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The Heir

Summary:

Prince Jimin has grown up hearing endless stories about how his mother and father met. Twenty years ago, Mijeong entered the Selection and won the heart of Prince Pilwoo - and they lived happily ever after. Jimin has always found their fairy-tale story romantic, but he has no interest in trying to repeat it. If it were up to him, he'd put off marriage for as long as possible.

But a prince's life is never entirely his own, and Jimin can't escape his very own Selection - no matter how fervently he protests.

Jimin doesn't expect his story to end in romance. But as the competition begins, one entry may just capture Jimin's heart, showing him all the possibilities that lie in front of him... and proving that finding his own happily ever after isn't as impossible as he's always thought.

Chapter 1

Notes:

Lots of notes at the end!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jimin could not hold his breath for seven minutes. He couldn’t even make it to one. He once tried to run a mile in seven minutes after hearing some athletes could do it in four but failed spectacularly when a side stitch crippled him about halfway in.

However, there was one thing he managed to do in seven minutes that most would say is quite impressive: 

He became king.

By seven tiny minutes he beat his brother Jihyun into the world, so the throne that ought to have been his was Jimin’s. The people rejoiced, and he was trained day by day to become the next ruler of Illéa.

Jimin tried not to complain. After all, he knew how fortunate he was. But there were days, or sometimes months, when it felt like far too much was piled on him, too much for any one person, really.

He flipped through the newspaper and saw that there had been yet another riot, this time in Suni. Twenty years ago, his father’s first act as king was to dissolve the castes, and the old system had been phased out slowly over Jimin’s lifetime. He still thought it was completely bizarre that once upon a time people lived with these limiting but arbitrary labels on their backs. His mother was a Five: his father was a One. It made no sense, especially since there was no outward sign of the divisions. How was Jimin supposed to know if he was walking next to a Six or a Three? And why did that even matter?

When his father had first decreed that the castes were no more, people all over the country had been delighted. His father had expected the changes he was making in Illéa to be comfortably in place over the course of a generation, meaning any day now everything should click.

That wasn’t happening - and this new riot was just the most recent in a string of unrest.

“Coffee, Your Highness,” Jay announced, setting the drink on the table.

Jimin looked up and flashed him a smile. “Thank you. You can take the plates.”

Jimin scanned the article. This time a restaurant was burned to the ground because its owner refused to promote a waiter to a position as a chef. The waiter claimed that a promotion had been promised but was never delivered, and he was sure it was because of his family’s past.

Looking at the charred remains of the building, Jimin honestly didn’t know whose side he was on. The owner had the right to promote or fire anyone he wanted, and the waiter had the right not to be seen as something that, technically, didn’t exist anymore.

With a small sigh, he pushed the paper away and picked up his drink. His father was going to be upset. Jimin was sure he was already running the scenario over and over in his head, trying to figure out how to set it right. The problem was, even if they could fix one issue, they couldn’t stop every instance of post-caste discrimination. It was too hard to monitor and happened far too often.

Jimin set down his coffee, half finished, and headed to his closet. It was time to start the day; if he waited any longer he would be late, and he hated being late.

“Jay,” he called. “Do you know where that plum colored suit is? The one with the sash?”

Jay squinted in concentration as he came over to help.

In the grand scheme of things, Jay was new to the palace. He’d only been working with Jimin for six months, after his last butler fell ill for two weeks. Jay was acutely attuned to Jimin’s needs and much more agreeable to be around, so Jimin kept him on. He also admired his eye for fashion.

Jay stared into the massive space. “Maybe we should reorganize.”

“You can if you have the time. That’s not a project I’m interested in.”

“Not when I can hunt down your clothes for you,” he teased.

“Exactly!”

He took Jimin’s humor in stride, laughing as he quickly sorted through suits, pants, and the occasional skirt and dress.

“I like your outfit today,” he commented.

“Thank you.” All of the butlers had bland gray, black, and blue uniforms that they wore on a day to day basis, but Jay was creative with his. He sometimes mixed the colors. Other times he would pin embroidered patches of cloth to his pants or shirt. At the moment he was wearing the blue and black uniform, and he had a bright purple bandanna hanging from his belt loop. Jimin really enjoyed that he found ways to work with his uniform, to make it his own each day.

“Ah! It’s back here.” Jay pulled down the suit, fanning it out across his arm.

“Perfect! And do you know where my black dress shirt is? The one with the silver marble pattern?”

Jay stared at him, his face deadpan. “I’m definitely rearranging.”

Jimin giggled. “You search; I’ll dress.”

He pulled on his outfit and parted his hair, preparing for another day as the future face of the monarchy. If Jimin removed the blazer, the outfit was casual enough to soften him but strong enough that he’d be taken seriously. It was a fine line to walk, but he did it every day.

When he lowered the comb back to the sink counter, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Taking a deep breath, he repeated the mantra he had created for himself.

“You are Jimin Park. You are the next person to run this country, and you will be the first to do it on your own. No one, “ he murmured, eyes glinting. “Is as powerful as you.”


Pilwoo, Jimin’s father, was already in his office, brow furrowed as he took in the news. Other than Jimin’s eyes, he didn't look much like him. Or his mother, Mijeong, for that matter.

With his dark hair, oval-shaped face, and honey skin that glowed in the sun, he looked more like his grandmother than anyone else. A painting of her on her coronation day hung in the fourth-floor hallway, and he used to study it when he was younger, trying to guess how he would look as he grew. Her age in the portrait was near to his now, and though they weren’t identical, Jimin sometimes felt like her echo.

He walked across the room and kissed his father’s cheek. “Morning.”

