Chapter Text
Thicket, thorn and all, black marble roses stretched up from the dais and grew up the sides of the stark white throne. Ten traced the edges of a rose on the arm-rest from the comfort of his cushioned platform, the Weisheni silk soft against his calves. Nothing at all like the harsh, hard marble that housed the heart of the Empire. Ten sat with his legs curled up on the too-big cushion and his hand steady over its path of the marble petals, not unlike a cat surveying his master’s kingdom.
Before and beneath him stretched a swathe of people, their anxious chatter floating up to fill the high ceilings of the throne room. He feigned fascination with the floral frescos on the wall as he counted: at least three representatives from each house, the room was practically stuffed full of them. Ranging from snooty to placid to cunning and shrewd, from the closest province to the furthest island under the Rose banner, Ten struck each of their names from the list in his head. In the very back of the room he spotted the garb of wealthy merchants who had likely bribed their way in, faces too far away to make out. There were even more servants than usual, blended into the walls and clustered behind pillars like so many little shadows.
What seemed like the whole world contained by the palace had converged in one place, waiting. From everyone who desperately wanted to believe that they mattered to those crucial few who pretended they did not.
At the foot of the dais were two of the latter category. Knights, stationed exactly seven steps from the throne. Both were tall, broad, their armour polished to a shine, more functional than ceremonial even despite the occasion. Jaehyun stared unflinching at the grand entrance. He could have passed for a statue in the grand gallery, some gallant and grand hero of old. If not for the flex of his gauntlet-fingers and the too-hard set of his jaw, teeth grinding behind them. Johnny, meanwhile, fizzled with anticipation. Ten could envision it under his skin, dancing electric, making him jumpy. He spared Ten a worried glance every few minutes, between surveying the side-exits and scrutinising the crowd. Ten took as much comfort in Johnny’s diligence as he took in admiring what plate armour did for his figure. A pleasant distraction between bouts of calculation, until the gargantuan doors of the hall groaned open.
The Emperor sucked all of the air from the room with a single, heavy step. Ten never tired of watching the waves of people drop to their knees before Taeyong’s beauty, even in times such as this. The Emperor was truly beyond description, far out of reach of even the greatest poet. The symmetry of his face alone was almost enough to convince Ten that Taeyong was truly touched by the Goddess, almost enough to make Ten believe in a Goddess to begin with.
Perhaps it would have been if he had never held Taeyong tender in his arms, so small and soft; curling in on himself, counting his bruises with hazy glee. Taeyong bled, he came and he cried as all mere mortals did - but the believers had one thing right:
The Emperor was above all other mortal beings. In kindness, in desire to do right by his people, in his love for the beauty of the world. He was exquisite, beautiful down to his bones; a truth far less fickle than goddesses and faith.
And for the small, sad smile that played at the corner of Taeyong’s lips as he found Ten in his usual spot, Ten had killed. Would kill again.
He smiled in return, a little bitter - but it hardly mattered. The entire room was looking down. All of them pliant and kneeling with their heads bowed; complicit in this performance of obedience.
All but one.
Lord Qian Kun of the Weishen Isle looked up. Not towards the Emperor approaching, but a little left of the throne. His eyes pierced into Ten like fleshhooks. A cold metal, a blood-chilling venom; frostbite to match the ice-blue of his robes. Lord Qian was famed for his handsome face, so often twisted in a smile. Ten thought this hatred suited it better, left him to imagine the depths behind his eyes - the beasts that lay asleep under a frozen over lake.
What would it take to wake all that power? One of many questions destined to keep Ten up at night. Would what was about to take place push Kun over the edge at long last? Ten looked away, unable to stop his heartbeat from speeding up. Each of the Emperor’s steps brought the future closer; a future uncertain, unstable. Cruel.
The knights rose to their feet as the Emperor approached the foot of the dais. He didn’t spare them a single glance, his aura dwarfing the warriors despite the head taller they stood. Pearl-green brocade robes shone with silver embroidery, draped over the steps behind him as he ascended, straight-backed and graceful.
Ten’s eyes widened as Taeyong sidestepped the final stair to move towards him. Each moment the throne of thorns sat empty the rest of the crowd remained on their knees. Taeyong, despite his titles and vestments, usually preferred his subjects to stand at ease.
When Taeyong’s soft palms slid over his own hands, dread pooled in Ten’s stomach. To be drawn into those endless dark eyes like a dream only to know it would soon turn to nightmare was a new and violent horror.
“It has to be today,” Taeyong’s breath brushed against his lips in a whisper, sealed with a chaste kiss. “I’m sorry.”
Ten swallowed hard, and Taeyong’s eyes followed the movement of his throat. He wanted to tell his beloved it was unnecessary, that the truth of what needed to be done had hung heavy in the air of the kisses they shared with Johnny the night prior. Clawed at him in the way Taeyong clung, crescent-moon marks still red on Ten’s back under his many layers.
Instead he mustered a weak, “I know.”
And watched, helpless as Taeyong’s softness withdrew with his touch. All traces of the sweetness in him faded, the flicker of a fleeting dream replaced by majesty untouchable on the Throne of Thorns. The light from the stained-glass windows caught in the moonstone woven through his stark white hair and cast a glow over the throne, ethereal. If the black-marble thorns that dug into his sides caused the Emperor a whisper of pain, you could not have known it.
“Faithful, you may rise,” the Emperor’s voice echoed throughout the room, clear and commanding.
The collective breath held by each and every one of his flock released as they stood, for the most part their heads still bowed.
“We have not summoned you here today lightly,” he began, the wheels beginning to set in motion. “Not for brevity nor celebration, nor escalation of further conflict.”
Ten turned to look at his emperor despite the hurt, like staring up at the sun. He hoped the image of him would burn the same way the sun left it’s light throbbing behind eyelids, sleeves draped over the marble and expression full of distant tragedy.
“The Goddess of Our Garden has come to me,” The Emperor spoke with the barest hint of Taeyong the mortal in the element of breathlessness, an echo of wonder. “She has shown me the path to Her Garden, to the peace and fertility that will restore our empire. At first it was a dream, and upon waking I thought it absurd - a strange dream, or self-delusion, until the vision came again when I woke. Again and again, She appeared before me asking for the same thing. Lighting the way.”
The Emperor looked above the crowd, gazing into the empty space as if he was witness to some apparition. Dreamlike, far away.
“And so I must leave you all, set out on the path to find what She seeks no matter the danger. I cannot return until the heart of a wyrm is laid out upon her altar; wrought and brought by my hands alone.”
Gasps rippled through the room. Hurried looks and curious glances were thrown about with abandon, the mouths of the tactless wide open. In the middle-left of the crowd, someone collapsed.
Ten didn’t need to hear them to know what they whispered. Everything from, ‘May the Goddess watch over our blessed Emperor,’ to ‘There has not been a Pilgrimage in some two-hundred years!’ and naturally scant few sentiments along the line of ‘I would sooner believe the Goddess came to a street rat than that pretender-’.
It would only get worse as Taeyong continued. Ten schooled his face in neutrality and took a deep breath.
“While I am set upon this pilgrimage to restore the heart of our Empire, I leave you in the care of my own heart. No one has given more for our happiness, for our peace than the one who sits beside me in this moment,” Taeyong looked to Ten, and Ten was swept with a wave of nausea. “Prince-Consort Ten my beloved, I declare you Emperor-Regent and the executor of my power, so long as I am away.”
The room erupted. No one knew where to look. Towards the Emperor, wondering if he had gone mad? Towards the whore poised to warm the throne in his absence? Many looked to Lord Qian - whether for guidance or to take in the seething rage plain to see on his face. The arguments that would follow in the days to come ran like currents through the crowd.
‘ It has never been done, ’ ‘ he goes against tradition ’ ‘ this is an insult to young Lord Qian ’- truths, all. But tradition, convention were not synonyms of law.
Boundaries were built to be crossed and broken. In the world Taeyong cradled in his dreams, a commoner on the Throne of Thorns, walking the gilded halls of the palace and speaking as a lord of the realm - these things would be met with nods and smiles instead of horrified whispers.
Ten could not believe such a vision would come to completion in this lifetime, but Taeyong made him want to. Worse, Taeyong made him believe that he could have a part in building that better world.
