Chapter Text
➽
Jaehyun is seventeen and he does not like to lose.
He cannot recall a time in the past when he did not enjoy the feeling of winning, of being hailed the best. For a Duke—or an heir apparent of a Duke - this comes with the blood, of something so innate it courses through his bloodstream. He likes to win, he likes the look of admirers thinking ah, yes, he is one chosen by the gods. They come easy to him—admirers—they take one look at his face, at his smile and warm eyes, at his valiant posture and brute force and they come swarming at him like bees to honey. After that, it does not matter much what Jaehyun says or does, the people around him give him their love and he receives it with open arms.
Jaehyun likes winning and the world likes seeing him win, for they know it is an inevitability of the throes of life.
And yet—here he is.
The boys around them stare at the scene in front of them, dumbfounded, perplexed. Jaehyun’s clammy hand holds on tight, intertwined with pale, delicate fingers that tremble like translucent spiderwebs. Jaehyun lets out a guttural grunt, brow furrowing deeper as his arm muscles contract, but it is to no avail.
No one says it out loud but he knows they’re all thinking it: How could this be? Is Jaehyun losing?
He’s not losing—no, it would be more accurate to say he is simply not winning, but to Jaehyun, it must be the same, wouldn’t it? To not win is to lose. Especially if it’s to that horrid Prince Doyoung.
Doyoung, to his credit, does not look surprised. He is gritting his teeth as small drops of sweat form near his temples, trying hard not to pass out as Jaehyun’s arm remains unmoved from the oak table. They’ve been at a stalemate for the past five minutes.
To the courtesan boys, this is a first—oh their poor marquess Jaehyun. Their marvelous sunshine. How could he be losing to the pathetic black sheep of the royal family? Is this perhaps the destiny of those inferior to the royal bloodline? Is perhaps even the worst of the Kims too much for the best of mortals?
Jung Jaehyun thinks none of this. In fact, at this moment, as he breaks into a sweat, the only thing on Jaehyun’s mind is oh—how soft Kim Doyoung is to the touch.
➽
Jaehyun, for as arrogant as he may have been raised to be, has always known that his pride should come second to his loyalty to the crown. That is something his father, Grand Duke Jung, had always instilled in him.
Loyalty. That is what makes us worthy of these lands, son. Loyalty to the royal bloodline.
He is five years old when he visits the royal palace for the first time, as this is when his father deems him old enough to travel with the Jung company. The palace, white and grand, is much bigger than their castle back at the Jung estate. The gardens are full of roses of all colors, the fountains sprinkle with clear water, birds chirp as if singing a tune hailing the grand palace grounds, gallant ravens fly across the palace, all with duties of their own. The blue banners with the Kim emblem—a blue kirin—fly against the wind like flames of triumph. Jaehyun, in all his toddler glory, looks in wonder as he holds on to his father’s hand, guiding him into the palace and across the halls.
Jaehyun is excited, he’s heard tales of the great King Jiseok before—his father holds him in great esteem, as both a king and a best friend.
When Jaehyun meets him, he is not disappointed, King Jiseok is grand, in all senses of the word, the caricature of a brave and strong king. He towers even above Jaehyun’s father, above everyone, his eyes shining, wrinkles around them in confident mirth.
“Seoksoon!” he booms in laughter unbecoming of a king and Jaehyun feels the vibrations reverberate through his small body. He looks up with wide eyes at this fairy tale character, fiery and kingly.
The two men laugh and talk, leaving Jaehyun to wonder at the interaction. He tries to stand up a little straighter, showing off his clean and expensive clothes that were bought especially for this occasion. The mind of a five-year-old is feeble, however, and his sight soon focuses on the four, small silhouettes standing impassively behind King Jiseok. This is the first time he meets the royal siblings, a memory etched into his mind for years to come.
There is the youngest of them all, just a year younger than Jaehyun himself. A toddler, his chubby legs moving from place to place as he twirls around his older siblings. His face is a flower, pretty and innocent, with pink lips and bright eyes and soft, silver hair and a smile that never leaves the corner of his lips. Prince Jungwoo.
Next to him is the princess, a face so identical to Jungwoo’s that Jaehyun thinks it might be a trick of the light. She is older than him, the second child. Kim Seola is beautiful, this Jaehyun knows without being told. When he is introduced to her, he kisses her hand just like he’s seen knights and noblemen do when approaching a lady.
“My princess,” he says because it feels like he should, his lips touching her soft hand, and Seola giggles. King Jiseok laughs, amused at young Jaehyun’s antics. The duke laughs alongside him, seemingly proud of such an educated son, his only son.
“I’m Taeyong,” the third and oldest says. He is the tallest of them all, towering leagues above Jaehyun—he’s a nine-year-old, after all. Taeyong, the crown prince, his father’s treasure, the kingdom’s sun. He smiles gallantly down at Jaehyun, who bows his head slightly as his father taught him. When he looks back up again, Taeyong is extending a hand, a friendly offering. Jaehyun takes it with the adoration only a young boy can muster. “Those are cute,” Taeyong laughs, touching his dimples in amusement, and Jaehyun preens under the attention, always a sucker for praise.
He lets himself be the center of attention for a moment, having all royal eyes on him; it is, then, easy to forget the fourth figure who hides behind the kingly figure.
“Doyoung,” the king says, sounding, for the first time since they arrived… soft. “C’mon, boy, introduce yourself. The duke and his son rode for days to meet you.” He gives his third son a gentle push toward Jaehyun, but it proves to be too strong for the young prince, who stumbles forward with no grace.
Doyoung is small, perhaps even shorter than Jaehyun, although he knows him to be older, a year or two. His black hair is a stark contrast to his siblings’ silver shade, a shade that serves more as halos than anything. Doyoung has none of that, he does not have the pretty face of Seola, he does not have the friendly demeanor of Jungwoo, nor the princely charisma of Taeyong. Doyoung is simply there. He looks up at Jaehyun, red eyes peeking out from under his hair. Doyoung and Jaehyun look at each other for a few seconds, like animals smelling each other for the first time. Jaehyun, although startled by the strange boy, opens his mouth to greet the prince, aware of the king and the duke looking at them, but before he can muster up a single word, Doyoung squirrels back behind his father’s imposing figure, deeming Jaehyun unimportant or intimidating or whatever this weird boy has thought of him.
King Jiseok apologizes for Doyoung, of course. The duke waves him away but, for Jaehyun, the damage is done. He does not like Doyoung, he is a stupid boy.
He turns to face Jungwoo, who has approached him with a smile. Without preamble, the small toddler clings to his sleeve and asks to play outside, a mumbling mess of words that is barely coherent. Jaehyun nods and his first day at the castle is spent playing in the gardens.
➽
interlude ;
Doyoung looks at the fruit in his hands. Green, plump, the lustrous shine of it reflecting the midday sun above him.
He’d thought it’d be a good idea to take a pretty pear hanging from one of the palace trees, the one Queen Mother had specifically prohibited them from eating. He’d seen nothing wrong with it, he’d just wanted to eat something at the time and considered it’d be easier to pluck one from the tree rather than go all the way to the kitchens.
He’d taken the most colorful of the bunch, the prettiest one. This had been a mistake, learned Doyoung. Once again, he looks at the fruit with disdain. The pear had been hard, tough to chew, not ready at all to be eaten. All he’s been left with is a bitten-off fruit he wants to dispose of immediately and a grumbling stomach.
In his hunger, he does not hear the heavy footsteps against the soft grass of the royal gardens.
“You can’t judge them by the skin.” Doyoung freezes when he hears the reverberating voice of his father. He thinks to hide the unripened pear behind his back, but the king is no fool and neither is Doyoung - he’s been caught.
No harsh words come from this fact, however, and Doyoung sees as his father closes in on the tree, his sturdy and long frame making it possible for him to reach most fruits with ease. “You touch the neck,” he says, “If it’s soft, the pear is ready to eat.”
He makes a show of this by touching several fruits with careful fingers. His hands are big and clumsy, but his touch is gentle.
“Here,” he takes a lackluster pear off its branch and hands it to Doyoung. Compared to Doyoung’s hard pear, this one is pale and unassuming.
As soon as Doyoung takes a bite, the sweet fruit juices come splashing into his mouth. The young boy can’t help the happy humming he elicits as the fruit finally fills his belly.
“Good?” King Jiseok asks, taking a seat on the grass next to Doyoung, three more pears in his hands.
“Mhm,” all Doyoung can do is smile and nod with his mouth full before the King laughs and hands him a second pear.
“Now, can you tell me why you’re here by yourself? I thought you were supposed to be taking riding lessons with the other children. Master Park is looking for you.”
“I don’t like them,” the smile vanishes from Doyoung’s face and a scowl appears, he continues eating his fruit. “They don’t like me, so I don’t like them.”
“A friend or two could be good,” his father suggests. This isn’t the first time they have had this conversation.
“No. I don’t need stupid friends,” Doyoung assures him with the full conviction of an eight-year-old who knows everything there is to know. “They all like Taeyong better anyway.”
“Ah,” the King nods in understanding, taking a bite of his own pear. “Why do you think they like Taeyong better then?”
“Because his hair is the color of cheese,” he scowls some more. “And because he looks like you.”
“Me?”
“He looks like a King,” Doyoung explains, as if his father, the Great King Jiseok, was daft. “And they say I look like a rat.”
His father nods in understanding, he finishes his pear and intertwines his fingers, looking up at the clear sky. Doyoung looks at him for a brief second and imitates him, the mild breeze blowing away the hair from their faces. The son and father duo’s size difference is absurd, Jiseok is huge, Doyoung looks so small in comparison.
“Do you want to hear something, Dodo?” Jiseok says, eyes closed, “Something only between me and you?”
“Yes,” Doyoung says too quickly. A secret between father and him feels like a precious treasure.
The king hums, “A few years ago, your Queen Mother had a dream. She dreamt of an egg. A golden egg.”
The child looks at him confused but doesn’t say anything, Doyoung is a good listener, especially when it comes to secrets from his father.
“She told me about it the next morning. But we thought nothing of it,” he continues, “Turns out, that same day, we found out she was pregnant. Our first child.”
“The egg was Taeyong,” Doyoung concludes, twisting the corner of his mouth.
“She kept having the same dream over a few months. Just a small golden egg. A few weeks before your brother was born, the egg in her dream hatched.”
“What was in it?” Doyoung pictures a whole Taeyong coming out of an egg, the ridiculous image makes him smile.
“A dragon,” the king says, “A small dragon with silver scales and dark eyes.”
“Oh,” Doyoung frowns, “A cheese dragon.”
The king laughs, then brings Doyoung closer to him. “That’s why we named him Taeyong. We took it as a sign of good things to come. Your brother is a good boy, you know? He’s a good leader and he cares for you.”
Doyoung knows. Somewhat. He doesn’t know exactly what being a good King entails, but everyone says Taeyong will be good, like their father. Doyoung believes it because everyone else says it.
Still, he doesn’t know why they’re talking about Taeyong right now, he tries to keep the scowl from his face.
“But, you know, Doyoung,” his father continues, “Your mom also had a dream the day before she found out she was pregnant with you.”
This makes Doyoung turn to his father again, “Was I also an egg?”
“Yes,” he says, “But in the dream, you were a red egg, like a ruby, bright and hot.”
“A ruby egg,” Doyoung says to himself, almost wistfully. “A red dragon?”
“No,” he shakes his head, a small grin forming on his face, “My dear boy, the egg hatched a Kirin. A blue Kirin with golden horns. Just like the one in our banner.”
A dragon and a kirin. In a way, for King Jiseok, these prophetic dreams meant his sons would reach greatness. A greatness that would be spoken for the ages.
