killed the one person still living in his life that had loved him fully and loved him in reality. Jules was a cruel man, a man that Seokjin hated. Yet he still found a part of himself attached to his master. Seokjin was one of Jules’ favourites, he was lucky. Jules treated him better than the rest.

Jungkook treated him better than other’s too. The way that Jungkook treated him was new, and nice. At first Seokjin hated Jungkook as he did to all his masters. It went from hatred to fear. From the thorniest branches the prettiest roses grow. His fear stemmed to an understand. Which now, well Seokjin didn’t know. His understanding was becoming something else, something that for once he didn’t fear. Something he was anxious of, but not terrified of.

Chapter Text

Taehyung looked over his shoulder, in front of him was a small placid lake. The water a blue muddy green. He was waist deep in its depths, weeds and growth curling along his legs and mud sliding between his toes. His bare chest covered in water droplets. The only clothing, he wore was his tight slacks, everything else was bare, his feet, his torso and arms, they were all bare.

His body was covered in grime and sweat from the long time they had spent out on the road. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Running his hands along his arms he brought cupped water along his skin. A small pleasant smile on his face.

Running his hands along his hair he sighed, stretching his arms out. He could see Hoseok further along the lake catching fish. He’d already caught one. A large fat brown mud fish. It was currently in one of Hoseok’s hands, hanging limply. His other hand held a long stick he’d sharpened into a spear with his dagger.

Taehyung smiled, it brought back memories of his life in Genisa. Pleasant memories before his life turned to hell.

For a moment a small fragment of his mind was happy, was there a possibility that there could be a happy end to all of this? Could his family reunite. Taehyung smiled, could he have his brother back? Could he have his friend back.

He had Hoseok, he had Namjoon. The people that meant the most to him were with him now. He had the prince too, a friend, one of his only friends. Soon he would have his best friend back and he would have his brother too.

“What’s got you so happy?” Hoseok smiled looking over. Still having no luck at fishing. Ever since he’d speared the first one the fish were in a frenzy, mud swirling viscously in its depths, concealing any chance of fish.

“You,”

“Me?” Hoseok laughed brightly. Taehyung smiled; he loved that laugh. “Am I that gorgeous Tae?” he batted his eye lashes.

“No, but you’re full of it,” Taehyung smiled, warm lips twitching. He placed his hands on his hips watching Hoseok.

“Rude,” the older male chuckled, continuing to watch the swirling waters.

Taehyung smiled; “It reminds me of Genisa,”

Hoseok smiled; “What about it?”

“The summer. The summer before Yoongi left for the coast,” Taehyung smiled. “We went down to the creek for a few days whilst the pastor was off on business. We just fished, and, and hunted and,” he trailed off, reliving the memory in his mind.

“It was nice, back then,” Hoseok nodded.

“Yeah,” Taehyung smiled.

The sun was warm and hit his skin making it seem lighter and more golden than usual. Its rays making his hair seem lighter than it did, its dark brown lengths almost a mousy colour under it. Everything except from the dark water had a warm haze to it. Even the cold winter forest behind them. The trees branches; empty of leaves and lower trunks stripped of bark by woodland creatures.

“It could be like that,” Hoseok muttered. He lowered his spear and watched Taehyung.

“What?”

“It could be like that again Taehyung,” Hoseok started.

“Hoseok I-,”

“Me and you, Yoongi too,” Hoseok smiled. “We could be like that again. Just the three of us how it used to be,”

“Hoseok I don’t kno-,”

“Taehyung just, just hear me out okay,” Hoseok started moving closer. With a few steps he was directly in front of Taehyung. Their eyes connecting.

“O-okay,” Taehyung said hesitantly.

“Those three ships, w-we can disappear with them Tae. Just like you wanted,”

“What about Yoongi?”

“What about him?”

“He’s wanted by the fucking king Hoseok!”

“So? It’s Yoongi, he can get out of any prison in the known world,” Hoseok laughed. “We can run away together. Find what’s west of west, remember?”

Taehyung’s brow creased; “I-I can’t do that Hobi, I can’t leave,”

“Leave what Tae?”

“Namjoon, Hoseok, I can’t leave him,”

Hoseok’s brow creased; “B-but-,”

“But no Hoseok. He may have been my master, but he is a good man. A great man Hoseok. A man that I love,” Taehyung sighed. “Please don’t make me choose between my family and Namjoon Hoseok, because I can’t,”

“Not even for me?” Hoseok said sadly.

“Hoseok,” Tae whispered, his tone quiet; “Do you still love me after three years of being apart?”

Hoseok gave him a sad look; “Taehyung, I have never stopped loving you.” HE paused; “Do you still love me?”

“Fuck, Hoseok,” Taehyung leant forwards. He curled his arms around Hoseok’s waist. Tugging the older male closer until their chests were pressed together. “I’ve never stopped loving you Hobi, its just… its just harder now,”

“Harder how?”

“Because I love Namjoon just as much.”

Chapter Text

Yoongi awoke slowly again later to find the wooden cart he was laid in moving and shaking, wooden wheel’s blowing through knee depth white snow. His legs and wrist’s still bound, dry rope cutting into his skin, this time however he didn’t have the foul smelling gag in his mouth. He wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He wasn’t the best when it came to controlling his impulses. He sighed.

The only reason he was still in this mess is because he had to look after Jimin too. If he didn’t have to take care of the little lord, then he would have murdered everyone in the group whilst they slept and made off with their goods. However, Jimin added to the equation added a chance of uncertainty that Yoongi could not risk.

It’s not like he’d die here. The men could try kill him. They would fail though. He didn’t get to where he was without learning a few decent tricks. Truther be told he knew full well how to get out of his bonds. He chose not too.

The men were obviously Trairoan, he knew that much from when he first saw them. However, when they called him a traitor, he couldn’t have been happier. They were going to take him straight to where he needed to be, back to the circled sun. He needed to speak to the old man again.

Yoongi may be known as a traitor amongst the organisations ranks but he knew full well he’d be accepted back with ease if he asked. No one could do his job better than him. He was one of the most versatile. Most ruthless. Most deadly. Not to mention he’d made the old man fat and rich upon his leave.

He had a plan, a plan that after this blood pact was over would make him the most powerful person in Trairo and untouchable by the crown prince he undoubtedly pissed off by stealing his adopted brother.

Yoongi in his ignorant youth had given a precious item to the old man. One that could literally make him a royal. He wanted to take it back. Yoongi was an ambitious man. He would be chieftain of that god forsaken country if it was the last thing he’d do.

Trairo was a country run on old laws and traditions. It dated back to ancient times when the most important thing was strength in a ruler. That’s why, if you killed the previous ruler and took their crown you became the new one. It was a hard job nowadays, the current cheiftan has never been seen and he is always surrounded by guards. He only took of his crown in order to bathe. Luckily, Yoongi guessed this much and stole the crown from him whilst he was bathing. Now all he had to do was kill the aging fool, which for him, considering how easily he got into the cheiftan’s private chambers, wouldn’t be that hard.

For a moment Yoongi saw himself there. In the rich golden dripped halls of the Trairoan palace. Adorned in the wealth he’d amassed. Hoseok would no doubt become his chief advisor and Yoongi would also make him the head of royal coin. It sounded like a stupid idea, putting a thief in a place that gave him access to his one bitter sweet weakness. He trusted no one else to the same extent except from his brother.

In his vision his brother was their too. Taehyung was an advisor too, though of what Yoongi did not know. All he knew was he was happy. Yoongi knew his mind was fooling around because Taehyung was there. Taehyung was a slave somewhere in Quentain, he was fairly sure that Hoseok knew where, he always followed Taehyung’s movements. Yoongi was to pained to do so. For he knew Taehyung wouldn’t want to see him ever, Yoongi was the reason Taehyung had had to endure his life. Yoongi in all honestly feared seeing his brother again. He knew he was being a coward. He knew from what Hoseok had told him Taehyung wasn’t a slave now, he was a knight but he still couldn’t bring himself to see his younger brother. He had failed him.

Taehyung in his dream almost looked as happy as the man beside Yoongi. Strangely enough his captive was there too, holding Yoongi’s hand. A child looking oddly like Yoongi and Jimin between the two.

The assassin frowned and looked around the cart. Almost laughing at his foolish mind.

He found the source of him humour sat on the back of the cart, legs swinging down low pointed towards the snowy ground. The lord was humming pleasantly to himself. A nice tune meeting Yoongi’s ears.

Jimin’s voice was naturally high and soothing. A voice to fall asleep too. His singing voice was even prettier. Yoongi was oddly drawn to it. Jimin was like a mermaid and Yoongi was his pirate.

“Morning,” Yoongi grumbled. Awkwardly shuffling closer to the edge of the cart but not close to the edge. Unlike Jimin his ankles were still tied.

“Morning?” Jimin laughed softly, stopping his tune; “Yoongi, it’s afternoon, almost evening,”

“Mm,”

“I swear you’re like a fucking bat,”

“No, more like a sloth,”

“A sloth” Jimin smiled; “Sounds about right. I would’ve thought you’d be more like a cat though,”

“And why’s that?”

“Your mannerisms,” Jimin glanced over his shoulder. Eyes watching Yoongi. The assassin was momentarily surprised that Jimin had noticed and picked up on some of his habits and mannerisms.

“Indulge me,” Yoongi smiled, not letting his surprise drip into his facial features.

“The way you move, when you’re not acting like a sloth that is. Its, well, it’s almost feline. Plus you kind of look like one,”

Yoongi laughed, deep and lowly; “How in the fuck do I look like a cat,”

Jimin smiled; “If I was really, I mean really, drunk, had a concussion and squinted you’d look like a cat,”

“If you were drunk, had a concussion and squinted I could look like literally anyone,”

“Exactly,” Jimin laughed.

“How are you always so happy,” Yoongi yawned. Wanting nothing more to act like that cat Jimin said he looked like. He would love to sleep longer but sadly if he got his wishes he’d never wake up.

“Why be sad, or angry?” Jimin hummed to himself; “I guess it’s better to be happy, even if it’s harder,”

“Harder?”

“Its easy to hate someone Yoongi, its harder to like someone,”

“Do you hate me?”

“I did,” Jimin nodded. “You forced me from my home, treated me quite poorly and was overall a complete arse. Plus, currently we’re in quite a mess because of you and when we’re out of this mess you will no doubt deliver me to my death,” the lord sighed, “But no, Yoongi, I don’t hate you,”

“Why?”

“I’ve spent the last few month’s stuck riding a shitty grumpy horse. I’ve woken up to your morning wood pressed to my arse far too many times. I’ve seen you but fuck naked. Yoongi, in some strange fucking way, I know you,” Jimin sighed, “I just, deep down, know that there’s a good reason for this,”

“There is,” Yoongi nodded; “I wouldn’t be going through with it unless I had too,”

“Will you tell me it?”

“Tell you what?”

“The reason?”

“Have you heard of a blood pact?”

“Yoongi,” Jimin smiled; “If it’s illegal then I most definitely have no heard of it,”

“Okay,” Yoongi chuckled; “A blood pact is a pact literally made over blood. Essentially you promise your services and they promise theirs, if you don’t go through with the deal then your life becomes forfeit. No one in the black market will deal with you, and if you try to deal with them, they will try to kill you. A blood pact is an important thing, especially between assassins,”

“Was the pact you made with another assassin,”

“No, it’s with a Quentainian lord’s bastard child. Sent off to live in Vian so no one could know of his infidelity,”

“Oh, what was the deal?”

“I’d do him a favour and he’d do me one,”

“My first favour from him was safe passage for me and my brothers from Genisa to Trairo or Quentain and with it, safety from the many people I’d pissed off,”

“Who’d you piss off?”

“Ah, well,” he said smiling softly at the memory; “I found work on a pirate ship belonging to none other than the Black Fox of the east sea,” Yoongi nodded. The Black Fox was one of the oldest and most respected pirates. Under his ocean rule he had fifty ships. A naval force to be reckoned with. “Let’s just say I have an issue with stealing pretty things and running away with them,”

Jimin laughed; “You don’t learn huh?”

Yoongi smiled; “Apparently not,”

“So, this safety in a new country I assume it came in the form of the Circled Sun?”

“Yup, but at the time I didn’t know that,”

“What did this lord want then in order for it?”

“He was strangely specific, he wanted you and only you. He wanted you alive though he specified he couldn’t care in what condition,”

“Oh,”

“I assume he or she wanted to piss off someone close to you or has a bone to pick with your late parents,”

Jimin sighed; “At least I know what I’m facing now,”

“What do you mean?”

“I won’t be going to my death blindly like a lamb to the slaughter,” he said with a surprising amount of solemnity. He was already mourning the loss of his life.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi’s brow creased, “I won’t let that happen,”

“Why not Yoongi?”

“You know that thing about not hating me? I guess its mutual,”

Jimin laughed; “You like me!” he teased. “You think I’m gorgeous,” he sung, “You want to kiss me! You want to lo-,”

“I change my mind,” Yoongi grumbled. “I hate you.”

Chapter Text

Seokjin woke up again at a late time. The cleaning staff already done with his room. Leaving his usual sickly breakfast. He grabbed one of the golden pastries on his way out of the red harem. Completely leaving his usual cup of black swirling tea. Not in the mood for consuming and tasting the fruity liquid.

He had decided that today he would read.

Seokjin wanted to read up on his Quentainian history. The whore knew very little of the country’s history, only what his mother knew, which, considering she was Vianian, was very litte. Seokjin never had an education. It was a miracle he knew how to read. Even then he only knew how to read Vianian well. Quentainian took him a long time to read. He knew the symbols and their sounds, but he still struggled at piecing them together. Only now, in the last four months had he begun to properly learn the symbols in their entirety.

Even though he did not know them well, Seokjin was up for a challenge. He doubted that he would encounter a book in the palace library written in Vianian. Hatred for his race was long stemmed here. Though Seokjin had begun to notice less glares and looks of disgust aimed his way since the hanging.

Did they fear Seokjin? He was the reason the man met a gruesome death. If he didn’t shout and make such loud noises. If he had just submitted like he had done all of his life the man would still be alive.