The Emperor rose from his throne with an inhuman grace, coming to stand on the seventh step. Silent, he surveyed the crowd with an intensity that silenced the room. Ten couldn’t see beyond the sharpness of Taeyong’s side profile, but he didn’t need to. He knew that look. He would miss that look.
Without another word to the crowd, Taeyong moved towards Ten. What lay in the dark reaches of the Emperor’s eyes terrified his consort far beyond any threat or disapproval.
Trust. Certainty. Ten suppressed a shiver and bowed his head.
Cold fingers settled under his neck, lifted his face and gaze upwards with undeniable tenderness. The clouds had parted to let in the light; Taeyong was smiling, faced away from the crowd and the watching eyes.
The vultures could only see Ten’s unmasked surprise, as their Emperor turned both of Ten’s palms to face the ceiling and placed soft kisses in the centre.
“I leave this most precious Empire of ours in your capable hands, without doubt you will rule with the good in your heart.” he spoke, loud enough for the first few rows to hear; for the scribbles of poets catching their love as the spark of inspiration.
Best put on a show, if his words are to be recorded in the diaries of poets and annals of history alike. Ten let the sorrow he felt seep through expression in the widening of his eyes, the parting of his down turned lips.
“What heart, my liege?” he asked, daring to place his palm against the Emperor’s chest; pretend he could feel his heart beating through the many-layered robe. “You take my heart with you wherever you go. Return with it, soon.”
Taeyong inclined his head but said nothing in return. Ten didn’t need him to. Their private goodbye had been a mess of tears and sloppy kisses. Of three lovers held tight in each other’s arms speaking softly of plans and promises. Johnny’s courage, Taeyong’s kindness and Ten’s sharp edges - a moment of unity, where all was as it should have been.
Reality was kept locked behind closed doors, far away from this open air play. And in it, Taeyong turned away with reluctance. He descended the stairs faster than he’d climbed them, sparing Johnny a second’s smile and a sleeve brushing against his gauntlet - but nothing more.
The hall remained tense and silent as the Emperor walked through the centre of the room, towards the grand doors. Ten waited until Taeyong had almost reached them before he rose.
“The Prince-Regent calls the High Council to meet, on the sixth bell’s toll, to discuss this shocking revelation and address all concerns. Until then we trust order will be kept,” Ten addressed the room with his best attempt at regal poise.
It was difficult not to notice the room’s rise in temperature as he spoke, the strung-out tension coming to a boiling point of anger and confusion. The knights stood vigilant around the room, ready for the worst but hoping for civility. In the corner of his vision Ten caught Johnny’s side profile, looking back over his shoulder; but he couldn’t look at Johnny for fear the kindness of his face would break apart his much needed façade.
With a gracious bow he made own way down the stairs, faster than was necessary or perhaps proper. He wanted to look like he was rushing after Taeyong, his face only narrowly avoiding expressing fear and grief. And he knew beyond a doubt he carried it off.
The lie had just enough truth to it, in his mind’s deluded daydream. The vision of breaking out into a run, catching Taeyong’s sleeve just as he was about to order open the door and pull him into a final embrace before the befuddled crowd. Let their love further write itself into the lingering history of this moment.
A particular fantasy far too pretty for present company. The Emperor swept through the doors, a wisp of pale green and silver. The second phase began, just like that.
The weight of it was already a burden, but at least Ten would have to not bear it alone.
-
Ten allowed just enough time to slip back to the inner palace, through the winding ways and servant’s passages that would soon be denied him under all the Empire’s eyes. It wasn’t what was expected of him and likely left the entourage that waited on him scattering across the palace in a frantic search, but the cost seemed small for the briefest moment of solitude that awaited him at the end of the low corridors, through the dozens of screen doors and stone passages.
Judging by equal measures of staring servants and aides running past him in a panic, The Emperor’s announcement had stirred the hornet’s nest more than anyone could have anticipated it would. Ten scanned each of their faces and noted the emblems embroidered on their clothes. Silver moons and golden suns, deep-sea tentacles poking out of anemone and Weishen’s famous peonies. All the major houses had their mice scurrying to and fro.
Ten might have missed the unmarked robe if he were any less vigilant, the unfamiliar face that trailed at times in front and behind him. He couldn’t imagine missing the marked tension in the man’s shoulders and the posture of someone trained to move with fluid grace.
Pace brisk, Ten walked like he had a burning destination before slipping into a side room - furniture covered by dust-caked sheets and long forgotten portraits hanging on the wall.
“Go on, then,” he called to the man waiting by the door. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you want me dead, darling?”
The man snarled, animal. Unprofessional. He lunged, easy to sidestep, and three knives cut through the air. Ten stepped and spun around them, the third knife catching the edge of his draping sleeve and pinning the purple silk to the wall.
“So sloppy. I’m sure you can do better,” Ten cooed. The assassin flew towards him in a fury, but Ten caught his wrist in mid-air.
A dance of three movements, in one fleeting moment Ten had the assassin’s arm twisted behind his back and his own hand fixed around the assailant’s neck. He stood fast against the writhing and thrashing, the petty attempts to escape his grasp until nothing but their heaving breaths filled the room. The assassin’s grew louder, more desperate as Ten’s fingers pressed down on his windpipe, slow and steady.
“It’s a tragedy, really. You can’t claim your payment if I kill you first,” Ten took some pleasure in knowing that if he pressed hard enough, whoever ordered the hit would be able to match his hands to the bruises.
Through the layers he wore he could feel the rapid tensing of the assassin’s muscles, the spasms as he gasped and spluttered; thrashed like a fish out of water, dying on a hook. There was something elegant in the fading of will that in the last moments of breath, his attacker’s body slack and loose - eyes fluttering madly, too exhausted for so much as a last gasp.
Ten let go, grimaced at the inelegance of the corpse falling to the floor with such a dull thud. While the act of taking life was a violent passion, a pleasure; the aftermath always left a bitter taste in his mouth. Reality was not so sweet as the fantasy, the act of ending someone’s story without ever knowing it and being left to clean up the hollow shell that remained was a penance all on its own.
He crouched to the ground and hefted the body onto his back, and crossed the man’s arms over his chest in a resting position. Something slipped from the dead man’s sleeve and rolled onto the floor, the smallest of scrolls; unsealed.
The miniature scroll unrolled with ease, old parchment and fresh ink mingling with the scent of decay. Weisheni calligraphy written in the impeccable hand of a master, someone who had put thought behind every stroke of the brush.
‘ Congratulations.’
Ten stifled a laugh behind his ripped sleeve, enamoured by the irony. He would have recognised the brush strokes anywhere, even blindfolded. The slight scent of cassia wafted under his nose, he ran his fingers across the bottom of the scroll and sure enough felt the outline of a peony embossed in the paper.
-
Ten’s whole body tensed and relaxed the moment he was behind jasmine-and-rose painted screen doors. He walked straight through the sitting room and into the central chamber - his bedroom. He made straight for the basin of water on the vanity, washing his hands amidst the white petals and scent of night-blooming jasmine. No blood to cleanse or dirt stuck under his fingernails, but the cool water and repetitive movements made for a soothing ritual.
“Yangyang,” he called out as he toweled his hands dry. He made his way over to the bed, counting the days that had passed since he last stood in this room. Ten found he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in his own quarters; but they were large and comfortable, and the last place most would think to look for him.
At least, those not in tune with his thoughts. Sure as the shadows creeping up a sundial the Yangyang appeared within moments - stepping through a side door as if he had been waiting.
“I was going to ask you to get out that purple-and-jasmine piece but it seems I’ve been left a parting gift.” Ten gestured to his bed while he started undid the front tie of his outer robe. Yangyang moved to help him shrug it off and provide an extra set of hands for the pesky inner robe with it’s lace-up sides. It was familiar enough that Ten didn’t need to watch his hands even if it was tricky, instead fixed on the new clothes.
In contrast with the dark green silk of the sheets was an ensemble Ten had never seen before laid out across the surface of his bed. No note or token sat atop or beside it, but he recognised the forest-coloured under-robe from Taeyong’s closet down to leaves embroidered on the hem, although the neckline had been altered and the hem had been clearly taken up. Ten enjoyed that layer of being claimed far more than the symbolism on the outer robe, though he loved that too. A tapestry of colours and flowers only the Emperor could order made, reserved for The Emperor and on the noblest of occasions his legal spouse. Flaunting and breaking ancient tradition all at once, so quintessentially Taeyong. And in one way, made for Ten. Was it a symbol of who held Imperial power or a declaration of Taeyong’s intent to marry him? The halls would be alight with chatter and burning questions but devoid of any answers.