➽
By the time they are eleven and twelve, Jaehyun has grown accustomed to the ways of Prince Doyoung. Jaehyun is still a good boy, a loved boy, and Doyoung, without a doubt, is still a social nightmare, except now, he is not a toddler and the court is less forgiving. Amongst the nobility, elaborate palace rules, and stuffy clothing, both boys have grown into what people have always expected them to be.
Jaehyun is popular, for reasons he can’t quite grasp yet, but he enjoys it. During summer, he enjoys playing out on the field with the sons of nobles, he likes getting his knees muddy, his pulse quickening as he chases after fireflies and cicadas and any invisible monsters his mind can conjure up.
“En garde, monster! ” he says on a particularly sunny afternoon, leading a group of boys in stained, silk shirts. He stands, posing, pointing at thin air with a wooden sword in his hands — it’s his practice sword and it is one of the standing poses his combat teacher has taught him. He’s a natural, Master Oh likes to praise. The boys around him laugh and copy him in good nature and they all slay the monster together.
“Jaehyun!” comes a voice from afar, silvery and high—like water trickling down into a pond—and it is a voice Jaehyun knows very well.
Prince Jungwoo waves like a maniac, erratic, grinning from ear to ear. Jaehyun waves back at his younger friend, whom he has now known for most of his life. He motions for Jungwoo to come over and it is then that he notices the two figures by Jungwoo’s side, both taller than the youngest prince. One is Master Choi, one of the royal tutors, an unsightly old man in dark robes that swallow his frail constitution. With strict rules and a straining voice, he is one of Jaehyun’s least favorite people in the palace. The other figure—
“No, don’t invite him over,” one of the boys whines, Jihoon. “He’s with the royal hobgoblin, what if he comes over too?”
Jaehyun looks back at Jungwoo, who’s already running toward them with no regard for the companions he’s left behind. Royal Hobgoblin is a pretty accurate description for Kim Doyoung—with his pale face and red eyes, one who mutters no friendly words to children his own age. He doesn’t play with them, has never offered a friendly gesture towards Jaehyun, all his time spent with tutors or in the castle’s library, reading thick books that are most definitely too complicated in nature for Jaehyun to even comprehend.
Jaehyun does not remember a single time when Doyoung has spoken to him out of his own free will—Doyoung probably doesn’t like him, and Jaehyun has not grown to like him since the time they first met. Royal Hobgoblin, Prince Golem, The Castle’s Gargoyle. If it were up to Jaehyun, he would just completely ignore the other’s existence, but the world makes it almost impossibly so—it is obsessed with disliking Prince Doyoung and there’s not much Jaehyun can do about it.
“Hi!” Jungwoo greets, showing off his prominent front teeth. It’s only been a few days since they last saw each other, but Jungwoo likes him, he loves shadowing Jaehyun for one reason or another. “What are you doing?”
“Slaying monsters,” Jaehyun points to his sword, “I’m the cavalry captain,” he points to the rest of his company, “These are my knights.”
“I wanna play too!”
“We’re not playing,” Mingyu says, “We’re training.”
“I wanna train too,” Jungwoo twirls before taking a wobbly fighting stance. Jungwoo is well-liked most of the time, he has a charm that comes with being part of the royal family, but Jaehyun can see the rest of the boys side-eye as Jungwoo’s older brother is now making his way to them, a broody aura around him.
“We don’t want your brother tagging along,” Kihyun adds with a shrug, “Maybe tomorrow.” The boys’ distaste for Doyoung is not a secret nor they try to keep it hidden.
“Not fair, I wanna play!” Jungwoo squeals, big eyes looking back at Jaehyun, pleading. The thing about Jungwoo is that he knows he’s cute, how could he not when every adult that has ever met him coos and spoils him to no end? Jaehyun likes to think he is immune, but the truth is quite different—Jungwoo is like a younger brother, always willing and excited.
He opens his mouth to refute or agree, or say anything, really, but it is Doyoung who beats him to it, arriving promptly in front of Jungwoo. Unlike his brother—or any of his family members—Doyoung wears dark clothes, foregoing the bright blue and silver of the royal family. Jaehyun wonders why he does it, it just makes him stand out even more.
“Jungwoo,” Doyoung frowns, ignoring everyone else around him, “How dare you run away from Master Choi like that, you brat? You need to go back and finish your chores.” Jaehyun likes to imagine there’s a small and fluffy, gray cloud hovering over Doyoung everywhere he goes. A personal rainstorm.
“Tell him I don’t wanna, Jae!” Jungwoo pouts and runs behind Jaehyun who finds himself stuck between both princes.
“Jungwoo!” Doyoung still ignores him, refusing to look him—or anyone—in the eye.
“They said I can play with them if you go away,” Jungwoo says, petulant and defiant, most likely knowing what these stinging words mean.
It is then, finally, that Doyoung looks at the group of boys, at Jaehyun. His eyes harden and his pose stiffens. Jaehyun tries to stand straighter, still a few centimeters taller than Doyoung. “Don’t be a stick in the mud for once,” Jaehyun tries valiantly, wanting to indulge Jungwoo this one time. The group of boys laughs, although Jaehyun doesn’t think it that funny.
Doyoung’s eyes become slits, his lips twisting in a grimace. Yet, he does not look at any of them, nor at Jaehyun. He turns to Jungwoo again, ignoring their presence.
“Who would want to stay here with them? They stink of dirt and shit.”
They stay in silence, mostly in shock at the vile word Doyoung has used. Then, he takes hold of Jungwoo’s wrist, tightly, and turns around to where Master Choi is still waiting for them, all the while the younger prince wails and complains in yells that reverberate throughout the courtyard. Doyoung is one of the few people who can say no to Jungwoo and the younger boy probably resents this fact.
“He’s horrible,” Mingyu says, not bothering to lower his voice.
Jihoon snickers, “Gargoyle.”
Jaehyun laughs because everyone else does and soon, all is forgotten.
➽
The Ryojima Empire and the Kingdom of Sajado had seen worse times. The history between them was bloody and dark, unpretty, with death and war constantly hovering over their heads.
More than once, in the past, Ryojima had tried waging a war against the Kingdom, never quite conquering but always with a death toll. It was a power struggle that left many bitter and resentful, with the borderlands of both countries taking the worst of the burn.
Jaehyun had never lived through any of that—his times were a time of relative peace, a time where both countries sought a better relationship amongst two peoples that distrusted each other. This is how Jaehyun meets Nakamoto Yuta.
Yuta, older than Jaehyun by three years, the eldest son of the Empire’s Daijin of Defense and the current Emperor’s own cousin—he, who was sent as a ward for the Kingdom in a show of diplomacy and friendship. He’ll live with us, Duke Jung had said over a year ago when Yuta first arrived, fresh-faced and unable to speak more than a few words of their language. We’ll care for him and teach him our customs. Be nice to him.
Yuta had been shy, polite—cute, even. Jaehyun liked him right away, making it his duty to take care of the other boy despite their age difference. It wasn’t hard, the people both in the capital and back at the Jung Duchy had warmed up to Yuta rather quickly, he was well-liked, as popular as a young man with noble blood and good looks could be.
“I’ll kill him,” Jaehyun mutters under his breath, stomping around the palace halls. Yuta also had a tendency to wander away when needed the most, and it fell upon Jaehyun to find the weasel of a boy each and every time. The shy, polite boy had vanished after the first few months when familiarity had given way to true colors—vibrant shades of mischief and laziness.
It was soon to be sundown and they both needed to be at the stables sooner rather than later, lest they wanted to invoke the wrath of the cavalry master. Jaehyun sighs, long and suffering, before making his way to the common areas downstairs. The inside of the palace is huge, with winding hallways and doors inside rooms that lead to other rooms—Jaehyun is lucky enough that he’s rather used to the place now. He even has a room of his own in the noble chambers for when he visits the capital every few months. The royal palace now feels like a second home, although this does not make looking for Yuta any easier.
If I were Yuta, where would I be? Jaehyun thinks now, looking around the kitchens. It was a large room, almost empty at this hour of the day, not quite dinner time but long past lunch. Yuta’s unnerving appetite might’ve led him around here, surely. It is, however, not Yuta who walks through the kitchen doors, arms full of sweet pastries, including one in his mouth. A flash of silver hair.
“Prince,” Jaehyun does a quick bow, right hand over his heart, an instinct that takes over him without a second thought. Prince Taeyong, surprised, munches down on the last bit of his pink frosted cupcake before gulping it down with wide eyes.
Jaehyun, feeling guilty, diverts his glance, letting the crown prince regain his composure. Taeyong clears his throat and greets with a nod, “Jaehyun.”
Jaehyun stares for a second too long at Taeyong’s face, then looks away while pointing at his own mouth. “You got frosting on your lips, Prince.” Perhaps he should’ve kept his mouth shut, Jaehyun thinks, this was as awkward to him as it probably was to Taeyong—but the alternative, letting Taeyong walk around with pink frosting around his mouth like a royal jester, would’ve been treason.
“Oh,” Taeyong looks around for anything to clean his mouth with, no success.
Jaehyun panics. He looks down at his own sleeve, a burgundy silk shirt, before offering it to the older boy. “Here, my prince, use this.” His father would be so proud—this is how you serve your country.
“God,” Taeyong says, “Of course not. Don’t be foolish.”
“My Prince rejects this offer of good faith? I feel deeply hurt.”
“Jaehyun.”
Jaehyun huffs and looks back at him, pouting. “Well, what are you gonna do about it?”
With a raised eyebrow, Taeyong lifts up his own sleeve—a white wool shirt—before wiping away at the sugar on his face with no shame, all the while never breaking eye contact with Jaehyun, who looks on terrified. “See? Dealt with.”
“I could get beheaded for this.”
“Hey, it’s true what they say about you. You’re funny.”
This gets his attention, “Who’s been gossiping about me?”
“Jungwoo,” Taeyong shrugs, offering him one of his cupcakes. He must be carrying at least seven of them. Jaehyun takes one with curiosity. “He thinks you’re hilarious.”
Jaehyun ponders, then adds, “But Jungwoo thinks everyone is hilarious.”
“No, he thinks I’m more boring than a slab of ham on a wall. He probably thinks the same of Seola and Doyoung.”
“Do not listen to him, Your Highness,” Jaehyun shakes his head, “I’m sure you are funnier than me.”
Taeyong laughs at this before urging Jaehyun to take a bite of the cupcake. “What are you doing here, by the way? Hungry?”
Having forgotten what he was supposed to be doing in the first place, he exclaims, “Yuta!” Taeyong gives him a look, “Have you seen Nakamoto?”
“Yuta?”
“Yes—the ward from our duchy. Bright red hair, a little bit of an accent. Kind of around your height.”
“I know Yuta,” Taeyong says, “But I haven’t seen him around, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he shakes his head, swallowing the rest of the cupcake in a single bite, “But I need to go look for him, Prince, please excuse me.”
“Good luck,” Taeyong nods, “I’m sure you’ll find him.” His Royal Highness downs another cupcake in seconds.
By the time Jaehyun makes it down to the second level, the sky, peeking from the two-toned windows in the hallway, has been painted orange and pink, a sign that he’s most definitely getting into trouble with the cavalry master. Walking forward, he looks at the oaken door at the end of the hallway, it is adorned with intricate wood carvings that Jaehyun does not know the symbolism of, but he’s sure they mean something, they always do. This was the last place Jaehyun thought to look for—he’s never seen Yuta pick up a book in his life, there really would be no reason for him to be at the royal library, but he supposes if all else fails, the other boy must be around the area.
Before entering, Jaehyun briefly wonders if it’s even worth the hassle now—the Cavalry master will have their heads in a spike soon enough no matter what, he just hopes he will take pity on them and doesn’t tell them to his father.