Yet again Seokjin had failed. He shook his head as he walked down the hall.

No, his thinking was wrong. He shouldn’t think that way. The man deserved punishment for what he had done. Jungkook had told Seokjin of the man’s numerous crimes. Seokjin should not be so disgusted with himself over the man’s death. If his master wanted the man dead, then so too would he.

Taking the final turn, he noticed the large door to the library left open.

Truth be told, this part of the palace was long neglected. Pushed deep into the cavernous halls its floor was still cut stone and it still revealed the oldest parts of the palace. Seokjin found it nice. It was darker in the library, plainer. Not draped in rich reds, blacks, blues and golds.

He found himself oddly comfortable in here. It was cosy. A red light from a fire place was warming the tall and large room. The whore smiled, grateful for its warmth. His body and shoulders still bare except from his legs. Surprisingly even though it was winter he didn’t need much to keep him warm with all the fire places in the palace constantly lit.

Turning down one of the numerous isles of books he ran his hand along the back of the leather-bound novels and tomes here. Most of them were covered in dust, the products of long neglect.

Eventually he found an isle that was covered head to toe in thick books. Their leather-bound spines worn from constant use. He could make out the symbols on the backs though.

Stopping he read through some of the symbols. Sounding them out softly and individually. After a long time, he managed to pick out a particularly large book. He pulled it from the shelf, tucking it under his arm. The book weighing down his arm.

Taking it back to the fire place he sat down on the floor beside the hearth. His leg’s curled comfortably and the book placed in his lap. It’s brown leather contrasting against the blue of his pants. He smiled just admiring the cover of the book. A map of the continent engraved into the leather hide. The whore ran his fingers along it, feeling the grooves and dips of the material.

Smiling to himself he turned the front cover. Opening it to a hand drawn map of Quentain. On it was labelled different towns, important roads and other natural land forms. He noted the book must have been old as there was a large chunk of it missing. Even he knew the rough shape of the country. Highwaters was missing. It meant the book must have been almost two hundred years old.

“What are you reading?”

Seokjin stilled. His hand tightening on the book in his lap and his back arching until it was as straight as a board. In his chest his heart thrummed, and his lungs inflated. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes slowly taking in the form of Jules Lotus who had a pile of books in his arms. He walked towards the whore and sat down on a sofa close by. His eyes not once meeting Seokjin as he examined his chosen books.

“H-history,” Seokjin gulped.

“Did I teach you to stutter?” Jules looked up; his brow harshly set.

“No master,” Seokjin blinked; “Sorry master,”

“At least you retained your obedience,” he smiled; “I suppose you’d have too. Especially having that halfwit princeling as your master,”

Seokjin frowned. Also slightly shocked that he would say such a thing about Jungkook when he would become king today. His coronation in hours. Seokjin sadly wasn’t permitted to see it though. Only council members and family were allowed to be present.

“Oh,” he chuckled; “You haven’t heard huh?”

Seokjin continued to frown.

“Don’t frown pet,” Jules grumbled; “It’s not a befitting face for a whore,”

“Yes master,” Seokjin stumbled. Schooling his face into a neutral expression.

Jules nodded; “Your master is a cold-blooded murderer,”

Seokjin shook his head; “I don’t quite believe that… master,”

“All the rumours you’ve heard are true pet,”

Seokjin did not frown this time. Still utterly scared of the man sat reading before him. He had heard many rumours of Jungkook over the years. Most of which weren’t pleasant. It was rumoured Jungkook had once had a man sentenced to death for looking at him when he was in a bad mood. Seokjin knew that Jungkook wasn’t afraid to have anyone executed. But he thought that Jungkook, though foul tempered, was just enough not to be so cruel.

“I don’t believe you, master,”

“I suppose you don’t have to,” he sighed, “You were never the brightest.” Jules thumbed his lip. Continuing to look at his books. “Do you believe what he says?”

“What do you mean, master?” Seokjin turned away, staring down at his book. His hand still tightly gripping it.

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes,” Seokjin spoke, voice still shaking, “I do trust him, master,”

“Really, and why is that?”

“I-I’m not sure,” Seokjin bit his lip. “He’s kind to me,”

“And I was not?”

‘No, you were not a kind master,”

“Why?”

“Y-you hit me,” Seokjin bit his lip harder. His hands curling into fists, his nails digging deep red crescent moons into his white skin. “Abused me,” he found himself actually shaking. Partly from fear and partly from anger.

“And has he not hit you?” Jules asked in disbelief.

“H-he has,”

“So why is he any different from me?”

Seokjin’s eyebrows were brought down deeply; “He hasn’t forced me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with,”

“Hm, now I’ve heard that wasn’t true,” Jules smiled to himself. Wetting his index finger and turning the page; “Didn’t he force you to see that execution?”

“Y-yes, he did,”

“That execution must have been something important to you then huh?”

Seokjin gulped.

“Tell me about it pet,”

The whore remained silent.

“Whore!” he growled; “Are you that disobedient? Do I have to discipline you in the place of your current master?”

Seokjin’s eyes widened. His expression not angry now, it was full of fear. He looked at his master, his eyes glaring deep into the whore. Jules Lotus still had a terrible temper then. “T-the man that was executed. He tried to force himself on me, to rape me” he gulped.

“Strange,” Jules looked back to his book; “In Quentain you can’t rape a whore, because you are a slave. Slaves are so insignificant the law does not protect them. Meaning he should not have been prosecuted,”

Seokjin gulped, his stomach sinking further. So, he was a murderer and Jungkook was a cold-blooded killer.

“Do you know, that Jungkook’s father is the reason you were born in Quentain and not Vian?”

Seokjin’s eyes widened he looked to his previous master.

“Has Jungkook not told you?” Jules chuckled; “Maybe he doesn’t know?”

“Please,” Seokjin whispered, eyes looking towards the ground; “Tell me master,”

“Jungkook’s father was a warmonger. He lusted for blood so much he would have seen his kingdom once more at war with Vian. Using his allies, he sent a ship from the Garindal navy to intercept a ship bound for Trairo. Said ship had the heir to the Vianian throne on it. The soon to be Queen was working on a peace treaty when Jungkook’s father had her killed,”

“W-what does this have to do with me?”

“Rumou- No, fact, stated that the Queen’s handmaiden was heavily pregnant at the time of departure,” Jules sighed; “A Vianian whore caused quite a lot of stir in the criminal underworld. When I heard of you I knew I wanted you, even if I only had you for one night. Luckily for me I had you for plenty before I grew bored of you.” He snickered softly to himself; “Before I found you though, I had hired some men to do some digging. I was curious how a Vianian would find themselves in Quentain. Especially since they are forbidden to leave,”

“Are you saying my mother was the Queen’s handmaiden?”

“Yes,” Jules said.

“And Jungkook’s father was the reason she ended up in Quentain?”

“Yes,” Jules smiled. A wicked cruel smile to himself.

Chapter Text

Taehyung found himself later sat by the warm bronze vienna lit fire, glowing embers flying high like bright bugs and colourful birds into the cool obsidian night sky. Swirling and twirling above. Above the sky lay before him swathed in deep cerulean blues and dark violent violets, cream vanilla splattered in small shining stars across its sheets like dust. He smiled, boxy and warm. This reminded him of his home. The stars were the same here as they were in Genisa, as they were anywhere in the world, only a slight change.

The knight remembered quite often in his youth on the island, nights spent by the clear window of the orphanage, tucked between the heavy wool blanket drapes and the cold black edged window panes. On either side of him his brother and at the time his best friend, later turned first love. Between that curtain and that window his imaginations had come to life. So, too had his dreams. The chill of night was thus nostalgic, a pleasant type.

Looking over he saw Namjoon stitching up a small tear by the elbow of his jacket. His jaw sticking out further as he gritted his teeth in concentration, completely emerged in the task at hand. His brow dipping down low and his eyes trained on his elegant hand’s movement. He was clumsy and pricked himself many a times in the process, but he was Namjoon. You couldn’t have one without the other. Clumsy, and Namjoon.

To Taehyung’s other side Hoseok sat. Leant back against a rough tree, body thrown to the ground in a languid relaxing fashion. An aloof air wavering around him. His foot tapped, danced and waltzed idly to a cacophony of music that only he could hear, reverberating between his ears. In his long elegant hands a beautiful glimmering dagger sat teetering, silver length cutting deeply in the creamy white wood he held. The thick branch being carved into. Taehyung smiled wondering what it was he was doing.

Sighing to himself he stood. Dusting down his brown tawny pants of long dead leaves and dirt. His boots sinking into the ground beneath as he traipsed around the fire, dodging the wispy ochre tendrils setting their surroundings in a warm glow.

Then he sat down by Namjoon, knee’s and legs pressed as they sat adjacent. “Here,” Taehyung smiled softly, not the usual boxy bright smile he portrayed, his hands outstretched and offering.

His lover sighed and handed Taehyung the needle and thread and the thick riding cloak. It was heavy in his golden hands. Warm fur and green fabric weighing his arm down. Slowly he laid it out before him, letting its lengths sit over his legs keeping him warm as he set about his work. The needle steady in his hand. It was not the first time he was repairing clothes. For most of his life the clothes he had were worn and patchworked, held together by mismatched thread. “How would you even survive without me?” Taehyung laughed, looking upon the botched handiwork.

“I wouldn’t,” Namjoon chuckled. Though deep down, in his warm glowing heart a colour of soft magenta continued to bloom as strong as ever. Namjoon truly could not survive without Taehyung. He was utterly devoted to the younger male who he had nursed back to help and had nursed him back to health.

“Damn right,” He laughed. Needle sliding deep into the fabric. “It’s a shame about this,”

“Why?”

“I bought it for you last year remember?”

“So?”

“It’s already breaking and fraying,”

Namjoon laughed; “It’s because it’s the only one I ever wear and ever will wear,”

“You aren’t going to by a new one?” Taehyung frowned in confusion.

“Why would I? This one works perfectly fine Tae. Besides, anything from you is priceless to me,” Namjoon smiled, eyes gleaming as he looked on his little jewel before him.

Taehyung smiled, somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach he felt a twinge, a twang of something. Something not all to pleasant. Fear? Possibly. Not the gut curdling one that had brought when his masters used to call for him. Nor the time when they had branded a mark deep into his skin forever, a small lotus by his hips, earnt only by those enslaved by one man. The feeling wasn’t deep and fiery, not a bloom and flourish of anger and wrath. No, it was something much worse. Something that strained deeply at his fractured and split heart. The feeling was guilt.

Taehyung bit his lip and looked down at his work, he blinked in surprise. The thread once white was red. In his thoughts, the monster had sewn into his finger. He gulped.

“Fuck Tae,” Namjoon leant forwards examining the thread pulled through his finger. He swore softly, brow creasing and dipping in worry and concern. Not anger. Namjoon hardly ever got angry with Taehyung. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Taehyung said honestly. After what he had been through, he had a low pain tolerance.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Hoseok stood up looking over his shoulder. “How the fuck did you do that Taehyung-ah?”

“I-I don’t know,” Taehyung whispered still slightly phased out. Blinking down at his finger. It wasn’t that big of a deal, only a small wound. He was still surprised how it had happened. He didn’t need Namjoon to mother him, but he knew Namjoon still thought of him like a baby bird. His lover thus found himself tending to Taehyung’s wound.

He snapped the thin thread with a small clicking noise. Pulling it free from Taehyung’s hand. Placing the needle on top of the riding cloak which was now repaired and sitting beside Taehyung. Tae smiled softly pulling his hand away from Namjoon. “Joonie, I’m fine,” He put his index finger in his blossom lips. Pink petal colour lips surround his finger.

“I’m going to go check on the horses,” he mumbled around his finger.

“Okay,” Namjoon looked up and watched him. His eyes not straying far from Taehyung’s form as he walked off further into the tree line.

Namjoon sighed standing up. He groaned and ran his hands down his inner thighs soothing the muscles strained from riding. The brown leather smooth beneath his calloused and worn hands. “H-how long has that been happening? Or is it new?” Hoseok asked, standing behind him as Namjoon leant down towards the fire, taking a pot of black tea

“It comes and goes sometimes,” Namjoon sighed, reaching down to the ground. He picked up a metal mug and poured the boiling, steaming black tea into the dark silvery depths. Then he turned around offering it to Hoseok who took it from him. “He just gets… lost?”

“He never used to be like that,” Hoseok sighed blowing on the tea.

“He never used to be a lot of things Hoseok,” Namjoon poured himself a steaming mug. Then he sat back down in front of the fire.

“Mm,” Hoseok sighed; “I suppose so,” The broker swirled his mug around. “Is it only that?”

“Phasing out?”

“Yeah,”

“No,” Namjoon sighed, looking at the deep daffodil coloured flames as they crackled and spat at him. “He zones out often. He’ll be sparring and then all of a sudden, he just,” Namjoon clicks his finger, “Changes. He becomes thi-this demon. Switches into survival mode. In his mind its life or death Hoseok, he just goes crazy. He once beat another knight to a pulp. Broke both his arms and fractured his femur,” Namjoon laughed in disbelief; “His fucking femur, do you know how hard it is to break it clean in half?”

“Fuck,” Hoseok murmured, sitting down beside Namjoon.

“He also forgets where he is sometimes… who he is,” The knight ran a thumb across his lip in the way he did whenever he thought deeply. “I think its strangely, a coping mechanism for him. Though that only happens when something bad happens, like the time when he beat that knight up. Taehyung had been thrown to the grown so harshly he himself and broken a few ribs. It just clicked and for a moment he wasn’t Taehyung,”

“What was he like?”

“Scary…” Namjoon sipped on the still hot tea, “But also broken. It’s like for a moment he’s back there, back into the firey condemned life he lived,”

Hoseok ran a hand through his hair; “What did they do to him,” he murmured to himself. Eyes glassy.

“I think it was harder for him you know?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok nodded; “He wasn’t like the rest. Most of them were born into it… th-the pain, the suffering,”

“How old was he?”