“Morning. Did you see the papers?” He asked.

“Yes. At least no one died this time.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Those were the worst, the ones where people were left dead in the street or went missing. It was terrible, reading the names of young men who’d been beaten simply for moving their families into a nicer neighborhood or women who were attacked for trying to get a job that in the past would not have been open to them.

Sometimes it took no time at all to find the motive and the person behind these crimes, but more often than not they were faced with a lot of finger-pointing and no real answers. It was exhausting for him to watch, and he knew it was worse for his father.

“I don’t understand it.” He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. “They didn’t want the castes anymore. We took our time, eliminated them slowly so everyone could adjust. Now they’re burning down buildings.”

“Is there a way to regulate this? Could we create a board to oversee grievances?” Jimin looked at the photo again. In the corner, the young son of the restaurant owner wept over losing everything. In his heart he knew complaints would come in faster than anyone could address them, but he also knew Pilwoo couldn’t bear doing nothing.

His father looked at him. “Is that what you would do?”

Jimin smiled. “No, I’d ask my father what he would do.”

He sighed. “That won’t always be an option for you, Jimin. You need to be strong, decisive. How would you fix this one particular incident?”

Jimin took a moment to consider the situation. “I don’t think we can.” He finally murmured. “There’s no way to prove the old castes were why the waiter was denied the promotion. The only thing we can do is launch an investigation into what set the fire. That family lost their livelihood today, and someone needs to be held responsible. Arson is not how you exact justice.”

He shook his head at the paper. “I think you’re right. I’d like to be able to help them. But, more than that, we need to figure out how to prevent this from happening again. It’s becoming rampant, Jimin, and it’s frightening.”

Pilwoo tossed the paper into the trash, then stood and walked to the window. Jimin could read the stress in his posture. Sometimes his role brought him so much joy, like visiting the schools he’d worked tirelessly to improve or seeing communities flourish in the war-free era he’d ushered in. But those instances were becoming few and far between. Most days he was anxious about the state of the country, and he had to fake his smiles when reporters came by, hoping that his sense of calm would somehow spread to everyone else. Mijeong helped shoulder the burden, but at the end of the day the fate of the country was placed squarely on his back. One day it would be on Jimin’s.

Vain as it was, he worried he would go gray prematurely. Or bald. Wasn’t that a horrible thought?

“Make a note for me, Jimin. Remind me to write Governor Harpen in Zuni. Oh, and put to write it to Joshua Harpen, not his father. I keep forgetting he was the one who ran in the last election.”

Jimin wrote his instructions in his elegant cursive, thinking how pleased Pilwoo would be when he looked at it later. He used to give him the worst time over his penmanship.

Jimin was grinning to himself when he looked back at him, but his face fell almost immediately when he saw him rubbing his forehead, trying so desperately to think of a solution to these problems.

“Dad?”

He turned and instinctively squared his shoulders, like he needed to act strong even in front of Jimin.

“Why do you think this is happening? It wasn’t always like this.”

He raised his eyebrows. “It certainly wasn’t,” he said almost to himself. “At first everyone seemed pleased. Every time we removed a new caste, people held parties. It’s only been in the last few years, since all the labels have officially been erased, that it’s gone downhill.”

He stared back out the window. “The only thing I can think is that those who grew up with the castes are aware of how much better this is. Comparatively, it’s easier to marry or work. A family’s finances aren’t capped by a single profession. There are more choices when it comes to education. But those who are growing up without the castes and are still running into opposition… I guess they don’t know what else to do.”

He looked at Jimin and shrugged. “I need time,” he muttered. “I need a way to set things on pause, set them right, and press play again.”

Jimin noted the deep furrow in his brow. “Dad, I don’t think that’s possible.”

He chuckled. “We’ve done it before. I can remember…”

The focus in his eyes changed. He watched Jimin for a moment, seeming to ask him a question without words.

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Are you alright?”

He blinked a few times. “Yes, dear, quite all right. Why don’t you get to work on those economic proposals? We can go over your ideas this afternoon. I need to speak with your mother.”

“Sure.” Economics wasn’t a skill that came to him naturally, so he had to work twice as long on any economic proposal. But he absolutely refused to have one of Pilwoo’s advisers come behind him and clean up his mess. Even if he had to stay up all night, he always made sure his work was accurate.

Of course, Jihyun was naturally good at economics, but he was never forced to sit through meetings about budgets or rezoning or health care. He got off scot-free by seven stupid minutes.

Pilwoo patted him on the shoulder before dashing out of the room. Jimin stared at the space he previously occupied before grabbing his proposals. It took Jimin longer than usual to focus on the words. He couldn’t help but be distracted by the look on his father’s face and the unmistakable certainty that it was tied to him.

Notes:

Let's get this show on the road ladies and gentlemen!

First of all, most if not all the credit of this story goes to the lovely woman who actually wrote it, Kiera Cass. She's a brilliant author everyone, and I encourage you to read her books if you haven't already.

I have taken her wonderful book and have rewritten it (cough changed names cough) to tell a Jikook love story. Yes, Jikook is the endgame couple. The only reason I have a Jimin/Everyone tag is because... well... he's going through a Selection guys, he's going to do romantic stuff with other people. I actually have had a LOT of fun messing around with parings. I have a few unheard of ones that I'm curious to see everyone's reaction for.

(LEMME TELL YOU RIGHT NOW, CHARACTER REPLACEMENTS WERE TOUGH GUYS)

This is book one of a two book series. I haven't decided if I'm going to combine it all into one fanfiction or split it into two. We will have to see.

But anyway, that's enough of my speal. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter!