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Of all the palaces he had ever seen (and he had seen quite a few palaces), Seungcheol loved the Mirror Palaces the most. The first emperor of the Jeon dynasty, a few hundred years ago, had decided to construct his castle near the sea, complete with plenty of open hallways to let the breeze flow through. It was fitted with mirrors on every silver wall to reflect the rays of sun that tended to be abundant near the southern border.
The Mirror Palace was, of course, no longer used as the stronghold of the monarchy.
No, it was too breezy , too beachy to be taken seriously (and besides, no person could approach it without being blinded by all the reflecting sun). Besides, much of its charm disappeared when winter arrived and suddenly the open windows were letting in blizzards and not breezes.
It had been long abandoned for the more studious mountains of the higher provinces, where the Imperial Swan Castle had been built in its stead.
Thankfully, it was just breezy and beachy enough to be the emperor’s favorite side villa. The old Jeon King took his wife and sons to the seaside palace each summer. And wherever Prince Wonwoo went, Seungcheol tagged along too.
~
Seungcheol had been tagging along with Wonwoo for so long that it felt like simply a truth of living. If there was Wonwoo, there was Seungcheol.
Wonwoo was the youngest son of the emperor, and most likely the favorite (youngest children always were).
He was silent. He had a blank faced gaze that could pierce straight through silver pillars. Beyond all, he was composed. Composed.
Even when Seungcheol had seen him angry, all rage building up inside tightly clenched hands and gritting teeth, he hadn't boiled over.
It simply fizzled down into something simmering under the surface of Wonwoo's cold composure.
It was unsettling at first. A man like that could burst at any moment.
Everyone knew Prince Wonwoo.
Seungcheol knew him better.
Wonwoo was a garden of sunlit thoughts concealed behind a calm facade. One moment he could be wordlessly observing the court, and the next he could be rambling about the newest swords released on the market.
They had met each other since they were children, when Seungcheol was just another son of a nobleman and Wonwoo was just another young prince (he had three older brothers).
It was part of the Jeon custom. When an infant prince officially became a toddler after their first robe fitting ceremony, one noble family sent their son to become his livelong advisor and companion.
The “companion” served as a reliable friend to a maturing prince, a loyal rock that they could lean on.
More than the honor or the exciting proximity to a (real life?!?!) prince, however, it was a power grab. A chance to manipulate the courts.
The eldest lord of the Yoon family had been the current king’s companion when he was younger. The Yoon family was also, coincidentally, now the most influential group of nobles in the kingdom.
It was an opportunity to be the puppetmaster behind the grand stage of a kingdom.
Or it could have been if the toddler prince didn’t outright reject your son.
No other child from higher nobility had been able to keep Wonwoo company without upsetting either him or themselves in the process.
As a final bid, the desperate King had called upon the lesser House of Choi to send in a young son.
Seungcheol’s family was a group of “new” nobles, unofficially inducted into aristocracy within the previous decade.
His father was a knight whose chivalry had been noted by some higher up in charge of meaningless medals. His mother was a silver merchant’s daughter with an above average fortune.
Long story short, they weren’t in any position to scheme about gaining power. Simply in order to fulfill the king’s wishes, his parents had sent Seungcheol into the palace by a rickety family carriage, fully expecting him to be back the next day.
He didn’t remember much from the first exchange.
But apparently, Seungcheol had grinned at Wonwoo, asked to call him Wonu , shook his larger hand with his own, and started telling him a story he’d heard about the Sun Deity.
Wonwoo did nothing much other than staring (some things never changed). But when they made to leave before Seungcheol could finish the ending, he had pouted, just a little bit.
The King had hastily arranged for him to stay.
From there, they had gone from two toddlers, to a matured prince and his older, but less mature advisor. Wonwoo eventually promoted Seungcheol to his official advisor, a title which was very much ridiculous and very much ceremonial.
Seungcheol advising him on matters of the court was like asking a chicken to become the royal surgeon.
(“Hyung, you’re my royal advisor now.”
“That’s very funny, Wonwoo-yah. I’d be a good advisor to you when the suns turn silver.”
“I’m not kidding.”
Silence. “Will there be a pay hike?”
“I’ll check with the finance minister and get back to you on that.”)
Seungcheol figured (hoped) that the younger simply wanted to spend more time with him. Wonwoo had never given an explanation for it. He hadn't needed one.
He had come to know that Wonwoo was just like that. Quiet but purposeful. He watched and he processed and ever so silently, he acted.
No one ever knew what was going on in his head, which was a little inconvenient for a man who was supposed to serve a prince by understanding his every thought.
Seungcheol made by though. Things like that happened when you spent nearly 2 decades with someone, laughing with them, walking with them, traveling with them.
Loving them.
He didn’t need for Wonwoo to be an open book to understand what thoughts were unfurling in his pages. He was a man with an eager desire to read, and fortunate enough to understand the language Wonwoo existed in.
It wasn't a particularly important job in the grand scheme of things, not when there were three princes of higher rank. Not if Seungcheol didn’t have any evil plans to destabilize the dynasty’s monarchy from behind the scenes.
He wasn't the scion of the Noble House of Yoon, a family who had been alongside the dynasty for generations. Their eldest son was the fortunate advisor to the supposed crown prince, and his son would likely be advisor to the next crown prince.
Seungcheol didn’t mind. Wonwoo was the best of them all. Jeonghan could absolutely go wild trying to tend to the scandals of the eldest.
He was lucky.
Everyone thought that his prince didn't have words to say, the timid youngest of a dynasty of warriors.
Only Seungcheol could lay next to him in the fields of the Swan Gardens and watch the stars twinkle in his darting eyes.
Only he could knew the chest full of words Wonwoo kept inside of him, or the way his voice melted into warmth when he spoke a select few of them.
Only Seungcheol could know him well enough to truly love him.
Yes, he was lucky.
Years and years, and Wonwoo's hair had gone from chestnut brown to black to a starry silver. His face had grown only sharper, golden skin turning taught around a knife-like jaw, and yet still Seungcheol liked to think that he was the same.
They were stolen smiles and snatched notes and obscene jokes muttered during official meetings.
They were hopeless swordfights and unexchanged words and undefined loyalty.
They were the same Seungcheol and Wonwoo. Wonwoo and Seungcheol.
Seungcheol dreamed of him often.
Pretended he wasn't in love with him.
Pretended that they lived another life. That they were sailors or silver miners or maybe even simple commoners so that he could be free to love him.
The thing was, he couldn't even be sad about his misfortune to love a man that wasn't his to love. What person could be misfortunate if they had known and loved Wonwoo?
And how could he childishly wish for another life when perhaps this was his best one? He wouldn’t doubt it if it was.
He did miss his sleep though.
~
12 months to Summer
Spring was melting into summer. Tree buds were unfurling, the sun hesitated a few more moments before it sunk into the horizon, and they had moved into the Mirror Palaces a little earlier that year.
Seungcheol squinted up at the towering palace, unable to catch his breath. Nineteen summers, and yet still he couldn’t get used to the way the beach sun caught on the glass, birthing stars that rained down the smooth walls of the castle.
A breeze tousled the back of Wonwoo’s grayish hair, and Seungcheol watched as he ruffled it back with a large hand.
Ah, heaven. What a wonderful place it was.
“Your highness, wait!” he wheezed and quickly jogged forward to catch up as the gates opened, trying to swat his own hair out of his face.
Each hallway in the palace was crafted from blindingly delicate glass. Even the most vain princess would go delirious from seeing her face in every nook and cranny.
Seungcheol was going delirious from something else.
Taking mind-numbingly delicate steps. Over the past year, he’d gained a new fear of accidentally breaking the castle. Jeonghan (that devil) had been the one to bring it with an evil smile.
He was so miserable, he liked making others so too. But it was, unfortunately, a valid point.
What if he took the wrong step and years of history suddenly gave out under him?Whatever architect had chosen to make a whole multiple layer palace solely from glass was clearly a little stupid.
How could a man possibly enjoy his favorite summer villa (palace) if he was constantly scared of taking one wrong step and breaking it all?
Of course Wonwoo was somehow taking huge, earth shaking, paces and making absolutely no noise. Seungcheol couldn’t risk it. The prince would likely be forgiven, even if he shattered the king’s beloved summer house to shards.
Somehow, he doubted that he would be shown similar mercy.
As if sensing his thoughts, Wonwoo glanced back. His eyes drifted to his tiptoeing feet before his mouth suddenly bloomed into a squarish half smile.
Wonwoo didn’t smile like Seungcheol, with a full two rows of blinding teeth plus bright pink gums at the top. Wonwoo’s smile was a clever twist of the lips, and sometimes, if he was very happy, his teeth would peek out from between them.
His advisor loved it regardless.
Seungcheol stuck his tongue out, since it was just the two of them, but then almost crashed into the prince when they finally reached the correct door.
Wonwoo turned around, addressing the line of servants who were carrying their luggage and tottering after them like swan chicks. “You may be dismissed,” he rumbled. “I won’t need much help setting up.”
Seungcheol breathed a sigh of relief when they bowed and turned to walk away. It was a long walk to his rooms, and Wonwoo was not by any means a light packer, so maybe if he could just leave-
“No, hyung, you stay. I said I wouldn’t need much help, not none at all.”
Seungcheol always swore Wonwoo was an angel. Probably a fallen one, now that he thought about it.
“Hey-”
“Besides,” Wonwoo continued, unbothered, pushing his spectacles up his long nose. “Your quarters aren’t on the opposite side of the palace anymore.” He gestured at the door. “They’re connected to my suites now.”
Seungcheol gawped at him, opening his mouth and then closing it. Wonwoo stared back.
“Did you-did you order this?” Seungcheol asked. “Why?”
Wonwoo scratched his ear. “It seemed like you had to walk quite a bit.”
Nineteen years of friendship, and Seungcheol was still shocked by these gestures.
He imagined Wonwoo pleading in front of the bearded, looming emperor, and figured now was a good time get over his blushing and start being grateful.
“Your handsomest highness,” Seungcheol sang, bowing deeply as Wonwoo cackled. “Thank you for your generous philanthropy, saving me and my poor, short legs from the miles walk around this grand estate at the crack of dawn. My elderly joints are thanking you profusely.”
“All right, all right.” Wonwoo waved him off, swinging the iridescent door open. “You’ll still have to help me unpack, don’t forget your gratefulness just yet.”
“Don’t even worry about it, Wonwoo-yah!” Seungcheol exclaimed, giddily picking up all the luggage in his arms and following him inside, closing the door behind him with his foot. “Cheolie will do everything. ”
“Ah really?” Wonwoo collapsed on the plush bed with an exhale, still in his pale blue muslin shirt. He hummed a tune with a warm voice as Seungcheol began to arrange his silks into the wardrobe.
A breeze rushed through the open window, allowing the sunlight to play over his face. The sun was profuse and the skies were cloudless. Summer with Wonwoo was a beautiful, beautiful thing.
“Your voice is lovely,” Seungcheol said, arms bulging under the weight of the suitcase as he lifted it into the cupboard.
Wonwoo fell silent. Seungcheol frowned. “What?”
The prince watched him carefully. Seungcheol looked back at him, swallowing, before he snapped out of it.
“Nothing.” Wonwoo paused, before stammering. “You haven’t ever said that before.”
Seungcheol shrugged as he continued working, satisfied that there was nothing wrong. “Your highness has always had a great voice. I guess I just forgot to mention it.”
He heard Wonwoo settling back into the bed, sheets rustling. “Thank you.”
Seungcheol smiled, locking the doors of the cupboard before turning around to face the prince.
He groaned loudly, stretching, not noticing how Wonwoo was staring at him blankly from his place nestled in the pillows.
“So where are my new chambers, oh great prince?” he asked, stripping off his traveling coat.
“Over thither,” Wonwoo raised a lazy hand and pointed to a heavy curtain fixed into the wall. What? That can’t be the entrance? That’s too close? Maybe there’s a hallway.
Seungcheol frowned and walked towards it, shoving the drapes away. His eyes widened at the room directly connected to the main chambers (smaller than Wonwoo’s but large enough to swallow him whole).
“Wonu, this is awfully close to your room. I’m pretty sure that these are the consort’s chambers-”
“So?” Wonwoo’s voice sounded rushed, impatient as he sat up.
So, Seungcheol wanted to say. Being so close to you, even in the depths of night. Will I be able to stand sleeping in my room when you are so close by?
The whole irony of the consort’s chambers being connected to the prince’s was the unbearable, ridiculous proximity of it all.
What woman in love could separate herself from the object of her affections if she had the right to be with him at all times? This architect really was mad.
No wonder the rooms seemed so untouched. Seungcheol doubted they’d ever been used.
Of course, he’d have the right to touch Wonwoo when the sun turned silver. So, never.
But Wonwoo stared back at him, his gaze carefully aloof, and Seungcheol swallowed. He thought of his prince relocating his rooms just so he wouldn’t have to walk across the palaces, and reconsidered.
“Nothing,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t too high and wondering when they had become so awkward even after nineteen summers like this.
And also how in love he actually was to subject himself to this level of struggle.
He might as well walk half a village each day at four bells in the morning.
He wouldn’t even get to enjoy his vacations now, too preoccupied with how Wonwoo was so close , just separated by a curtain. So close that if he took a few steps he might be able to reach out a hand and touch his soft hair.
Seungcheol spent five more sleepless nights in the Mirror Palace, cursing a certain long-dead architect and feeling as if something was going to go very wrong.
~
Seungcheol’s eyes snapped open, before drooping again heavily. From the open curtains, it seemed as if even the early sun hadn't risen yet.
"Wake up, hyung!"
It was hissed like steam rushing from a tea kettle, so he quickly sat up groaning when bright yellow lamplight filtered into his eyes. And also because he had just hit his head on the wall.
"Minghao?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair to try and numb the dull pain. "What time is it? Why'd you wake me?"
His eyes drifted over the younger knight's broad shoulders to where the curtain was wide open. "I thought the prince’s room was off limits at night. How did you get in?"
Minghao made an exasperated sound. "That doesn't matter now. Get up hyung! Get up-" Minghao looped his arms underneath Seungcheol's and tried to bodily drag him out of the room.
"Wait, Hao, where’s his highness?"
"So many questions! He’d been woken up earlier.” Minghao crouched to look him in the eyes. “You need to see this, hyung."
Seungcheol would have gotten angry at the younger guard, but he knew how to read faces well after years of trying to discern Wonwoo's emotions.
Plus, no one could really get angry at Hao.
He didn't say another word and let himself be pulled out of his covers and up the stairs to the high balcony which wrapped the upper level of the throne room.
Some lovestruck king hundreds of years ago had built viewing pavillions above the throne room so his wife (or lover) could watch him as he presided over court. No expense had been spared in their luxury.
Seungcheol would have appreciated the shimmering silver detailing on the pillars if he wasn't suddenly on edge.
A sickly yellow lamp illuminated the high walls of the chamber, bouncing off the diamonds strung through the chandelier and sending stripes of pale white across the silver floors. Seungcheol raised his hand and tried to touch a column of light, watching as it danced across his skin, before his eyes caught something else.
On the opposite side of the balconies, guarded by knights, the concubines and royal consorts watched the scene below. All unbound hair, white painted faces, and pale pink ribbons shifting about in anxiousness.
Seungcheol swallowed and looked around again, trying to ignore the wailing sound suddenly pierced his ears.
The other princely advisors and higher class servants had crowded on this side, leaning over the railings and jostling each other to get the best view over the throne room below. They were all still in their silk night pants.
This wasn't a planned meeting.
"Hao, what's happening?" he whispered.
"Jeonghan hyung, let me through!" Minghao huffed, ignoring him and shoving himself through other curious men to get to the scion of the House of Yoon. The man turned around from his spot at the railing to look at them.
Seungcheol saw his beautiful angled face, and quickly bowed his head before he was pressed to the edge of the balcony by Minghao.
"Good morning to you, Choi," Jeonghan hummed, eyes lingering on his chest. Seungcheol suddenly realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt and cursed Minghao silently. Great heavens. He’d never live this down.
Delicately, he cleared his throat before looking away from Jeonghan’s gaze, hoping his face wasn't red.
"What's going on, Hao?" he repeated, hastily wrapping his arm around the younger's waist to stop him from jumping over the railings in his eagerness.
But he too could barely restrain himself from clambering onto them.
The throne room below was almost fully made of silver, with floors of glass and heavy pillars embedded with iridescent mirrors. Every spark of light was caught and bounced back.
It was mesmerizing.
It was the king's favorite palace.
"Haven't you heard?" Jeonghan purred before Minghao could, suddenly too close to his ear. "Our great emperor is-"
Seungcheol saw it before the other finished talking.
The corpse, covered in layers of white cotton, standing out starkly against the hazy gold throne room.
The emperor’s body was dressed upon a high silver pavillion that hadn't been there before.
His four sons gathered around it, heads bowed. They were draped in deep black formality and ruffled mourning coats. Seungcheol spotted Wonwoo's mussed silvery hair, feeling his heart jump into his throat with relief and greater concern at the same time.
It suddenly registered that the sound he had ignored earlier was the queen, who was splayed over her dead husband's chest, her dark hair dangling like cobwebs around her.
She was crying sickening, dry wails.
Dead.
Dead .
The Sun king was dead.
And the queen's cries bounced off the high walls and echoed in his ears.
Seungcheol's hand flew to his forehead, exhaling shakily. “The-the emperor,” He shuffled anxiously. “How?”
They had no great enemies who would dare try to sneak poison. And there had been no word of illness, not even amongst the sharp-eared maidservants.
"Do you hear that?" Jeonghan whispered, mouth still next to the advisor’s ear. The room shook with a silvery, chime-like sound. The pair of great bells that hung outside each of the many palaces of the king.
They were huge, but Seungcheol had barely ever heard them; they were saved for only significant occasions like coronations and ritual ceremonies.
The King was dead. It was significant enough.
All these years caught among royalty, and Seungcheol thought that maybe he had seen everything there was to see.
But there was so much more.
He closed his eyes and felt the sound wash over him. A hot flush spread out of his chest and down, down, down his legs. Seungcheol shivered.
If heaven had a sound, this would be it. It was as if the palace had snatched a symphony of angels and trapped them inside a hollow, empty cage of metal.
The bells rang twenty times, one for each of the years that old Jeon emperor had presided over the throne. The silence after seemed to usher everyone into movement.
Two of the princes shifted forward to lift their mother up from the dead King's body and allow her to lean on their shoulders. Even the bells, which could likely shake the kingdom, hadn't been able to mask her cries.
A third-the eldest-beckoned a shaking man from the rows of kneeling courtiers. The man was wearing deep blue robes. A scribe.
Wonwoo still stared at his father's body.
It makes sense, Seungcheol thought from the overlooking pavillion. They were always close. And even if they hadn't been, a father was always a father. They hadn't even prepared for this. The king was so young.
It shook him for a second. He kept on thinking "the old king" or "the dead king". But he wasn't old, and he certainly didn't seem close to death.
"Who is that?" Minghao hissed as the man dressed in indigo was escorted to the center of the rooms.
"Mmm," Jeonghan murmured, husky voice deepening, and Seungcheol shamed himself in his mind for finding someone so attractive during such a somber moment. "That is the man who has been assigned to read the king's final wishes. A Scribe Jung, I believe."
Seungcheol leaned in closer, watching as Scribe Jung cleared his throat softly. The court's murmurs milled on, a hundred men asking each other what would happen next.
Seungcheol thought they were about to find out.
Wonwoo finally looked away from his father. Let his eyes rake over the court and then tapped his foot on the glass floor.
Once.
Seungcheol flinched when the sound reverberated in rings. Ithad been so powerful, he was almost worried that the glass floors would shatter. The court fell silent. There was a brief moment before the man's voice was heard.
"My subjects, my sons, my wife.” The king must have had it written himself. “Here are my final wishes as Sun King of this Great Sun Kingdom."
The court inhaled a breath at once.
"That my youngest son, Prince Wonwoo, Duke of the 50 Villages, be my successor."
Silence.
Even a timid man's voice could be rendered thunderous by his words.
Seungcheol's mouth dropped open.
Minghao and Jeonghan gaped.
The conversation resurrected almost immediately after a dramatic death, delirious exclamations dispersed between the private whispers.
There must have been more written on the scroll. Scribe Jung attempted to continue, but without another man to birth silence for him, his words were swept away by a flood of protests.
The other three princes below all at once turned to look at their youngest brother. Jeon Wonwoo. The new king.
"But how?" Minghao cried, his voice ringing with all the others in Seungcheol’s ears. "He is the youngest. He should be last in line to the throne!"
Jeonghan swallowed, mouth twisting with a strangely knowing smile. "He had always been the king's favorite. Attended each session of the court, helped sign decrees, interacted with the villagers whenever he could."
And Seungcheol still couldn't speak. He’d been at the prince’s side for each of those terrible court sessions, handed him a quill for each decree, followed him as he talked to each villager. Hadn't known that as he walked behind his prince, they were on a path to the throne.
Wonwoo, who was even younger than him, and still staring at his father's open casket. Had he even heard the man who had reconstructed his future in a few words?
The white-bearded prime minister finally appeared to come to his senses. Seungcheol couldn't blame him for taking so long.
"SILENCE!" he roared, his hands flying up to behold the court. "ALL HAIL!"
A man that old with such command in his voice. Seungcheol wouldn't have been surprised if he became king. But Wonwoo?
All at once, the court dropped to their knees. “All hail the new king.” A sea of blue sinking: the scribes. Then the high ministers, in sacred red.
The green robed healers and the servants draped in brown. They all bowed in unison. "All hail the new king!" The chant sparked in the back, beginning with murmured whispers. Then the sparks caught on open fuel until the flame spread through the room.
“All hail the king!” A cult-like ringing of words.
Each pair of eyes alight with the yellow from the lamp, possessed faces glowing in candlelight.
All hail the king.
All hail the king.
Wonwoo was king.
All hail King Wonwoo of this Great Sun Kingdom.
The cursed bells rang. The desolate queen shrieked. The pale light cast ghostly shadows when the chandelier shook. The chanting continued until Seungcheol was sure he was either fever dreaming or going mad.
The advisors started to bow from the balconies. The concubines fell too, along with their sturdy knights.
Minghao quickly pulled Seungcheol down when he froze in shock.
His knees would bruise from the hard marble, but Seungcheol was too focused on the back of Wonwoo's head to flinch. All hail…King Wonwoo. The tenth Sun King. He tried saying it too, but it wouldn’t come out right.
Only the three brothers of Wonwoo and the new king himself remained standing. Seungcheol tried to catch his eyes, but Wonwoo instead looked back at the other princes.
These were the consort’s balconies. A hundred years ago, the king’s consort must have been looking at her beloved with similar fright while he commanded his court.
Seungcheol wasn’t Wonwoo’s consort, and his king wasn’t commanding a court. But he did love him, and he definitely was scared out of his wits.
"How is it possible?" asked one of the three princes, his voice rising above the din of chants. "I am eldest! The throne should be mine!"
A deep canyon of silence. Seungcheol’s hands shook at his side. They all waited for the king’s sharp counter.
"And yet," Wonwoo began, his voice thin like satin and calm as ever. "The throne has been passed on to me. It is not an object for possession, but the symbol of a duty that I will try my best to fulfill with grace."
Approval passed through the courtiers and high advisors. The noblemen began to nod, and the court scribe hastily got out of his bow to pen the words down in history. Wonwoo’s crisp voice seemed to silence even the queen’s cries. The throne has been passed onto me.
Seungcheol even shuddered. How had he been so calm?
"As of now, the kingdom shall enter a period of mourning. I will not hasten to make any decrees before dawn has even struck."
Wonwoo surveyed the room like a king, giving a quick, self-assured nod of his head before stalking out of the court. He was flanked with the old king's loyalest knights and guards.
"He didn't even sound shocked," Minghao cried, his words masked by the rising chatter once the doors shut. He turned to Seungcheol. "You're his companion. Did you know about this?"
Seungcheol gawped at the guard, opening his mouth and then closing it. "Before Wonwoo became king, I thought the sun would turn silver. Do you think I knew about this?"
Jeonghan picked up where Minghao left off. “You’ll have to advise the king. You’ll have to arrange meetings with domestic ministers and foreign allies and help him plot if we go to war-”
“Not now,” Seungcheol hissed, and yet his mind rushed. Advisor. He had to be an advisor. War? What would happen if they went to war?
"You know what will happen soon, right?" Jeonghan ignored him and continued in the gravest tone able for a man to muster. "The other three princes will contest the line of succession. It will be bloodshed."
Seungcheol glared at him despite himself because sometimes gorgeous, clever people did not have the best timing.
But he could see it already in his unwilling mind. Four quarreling sons of the king, dividing the provinces and peasant class, rallying support from villagers, moving their pawns and then battling for the throne.
A map of the Sun kingdom, splattered with Jeon blood.
Seungcheol gulped, before his head snapped up. “I’ve got to go,” he cursed, before turning around and racing down the stairs.
~
Seungcheol was in Wonwoo's chambers before the latter had even returned.
The door swung open with such violence that Seungcheol worried that it would shatter against the wall. Wonwoo entered, all intimidation, calmly locking it behind him before turning his gaze upon the older. Seungcheol stood, but didn’t walk towards him or say a word.
Like the way the open sun seemed to summon the clouds, sometimes one had to let people approach them first.
Wonwoo cleared his throat after waiting a minute. "Hyung. I've made a decision.”
Seungcheol had thought that maybe the prince would need consolation. A hug. A shoulder to lean and cry on. His father was dead. His mother was inconsolable. His kingdom was likely in upheaval, divided between himself and his brothers.
And instead of being allowed to mourn or process any of it for even a day, Wonwoo had the duties of the eldest dropped upon his shoulders.
Just because he was quiet didn't mean that he didn’t feel. Seungcheol knew this at least, even if every other part of his life had just been rearranged.
Maybe he was trying his best to be composed. Whatever respect he had for Wonwoo doubled (his heart was ready to burst). He knew for a fact that if it was him, he would be curled up in sobs in the middle of the throne room right then.
Seungcheol smiled a little. "Already thought of your first decree as king, I see?" he laughed, trying to get used to the way the word twisted in his mouth. King. King. It was unfamiliar. His King.
A hum. "I want you to move into the chambers next to mine once we get back to the Swan Castle."
Seungcheol’s smile dropped. He quickly stood up.
"Wonwoo-yah." he began, hoping that his voice wasn't raspy or rushed. "Those are traditionally the queen's private chambers."
Wonwoo stilled. "So? My mother will move to a different room anyway."
"So," Seungcheol continued, aghast. "Everyone will talk. The king has brought his advisor into the queen's chambers. What could they be plotting?”
"A lot of things, Seungcheol hyung."
"My pri-my King." he quickly corrected himself. "I cannot. Rumors-"
"Why are you suddenly so concerned about them?" Wonwoo interrupted, his tone mild but Seungcheol knew better when his hands turned white. "Do you not want to be associated with me? Your king?"
Seungcheol remained silent, trying to pretend that wasn't what he wanted most in life.
If he hadn't become king, Cheol could have had a chance. If he was still the youngest prince, he could have thought about confessing.
But now? There wasn't a chance in the great heavens. And he wasn't about to jeopardize Wonwoo's future because of his ridiculous feelings.
It wasn’t rumors he was concerned about. If it made Wonwoo happy, Seungcheol would let people badmouth him to his face, forget behind his back.
But men of the court had very basic natures: they were ready to deflect at the slightest perceived informality. Seungcheol wasn’t concerned about rumors. He was scared for his prince.
Saying all of this would be a mouthful though, so instead he replied with a “That’s not it, your highness.”
"Why are you so adamant about this then?" Wonwoo scoffed, peeling his ceremonial mourning jacket off. Seungcheol noticed it was a little big for him.
But then again, the king had been in perfect health.
It was all completely unexpected.
One day, they were gathered around the dining table. The next day, they were gathered around a corpse.
Seungcheol didn't answer again. Some questions didn’t have answers that mere mortals like him could channel into words.
Wonwoo turned around, combing a hand through his hair. "Hmm?" he repeated, but instead of sounding cold, he just sounded broken.
"Wonu-yah," Seungcheol sighed, finally stepping towards the younger because sometimes the sun could chase the clouds too, and in seconds Wonwoo had collapsed onto him, breathing raggedly into his bare shoulders.
Seungcheol bent down to carry him before sitting down on Wonwoo’s bed and rocking the younger back and forth, rubbing circles on his back.
“I’ve lost my father. My mother. My future, and likely my brothers too.” His voice was breathy, words spliced by soft gasps. “Hyung. I won’t scare you off too, right?”
Seungcheol didn’t know it was possible for one man to feel all the love and all the guilt in the world at the same time, and yet somehow his puny self had managed it. How could he ever have felt overwhelmed by his new duties? He would have Wonwoo next to him, all he ever needed.
On the other hand, in one night, his prince had lost everything and gained the greatest burden and still managed to tame a court full of possible defectors. Wonwoo cried silently. That didn’t mean Seungcheol wouldn’t wipe his tears.
“Yah,” Seungcheol whispered. “I haven’t left you for the past nineteen years. I’ve been surprised that you didn’t leave me, actually. You’ve got a wrestler’s grasp on me. Do you think I could possibly escape you now?” He felt Wonwoo smiling against his wet, tear-soaked throat and held him tighter than before. “I won’t leave you, Wonu, not ever. Before I leave you, the sun will turn silver.”
The windows were still open, so he could feel the cool dawn brushing against his bare back as the sun rose again. Blue twilight pressed into the room, and still he hugged him.
Somewhere along the unfolding morning, Wonwoo stopped crying, too exhausted from it all to stay awake.
When Seungcheol was certain he was asleep, he tenderly kissed his hands before stepping out of the bed.
As silently as he could, he removed Wonwoo’s curved shoes and covered his open feet with the sheets. Then, Seungcheol kneeled down next to the bed and waited until his prince’s eyelashes started to flutter again.
~
Even an exhausted mind in turmoil couldn’t draw much rest. Wonwoo was up again before the seventh gong rang post midnight. Seungcheol hadn't planned to stay after Wonwoo got a glimpse of him.
But when he made to get up, a large hand grasped his wrist, and with a surprising amount of strength for a prince who had been practically pooling in his own tears, Wonwoo had tugged Seungcheol back to the edge of the bed.
The side of his mouth quirked up in a tired greeting as Seungcheol stammered. “Good morning,” he murmured, shoving his glasses on, and god if his sleep addled voice didn’t drive Seungcheol mad. “I suppose the maid has been standing outside the door for a good hour now, waiting to hear my voice-”
Swish . Seungcheol’s head swung around, and he spotted the note that had been slid underneath the door. Wonwoo groaned as he sat up, letting go of his hand, and Seungcheol tried not to imagine the warmth it left behind, sparking on his skin.
No, no, now was not a time to be ridiculously attracted to a prince, soon to be king. Wonwoo was mourning for goodness sake. His father was dead.
He scrambled forward to read the note. We’re leaving at twelve bells on the Imperial Carriage back to the Swan Castle. Wear your mourning robes and pin this over your heart. Seungcheol picked up the gold-encrusted crown pin that had come along with the paper.
Images of the eldest prince-Wonjae-wearing it flashed through his mind. Had it been snatched from him? Willingly given?
“Y-your highness. Your majesty?” he paused, confused at which one to pick before going with “We’re heading back to the Swan Castle. The formal mourning robes need to be taken out.”
Wonwoo’s face shuttered again, and Seungcheol turned to go back into his own room, determined to give the crown prince some space. He had just drawn the curtains aside when, “Cheol. Don’t leave.”
“But, your highness, you need to be dressed-”
Wonwoo shook his hand dismissively. “My first day of wearing the crown prince’s robes. I don’t have much of a say in any of this, but I can dress myself.”
Seungcheol swallowed, looking down at his shirtless self with pajama pants. “Your highness, I have to dress myself too.”
Wonwoo turned around to look at him skeptically, making an odd picture with his ruffled hair and wrinkled black dress shirt. “What’s with you suddenly calling me ‘your highness’? You only use formal titles when we’re around other people.”
Seungcheol opened his mouth, before chewing on the inside of his cheeks. “Uh. I don’t know. You’re going to be king, so I thought now was a good time to start being formal.”
“Well don’t.” Wonwoo replied shortly, standing up. “Every other part of my life has changed. I’ll be ‘King Wonwoo the Mad’ if you get caught up with customs too.”
Seungcheol exhaled shakily. Right. Right . He tried to make a joke to ease the tension. “Well, you won’t be King Wonwoo at all if you and I both don’t get dressed.”
It misfired. Wonwoo rubbed his eyes, facing away from him. “I think I’d prefer that.”
Seungcheol softened, approaching the taller prince again before gently (and without permission), brushing a strand of hair off his face. It surprised both of them; Seungcheol was by nature a touchy person, but tradition forced him to ask before even poking the younger.
“You will do a great job. Your father,” Wonwoo flinched at the reminder. “he chose you for a reason, didn’t he?”
Wonwoo met his eyes. Then, chuckling drily, pressed his forehead against Seungcheol’s broad shoulder.
Seungcheol dropped the brooch into Wonwoo’s fingers, before patting the back of his head and humming. “Now let’s put all my ceremonial robe training to work.”
~
Apparently, one brush of the hair was all it took for Wonwoo to become touchy too. Otherwise, the carriage ride back was quiet.
The wheels rolled smoothly, even on unpaved gravel streets, which was a foreign sensation to Seungcheol. He had always been used to the (sometimes not so) gentle rocking of a carriage. But Wonwoo’s normal chariot, his chariot for nineteen years, had been swapped with the eldest prince’s.
It made his advisor feel strangely homesick.
Somewhere along the way, stuck in an unfamiliar chariot and surrounded by multiple cushions to choose from, Wonwoo had instead fallen asleep on Seungcheol’s shoulder, his feet propped up on the plush velvet seats.
He must have been exhausted from waving at all the gathered villagers. The pin that pierced through his robes glinted in the afternoon sunlight. Not that it needed to be there, in all its crown shaped glory. Everybody already knew the moment they had seen him in the crown prince’s carriage.
The brothers had never been close enough to ride in the same chariot.
But were they so unfamiliar that they would incite rebellion over a throne?
Seungcheol swallowed uncertainly, forcing himself to look out the window at the passing villages so he wouldn’t focus on the snoring man on his shoulder. The way his hand curled around Seungcheol’s bicep for support. Or the way the sun had emerged to watch them too and spun Wonwoo’s skin into melted gold.
~
Truth be told, most of the pre-coronation festivities didn’t register in Seungcheol’s mind. The traditional ceremonies felt rushed. Everyone was on edge.
It had happened as soon as possible to avoid whispers of rebellion stirring amongst the commoners. The sooner the masses had a king, the less likely they were to support any other hopeful. Call them simpletons, but Seungcheol could appreciate their loyalty to an emperor if it happened to be Wonwoo.
The noblest House of the Yoons were, of course, closest to the throne, looking a little antsy because their hold over the crown had suddenly weakened. Among them was Jeonghan, in a long silver suit and looking less worried than the rest of them.
After them, there were representatives from each of the seven provinces, all dressed in varying shades of gray. The rest of the courtroom was a jarring mix of lower nobility, various ministers of treasury and livelihood, and a few symbolic commoners too.
Everyone was dressed in the color of the Sun Kingdom’s silver-rich mines. For tradition’s sake, the scribes were still in blue, the healers in green, and the servants in brown, but they lingered in the shadows.
An empty space was left in the throne room for the dead king’s spirit. Seungcheol noticed Wonwoo’s eyes constantly drifting to it.
He would have loved nothing more than to distract him.
Maybe a compliment about how the traditional deep violet color of his robes suited his bright complexion. Or how the glinting gold embroidery spun onto his cape brought out the warmth in his eyes. Perhaps a confession of how beautiful he looked.
But then the trumpets were blaring. The sun priests chanted hymns from ancient tablets. And the prime minister, with murmured prayers, was sliding the glinting crown on Wonwoo’s head.
From his position near the side of the hall, Seungcheol saw his eyes close when the cool metal slid down his temple.
The Swan Bells, the largest set in the Kingdom, were ringing. They shook the palace three times (one for peace, one for prosperity, and one for benevolence: the motto on the Jeon family crest) before Wonwoo sat down with measured movements, hands resting on the sides of the throne.
He exhaled.
Seungcheol wanted to send him a smile of affirmation. Only he knew how much Wonwoo had practiced under heavy layers of satin, with books stacked on his head, for the past few days so that he wouldn’t trip under the long cape. So that his neck wouldn’t sink under the weight of the crown.
In the royal hall of emperors, Seungcheol had seen portraits of kings who chose to stare gracefully at the heavens, or ones that preferred to leer down at throne room. Wonwoo was looking straight ahead, face framed by the skylight.
It was the brightest day in the year. Even the sun had arrived in its full glory to watch its child be crowned.
“All hail King Wonwoo of the vast Sun Kingdom!” The minister thundered. Like practiced servants, the entire court fell to their knees at once, right fist crossed over heart.
For one single moment, Wonwoo’s gaze darted towards him, and Seungcheol beamed.
From the side of his view he spotted the royal painter making furious strokes on his canvas, and made a note to make sure that he had brought out the fiery color in his King’s eyes.
~
9 Months to Summer
The heat was unbearable. Disgustingly sticky, with beads of sweat clinging to his skin. Seungcheol tugged at the high collar of his advisor’s cape, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out. They were a kingdom known for silver, swans, and abundant sunlight, not deserts of heat.
“And we’ll need to redirect the freshwater coming in from these two streams in the Sol Mountains,” Wonwoo said, looking unbothered by the fact that it felt like a steaming kiln in the room.
Seungcheol nodded, quickly marking an ideal path on the map with red ink. It immediately smudged from the heat, leaking and spreading into the parchment. “But whatever streams we redirect into unprotected areas are going to be seized by Wonjae’s mercenaries,” he noted, watching Wonwoo chew his lip. “They can follow the water to our hidden mines as well.”
A concerned pause. “Wait,” Wonwoo said. “Not if we have them run through the sun farms. Those are defended diligently by the imperial army.”
Jeon Wonjae had left the court a few sunsets after Wonwoo’s coronation, apparently to seek “greater knowledge” in the Northern Kingdoms where Minghao came from.
The guard later told him that there were murmurs from his homeland. Apparently, a certain prince was gathering popularity amongst violent mercenaries instead of old monks. Sure enough, Wonjae had been spotted near a military outpost in the Sol Mountains with his band of merry soldiers, almost certainly planning a coup.
The kingdom had been on high alert since.
The other two princes were slightly more gracious, neither outrightly planning an overthrow and both opting to continue living in the Swan Palace. Wonwoo made sure to keep an eye on them too. Another change: they had begun to conduct weekly meetings on domestic affairs with the high ministers and advisors.
If Seungcheol didn’t hate his King’s eldest brother so much, he might have actually thanked him for a break from mind-numbing court proceedings. From the guards that suddenly seemed to lurk all around them.
And also for being able to see Wonwoo in a dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and all focused in like he was playing those strategy games they used to when they were children. But ten times more attractive.
“Your Majesty,” the minister of domestic affairs piped up, looking flushed. Seungcheol didn’t know if it was from the heat or not. “Word is-”
“Word from whom?” Wonwoo asked shortly. Courtiers had a tendency to believe rumors easily. Seungcheol wondered sometimes how they were trusted with the kingdom if they were so fickle.
“Word from various outlets of our spies,” The minister’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Is that Wonjae is gaining power. The tribes living near the Sol Mountains, who are independent of both our nations, might join his movement soon.”
“Your Majesty, ministers, if I may,” Seungcheol interrupted. “Those tribes are historically tied to us. Amongst your first decrees after being crowned was to protect their independence. It’s doubtful that they will willingly join-”
The minister stood up, even more flushed, and Seungcheol determined that no, it was definitely not the temperature when he spluttered, “How could you doubt the word of our loyalest, most dutiful-”
“Kim-ssi.” Wonwoo cut in coolly, though his eyes seemed humored. “Let us not interrupt each other.”
“I wasn’t doubting our minister or his spies,” Seungcheol continued, calming himself down so he wouldn’t throttle Minister Kim. “But the tribes likely won’t join willingly. They will be overpowered and assimilated by force.”
Wonwoo hummed. “We will talk about this at a later date. For now, you are dismissed,” Seungcheol stood up, bowing at each of the ministers as they left the room before turning to go himself.
“Hyung, you stay behind.”
Seungcheol whined before collapsing back into his seat. It was so hot in this godforsaken room. Maybe now that the courtiers were gone, Wonwoo wouldn’t mind if he removed the jacket that seemed intent on suffocating him.
“You really helped a lot on today’s meetings,” Wonwoo said, turning a pale red at the cheekbones. Seungcheol smiled at the compliment, unbuttoning his coat and not noticing the blush.
Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Anyway, the ministers were advising me a few weeks ago that it might be time to make alliances. So I was thinking, how about a ball? We could invite the royal family from Northern Kingdoms.”
Seungcheol ripped off his jacket, tossing it carelessly towards the floor, and looked back, only to find Wonwoo hacking his throat out.
“Wonu-yah! Are you-”
Wonwoo waved him off, coughing into his elbow, and pointed. Seungcheol frowned.
What?” he said, sinking into his armchair and fanning himself. “My jacket? It’s just us now. Don’t tell me that you care about my robes too.”
“Your-your shirt,” Wonwoo managed.
Seungcheol glanced down. Of course, the thin fabric was soaked through with sweat. “Well, that’s got to be obvious, Wonu. You can’t have this palace feel like the center of a torch and then expect my body to stay cool.”
A pause. “As I was saying,” Wonwoo continued, voice rougher than before, gaze still lingering. “I was thinking about a dinner and dance for the royalty of the Northern Provinces.”
Seungcheol tilted his head, staring at the table and tapping his fingers. “Why a dance? Why not just a meeting near a military outpost?”
He thought he’d felt Wonwoo’s dark eyes on his chest when he’d looked away, but as he glanced back, the king was spinning a quill anxiously between his fingers. “Well, because, I’ve been thinking about what the minister of foreign affairs said.”
Seungcheol’s smile dropped.
( “They have a daughter!”
An adjustment of the spectacles. “So?”
“So, you are young, your majesty! And newly coronated. Your citizens love you,and by all means, you are a wonderful suitor.”
A quill clattered against the marble desk, dropped by a suddenly wide-eyed advisor.
Ignoring him, the conversation continued. “You’re insinuating that I should propose a marriage alliance between myself and the Princess?”
“I’m insinuating that you should think about it!”)
“Oh,” Seungcheol whispered, the memory ringing in his ears. He stiffened for a second before standing up and grabbing his robes, hoping that he wasn’t too easy to read. But he couldn’t bear to sit in this stuffy room anymore. “Great idea, your majesty.” He didn’t notice Wonwoo observing him confusedly.
Seungcheol gave a quick, short bow before running a hand consciously through his hair and turning around.
Wonwoo frowned, hands curling into fists on the table. “I haven’t dismissed you yet.”
Seungcheol scowled from where he thought the younger couldn’t see him before turning back. “Oh?”
“You must be very excited to see your friends,” Wonwoo observed mildly, jaw twitching. “Minghao and-and the eldest son of the Yoons.”
Seungcheol jutted his jaw out. “I am.”
“But your shirt’s practically transparent,” his king said. “Put your robes back on.” He paused, face deep in thought. “It’s okay around me, but-”
“No, it’s fine your majesty.” Seungcheol grimaced, shrugging the coat on around his shoulders.
His king-no-the king was always proper like that.
He would, of course, need a proper consort. Not Seungcheol, who picked fights with disgruntled ministers and couldn’t bear the heat of an oven without stripping his ceremonial robes off. Not Seungcheol, who would be proper only if the sun turned silver.
He made sure to “accidentally” slam the door on the way out.
~
He found Minghao once his shift ended, and they met Jeonghan near the Imperial Swan Gardens.
“A royal ball?” Jeonghan muttered, scratching his chin. After Wonjae had basically betrayed the crown, Jeonghan seemed to be a much less abrasive person in general, which was nice. “But that means an almost certain marriage alliance.” They still needed to work on the whole timing thing though.
Minghao was normally not much of a talker, a fact Seungcheol was slowly coming to appreciate. So instead of repeating the obvious, he wrapped his slender arms around Seungcheol’s body and pressed his head onto his shoulder, hair ruffling with the breeze.
Seungcheol smiled sadly and leaned in as well, stroking the younger guard’s hand.
“S’okay hyung. Sometimes things really don’t work out. I never wanted to be a guard, but it was the only job open for a man who left the North Provinces.”
Seungcheol hummed sadly. “I mean, I’ve had nineteen whole years to prepare. I don’t think he loves me back anyway, so I shouldn't be this shocked and I know it. Besides, the moment he became king, I vowed to myself to never confess. But the coronation just-” He bit his lip, shuddering as he imagined a laughing Wonwoo with some vaguely beautiful, doe-eyed princess.
“The coronation just distracted me from everything.” He deflated, because curse him if he was a little dramatic. The love of his life was about to romance a complete stranger in front of him.
“I know she’ll be better for him anyway. Almost anyone would be better than me. But it’s not even jealousy. I’m just scared. Even without having my love returned, I could still spend time with him. With a wife at his arm?” Seungcheol’s head dropped into his hands. “Wonwoo-his majesty-is all I’ve ever known.”
“I thought you were competitive.” Minghao cried. “If anything, you should be competitive now. Confess, to him! Do it, hyung!”
Seungcheol was a coward. Seungcheol was scared. Seungcheol was a fool.
Jeonghan stopped pacing furiously and approached the youngest with crazed eyes. “Yah! What was your princess’ name again?”
Minghao frowned, pulling away. “Uh, uh, oh right! Princess Yi!”
Jeonghan snapped his fingers, leaning back on the gazebo. “Right. Well let Princess Yi try and have at our king. We’ll make sure that Wonwoo doesn’t even think about her the whole night, Cheol hyung.”
Seungcheol stared at the younger like he was the Sun deity come to life, chariot of swans and everything. He might have been in love with Wonwoo, but he was very in love with Jeonghan.
“You don’t have to do this,” he muttered, curling in a little bit. “Not for my stupid feelings.”
Minghao sat up. “Are you kidding, hyung? When I arrived here from the Northern Provinces, you were the one that got me a job in the palace. And found a Northern teacher that taught finer arts in my dialect so I could work towards being an artist instead.”
Jeonghan glanced and Seungcheol and then looked away. “I am perfectly aware that I was a devil before all of this.”
“You still are,” Minghao cut in.
Jeonghan flashed him a glare. “But, Seungcheol hyung talked to me anyway. God knows, the parts of the day when I could have intelligent conversation with you were a welcome excuse from Wonrat or whatever his name was.”
He sniffed, nose scrunching. “And I know you have a devastating crush on me,” He winked. “But you’ve always called me smart or clever and seemed to see through my face. So I appreciate that. You’re like the last good soul in this palace.”
Seungcheol placed his palms on his warm cheeks, thoughts about Wonwoo suddenly resting on a less fiery flame. “Wow. I might just marry one of you guys.”
Jeonghan scoffed. “It’ll be me, of course.”
Minghao gasped and pressed his nose into Seungcheol’s throat. “Don’t lie hyung, you find my accent very attractive don’t you?”
Jeonghan huffed out a breath. “Yeah, sure. When the sun turns silver, he’ll go mad over it.”
~
It might have been better if Seungcheol had first seen Wonwoo at the ball.
If he hadn't been the one to press the glinting diamonds into the hollows of Wonwoo’s ear. If he hadn't had to straighten out Wonwoo’s violet vest or elaborate black dress shirt. If he hadn't had to sit back and watch Wonwoo’s blue eyes sparkle when a servant brushed a deep powder onto his eyelids.
He’d even removed his beloved glasses.
Everywhere he looked, he imagined dainty princess hands touching. The lapel of his coat, the buttons on his shirt, the soft skin of his jaw- no, Seungcheol, snap out of it .
A pale purple rose was left behind too. And Seungcheol, of all people, had to press the flower into the collar of the king’s cape. It would be gone by midnight, he assumed, and imagined Wonwoo’s long, pale fingers plucking the stem tactfully and handing it to the Princess. She would probably hear wedding bells immediately.
Anyone would, if a king with even half of Wonwoo’s beauty did such a thing.
Oh well. Seungcheol preferred sunset lilies anyway. Any flower would be your favorite if the king gave it to you.
“Aren’t you getting dressed?” Wonwoo had murmured, looking at him expectantly once he was prepared. “Or are you just going to dress like that?” He had a small smile playing on his mouth, one that the older could barely return.
“Later,” Seungcheol replied, unable to meet the pale blue eyes that brightened the king’s face. “Princess Yi’s guards and yours are forming your protection unit together today, at least until you meet her. I doubt I’ll be able to follow you.”
“Meet me in the hall once you’re there then,” came the quick response.
Seungcheol bit the inside of his lip, unable to calm down the heart in his chest which whispered to just tell him how handsome he was . “I’m not sure I’ll be very soon, your majesty. My rooms are on the other side of this castle.”
He was hoping to avoid Wonwoo altogether, actually. Was he the sun and Wonwoo the clouds? Was that what his past self really thought? Well, sometimes the sun hid behind mountains.
They stood in silence for a few seconds. Wonwoo still had that expectant look about his face, as if he was waiting for Seungcheol to say something. Unconsciously, he fingered the upper hem of his cape near the rose, and Seungcheol felt cold eyes searching his own confusedly.
Seungcheol wouldn’t meet them. Tell him. Tell him! At least gush over his blue eyes or something even if you don’t outright confess. He was scared.
Maybe the King was expecting a good luck or a pep talk and tips for wooing his first princess. But he wouldn’t want to waste Wonwoo’s time with half-hearted words. His majesty’s guards were already waiting silently outside the door.
When he deemed enough quiet had happened. Seungcheol bowed, his long hair fanning out in front of his eyes so he couldn’t see the look on Wonwoo’s face anymore. Turning around, he grasped at the door and slipped out silently.
Maybe I should have congratulated him on the marriage alliance that’s probably inevitable from the moment Princess Yi lays her eyes on him. Seungcheol thought once the doors closed, awkwardly shuffling through the crowd of waiting guards. Maybe I’ve made it obvious now. I should have just looked happy for him. My best friend, finally being able to love someone like I’ve loved him all this time.
He frowned. Hyung, I thought you were competitive . Minghao’s voice had been firm. Maybe, maybe he could be.
On the other side of the door, Wonwoo’s face settled back into a frown. “He wasn’t even dismissed yet.”
~
Seungcheol was having his character arc moment. He could feel it.
Jeonghan had pretty much gone crazy on his hair until it was all floaty and soft. Minghao (who was surprise! -extremely prolific in fashion) had brought in a pale blue shirt to wear under a luxurious white satin cape. And Jeonghan had even got his hands on (brazenly stolen) a palette of deep blue colors to darken his eyes.
When they reached the ballroom, it was alight with pleasant chatter. High nobility from both the kingdoms were invited. Everybody seemed satisfied that at last , three months after the King had passed, the monarchy and all its vices were back in full form. Making laws and helping citizens was fun and all, but nothing spoke more to the Jeon Empire than grand old dances in the Swan Palace Ballroom.
The silver chandelier sent diamonds of light onto glinting dresses. “Are you sure this’ll be okay?” Seungcheol began nervously from the side of the room, tapping the heel of his shoes on the marble floor.
“Okay? You’re with us, hyung,” Minghao declared, leaning on a pillar. “Besides, the princess has a brother. Maybe you can try and seduce him even if tonight doesn’t work.”
Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan were invited. Minghao was not , but they’d managed to somehow sneak him into the invite list anyway. Seungcheol only hoped no one noticed.
“Yeah, sure, when the silver sun shines upon us.” Seungcheol huffed. “I couldn’t even seduce the man whom I’ve been with for nineteen years now.”
“I don’t see his majesty yet,” Jeonghan whispered. “I’m waiting for him to see us to do it.”
“Do what?” Seungcheol asked, but before Jeonghan could respond, a hush blanketed the whole room.
The grand, ceiling-high doors flew open, and flanked by Northern Guards and the Imperial Generals alike, the King and Princess Yi walked in.
“Her brother didn’t come,” Minghao grumbled, but the princess was more than enough for the both of them.
The moment he saw her, Seungcheol knew it was all over. Competitive? Sure. But he wasn’t delirious.
Princess Yi was, by all means, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her face was the color of pale snowflakes. The sleeves of her ballgown shimmered like ice, small silver embellishments trailing down the gray dress under it blended into blue near the hem. And, to top it all off quite literally, there was a dainty little tiara resting on the top of her (probably feather soft) black hair.
She was a fairytale.
Why were there so many attractive people around him? Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Minghao, now Princess Yi. If Wonwoo valued looks at all, he wouldn’t give anyone else a second glance.
“King Wonwoo and Princess Yi will start off our first dance of the night!” trumpeted the eagerly flushed prime minister. “In honor of our hopefully long-lasting alliance, we shall first dance to a ballad from the Northern Provinces.”
Everyone cheered even as Seungcheol groaned. If the people loved something more than a royal ball, it was a royal marriage. And with the look of these two, a royal marriage was almost certain.
“Oh well,” he sighed. “The whole point of all of this,” he gestured to himself. “Was so I could try and start getting over him anyway. You both just gave me false hope.”
But Jeonghan had a look on his face Seungcheol didn’t like.
The orchestra began to play some delicately icy tune on their strings, and Minghao gasped, grabbing Seungcheol’s hands. “Hyung. Hyung! I know this one!”
Maybe some dancing would help lift his spirits.