“He never told you?” Hoseok looked at him side-ways. Still blowing on his tea.

“I never asked him about it, all I know is what he told me,” Namjoon nodded. Looking up at the spiderweb, dew drop maze of stars behind the canopy of long thin skeletal bare twigs.

“He was fourteen,” Hoseok nodded, “But in all honesty me and Yoongi babied him so much during his childhood he had the mental age of a ten-year-old,”

Namjoon smiled; “He’s always been sweet then?”

“Adorable,” Hoseok laughed.

“Yoongi seems nice,” Namjoon sighed, “I find it hard to believe,”

“It is hard to believe,” Hoseok took a sip, swishing the tea around his mouth, across his flat pink tongue. “Yoongi is a cold-blooded murderer. An assassin. He may be one short motherfucker, but he’s damned right scary. But he’s a like a brother to me, or like a great great, great grandfather” Hoseok smiled.

Namjoon sighed; “So, no hard feelings? Even after everything that will happen?”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Yoongi is going to be sent to Quentain and tried for his crimes,” Namjoon nodded.

Hoseok took a sip of his tea and stood. “No hard feelings,” he turned to walk away, “Oh, Namjoon?”

“Yeah?”

“No hard feelings?”

“For what?”

“Being an ass, oh, and for what ever will happen in the future,” Hoseok nodded.

It was then, that the pair had found their one similar. The one thing that they could not argue about, bicker about or besmirch. Their cherished, sacred love for Taehyung connected the two of them. Neither could find it within their hearts or minds to find mindless cruelness and fire and spear it to the other. It had seemed, that for now, as they slept on opposite sides of the fire, Namjoon curled around Taehyung and Hoseok curled around himself, that they had come to an understanding.

Chapter Text

 

Jungkook sighed running a long elegant hand through his combed-back black obsidian hair, the silken lengths pulling and twisting at his fingers relaxed tender fingers. His hands bare of all glittering shimmering Jewels except a small flower bound in silver twisting around his smallest finger, a diamond pressed atop the shimmering flower's petals. His mother’s engagement ring was as delicate as she was. He smiled pulling his hand back down from where soon a large crown and a large burden would sit. Twirling the ring around he pressed the diamond to the palm of his hand so it looked like a plain silver band. His little secret. His bittersweet secret. He both hated the ring and loved it.

 

For a moment he admired himself in the mirror. Vanity was something his father had told him to be wary of and yet his father was so vain himself.

 

Jungkook looked quite like his father. His father always wore deep orange toned reds, unlike Jungkook who wore mainly navy Persian blacks. Everything of his father was drenched in gold, everything of Jungkook was drenched in cool sharp silver. They were very alike in many aspects other than their dress even though Jungkook through his later years of childhood had been formed and molded like clay to become a carbon copy of his father. A true king. However, it is rumored that you learn most of what you use in your life during the first five years. Jungkook was fairly certain his father hadn’t taken an interest in him until his mother had died at eight years old. Though Jungkook knew it was false. His father was never interested in Jungkook. He was interested in forcing his ideals on his son. On his Heir. Unlike his dead mother. Everything was a lie for Jungkook. Nothing was true, he had a very hard time believing people and believed the worst in them all. For his father never ever spoke to him of truth and his mother's existence was a lie.

 

He had crept down and explored as he did any other night. The night before the burial when her body was lowered into the family crypt he did the same. He explored, he searched, he wanted to see. For he had heard. Heard that she had been slain by a spiteful Vianian, slit from ear to ear and brutalized. Hearing, was different from seeing.

 

When Jungkook got to the family crypt his tiny child-sized brain could not fathom what he saw before him. The true horror that lay in the coffin beautifully engraved with flowers and jewels. A woman carved into its top bearing a likeness to his mother. When he pulled the lid of it away, he looked down and in its dark promising depths, he did not see the thing he wanted to. For his mother did not lay there. There was nothing in there, except a ring and a note.

 

He looked down at that note now. Jungkook had always kept it in arms reach. Always tempted but never succumbing.

 

His mother had never died that night. No, he knew, he knew she had run off. Left him to fend for himself in a prison of eyes and teeth and claws. She had succumbed to stupid brash and harsh love and left behind the one person that was truly devoted to her. Jungkook despised her now. Partly because of the venom dripped and poured down his throat by his father, thick and acrid, tarnishing her image, and, partly because of the time they had lost because of her dishonesty and lack of loyalty.

 

On the back of the flimsy, worn, cream, parchment was his mother’s elegant handwriting. Even though the thick block-like letters were Quentainian she made them look beautiful. Beautiful and wrong. His name and a request stared back at him, requesting him ‘My Darling Son,’ not to open it until he became King.

 

Tonight was that night. The years of temptation would finally be free and he would no longer reach for it in worry at night for he knew what lay beneath its covering.

 

Sitting down on his bed in the uncomfortable red ceremonial garb he sighed. Placing the letter across his lap. Father would think I’m weak, he thought. It was the truth. The late King would have thought him weak for succumbing to the spiteful bitch of his mother. For failing to be strong. For being weak. Oh, Jungkook was so weak. Not only was he tasting the forbidden, but he was falling. Falling deeply down into the rose gold abyss of love. He was doing everything in which he should not.

 

Biting his lip in anticipation, he felt his heart thrum behind his eyes and his breath ballon in his throat. Pulling the parchment apart he broke the wax seal, stamped with the royal insignia. It pulled apart cleaning, not breaking at all, his calmness rewarding. Taking one more breath, a breath of hesitance and fear he read;

 

---

 

My Dearest Jungkook, My little Star, My Moon and my Sun,

 

I wonder how old you are now? Reading this. Maybe you won’t even read it? Who knows? Maybe you’re reading it now just after finding it? My cheeky little monster, always so fun and devious aren’t you? Yet so caring. Jungkook, dear, you have such a big heart, it matches those big eyes of yours. Your big curiosity for the world.

 

I know you will be confused. Mad, angry and upset. But please know this was for the best. For if I stayed my sins would have caught up with me. Maybe you would have preferred I died than leave you? Either way, it's in the past now and it has happened. Please promise me you won’t dwell on it. Let it devour you like greed and jealousy has devoured your father. You are beautiful and not at all like him my dear, my sun, my stars and my moon. You are kind.

 

That is why I hope, in your heart, you will accept this apology. I may have forfeited the right to be your mother, but please do not hate me. If you do, then I guess you do, I don’t mind. I understand if you hate me, dearest. I am a terrible person for doing this, for leaving you. Yet in my heart, I know this is the best. I know.

 

Your father has sentenced me to death Jungkook. I know, I just know he will make you watch. You are too fragile, still a blossoming flower. I can’t let you see that.

 

That’s why I am leaving.

 

In the arms of my lover.

 

Jungkook, oh, you would love him. He is so kind, and thoughtful. Beautiful too, but not nearly as pretty as you my sweet Kookie. Not nearly as sweet. He is my sin Jungkook. I have condemned myself to the abyss, but I don’t see why I can’t live my life in happiness before then. I have lain outside of the marriage bed Jungkook, and for that, your father wishes my death. I succumbed to my desired and doomed us, doomed you. Please forgive me, dearest.

 

I must go soon, our ship leaves at dawn and I can see the sun peaking on the horizon.

 

I’m in our place. Our little garden. Where you used to splash around in the fountains, and we would read together and play. I’m here now, thinking of you. Promise me you will look after our garden? Tend to the flowers we planted last summer. Walk by the water when you are weary. Promise to look after yourself Kookie?

 

I hope you read this dearest. You may not ever forgive me, which is fine. I understand. I hope you find love though, be it with a man or a woman, of noble or poor blood. I hope they love you as much as you love them. Protect your big heart dear, and give it to only those who deserve it. I am selfish to believe there is still a place in my heart for you, but I hope there is. I hope that one day when you read this you will think of the fun we had together. The love we shared?

 

Jungkook, I’m going to be married once more. Under no religion. For the one, I believed in no longer believes in me. I hope you don’t resent me for my choices. One day I hope to meet you again. I hope that you can meet my new Husband, possibly a brother or sister? Would you like that? I know you always hated being the only child. You had Jimin, but I knew you wanted to be a big brother.

 

My darling, my dearest, my sun, moon, and stars. My firstborn and my love, my one and only. Come find me when you find it in your heart to love. Come to Vian. To my new home. I will come down to the docks every new moon and wait for you, I will do this every year until my death bed. I may never meet you or see you basked under the moonlight my Kookie, but I hope I will.

 

I hope I will find you looking back at me with our shared dark eyes. I hope to find a man or a woman beneath your wing, truly loving you and nurturing you. I hope for you only the best. I hope for you to have only the sun, only the stars and only the bright bright moon which I look upon every night and think of you.

 

I must go now, dearest. I must flee. The guards will have found me missing by now.

 

All my love, to my dearest darling Son from your Mother.

 

---

 

Jungkook set the paper down on the bed beside him. Forcing it down into the silk and feeling it crinkle beneath his palm. He stood and wiped an eye on the back of his dress robe. He was weak. King Jeon Jungkook was a weak fool. A fool that no longer was tempted. A king that now yearned. For he had found all he needed to see his mother and he had found all he needed to win the war that plagued his every night.

Chapter Text

Seokjin bit his pink soft lips and paced in Jungkook’s room. Footsteps reverberating loudly. He had been waiting for hours now. Hours.

 

So much was happening too fast. Like when you waved your hands really fast and your fingers turned into a blur. His mind was a blur. Everything it was falling. Everything. For the first time in his life he knew more than he wanted too. It made him angry. So angry that for once he was glad that someone had been killed. No, murdered for their sins. They deserved it. The King deserved it.

 

His mother had died a slow sad death because of him. She was once a woman of grace and beauty, lead to work long nights and taking on multiple jobs. The reason she was dead and the reason Seokjin was condemned to this life was because of him. Because of the sins that the King had committed.

 

He had to find out. He needed to know. Did Jungkook know what his father had done? Does he know what sins his father had committed. Seokjin bit his lip, he hoped dearly that he did not for Seokjin might lose it otherwise.

 

For some strange reason Seokjin knew that he was the only thing tethering him back to this land. Jungkook meant something to Seokjin. For the first time in his life Seokjin had felt comfortable enough to let his heart bloom.

 

Yet what had that gotten him? So far? Pain and confusion.

 

He sighed looking out the window of Jungkook’s room, finger’s trailing over the lengths of the blue curtains draped there. Maybe this life was one he did not deserve. For it seemed that everything he did was wrong. Seokjin had failed at almost everything in his life so far other than to see those around him die. His mother, Lalisa and many others too. Seokjin had condemned them.

 

Behind him he heard Jungkook close the door as he stepped into his room. His boots hitting the floor. Seokjin did not look back.

 

“Seokjin? What on earth are you doing here?” Jungkook grumbled. “Close the window while you’re over there, you’ll catch a cold,” The whore made no movement. Behind him he could hear the rustling of clothes as Jungkook shed his tight and heavy ceremonial garb, the long glimmering gold robe over his shoulders already by his feet. Seokjin glanced over his shoulder to see the younger male discarding the heavy red tunic on the floor. The beads and gems embraided into it clattering and tinkling on the floor. He wore a flimsy white shirt beneath it which was drenched in sweat and clung closely to the tight lines and curves of his body.

 

“You know,” Seokjin began, turning his head back around to the window and smiling bittersweetly at the ocean horizon; “My mother used to call me her little bird,”

 

“Why was that?” Jungkook turned around. Hands on his belt as he loosened it. His body tired. Head heavy with the crown now nestled into his black locks. He had been stood reciting god-awful oaths for the last hour and wanted nothing more to sleep. In fact, he could think of nothing better than to relax with Seokjin by the fire and talk as they had found themselves doing on the often occasion.

 

“I was quite flighty as a child,” Seokjin murmured sitting on the window ledge. The wind blowing into the room tossing his hair and flickering the candles. “Always scared,”

 

“I was quite flighty too,” Jungkook sighed leaning against the four-poster bed. “Seokjin, do leave the window, you’ll catch a cold,”

 

“Would you care Jungkook?” Seokjin looked back, an arch to his brow. Did anyone really care? They were all gone now. All the people that cared.

 

Jungkook frowned, not used to being called by his name. “Seokjin what has gotten into you?”

 

“Jungkook,” Seokjin sighed leaning back against the window ledge, continuing to look down at the sheer drop. The wind whistled violenting and hauntingly. “Do you think I’m a little bird?”

 

“Seokjin?”

 

“Do you think I could fly? Fly high and away from here?”

 

“Seokjin,” Jungkook growled; “Get away from that fucking window,”

 

“Why?” Seokjin blinked.

 

“I’m not asking you Seokjin, I’m commanding you!” Jungkook stood up. His voice raised. Seokjin blinked for a moment and stood. Jungkook’s breath was caught in his throat and for the first time in a long time he had felt true fear. Gut wrenching and painful. It was gone in an instance, filled with anger. Seokjin turned and shut the windows, blocking the sound of the howling wind out, leaving only the sound of the crackling fireplace.

 

In a moment was there before Seokjin, he did something he hadn’t done in a long while. He let his emotions take the better of himself and he struck Seokjin. Bare hand slamming across Seokjin’s cheek sending the whore reeling to the ground with a cry. Seokjin hit the ground with a thud, but rather than react as any normal person would, he just looked up at Jungkook blankly and impassively.

 

“F-forgive me master,” Seokjin whispered. Jungkook could tell Seokjin was seething by his tone.

 

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Jungkook growled. Pulling the crown off his head and throwing it to the ground carelessly where it thudded and clatter. His hands massaged his scalp as he walked and pace.

 

“Did-Did you know?” Seokjin whispered. His voice quiet as he raised himself off of the ground to his feet. His cheek a deep red, soon it would no doubt bruise. Jungkook noticed his eye was also red and bloodshot around the iris. He would have a black eye too.

 

“For fucks sake Seokjin, did I know what?” Jungkook continued pacing.

 

“Did you know about my mother?” Seokjin whispered.

 

Jungkook paused, face utterly confused. “What about your mother?”

 

“Y-your father was the reason she was here in Quentiain, t-the reason she died,”

 

Jungkook’s stomach dropped. “Seokjin?”

 

“Tell me!” He cried out in anger. The whore’s fists balled by his sides.

 

“Seokjin, I-,”

 

“Tell me,” he breathed. “Or did you know too? Did you kill her?”

 

Jungkook’s eyebrows dipped down. “Who told you this?”

 

“My mas-Jules,” Seokjin blinked up at Jungkook. Tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

 

“Jules Lotus,” Jungkook seethed. “Of course, he fucking did,”

 

“H-he said that you were the reason she was dead, you and your father,”

 

Jungkook laughed manically; “You have to be fucking kidding me Seokjin,”

 

“Tell me,”

 

“Tell you what Seokjin?” Jungkook growled; “That I’m a murderer? That I murdered your mother? Fucked up your whole life?”

 

Seokjin bit his lip a tear rolling down his cheek.

 

“It’s just that Jul-,” he began. He was swiftly cut off by Jungkook’s body on his. Lips pressed to lips. Sinful and sweet. Jungkook’s hands cradling his cheek and neck as he tastes his precious pet. Breaths caught and intermingled in mouths and eyes drifted shut. Seokjin leant into Jungkook, body reaching and clawing for the attention he had been deprived of. No, the love he had been deprived of.

 

Jungkook pulled away; “Don’t you ever mention his fucking name,” he growled; “I don’t want to hear any man’s name off of those fucking lips except my own,”

 

“Y-yes master,” Seokjin breathed.

 

“I may have killed people Seokjin,” Jungkook breathed; “But I did not kill your mother, I don’t think I was even fucking conceived yet for fucks sake,”

 

“M-master,” Seokjin blinked up. Looking at Jungkook, looking at the way his master ate him up.

 

“What?”

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

Jungkook blinked for a moment, then with a reply his breathed; “Your heart.”

 

---SKIP HERE FOR NO SMUT---

 

As those words were ushered the two launched themselves at one another. Months of longing, months of stares, months of love hidden and pushed away came up to the surface in the form of pure hungry lust. Lust that could no longer be quenched. Their thirst for one another had grown too strong to contain and the beaker of lust was overflowing, their hands were reaching to touch it.

 

Seokjin pressed his pink butterfly lips to Jungkook’s, feeling the wet soft skin beneath them. Saliva already there from their previous rough kiss. Seokjin knew, that no part of this would be tender. Nor did he want it. Nor did Jungkook. Seokjin felt Jungkook’s hand on the nape of his neck, holding him into the kiss. The other roaming down to take a large handful of Seokjin’s arse. Seokjin moaned into the kiss as teeth clashed.

 

With a prod Jungkook’s slipped his tongue invitingly into Seokjin’s pink mouth. Tasting his sweet darling love. Tasting Seokjin. Seokjin and his tongue battled for control, swirling over one another in a glorious moaning display before Jungkook had found his dominance. He pressed their bodies to the wall. Seokjin’s arm’s coming around Jungkook’s sides and hands pulling at his hair.

 

From where their bodies where pressed Jungkook could feel Seokjin’s hard length pressing to his own hardening length. The touch of them made both of the men groan into one another’s mouth. Sending vibrations across their tongues and lips. It sent Seokjin’s stomach flying like a bird.

 

Jungkook moved his hands down Seokjin’s body. Bare and feeling Seokjin’s warm skin. It was nothing that he hadn’t seen. In fact, he had seen Seokjin naked many times before. But never, never had he given into his temptations and felt the man. Felt his smooth, creamy vanilla skin. Felt the dips of his rib cage, the curve of his slim waist. Lines of his stomach or the rise of his chest. The buds of his nipples. His hands grazed over them and it sent a shudder to run down Seokjin’s spine. Moaning once more into the sloppy needy kiss.

 

Jungkook pulled away for a moment to breath. Chest heavy. Before him pressed to the wall was the most beautiful being in the world. Seokjin panted. A long line of gossamer saliva spread like a web between their lips. He already looked spent from the long kiss. Jungkook had fantasised about this sight for months. Jungkook wanted to see him writhing in the sheets beneath him. Writhing has he pressed himself into the man. Feeling his walls around him and his body humming with pleasure. Jungkook wanted to make Seokjin feel so nice. He wanted Seokjin to feel fucking amazing.

 

The prince pressed his lips to the curve of Seokjin’s jaw. His lips would have trailed further if not for the golden collar shimmering around his neck. Instead he pressed his kisses behind Seokjin’s ear. Watching as the whore reacted. The sensitive flesh bruising as Jungkook sucked and pulled giving him love bites that would last days.

 

It sent Seokjin into waves of pleasure. The whore pulled one hand down pressing it to the small of Jungkook’s back. Feeling the slightly damp shirt beneath his skin he pressed Jungkook’s crotch forwards forcing it closer to his own. Their hardened, clothed lengths pressing to one another. Seokjin moaned grinding his hips needlingly against his master’s. He wanted to be naked, wanted to have Jungkook atop of him. He wanted it now.

 

“M-master,” Seokjin moaned aloud. Brows dipping down and wet red cheeks burning. “Fuck me, please,” he begged.

 

Jungkook stiffened and hesitated under his words. For the first time since they had begun their moment of bliss Seokjin realised that the prince was a virgin. He had known it for a long time but in their moment of haste bittersweet lust he had forgotten. Seokjin bit his lip ready to apologise when Jungkook took their mouths and pressed them together. Battling for dominance. Jungkook loved it. Relished in it. He was power hungry and there was no better feeling than having another man acting coy and submissive below him.

 

Seokjin curled his hands around the curve of Jungkook’s waist pushing him off of the wall but never breaking the kiss. Slowly, still pressed to Jungkook, hands still trailing along his body he stumbled across the room. Until his knees met the bed and he slammed down into its fur and cotton covers. For the first time in a long time Seokjin felt comfortable. He hated silk, there was no sign of the silk on this bed. No bad memories here.

 

Jungkook still atop of his pulled away from the kiss and reached down to his shirt. Grabbing the hem of it and pulling it from his body, over his head, tussling his black steely hair and throwing it to the floor just as he had thrown his crown. Before Seokjin was no king, no prince, no master, no, before him was Jungkook , a man. A man who Seokjin knew, loved him, just as he had loved him in return.

 

Seokjin bit his lip looking down over Jungkook’s body. The curves, the defined muscles along his stomach. The smooth plain of his chest. His tanned perked nipples. Broad shoulders. Defined cheek bones. Bobbing Addams apple. Tight and taught biceps. His eyes wandered down to Jungkook’s navel, clear of any hair. Jungkook’s hands pulling at his pants.

 

Seokjin lifted his arse off of the bed and hooked his own hands under the waistband of his pants. He wriggled out of them, by the time he had shed his clothes and thrown them to the floor so had Jungkook. Seokjin, for the first time saw his lover truly vulnerable and naked before him. To say Jungkook was well endowed would be an understatement. To say he was not perfect would be a lie. Everything, everything, was perfect.

 

Jungkook’s legs were just as smooth as the rest of his body. Toned and taught, yet not too bulky. His thighs perfectly defined and muscled from long days spent training. His abdomen having a clear cut defined ‘V’ leading straight to his member. It was both long as it was thick. Thick and red, the tip already leaking precum. It stood tall and flushed against his stomach. Seokjin bit his lip wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch it. Feel it warm and hard beneath his palm, on his tongue and pressed to his cheeks.

 

Jungkook lay down beside Seokjin on the bed. A hand on his pet’s cheek. He leant upwards and brought their lips together against. Seokjin leant forwards, a hand pressed to the dip of Jungkook’s chest the other at the base of his throat feeling his breathing rising and falling. Seokjin moaned into the kiss feeling Jungkook’s finger trailing down his body. Index finger dipping past his navel and the small fuzz there to his length.

 

Seokjin’s length was not nearly as impressive as Jungkook’s. It was both thinner and shorter, but it was still nothing to be ashamed of. Seokjin had a decent length, bigger than many of the clients he had bedded in his life.

 

The King pressed his palm flat to the angry tip of Seokjin’s member. Precum warm and wet on his hand. Using it as Lubrication he ran his hand down Seokjin’s member. Hand curled around its length, squeezing it ever so tightly. Seokjin moaned loudly into Jungkook’s open mouth. Hand clawing down into the king’s skin on his chest and Toes curling. He found his other hand threading down to Jungkook’s own member. Feeling his girth, its length and its heat.

 

Jungkook pulled away from the kiss; “Not just yet my love,” he breathed. The king pushed himself up pressing long drawn kisses to Seokjin’s skin. Marking him and bruising his body in a beautiful blossom of red and pink flowers. Flowers that would soon bloom to purple.

 

“Jungkook,” Seokjin breathed out, wanting more. He was greedy.

 

“You’re such a greedy slut,” Jungkook moaned out, his words caused another whimper of pleasure to crawl out from Seokjin’s mouth. He loved it. He loved being treated like this from Jungkook. Tender yet at the same time brash.

 

The King gripped Seokjin’s knee’s pulling his legs up and pulling him further along the bed slightly so his back was arched, and cheeks spread. Seokjin had one leg limply hanging over Jungkook’s shoulder, the other held back by his hand. The other one to preoccupied in his mouth to be of any use. Lewd slurping noises came from Seokjin’s mouth. Jungkook grinned realising his was tasting the precum from when he had Jungkook’s member beneath his hand.

 

Jungkook brought his own hand up to his lips. For a moment he could taste the sweet salty liquid there. The one dripping down Seokjin’s pink length. He grinned and with a lewd noise spat on his finger before bringing it back down to Seokjin’s puckered hole.

 

Slowly, and gently he pressed his finger into Seokjin, causing a surprise whimper to tear from the whore’s lips. He pressed deep, down into the whore. He pressed until his knuckles pressed to Seokjin’s warm skin. Curling his finger slightly he began to work into Seokjin. Sending the whore shuddering as Jungkook stretched his walls.

 

His wall were so tight around Jungkook’s finger but never the less he managed to fit  another finger in. Seokjin arched his back and moaned ferally at feeling himself become more filled. His free hand delved out of his mouth and down to his own cock. Spreading his saliva along it. His hand curled around it pumping it back and forth eliciting more moans of pleasure.

 

When Jungkook had fit three fingers into Seokjin he stopped his pressing, his pushing and his pulling. All together he pulled his finger’s out of Seokjin, leaving the whore feeling utterly empty. A moan of annoyance and a glare caused Jungkook to laugh. He leant forwards pressing a kiss to Seokjin’s lips; “You want me so bad huh?”

 

Seokjin nodded a small whimper in reply. Jungkook laughed, reaching over him to the bedside table. He fumbled with one of the oak drawers for a moment before pulling out a jar. Inside the glass jar was a pale creamy lotion that spread thickly and wetly across Jungkook’s fingers. He took a generous amount from the jar and spread it along his member. Running his fingers down to his base and back up his shaft to his head. Until his red cock gleamed and dripped in the dim fireplace lighting.

 

Seokjin’s breath was caught on just how beautiful Jungkook was.

 

Jungkook bit his lip, looking hesitant and coy for a moment. Seokjin smiled, he kept forgetting it was his first time. Leaning up Seokjin cradled Jungkook’s face in his hand’s pressing his lips to his lover. They switched places and Seokjin pressed Jungkook down into the cover. Stradling him, his thighs either side of Jungkook’s slim hips.

 

From their position Seokjin had his member pressed to Jungkook’s, grinding and sliding along one another. Hard, wet and warm beneath one another. His actions caused Jungkook to moan into his mouth. He pulled away and grunted; “Stop being such a fucking tease.”

 

Seokjin smiled devilishly and lifted himself forwards onto his knees. Looking back over his shoulder he reached for Jungkook’s member. Taking it in his hand, feeling its girth around his palm. He pressed the head to his cheeks feeling it’s wetness. Then raising himself up onto the balls of his feet he pressed it to his hole, slowly lowering himself down onto Jungkook. An immediate grown leaving his pink drenched lips as he felt a stretch in his walls. He continued none the less, all the way until Seokjin had bottomed out and felt Jungkook’s ball’s pressed to his arse.

 

Jungkook was so handsome, Seokjin thought. Looking at him moan. His face going slack for a moment and brows arching, dark eyes fluttering shut. Seokjin tipped his head back letting out harsh breaths as he began to ride him.

 

Rolling his hips back and forth slowly and sensually before gaining speed. His waist pressed down into Jungkook’s hips with every bounce. His own cock bobbing. Seokjin grabbed Jungkook’s thighs and leant back, using them for support as he quickened his lustful motions. The king now beginning to grind upwards into Seokjin’s heat. Moans ripping through both of them.

 

His hands squeezed as Seokjin’s flesh, thumbs digging into the male’s hips. Fingers running along his curves and palms feeling his soft skin. Touching, oh how depraved Jungkook was of it. To touch, to feel. Jungkook loved it, to show weakness. He loved being spread down naked a man riding his cock. One thing that he would love more would be pressing a man into the sheets and watching him squirm beneath.

 

Jungkook did just that flipping the two over and causing a playful yelp to tear form Seokjin’s lips as he hit the cotton blankets. He laughed, vibrations running through his body, tremoring. Jungkook moaned feeling them along his cock. Leaning and bending over Seokjin he pressed his lips to the males. One hand gripping Seokjin’s leg’s and hauling them over his shoudlers so the older male was curled and bent.

 

Jungkook gripped Seokjin’s thighs leaning back up from the sloppy kiss; “Fuck,” he growled; “You’re so fucking hot,”

 

Seokjin blushed a small smile on his lips. Once more he enjoyed this part of Jungkook. Seokjin wanted to be told what a greedy little slut he was but at the same time he wanted to be praised and complimented. Jungkook was reading his signs so well and Seokjin loved it. He found a low guttural moan rolling off of his tongue at Jungkook’s words. It was quickly replaced with high pitched breathing as the king slammed down into him.

 

Skin hitting skin rang out in the room. Slapping harshly against one another. Jungkook moaned feeling Seokjin’s tight wall’s around his length, completely engulfing him as he bottomed out with each powerful thrust. His breathing sharp and low, a gossamer sheen of sweat covering his tanned skin.

 

Beneath him he heard Seokjin cry out and new he had him held up just right. Seokjin gripped the sheets harshly, knuckles white as Jungkook kept thrusting deeply into him hitting that same spot. Slamming into his prostate and sending him over to the edge. His cock leaking precum onto his stomach.

 

Jungkook reached down with his free hand, his palm fisting around Seokjin’s length. He began pumping it. Each stroke of the male’s shaft sending shudders through his spine and body.

 

Seokjin came loud and hard, his lovers name on his lips as he spilled white threads of liquid across his chest. The liquid reaching up to his face and completely splattering him. Jungkook moaned, the sight beneath him absolutely beautiful. Jungkook didn’t stop though, he continued to ride out Seokjin’s intense waving orgasm until Seokjin came around. Blinking hazily and licking his own cum from his red raw lips.

 

He felt Seokjin’s hand’s press at his waist and Jungkook pulled out for a moment wondering if he had hurt Seokjin. That was, before the whore hand pushed him down into the mattress and leant down over his body. It was at times like this that Jungkook was fully reminded of how strong Seokjin was. They were of the same height and similar builds after all. Seokjin wasted no time in pressing Jungkook’s member into it mouth.

 

Jungkook moaned feeling his hot breath on his member and his wet tongue flat against his shaft. Seokjin pressed Jungkook’s cock deep into his mouth, down into his throat until his nose hit the small amount of fuzz at the base of Jungkook’s shaft. He almost gagged at its size but managed to fully fit it. He began lewdly sucking on it. Bobbing his head up and down and coating it with thick layers of saliva. Tasting a mixture of the lotion and Jungkook’s precum on his lips and tongue.

 

After a few more bobs Seokjin knew Jungkook was close. His hands had drifted down into Seokjin’s hair. Pulling on the rose gold lengths with need. Jungkook couldn’t help it. His need to orgasm too great. He began thrusting up into Seokjin’s mouth, eliciting moans from the whore. Seokjin loved pleasuring Jungkook. Even if long strings of spit dripped form his chin down his neck and spun like a web down Jungkook’s shaft. Even if tears dribbled freely from his eyes down his red flustered cheeks.

 

“Fuck I’m go-,” with a guttural moan Jungkook came. He came partly down Seokjin’s throat partly in his mouth. Seokjin pulled off of Jungkook swirling his taste in his mouth before leaning up. Taking a hold of Jungkook’s jaw he pressed his lips to Jungkook’s. Jungkook’s own sperm on his tongue.

 

Jungkook moaned into Seokjin’s mouth, tasting both Seokjin and himself. They breathed heavily into each other’s mouths, sharing a few more moments of their tired kiss before rolling back onto the bed. Seokjin curled to Jungkook’s side. Jungkook’s arm wrapped around Seokjin. Seokjin smiled, so that was what sex was truly like. Never before had Seokjin engaged in intercourse where someone actively wanted to pleasure him just as much as he wanted to pleasure him. Was this love?

 

Jungkook smiled looking down at Seokjin who looked utterly spent. His face covered in spit, cum and tears. His hair messy and drenched in sweat. Chest still heavily rising and falling. Jungkook felt just as spent as Seokjin, but none the less he moved. He pushed himself up and crouched down by the bedside table again.

 

Seokjin groaned, feeling Jungkook’s lack of presence against his side. His body cold without his lover to warm him. “Kookie,” he moaned in protest. Jungkook stopped moving for a moment, hearing the familiar nickname. He stopped, breathed, and smiled. He liked the nickname coming off of the whore’s lips.

 

“Yes, my love?” Jungkook answered scrambling around in the drawer.

 

“Come back to bed,” Seokjin moaned, rolling around on the covers sleepily. Gosh, Jungkook thought looking at the man, Seokjin was a mess.

 

“Shh, in a moment,” Jungkook chuckled. It was then he found it. Pulling out a golden key, with silver and sapphire embellishments. A Rubie placed at its tip. The key was tiny in his hand. “Come here my love,”

 

“Why?” Seokjin rolled over and curiously looked at Jungkook’s hand and at the key there. The tiny one matching his collar. Seokjin blinked widely at Jungkook.

 

“I-if I take it off, you promise you won’t leave me Seokjin?” Jungkook blinked; “I-I can’t have anyone else leave me, not again,”

 

Seokjin smiled; “Jungkook, I will never leave you. I-I think I might love you,”

 

Jungkook smiled. Reaching forwards and pressing the key into the golden collar, twisting it. With a click it fell from Seokjin’s shoulders to the floor. Clattering and rolling there. “I think I might love you too Seokjin.”

Chapter Text

Namjoon yawned rolling onto his back. His shoulder and the crook of his neck sore and aching dreadfully. Groaning he blinked the hazy cloudfilled sleep from his eyes, focussing his visionon the gnarly white sky above him. He shivered softly, noticing the blanket curle around Taehyung by his side. Smiling Namjoon rolled back over, curling back around Taehyung’s sleeping form. His lovers brown haired head resting on the fleshy side of his bicep.

Namjoon’s nose pressed coldly to the nape of Taehyugn’s warm neck; “Ngh,” the sleepy night murmured at feeling the cold press to the flush tan of his skin; “Joon-ah,” he grumbled; “You’re freezing,”

“You stole the blanket,” Namjoon explained. Curling his free hand around Taehyung’s waist. Hand laid flat against his soft warm belly. Namjoon’s cold hand almost burning.

“Get your grubby mits off,” Taehyung growled rolling back around so he could look directly at Namjoon. His forehead pressed to Namjoon’s, their equally chilly noses pressed to one another. Sharing chilly cold breaths.

Taehyung daintily draped the wool blanket over Namjoon and his own body, curling his warmer body around the older males. His leg draped over Namjoon’s slight hips. Body pressed to his. He moved his hand’s down namjoon’s toned upper torso, feeling past his tanned arms. The slight corded muscle there smooth beneath his warm palms. Taehyung curled his slightly larger hands around Namjoons hands which were leaching the warm from his hips. He pulled the hands up to his neck.

Pressing Namjoon’s hands to his neck a small smile on his lips. It took him a long while before he could have anything touching his neck, even now he only let Namjoon do it with permission. Namjoon’s hand cradled his head, thumb running softly along his jaw. His eyes trained on Taehyung’s throat watching as his adams apple bobbed with every breath. The smaller boy smile, lips pulling taught.

With his own hand he trailed Namjoon’s sharp jaw. Index finger trailed upwards to his round soft lips. He felt namjoon’s breath fan across his finger as he ran his finger along his lips. Exploring every single curve of his lover’s body like he was a new toy. In actual fact Taehyung had done this many times when in a hazy state. When they were both sleepy like this neither were limited by their inhibitions.

He often trailed his fingers over his strong sharp soft brows. His smooth tanned skin, so soft beneath his fingertips. So plush and healthy. His eye lashes fluttering, deep and dark. Like black obsidian butterflies. Taehyung smiled, there was not one part of Namjoon that he did not love.

He leant forwards, pressing his lips to Namjoon’s. Feeling his lovers slightly dry and parched lips beneath his own. Namjoon leant his jaw up slightly so his lips pressed fully to his lovers. His smiled softly but then pulled away, leaving his lover’s lips empty. The younger boy frowned and grumbled something incoherent beneath his lips.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes my darling?”

“Hoseok,” Namjoon sighed.

“What about him?”

“What-what is he to you?”

“What do you mean Namjoon?”

“What is his relationship to you?”

Taehyung blinked, stomach flipping; “Hoseok… he was my, my first love Namjoon. My first everything, first kiss, first time, first love,”

Namjoon blinked; “W-what am I then?”

“You are my everything,” Taehyung breathed; “You’re my joonie, my lover,”

Namjon gulped; “You love me right Taehyung?”

“Of course, I love you so much,”

“Do you still love Hoseok?”

“Namjoon?”

Namjoon’s voice took on a harsh edge; “Do. You. Still. Love. Him?”

“Yes,” he sighed, breathing it out long and drawn. It was the first time he himself had admitted his love fully to himself and it was both oppressing and uplifting. “I-I love you both, so, so much,” he blinked. He felt a wet ness near the corner of his eye, “So much it hurt’s Namjoon,”

“Taehyung I-,”

Taehyung put his index finger over Namjoon’s lips; “Please don’t leave me Namjoon. Please,”

“Tae-,”

“Don’t make me choose either,” Taehyung blinked, eyelashes wet. “N-Namjoon?”

“Yes?” he murmured, his voice had a broken hostility too it.

“Do you love me?”

“So much it hurts Tae,”

“Then don’t stop loving me,” Taehyung grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him close for another kiss.

Chapter Text

Yoongi’s eyes fluttered, opening. He sighed lowly his stomach growling, angrily and loudly, a hollow feeling present beneath his ribs. They’d been travelling straight in hard snow for days and had to keep stopping as the wagons struggled to plod through the thick white substance. When they had toppled and gotten stuck in the thick snow Yoongi and jimin were put to work, digging out the cumbersome vehicles. Both of them were shivering through it all.

Originally Yoongi had planned to completely forego the pass, travelling the quickest route and not going via road. With only two horses it would have been easy but now? Well with the three wagons it was near impossible. Which is why they were currently in clothes far to flimsy for the current weather. Yoongi feared they’d end up coming out of this with missing fingers and toes. That’s one of the reasons why they had gotten so close after the months. The weeks in shared captivity had forced them to be attached at the hip at almost every opportunity to stay warm.

Jimin’s stomach grumbled in reply. Yoongi felt him sigh softly, his breath tickling his neck. He was curled to Yoongi’s side shivering softly beneath the burlap sack they were laid under. “Hungry?” Yoongi chuckled.

“Always,” Jimin sighed. It had been over two weeks and the lack of food the males were receiving was beginning to show. Both of them who were naturally slight grew even thinner in the short period of time. No doubt soon they’d look as gaunt as skeletons. “Yoongi-ah?”

“Mm?” Yoongi had his eyes shut. His nose pressed to Jimin’s hair, fanning the dark over grown locks as he breathed.

“I think we’ll die before we reach Vian,”

Yoongi chuckled; “I thought you were supposed to be the optimistic one?”

“I get bored of it,”

“I suppose,”

“Don’t you get bored of being the pessimist?”

“No,” Yoongi chuckled; “it’s easy,”

“Easy?”

“Easy to be bored and dissatisfied, then Happy and satisfied,” He yawned.

Jimin laughed; “You really are an old soul. You act as if you are one-hundred,”

“Just because I’m wise?”

Jimin snorted; “I take it back; I don’t think one-hundred-year olds are that cocky.”

They stayed in silence for a while. Only the whistling of wind burrowing through the empty air, chipping away at mountains could be heard.

“Yoongi-ah?”

Yoongi groaned sarcastically; “Why are you so talkative,”

“Oh hush,” Jimin smiled.

“Mm?” he finally answered the question.

“What were you dreaming of?”

“Who says I was dreaming?”

“Everyone always dreams in their sleep Yoongi, if we didn’t dream why would we find our sleep so blissful?”

“Fair enough,” Yoongi smiled. “I-I was dreaming about us,”

“Us?”

“Mm,”

“Tell me more?”

If Jimin could see into the darkness, then he would have seen Yoongi blush. “I think we were in Trairo?”

“On our way to Vian?”

“No,” Yoongi murmured, “After that,”

“After?”

“After. I think I saved you from Vian?”

“Who said I needed saving?”

“I did,” Yoongi chuckled. “Now, hush you petulant child I’m telling a story,”

Jimin hummed in stoic agreement.

“I think I was chieftain of Trairo, we were in the throne room. You were there too,”

“What was I doing Yoongi?”

“You were singing,”

“Singing?” Jimin laughed.

“Mm, singing a lullaby,”

“Were you sleepy?”

“No, you weren’t singing the lullaby to me,”

“Who was I singing it too?” Jimin asked with a childlike curiosity.

“A child,” Yoongi yawned a small happy smile pully at his face as he relived the dream he had been having quite frequently now.

“W-was it ours?” Jimin whispered so softly that Yoongi almost didn’t hear it.

“Yes,” Yoongi smiled.

“Yoongi-ah?”

“Yes Jimin?”

“Do you like me?”

Yoongi snorted; “Jimin, I think we’re a bit past liking each other,”

“Huh?”

“We’ve kissed plenty of times now,” that was true. The last month when left alone in the back of the cart they had shared stolen sneaking kisses together. “We spend every waking fucking moment together… I could go on,”

Jimin smiled; “You like me! You want to kiss me! You want to marry me!” He teased again. Singing softly in the teasing way he usually did. It often made the stone cold, stone hearted Yoongi blush and act coy. A strange but pleasant look for the assassin. Except from this time it did not affect him the same way.

He just laughed; “You know what little lord? I think you may be onto something there,”

Jimin laughed; “You want to marry me?”

Yoongi shrugged; “Why not?”

Jimin sat bolt upright. His wide eyes looking down at Yoongi’s sleepy moonlit form; “You’re joking right?”

“Not in the slightest?” He said softly to himself as if he was convincing himself.

“B-but… why?” Jimin cried out in disbelief.

Yoongi yawned; “Why not?”

“Oh, c’mon. There has to be a reason!”

“You’re pretty,”

“Oh, now that’s shallow,” Jimin frowned.

“You’re funny too,” Yoongi sleepily rose his arm and poked his nose. “Your temper is surprisingly flattering, its oh so adorable,”

“So, you think I’m a funny angry man?”

“A very funny, very easily agitated man,” he chuckled.

“Why yo-,” Jimin began.

“You’re also very kind Jimin,” Yoongi nodded; “You care way too much. Your heart is so big,” the assassin put his hand on Jimin’s chest feeling his heart beating. Jimin’s pumping soul reverberated against his sternum and against Yoongi’s palm.

“Yoongi, I don’t know how but the only explanation for this is you stole those goons piss tasting ale and drank it all. It’s the only explanation for this…”

“I’m drunk on many things Jimin, but I don’t think alcohol is one of those.” Yoongi murmured.

“When?”

“When what?”

“When did you begin to… to feel this way… a-about me?”

“Well,” he yawned; “I guess I always thought you were pretty. You had a nice arse.”

Jimin scoffed.

“A pretty smile too, and your eyes are just so innocent, but at the same time you look as if you wanted to devour me,” Yoongi shrugged; “Obviously you didn’t but it was still nice,”

“I-I did,”

“Want to devour me?” Yoongi snorted; “Now you can pull off a lot Jimin, but cannibalism is not your colour,”

Jimin swatted his arm; “You’re so gay,” he growled; “And I meant, I thought you were pretty too. Your arse is a little flat though, but your face makes up for it,” he smiled mischievously.

“I can’t tell whether that was an insult or a compliment?”

“A little bit of both Yoongi, a little bit of both,” Jimin chuckled resting his head back down on Yoongi’s chest.

“I guess I really started to like you about the second month in?”

“Yoongi, it’s been almost six months at least,” Jimin frowned.

“Hush and let me finish,” Yoongi blushed. “It wasn’t until a month ago that I really understood my feelings. At first, I thought I was just attracted to you,”

“More like my arse,”

“That too,” he chuckled; “But no. I was attracted to your personality.” Yoongi’s flat palm drew calming circles on Jimin’s back. He’d managed to convince his captors to take them off, it meant he could help dig out the wagons, but at least he had feeling in his arms again. “Jimin?”

“Mm?”

“Do you like me?”

“Aren’t we past that?” Jimin mocked.

“Tell me about when you realised?”

“Realised what? That you had a pretty face or the domestic fluffy stuff?”

“The domestic fluffy stuff,” Yoongi smiled. “And thanks for not mentioning the flat arse,”

“Anytime.” Jimin chuckled. With a soft cat like yawn Jimin began to tell his own side of the story. “I weirdly thought you were pretty the first time I saw you,”

“When I was holding a knife to your throat?” Yoongi laughed; “Jimin, you are into some strange things,”

Jimin slapped his chest; “Just because I don’t act like a dithering old man,” he teased in return. “But your eyes, they were so soft compared to this cold outer demeanour you had. At first, I hated you. You were rude and always angry. You made every chance you could to say something rude to me. It wasn’t until we were a month in when I got used to it, I realised it was just your humour. I found it funny then, after I begun to know you. Then… I found it endearing?”

“You love me, you want to kiss me, you want to marry me,” Yoongi whispered into hair, quietly mocking him.

“Who knows?” Jimin smiled smugly, “Maybe I do?”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Marry me?”

“Possibly,” Jimin yawned. “I always wanted to get married back in Highwater.” Jimin rolled over, “There’s this old ballroom there. Its absolutely ancient. It’s made completely of old brick and marble. I used to go there as a child when I went back there every summer with Jungkook. We used to play there so often. I always imagined it would be the cosiest nicest place to be if lit with candle light and all the cobwebs were gone,”

“I guess once we go to Vian we’ll go to Quentain then,” Yoongi suggested; “We’ll invited your friends? I’ll invite my brothers… both of them. Then we will be married in Highwaters?”

“That sounds nice,” Jimin smiled.

“Jimin?”

“Mm? Do you want kids?”

“Yeah, though I don’t know how. I haven’t seen a mage around since I was five,”

“Why? What happened when you were five?”

“Oh, some fever or something,” he waved off; “Jungkook’s mother practically raised me so she wouldn’t let me die, she brought in some old family friend. The old mage healed me and that was that. It wasn’t anything spectacular. He just said some strange words and then, well… I was fine?”

“Mages are strange people,”

“Half of them are bat shit crazy too,” Jimin chuckled.

“Not nearly as crazy as you,” Yoongi laughed.

“Oh, darling, you haven’t seen anything,” he laughed; “Wait till you see me mad,”

“I live in fear of the day I see you truly mad at me,”

“So you should,”

“The tiny people are always the scariest,”

“You must be the scariest man in the world then,”

“Who said I was tiny,” he smirked smugly. Jimin slapped him in the chest. “You may be one short motherfucker Min Yoongi, but your ego is ginormous,”

“Oh come on! You’re tiny too!”

“Really Min Yoongi,” Jimin laughed. He found himself sitting up. Sitting right on Yoongi’s chest. A playful smirk on his lips. “You’ve seen me plenty of times, you and I both know it’s not true,”

“Oh shush, you think yours is so big huh?” Yoongi snorted; “You act like Hoseok,”

“Hoseok?” Jimin laughed.

“A friend, he’s a complete idiot,” Yoongi snorted.

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“Not at all little lord,” he chuckled.

“Little!” Jimin cried out; “Yoongi-ah!”

“What?!” he laughed.

“We’ve been over this, I’m not little,” Jimin pouted. His weight still on Yoongi’s chest.

“Prove it then,” Yoongi snorted.

“You prove it!” Jimin said, completely and utterly flustered.

As if saying sure, as if he was asking for a challenge, he pushed himself up, Jimin sliding down to sit on his lap. His legs either side of his waist. Yoongi pressed his lips to Jimin’s as he had done many times before. Like slotting a puzzle piece together. Except this time, it wasn’t the short lived stolen kisses they shared whenever they could. This one was more needing, wanting. Months of hidden feelings finally shed light to their emotions, and they let them course through their veins like the blood within them.

Jimin saw golden red and deep longing lust. He had a pure innocent outer shell and mostly that hold true. Jimin was sweet and kind but he had done his fair share of unsavoury items. His youth spent alongside Jungkook in Garindal had seen to that. Though he had never truly laid with a man he had done plenty to them. Even through that, because he had never fully shared himself with another the task laid before him made his stomach clench and churn, and not just from starvation. He was excited and nervous. So was Yoongi.

Yoongi had always been so busy in his work he had never had times to share feelings to a greater extent for another. Not the same amount as what he felt for Jimin. He had his fair share of kisses but never before had he done anything remotely sexual.

“Jimin I,” I paused in the kiss. His hands on Jimin’s neck and jaw holding him back. “I’ve never done… this,”

Jimin smiled, Yoongi could barely see it in the dim light, but he felt Jimin’s cheeks bud and grow as his lips pulled into a smiled; “I guess that makes two of us,” he murmured. Then he pushed his face back to Yoongi’s. Teeth clashing, lips pressing and tongue’s searching.

Their hands freely roamed each other’s bodies fully for the first time. Both of them still held a decent amount of muscle even if their bodies began to become gaunter day by day. Jimin’s palm found its way to Yoongi’s chest. Pressing to the fabric of his shirt the other curling around his neck to take a fist full of his shaggy hair. Both of them had hair far too long now, more like a mane than the proper courtly trim that Jimin was used too. Luckily for them neither had grown a beard, though slight stubble grew along their jaw.

Yoongi pressed his lips there, to the crook of Jimin’s jaw. He continued trailing kisses all the way to the sensitive skin behind jimin’s ear. A small studded diamond in Jimin’s ear cold on his cheek. Jimin moaned softly into Yoongi’s ear, quiet and hushed on a lingering breath. Tickling the older male’s pale skin.

The older male ran his hands down the curve of Jimin’s body, his hands dipping beneath the small curve of his back. Cupping his arse and squeezing them. Jimin chuckled beneath Yoongi’s lips; “Does my arse live up to your expectations?” he snorted.

Yoongi pulled away from Jimin’s neck and smiled mischievously; “Its heavenl-,” Jimin pressed his soft pink lips to Yoongi’s. His tongue pressing for dominance in the older male’s mouth. They each shared breath as their tongue’s battled. Heads dipping back, eyelids fluttering and teeth clashing. By the end of it Jimin had pressed Yoongi down back to the hard-wooden flooring of the cart. His body leant of Yoongi’s, lips still trapped.

Jimin pulled away for a moment, grabbing the buckle of Yoongi’s pants beneath him. He struggled for a moment with the slippery clasp, the metal cold beneath his ever-freezing fingers. The jewelled rings still clasped around them seemed looser than usual.

At the same time Yoongi reached forwards to the button of Jimin’s own pants pulling them free of the button hole. He realised Jimin was tugging on the hem of his pants and lifted his hips with a grunt, lifting Jimin up as well. The younger boy giggled softly and pulled Yoongi’s pants down to his thin thighs. He let out a gasp as the cold snowy air met his warm skin and his member.

Yoongi brought his hips back down and let out a startled moan as Jimin took his cock in his hand. He dipped his head back and closed his eyes, biting his lip as Jimin ran his cold hands down his semi hard length. The other he noticed was tugging down his own pants past his thighs as far as they would permit. Yoongi’s teeth sunk down further on his pink fleshy lip on the sight of Jimin’s own length.

Out of instinct Yoongi curled his arm around Jimin, bringing Jimin further down to him. His lips pressed back to Yoongi’s and Jimin let out a moan, feeling their member’s press to one another. He ground his hips against Yoongi’s eliciting hushed moans from Yoongi’s lips. The older was doing his best to remain quiet.

Jimin let out a startled gasp as he felt Yoongi’s finger press up into his hole. He bit Yoongi’s lips, forcing himself not to moan aloud from the pleasurable intrusion.

As he ground his hips down into Yoongi’s he also fucked himself onto Yoongi’s index finger. His hole being stretched. Yoongi felt not only Jimin’s fully erect length against his but he felt Jimin’s slick clenching walls around his finger. He curled his finger slightly, stretching Jimin’s walls. He felt Jimin’s moaning breaths cascade into the cavern of his mouth as they both groaned together.

Yoongi fit another finger in and Jimin’s rocking intensified. The assassin dipped his head back and closed his eyes. So, this is what he had been missing all of his life?

Jimin pressed his lips to Yoongi’s neck sucking, pulling and nipping at the skin there. The two males slid against one another, stealing fleshy kisses when they could. Always, always constantly fighting for dominance over the other. Yoongi found he enjoyed it not always being the dominant aggressive one in the relationship. He found himself submitting to Jimin’s wants and needs, he knew however, this was the only time he would truly submit. The only time he would act like putty in the younger man’s hands.

Once Yoongi had managed to stretch Jimin’s tight walls further enough, by curling and scissoring his fingers deep into him he felt Jimin lift himself up off of Yoongi. His hand reach down between them taking hold of Yoongi’s thick cock. He felt the wet precum dripping down along Yoongi’s length and smeared it down his shaft.

Then he gripped Yoongi’s base and pressed the head of his cock to his hole. Without any added lubrication, to say that Jimin felt discomfort would be an understatement. His face scrunched up and he cringed as he lowered himself down onto Yoongi’s length, biting down on his lip until he bottomed out. His arse pressed down onto Yoongi’s thighs.

Jimin twirled and whirled his hips around before he began to ride Yoongi, letting his walls stretch pleasantly. He leant down and pressed his lips to Yoongi’s for a short peck. Then he rose up onto the balls of his feet. His boots heavy, he wished he could pull his clothes free of his body, but he knew the air was too cold for that. Instead he kept them on and felt a sweat build and cling to them.

He began twisting and riding Yoongi’s hips. Lifting up and down off of Yoongi’s cock, his own bobbing up- and down with the motion. A flush reaching his cheeks which he could feel but he knew Yoongi could not see. He bit down on his equally pink lips, feeling his white teeth sink into it. Tipping his head back he let out a moan.

Yoongi gripped Jimin’s hips, thumbs pressing down harshly to Jimin’s skin as he began to thrust and buck upwards into Jimin’s core. He grunted and groaned and moaned lewdly, but he still managed to keep his sound down to a whisper. The chance that they could wake up their captors was all to real.

They continued to thrust and ride over one another grunting and moaning under their breaths. Jimin arched his back deliciously and took a hold of his own cock running his hand down it in time with Yoongi’s sloppy thrusts. His other hand curled around his back and cupped Yoongi’s balls. The action caused Yoongi’s breath to hitch and moan.

Chasing his orgasm Jimin tipped his head back and let on a low and loud moan. Yoongi swore under his breath, his hand immediately flying to Jimin’s lips. His palm cupping over his lips, Jiimin groaned and moaned into Yoongi’s palm. The older knew from the intensity of the younger’s moans he was as close as he was. Both nearing their peak.

Jimin came first, moaning loudly, muffled by Yoongi’s hand. His eyes squeezing shut as the rest of his face and body went slack. His body curling forwards atop of Yoongi’s. In a gossamer line of dewy pearlescent string he came hard into his fist, feeling his own semen seep between his fingers. For a moment he stilled, then he pushed himself back up onto the balls of his feet.

With renewed vigour he continued to buck and ride atop of Yoongi. Their motions were by no means coordinated both’s motions were sloppy and tired, they moved at opposite times, but it meant that when Jimin thrusted upwards Yoongi pulled downwards. The slapping of skin rang out quietly, each time they came together they came together hard and ringing.

With a grunt Yoongi curled his hands around Jimin’s thighs and bucked up into him. He pulled Jimin down harshly. The veins in his neck straining as he arched backwards cumming up into Jimin. His seed coating Jimin’s warm wet walls, filling him oh so deliciously.

Chapter Text

Seokjin yawned widely, face scrunching up slightly. He groaned softly rolling onto his back the covers sweaty and sticking to his warm skin. Cream coloured linen curling tenderly around his lower limbs. He smiled looking to his side to find Jungkook slumbering peacefully beside him. His hand curled elegantly in front of his face, resting on his pillow. His hair tipped forwards across his brow. His face relaxed and peaceful and his pink lips held apart ever so slightly.

The man ran his own hand along the base of his throat feeling the unblemished smooth skin there. His throat bobbing in breath beneath his hand. Jungkook’s own hand rising and falling to the same unchanging tempo as it was laid across Seokjin’s bare chest.

Running his index finger in soothing circles across the top of Jungkook’s hand, feeling the slight meaty boniness of it. Unlike Seokjin the king’s hands were scarred with nicks and cuts served from long days training with swords. His index, middle and ring finger calloused and hard from archery.

Jungkook hummed softly eyes still closed but eyelashes fluttering softly. He rolled off of his back and onto his side. The hand that Seokjin trailed lazy circles around dipping to his hip and pulling him close. Jungkook’s nose pressed to Seokjin’s lush hair, lips tickling his cheek. Lazily and sleepily he chucked; “Morning,”

“Morning,” Seokjin smiled, feeling oddly at ease for the first time in a long time.

However, he could not fully distinguish the small trace of worry lingering darkly and deeply in the back of his mind. His life had run like clockwork. He knew what his life was. He was a whore. Because he was a whore, he knew what to expect. Now? Well now he didn’t know what he was. All he knew was he had en-captured the heart of the king of the most powerful country in the known world. The same man who Seokjin had willingly allowed himself to open his heart to and fall for. A fall he did.

“Any plans for today?”

“Mm, I have a meeting with the Queen of Garindal,” Jungkook yawned; “Then I have to go down to the docks and see some merchants from Genisa,”

“The Queen?” Seokjin frowned wondering what they were meeting about; “Does she know about Halin?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook yawned; “She will know in three days,” the king chuckled uneasily. “This is about something else,”

“Oh?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Jungkook pressed a little kiss to Seokjin’s cheek. The pink haired man rolled onto his side one of his arms curling around Jungkook’s side the other pressed flat to his chest, palm feeling the warmth of his bare chest.

“Jungkook,” he murmured. Wanting to know.

The king snorted; “Who would have thought you were so curious?” he hummed to himself. Then he bit his lip. “Seokjin?”

“Mm, darling?” Seokjin murmured, he noticed the slight hitch in breath as he called Jungkook by a new pet name. He wondered if someone in Jungkook’s past used to call him that.

“Forgive me for being so selfish,”

Seokjin frowned; “Jungkook, what in god’s names are you on about?”

“The meeting today Seokjin,” he began with a calm and level voice, “It’s about Jules Lotus, I’m asking the Queen to give me her blessings to punish him, I don’t want to cause offence with Garindal after all, especially with Halin marching down our door,”

“Why would she let you do that?” Seokjin frowned. His face was plain and emotionless but Jungkook knew deep down in the void of Seokjin’s mind there was feelings. He just hoped that soon one day he would share his emotions openly. Jungkook didn’t nor could he have a say in the matter. He too had brewed up a real-life mask of his face. How could he wish for Seokjin to remove his own mask when Jungkook could barely lift a finger to move off his own.

“We’re family friends, remember?”

“But, Jules is obviously important to her? Why would she bring him here otherwise?”

“Jules Lotus is her lover Seokjin,” Jungkook explained.

“Oh,” Seokjin looked down; “Jungkook… I don’t think she will let that happen,”

“Mm, no, I think I’ll have to give her a mighty fine offer.”

“What?” Seokjin frowned.

“Analise is not a woman to fall in love, she is in love with the idea of love, but she does not have to capacity to do so. Jules Lotus is nothing more than a sexual partner for her,” Jungkook murmured. “I’ll just buy him from her. Though Analise doesn’t like materialistic gifts. She likes deeds,”

“What will you do?”

“I’m not sure my love, I’m not sure,” Jungkook yawned. Sleepily rolling over to the edge of the bed. He ran his hand over the nape of his neck, Seokjin smiled noticing a few blooming bruises on his tanned creamy skin.

Seokjin sighed, curling around their blankets, pulling them close to his bare chest. His hair fanning out on the soiled cloth bedsheets below. He yawned watching as Jungkook stood. The pale morning light casting pretty shadows on the bare planes of Jungkook’s skin. The King looked gorgeous, even if he was sleepily stumbling around, pulling on clothes. That surprised Seokjin. All the noble lords and ladies he had ever served always had servants to help them dress.

“Master?”

Jungkook frowned looking up at him, his hand towards his waist fiddling with his belt buckle; “Seokjin, don’t call me that anymore darling,”

Seokjin frowned, thumbing his lip; “What do I call you then?”

“By my name,”

“Jungkook?”

“Mm,” The king nodded reaching for his shirt to pull on.

Seokjin frowned.

“Seokjin?”

“Yeah Jungkook?”

“You still don’t think of me as your master, right?”

“No, I don’t,” Seokjin smiled. No master would let their slaves call them by their first name.

“Seokjin?” Jungkook had a strange look to his face, almost broken. “If I told you to do something would you do it for me?”

“Anything for you,” Seokjin chuckled.

“Even if I asked you to kill someone?”

Seokjin paused and nodded, being obedient as always. “For you, yes, I would,”

Jungkook let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

The ex-whore sighed; “Jungkook, I am no longer your slave and I know that. I know that you are not my master. Yet, I would still do everything for you Jungkook. Partly because a part of me believes I love you. The other part well, it’s the same as it’s been since I was five, obedient,”

“Last night?”

“It was the part of me that loves you Jungkook,” Seokjin smiled. Jungkook let out a sigh of relief, his last button pulling his shirt closed finally done. He looked quite regal even if he wasn’t fully dressed. He had his black pants on pulled high, they were tight around his thighs and calf muscles. The same went for his white shirt. It was tight across his chest and bicep, hugging deliciously close to his skin. Seokjin smiled.

“Kook?”

“Yeah?” Jungkook looked up, currently pulling on an abundance of rings onto his fingers.

“What do I do now?”

“Well, what do you want to do?” Jungkook asked, pulling out a long navy-blue robe with gold accents and pulling it over his shoulders. It contrasted nicely with the golden tall crown on his head, spiking in deadly spirals towards the sky.

Seokjin hummed; “I’m not quite sure,” He murmured.

Jungkook smiled; “Well, I have to attend these meetings, but once I’m done, we could do something together?” He offered, slightly hesitant. Both were new to this, though Jungkook showed much more ease.

“Mm,” Seokjin agreed. He yawned and rolled over, leaving the blankets in a huddle. His body bare. He stood up and stretched. His face scrunching with a sigh. It was now he could feel the slight ache at his lower back from the night before. It wasn’t like he hadn’t felt it before now. Seokjin smiled; “I guess a bath would be nice after last night,” the older male chuckled. He closed the space between them and pressed a gentle kiss to Jungkook’s lips. The younger male smiled softly.

Seokjin noticed the immediate change within Jungkook. Jungkook didn’t smile often in their company before, though that was more than he did in others company. He often was cold towards Seokjin too. However now? Well Jungkook was absolutely sickly sweet and Seokjin enjoyed seeing the domestic side of his newly claimed lover.

Jungkook pressed a kiss back to Seokjin’s lips and smiled. He then turned, not needing to say goodbye for he would see him later. Hopefully, if the meeting went well then Jungkook would help Seokjin greatly. For Seokjin’s greatest nightmare would be chained in the dungeons. A nicely wrapped gift for Seokjin to take chunks out of.

The king walked down the spiral of stairs until he had found himself in the hallways of the palace, his palace. He remained emotionless and passive as he walked by stuttering servants and guilty looking guards, all caught slacking off. The King however didn’t stop, he did not have the time nor patience to deal with them. He was above them.

Jungkook knew where he was going. He had personally seen that Analise was in the nicest room in the castle, his father’s old room which had yet to be refurbished. It faced towards the ocean. The King remembered Analise as a child dreaming of the ocean, she lived in the snowy mountainous landscape and had never seen it in her youth. Jungkook bit his lip as he knocked on the door with his jewelled knuckles. He knew what he had to do.

The door opened and none other than Jules Lotus opened it. A look of irritation on his face shifting to fear. “Lotus,” Jungkook sneered with an upturned nose.

The slave owner gave a weak smile; “King Jeon,” he whispered and stepped back opening the door. “The Queen is in her private chamber,”

Jungkook nodded and stepped in. He paused and turned back to Jules Lotus, who was hovering at the door. The King smiled. “Jules?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think the Queen will be,” he paused thinking for the right words, “Requiring your services any longer,”

Jules bowed. He saw both fear and anger in the bitter man. Yet he did not say anything to hint so. When Jungkook was the crowned prince he could have gotten away with it. His lover, the Queen had more power than Jungkook. Yet now that Jungkook was a king he had become more powerful. He had a great command here and Jules did his best not to step over that line Jungkook had drawn in red.

“As you wish my King,” he left. The door slamming angrily behind him.

“Jules?” He heard a voice call; “What on earth is keeping you so long?” A woman called from the bed chamber.

“Analise?” Jungkook called out. “May I come in?”

He heard a hum of thought before the woman called out once more; “Always Jungkook.”

Jungkook walked past the empty entrance chamber which was just plain marble walls and a fur skin rug. The perfect room for the perfect hunter that Jungkook’s father was. He made a conscious movement not to make eye contact with the wall that held a lifelike portrait of the late King. Jungkook’s father stared back at him.

In his childhood memories Jungkook remembered that once there was a family portrait hanging there. He had stood for hours between his father and mother as a painter captured their likeness on a canvas. Spreading thick oily paints across its white stretched lengths. Jungkook hadn’t seen the painting in years. His father had taken it down even before his mother had left. He had taken it down when he had stopped talking to everyone he was related to.

Jungkook’s mother may have been his wife but Jungkook knew the woman only saw her husband and formal functions. Even through this Jungkook still felt bitter towards her. She was a weak cowardly woman and ultimately led to Jungkook’s heartless cold persona. His true self Jungkook had only seen flickers of with his close friends. Only last night and this morning had he seen a large chunk of the missing part of his body. Only with Seokjin.

Jungkook couldn’t help but feel scared around the ex-whore. He felt like he was stepping on eggshells around him. The king feared so greatly that Seokjin cruel life had warped his mind so much that Seokjin thought of him more of a master then a lover. He hoped not. His heart ached at the mere mention of Seokjin’s name.

“Jungkook!” Analise smiled. She had lost her expensive robes and instead sat in a chair in front of an unlit hearth. A book in hands and a fur rug over her shoulders.

Jungkook couldn’t help but let his eyes roam. He had seen the woman naked before but had not expected her to be so brash.

Her pale skin was bare before him, the blanket doing little to keep her warm. His legs smooth and toned, she was an avid horse rider. One of her hands was pressed to her bosom as she read into her book which was propped up on her other hand. From the slouched way she read her legs were spread openly for him to view. She smiled unbothered. Analise had been bred in a similar fashion to him. Brainwashed so that she always remained cool and collected, always using whatever she could to her advantage. Thought Jungkook would have thought she knew he wasn’t interested in the opposite sex by now.

Jungkook sat down opposite her in the room. A long glass coffee table between them littered with unopened letters and empty wine glasses. The King remembered the glass coffee table always littered with knives and bows. Always showing the kings spoils.

Everything in the room had the air to it. It was all red in here. Everything covered in the deathly colour. Hunting memorabilia staring back at them with black bead eyes. Bear skins littering the floor and a rabbit skin blanket laid across a grand golden four poster bed. His father had tastes to Jungkook’s oppose.

Jungkook preferred simple airy things, white and light colours. Like his mother did, except from his mother too, like his father, enjoyed the rich things. His father preferred dark gauzy things that looked more like they belonged in a whore house than a palace. “How are you Analise?”

“I’m good, now that you’re here,” she sat up. Closing her book and pulling the rug around herself to finally cover her form. He full breasts still peaked from the top of it.

“Really?” He chuckled emptily; “By the looks of things you were doing quite fine before I got here,”

She smiled, red lipped and tight; “He’s a tad bit of a bore but he knows how to pleasure a woman,”

Jungkook hummed; “Surprising since it seems he prefers raping pre-teens,”

She frowned; “He has his,” he smacked her lips, pausing; “Tastes,”

“Do you?”

“Do I what? Like raping pre-teen boys?” She snorted. Though the action did not relay to her eyes; “No Jungkook I am not a sadist,”

“Mm, I hoped not,”

She sighed; “Jeon dear, do tell me what you want? I was getting to the good part of my book,”

“And what was that?”

“The good bit?”

“Mm,”

“Oh, the part where they all die obviously,” She laughed; “Nothing like a good death to make a story interesting,”

Jungkook smiled; “Now that I can agree with.” He paused for a moment, settling deeper into the sofa he found himself on; “Analise, I want to ask a favour of you,”

“Ooo!” She smiled sitting up furthers; “You know how I lover favours,”

“I know how you love what you get for a favour,” Jungkook said dryly; “Give me Jules Lotus Analise,”

She sighed; “Jungkook, you know I can’t do that. He is far too precious,”

“I only need a day Analise, and I promise he will return alive afterwards,” Jungkook nodded.

“Alive but missing limbs,”

“Possibly,” Jungkook murmured.

“Possibly?” She frowned; “Jungkook how do you not know how many limbs you will be cutting off of my advisor?”

“I won’t be cutting them off,”

“That whore of yours?” She asked; “He really must be a good fuck if he’s got you wound around his finger,”

Jungkook, felt a slight anger bubbling at the base of his throat but remained impassive; “He is a good fuck, and I quite like being wound around his finger as you put it,”

She sighed; “You know how my deals work Jungkook, an eye for and eye.” Analise shrugged and smiled bittersweetly; “A lover for a lover,”

Jungkook sent her a cold glare; “You’re not having him Analise,”

“Why not?” She pouted; “You really are no fun Jungkook,”

Jungkook sighed; “You’re not having him,”

“Fine, I guess I can compromise,” Analise stood. The fur falling from her slender shoulders. Her light eyes reaching Jungkook’s and her dark hair cascading like waterfalls down her shoulder. She held out her hand for Jungkook. “Come,”

Jungkook sighed and rubbed his temples. Standing he sighed; “You always did get what you want.”

Chapter Text

Yoongi opened his eyes and for once he found himself not in the blizzarding cold. He found himself wondering if Jimin was clung ever tighter to his side than usual or if it was something else. After a long while of pondering over the matter, he had come to the conclusion that there was no way that he could possibly cling tighter than he usually did. He was more like a baby possum than a human.

Lifting his head his moppy black hair hung down below his dark straight brows to flutter against his short lashes. He noticed that though the road they drove down still had snow littering its muddy length it was dark covered in up crops of greenery met his eyes. He smiled at seeing the familiar colours. His hand running lengths across Jimin’s side. The male sleeping contentedly beside him.

Yoongi nudged the sleeping form behind him as the convoy began to slow down. He could hear the creak in the wood as the driver of the cart hopped off, the horses snorted and puffed in return. Then there were following footsteps squelching and squishing the trodden down mud beside the carriage. At the back of the carriage, Yoongi could now see the unsettling face of the driver.

He was a grotesque man who’s face bent forward just as his back had hunched with age. Lines carving down his face and wispy white brows toppling over his eyes. His bald head was covered in old faded inky black tattoos. Almost as black as his one black tooth, the incisor sticking out oddly as the majority of his front teeth had either been pulled out after rotting or where knocked out in a fight.

Yoongi blinked as he blinked back at him. The only thing cutting the silent was the cry of a crow.

Then Yoongi pushed himself up, knocking jimin off of his body. The boys head hit the wood flooring with a clunk and he cried out, grumbling profanities at his lover. Yoongi shuffled out of the carriage dropping to the muddy ground with a grunt. Jimin soon followed, the boy sent mud flicking upwards slapping across Yoongi slim legs. “Arsehole,” he grunted to which Jimin just gave him a soft smile.

“One of the carts up front has been bogged,” the guy grunts, though the men already knew that. He tipped his head back and inhaled deeply and chunkily. Yoongi grimaces and nods. At this point, he was confused as to why he was even still here. At first, Yoongi only decided to come along because he got a free trip with Jimin, but he really wasn’t a morning person. Nor did he like the fact his stomach was beginning to cave inwards. Jimin’s own body was gaunt too. Yoongi could feel his knuckles brush along his own. His fingers thin like twigs.

They found the cart at the front, its wheel dipping low into a particularly deep murky puddle, the back end of the cart lifting up. At the front the horses were knee height into the puddle throwing their heads back, uncut manes flowing wildly. Yoongi sighed watching as other men tried to calm the beasts. He knew for a fact that they wanted Jimin and Yoongi to lift the front end whilst they pushed. He was not looking forward to it.

Being covered head to toe in slick muck was not the best way to start off his day.

Jimin, was already wading into the puddle, it soaked his pants and was no doubt sliding in between his boots to chill his feet. The older male grimaced and followed suit. Once he was there he squatted down, fingers scraping along the oak wood wheel searching for a good hold on it. He managed to wrap his hand around it firmly just as Jimin had done on the opposite side.

Jimin counted softly under their breaths and with a groan they pulled, lifting the front of of the cart up out of the muck ever so slightly. It wasn’t enough, the cart slammed back down hammering itself like a nail deeper into the mud and splattering the men in ooze and filth.

The driver from before shouted at them for their lack of ability. As if it was there fault the cart had sunken this deep into the road. Yoongi growled something to himself and went to lift it up again. The same thing happened. After three counts they lifted and after another three counts their weak limbs protested and the let go. Except from this time the driver who already had a small fuze lost his patience. He stomped into the oozing puddle his bare hands slamming down into Yoongi’s shoulder blades just as the man made to grab the wheel again. Yoongi’s forehead slammed into the side of the cart, his head ricocheting off of it from the force and his teeth clashing.

Everyone stayed still and silent, all watching at what Yoongi would do next. He for the trip had been dormant, a volcano lying in wait to shatter the world apart. They had all been poking and prodding at him, waiting to see what would happen when you poke a caged lion.

The assassin stood straight, even with his short gaunt demeanor he held an aura about him that one could only describe as terrifying. His breaths still slightly hitched from the exhaustion his prior activity caused. His eyes not glazed like a madmans but steely like a librarian thirsting for knowledge. He, Jimin realised was in his element.

With swift well-oiled motions, Yoongi turned on his foot, pivoting like a ballerina. So graceful, so deadly. His hands found themselves at the belt of the old drivers and within seconds he had disarmed the man. His hands wrapping around the bone carved dagger at his hip. With a short grunt, Yoongi had felled him. He sunk the dagger upwards, deep into the mans flesh, just below his ribcage. It sliced up through flesh and muscle. Up through his stomach and through his lung. It was a fatal blow, one that Yoongi had delivered many times.

A warm comforting trickle ran down Yoongi’s arm, flowing as it had done so many times before. A memoir of his life. Red as rubies yet twice as expensive. Blood.

The old man doubled forwards spraying Yoongi’s face and the tartan cover over the cart in red spit. His hands gripped the Assasin’s shoulders, digging in as he clung to death itself for life. Yoongi with an emotionless face twisted the dagger. Like you would pull a stake out of the ground Yoongi pulled the dagger out of the man. A slick twist followed by the mans last breaths.

His body crumpled inwards, coving Yoongi in blood as he slid down to rest in the puddle. Floating face first by Yoongi’s legs. The assassin looked up as men stared at him in shock, mostly Jimin. Yoongi wiped the knife on his sleeve and with a grunt of exertion slammed it into the cart's side where it stuck out.

His muddy grimy hand moved to his forehead where he could feel a steady trickle of his own blood leaking for a cut there. He frowned and wiped his hands off on his shirt turning back to Jimin.

This time when they moved to life the cart of the ground they were not alone. Now they had not only the floating body of the driver but many other hands who were too scared of Yoongi’s wrath to say anything about the crime he had just commit.

This time the cart came unstuck.

Chapter Text

Hoseok actually ached all over, his fingers hurt and protested, and his toes hated the constraints of their riding boots. He longed to be back in Trairo. Hoseok may have hated the place but damn did he miss it. It was a sort of home for him. Not the same home as Genisa though. Genisa was where he was born and Hoseok would be damned if he died anywhere other than that stupid green island.

At this rate he was more likely to die from frustration. The trip was long, not the longest he’d been on but certainly tiresome. For the last week he’d been stepping tentatively around Namjoon. The man who for some strange reason had stopped plotting his murder and seemed somewhat civil. It would be an overstatement to say that Namjoon had been friendly, but he had stopped glaring daggers into Hoseok’s back whenever he came close to Taehyung. Which was nice, Hoseok hadn’t done anything remotely romantic towards Taehyung as he still feared Namjoon though. They had kissed, once. That was when Taehyung had ambushed him when he was cleaning his boots by a small stream. Hoseok almost ended up stabbing him in the gut out of habit.

Hoseok sighed. All that frustration would come to an end soon. For in the distance he could see Highwater looming. At the foot of the tallest mountain in known world it lay.

A sprawling mass of houses and a large castle cut from the mountain side itself stared back at him. Cut straight down through the middle of the large city was a long crystal blue and white river that fell down the carved-out pathway for it. At the base of the mountain a damn only half filled flowed, its large stone gates held apart allowing the water to flow smoothly through. The land was swampier here but still beautiful, even if it was pissing rain atop of them. If they were any further up the mountains the rain would be snow.

Hoseok looked over to see Taehyung and Namjoon’s horses plodding slowly along side by side. They spoke in a quiet tone, a tired one.

The thief turned back around and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. With a snort of annoyance, the horse changed speed. Kicking its hooves into the ground and picking up pace. Hoseok leant upwards muscles taught in his legs as he leant forwards ever so slightly. Wind whipping through his brown hair as his horse thundered forwards. If they kept up this speed they’d be there just under an hour.

Hoseok didn’t look over his shoulder to see if the other’s followed suit. He knew for a fact Namjoon wouldn’t let him out of sight and he knew Tae wouldn’t either. Now they had been reunited he knew Tae wouldn’t lose him, not again. It gave him hope. Maybe Taehyung would come with him after all. He couldn’t wait. The promised ocean, crystal blue, so so sweet. Hoseok could taste the salt on his lips now, feel it in his hair. Feel the warm wet ocean water on his hands, hands that will hold onto Tae’s and never let go. Oh, how he yearned for it.

He also yearned for a bath, a bed and food. Possibly even a pretty girl between his legs or a man beneath him.

Hoseok was always decent at maths. He never fucked up with money, neither did he fuck up with time. He got to the centre of Highwater within a half hour. His horse easily clambering up the rocky steps carved into the mountain and hurdling past bustling people. He enjoyed it here. It brought back good memories of good business. High Water was a hub for trade. centred at the middle of the continent everybody had to frequent it if they wanted to get to Quentain unless they were from Garindal. It’s that or they brave the mountains, which only fools and armies did.

Hoseok hummed, the time for war was soon going to be about. Halin and Trairo were marching this way soon to lay waste to the greatest empire in the known world. Hoseok sighed, at least his family were free of Quentain. Yoongi would soon be in Trairo, within the week at tops. Then he’d sail onto Vian.

Hoseok smiled, he’d get there before Yoongi ever did. It would be a nice surprise. Yoongi hadn’t seen Taehyung in years. Hoseok had seen him plenty, he often visited the Quentainian castle and found himself sat on the cool peaking roofs staring down into the courtyard where Taehyung trained. Hoseok wondered where he had gotten his fire from. Taehyung used to be a meek person, quiet and very shy. Now? He was a formidable fighting machine with a deadly glint to his eyes. A glint that Hoseok almost feared. Hoseok sighed slowing his horse down, he would make sure that that glint was gone soon enough. He would make sure Taehyung’s life stayed free of storms and rough water.

“Gods save you,” Namjoon cursed; “You almost ran over three fucking people!”

Hoseok laughed cooly; “But I didn’t, did I?”

Namjoon groaned into his hands; “I don’t get you, why are you such a pri-,”

“Namjoonie!” Taehyung called out. It seemed his own smaller horse had lagged behind ever so slightly. “How come we’ve never been to High water before?!” He marvelled. Looking at the bustling streets filled with trade reminiscent of festival days in Quentain. It was strange seeing such modern items surrounded by old temples and archaic buildings. It was late, and lanterns filled with animal fat candles made the streets smell of fine roast and set a warm glow about the place.

“You never asked,” Namjoon smiled warmly looking at the childlike awe on his lover’s face.

Taehyung smiled; “We only go to boring places,”

“Garindal wasn’t that boring,”

Tae frowned in distaste; “It was on business and besides I almost lost my foot from the fucking cold Joon,”

“Fair point, I did tell you to wear extra socks though,”

“Shut up,” Tae laughed. His hands curling through his horse’s mane. The smaller beast breathed heavily, air fogging up in the light. It had pushed itself hard to keep up with the others. Hoseok looked on, it was a wonder the horse hadn’t gone lame from the exertion of the journey.

“I feel like something more than a drink,” Hoseok hummed looking around. “There’s a decent place not too far from here,” He nodded.

Before Namjoon could protest he pushed his horse into movement once more. No doubt Namjoon would refuse knowing that not only Hoseok owned the establishment along with many others here. It was also extremely illegal. Filled with recreational drugs, alcohol, poison, weapons and whores, a nice cocktail in Hoseok’s opinion. Hoseok didn’t keep slaves but it didn’t mean he was above prostitution. It’s not like any of his whores were forced into it.

Down dark streets and damp back alleys Hoseok found the place. The decaying timber building cut into a deep pocket. Overhead lanterns hung from the stone ceiling. The cave had long deadly spikes dripping from the ceiling, just begging to fall and kill. Like knives in a butcher shop they waited to carve into meat.

Hoseok’s gentle nudges and expert skill as a rider led his horse to slow down and stand with a perfect square stance. Its head held high and proud. Before him one of his less gauzy, less expensive establishment stared back. Hoseok smiled, it fit in perfectly with the surroundings, no one would think it out of place here. The only thing out of place here was Hoseok who so visibly dripped in illegal, dirty wealth.

Taehyung slid off of his horse; “This Hoseok, is where we die,” he hummed.

Hoseok snorted; “No one’s going to be killing friends of the Broker,” he slid off his horse. “Especially when I own this place,”

“It suits you perfectly then,” Namjoon added; “It reeks of filthy money,”

“Thank-you for your insights Namjoon,” Hoseok snorted and bowed cockily as always. He then straightened and looked around. On the steps he saw a boy leaning against the door. He had a role of parchment on his lips and he watched them with hooded eyes. “You,” Hoseok pointed at him and curled his finger. The boy lazily looked at him and stepped forwards and stumbled towards him. He reeked of alcohol and smoke.

“Yeah?” He slurred. Hoseok smiled.

“You know who I am kid?”

“Why the fuck would I know who you are mister?”

“Because I own this place,” he gripped the boy’s shirt violently pulling him closer. Low and deep he growled; “Therefore I own you fruit of my loins,” he laughed at his own joke.

The boy gulped; “Master Jung?”

“Mm,” Hoseok smiled; “How’s your ma? Still perky?”

The boy gulped; “Y-yes?”

Hoseok smiled and snorted; “Good, she pays well. Now, do me a favour yes and go water our horses will ya son?” He murmured reaching and grabbing the paper role from the kid’s lips. Then young boy just blinked as Hoseok brought it to his lips and let go of his shirt. He stood there for a moment in utter shock before moving.

Tae nudged him; “Do you have to be so mean to him?”

Hoseok snorted; “I can do what I want to the brat, he’s one of my many,”

“Your many?” Namjoon asked.

“He’s by far the best child of mine,” Hoseok breathed in the smoke a small smile on his lips.

Taehyung snorted, choking on his breath; “How many kids do you have?!”

Hoseok shrugged; “If I’m completely honest with you I’m not sure, I’m usually drunk most of the time, so the last five years or so are kind of a blur,”

Namjoon sighed; “You’re an alcoholic too, just perfect,”

“Don’t forget drug addict Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok snorted. He offered the rolled parchment to Taehyung. The boy took it and pressed it too his lips. Namjoon watched on as Taehyung inhaled the smoke, not even coughing or blanching at it. “Brings back memories doesn’t it Taehyungie?”

Taehyung laughed; “Memories? Whenever we used to smoke this shit in Trairo we’d end up face down in a ditch the morning after Hoseok,”

The older man took the role back and laughed; “Ah, bliss.”