As Ten slid into the under-robe, Yangyang fastened it into place.
“New clothes and more controversy than the palace has seen since my arrival? His Imperial Highness knows exactly how I like to be spoiled,” Ten sighed as if high on a dream. “At least, I’m assuming this is Taeyong’s design. Did you see who brought it in?”
“About that….” Yangyang started, to Ten’s delight. His hesitance always promised entertainment. “Well, like, obviously. Jisung brought it in, but you didn’t need me to tell you that. Look at it, Ten. Look. At. It. Or like, your regalness or whatever-you’re called now. Respectfully, this is all terrible.”
“You’ll have to be more specific, darling. What exactly is terrible?” Ten couldn’t help but to prompt him. After the ordeal of the morning’s announcement and the corpse left in the hall, Yangyang’s misery served as stress relief.
“This!” Yangyang gestured at the Imperial green of Ten’s robes as he slid it over his shoulders, the glimmering silver roses embroidered across the neckline - which was rather low for a now-royal, but less so than his usual consort ensemble was. The admiration Ten looked at the new robes with matched well with Yangyang’s disbelieving sneer.
“Making you wear this! It’s a travesty. This colour washes you out, we both know it. Imperial green looks like vomit green on you. Disgusting,” Yangyang grumbled, fastening the ties of the cincher around Ten’s waist. “Oh and the whole regent thing is also an awful idea. You? In charge of the fucking Empire ? Wake me up from this nightmare.”
Ten laughed in delight, feeling affirmed in his decision to send to Weishen for Yangyang despite the risk. Who else would dare speak to him this way and help him with his corsets?
“Exactly, it’s a joke!” Yangyang’s eye roll was audible, voice dripped with exasperation. “That’s without even factoring in how furious Kun-ge is going to be.”
Ten raised an eyebrow, tilted his head to ensure he met Yangyang’s eyes.
“You still call him that?”
The colour drained from Yangyang’s face, hands stilling for the briefest of moments. He recovered quickly, having learned from the best, and when he spoke it was calm and casual.
“You know he orders everyone from back home to call him ‘ge’. It’s annoying is what it is, we all think so - even Dejun. Kun-ge this, Kun-ge that every time I have to deliver him messages. Before today he would have told you to do the same, you know. In private at least,” Yangyang chatted, conversational despite the panic he must have been feeling. Ten felt his chest swell with pride.
His little monster. The favourite Ten had brought from back home; plucked from the same streets he had grown up on. Yangyang had swindled, lied and cheated to rub shoulders with the Weisheni elite by the tender age of sixteen - it was difficult not to look into those hungry eyes and see his own reflection. Of course, Ten had done much, much worse to get where he was. Such deeds he could protect his protégé from, despite his little deceptions.
“Perhaps. I suspect we’ll never know,” Ten mused, knowing the smile in his voice unnerved his attendant. One could hardly blame Yangyang for getting caught between two deadly powers, pulled to and fro like the child of parents who had decided to live apart. He only hoped Kun had the same aim of shielding the boy from the worst of the court’s insidious nature.
Yangyang stepped away as he came to the end of the ties. The comfortable pressure of the corset squeezing at Ten’s waist was an anchor as he observed his aide. Judging from the steadiness of Yangyang’s hands and the calm of his breathing, it felt safe to wager Kun had kept him out of the worst of today’s schemes. Safe but not certain.
“Why don’t you attend me at the meeting? You can make eyes at Lord Donghyuck all you want, I won’t even tease you after.” Ten dangled the offer in front of him, bait on a string.
Part reward, part time spent safe under his watchful eye - a chance to read the glances he sent Kun’s way. He doubted, of course, that Yangyang had anything to do with the incident. Ten was confident that Yangyang loved him at least as much as he loved dear Kun-ge. Perhaps not a trait as precious as absolute loyalty, but it meant he always found subtle ways to warn them when the pair posed each other any danger he could sense.
“You know I can’t. I have way too much to prepare for with this whole surprise regent thing,” Yangyang paused. A moment of hesitation, shadows of trouble in his expression.“Did you know the Emperor was going to do that , or was it a surprise for you too?”
Ten caught a glimpse of his own pursed lips in the mirror on the wall, did a little twirl in his new robes for good measure. Motion made the roses shine and catch the light like a thrown knife in the sun. He paused and smoothed out his hair as he spoke, eyes meeting Yangyang’s through the polished glass.
“I knew he was planning something, and that it would be some minor revolution. Because of course it would be. Taeyong never quite does what anyone expects of him. It’s a matter of pride,” Ten said, waving off the notion of pride with a flippant gesture. “You learn to adapt to the whims of a man like that, given time.”
“That sounds insane. I can barely cope with your whims,” Yangyang muttered the last part under his breath,
“Such disrespect! You shouldn’t take such a tone with your Lord Regent, little sheep. Good luck adapting to being an almost-Emperor’s aide, darling. You’ll need it.” Ten grinned as he began to make his way out of his sanctuary, and into the unknown.
“Oh, and Yangyang. If you see Lord Qian, tell him he needs to try harder.”
-
The Goddess glared at Ten from above the council chamber doors, her fierce likeness cast in gold. The wild mane of her hair framed the huge arch of the door, woven through with flowers and their stems. Jasmine carved from moonstone with stems of a pale jade, roses of ruby and sapphire with thorns of emerald.
Hers weren’t the only eyes bearing down on Ten from far above as he stood looking up at the heavy-set door.
“They’re waiting for you.” Johnny looked down at Ten, his brow furrowed in worry.
Unafraid of blasphemy, Ten thought Johnny was far prettier than any Goddess. Dark brown hair long, loose and curling just above his shoulders, skin tan from long days training and patrolling the outer walls. His lips were thick and quick to quirk in a faint smile the moment Ten reached up on the tips of his toes and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Johnny’s ears.
“Ah, yes. The hungry wolves beyond the door,” Ten said, flashing a wry smile. He brushed the back of his knuckles against Johnny’s cheek on the way down, sure to meet his eyes. “I’ve survived much worse monsters, knight-captain . You worry about your duties, and I’ll worry about mine.”
From a few feet over, Mark made a strangled coughing sound - you could almost hear the bulging of his eyes. The young knight knew there were eyes, eyes in the walls and eyes behind pillars and eyes waiting behind loose tiles of the palatial roof. Ten couldn’t tell if Mark hadn’t yet figured out that some secrets were poorly kept on purpose or put on slightly more naivety than existed within him - but he suspected it was the former.
Hoped, that the true nature of the palace was something that Mark had yet to face.
As he moved towards the door, he spared Mark a smile that was honest in his warmth and received an awkward little grin in return.
“Good luck T- uh, your uh… majesty?” Mark called out after him and Ten let himself be amused by the thought of the young knight whispering ‘so what do we call him now?’ to Johnny the moment he left the room.
No one was sure of the answer. Not even Ten.
-
Black-clad servants rushed from the shadows to heft open the doors. Before it was more than an inch open, a booming voice sounded from the other side.
“All rise for the Regent-Appointed, Prince-Consort Ten.” His name hung in the air like an unfinished sentence, ‘Prince-Consort Ten of nothing and nowhere’ . The sound of dozens of chairs scraping against the stone floor met with the creaking of hinges.
For the first time in his life Ten entered a room full of lords and ladies - older, wiser and standing with their heads bowed. The scribes, aides and younger nobles around the tables of each house stood the same, tongues still and hands behind their backs. No whispers, no second glances.
Ten pretended not to notice the difference. He walked with his dancer’s posture straight to the large podium that stood at the end of the room, behind silver curtains that were tied open with dark-green. The podium itself was made of large wooden petals, a lotus carved from centuries-old mahogany. In its centre was a low table, the same as the others that faced the podium; and several cushioned chairs. The one to the right was filled already by Na Jaemin, the Emperor’s favourite aide.
All instinct drove Ten to the chair left of the centre, where he would so often sit to smile charmingly and pretend he wasn’t paying attention. Bask in the Emperor’s magnetic presence while absorbing the agendas of the snakes beneath their feet while Taeyong led the chorus of their slithers.
As he sat decidedly in the centre of the lotus, he found it hard to push down the voice in him that promised he was a pale shadow of a replacement.
He leaned back in Taeyong’s chair and adopted an air of irreverence. Easy to project now he could make out a few scowls on the faces of the nobles before him.
“Well, go ahead,” Ten gestured forward in a lazy wave, resting his elbow on the table surface. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m almost certain you were all arguing before I arrived.”
“My point is made for me,” Lord Eunhyuck pointed towards the Prince-Consort. His hand shook, filled as his voice was with rage. “No manners, no respect for tradition or the ways of this great Empire!”
Lord Eunhyuck of the Sunswept Coast was an easy mark. Old and stupid with a much younger, wiser ward and heir set to take his place. Ten winked at Donghyuck, hoping he caught it through the gaps of his fingers. Ten hardly blamed him, he would have held his head in his hands if his own liege had been foolish enough to cast the first stone.
“Do elaborate before the council,” Ten requested, pausing to inhale the scent of the tea placed before him. Beside him, Jaemin wrote down each of his words with disinterested ease - matching the mood perfectly. “What exactly is your point?”
A chuckle answered his question. Smug, it sounded out from the front row of tables.
“To overrule The Emperor, the Fair and Faithful, Lord of The Goddess’ Garden, Rose of the World’s decision regarding regency, your majesty, ” Lord Nakamoto of the Nine Islands flipped his hand to inspect his fingernails before he glanced up at Ten. His smirk was that of something feline closing in on its prey, gloating - hunter to hunter.
Although Yuta was not a large man, he made the chair he sat upon seem small; with his broad shoulders, the power and poise of a tiger behind his relaxed pose. His almost idle drawl rang out in a playful mask of boredom as he looked around the room.
“No one has had the balls to tell him there’s no legal precedent for dethroning a regent on account of bad manners. ”
Lord Eunhyuck sputtered, as a myriad of snickers were muffled into sleeves. His son’s hand tugged on the yellow of his sleeve. Ten found it difficult to tell whether he hesitated at Donghyuck’s urging or choked on his own impotent rage.
The answer was stolen as Lord Qian Kun stood from his chair. Centremost, he faced the Emperor’s table directly - but focused first on Lord Nakamoto, beside him. Not above.
“Ah, quite right you are,” Kun’s smile was tight-lipped, sharp as a knife to offset the sickly-sweet tones of his voice. “How lucky we are to have someone so candid in our midst, to hit us with the hard truths.”
He looked straight at Ten for one harrowing moment, and Ten suppressed the urge to glare. Instead he traced the rim of his tea-cup, looking up through his lashes with the smallest of smiles. Open hatred would give the court a little too much satisfaction - as there was truly nothing more pleasing to these people than the appearance of polite civility turning sour, so long as it was not their own. It never took much for the council chambers to boil over into a pit of battling egos under pretence of law and righteousness. Split into those who spat rhetoric like fire and those who pulled the strings with a smile.
It was no secret which category Lord Qian fell into.
“However, several points raised in this room prior to the Prince-Consort’s grand entrance amount to more than bad manners. Many wonder if there is legal precedent for a commoner to care for the throne at all.” So still was the room in Lord Qian’s pause, the sound of a tea-cup returning to its saucer was prominent. “From memory I can only recall nobility holding the position of regent, but my knowledge is that of an outsider’s. I would call upon one who is deeply familiar with the histories of his Empire to assist the court in understanding this matter. Lord Moon?”
Ah, the demure ‘new-to-the-Empire’ card; as if Weishen and the Empire hadn’t spent centuries warring on-and-off, deeply entrenched in knowing thy enemy. As if Kun hadn’t stayed up late in the libraries of the Weishen Palace pouring over every text he could find, whispering the wonders of the Empire into Ten’s ear in quiet corners of the gardens - where his father would not stumble across them. It was a fond kind of pain, the memory of painstaking hours spent sharing their knowledge of the Imperial tongue, of whispers and giggles while hunched over desks and secure in the knowledge the senior Lord of Weishen was visiting another court.
Stolen moments of camaraderie in a youth that seemed a strange collision of yesterday and centuries ago. The fractured, frightened yet cutthroat Ten who existed in the time before Taeyong. The Qian Kun whose heart was earnest, before his mind had been honed into a weapon at the hands of a crueler man.
The council chambers were overtaken by a low buzz of whispers coming from all directions, though Ten idly traced a few back to Lady Iseul of the Willowlands, the model mistress of stillness and serenity as she let her attendants set wild-fire gossip through the room. It was not her who spoke of course. It never was.
“We shall engage the Scholar’s Hall to look into the issue,” Lord Moon’s voice brought Ten back to the present. “But I can attest there are no legal precedents for overturning a direct command of the Emperor, short of certifiable proof of madness.”
Blessed, blessed Moon Taeil. Ten kept the relief from flooding onto his face. Some gasped at the words ‘madness’ and ‘Emperor’ appearing in the same breath, but Taeil’s measured tone kept the room’s tension from tipping over. Without such damning implications and the promise of returning to the issue, the debate could have become a chorus of arguing lords and ladies echoing long past the sun’s setting.
Ten lifted his teacup up to his lips and inhaled the floral scent, fragile porcelain covering his smirk. It was almost as pleasurable as if he’d outmaneuvered Kun himself.
“None would dare question the mind of the Emperor, nor his right to give command. Only his mortal heart, a noble weakness the Rose shares with us all,” Lord Qian held a hand over his own heart, inclining his head in some gesture of respect. “The Weisheni delegation shall have our own scholars look into the matter as well.”
“We thank you in advance for your thorough efforts, Lord Moon, Lord Qian,” Ten purred, not taking his eyes off Kun. Worth it for the flicker of weakness, the clench of his jaw at the praise. “I’m sure Our Rose’s mortal heart would be touched by your dedication to the law of this land.”
And just like that, the worst of it was… well, not over, but deferred. But for the scratching of quills and ink-brushes, distant footsteps - silence fell again upon the room full of outspoken nobles forced into letting Ten hold this farce of a court.
He would never be as good as Taeyong, of course. Taeyong had all the heart and twice the patience for the little things, for taxes and provisions and trade disputes, placating the egos of lesser men and chipping away at outdated traditions with subtlety and grace.
Ten might not have known how to rule, but he knew how to perform. Mustering all of his stage presence, he raised his hand in a sweeping gesture towards the crowd. The pale green fabric of his sleeve draped in a pleasant way, silver thread sparkling in the light. To watch it was a whisper, the ghost of fingers on his wrist - as if wearing Taeyong’s design loaned him a fraction of his poise.
“Now, Lady Seulgi, I am told you wish to discuss the movement to lower levies in the southwest. You have the floor.”
-
The council’s court ended with a weak sputter around sunrise, after hours of soul-sucking legislation. No progress was made, no decisions were cemented - all filler words, killing time. Ten likened it to an opera, on the curtains closing for intermission; time for audience to process what they’ve seen and the actors to prepare for an end that would demand all of their energy, emotion - all the while the silver moved hands to ensure the after-show attention of the players as if they were painted whores.
Ten traced a hand across the panels of the wall, wood-grain smooth under his fingertips. Perhaps memory mingled with metaphor, with the thoughts of his former life on the stage. Cloak and daggers in the early hours, sleep in the day. Twisting his body and voice to centuries old tragedies in the evening and the whims of Weisheni nobles on those too-long nights.
Under his breath he hummed to the swell of strings playing in his mind, a melancholy piece. He willed the past back into the netherworld from whence it came and absorbed himself in the memory of melody alone; body moving with the freedom of aloneness, thrown and contorted like a ragdoll. A puppet with cut strings, breathed to life but thrown into chaos.
As the music box in his mind began to lose it’s way, he flopped onto the floor with abandon. Too soft, rugs and cushions where he craved rough wood or stone. Empty of anything but breath and silence, his chest heaved and his eyes followed the blossom branches painted on the ceiling, seemingly endless in their reach. He counted each little white flower as if each number would stave off thought.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Johnny’s voice was muffled by the screen door, but unmistakable. “Can I come in?”
“When are you going to stop asking stupid questions?” Ten called out in response, gently shaking his head while he fought back a smile.
“Never, obviously. What a stupid question,” Johnny scoffed, loud enough that Ten could hear it clearly. Fighting the smile became like fighting to stop the sun from rising, or the passage of time itself.
Ten sighed a too-loud sigh in return, though he found he no longer meant it. Not so long ago the laid-down law of explicit consent had felt alien, far better for others to assume - make close guesses at reading his mind, or just take what they want. Easier, faster.
When Johnny asked, “Yes or no, Ten?” Ten couldn’t put a finger on why his feelings had changed. Maybe it was just the way Johnny sold it with his sense of humour, less suffocating than Taeyong’s tender concern.
“Yes. Of course you can come in,” Ten snapped, without any bite. Starfished across the floor, he listened for the opening and closing of the screen door. Felt tension build at the sound of padded footsteps, Johnny’s slippers on the wood first - then muffled by the sea of rugs from far-off places.
When he deemed Johnny close enough as not to make himself look desperate, he turned to take him in. The knight hit his field of vision like a dazzling daydream, smile soft and hair loose over the sunflowers emblazoned on the shoulders of his grey tunic.
“You look comfortable,” Johnny said, all six-feet of him settling on the floor beside Ten. “But, if you’d like…”
Johnny laid out his long legs and patted his lap. An irresistible offer. Ten rolled his shoulders and arched his back, feigning thought before he accepted.
Looking up at Johnny was never an option with the tension that built behind the dam in his mind, so he settled for laying on his side facing the wall as he rested his head on one of Johnny’s muscular thighs.
Johnny’s hand carded through Ten’s hair, a soft sound in the quiet; unsettlingly comfortable. Any tension the dance had not melted away began to leave his limbs. There was no telling how much time passed after Johnny began his soft chatter, little anecdotes about his day that barely touched the edges of the true troubles that plagued their day. A sweet moment with Mark, a snippet of servant’s gossip here and there. Ten’s attention faded in and out, more or less letting the warmth of Johnny’s voice wash over him like a cat basking in the sun.
“-can’t be sure who stole the vials, but I put Mark in charge of the investigation. We’ll know soon enough.” Both prodigy and protégé, Ten distantly judged how lowered his own guard was by the way he smiled at the mention of the younger knight. So naturally, it was the perfect moment to strike.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Johnny started, cool and casual, “We found a body in one of the storerooms, still unidentified - but the story of his death tells itself. Not to mention a certain credible source is fuelling whispers of your sleeve being ripped, the same colour as the scrap of fabric left at the scene.”
Ten worked to keep his breathing even, had to force his muscles to relax when Johnny continued in his conversational tone.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” An innocent question, no hint of malice. Ten knew if he opened his eyes and turned his head he’d find curiosity, concern maybe. But no betrayal, no fear.
After all these years, he still didn’t know what to do with that. So he talked.
“To start with - and ignoring the fact that you just called that imp of a gossip Yangyang a credible source - if I had told you, you would have had a detail of knights follow me into the council chambers, which would have unnerved the good lords and ladies even further. One whiff of military might controlling the throne and they cry tyranny. ” Ten sighed, leaning up into Johnny’s hand - which had stopped its soothing motions. He started again, wordless; likely waiting for the truth.
“That aside, it was hardly worth mentioning. A woeful attempt, really - it wasn’t any fun at all. Less someone trying and more someone failing, miserably and pathetically, to kill me,” Ten had himself convinced with his nonchalance, he sounded positively bored. “Which leaves two possibilities...”
Until the truly troubling thought slipped through his act, casting shadows.
“Either Kun let an incompetent underling arrange that assassin, resulting in a fluke failure. Or he meant for him to die at my hands,” he murmured, the scroll burning hot in the inner pocket of his robe.
“That isn’t exactly a comfort. But I understand,” Johnny said, too-gentle. “I trust you.”
Those three words like a hand around his throat, pressed down just enough to make it hard to breathe. I trust you, the worst words to hear whether a snake’s lie or Johnny’s unreserved truth. Ten stifled some choking, broken noise in his throat - refusing to let it pass his lips.
The storm within him roused, clouds of fear and lightning strikes of anger coursing through him no longer with any place to hide.
“You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t trust me, he shouldn’t trust me. Nobody should be mad enough to give me any kind of power over them.” The words started flowing, rushing out of him in a mad race, voice trembling. “But even if the dogs of the court are right about me, my poisonous nature - darling, did you read the council’s transcripts? None of them questioned Taeyong’s quest. Not a one. The Goddess descending from her garden beyond the clouds to show her chosen Rose a vision that will, what? End the famine? Prevent a civil war? Save the world?”
Ten’s laugh was raw and bitter, more of a bark than a chuckle.
“That fairy story is more believable than Taeyong - the bastard-born Emperor, with never a thought for tradition - choosing a commoner to warm his throne while he’s away? It’s madness.”
“I’m furious too, if it helps to know,” Johnny murmured. Though he sounded calm and still, Ten knew better than to question it. The knight-captain’s anger could burn glaciers and freeze over fire, changing in temperature - but never severity. And always directed, focused.
“Although I have always believed in you, I didn’t want to believe your plan would be necessary in the end. Or that after everything Taeyong has done for the Empire, the old guard would still be looking for excuses to undo him the moment he left court.” Johnny’s smile was sad, sardonic. It didn’t suit him. “Perhaps from now I should listen when you tell me I’m too optimistic.”
Ten’s fingers pressed into the palms of his hands hard enough to leave marks. Undo seemed all too fitting a sentiment. Just how many nobles were committed to unravelling the grand tapestry that was Taeyong’s life work? A part of him was glad to be the loose thread they’d been left to pick at, better tear at the pretty side piece than look too closely at the treasury, or worse - Mark the other orphans absorbed into the palace retinue, the future Taeyong dreamed for then; bright and bold.
“We need your optimism, more than anything. It belongs in the world Taeyong is trying so hard to build. His beautiful future,” Ten murmured, his own nails digging harder into his own skin. “Those bastards deserve what’s coming to them for trying to destroy it.”
One of Johnny’s hands moved to unfurl Ten’s own, prying his fist open one finger at a time - while the other travelled from the crown of his head to trace along the line of his jaw.
“I know, my love,” Johnny spoke with the same tenderness his hands expressed, “So much is in our hands, now. We have to be strong, for our rose.”
Ten felt a line remain unspoken, ‘ And I have to be strong for you .’ Johnny, who would have held all of Ten’s troubles on his shoulders if he could. All of the world’s. Who came to an aching, empty Ten after a long day of fighting against the same conspiracies and his own share of monsters that were Johnny’s to face alone.
The thought sent the vice of time to clench down on Ten’s chest, and sure enough - a sliver of moonlight that shone in through the gap in the drapes. Moon high, hour late. One day was already passing into the next, spiralling outside of his control. The burst of emotion already felt far away, whether repressed or soothed he couldn’t be sure.
All he felt was his desire for the mood to shift, for the day to feel like a distant dream. He dragged himself off Johnny’s lap and into a sitting position, stretching a little for show.
“You’re right, of course. Always right, fair knight,” Ten punctuated with a yawn he stifled into his hand. It would have fooled anyone else, except perhaps Taeyong - but he would have gone along with it, humouring Ten to the last. “But I think instead of moaning about it more, I should get to bed. My cold, lonely, far-too-big bed.”
He sighed for good measure, not all put-on. The abyss of dark green silk and linen, covers he hadn’t slid under in upwards of years was almost as ominous as the thought of sleeping alone.
“Mm, we do need to sleep. But how can you, like this? So much tension.” Johnny reached over to squeeze one of Ten’s shoulders, his frown a little playful.
“Oh? Would you like to help me unwind, Sir John ?” Ten’s smile turned wicked as he shuffled closer. This game he knew, this game was easy as breathing. “Touch me like he’s watching.”
A tilt of his head to reveal the skin unmarked, his tongue wet his lips all the while he basked under Johnny’s smirk and darkening gaze.
The distance between them closed in a heartbeat, mere inches left between their chests. Johnny loomed, the hunger in his eyes and the power to make any room feel small so quick to come forth. Ten wondered if it was always lurking under the surface, masked behind that polite smile; but then Johnny’s hands were on him and wondering felt like a waste of time.
Broad palms skimmed under Ten’s robe, slid over his collarbones; their path raising goose-bumps, parting silk from skin. Johnny pushed the robes to the edge of his shoulders. His hot breath tickled against Ten’s neck, lips parted in open kisses.
“I’ll wear a high collar,” Ten whispered, rewarded with the shape of Johnny’s smile against his skin. He swallowed, hard; like choice and consequence, Johnny’s teeth scraped over the hollow of his throat.
The first mark had Ten clawing at Johnny’s shoulders, a keening sound disguised in a sharp inhale. If he closed his eyes he could feel a looming presence in the corner of the room, imagine the shadow Taeyong cast over them - gaze heavy, a weight on their chests restricting their breaths, a force that brought them ever closer together.
Each lovebite left Ten gasping. All of the power coiled tight in Johnny’s form, Ten watched his biceps bulge against the grey fabric in some attempt at a measure of restraint. All the ways the knight could bend and break him on a whim, in the blink of an eye - yet he sat, poised over Ten but never pushing him towards the floor, lips buried in his neck like he needed the contact to breathe.
Ten began at Johnny’s shoulder, raking his nails down his arm through the fabric. He relished the full body shiver with a smile and the teeth that sunk remorseless into his neck with a sigh. He slipped his free hand down to the laces of his corset, unlacing them fast and quiet.
To push against Johnny’s shoulders was to orchestrate his own fall to the floor in a graceful arc, a piece in his master plan. Loose enough, he tugged the cincher free and set it beside him, leaving his robe free to slide open at the chest. The fabric gathered at his hips, utterly indecent - all of his torso revealed. Johnny lowered himself down to follow, restrained and slow in all but his eyes, devouring Ten’s debauched look like he’d never seen such sights before.
“Whatever you want, tonight I’m yours,” Ten purred the magic words, words that lesser men would have died to hear, paid their own weight in gold.
Linen draped against Ten’s bare chest, as Johnny leaned on one arm to keep a torturous inch between their bodies; close enough, if Ten leaned up he could kiss the smile off Johnny’s face.
Too sweet, an infatuation mixed with his hunger; the toxic concoction that made him look past Ten’s faults and say the worst.
“Just let me love you,” Johnny murmured into the space between their lips, a breath away from a kiss. “That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”
I can try , Ten thought, letting his eyes flutter closed. Johnny always asked for the most difficult things with all the molten warmth of his open heart. Taeyong - Taeyong would never ask for such a thing, even if the look in his eyes spelled out the sentiment; the phantom of his presence still an aura from the corner of the room, the memory of cold lips on his jaw.
Johnny brought him back with a bump of their noses. An accident the first time. The second, a playful nudge complete with a chuckle. He led, leaned in for a true kiss at long last. Too gentle, too soft against Ten’s mouth; as if he were a delicate thing. A treasure.
Ten could only play along with the lie for so long, before his fingers were twisting into Johnny’s hair and bit into his bottom lip. Open mouthed, he kissed Johnny like he didn’t want to think, begging to be stripped of the capacity. And his faithful knight followed where he led as always, matching the new pace.
Ever fair, Ten rewarded him by tightening the hand in his hair and pulling. He’d been desperate to hear the honeyed moan Johnny spilled into the kiss, a constant selfish desire.
A hand slid hot against Ten’s thigh, cupping underneath and beckoning it upwards. Ten shivered in anticipation as he hooked his legs around Johnny’s waist.
It never got less delectable, the way Johnny wrapped one arm around Ten’s torso and knew it would be enough. The muscles of his abdomen clenched, Ten felt them against him through the linen of the tunic the same moment Johnny lifted them both from the ground to a standing position.
The kisses continued, hotter and hungrier as Ten’s desire spiked. Burned low in the pit of his stomach, fueled by each step Johnny made towards the bedroom. Legs firm around Johnny’s waist, Ten had no fear of falling down. Only fear of falling more in love with the strength of Johnny’s need, so quick to rouse. He groped Ten’s ass with a strength that had Ten gasping into his mouth, tightening the grip of his legs just to try and get closer.
There were times in which Johnny ran his mouth every which way, wayward kisses and an endless stream of words to stoke the fire; little moments of levity, laughter and sweet smiles. Hard and grinding his hips against Johnny’s abdomen, Ten had never been more grateful for Johnny’s uncanny ability to read the mood, to act on the unspoken currents flowing between them.
Slow, deliberate - he lay Ten down on the bed, hovered over him smirking as his hand travelled down Ten’s chest. Touch feather-light even as Ten arched into it. Desperate, he could barely resist bucking his hips as the hand travelled further downward, teeth digging into his bottom lip. The moment Johnny palmed over his still-clothed cock, what little self-control left Ten him melted away.
“Touch me.” He looked up at his lover through his lashes, voice caught between a whisper and a whine, “Please, please touch me.”
“Soon, love,” Johnny said between kisses to Ten’s stomach, trailing further and further downwards only to pull away when it mattered most. “Be good for me, hm? Wait here.”
Ten let out a shaky moan and nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment. The shadow and weight over him disappeared, leaving him alone with the pleasant flush of heat buzzing through him as his cock strained against his smallclothes.
He shimmed out of them, sighed at the sense of being truly bared to the night air and the every-starved eyes of his lover. Anticipation built with each breath, each one of Johnny’s footsteps and the sounds of rustling in a nearby drawer. Fabric hit the floor with a muffled thud and the groan that followed induced a maddening hunger.
Head tilted back against the pillow, Ten opened his eyes to feast. All for him, the rippling muscle of Johnny’s arms and back as his shirt followed his pants to the floor. Carved not by some divine sculptor but hard work and ambition. The stories of his life were written in the white lash-scars fading into his broad back, the width of his biceps and countless hours drilling sword forms over and over; his gorgeous ass and thighs, hard and defined from all those long nights on horseback.
When Johnny turned to look over his shoulder the past was soon forgotten, pushed aside for the glimmer in his eyes as held up a bottle of oil, the playful smirk that matched. Instinct had Ten raising his knees and to his chest, but Johnny shook his head.
“Not tonight,” Johnny murmured and put a hand on his knee and pushed it down, gentle. “Trust me.”
Lips pursed, he swallowed the pleas that rose up from the pit of his desire. Pleas to be bent over and fucked into oblivion, unthinking and drooling into the bedspread. Because he did trust Johnny, with more than just his life - but he shoved that admission away..
Better to watch his knight turn and take the glorious view, the way he drizzled oil on his hand before taking his own length in hand. Johnny’s hand made his cock look in proportion, which was ridiculous when Ten knew he could barely open his mouth wide enough to take the tip. His tongue wet his lips as he watched, and fought the urge to jolt forward and lick along the vein on the underside.
Ten’s breath hitched as Johnny settled in the space between his legs, the place Ten’s patience died. He clawed at Johnny’s shoulders and cinched his legs around his hips, pulled him down with every bit of his strength. Ten knew Johnny could have pulled free without breaking a sweat if he wanted instead of letting himself be ensnared, the perfect, willing victim smiling as he fell.
Foreheads pressed together, Johnny’s hair fell either side of Ten’s face. A dark curtain ensuring all he could see was Johnny: his debauched lips, kiss swollen and parted; the flush of his tanned skin, pupils-blown out and hazy. Ten kissed him. How could he not kiss him? Taste the surge of desire as he took their cocks in hand, feel their moans harmonize, vibrate into the kiss.
Johnny’s hand was enveloping, slick and warm around Ten’s cock - and Johnny’s cock was equally so, bigger and thicker and sliding against him. Slow at first, the room filled with the sound of slick friction and dual moans as they both fucked into Johnny’s hand.
Curtains closed, performance over - Ten’s moans were shaky, building from quiet to uncontrolled, unrestrained. He felt so human in Johnny’s arms, bucking up into him, chasing the same pleasure faster and faster with each thrust. He clung, his fingernails scratching Johnny’s shoulder blades - an echo of Taeyong the night prior. The marks on Ten’s own back raked against the sheets, burned with Taeyong’s presence. The thought of him, his cock in Ten’s mouth, his ringed fingers digging into his scalp, beside them, behind them, between them. For a fleeting moment he was home, the pleasure building between three.
Until Johnny’s hips moved faster and Ten opened his eyes, reality rushing back in the way his climax built. Brought to the edge by Johnny’s hand, by Johnny’s cock, obscene and rutting against Ten’s own. By the pleasure plain on his lover’s face, hooded eyes and the sheen of sweat.
He moved a hand to the back of Johnny’s head and pulled his hair again, the moan in response raw and deep - the sounds that dreams were made of.
“I’m close,” Ten panted, before leaning up into the lips chased after him. The kiss was a collision, tongue and teeth as both the grind of their hips and Johnny’s hand picked up the pace. Ten went taught like a bowstring set to snap, thrashed wildly in search of his peak. The moment of oblivion, of nothing but white-hot pleasure.
And he came, full-bodied bliss washed over him with a strangled moan and a shudder. His cum painted Johnny’s abdomen, dripped down onto their cocks; his softening, Johnny’s still hot and hard against him.
Coming back to reality, he noticed their hips had stopped moving - and Johnny had broken the kiss to watch, looking down at him with emotion Ten didn’t want to name. Their breath mingled, still but for heaving chests.
Even spent as he was, Ten couldn’t help the way his mouth went dry when Johnny lifted himself up until their bodies no longer touched, using just the one arm.
“As much as I’d like to watch,” Ten began, fingertips tracing a path down the centre of Johnny’s torso, fast-moving,“I’d rather touch you myself.”
His gaze flickered downward to watch his own slender fingers wrap around Johnny’s thick cock, an image that always stirred desire. He could have teased, taken it slow and steady, drawn out every beautiful moan, groan and plea before relenting. Johnny could endure so much, loving each torturous second - safeword far from his lips as he begged for an end.
And as his hand slid up and down, the first pump of his hand slick with cum and oil, he considered it. But Johnny made such a lovely, animal sound upon thrusting into Ten’s tight grip. When he whined and leaned down for a desperate kiss Ten set a relentless pace and let Johnny fuck his hand, desire roused with every open-mouthed moan and the way his abs quivered at Ten’s gentle touch, begging to be scratched. Somewhere along the line it had become impossible for Ten not to give Johnny all he desired without Taeyong’s gentle whispers encouraging him to destroy and deny to the edge of madness.
“You’re so good to me,” Ten crooned into the space between their lips, relishing Johnny’s shiver, the way his cock pulsed in Ten’s hand at the praise.
“Mm, so pretty and such a good boy. Come for me,” Ten urged, hand moving even faster than the rhythm of Johnny’s hips, twisting his wrist just the way his lover liked it.
Johnny threw his head back, throat was deliciously exposed, Ten couldn’t help but to bite into the tanned skin; suckle gently, the vibrations of a strangled sob against his lips as Johnny cried out. His whole body trembled, cum spilling over Ten’s still moving hand.
Even post-orgasm, boneless and hazy - Johnny didn’t collapse onto him. They stayed as they were for the come-down, simply existing in bliss until the reality of being caked in sweat and cum shifted from sexy to sticky.
Ten wriggled, restless. He didn't resist in the slightest when Johnny retreated from the bed, secure in the knowledge he would come back, as always.
“My hero,” Ten sighed sweetly and batted his eyelids at Johnny’s grand entrance. He was still naked, armed with warm towels and a water basin. A small part of dreaded what was to come. “So gallant, my knight. You return bearing gifts.”
Aftercare with Johnny was always an involved experience, the ever present consequence of the whole ‘ let me love you ’ shtick. Sated, Ten let it happen. He didn’t mind the tenderness behind the or touch the little spirals traced on his skin. He even let himself enjoy the cool water and soft towel Johnny used to wipe his hands clean, slow and thorough - he left a kiss on each fingertip. He’d had years to adjust to it, after all. The way the Emperor and his knight both were fixated on the rituals of bathing and caring, fussing over their loves after sex.
While it was no longer an entirely alien concept it still didn’t feel natural to receive such care, and admittedly was difficult to return in kind. Outside of being demanding of cuddles and clingy to a fault, not a ploy to endear himself to a target but a genuine desire to stay.
Once settled in his knight’s arms, Ten wasn’t about to let go. He lay his head on Johnny’s shoulder and traced spirals into his chest, listening to his lover’s deep breaths.
“You really are too good to me,” Ten traced spirals into Johnny’s chest to match the ones Johnny drew on his back.
“There’s no such thing as ‘too good’, not for you. Every bit of happiness you find, you deserve,” Johnny sounded so sure of himself, as if his argument was rooted in stone-solid fact as opposed to wishful thinking.
The best Ten could give was a non-committal noise in response. He closed his eyes and snuggled further into Johnny’s body and the warmth it radiated. A strange sensation without the cool skin of Taeyong’s skin on his own to balance it out.
The Emperor brought so much balance, more than just the banner they fell into line under. Taeyong’s visage appeared behind his eyelids, beauty beyond recreation. In the reflective darkness of his eyes were looks Ten knew but not innately, not like Johnny knew them. The silent language of looks their liege shared with Johnny was ingrained into the fabric of Johnny’s soul. He was only just beginning to understand the depth and pain in their past, but knew enough to know just how much it meant that Taeyong left Johnny behind.
“Johnny?” he called out, not daring to look up.
He didn’t want to watch his words destroy their peace in real time.
“Find me.” Ten pleaded. The leftover pleasure, the comfort of the embrace - they fought a valiant fight against the echoes of dread, fear of the future. Of what needed to be done. “When the worst is over, find me. I’ll help you come down, the same way you help me. I can take care of you too. And I understand. ”
“That was my plan from the start,” Johnny murmured, notes of sorrow in the soft lull of his voice, “I knew you’d understand better than anyone else.”
Those sentiments slipped out, he always sounded like he wished he could turn back time and shield Ten from darkness his path forced upon him. Ten squeezed his arm around Johnny’s waist, all the comfort he could offer. The only words he could conjure were words that would make it all worse, so Ten stilled his tongue. Waited, eyes-closed for Johnny’s breathing to deepen and his movements to fade into the laxness of sleep. Even aching with exhaustion, sleep remained unthinkable until he was the only person left awake.
Sleep came like the closing of a distant door, shutting out the nightmare that had been his first day as regent. His last thought floated with him into sleep. If there truly was a Goddess on his side, he prayed he would have no dreams at all.
-
The Goddess was said to love non-believers, but always granted their wishes with the sting of irony. Was a dream of a memory a dream, or a memory? Through the mists of time into the form of a younger, leaner self, Ten opened his eyes.
Leaves rustled in the breeze. He seized the moment to press himself further against the hedge, hands braced against his thighs. In the distance, armoured footsteps crashed against the floors of the inner palace. All the hours of pouring over schematics, tracing over the twisting passages and burning them into his brain came down to this moment - the breaths he stifled with his mask, counting the beats of his hammering heart. How many beats would he have before the door burst open and the brash voices yelling ‘ intruder!’ would destroy the garden’s peace.
He waited, counted, poised still as the marble depiction of the so-called Goddess that stood under the bare blossom tree.
No one came. The knights swept past the entrance to the Emperor’s chambers, a stroke Ten assigned to sheer stupidity. Anyone who was confident their sanctum couldn’t be breached hadn’t read enough history books.
Hubris killed more than assassins could dream to.
He took a moment to assess his position. The hedges of the inner gardens had a blue hue in the moonlight, painting the roses purplish and the pond in the centre a shimmering black mirror for the fullness of the moon. The worst night for a murder, really, shadows cast too long under the natural light. The twisting blossom tree and many coloured roses, the whole scene would have made for a beautiful painting. In the life he dreamed of having, he would have killed to sketch it.
Paint it, as it turned from still life to something from a dream. The Emperor’s hair shone white from the moment he stepped into the courtyard. Midnight-coloured, his robe melded into the night; dark against his bare wrists and ankles, the contours of his neck exposed as he looked towards the sky.
The poisoned needles in Ten’s sleeves weighed heavy, sang out in the back of his mind. A muted song, ‘ throw me, now, now, now - quick’.
“Would you come out, please? I’d like to look upon the face of the one who is to kill me,” The Emperor spoke. His voice had a dreamlike quality, yet sounded somehow grounded. As if he was asking for something perfectly reasonable, polite as possible. “Although I wonder why you haven’t struck already.”
He should have remained rooted to his corner of shadow, dealt death in one of the thirteen ways he could have from that angle. Instead he scanned the emperor’s silhouette for weapons, searched for reasons to give into his demand beyond the tug in his abdomen.
Intuition, he reminded himself. Intuition had kept him from harm more times than following the doubt in his mind. And the slight beauty before him was a centre of gravity, a force beyond description pulling that feeling to the forefront. Ten would have called it divine intervention if he’d believed in more than blood and sweat and bad luck.
The Emperor’s gaze moved around the garden, quiet and searching.
Ten stepped out into the moonlight.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now and be done with it.” Calm, commanding - the steadiness of his own voice surprised him. With a tug he pulled his mask down, wondering if the mark’s reaction would answer his long-standing question.
Was it a cruel or merciful fate, to die looking at a face so pretty plenty paid for the pleasure?
“Oh,” The Emperor let slip a soft gasp. Something so utterly human, at odds with the perfection that was his face. His expression spoke of wonder, from parted lips to the light that filled his dark, reflective eyes. “I’ve seen you before. In Weishen, - oh, of course. You were dancing in the Maple Pavilion. Whirling ribbons around you, twisting and turning like the rain and the wind. We talked of your performance for days on the journey home.”
The beautiful man ( the mark , screamed a distant reason) looked so entranced in the nostalgia of this memory, for a moment Ten almost believed that The Emperor really did remember him specifically from a performance that happened years ago. Impossible. At least, improbable. The odds were stacked in the favour of him having predicted this attack in some way, known who was to be sent.
“Answer the question.” Ten pressed upon the mechanism on his wrist, poison needle sliding into his hand. It glistened in the low light, a silver blur as he flicked forth his arm but kept a tight hold on it.
The needle pointed straight at the Emperor, who stood wide-eyed but unflinching.
“Answer mine first. Aren’t you curious?”
Ten narrowed his eyes. “About what? Why I’m here? I know why they want to kill you, your Imperial Highness . Money. Power. Position. It’s all the same, you people are always killing each other over plans that will never come to pass.”
“Oh, not about that. You know why your master wants me dead, of course. But aren’t you curious as to why the knights passed by my chambers in the search for you, our intruder? The answer to that question might be what you’re looking for.”
The Emperor took a slow step forward, approaching the assassin in his innermost sanctuary with the demeanour of a child who wished to befriend a stray animal. Was he so unafraid of being killed? Whatever drove him, it didn’t feel like arrogance nor delusion.
“I was just like you,” The Emperor continued, taking Ten’s stunned silence as a prompt.
“A dancer?” Ten’s disbelief bled through his assassin’s monotone, unprofessional. But it was impossible not to be confounded by this situation.
Baffled by the man too beautiful to be real, who shook his head and looked back up at Ten. Locked eyes, dark and searching. No, definitely not arrogance - but a strange kind of confidence. One that melded with his aura, that of a martyr - he decided. The aura of a true believer, unafraid to die.
“No. I used to want to be a dancer, as a child. But I meant an orphan. Forgotten and cast aside, scrambling in the streets over copper pieces.” The Emperor’s voice had a wistful quality. “That’s why .”
Ten too-quickly recalled The Emperor’s dossier, the one the senior Lord Qian had handed him along with the ultimatum: ‘Complete this final mission and consider your contract paid off.’ . Plain on the scroll he’d read over a hundred times it read, the Emperor was a love-child left in the care of an orphanage. Plucked from the streets when the former Empress’ true heirs fell in battle, forced to learn the ways of the court after a childhood of straw beds and street scuffles. A childhood so like Ten’s own.
“That’s why there’s no one here to protect you from me?” Ten echoed, in disbelief. The pieces shuffled to paint a different picture. “But aren’t you supposed to be the Goddess’ chosen? Your hair-“
The moonstone white that marked him as Hers, chosen by the so-called Goddess from the reaches of her heavenly garden. The same hair every ruler of the Empire had been born with since - well, Ten never paid too much attention in foreign history lessons, but he gathered since the Empire began.
The Emperor twirled a lock of hair around his finger as he dared to take another step.
“They could claim it was simply a hereditary quirk, a coincidence . Or a twist of foul magic, trickery sent from some enemy - ancient or modern,” he paused and let his hand fall back to his side. “Would the Goddess’ chosen one truly die, just like that? Would it be an assassin that killed me, or divine providence? The Goddess correcting a mortal mistake.”
These, these words made sense to Ten’s ears; a verse taken straight from the brutal, cynical world he knew to be reality.
“You see it now. A commoner’s perspective isn’t good for those around the throne, the powerful. The people who live, work and die under our banners serve as mere resources to fuel their ambition.” Darkness flashed across the Emperor’s beautiful face, but even his foulness was fair. Entranced, Ten paid no attention to his own rapt expression as the Emperor quickly replaced his own with indifference. “You can kill me if you like, and help one rich tyrant gain independence over another.”
The lie ‘ I don’t care ’ sat heavy on Ten’s tongue. Faces flashed behind his eyes; the children he’d grown up with, cruel and kind who never made it off the streets. The ones who came before, the ones who would come after. He thought of Dejun, then of sweet-faced Yangyang as he’d been in the past, dirt on his face and cuts on his back; he thought of Yangyang as he was now, being schooled in the arts, poisons, and pleasures, racking up more and more debt with the ‘school’ he’d been swept from the gutter by with each passing moment.
“You’re going to change the world,” Ten said, low with a grudge.
Despite his best efforts his mind turned to Kun, whose whispered words had painted utopias in the safety of silk sheets, wine addled and dreaming of a better world. Kun, who waited back in Weishen, a red candle lit on his desk in a prayer for Ten’s safe return.
The Emperor’s eyes widened, and hope shone through them like the brightest light. Then and there, Ten envisioned Kun’s red candle burning down to nothing.
“With the right people by my side, I might have a chance. Ten, wasn’t it? Of Weishen?”
“Of nowhere, of nothing. Just Ten,” Ten hated how his timbre trembled. His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled, and forced his arm to lower. The tip of the needle still dug into his fingers. “I have no loyalty to Weishen.”
It wasn’t a lie, not wholly. Old Lord Qian could burn at the stake for all he cared, the islands could turn to ash. Ten’s loyalty was to the hearts of others. People the old bastard kept out of power. Yangyang, Dejun, Sicheng. Kun, and all the good he could do; alongside the terrible things.
“Well, Ten - I’m Taeyong. Thank you for listening, and for not killing me. Yet.” Taeyong was close, too close; a few step’s gap, too easy to close. Ten swallowed, hard, and followed the movement of the Emperor’s - of Taeyong’s - hand, extended out to him in a gesture of what? Friendship? A truce? An invitation?
“Would you like to dance? The light is perfect, and we can make the music together.” Head tilted, the Emperor had such an air of innocence. Conviction, as if it wasn’t absurd to say, “We can hide you before they come looking for my corpse.”
The garden’s silence was shattered by the sound of metal clattering onto stone, Ten’s hands unclenched. They would never, could never be unstained - but perhaps they could be put to good use.
“That sounds sane,” Ten managed to mutter, hating the way his breath caught the up-tick of Taeyong’s lips - equal parts mischief and wonder playing out across his too-perfect face.
Their hands touched, pale under moonlight. Taeyong’s fingers were slender and soft. They slid under Ten’s, and Ten let his hand be lifted; muscles slack, heart possessed with curiosity. His mind stopped its screaming when Taeyong pressed his cold lips to Ten’s knuckles.
Doubt and logic remained blissfully silent, as the air hummed electric. Ten thought he decided then and there that the Court of Flowers would find their Emperor breathing. Looking back it felt inevitable, from the moment he’d stepped out from his hiding place.
“Shall you lead, or should I?” Taeyong looked up through his lashes. That was the first time Ten had read the Emperor’s mind, pulling him - willing, waiting - into place, arm firm around his waist.
-
When he woke he called for his Emperor first, hoarse-voiced and heartsick. Second he murmured a knight’s name, felt for the warm spot he’d left on the bed. But the sun had long since risen to herald the start of the knight-captain’s schedule, though Ten imagined the gentle kiss Johnny must have left on his forehead. The ghost of the memory-dream had his heart blooming in roses alongside sunflowers, alone in the vastness of a bed made for three.
At least he had survived his first day on the throne. Set the political stage with kindling and spilled oil, begging to meet open flame.
Under sleep’s gentle pull it seemed so simple. Ten had set the stage for chaos, now he waited, biding his time. Now he survived, the same way he always had - only this time for a cause. He would wait as long as it took for his bearer of order to come along and set the stage he’d built on fire, ignite the world until they stood in the ashes together as bloody-handed victors.
“We’re going to burn it all down,” he smiled, whispers muffled by his pillow as he let his eyes flutter closed once more. “My loves and I...”