“Good. Go out there.” Jeonghan gestured (shoved) Seungcheol and Minghao towards the center of the room. “Let him get barely a glimpse of Cheol. Then we’ll be in business.”
A business of what, Seungcheol couldn’t tell.
~
Other than clothes, Minghao was somehow also strangely prolific in dancing? His slender body was built for it anyway, but he seemed confident in the steps too, guiding Seungcheol when his feet began to stumble.
But at this proximity, Seungcheol saw the tears in Minghao’s eyes, sparkling in the silver light.
“You miss your home,” he realized, swallowing. “I’m sorry, Hao. I shouldn't have dragged you here in the first place, near the princess and all this music.”
“No, no.” Minghao sniffed. “I wanted to come. I’m just getting like this because the sound-” he swallowed. “It’s so beautiful. When I was younger we had smaller village dances. There would always be this one farmer, to play this song on a rusty old guzheng. I suppose this group of strings has given the music its true life.”
Seungcheol frowned, spinning Minghao slightly when he slowed down. “True life? Even with all these fancy instruments, you remember the magic of the man and the guzheng. Your village deserved this ballad as much as this ballroom does.” Seungcheol smiled. “And I think I would have enjoyed myself a lot more there than here anyway.”
They danced in silence for a moment. “You’re a good hyung,” Minghao murmured, and Seungcheol dipped him, feeling his chest turn warm with fondness.
“I know.” he grinned cheekily. “I found a training program for guards that’s taking you straight to the Northern Provinces. Near the art district. It’s pretty close to your old village too, if I wasn’t reading that map upside down.”
He laughed at Minghao’s wildly flushed look, and pulled him back in after a final swoop in the music. He’d forgotten how it felt to have those words spoken so warmly to him. Hyung. You’re a good hyung . For the first time in a long time, he felt like one.
Seungcheol hadn't realized how much Wonwoo’s coronation and distance had affected him.
“I agree with Jeonghan hyung for once,” Minghao admitted, bowing to Seungcheol after the dance. “You deserve so much better.”
Jeonghan finally stepped out from the shadows, smirking at the both of them. “Good job, knight. I didn’t know you had it in you, but you really made Seungcheol-ah look happy. That’s got our dear king looking a little upset.”
Minghao huffed offendedly and Seungcheol scrunched his nose, trying not to glance at the upset king .
“I thought I was going to try and get over Wonwoo tonight, right?”
Jeonghan shrugged nonchalantly. “Of course, of course.” He pointed to himself. “I get the next dance.”
~
It was a slower piece this time. There was a pause in between the two melodies as the orchestra prepared.
Wonwoo had opted to dance with the princess again. Don’t look at him , Jeonghan had said. Of course it was only moments before Seungcheol sneaked a glance across the ballroom.
Wonwoo was glaring back at him, jaw set. The anger was even more evident when his glasses were off, with nothing obstructing his eyes. Ah. That wasn’t good.
His cape still had the flower tucked into it. Seungcheol tilted his head. At his side, the princess’ hands were interlaced with his own. When his gaze returned to the younger king’s face, Wonwoo’s eyes were still locked onto him. Seungcheol quickly bowed to get respite from them.
“Stop looking at him,” a voice hissed, and Seungcheol startled.
“Han!” he whispered back. “When did you get here?”
Jeonghan adjusted his dark black hair, sparkling with diamonds now that he was finally out of the shadows. The satin of his wine colored tailcoat shifted in the silver light when he moved.
Delicately, he pulled on shimmering dancing gloves before staring blankly at Seungcheol through his long lashes.
“You look very handsome,” Seungcheol admitted, suddenly giggly. “Like a dark angel.”
Jeonghan looked away with fake timidity, gloved hand covering his flushed face. When he looked back, his hair curled enchantingly around his slender throat.
“Your king heard that,” he laughed, twirling his hand through a lock of hair, eyes locking onto something behind Seungcheol’s shoulder.
Seungcheol himself didn’t look. He didn’t think he could bear watching the princess and the king again.
The first trills of the second dance were played. Crowds assembled excitedly at the edges of the ballroom while a few giggly dancers filled the center.
“Well aren’t you going to kiss my hand?” Jeonghan sniped, his eyes still darting to Wonwoo. “I might not be the king, but I am from high nobility, and so are you.”
Seungcheol grasped his silky hand and pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles, lips lingering.
Blazingly , he remembered kissing a sleeping prince’s hand like this once, what felt like years ago. That prince was a king now, a king who would be married soon.
He watched Jeonghan, whose high cheekbones glittered with some sort of magical silver dust, and his tongue grew heavy inside his mouth.
Forget him. I have to forget him.
He thought he could feel angry eyes boring into the back of his collar, but it was probably imagined. Wonwoo was preoccupied.
“Grab my waist,” came the hushed suggestion, and Seungcheol obeyed, grasping a thin wrist with the other hand.
The piece began with a high note, the sound twisting and turning like the dancers who swayed across the room.
Jeonghan’s large cape swung out behind him like a ballgown when he twirled, and yet it seemed like whenever he had to pull away from Seungcheol’s arm, he was back in a second. Almost stuck to him.
Around and around and around . It was trancelike. The music was a hundred stars, twinkling above them and maneuvering them like puppets. It deepened and widened and turned shrill, dangling them from dancing strings.
He wanted to watch Wonwoo dancing.
FORGET HIM.
Seungcheol glued his eyes to Jeonghan’s and kept them there. They danced and danced and danced, swinging around the ballroom until they were gliding. Gliding on the floors until they flew.
This wasn’t the customary second dance. He knew it the moment he saw Minghao slipping something shiny to the conductor of the orchestra. A quick nod between them, and the music sheets changed. It didn’t matter . It was his favorite song.
It struck Seungcheol that he felt happy. For the first time in a long time, he felt happy. He was wading in happiness.
The beginning of the piece cut off. A slower movement began.
He was tugged close to Jeonghan, and exhaled as the lights dimmed to match the music.
Seungcheol said something. Jeonghan laughed, his eyes darting over his shoulder again to something (someone) that lay beyond them.
Maybe Seungcheol was being watched. He didn’t care. It probably wasn’t Wonwoo, so he didn’t care. This was magical. He licked his chapped lips, watching Jeonghan’s skin shine and letting the younger noble drag him around the floor, closer and closer and closer .
Then, unexplainably, Wonwoo and the Princess were next to them again even though they were supposed to be on the opposite side of the ballroom. Somehow, Wonwoo had stepped through a gap in the dancers.
His mood dimmed.Seungcheol couldn’t look at them. He HAD TO not look at them.
Jeonghan rested his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder, probably reading his thoughts and taking pity. “We’re this deep into this dance. Pay me a compliment,” he whispered, breath rushing up the older man’s throat.
Seungcheol thought about it for a moment as they continued to sway. He was about to make a shallow comment about beauty, before stopping himself.
Jeonghan , who had spent so much time on his hair, and made jokes until Seungcheol stopped crying, tied him back together and distracted him when he was at his lowest. Who was dancing with him and making him happy again after so long.
Just because the love of his life was about to marry someone else didn’t mean that he could be so shallow.
“You are,” he began softly. “You’re a wonderful person, Hannie. The most beautiful man ever. You’re so, so smart, and you care so much even if you try not to show it. I always appreciate-”
With a start, Jeonghan removed his head from Seungcheol’s shoulder. For a moment, Seungcheol panicked and thought he’d said too much, but then he realized that the younger had simply migrated to his other shoulder.
The shoulder closer to Wonwoo, who had physically stiffened.
Seungcheol could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. Maybe the princess had said something mean? But she looked like a goddess incarnate. Were goddesses mean to men who looked like gods?
And then Seungcheol panicked again. Because Jeonghan’s lips were right next to his ear, blowing hot air down his neck. “Hyung,” he laughed breathily. “I asked for a compliment, not a love confession.”
Despite this, the back of Jeonghan’s neck was flushed. “Hannie-” he began, voice teasing.
“You should see how he’s looking at us,” Jeonghan interrupted, leaning away when the music started to pick up again and masked his voice. “It’s just as I planned.”
The musicians were rushed, furious eyes darting as the composition sped up.
Seungcheol’s eyes popped even as he twirled the younger quickly to match the tempo of the orchestra. “Planned? What are you-”
“Hyung, I’ve been thinking,” Jeonghan started loudly. “You’d look very nice with a silver band on your finger.”
Despite himself, Seungcheol sensed that Wonwoo was slowing down in his dance despite the quick pace of the music. Listening to them. Maybe Jeonghan was right.
Seungcheol glanced at his hand on Jeonghan’s waist.
It did seem a little empty actually, especially when he had large silver earrings and his coat was so intricate.
“I have just the thing,” Jeonghan continued, voice far more piercing than his normal purr. “It’s an ancestral ring, and it’s got some old Yoon dynasty diamonds on it. You should let me put it on you sometime.”
It was an offer. A silver ring on the middle finger meant, to the higher class, that he was an advisor to a certain family. It was a dynasty claim. He’d never gotten one from the royal family, since his position was basically cemented in stone.
Seungcheol laughed as he twirled him. Even he got this one.
“What are you trying to do, scare him?” he chuckled, voice quiet so only Jeonghan could hear. “Do you think he’ll be anxious that you are going to take me as an advisor or something? Hannie, I’ve been working with him too long for him to be threatened. The sun isn’t silver.”
Maybe a part of him hoped that Wonwoo would feel threatened. Seungcheol would feel threatened. But Seungcheol was a fool and very much in love. The worst combination for a man who was supposed to abide by reason.
The final movement started, rushed notes overlapping each other.
Seungcheol grasped Jeonghan tighter. Wonwoo did the same to the princess. They danced. They glided. They flew. They soared.
And spun and spun and spun.
“Doesn’t have to be on the middle finger,” Jeonghan pondered, voice purposefully reverberant.
The violin’s pitch turned high. Wonwoo’s eyes caught onto their locked hands.
“I can put it on the ring finger too.”
It managed to echo even above the crescendoing sound of the strings.
Seungcheol choked, almost running into a pillar.
From the other side of the ballroom, gasps arose when Wonwoo fumbled as well, his shoes slipping on the marble floor. In the last second, he twirled the princess around to protect her, and straightened up. Just in time to dip her down in a dramatic bow.
A cacophony of gasps.
Then raucous applause. The concertmaster wiped sweat from his brow. No one seemed to notice that the second dance was different than usual. They didn’t notice that the king seemed to migrate towards those two nobles even when he should have been dancing on the opposite side of the room.
Not even the words at which he fumbled.
They were all too excited at the chivalrous save. Nobles. They were so sharp and yet so stupid.
Seungcheol bowed, still catching his breath. Jeonghan did the same with not a hair out of place.
The dance must have made him insane. Because suddenly, Seungcheol had trouble accepting the fact that Wonwoo was going to marry someone. They were best friends for nineteen years now. Wonwoo and Seungcheol. Seungcheol and Wonwoo.
Yeah. It had always been like that. How quickly could a man upend his own life and marry someone he’d never met? Wonwoo wasn’t like that. He was level-headed. Calm.
Wonwoo and Seungcheol. Seungcheol and Wonwoo.
“Hannie. You think-do you think that maybe I still have a-”
“Oh, look, he’s left the princess and is walking towards us!” Jeonghan gasped, looking giddy.
The sun became solid silver.
Seungcheol turned, excited, and spotted Wonwoo about to take another long step towards them.
When a hand wrapped over his shoulder.
The king froze as the princess emerged from behind him, her doe eyes as large as her tinted smile. She said something, hair falling like ice-covered tree branches over her bare shoulder.
Jeonghan deflated, and Seungcheol’s smile disappeared.
~
“Well that was a failure,” Minghao sighed once the ballroom had been granted a half-bell break from dancing.
“Thanks for all the love,” Jeonghan scoffed in return, scuffing his shoe against a pillar. “I pulled out all the stops. I flirted on maximum.” He glanced at Seungcheol. “You, for your part, played an excellent role, blushing for me and all that.”
Seungcheol frowned, popping a chocolate covered strawberry into his mouth. When dancing breaks took place, the royal cooks rolled in a large cart of finger foods. Call it peasantry, but Seungcheol quite liked it.
“I wasn’t playing any role, Hannie. You were truly stunning today, and it just didn’t work out.” He handed Minghao a delicate cake.
“How can you two be eating at this moment?” Jeonghan cried.
Seungcheol bit the tip off another strawberry. “I didn’t think it would work out anyway. I won’t be able to get over him, and he would never forsake a foreign alliance, even if he did love me. And I never could confess anyway. So it’s all useless in the end. Might as well enjoy the food.”
“How do you know he would not? A man driven by passion can do ridiculous things.”
Seungcheol shrugged. “He loved his father, and he’s trying to prove something to him. His majesty’s never said it, but I know that he’s thinking about the 9th Sun King each time he makes a decision.” He waved his hands around as if that would explain all the complex Wonwoo theory. “There’s something beyond the individual going on in his mind.”
Now even Minghao seemed agitated. “Hyung. You know him so well that he doesn’t even have to speak to you for you to understand him! You were so perfect together.” He kicked the pillar too before walking away.
And Seungcheol, who almost always got irritated at everything and should have joined the pillar kicking party, simply smiled tightly.
He was probably still in shock, now that he thought about it. Everything kept on happening so fast that his mind couldn’t quite catch up.
Marriage. Dance. All that crazy music. And the sudden, inescapable realization that he wasn’t enough.
Not for Wonwoo.
Maybe tomorrow morning he’d be on his bed, crying his eyes out because all of it finally crashed into his frail body. He could plead sickness, only Wonwoo would pitch the healers after him.
Or maybe he wouldn’t notice at all.
No, Wonwoo wasn’t like that! Then how come he had barely spoken a word to him for the fast three weeks? Wonwoo just did that sometimes. Got stuck in a chamber of thought.
It was childish to think. Seungcheol knew Wonwoo better than everyone else.
He wouldn’t be like that. Wouldn’t leave Seungcheol. Didn’t suddenly stop caring about him. Right?
A stripe of dark chocolate fell across Seungcheol’s mouth. He tried to lick it off, but felt it still stuck to his skin. A flare of irritation flashed through him. Of all the things-
Jeonghan made an exasperated sound, leaning in and grasping a cloth napkin before rubbing at the smear on Seungcheol’s pale face.“Hey, why isn’t it going away?” Jeonghan dipped the silk in a glass of (probably priceless) gold champagne before scrubbing the mark again.
Seungcheol noticed he was too close for someone who wasn’t even dancing as an excuse. The scrubbing hurt too. He didn’t mind. Everything felt vaguely numb anyway, like his mind was escaping through the bubbles of champagne.
“Ah!” Jeonghan gasped. “Got it!”
“Thanks.” Seungcheol smiled at him, all teeth this time. Then, just because the champagne had drawn him out of his delirious mood (or perhaps made him even more so ) he continued. “You really do look very good today.”
Jeonghan waved him off, before looking down at himself. “I did unbutton the top part of my dress shirt. You look very sweaty from the dancing. Maybe you should unbutton yours too.”
Sometimes, Jeonghan reminded him of a demon. Other times, Jeonghan reminded him of a concerned mother. Or a mother in general, since all mothers tended to cycle between various levels of concerned.
Some more fresh air did sound good though. Seungcheol stared down at his hands, which had begun to shake. He couldn’t trust himself with Minghao’s beautiful shirt. “Could you-”
Without a word, Jeonghan leaned in again, his breath displacing some of Seungcheol’s white hair.
Seungcheol blew the strand so it would stop dangling in front of his eyes. He ended up blowing air into Jeonghan’s face too.
“Oh my goodness.” With gentle care, he tucked some of Jeonghan’s dark strands back behind his ear.
And then, instead of delicately unbuttoning his shirt like a normal person , Jeonghan tugged the whole thing from the collar down.
Seungcheol flinched.
A high ripping noise screeched like a children's choir.
Loud clattering, like stone hitting stone over and over and over.
Then the cold, piercing sound of something shattering.
It took Seungcheol a few seconds to process.
First, the clattering sounds were the ripped buttons of his torn shirt, which were rolling around on the marble floor.
Second, that everyone was gaping at the king.
Third, this was probably because there was broken crystal all around him.
Fourth, that Wonwoo was holding the stem of a fractured wine glass.
Which led Seungcheol to exactly two conclusions.
First, that his shirt was opened much more than than a few buttons. More fresh air? Sure. Also a lot more skin showing.
Second, that Wonwoo had just smashed his champagne glass against a pillar.
“Are you kidding me?” Jeonghan hissed. “ That’s what finally got him? Something that wasn’t even part of my big plan?”
If Seungcheol was less bitter and uncertain about everything, he would have made a comment about how Wonwoo was “just like that”. The weirdest things struck at his king’s heart.
The court was divided (as it tended to be). Half of them ogled Seungcheol’s chest. The other half ogled the broken glass. Then, the “other half” switched to ogling Seungcheol’s chest too.
Wonwoo hadn't even noticed the glass. A thick stare twisted between him and Seungcheol like a rope. From behind him, even Princess Yi seemed a little taken aback by the whole open shirt show.
Floating peacefully above the chaos, Minghao returned from his absence with three cups of a rich red wine (dubiously sourced).
~
Dinner was unusual, to be sure. Jeonghan had lent Seungcheol his wine colored cape to cover up.
Among the commoners (who seemed to understand these things better than nobles), it was a sign of deep care. Perhaps a courtship in its early stages. Among nobles, it was a sign of almost certain marriage.
Nobles seemed to twist everything into almost certain marriage, Seungcheol thought. It was a weird flaw of theirs.
Somewhere towards the end of it, Seungcheol caught Jeonghan’s eye from across the banquet table. The younger man mouthed something to him incomprehensibly. What? He leaned in, confused.
As if on cue, the coat (which had been too small for Seungcheol’s broader shoulders anyway) slipped off from where it was slung on him.
Wonwoo sputtered.
And like the elaborate play that his life was, the bell for the end of the banquet rung.
Seungcheol could feel Jeonghan snickering.
~
Bless the Sun deity. Seungcheol thought as he stumbled through the door and collapsed on the bed. The banquet was over. The diplomats from the Northern Provinces, stuffed with delicacies and rosy with wine, were laying in a secondary palace.
And he could sleep.
A fact that Seungcheol had unfortunately forgotten was that he was supposed to help Wonwoo undress after the ball. So instead of heading to the king’s suites, Seungcheol had gone back to his own room, shirt still torn, mind still addled, Jeonghan’s jacket still (barely) hanging onto him.
Of course, minutes after he’d reached, before he could even change, a harried messenger had knocked. “The king requests your presence!” he cried, before dangling something over. A robe. “And asks that you wear this instead of the one you have right now.”
Seungcheol frowned at Wonwoo’s black cotton robe, before slapping his face and cursing the champagne for his lack of memory. “You may leave,” he said, closing the door. “I will attend to the king as soon as possible.” The moment the messenger had turned the corner, he kicked the bedpost.
How was he supposed to face the king now? “Well, this is going to be awkward.”
~
“Your majesty?” Seungcheol leaned in tentatively through the door to the bedchambers, looking around. At one glance, he spotted Wonwoo sitting on the divan in front of the mirrors, fully in formal attire and powder still layered on his dimmed eyes.
The rose was gone.Wonwoo glanced at him through the mirror. His eyes caught onto the bright red robe.
With a start, Seungcheol realized that in his embarrassment, he’d forgotten to take Jeonghan’s coat off at all.
Okay. He needed to play this off as a joke. “You didn’t order me to take it off,” he quipped, tone lilting with tease as he opened the window curtains. Like Wonwoo always preferred.
Wonwoo turned around until he was fully facing him, eyes splitting and digging into Seungcheol’s skin. “It was an order.” He gestured to the red coat. “Take it off. There will be no clothing from the Yoons on my advisor, in my chambers.”
Well now, Seungcheol had only been kidding. This was odd, even for the king. He dropped the crimson tailcoat, his torn shirt still underneath. “You’re being weird today,” he muttered, hoping his voice was too soft.
Cold eyes flashed with fire. “Me?” Wonwoo was in front of him in a second, up in his face. “ I’m being weird? You let Yoon Jeonghan rip your shirt in front of a room full of delegates and you call me weird?”
Seungcheol’s eyes widened and his jaw clenched. “It was a mistake! Unintentional!”
“Mistake? Oh no, I’m not blind or dumb. He was this close to you-” He lifted his finger up, thumbnail pressing deep into the soft skin. “-and then you tucked his hair behind his ear. Were you two trying to put on a show?”
Seungcheol hadn't heard this many words from him in a long time. And he had never been able to see Wonwoo’s anger like this, so potent that it could have been leaking from his body. The bells in his own mind began to ring with warning.
But Seungcheol was getting irritated too. He sparked like silver. “Well I’m deeply sorry I ruined your alliance-making, your majesty.” He gave a flourished, mocking bow. “Much apologies.”
“Alliance-making?” Wonwoo scoffed. “No, you’ve been doing this for some time. Even when my father died, I kept on staring up at you for so long. But Yoon was draped over you like a curtain, purring into your ears, and you couldn’t even spare me a glance. While you were unrobed . Don’t you have any decency?”
“Decency?” Seungcheol sneered. No, don’t do it. Don’t yell. “What am I, a priest sworn to celibacy? I was just roused from sleep and I was worried . There was no time to wear anything. And Hannie is a good friend, nothing more.”
Uh-oh. Wonwoo’s face turned a new shade of anger at the nickname. “Hannie? Are you kidding me?” He rubbed his temple. “I-We’re about as close as friends can get. Would you let me drape myself over you like he has been for the past night? When your clothes are torn?”
Seungcheol faltered. Yes. Yes, yes, a thousand times. Whenever you want to. Always. Especially when my clothes are torn.
The silence was interpreted as something else. “Jeonghan is touchy like that. You aren’t,” he stammered to try and mend the situation.
Wonwoo reared back as if stung. “Maybe I’d want to. I don’t know. You seem oddly quiet recently. Your majesty , my king . You’d told me that you wouldn’t care about customs when it was just the two of us.”
Seungcheol stopped for a moment. He had said that. He just didn’t think Wonwoo would remember.
The king continued on his tirade. “You couldn’t even compliment me this evening, could you? What, are you planning to leave the palace? You promised you’d never leave me, and three months later, you’ve changed your mind I see.”
Compliments? He’d wanted compliments?
You looked more beautiful the swans that dance in the ponds of the Imperial Garden.
You could have asked for anything I would give it to you.
You were more vast than the sun kissed sky with how you bedazzled me.
“Leave?” Seungcheol whispered, choosing to focus on the wrong detail. “I’ve been serving you loyally for nineteen years-”
“Serving me?” Wonwoo cried in return. They were both fools. “ Serving me? ”
“Well that’s what you’ve been making it seem like recently!”
Wonwoo walked closer, and Seungcheol staggered. “You-you were supposed to be the one person who didn’t care that I was quiet sometimes hyung. I’ve always been like this! Or are you too distracted by Hannie to remember?”
His voice sounded so broken that Seungcheol almost shuddered with guilt. Cowed, he fell silent. What right did he have to get angry anyway?
Wonwoo didn’t owe him love. But Seungcheol owed him the care and time of a companion, when the king was otherwise a lone man in a bustling palace.
That was the whole point. And that was why the old Jeon emperor had gone so mad trying to find a companion for Wonwoo in the first place. Seungcheol had failed the only duty he had been trusted with.
It was as the priests preached. Men were rendered selfish by jealousy. And selfishness was all consuming.
So what if the king married the princess? Their friendship, stolen smiles and obscene jokes, was what he loved most. Whatever they had, it was beyond an exchange of rings or a declaration by the chief minister.
With their flagrant flirting, the ministers were going to gossip about him and Jeonghan till next season. Whatever they had was ruined.
Nineteen years, and a fever of greed had destroyed the sliver of the king that Seungcheol loved the most.
“I am sorry for humiliating you in front of your court,” Seungcheol whispered when he could muster words again, bowing deeply and sincerely this time.
“It was, if you’d believe me, entirely unintentional. I had hoped that our alliances would be strengthened today.”
He had to go. Give Wonwoo the space that he was probably craving.
He turned to leave, but a large hand grasped his forearm and pulled him back. “No.” Wonwoo gestured to himself, teeth catching on his lower lip. You haven’t been dismissed yet . “You have to help me take all of this off.”
“The servants?” Seungcheol asked too quickly, a coward and a fool.
Wonwoo pressed his lips together, chin jutting out. “Released for the night.”
Seungcheol paused, before rolling up his pale blue sleeves. He’d done this many times before. Nothing to plead to the gods about.
He lifted the deep gray cape off broad shoulders with the distinct knowledge that there was a gaze trained on his every movement.
There were eyes boring into him as he unpinned the medals from Wonwoo’s chest. Warm breaths ruffling his hair when he leaned in close to unhook the collar. A shift of muscles when he tugged at buttons to open the vest, pulling it off and laying it on the bed gently.
He was close to him. So close, he could count his eyelashes. Yet a layer of tension rippled, flushing his skin until it was a fire burning with the kindling of feather-light touches.
His hands shook when he drenched a silk cloth in warm water.
He reached up. Rubbed it as gently as he could over the king’s face until all the sheen was gone from it and it remained soft.
Seungcheol could bury himself in it, for it was pale and beautiful like a swan feather pillow.
Wonwoo looked much kinder like this. He looked…normal. Normal Wonwoo. It was good. This felt almost domestic. Two sailors on a rocking ship, pillowy skin and adoring eyes.
No. Bad thoughts. You have accepted your life as an advisor and nothing more. Seungcheol stepped back abruptly, folding his hands together and unsure of what to do with himself.
This was usually the extent to which he went while undressing the king.
Wonwoo sniffed coolly. “The shirt too.”
If they were three weeks earlier in time, Seungcheol would have chuckled, screeched from the inside, and done it with no hesitation and maybe a small flush. They were good friends. It was to be expected.
Now, his jaw opened slightly. He teetered on each foot until Wonwoo started to tap his shoe on the floor. Seungcheol scurried forward again despite his better judgment, clearing his throat. He was a man in love with no self-preservation instincts. It was to be expected.
With shaking hands, he reached up. Friends, they were friends. Act normal. Noticed, in the top of his eyesight, Wonwoo’s tongue peeking out to lick at a chapped area on his lips. Nope, that was not a normal thing to notice.
Pulled each pearl button through loop, exhaling a bit each time. Bit by bit by bit, a waterfall of skin rushed down the path the open button loops left behind.
A stripe of gold peeked through the part once he was finished. Seungcheol willed himself not to stare at it.
Okay. This was okay. Maybe he could leave soon and then give Wonwoo a gift tomorrow, and pretend that they were best friends forever again until he married Princess Yi, at which point Seungcheol would probably collapse from a broken heart and free them both from misery.
His plans for the future were, as usual, ruined by a curse from all the demons who seemed to loathe him. A breeze rushed through Wonwoo’s perpetually open window.
The two sides of the shirt flared open, before it fell down Wonwoo’s limp shoulders. Skin. Skin. So much skin.
AHHHHHHH- Seungcheol turned bright red, trying to lean away.
In a flash, a large hand was grasping the side of his jaw, pulling him back in forcefully. Even the moon couldn’t watch, and hid behind the indigo clouds.
“I’m not letting you marry Yoon Jeonghan,” Wonwoo declared suddenly, looking as if he’d absorbed all of the sun’s courage. “You can’t do anything without the king’s permission. So you don’t have my blessing. You’ll never have it.” He stopped to catch his breath. “It’s best you just leave him now before you can get your hopes up.”
What?
Despite himself, the corners of Seungcheol’s mouth quirked up at the sudden display of power so unlike the king. And for such a foolish reason. He pressed his lips together. “I wasn’t planning on marrying him.”
Confusion flashed across the king’s face. “You were letting him undress you in front of all those courtiers.” Wonwoo repeated. “When only I have the authority to see you unrobed.”
Seungcheol snorted, freeing himself from the grasp on his face and walking around the king so that he couldn’t be cornered into the wall. “It was a mistake. ”
“And whenever I passed you on the ballroom, you didn’t even look at me.” Wonwoo said, a bit closer this time.
Seungcheol backed towards the bed. “When I should be all you were looking at.”
“I was trying not to trip!” Seungcheol lied, stumbling back until the bed brushed his shins. “And besides, you were with the Princess. I didn’t want to distract you.”
That was a lie too. He had, with all his heart, wanted to distract him.
Wonwoo seemed to sense his mistruth. He persisted until he was an inch away from Seungcheol, looking down at him.
The lamp haloed around his hair and slender body. He was a deity looming in front of the sun. An very miffed deity. “You kissed his hand.” he seethed. “When you’ve only done that to me before.”
He was AWAKE then? “Well, it’s proper dance etiquette.” Seungcheol laughed, feeding his flurry of mistruth. “I’m not a heathen.”
Wonwoo leaned into him, searching his soul.
All of a sudden, the look on his face changed. His eyes started to dance with something smug when he finally realized how sweaty Seungcheol was.
The way his gaze darted, or his mouth turned into a pout. “You called him the most beautiful man ever.” he laughed, sounding less accusatory and more teasing.
As if he couldn’t believe Jeonghan was the most beautiful man ever if he was in the same room.
Ah. Seungcheol regained a bit of his heart. “Maybe he was?” he stammered. Then he lost his center of gravity trying to lean away, and fell back into the bed with an oof.
Wonwoo towered over his half-sitting figure. All signs of his anger had receded. The furious flush on his cheekbones waned, and his hands uncurled.
He was again all starry, infuriating eyes, and a self-assured smile dangled over Seungcheol like bait.
Seungcheol quickly propped himself up on his elbows to get back up, but his legs were pinned to the front of the bed by Wonwoo’s own.
Oh no. Don’t think indecent thoughts, don’t think indecent thoughts.
“Was he really?” Wonwoo rumbled, voice deep in his chest like brewing wine, shirt slipping down his arms even more until Seungcheol went mad.
Enough. Seungcheol had some pride beating through his smitten heart yet. Don’t think about being in the king’s bed. No indecent thoughts-
“Well, from what I could see, yes. He was.”
Victory burst into Wonwoo’s smile. “You didn’t look at me the whole night,” he laughed. “You couldn’t see me.”
He stood up straight like a winged god, so the light from the lamp wasn’t hidden behind his hunched shoulders anymore.
It flooded through his chest, shone off his silver hair until it was glinting gold. He was the sun deity, aboard his chariot of swans.
Seungcheol’s jaw slackened as he looked up at him with the eyes of an awed worshiper. Maybe he could reach up and-
“Hah. I win.”
The moment was ruined.
It was the old sting of losing a strategy game, except this time he didn’t even know they were playing one.
Seungcheol sat up with a bout of defiance, the haught of a noble crashing and roaring in his veins. His foolish pride overpowered his foolish love.
“Even if I did look at you, I’m sure Jeonghan would still be more beautiful and a better dancer, though I’m not sure why you care,” he huffed.
But victory was never fleeting on Wonwoo. He would have the look of pride waltzing his eyes for weeks.
“You lie, hyung,” he said, as if nothing could sour him now. “You didn’t even dance with me today, so how would you know claim to know anything about my dancing ability?”
Then, Seungcheol fell back on the bed again, white hair spreading out on the white pillows, because Wonwoo leaned in, caging him with long arms pressed into plush sheets.
With a flash, his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth.
Seungcheol’s eyes (which only ever really saw the King) caught onto the movement. He turned red, heart beating in ears.
“Hmm, hyung?” His voice was maddening. He was maddening. This whole situation was maddening, trying to force all his indecent thoughts down.
The bed, the raging eyes, the strong arms that pressed him into the sheets.
And the lips which lingered so close. Maybe he could lift himself up and kiss-
No. The king didn’t know what he was doing. This was just friendly banter to him.
Seungcheol cleared his throat to push back down the confession that had suddenly formed in it. Tried to frown, but it looked more like a pout in the mirror.
“I can sense these things,” he claimed pridefully, looking away from the king to glare at the sun embellishments on the wall.
Then there was a finger poking his arm demanding his attention, sharper and sharper, until he scowled. “What?”
Wonwoo smiled pleasantly at him, smoothening out Seungcheol’s white hair with the other hand before pressing his head into his lap.
Seungcheol cursed the weak heart that dictated he could never get mad at the king for long.
“Fine, fine. Jeon Wonwoo, you’re the most handsome king in this great empire of ours.” he said and wondered how their conversation had gotten to this.
“The world, hyung,” Wonwoo said, catching the tease. “I’m the most handsome man in the world.”
“The world, alright, the world. The most handsome man in the world. The sun is silver and you are the most handsome man in the world.” He pushed the younger off him (thank the gods for his strong arms), and stood up.
Brushed himself off as if the whole thing was no big deal and having an unrobed Wonwoo pinning him to the bed wasn’t anything he’d think about for the rest of his useless life.
The night was aging, and he had to leave before the maids could find him there in the morning.
He’d already technically been laying in the king’s bed, and he didn’t want to give them anything else to spread around the court.
“I’m going,” he announced, stopping himself consciously from adding a soulless Your majesty .
Wonwoo tossed him his silver robe again. Seungcheol caught it without thinking. “Would you like me to put this away?”
Wonwoo shook his head. “Your shirt is still torn,” he said as if that explained it, sitting back on his elbows casually, long legs dangling over the bed.
“Will I be stolen away by the demons who roam this palace at night, Wonwoo-yah?” Seungcheol laughed, but put it on anyway, letting the excess cloth hang off his shoulders. “You could have given me this earlier. I was practically shirtless this whole time.”
Wonwoo’s eyes darkened and drifted to his open chest. “I could have,” he agreed mildly, legs spreading slightly.
Seungcheol froze in the curtainway. Nope, nope, nope, nope. The king was promised to the Princess. This was all some disenchanting coincidence. Just a normal, friendly Wonwoo words that he was weaving into some dark fantasy in his mind.
Wonwoo was innocent. He probably didn’t even think weird thoughts. He probably thought that pinning your friend to your (very large) bed was a normal buddy thing to do.
Seungcheol laughed it off nervously.
Then, Wonwoo stretched like a cat, head falling back and dress shirt pooling at the elbows. And gave the deepest groan possible for a man to summon.
Seungcheol whirled around, eyes wide. No indecent thoughts. Wonwoo was just tired. Stop this!
Yes, the king was sleepy. Normal sleep things. Stretching. Groaning. Looking like a deity of the sun, descended especially from the heavens to torture his dreams.
This was his unvoiced command to leave. “Goodnight, Wonu-yah.”
His voice cracked. Good Gods.
Seungcheol’s hand clapped over his red face, and he shoved the curtains close before dashing out of the chambers, shoes sliding against the marble.
Behind the curtains, Wonwoo cackled.
That night, Seungcheol’s sleep was haunted not by a warm laugh or breeze tousled hair, but soft lips that melted at his throat teasingly.
~
6 Months to Summer
Three more months passed. Correspondence between the Sun Kingdom and the Northern Provinces had increased dramatically, driven by foreign nobles pleased both with the banquet and assurance of an impending marriage alliance.
Seungcheol floated calmly above it all, letting talk of weddings and romance whizz past his mind even though it was all anyone cared about anymore (other than nervous whispers of an impending war).
He suspected the maids had already figured out his aversion to the topic by the way they hushed whenever he entered a room. Maids were smart like that. If all the courtiers were replaced by maids, he suspected that half of the kingdom’s problems would disappear.
Maybe they should send their maids as spies in enemy provinces. Seungcheol made a mental note to bring that up next meeting.
Meanwhile, the Sun Deity was dormant. Wintertime had struck the kingdom, turning tree branches into silver studded necklaces and freezing anything that was left outside for more than three seconds.
Wonwoo seemed strangely peaceful too. While he was a raging powerhouse of a king during the summertime, it seemed that the winter was his moment of calm.
His complexion had paled too, until he matched the abundant snow, or the white sun peeking through the silver sky.
It was in the Swan Gardens that they now strolled. The gardens which flushed with life in the spring, were eerily silent.
Seungcheol’s hair was layered with snow. Somehow, the falling crystals refused to touch Wonwoo, melting in the air around him.
But there was a cloud of worry above the king’s head.
“You’re thinking about something.” Seungcheol teased. “Is it about your beloved?”
A hum. “No,” he said, and Seungcheol waited patiently as they turned the corner around the frosted sun-lilies. “I’m just thinking about my brother. I think it’s time we catch him.”
Wonjae had disappeared, likely lurking around near the villages near the Sol Mountains.
The Northern army had been searching for them throughout the year, Minghao among them.
“Honorable Soldier Minghao will capture him,” Seungcheol declared proudly, his words freezing in midair as soon they were exhaled.
Wonwoo sniffed. “I hope so. There is a large occasion coming up. I wouldn’t want a war to impede on it.”
Seungcheol’s eyes snapped up to the back of the king’s head. Ah. It was a long time coming. No wonder Wonwoo wanted to catch Wonjae so soon.
“Well, how come you couldn’t tell me earlier?” he wheezed, ears turning warm with passion. “I’m not your best friend for nothing, your majesty! I should have been helping you plan along every step. It is such a big event in your life.”
Wonwoo turned around abruptly and frowned at him. His enose twitched. “You know what it is?”
Seungcheol was offended. Almost twenty years doing the impossible job of trying to reading Wonwoo’s thoughts, and the king thought he couldn’t even hear half the castle? “Yes? Of course I know. It’s blatantly obvious.”
He cleared his throat before trying to summon an appropriate amount of redness back to his face. “Well, I couldn’t say this earlier, but I think congratulations are complementary with news like this.”
He joined his hands together with what he hoped was an overjoyed smile. He’d been preparing this very sentence for three months. “Deep regards, your majesty, on your eternal unification with Her Highness, the Graceful Princess Yi. May the Sun Deity shine upon your union with-”
“Wait.” Wonwoo grasped his arm, an amused flush developing around his cheekbones as his smile grew. “You think I’m marrying her?”
Ah. Maybe not marriage then. “I’m sorry. Your eternal consortship with Her Highness, the Graceful Princess Yi-”
Wonwoo began to laugh, collapsing on the ground abruptly enough that his glasses fell into the snow.
The guards who’d followed them (war-time measures) rushed towards him, but he waved them off with a hand.
Seungcheol rubbed his nose. Okay, so not consortship either then. The only remaining option was a court sponsorship of the arts. An untraditional pathway to be sure, but the 5th Sun King had done it before marrying the foreign princess of his choice. “Your eternal sponsorship of Her Highness, the Graceful Princess Yi?”
Wonwoo used the edge of Seungcheol’s robe to pull himself up, adjusting his crown. “What happened?” Seungcheol sulked.
“I just had a realization,” Wonwoo said jubilantly, grazing his lip with sharp teeth. “Anyway, you mistake me, hyung. I’m not associated with Her Highness romantically at all.”
Seungcheol stared at him.
Oh.
“Y-you aren’t?”
Wonwoo touched the bridge of his nose irritatedly, and Seungcheol automatically lifted off the king’s watery spectacles to wipe with his silk robe.
He processed it all as he breathed warm air onto the glass and rubbed circles into it to clear the melted snow off.
“So then why were you dancing with her?” he asked a few minutes later once they had started to walk again.
He could hear Wonwoo’s smirk even before he answered. “Well, because it was a ball , hyung. That’s what people do at a ball. And she was the highest ranking attendee of honor, so it was only custom.”
“But-but you told me that you were thinking about what that minister said-”
“I was. But not the same part of the conversation as I imagine you recall.”
Oh.
( “Your majesty. I promise I’m not just saying this because it’s my job, but as minister of foreign alliances, I think that we should strengthen our foreign alliances.”
A humored sniff. “Go on, Minister.”
“The deflector is near the Sol Mountains, isn’t he? It’s close enough to the borders of the Northern Provinces for them to be threatened by his coup as well. We can take this opportunity and join our two nations together in a pact.” )
Ha. Okay. “But, but the rose was gone? Didn’t you give it to the princess?”
Somehow, Wonwoo knew exactly what he was talking about. “I tucked it into that robe I gave you.” he replied, ears turning red with the cold.
Oh.
Seungcheol scratched his cheek, embarrassed.
“You do know that the rest of the palace thinks that there really will be a marriage between you two?” he said, trying to cover up his wavering tone.
Wonwoo cleared his throat, wrapping his hands behind his back. “She’s engaged to a general from one of the tribes inside her own kingdom.”
Oh.
Lovely.
Seungcheol couldn’t stop the smile that was catching across his face. “So you’re not getting married?”
“No.”
And the skies could have collapsed for all Seungcheol cared. He felt his shoulders drop after six months and barely restrained himself from careening into Wonwoo and squeezing all the unmarried life out of him. The guards would probably have a field day trying to rip him off their poor, defenseless emperor.
He wouldn’t mind.
Because life was lovely. The skies were blank, ready for him to dance across. He could hear the lake of swans in the distance, and it sounded beautiful.
The sunset lilies were blooming, even in winter, and he reached down and plucked one, spinning it between his fingers.
The stars were hiding behind the day, and the sun (which hadn't been there a moment ago) was weaving through the king’s hair.
His fate was strung somewhere above him, and he didn’t care enough to reach up and seize it.
Wonwoo wasn’t getting married to Princess Yi. Wonwoo would never get married to Princess Yi.
Marriage to some other princess was imminent, of course, but Seungcheol didn’t think about that too hard. The present was already beautiful enough. He didn’t need the future to stain it.
He skipped childishly, furred shoes pressing into the snow, probably the most in love man in the world.
They reached the bridge that passed over the ponds and came to a halt.
Seungcheol watched in surprise as a pair of silk white swans swam under them, necks intertwined in the shape of a heart. “I thought our swans flew towards warmer provinces during winter?”
Wonwoo seemed equally mesmerized by them. “Yes, they do.” He stopped, considering his words carefully. “Did you know that swans mate for life?”
Seungcheol bowed his head. “I did not.”
The king cleared his throat. “They do. They meet, fall in love, and live with each other for the rest of their lives.” He pointed at the couple.
“It’s a love so great that they can’t even bear to swim without joining their necks together. They fly south together too. Perhaps one didn’t want to leave his pond. And so the other stayed with them.”
“But don’t they get lonely?”
“They have each other. It’s all they’ll ever need.”
Wonwoo was all he’d ever need. Did that mean that he was a swan?
“Really?” Seungcheol asked, awed. “But they’ll freeze at this temperature.”
“It doesn’t matter to them. They aren’t young and foolish. Perhaps their souls have loved each other for many eons. Perhaps they were unfortunate lovers in a previous life, and have vowed never to separate from each other again.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose as if he hadn't just uttered the most beautiful words ever spoken by a man.
This. This was why Seungcheol loved Wonwoo.
He tried in vain to think of something profound enough to say back. After a few seconds, all he came up with were some frankly ridiculous rhymes about flowers.
So he settled for honesty. “If we were swans, I would intertwine my neck with yours,” he announced. “And if you didn’t want to leave your pond, I would stay with you and keep you warm during the winter.”
More snow cascaded down from the sky. Wonwoo stared at him, eyes a fraction wider, and said nothing.
A snowflake floated down and landed on the king’s nose, the first time that a piece of snow had managed to touch Wonwoo without melting away.
Seungcheol reached over on the highs of his toes, and flicked it off.
Before he could remove his hand, Wonwoo grasped it.
His hand was warm somehow, even though every other part of him was white with cold. Seungcheol’s eyes darted between their clasped fingers and the king’s pale face.
Wonwoo inhaled sharply to say something, before snapping his mouth shut. He hesitated a moment longer before slackening his grip enough that Seungcheol’s hand could fall out.
It didn’t.
Instead, he grasped even tighter, squeezing.
Wonwoo swallowed. Seungcheol smiled.
“Well, we can’t join our necks in this lifetime, so we’ll have to settle with holding hands.”
And felt as if he’d finally managed to say something worth Wonwoo.
They looked at their hands.
So did the swan couple and the frosted sunset lilies which didn’t mind being frosted anymore.
And the guards, who nudged each other like hopeless romantics and rubbed their red noses.
And the sun, which emerged from the silver sky to adorn them with its light.
“You’ll keep me warm if I don’t want to leave the pond?” Wonwoo asked softly as they walked back.
Seungcheol huffed. “Yes, though I doubt you’ll need it. You’re a human fireplace.”
~
3 Months to Summer
Something changed. Wonwoo would dismiss the guards if they were ever alone.
He’d talk for hours, nestled in Seungcheol’s lap.
His smiles weren’t stolen anymore but freely given.
When they rode in chariots together, even in the afternoon, he would press his head onto Seungcheol’s shoulder and pretend to sleep.
Sometimes, when they discussed sending armies to eliminate Wonjae, Wonwoo would reach under the table and squeeze Seungcheol’s hand. For warmth, he said.
Seungcheol’s robes were suddenly all replaced with the king’s purple ones, pockets full of sunset lilies.
And every day, they waited together for the flock of swans to return from the Southern Kingdoms.
Yes, something had changed. Enough that Seungcheol understood one afternoon that the confession he’d long been scared to give, was already taken from him.
Perhaps accepted. Perhaps returned.
Some rumors were that Princess Yi and the King had broken their engagement over a lover’s quarrel.
Others claimed that their wedding had simply been postponed.
No one noticed that the king had seemingly begun to court his advisor.
And Seungcheol couldn’t be happier about it.
He was dangling in a blissful suspension between the kingdom and the sky.
This was how spring passed.
~
When the army finally captured Wonjae, spring and its cold dawns were just behind them. Summer and Minghao returned to the Sun Kingdom, triumphant. Seungcheol embraced both of them.
The swans were thriving once more in the Imperial Gardens. One flew curiously towards Seungcheol and Wonwoo.
“Why do you like them so much?” Seungcheol asked, picking up a pearl feather a bird had left behind.
Wonwoo smiled. “Well, they’re my old friends.” A swan approached him, raising and lowering its neck. “And, they have an ancient love that I can claim to have too.”
When Seungcheol looked at him, Wonwoo was looking back. “Oh?” he asked, voice on the brink of breaking, both from love and from anticipation.
Wonwoo hummed as he reached down to stroke the bird’s feathers. “Hyung, I was thinking. We should move your chambers closer to my suites.”
His eyes twinkled with the sun’s reflection. “Maybe the Queen’s will be suitable.”
Seungcheol threw his head back with a disbelieving laugh. “Those are for married kings. You’ve got to marry a princess for the Queen’s chambers to be filled.”
Wonwoo scrunched his nose and stood up, brushing himself off. “I’m a king. I can marry whomever I want.”
Seungcheol turned red and stomped away, blushing. Wonwoo chased after him with a smile, hair bouncing.
When he returned to his room that day, there was a silver ring on his bed, studded with early Jeon era gems.
An advisor’s token.
After some thought, Seungcheol slid it onto his ring finger.
~
0 Months to Summer
When summer arrived with all its wealth, there was a matching ring on the king’s finger as well.
And when the skies burned blue again, a chariot left the Swan Castle for the Mirror Palaces.
Wonwoo grasped Seungcheol’s hand tightly for support as he stepped out of the carriage. The mirror palace towered above the two men and their procession.
“The palace reflections always blind me,” Seungcheol sulked, rubbing his eyes.
Wonwoo glanced at him, amused, once they passed the rows of bowing guards and crossed into the hallways. “You shouldn't stare at it then.”
Seungcheol sighed from behind him. “But I love the sun.” His eyes lit up. “Did you know that legend says that this palace stole a fraction of the Sun deity and trapped it here?”
Wonwoo breathed out a laugh, entering the doorway that led to the King’s bedchambers. “People say that? Capturing the Sun Deity? It’s impossible.”
Seungcheol pouted. “Not impossible .” He automatically grasped Wonwoo’s carrying case and dragged it inside, looking around for the wardrobe in unfamiliar chambers.
Wonwoo flopped onto the bed, peeling off his robes until he was down to a thin dress shirt. He bounced up and down for a moment before resting his head back on the pillows.
“It’s been a year since we’ve last come here, and yet time seems to have frozen.” He sighed wistfully. “Nothing feels different.”
Seungcheol swung open the curtains, letting the wind fly through his hair and watching the sea roll over itself in the distance.
It had been so long since they had last walked down the beach. He would have to convince Wonwoo to go sometime.
Seabirds weren’t quite as charming or romantic as swans, but they were white so it was close enough.
And the white sands were so beautiful, and Wonwoo would love reading on the beach while Seungcheol waded in the cool morning water.
But not today, of course not today. The late afternoon was marked for laziness.
“Hyung, could you give me my glasses?”
Seungcheol startled, backing away from the window and looking around before spotting them laying on top of the nightstand. “Of course.”
He picked them up and walked towards the king.
In a flash, Wonwoo had lunged out and grabbed Seungcheol’s wrist with his large hand. He pulled hard, and Seungcheol toppled over, feet slipping off the glass floor.
He landed with a forced exhale on top of the king’s chest, fingers pressing into Wonwoo’s thin waist. The shirt rode up. His hands brushed warm skin.
Loud, heavy breaths and whistling wind filled the silence. They stared at each other, close enough to search each other’s souls. A bite of the lip. A flicker of the eyes.
Then, a snort. Seungcheol wanted to be angry when Wonwoo began to laugh, only it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
The sea crashed in the distance. The sunlight that burst through the window reflected off the walls and framed the bed, adorning Wonwoo’s face lovingly.
A breeze followed, rustling the king’s unbuttoned shirt open and exposing more golden skin.
And beside it all, Wonwoo laughed and laughed until he stopped laughing, gazing at Seungcheol with a small smile.
Seungcheol turned red, caught staring with love beaming out of his eyes.
Tried to roll off, only the grip on his shoulders was too strong and Wonwoo was whining for him to stay. He continued trying until he collapsed tiredly onto the king, letting the younger hold onto him.
He breathed him in, and the light scent of sunset lilies brushed his nose. He breathed him in and held it inside of his lungs until he was forced to exhale.
Wonwoo let go of his shoulder fast enough to grasp a flower from the side vase and tuck it into his hair, sniffling.
Seungcheol caressed his face and stayed until he seemed to convince the younger that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Maybe, if he leaned down, he could brush his lips across his.
“Hyung,” Wonwoo said at last. “Give me a kiss.”
Seungcheol didn’t think about it for too long, not when his king himself was demanding something he’d wanted to give for eons.
He waited until Wonwoo had closed his eyes expectantly before pressing his lips to the corner of his cheek.
Wonwoo’s eyes snapped open. “Too fast. I want another one.”
Seungcheol laughed. Then pressed more kisses on Wonwoo’s face. Again and again.
Over his lemon shaped eyes, and taut jaw. And his small nose and rounded chin. And his forehead, brushing back the silver hair that loved to rest on it, worshiping him like any man should.
He kissed him until Wonwoo stopped asking, looking red and puffy and content bathed in the dusky sunlight.
“Tell me some more legends about the Sun Deity,” he asked, snuggling into Seungcheol’s white hair. “A romance maybe.”
Seungcheol barked out a laugh before he could suppress it, stroking the king’s hair. “A romance? The Sun Deity doesn’t have a godly consort.”
Wonwoo grumbled into his throat. “Not yet.”
Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “What do you think he’ll do, your majesty, arrive at our humble kingdom on his grand chariot of swans and seek out a consort among us mortals? The priests would go wild.”
Wonwoo turned Seungcheol over so they were comfortable in the bed next to each other, wrapped in the layers of the orange sunset. “He might,” he mumbled, looking up. “And if he chose you, would you agree?”
Seungcheol paused. Considered it. Shook his head.
Wonwoo’s smile lifted up, pleased. “Because you love me, don’t you?”
Seungcheol thought of Wonwoo. Of the young toddler who had pouted with petulance when he made to leave, and smiled with baby teeth when he stayed.
Of the prince who gave him every comfort he knew how to grant, beautiful thoughts masquerading behind lingering gazes.
Of the Sun King who squeezed his cold, ink-stained hands under the table and left him sunset lilies.
Of the man who had linked hands with him and let him pretend that they were ancient lovers dancing through another life with each other.
Who watched the skies every day with wonder and never hesitated to look the sun in the eyes.
Seungcheol inhaled deeply, to muster all the words he could say in reply, all the love he had for Wonwoo, and found that even all the air in his lungs wouldn’t allow him to convey it.
“Love you?” he whispered incredulously. “I’ll love you when the sun turns silver.”
Wonwoo sat up with excitement, smiling growing into a peek of teeth. “You should have told me this earlier, hyung!” He swung his legs out of bed and zipped out of the room.
“What are you, the Sun deity?” Seungcheol called after him, before falling back into the cushions himself.
Then he sat up again wildly, eyes wide.
The Sun Deity, who drove a chariot of swans. Wonwoo, who had always been mesmerized by them. They’re my old friends .
The Sun Deity, who lay dormant during the winter. Wonwoo, who somehow turned golden during summer, and paled the rest of the year.
Wonwoo, whom even the snowflakes couldn’t touch.
Who loved sunset lilies and the Sol Mountains, and hearing legends about the Sun deity.
Whose eyes spoke with a warmth that couldn’t be summoned by mortals.
Wonwoo, upon whom the sun always seemed to play the most beautiful tricks.
Wonwoo, who the sun couldn’t blind.
The Sun Deity didn’t have a consort. If he chose you, would you agree?
Somehow, the room which had been glowing with a saffron orange, started to turn a grayish color.
Someone had turned the sun silver.
A triumphant looking Wonwoo walked back into the room, hands on his hips. “So you do love me then.”
Seungcheol opened his mouth wide to confront the king (the Sun Deity?!), before snapping it shut.
No, he was just being delirious, mind addled by extreme happiness as it tended to be.
“Yes,” he agreed, forgetting his theory and throwing his arms open. “I love you.”
The blue waves rippled and the yellow palace glowed, and above them, all the suns were silver.