With a sigh, he opens the door. He could count the number of times he’s been in the castle’s library, he’s never really been much of a reader himself so the place is rather unfamiliar to him. Inside, there is not much to see besides a limitless number of wooden shelves that reach too close to the ceiling. Hundreds upon hundreds of books that Jaehyun has never been too interested in.
And then, against the big wooden tables, he does not see Yuta. Instead, it’s a person that Jaehyun recognizes easily, for the small figure is not entirely unexpected. He takes a deep breath before walking forward.
“Hey,” he clears his throat, “Um, Prince. Have you seen Yuta anywhere around here?”
Doyoung looks up like it’s a drag, slowly, tired expression on his face. “Jung.”
“Prince.”
He looks back down to his book, “I haven’t seen him.”
“He’s a little taller than me,” Jaehyun continues, putting his hand in the air, a few centimeters above his own head, “His hair is bright red. A little long. And a nose like a girl’s.”
It seems Doyoung becomes more annoyed with every word that comes out of Jaehyun’s mouth. “How is his nose like a girl’s if he’s a boy?” he says, “And I told you, I have not seen him. You can leave me alone now.”
“Do you even know who he is? You might’ve seen him around and you just don’t know.”
“No, I do not know who he is. Tragic. I guess I can’t help you.”
Jaehyun sighs, more at the situation than at Doyoung—he didn’t really expect the other to know Yuta anyway. He looks around the empty place, a somber room, too quiet. “Why are you always here?” he says, interrupting Doyoung’s reading once again. He sees as the other boy’s frame tenses and Jaehyun realizes he must really want him gone.
“What’s it to you?” he replies hotly, “Do you even know how to read? You’re always running around with a sword in your hand, I doubt you know what a book is.”
“I read!” he exclaims, indignant. It’s true—sometimes. He probably doesn’t read as much as Doyoung, but he likes reading tales of chivalry and knights, those are his favorite, they’re fun. He takes a peek at Doyoung’s book, “I just don’t read boring books.”
“You wouldn’t know a good book if it hit you on the nose, Jung Jaehyun.”
“Are you threatening to throw a book at my face?”
“And if I am?” Doyoung sits back in his chair, “Are you a tattle-tale, little boy?”
“Little boy? I’m taller than you.”
“I’m still growing,” Doyoung’s face flushes a light pink color and Jaehyun knows he has hit a nerve. He probably shouldn’t push his luck, but there’s something intriguing about Doyoung’s reactions to his words—like pushing different buttons will elicit different answers. They’ve trained together, sometimes. Forced to interact throughout the years at events and balls—and still, Jaehyun realizes this is probably the longest conversation he’s ever had with the second prince.
“Well, I’m still growing too, I even have an extra year,” he smiles, cheeky, “In a few years, let’s see who’s taller.”
Doyoung smiles back, no charm or humor dripping from his words, “I don’t understand why people like you. The little personality you do have is arrogant and vacuous.”
“I don’t know what that word means.”
“Of course, you don’t. Now, can I please go back to my book? You’ve been here long enough.”
Jaehyun pouts knowing this is a lost battle. He really doubts Doyoung would remember Yuta anyway. “Fine. But if you do see Yuta, please tell him to go find me. Remember, red hair.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to remember such difficult information. But if that’s what’s going to take for you to leave, then sure, I’ll tell him.”
“Well, thank you sir Prince Doyoung,” Jaehyun brushes off invisible dust, “I appreciate that. Hope to see you soon.”
“Hey,” Doyoung says, “I hope you know you look like a fool right now. You’ve had frosting on your face too since you got here. Maybe the royal clowns can hire you if you try hard enough.”
interlude;
Perhaps it had been too ambitious of Doyoung to think he could finish this book in a single afternoon, his head is starting to hurt—he may have underestimated Liu military strategies and their origins but they seemed simple enough.
He rubs his eyes in frustration, he knows better than to underestimate anything. Now he’s hungry and sleepy and tired, and he still needs to go over the list of books Master Choi had assigned last week; he had also promised Master Kin he’d ask Lord Soo about the Council meeting that morning. Things were not looking up for the Trading Commission near the Xa’an borderlands and the people were starting to complain about taxation. It wasn’t like anyone asked Doyoung to keep up with these affairs but he still deemed them important.
“Ngh,” he sighs, resigning himself to at least another hour of reading this chapter. It’s not like he wants to have dinner tonight with any of the visiting lords that roam around the castle anyway, if anything, he’ll ask one of the kitchen keepers to take food up to his room.
“Too hard?” someone asks from behind him and Doyoung stiffens. He wasn’t expecting anyone and he does not recognize the owner of the voice. He turns around, glare already in place—it’s one thing to harass Doyoung in public, it’s a completely different thing to come prey upon him while in the library, this is supposed to be his sanctuary.
“Sorry,” the boy replies, taking a step back but his lips curl up in a smile, as if trying to convey I mean no harm, “Thought you were having a hard time.” He points to the book in front of Doyoung.
“I wasn’t,” he is quick to reply, “This is whatever.”
His smile grows to a bright grin, “Liu war strategies? They’re very different from Sajado warfare.”
“I know,” Doyoung relents, eyeing the newcomer with skepticism but it’s a conversation that intrigues him, “Liu seems rely on offensive infantry and pinning attacks.”
“They tend to bypass defensive lines with smaller, specialized units,” the other shrugs, “While Sajado relies on slow, methodical cavalry.”
“Arguably a good, strong strategy, but I do wish our military would think outside the box once in a while. Traditional strategies can only get you so far, and I’m sure if we were to go to war today, we would be at a disadvantage.”
“I would bet my favorite horse that you’re a wonderful tactician, Your Highness,” he sits down next to him, offering another smile, this one is warmer, “I’ve heard you’re plenty intelligent.”
Doyoung looks down at the table, straightening his posture. He’s not sure if he’s being taunted or not. “You don’t have to address me as Your Highness.”
“Why not?”
“No one really does, only the staff do it.”
“But you are a Your Highness. Ok. Then what about Prince?” he’s sitting a little too relaxed for Doyoung’s taste, head draped over his palm, almost like a child.
“Prince is fine,” Doyoung says, “It would be better if you do not address me at all, however.”
There’s a loud, high-pitched sound that makes Doyoung jump, scared. He realizes too late it is the sound of laughter.
“My name’s Yuta, by the way,” he offers Doyoung a handshake, “Pleased to meet you, Prince Doyoung.”
Doyoung takes it gingerly, as if afraid that Yuta’s hand will suddenly grow sharp fangs and bite his fingers off. “I know,” he grumbles, “You’re the ward living at the Jung duchy. You’re an heir of the Six-Headed Dragon.” Yuta might not be more than a well-dressed pedigree pet in Sajado, but in Ryojima, he was from one of the six houses that made up the imperial family.
He continues, “Son of Nakamoto Ryota, I’m not surprised you know military strategies given who your father is.”
“You’ve done your research,” Yuta raises an eyebrow, pleased, “I’m usually told they know I’m from Ryojima because I speak with an accent.”
“Your accent is hardly noticeable,” he replies, Yuta’s pronunciation could use some work but it was a good effort considering he’d been in Sajado for only a year. “If anything it’s that awfully bright hair of yours. You’re the color of beet juice.”
“In Ryojima they love my hair! It’s the color of the House of Nakamoto,” he takes a strand of hair between his fingers, proud. “And I’ll have you know, that’s the only thing my father passed on to me - I’m smart because I’ve studied battle tactics since I was a child and I enjoy it, not because I’m the son of the Defense Daijin.”
“I never said you were smart.”
“Ah, Prince Doyoung is so straightforward,” Yuta says to himself, but it is lighthearted, playful, that much Doyoung can tell.
He also agrees with Yuta’s sentiment, if parentage had anything to do with attributes, Doyoung would be strong and loud and people would like him; if titles had anything to do with personalities, all of his siblings wouldn’t be so idle and useless.
“Have you—” he stops himself, but the words are out. Yuta looks back at him, inquisitive, and urges him to finish his question. Curious, he clears his throat and adds in a softer tone, “How are people treating you?”
Yuta pauses, a silence opening up after Doyoung’s question, a shared silence of understanding. After a beat, he says, “For the most part it’s okay. Duke Jung is nice and most nobles here in the capital don’t care about me, but not in a bad way.”
“You said most. What about the rest?”
He shrugs, “People are averse to what they don’t know. I just gotta make them know me.” Yuta nods as if approving of his own words, “Then they’ll love me, right? I’m very lovable.”
Doyoung doesn’t share the sentiment, people are averse to the unknown but they are also stubborn in their views. However, he wishes this strange boy to succeed in his endeavor.
“Well,” Yuta stands up, “Actually, I gotta go now, I’m pretty sure Master Gan is looking for me, I kind of bailed out on lessons today. I’m sure I’ll get punished for this, but what can I do? Life is beautiful, Prince Doyoung—and short. One must… go out and smell the roses or whatever it is they say.”
“That just sounds like an excuse to me.”
“And it is so,” he smirks then pauses, “Hey, would you like to learn about Ryojiman strategy some other day? I can come around if you want,” he looks at Doyoung from under his red hair, his eyes are bright and full of mirth and Doyoung thinks this boy is at least half more interesting than anyone else in the castle.
“Maybe,” he says instead, pursing his lips, “I might not be here, who knows? But you can try.”
“I’ll look for you, Your Highness, I promise!” Yuta replies, then pauses, “By the way, if a certain birdy comes looking for me, could you please not tell him you’ve seen me around?”
Doyoung doesn’t reply, which the other must take as agreeing. It might be, to Doyoung’s standards at least.
Looking down at his book, he feels sure Nakamoto Yuta will not be back, Doyoung isn’t the most fun to be around, and Yuta seems the type that seeks fun in his companions. Still, an urge overtakes Doyoung as he hears the other step away towards the door. “Yuta,” he calls out.
Yuta turns around, “Yeah?”
“You have…” he points to his own face before breaking eye contact, “Frosting on your lips.”
As it so happens, Yuta does come back, he comes back many times.
➽
That same year, on the cusp of Jaehyun’s fifteenth birthday, the King passes away.
It hits the Kingdom like a spear through the heart, painful and unrelenting—despite the nature of being a ruler, King Jiseok had been well-loved by both the court and the common people. Jaehyun, only a child, had not spent much time with the late King, only able to look at him from afar as the towering man ruled over the kingdom with loud confidence. Yet, he sees his father as he hears the news from the royal messenger, he sees the way his face crumbles down from one moment to the next and this is how Jaehyun learns the meaning of grief, he sees it in his father’s face for the first time.
The King’s funeral is bound to last eight days, one for each of the Kingdom’s provinces, it is an intricate event throughout the whole kingdom but it starts with a small gathering of the Kim family and the King’s closest friends and Lords.
Jaehyun, clad in all white, sits next to his father, who leads the Jung faction in somber manner. The atmosphere is stifling and cold and he wishes Yuta could be here, next to him, but as a foreign member of the house, he is not allowed in the funeral. The Jungs stand next to the royal family, which now consists solely of the King’s four children and a few scattered distant cousins whom Jaehyun does not know. Protocol calls for him to keep his eyes on the ground, never towards the body of the late King, which is now wrapped up in ceremonial silk and jade—however, he is curious and it is this interest that leads Jaehyun to cast his eyes to where Jungwoo is standing.
The youngest is crying, a flushed mess of red and salty tears that run down his cheeks, he’d always been the most sensible one, a boy who felt too much. He can see Seola’s shoulders tremble as soft hiccups escape her lips and he feels a pang of sadness—they’re all too young for this loss. Taeyong, as is custom, stands at the front, down on one knee. He is the only one allowed to look up, the future King, and it is then that Jaehyun realizes that to Taeyong, this means more than just the death of a father—this is the death of a predecessor. He is not of age yet to be crowned, but this marks the beginning of an era for Taeyong, who will be King sooner than expected.
The crown prince holds himself upright, he is in front of the most elite of the court, after all, but from where he is standing, Jaehyun can see the way Taeyong’s hands tremble as he holds onto jabiloun, the royal sword that has now been passed on to him.
Then there’s Doyoung. Jaehyun cannot help the scowl on his face as he looks at the second son. He stands there, eyes on the ground, hands clasped—but his eyes are dry, his face is unmoved, his eyes are as dead as they have always been, his mouth impassive, as if this ceremony was a drag he needed to escape from. Perhaps to Doyoung, it is. Jaehyun had rarely seen the other boy at public events, he was sure he’d only attended when the King refused to let him get away. He was probably dreading being there, under the watchful eyes of the court and yet—Jaehyun thinks he could spare a tear or two. He really was an unbecoming prince.
When the ceremony is over, Jaehyun is dismissed by his father, who stays behind with a group of Lords that all circle around Taeyong with condolences and pity, and Jaehyun thinks only half of them mean what they say.
He leaves in search of Jungwoo, who has scurried away as soon as the ceremony is done—most of the siblings have left—although he admits it is more for his own sake than Jungwoo’s as he cannot stand being in the courtyard for one more second. He thinks first to head to the royal quarters but supposes that, if wanting to be left alone by most people, Jungwoo has probably put more thought into his hiding place.
He walks along a winding path that leads to one of the outer stables, where Jungwoo’s most precious riding mare is sheltered. Jaehyun expects at least a stable boy or two around the premises but realizes there is no one, perhaps due to the grieving nature of the day.
He doesn’t find Jungwoo but he does find Areum, Jungwoo’s royal mare, a white horse as elegant as her delicate owner. In the stables next to her, he finds Him and Jayu, Seola’s and Taeyong’s horses—and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ikigai, Doyoung’s black stallion, a young, formidable horse who was a gift from Jaehyun’s own father a few months ago and whom Jaehyun had always wanted to ride, much to his chagrin. He steps closer, letting Jayu sniff his hand before patting its snout with a gentle touch. Eyeing the black horse, Jaehyun tries to approach it, but Ikigai stares for a few seconds before huffing out a puff of hot air and leaving in indignation to eat from his pile of fresh hay. To one day ride Ikigai seems like a distant dream.
A flurry of leaves falls down along the cool breeze, the golden undersides signaling the beginning of autumn, and Jaehyun sighs. The only other place he can think of is the western dovecote, an abandoned corner near the stables surrounded by wildflowers and gravel. Jungwoo had led him there a few times, years ago, when he wanted to show the older boy a beehive up in a tree. Jaehyun had gotten stung and Jungwoo had cried, but he remembers well how to get there.
Without waiting, he walked the almost indiscernible dirt road and was thankful no one was roaming the premises, even as the sky got darker and a few lightning bugs started dancing around him.
“Jungwoo,” he says softly, not expecting an answer.
His leather boots are now muddied and Jaehyun half-regrets his decision. Perhaps it ought to be better to leave his friend alone, at least for the time being.
Before rounding the corner—he hears it. At first, he doesn’t know what it is, it starts soft and gentle, like a cicada’s singing being carried by the wind. He stops to listen closely and the sound grows—it’s not a cicada—it’s a mumble. A mumble that gets louder and higher and unmistakably human. It’s the sound of muffled crying.
Jungwoo? He thinks, the velvety voice sounding faintly familiar.
Peeking his head around the stone wall, curiosity takes over Jaehyun, half expecting to find Kim Jungwoo there, nothing else. A dark silhouette kneels over grass, an elongated shadow creeping up behind it against the setting sun. The person is not Jungwoo and, although Jaehyun cannot see his face, he knows well who it is. He finds Kim Doyoung instead.
The urge to make a quip in his own head, however, dies the moment he realizes the situation. The Doyoung in front of him is a different Doyoung from an hour ago, a different Doyoung, even, from the one he has always known. The Doyoung he knows is stoic and unmoved, with cold eyes that freeze over hell. This Doyoung is flushed pink, his cheeks are stained with tears, he is kneeling over the muddy grass, his clothes stained with dirt. Jaehyun knows not what to do, his breathing stops because the sight catches him off-guard before a heavy feeling rests within his chest.
Of course Doyoung would be sad, his father has just died. He flushes with shame at his previous thoughts but is interrupted by quiet sobbing that gets carried away by the whistling wind. He’s never heard anything quite like this sound before, the sound of Doyoung crying, of being in pain—it’s heartbreaking and it scares Jaehyun that this much sadness can reside within one human being. He should look away, leave the other boy to grieve in peace and privacy but his eyes stay glued on Doyoung like a moth to a flame, he’s enthralled and ashamed and sad and scared. He dares not leave but he also dares not step forward, he doesn’t want Doyoung to know he’s witnessing something he should not.
Most of all, Jaehyun feels sad. Not at the King’s death, and also not at Doyoung’s grief—why must Doyoung endure this alone? Why did he feel the need to bottle these feelings up when the rest of his siblings laid it all bare for the world to see and to pity them and fill them with words of love and compassion? Doyoung was here on the cold ground, the sun setting and with only the lightning bugs to make him company, buzzing around him in silence. Doyoung’s grief was as good as everyone else’s, wasn’t it?
So Jaehyun stares and closes his eyes, the cool breeze blowing the hair out of his eyes and he stays. If only for a few minutes, he stays. Doyoung would probably have his head on a spike if he ever found out, but he remains in place behind the walls of the empty dovecote. He grieves with Doyoung.
➽
“Grab on tightly to your partner,” Master Byun orders with a flourish, “And then—step, step, twirl.”
“Step, step, twirl,” Jaehyun mutters under his breath, eyes downcast towards his feet. Against everyone’s belief, Jaehyun is not a natural-born dancer, he has to put in effort and practice. Oh, woe is he!
"You can look up, you know? I’m not going to eat you,” his dancing partner says, voice full of amusement. Princess Seola looks radiant, effortlessly, even without a smile on her face. She wears a plain flowing dress and most eyes are on her despite its simplicity.
“I don’t believe that for a second, Princess,” Jaehyun retorts, looking up at her with a single raised eyebrow. Seola has grown into her beauty rather well, and Jaehyun had garnered the jealous stares of many people when they had been paired up for the coming spring ball. They weren’t even close in height, Jaehyun had noticed, but he supposes they made for a pretty couple to look at. “You’d eat me alive if given the chance.”
“Is that supposed to be flirting, Lord Jaehyun?”
“Absolutely not,” he grins, showing off his teeth. He means it—Seola is beautiful but she is also terrifying and Jaehyun doesn’t like swimming with sharks. The jealous stares are pointless when Jaehyun would rather dance with anyone else but Seola, who stares at him like she would rather be melting her eyebrows off with candle wax.
“Just don’t embarrass us,” she sniffs, placing her hand on his shoulder.
He looks away, resigned to his fate, and follows mindlessly as she leads the dance, the two of them looking exactly like the rest of the dancing couples in the room. Next to them are Taeyong and his own partner, Duchess Nayeon, and next to them are Yuta and Lady Aeri. Amongst all the noise and yelling instructions of Master Byun, the door opens quietly, almost imperceptibly. Too engrossed in their dancing, most people don’t notice him, however, Jaehyun does. He sees as Doyoung tries scurrying into the room as if hoping to go unnoticed. For the most part, no one really notices him, but Jaehyun, now deciding to let Seola puppeteer him to her will, observes as the boy slides next to Jeon Wonwoo, who had been standing awkwardly by himself, partnerless. Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, there’s not much one can say to a royal prince.
Doyoung looks miserable, as if death would be a better outcome than whatever this ball is. Jaehyun isn’t enjoying himself, none of them really are, but Doyoung takes the cake—he looks like death itself.
“What are you looking at?” whispers Seola, who has her back to Doyoung and Wonwoo.
“At your beautiful eyes, of course, Your Highness.”
“People just eat you up, don’t they?” She smiles. Her neck is long and elegant, and Jaehyun wonders how she manages to look as tall as him, even with several inches between them.
“And you don’t?” he asks instead.
“Not one bit,” she pauses, “You’re as interesting as a piece of wet bread.”
“Ouch?”
“Your face is pretty and that’s why people like you, Jaehyun,” she continues, “But you’re dull and boring and all you do is follow what everyone else does.” She continues to dance with ease and perfection, as if her words were nothing but everyday pleasantries.
“You’re straightforward,” he says and wonders how much he can say to her before being executed. They dance around and whirl across the marble floor. He leans in, his lips close to her ear in an intimate manner, “Are you sure you don’t like me?”
He doesn't expect the laugh that erupts from her and is taken aback, enough for him to smile a little himself and enough for others to look at them in curiosity. “Ugh,” he sighs, “Now people will think we’re friends.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t allow that.”
The dancing continues without interruption and Jaehyun’s eyes, once again, gravitate towards the couple in the corner. Doyoung has grown much in the past year, his limbs are now long and spindly and pale, no longer the short boy from a few years ago. The baby fat on his face is slowly melting away, and for that, Jaehyun, with his round cheeks, is jealous. His hair remains an inky black, the tips covering his eyes. He‘s still awkward, maybe just a little bit less so from the first time they met, but awkward nonetheless.
Jaehyun looks at Wonwoo, who’s around Jaehyun’s height—he’s a handsome boy, quiet and unfussy—and he sees the way Doyoung’s bony fingers wrap around Wonwoo’s waist, just the same as Jaehyun’s own hand wraps around Seola’s delicate frame. He briefly wonders how it would feel to be under those hands.
They’re not good dancers, that much he can tell, they’re unnatural and clumsy, but even then, Jaehyun can tell why they have been paired up: their long frames compliment each other, their long legs look good together without effort. He doesn’t think Jaehyun and Seola compliment each other like that, even if everyone else seems to think so.
“Distracted again?” Seola snaps him back to reality.
“Sorry.”
She purses her lips and tries hard not to look too annoyed, “What are you even looking at?”
“Nothing,” he shakes his head, “Just thinking.” It seems he thinks too much about Doyoung these days.
➽
“No,” he says. “I refuse.”
Master Byun sighs for the umpteenth time. They’ve been at a stalemate for the past 20 minutes.
“Your attendance is required, Prince Doyoung,” the Master continues, “And you two are the highest-ranking members of the ball without a dancing partner.”
“I will go to the lake and drown myself if you do not stop this nonsense.”
“Prince.”
“It’s not like I made Wonwoo such a weak and feeble creature. I ate the same thing he did and I am fine,” he grumbles. “Bring him back!”
“He’s on his deathbed,” Jaehyun rolls his eyes. This is mostly a lie—Wonwoo is not dying but he is currently throwing up his existence away. Half of the ball is emptying their guts out right now and it is not really Wonwoo’s fault this is happening. No—this is Seola’s fault.
If someone ought to suffer Doyoung’s ire it is Seola, not Wonwoo, and certainly not Jaehyun.
Unlike the rest of the attendees, Jaehyun knows Seola is faking her illness—he is more than certain this is the case. He almost cannot blame her, if Jaehyun could bail out on the spring ball, he would do too. It just so happens that now it’s a little too late, not to mention inconvenient. He ponders—what fate could be worse: dancing with Princess Seola or dancing with Prince Doyoung? He realizes he doesn’t know the answer.
“I don’t really care, let’s just cancel the whole thing, everyone’s sick anyway.”
“Preposterous!” the Master cries, “It’s tradition for the young royals and nobles to start off the spring ball. We cannot break tradition just a year after the late King’s passing.”
A loud silence engulfs the room, even Jaehyun knows not what to say.
Then, “This is emotional manipulation, Master Byun.”
“Lord Jaehyun is a good dancer,” the Master nods as if that would move Doyoung at all as if that mattered at all. It’s almost laughable how much Doyoung could care less about how well Jaehyun can move his feet to a beat.
“Is there anyone else at all?” Doyoung doesn’t even look at him. Jaehyun is not used to being mere wallpaper—no, he is not used to being worse than a stink bug crawling on the floor. Kim Doyoung truly has a talent to make you feel worthless if he so wishes. Jaehyun almost admires the talent for what it is.
“You both need partners,” Byun replies, “Everyone else has a partner already. Don’t make this difficult, young prince. You already know the steps, it will only be five minutes of your time.”
“Five minutes of torture,” he says, “This was already bad enough with Wonwoo, now you’re making me dance with him?”
Jaehyun, who had been taking it all in quiet stride, cannot help but complain at once, taking a step forward and forcing Doyoung to acknowledge him, he says, “Hey, I’m not that bad, okay?”
“And you’re just fine with this?” He turns to face Jaehyun, finally deeming him part of the conversation.
Jaehyun shrugs, tired, “I was already partnered with Seola, how worse could you possibly be?”
For the first time since Jaehyun entered the room, Doyoung is silent, sobering up from the heated conversation. Master Byun looks at each of the boys, expectant smile on his face, nodding along as Doyoung stares Jaehyun down with a look that could freeze over hell.
“Whatever. Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying for.”
As the prince turns around and makes his escape in long strides, Jaehyun looks down at the shorter Master Byun, who looks up with a grateful smile before mouthing a big thank you to the marquess. He doesn’t feel like he did much, he only told the truth—he was half expecting Doyoung to redirect his tirade at him for the slightly insulting words, but Jaehyun supposes all’s well that ends well (at least for now). He throws Master Byun another reassuring smile before heading back to his own chamber, where a court lady waits for him with tonight’s outfit.
interlude;
”So what are you doing?” he asks, arms crossed over as he towers over the girl who is sprawled over her ridiculously plush bed.
“Reading scrolls. What does it look like I’m doing, brother?”
“You seem fine to me.”
“That’s very nice of you. But I’m actually feeling quite ill. Atrocious, even. Oh, the pain.”
“You can quit your act, it’s not like I’m going to snitch on you to Master Byun, even if I should.”
“No—because you’re a darling sibling, aren’t you?” Seola decides to look up for the first time, her brown eyes glaring over at Doyoung, “So what are you doing here? This conversation has been pointless so far.” Across the room, Pachi, Seola’s personal raven, chirps once before spreading its wings and flapping its way toward Doyoung’s bony shoulder. Pachi caws in affection and it almost looks like the bird greets the boy in playful jest. Its wings, the color of dark ink, and the prince’s own hair look nearly one and the same. Seola, frowning at the display of affection, snaps her fingers at Pachi who, like a true trained royal bird, flies to his owner’s shoulder instead.
Doyoung laments the missed opportunity of petting Pachi’s fluffed up feathers.
“I’ve been your collateral damage,” he snaps, “Guess who ended up being Jung Jaehyun’s new dancing partner just because you didn’t feel like it?”
At this, Seola throws her head back in laughter, genuine. “That, I did not plan.” Pachi flies away from the disturbance and the princess’ shaking shoulders. “But that is a very entertaining outcome indeed. He’s not your type, is he?”
Doyoung glowers and barks back, “He’s not yours either, that’s for sure.”
Seola manages to calm down and Pachi comes back. She sighs, “Almost makes me wish I was there to see you and that knucklehead dance together. Almost.”
“I’ll be the court’s laughingstock.”
“But what’s new?”
That much is true, but it’s not like Doyoung will let his sister talk to him like that, older or not. However, the doors to Seola’s chamber fly open like thunder, killing the scathing retort on Doyoung’s tongue. The pair look at the sudden commotion and are met by silver locks not unlike Seola’s own. He forgoes any greetings, “Is it true, Doyoung? Will you be dancing the Ball with Jaehyun?”
Doyoung raises a single eyebrow, “Word sure travels fast. It’s not becoming of a prince like you to be gossiping.”
“And who invited you, Jungwoo?” the princess continues before looking at them both with contempt, “Are my chambers now a meeting spot for irksome boys to tittle-tattle like lowborn merchants?”
Jungwoo flushes pink, suddenly at the mercy of his older siblings’ ice cold derision. “I’m stuck dancing with cousin Soonyoung—please trade with me, Doyoung!”
“What?”
“You dance with Soonyoung, I’ll dance with Jaehyun. I know you don’t like him anyway!”
“I don’t like cousin Soonyoung either.”
Jungwoo, petulant, stomps on the ground once, voice thinning out in high pitch, “You don’t like anyone, anyway! Just trade with me.”
Doyoung grimaces, lips turned up in distaste. He can’t imagine why Jungwoo would willingly pair himself up with an unpleasant airhead like Jaehyun. “No,” he says, stubborn. “If you don’t want to dance with Soonyoung, then you go talk to Master Byun, not me.” Even if this was more of a punishment to him than anyone else, the thought of talking to the Master and scrambling and moving and switching partners all over again just before the ball seemed like a headache for everyone involved, Jungwoo could be so thoughtless sometimes.
“Doyoung!”
“You go talk to him. If he wants to then I’ll trade you, but not a second beforehand.” The thought of dancing with short Soonyoung was not appetizing either, and Doyoung was sure Master Byun would not agree to the switch either way.
“If you could take this quarrel outside and far away from here, I’ll be grateful to you both. I want to nap.” Seola makes herself known again, visibly irritated.
“No need,” quips Doyoung, “The conversation is over. I’ll see myself out.”
He doesn’t look back at his younger brother as he makes his way towards the door, he feels an incoming headache and Doyoung laments to himself the absurdity of a Spring Ball’s existence in the first place.
“I don’t like you, Doyoung,” Jungwoo cries, childish as ever, like milk left out on a summer day—spoiled and acrid. Sometimes Doyoung doesn’t believe there’s only a difference of two years between them, but he supposes there’s more to it than just age.
“Get dressed, the Ball will start soon.”
➽
The look Master Byun gives him is anything but friendly, Jaehyun is not often the recipient of such looks and a shiver runs down his spine. He tries his best to regain composure as he descends the barely lit stairs and down to the Chamber of Stars, named after its painted ceiling depicting a vivid starry sky—it was the court’s preferred room for balls. Now, however, Jaehyun could barely make out the painted stars, he could not see much past a few centimeters in front of him. “Doyoung?” he calls out. The dance will start soon and everyone’s scrambling to find their partner. A few heads will roll if Master Byun has any say on the matter.
Shuffling along, he keeps calling out, a little more frantically now, “Doyoung?” He tries loosening the stifling collar of his shirt. Everything feels so hot and stuffy but he tries to remain calm.
“Jaehyun!” a voice calls out to him a few paces away. It’s a sweet voice that Jaehyun recognizes in an instant and he holds onto the closest limb he can latch onto.
“Where’s your brother?” he asks Jungwoo, only able to see half of his features under the dark lighting.
“I—” There’s a pause from the other boy, uncharacteristically to his always confident and chatty nature. “I think we should—”
“Jungwoo!” a loud voice calls out for the prince. “What are you doing? The dance is about to start.” Kwon Soonyoung, a short boy with ashy hair and cousin to the royals, hisses as he scrambles his way next to Jungwoo, not sparing a glance at Jaehyun as the starting notes of the slow waltz begin. Soonyoung takes hold of Jungwoo’s sleeve and drags him away with no preamble, but Jaehyun pays them little to no mind as he becomes frantic now that he’s effective without partner. He realizes that, as the room lights up and everyone starts their dance, he will be right in the middle, making an absolute fool of himself in front of the present court. Jaehyun wants the earth to eat him whole!
“Jung,” he feels a warm, smooth hand intertwine with his own. “Where have you been?” Doyoung whispers at him. He sounds bothered, as is Doyoung’s usual tone, but his face reveals none of this as the music starts in full bloom and the room lights up under the warm color of the chandeliers.
“Looking for you!” He whispers back, but his lips turn upwards, revealing a pair of dimples. They’re not aimed at Doyoung, but at whoever it is that might be looking at their dance.
Almost without thinking, he places his hand on Doyoung’s back, just as he practiced with Seola, but his hand is quickly slapped away before Doyoung’s own hand slides behind his back.
“What are you doing?” Doyoung says as they start moving to the music, just like every other dancing couple next to them. The dance floor looks more vacant than usual, most likely due to the fact they have lost a quarter of the young lords and ladies to apparent food poisoning. However, the balconies are full and bustling with everyone watching the annual display choreographed by Master Byun. “I’m leading.”
“You’re a terrible dancer,” Jaehyun sweats, trying not to look down and check if Doyoung does, in fact, have two left feet. Belatedly, Jaehyun notes Doyoung’s outfit—unlike Jaehyun, and unlike most of the male attendees, Doyoung wears a ceremonial robe, blue in color, the color of the Kims—and made of vibrant silk that shines with the light’s reflection to show off ornate patterns of gold across the sleeves. As per ancient custom, the princes wear royal robes, but everyone else was free to wear whatever they so wished. Jaehyun himself had been dressed in a green coat over a white long-sleeved shirt, expensive clothes that were modern and well-liked within the court.
“I’m a prince,” Doyoung reminds him as if his outfit wasn’t enough reminder. He looks like he’s fighting the absolute urge to scowl at Jaehyun in disdain, “I can’t have some random boy lead me.”
“How dare you? I’m not just some random boy, I’m a Jung,” he sniffs, dignified, but he thinks it’s too late to switch positions now without garnering attention to them and so, he lets himself be led by Doyoung. “Just go slowly,” he whispers, “I haven’t danced this position before.”
“Good thing you’re the better dancer, then,” Doyoung says, satisfied, and yet, he remains stiff as a plank. It’s not like Wonwoo was a great dancer but surely he wasn’t as bad as Doyoung, right? At least with Jaehyun now it won’t be a complete disaster.
At first, dancing and swirling around with Doyoung doesn’t feel that different from dancing with Seola—no matter where Jaehyun had placed his hands on either sibling, he was the one being led, one way or another. Still, he can’t quite meet the older’s gaze eye-to-eye, something he’s never had qualms over with Seola.
Instead, Jaehyun looks at the scenery unfolding behind Doyoung, he’s curious to see how everyone else is faring. He sees Jungwoo and Soonyoung, who both look dashing as the older of the two cousins, Soonyoung, leads the dance with astounding precision and fluidity.
As Doyoung twirls him around once, Jaehyun sees a flash of blue and silver and, despite Jungwoo’s and Soonyoung’s lavish dancing, he cannot help but stop looking at them in favor of the main attraction.
Taeyong dances like a prince should—gallantly. Sooyoung might be the better dancer, but Taeyong carries himself in a way that demands attention from everyone in the room. He too, like Doyoung and Jungwoo, wears traditional robes, yet his are even more ornate than his younger brothers’, a grand display of excess. This is his last Mid-Spring Ball, Jaehyun thinks—with Taeyong turning nineteen in less than a few full moons, he won’t be able to join the ball next year. It’s a shame that Jaehyun was never paired up with the crown prince, not even for a single year, but, as he looks at the smiling Im Nayeon dancing next to the crown prince, as she does every year, he would not dare disrupt the peace for everyone, especially poor Master Byun.
“You’ll break your neck like that,” Doyoung brings him back to reality, red ruby eyes frowning at him. “Focus on your own dancing, Taeyong will still be there after we’re done, I promise.”
He feels his skin warm up as a flush of blood rises up his cheeks, but does as Doyoung says. “I wasn’t looking at Taeyong.”
“You were.”
“Fine, I was, but—not like that. Not the way you’re thinking.”
“Like what?”
“Like, you know—with lust. He is my king… or, my future king.”
Doyoung stifles a short laugh, one that would be mean-spirited, Jaehyun is sure. “I never said you were looking at him with lust. But what’s wrong with that, anyway? Everyone looks at my brother that way, you wouldn’t be the first nor the last.”
“Do not confuse admiration with lust.”
“It is you who should not confuse admiration with worship, Jung. And between worship and lust, there is little distinction.”
“Well, I disagree with you, Your Highness,” Jaehyun says, finding it difficult to keep the placid smile on his face as the dance continues. He wishes he could have Doyoung’s absurd talent for looking like the clay statue of a bored, unmoving cat. Although, he supposes, perhaps it is not so necessary for him to worry too much about how he looks, surely most of the court has their eyes on Taeyong and Nayeon, who are currently dancing center stage.
Jaehyun is not used to having his presence ignored, but he’s learned that when it comes to being in the near vicinity of the crown prince, it is almost an inevitability.
He looks up at the balconies, where the audience resides—they must be aching to join the dance as well, especially the ladies who all dress in colorful and flowing garments. He meets the eye of an older lord, one whose name Jaehyun can’t quite remember, but whom he has met a few times before in the past when being introduced to dozens and dozens of nobles. After a while, despite being chastised by his mother for this, they all end up looking the same to Jaehyun. Then, he meets the eyes of a lady he doesn’t recognize - and then another. And then, another nameless lord.
What? He fights hard to remain neutral, but his confusion must show on his face, even if just a little.
“Why are they looking at us so much?” he asks.
For the first time, Doyoung’s facial muscles deem him worthy of movement. He smirks, cold, “Why do you think?” It’s not so much a question, but a spat on his face.
Jaehyun sobers up, his smile unwavering, and decides not to look up at the balconies again. Is it because they expected Jaehyun to be dancing with Seola? Or perhaps Doyoung with Wonwoo?
The second realization hits Jaehyun like ice water, his heart stammers for a brief second against his chest before he is taken back to last year, to a windy sunset on a gray day. He feels the way Doyoung’s hand trembles, almost imperceptibly in a way no one but Jaehyun would be able to tell. The prince has been shaking since the dance began and Jaehyun had failed to notice, fooled by the other’s frigid words and impassive face. Doyoung, from the start - perhaps even beforehand - had known they were being watched, had felt the questioning glances at the odd couple.
Was he too embarrassed by his dancing? Perhaps by his outfit? No, Jaehyun says to himself, he knows what those people think, he knows what they say in not-so-low whispers about Doyoung because Jaehyun has been amongst them. He knows the words they say about the second son, about the red-eyed demon who’s cold and mean and ill-tempered.
Jaehyun thinks of the trembling hands and spiteful words, he thinks of the boy who sobs to the skies while on his knees.
Wordlessly, he tightens his hold on Doyoung’s hand as the dance continues and they slide across the room in long paces, they spin in strong strides, the crescendo of strings encompassing the whole room and nothing but the music can be heard - it would be a moot point to say anything, and Jaehyun doesn’t think he would even have any words left to say. But Doyoung looks at him and all Jaehyun can see is the crimson red of his eyes and the painted dots in the Chamber of Stars pale in comparison, they’re nothing but a cheap imitation of the fiery suns that he sees at that moment, befalling, thunderous, apocalyptic.
And he doesn’t look away, Jaehyun never looks away. He thanks any and all gods out there that Doyoung doesn’t either.
The music stops, the last of the strings reverberates in his ears and Jaehyun’s body feels hot - can the music go for longer? Just a little bit longer?
He sees the way Doyoung’s face has flushed, his chest heaving up and down at the sudden exertion. When Doyoung takes back his hand, Jaehyun laments the newfound feeling of lack. It’s colder now.
“I—” he starts, but the words get caught up in his throat.
Doyoung looks away, mouth twisting in annoyance, not waiting for him to regain his composure, “You ended up leading.” He looks back at him, anger in his eyes. “You can’t just do that to a prince. In front of everyone.”
The rest of the court is now joining the dance floor, a new song starts and chatter fills the room, some couples disperse and new ones form.
“I wasn’t leading, I was just…” the words die in his mouth. There’s not much to say, he can’t really explain anything to himself, much less Doyoung.
“You can go now,” is all Doyoung says, curt and abrupt.
“Doyoung—”
“Excuse me, Lord Jaehyun,” a girlish voice calls from behind him. He turns and sees Nayeon standing in front of him, pretty, a few inches shorter than either of them. “May I have this dance?”
Jaehyun looks at her, opens his mouth, closes it, then turns to face the prince once again. He needs to talk to Doyoung, it’s an urge that has overcome him all at once, his palms sweaty and nervous. And yet, one simply does not say no to Im Nayeon, daughter of Greater Duke Im, ally to the crown and the Duchy of Jung.
He makes eye contact with the other boy, but it seems Doyoung knows the situation better than Jaehyun. “Keep Lady Nayeon company,” he says with a straight face, almost bored.
He doesn’t wait for Jaehyun nor Nayeon to acknowledge him, and all Jaehyun can do is watch as Doyoung’s dark silhouette slithers out of the room wordlessly, a shadow amongst bright colors. Now that Doyoung has kept his promise to Master Byun, he stays not a second longer.
➽
By the time he is seventeen, Jaehyun is known throughout the court as the best swordfighter of his generation. Amongst the many sons of nobles, he is the strongest, enough to land punishing blows to his opponents; he is lithe and swift enough to scurry, dodge, and parry, and, most of all, he is smart enough to make fools out of them. These facts do nothing to lessen Jaehyun’s well-established ego.
“You’re gonna do so well, Lord Jung,” a pretty Lady in blue smiles at him coquettishly as one of the Royal squires adjusts his breastplate and an attendant girl ties a green ribbon with the Jung emblem around his arm.
He smiles politely and bows his head at the older woman, not bothering to make conversation with her, too nervous about the coming tournament. One could easily confuse Jaehyun’s restlessness with nerves regarding his performance; he will be, after all, in front of everyone attending the Royal Tournament. It is the first time he’s been allowed to participate and the crown prince and most noble houses will be attending. Jaehyun isn’t too worried about that, however, he’s lived his whole life with many eyes on him anyway.
No, he cares little about the people attending the tournament. Mostly.
“Is that too tight, my Lord?” the attendant asks.
“Hmm,” he shakes his head, not paying much attention to the girl, “It’s fine, thank you.” He steals a few glances at the entrance, but to no avail, the knights and participants have all been ushered near the stables, while the public is seated, awaiting in excitement at the yearly tradition hosted just outside the palace grounds.
“Duke Jung,” the girl says again.
“Hmm,” Jaehyun replies again, still staring at the entrance. A little odd that he’s being addressed as Duke now, but he accepts the title easily.
“If you’re this distracted you might as well give up now, boy,” the booming voice of Duke Jung scares the life out of him. The actual Duke Jung.
“Father,” he straightens up, realizing too late the squire and the girl have noticed his father before him. He shakes his head, “I’m not distracted. Never been better, actually.”
The Duke gives him a knowing glance, “Feeling confident?”
Jaehyun shrugs, he’s fought with many of the other boys before, some are downright awful, some are not bad, but never quite up to par with Jaehyun. The real challenge will be Yuta, who decided to join the competition after Jaehyun whined and begged him to do so, saying it’d be too boring without him. “Is confidence so wrong?”
“No,” his father replies, “Know your worth, child, but don’t let it get to your head, find balance.”
Jaehyun gives him a grin, showing off his perfect teeth. “I will. I’m perfectly balanced. I’ll bring back the trophy,” he pauses and asks, “Did you ever win? Back in the day, I mean.”
The man laughs, warmly, “No. Not even once. King Jiseok was ruthless to everyone, including me. Especially me.”
“I see,” he says, “It’s a shame the princes are not in the tournament, I’m sure I could’ve beaten them all.”
“You talk bravely, Jaehyun,” a familiar voice says. Yuta, sly as a fox, walks from behind the Duke. “I’m not so sure you can beat me.”
He has, countless times, in fact. Despite their age difference, Jaehyun has beaten Yuta more times than he can count; however, Yuta gives back as good as it gets, and he manages to beat him from time to time, even with all the missed practice sessions. Jaehyun wonders how good Yuta would be if he actually put in any effort at all.
“Duke Jung,” Yuta addresses the older Jung, and Jaehyun notices the heavy scabbard he holds with two hands. It’s emblazoned in green and a silver pegasus on the back. Jaehyun knows what it is and he looks at it dubiously.
“Thank you, Yuta,” the man says, taking hold of the sword. When the Duke holds it, the scabbard looks light and effortless. He turns to Jaehyun, “Son.”
“Father,” he says, eyes bright. He resists the urge to bounce around in glee.
His father sighs, amused at Jaehyun’s not-so-hidden enthusiasm. It is true he’s been told he wears his emotions on his face. “It is time.”
“Yes,” Jaehyun says, this time bouncing from foot to foot, very unbecoming of a noble duke. His father takes out the sword from the scabbard. It’s old metal, with the handle shining a bright jade green. It is the family sword, King’s Shield, which Jaehyun has always thought a bit absurd, it’s a sword, not a shield, but he likes it nonetheless.
“Are you sure?” he says just to be polite. When his father nods, Jaehyun goes in with no preamble, taking the sword for himself. King’s shield is one of the famed noble weapons known throughout the Kingdom, it passes on from generation to generation, and, even though it is still a few years from being his, Jaehyun appreciates his father lending it to him for such a momentous occasion.
It’s light to his touch, and despite appearance, the sword is not heavy at all, yet he knows it to be deadly in the right hands. Of course, that sword is not used for killing nowadays, it is mostly for show and for public appearances such as today. It hasn’t been used for an actual fight in years. Still, this is the first time Jaehyun has been allowed to wield it, and somehow it feels like a rite of passage, a way his father is saying: yes, look at my heir, look at the boy I have chosen.
Jaehyun makes eye contact with Yuta, who looks back at him with a grin - he knows how much Jaehyun has been waiting for this moment. Jaehyun has to stop himself from feeling too much, lest he’ll dissolve in mad giggle in front of everyone. Instead, he puffs his chest, proud of the green and silver colors he is baring.
“I’ll do my best today, father,” he nods, tightening the hold on his sword.
➽
When all the young knights and swordsmen are lined up as the tourney is about to start, the first thing he notices is the royal grandstands. This year, like the years prior, the royal Kims sit at the front, with Taeyong taking the central seat, a cushioned chair much too big for him. It is not the King’s usual tourney throne, Jaehyun notices, that throne is reserved until the day of Taeyong’s coronation.
Still, he is sat in the middle - on one side sits Seola, who could not be bothered to look interested in the event. On the other side is Jungwoo, who waves at Jaehyun once before one of his retainers brings forth food. Jaehyun waves back as the introductions are being announced, but his attention is entirely focused on the fourth Kim child, the one who sits on the far right of the table. Like Seola and Jungwoo, Doyoung seems entirely too bored with the whole ordeal, the frown on his face too prominent and obvious Jaehyun can see it from meters away. He looks -
“Cute,” he mutters under his breath, still ignoring everything else around him. “He looks so cute.”
There comes a time in the life of a man in which he must accept defeat. Ever since the ball, nearly a year ago, Jaehyun came to accept his troublesome feelings for the older boy. Jaehyun was in love with Prince Kim Doyoung.
This knowledge should’ve been more irksome, at least more bothersome or inconvenient, it’s the first time he has felt this type of feeling in his life, after all. But it comes to Jaehyun like a gentle rivulet of water, an acceptance of the inevitable, of what has always meant to be. Or at least that’s how he sees it. He does think he might be a romantic at heart.
“Psst,” Yuta whispers to him, “Are you even paying attention?”
How annoying is it that it is Yuta who chastises him - out of all people. “I am,” he says, barely moving his lips and smiling at the audience.
“Who were you staring at?” his friend asks, bright eyes full of mischief, a genuine smile threatening to erupt from the corner of his mouth.
“No one,” Jaehyun says. His crush on Doyoung is something he has kept for himself for the past few months. He isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t think it would bode too well with many people.
“Hmm,” Yuta ponders, not even pretending to be paying attention anymore. “The princess?”
“As if! Jaehyun says, indignant.
“That’s a little too defensive, I think,” his lips tremble and at this point, Jaehyun is scared Yuta will just give up and start laughing in the middle of the opening ceremony, getting them both disqualified before Jaehyun can show off in front of Doyoung.
“I’ll tell you if you beat me this time,” Jaehyun says and Yuta sobers up. Nakamoto Yuta isn’t the type to put in effort for a simple prize or shallow recognition, however, he is the type of person that loves a good secret.
“I’ll hold you to that, then,” the older boy raises an eyebrow and Jaehyun knows he is serious.
Jaehyun smiles back but doesn’t look at him, keeping his eyes on the grandstands.
➽
Jaehyun doesn’t just talk the talk - he obliterates most of the contestants with ease. There are a few boys from minor noble houses that have visited the capital just for a chance at this tourney, and Jaehyun does feel a little bad about disengaging them in a matter of minutes. However, he puffs his chest out with pride and lets the sun shine brightly upon him as he smiles at the grandstands, hoping that Doyoung will find him handsome and brave, and strong.
Doyoung does not look up from where he’s brooding, instead trying to cover up his face from the burning sun. Jaehyun expected this - Doyoung is not one that swoons easily and this is something he likes about him. A challenge is good, Jaehyun likes challenges, Doyoung is a challenge.
By the time the sun is at its highest, there remain four competitors: Chaeyoung and Bona, two members of the Princess’ Guard - and Yuta, and Jaehyun.
“You’ve been practicing?” he says, clenching his teeth as Yuta steps forward, as lithe as a bird.
Yuta grins, sweat dripping from his forehead, clearly as exhausted as Jaehyun feels, “Not really, I'm just putting in some effort today, Jung.”
He dreads to think of a life in which Yuta actually attended their shared lessons constantly.
Yuta is smart, even if he isn’t as strong as Jaehyun, he knows his body well; he knows when and how to sidestep and when to attack the hardest with minimal effort. He is a good opponent, Jaehyun has always known that. But Jaehyun also knows how little stamina Yuta has, he knows his left side almost goes unprotected, if he hits at the right time, hard, Jaehyun can gain the upper hand.
It also happens that, when Yuta is starting to corner him and Jaehyun is starting to feel a little tired, he ends up facing the grandstands. And, for the first time since the tournament started, he sees Doyoung face the arena, a curious look etched on his face. Doyoung is looking at him - Jaehyun cannot possibly be humiliated right now in front of everyone, in front of Doyoung. Jaehyun needs to win this now, it’s a matter of life and death.
With a sudden surge of newfound energy and will, Jaehyun sidesteps one of Yuta’s vicious strikes, countering each of the following attacks. Yuta, surprised, starts grinning, manic, parrying Jaehyun’s own strikes as the younger boy starts advancing in on him. “Oh, so sudden?” Yuta mocks but it’s in good nature and Jaehyun can’t help but grin back.
“Not letting you win,” he says back, and for a moment, he forgets about the audience and the tournament and even Doyoung, suddenly it’s just him and Yuta and they’re at the Jung stronghold, in an autumn afternoon, practicing their parries and lunges as they laugh and sweat, breathless.
In the end, Jaehyun wins and Yuta doesn’t seem to mind at all.
➽
The last fight of the day garners much attention - Jung Jaehyun, son of Grand Duke Jung, with an army of admirers and enthusiasts, against Bona, head of the princess guard, pretty and strong and stoic, surely with admirers of her own.
Jaehyun notes that Seola finally has the decency to look interested in the event for once that day, and he is sure that the princess would find joy in seeing him annihilated by her own guard. Go figure.
He’s never actually fought anyone from the royal guard before, as the guards and the nobles don’t really mingle during training or skirmishes. However, he’s seen Bona before, he knows that, although still a rookie, she is a fierce and strong fighter, possibly stronger than Yuta if she’s gotten to this point, at least. He can’t back down now, not as Jaehyun looks down at the grandstands again and decides that, even if Doyoung won’t be thoroughly impressed by a tournament win, the winner receives a kiss on the cheek from any member of the royal family of their choosing - that alone is surely worth any and all trouble. Of course, Jaehyun will choose Doyoung.
He smiles to himself in a satisfied manner, assuring himself that the power of love can and will beat everything on his path.
This proves to be wrong, a lesson learned by the young Jung Jaehyun - sometimes your love will crumble to pieces in the most humiliating way possible. Especially if your opponent is Kim Bona of the royal guard.
Bona fights like a monster, she is everything Yuta is not. She is strong and ambitious in her attacks, she uses every ounce of strength in her with every slash and attack. She is a monster on the battlefield, a monster that hides behind a pretty face and furrowed brows. Yuta had been all wit, trying to parry and slither his way out of Jaehyun’s grasp. Bona goes in like a maniac, stopping all of his attacks with brute force and giving back with all she’s got. The moment Jaehyun realizes she holds the upper hand every time they clash swords, he panics. This has never happened before. Since little, Jaehyun has been the all-time champion of his generation, sure, he’s been beaten before, but never like this, never so thoroughly and easily, as if he were a paper crane being toyed with by the wind.
He does not like humiliation, especially so publicly, he feels his face flush red and for a moment he, again, forgets about Doyoung spectating from afar. All he thinks about right now is this girl, this opponent, so arrogant in her step, so easily looking down at Jaehyun and no matter how much he tries, she blocks each and every one of his attacks. He stops thinking and just starts charging at her, hoping at least one measly slash lands. He briefly allows himself to wonder if this is how the other boys feel whenever they have gone up against him. A barrier, a hunter that fights like they already own the win. Oh, Seola must be enjoying this.
At last, his muscles spent and tired, Jaehyun goes in for a pathetic slash, and Bona, again, parries it before going in herself, finally disarming the young lord. The thump of King’s Shield against the ground is deafening, the only sound marking an astounding defeat.
He doesn’t hear as the crowd cheers for this year’s winner, he doesn’t see as Bona sheaths her sword. He can only hear the sound of his own blood pumping, his muscles aching, his face hot, embarrassed. He has tasted absolute defeat, his family’s sword still on the ground. He does not wait for the closing ceremony, he picks up his sword and leaves before anyone can say a word to him.
To Doyoung, this might not mean much. He might have not even been paying attention to the fight, but to Jaehyun, this is something new, something that tastes absolutely vile in his mouth. He cannot face Doyoung this time, he does not want to.
➽
Jaehyun has led a life of relative ease. He does not worry much about aspects outside of his little bubble of comfort, he does not need to. Even with qualms about his estate and his family’s lands, he lets his father handle all that business because it is not Jaehyun’s time to do so, not for now, perhaps in the future.
Due to this life of comfort, Jaehyun has misconstrued a simple truth: not everyone leads lives as simple as his. He realizes this one afternoon as his history tutor drones on in the background about something or another he pays no mind to.
It’s a history lesson on the different lands that surround their own Kingdom of Sajado. They have a strange relationship with most of them, teetering between amicable terms to not-so-hidden enmity. There is the Western Dynasty of Xan’An and the Eastern Dynasty of Liu, lands so ancient they have seen thousands of kingdoms come and go; rich and stable empires that, although friendly enough with Sajado, would not hesitate to betray any sort of alliance if it meant garnering more power for themselves.
There was Ryojima, Yuta’s land, a nation fierce and powerful, a nation like the boy himself, smart and ingenious and more than ambitious.
There was the Kingdom of Go Han. Of Go Han, Jaehyun knows very little, always uninterested in things so remote and distant. He knows Sajado is not particularly fond of the Kingdom to their East, but that is no surprise - Sajado is not fond of anyone outside their borders. To them, Go Han is a nation of godless heretics. Although not a particularly powerful Kingdom in terms of numbers, Sajado keeps Go Han at bay, for they have powerful soldiers and an innumerable number of natural resources that they export to the rest of the nations. To Sajado, Go Han is an ally they see with disdain.
Jaehyun looks at the book in front of him, depicting a map of the continent of Fyn, the Koda river separating Sajado from Go Han. He reads the text, for some reason entirely fascinated by the descriptions of the country, and then his world stops just a little bit.
He reads the passage again. And again, trying to understand this newfound knowledge.
There are certain groups of Go Han people that are known for their bright red eyes. This trait is only found within certain families near the capital of Go Han, Aticar.
He thinks back to a young child, small and frail, stark hair and pale skin. He thinks of his small figure against the bright blonde of his siblings, he thinks of people talking, of snide remarks and roll of eyes, of taunts and quiet sneers. Mocking, talking behind the boy’s back but surely the boy heard. The young prince heard every single word, aware of the world around him.
To Jaehyun, that boy was angry at the world, no reason discernible. Why couldn’t he be more personable? Maybe if he tried a little harder, maybe if he wasn’t so quiet or irritable, surely he could have friends. Jaehyun knew that boy wasn’t so bad, if he opened himself to the world, he would be loved as he deserved. Maybe if he just tried a little harder.
Jaehyun’s fist closes and his lips purse. It wasn’t the boy’s fault, was it? How could you love a world that, from the moment it saw you, decided it wouldn’t love you back no matter what. Bastards have little place in a royal court.
➽
Everyone stares at the scene in front of them, dumbfounded, perplexed. Jaehyun’s clammy hand holds on tight, intertwined with pale, delicate fingers that tremble like translucent spiderwebs. Jaehyun lets out a guttural grunt, brow furrowing deeper as his arm muscles contract, but it is to no avail.
To the world, this is a first - oh their poor Duke Jaehyun. Their marvelous sunshine! How could he be losing to the pathetic black sheep of the royal family? Is this perhaps the destiny of those inferior to the royal blood? Is perhaps even the worst of the golden bloodline too much for the best of mortals?
Jaehyun thinks none of this. In fact, at this moment, as he breaks into a sweat, Jaehyun thinks not of winning nor of losing.
He thinks of Doyoung’s soft skin, like velvet, his thin and cold fingers intertwined, for the first time, with his.
It had taken a bit of coaxing for Doyoung to partake in this, but with a bit of taunting from Ten and the expectant eyes of everyone in the room, the prince had reluctantly and wordlessly agreed to go up against Jaehyun. It was mostly pride, Jaehyun knew this, but he still had to hide the triumphant smile from reaching his lips.
“Go easy on me, Prince,” he says when their hands first touched. He did not mean it in any other way but gentle banter, but the boys around them snort and smirk, as if in on a joke Jaehyun never really made for them. Doyoung doesn’t say anything, but his face betrays him as if Jaehyun were nothing more than a stain on an expensive carpet.
After that, he doesn’t dare say anything else, he just lets himself relish the feeling of having Doyoung so up close.
He could’ve won this in seconds, he knows this. But why would he let go when Doyoung feels so nice to the touch, when he looks at Jaehyun with eyes like fire and light. He hasn’t been this close to Doyoung since the day of the ball, oh so long ago. Against his will, Jaehyun cannot help the small smile that grows on his lips, happy, happy, happy.
As Jaehyun’s smile grows, Doyoung’s frown deepens. It is then that Jaehyun knows he’s made a big mistake. Oh, the throes of love… why is he always so misunderstood? It seems he cannot win this uphill battle. All he wants to do is hold hands!
The world does not see this, Doyoung does not see this, all they see is an arrogant boy challenging the unlikeable prince of the kingdom, an easy target, a target for a coward.
For a moment, he thinks he should allow Doyoung the win, and let everyone believe Jaehyun is weaker - Doyoung would see through that, however, and Doyoung would rather throw himself off the highest castle tower than allow that humiliation to happen, Jaehyun can’t do that to him.
And so, he relishes a few more seconds of Doyoung clenching his teeth and clasping onto his hand like a claw, then sighs. With dramatized efforts, he finally pushes Doyoung’s hand against the table, marking his win over the older boy.
He wins, as everyone had expected, and the boys around him laugh, but it only makes the lack of Doyung’s hand all the more tragic. He allows himself a pout and then turns to face Doyoung.
“That was a good match, Prince,” he says, hoping to come across as earnestly as possible this time around, he smiles and stretches his hand out in good faith.
Doyoung looks at it for a second too long, reminiscent of many years ago. Yet, not much has changed, the older boy makes eye contact with Jaehyun, hard and stern, before turning around and striding out the door, not a single word uttered.
Jaehyun stares at the closed door for a few seconds before turning around, everyone else going back to whatever they were doing in the lounge room before the impromptu hand wrestling began. All have stopped staring at Jaehyun, all but one.
“Ten,” Jaehyun nods at the short, lithe boy.
“Well, that was interesting,” Ten says in return, his violet cat-like eyes getting smaller as a smile appears on his face.
“What was?” Jaehyun looks around, feigning disinterest. He doesn’t know Ten very well, his knowledge of him is mostly limited to knowing he’s from an offshoot branch of the royal line of Go Han, an aristocrat that visits the capital occasionally. Ten is pretty and has a sharp tongue - other than that, Jaehyun knows not much.
“You could’ve ended the match long ago,” Ten says, almost laughing at him, raising an eyebrow. His voice is low, as if aware that this is Jaehyun’s secret to keep.
Jaehyun looks around, fidgeting and frowning, “No, he’s stronger than he looks.”
“He’s as strong as a leaf,” Ten crosses his arms. “Did you not want to embarrass your prince so quickly? You ended up doing it anyway.”
“He’s stronger than he looks,” Jaehyun insists, “People underestimate him, that’s all.”
Ten hums as Jaehyun feels his cat-like eyes on him, evaluating him. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“I suppose there are people around here who like Doyoung. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Of course he’s liked!” Jaehyun exclaims, then sobers up, lowering his voice, “By a lot of people, in fact. Jungwoo likes him, I suppose. All his teachers like him, he’s a good student.”
“And you?” Ten leans on the wall behind him, “You like him too?”
“I like him just fine. He’s my prince. I’m a Jung, my family lives to protect his.”
“Extremely boring answer.”
“And you? What business do you have with him?” he twists his mouth in annoyance. He’s usually more agreeable to strangers, but this seems to be a touchy subject - why is he asking about Doyoung so much? Why is he asking if Jaehyun likes him or not?
“Oh, I love Doyoung, of course,” Ten says and Jaehyun might or might not scowl at the words. Ten’s smile changes to a smirk. “He’s far more interesting than petty nobles and boring ladies. But I’m sure you knew that already?”
“I’ve heard about you too, you know?” Ten continues, “I’ve only seen you from afar, but I must say, I think I like you more than I thought I would.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs, “I just think you’re more interesting than people give you credit for.” He steps away from the wall, arms still crossed, his dark, shining hair under the slivers of sunset that make their way through the windows. “I enjoy interesting people.”
“I’m glad you find Sajado to your tastes, Lord Ten,” he says curtly.
“Oh, I definitely am,” Ten follows the same steps Doyoung took towards the oaken doors, towards the courtyard, “I’m off now, but I’m sure I’ll see you around, Lord Jung, I’ll make sure of that.”
➽
The next time he meets Ten, is under different circumstances.
“This one means good luck,” Prince Jungwoo says, holding out a purple flower spotted with pink on the edges of each petal.
“It’s pretty,” Jaehyun murmurs, eyeing each of the purple and blue flowers blooming on the bush in front of them. He’s walked through the royal gardens countless times, however, Jaehyun had never made an effort to pause and look at the plants and colorful flowers, he’s never had much interest, to say the least.
Jungwoo, the apparent owner of this side of the garden, nods with enthusiasm, onto the next bush. Jaehyun knows little of other passions Jungwoo loves as much as gardening, tending to the flowers almost every day.
“This one only grows during autumn,” he continues, “It’s very fussy about weather conditions, it can only thrive under cool weather. But once winter starts, the low temperatures kill it off.”
“Hm?” Jaehyun eyes the pale flower in front of him, its blue veins looking almost ethereal, “That’s too bad, it’s very pretty.”
Jungwoo shrugs, “I like it that way. Anticipation is part of its beauty.”
He scoffs, swatting his friend’s shoulder with a laugh, “When did you get so philosophical?”
“I’ve always been so!” Jungwoo laughs, his knees stained with soil and mud. “You give me no credit.”
“Keep it up then,” Jaehyun kneels down next to him, the sweat on his forehead accumulating under the midday sun. A comfortable silence settles between them, and Jaehyun eases onto the grass. His mind, always feeble, starts wandering away with the swaying of the breeze. A flash of red eyes, of stygian hair and cold hands.
“Love.” Jungwoo interrupts.
Jaehyun shakes himself back into consciousness, “What?”
“The flower,” he explains, motioning to the recently cut bloom in his hand, a rosy flower with thin petals and yellow veins, “This one means I love you. It’s rather expensive, actually.” He hands it to Jaehyun, “Mostly because it smells really good, try it.”
Jaehyun takes the offered flower, light to his fingertips, and indeed - the aroma is strong but not overbearing, even Jaehyun, who finds most flowers to smell like wet grass, can appreciate the sweet scent wafting off from the flower. “I like it,” he nods in approval.
This time, Jungwoo does not reply, his sight past Jaehyun, who follows the other’s gaze.
“Huh,” he mutters under his breath as two walking figures walk across the gardens.
Doyoung and Ten walk in their direction, but neither of them seems to be paying attention to their surroundings, too engrossed in their own hushed conversation. “I guess they’re friends now.”
“Come here,” Jungwoo pulls on Jaehyun’s sleeve. Jaehyun lets himself be dragged with reluctance, he’s not too enthusiastic about Ten in general, even if it’s a chance to talk to Doyoung.
“Lord Ten!” Jungwoo calls out before the other two whip their heads up at the noise.
“Prince Jungwoo,” Ten nods, “Marquess Jaehyun.”
Jaehyun doesn’t have time to reply before Jungwoo offers Ten a purple flower, dark in shade. “I’m very sorry to hear about the late King. We are mourning with your nation.”
What? He turns to face Jungwoo, as if he could explain with a look, but his friend is of no help. He notices the black attire Ten is wearing, a mourning cloak - Jaehyun had woken up late that morning and must had not heard the news of the passing of Go Han’s King, an old and frail man. It’s not too surprising, but it still catches him off-guard.
“I’m sorry, we mourn with you, Lord Ten,” he tries his best to sound solemn, like he’s known all along. If Ten notices, he doesn’t show it, just offers Jaehyun a nod in return before speaking to Jungwoo.
Jaehyun almost sighs in relief before he catches sight of Doyoung, who has no qualms about rolling his eyes at him.
He can’t see his own ears, but by the way they burn, Jaehyun knows they’re bright red. Despite everything, Jaehyun still finds Doyoung just a bit infuriating. It’s just that now, he likes it.
➽
“Where are you going, dear?” Lady Jung asks, “The ceremony’s about to start.”
“The stable master called me over,” Yuta replies, bowing in apology before rushing out of the tent where the Jung household has been placed. At the front sits his father, Jaehyun’s mother by his side, and Jaehyun next to her. A few paces behind, his younger cousin, Sungchan, is seated.
The yearly Courting ceremonies are a big event - they’re not mandatory, by any means, but they are fun and give the court something to talk about for weeks to come, sometimes even months.
His mother, above everyone, loves the Courting, her eyes bright and shiny as she stares at the royal stands with expectation. Jaehyun’s knees shake up and down in agitation.
It starts with the princess, as is tradition. Seola stands in a red dress, her platinum hair shining brightly against the grey skies. He notes that her usual, placid smile - the one she uses for public appearances - is not present this time. Jaehyun cannot fault her.
“Princess Seola, first of her name,” the announcer shouts, introducing the girl who looks like she would rather be anywhere else. Jaehyun remembers last year, it was precisely the same as today. He sits back and lets the spectacle drone on in the background as nameless lords and knights come forward.
“Princess Seola!” a Lord plenty years older than Seola herself cries into the audience. “Your beauty knows no boundaries, your skin as pale as snow, your hair the color of stars! Please allow me the grace to court you once again! I ask for your hand in marriage!” Jaehyun gags.
Seola cannot refuse. At least not publicly.
During the courting ceremonies, the only thing the royals can do is accept the courting with a polite smile, as etiquette demands. Any Lord, Lady, or Knight who stands present at the courting is given the benefit of acceptance and a period of three full moons before any rejection takes place. Jaehyun does not envy them, especially when most admirers are old men who seek a place within the royal line.
The line for Seola has been long, just as it has been every year since she turned 21. And, without fail, Seola has rejected each and every proposition since then.
Jaehyun stands up, pulling at his sleeves. He can count the times in his life when he has been as terrified as he is now. “Mother, father,” he looks at them as Seola leaves the grandstand, making way for the crown prince.
“What is it, darling?” his mom pays him little attention, “Prince Taeyong is up next. Always very entertaining, that boy.”
He takes a deep breath, decisive, “I want to propose. Today, I mean.”
Effectively, this garners the attention of both parents.
“What are you saying, boy?” the Duke asks, “Suddenly?”
“You should’ve told us!” his mother exclaims, “You’re not wearing the proper attire, we could’ve asked the tailor. Oh, dear, oh dear.” She pauses, her eyes watering and Jaehyun knows this is the look of a mother who thinks her son has a chance of becoming a consort king. “Taeyong?” she asks.
Jaehyun does not answer. His parents, kind enough, had not bothered him yet with matters of marriage, even at age twenty. Even so, half the realm has always expected him to marry big - if not Seola, then Taeyong, surely. Maybe that precious boy, Kim Jungwoo, they were good friends, after all. “Jaehyun,” his father says and he knows. “ Kim Doyoung?”
“Jaehyun!” his mother says, horrified. “This is not the time to be playing pranks! Leave that poor boy alone!”
“I am serious,” he says, “I love him!” Behind them, the ceremony continues as a dozen Lords and Ladies ask for Taeyong’s hand.
“What do you know of love, you foolish boy!” his mom cries, “You are not doing this! Think of—”
“Of what?” he frowns, refusing to sit down, “Of you?”
“The family!”
“He’s a royal prince,” he refutes, “He’s as good as Seola, as good as Taeyong and Jungwoo!”
“He’s a—” Lady Jung stops herself. Whatever the word she might be thinking, it would be treason to the crown to speak it so openly. “Jaehyun,” she regains composure, “I don’t know why you’re doing this, is this your way of rebelling against us? What have we ever done to you?”
Jaehyun has to stop himself from opening his mouth, his fists closed tightly around the end of his sleeve. Is this rebelling? Doing something - anything - for himself for once in his lifetime? He feels the pang in his stomach grow, painful, and he has the urge to yell and cause a scene and let everyone know he’s angry. He wonders what that might feel like.
“You will not—” he starts, looking from his mother to his father, “Let me make my own choices. Just once.”
“Jaehyun—”
“Nakamoto Yuta, from the Dragon House of Ryojima,” they hear the presenter call out, “Last of the suitors.”
There’s a silence, not only from Jaehyun and his parents as they both turn around with wide eyes—there’s a pointed silence from the rest of the audience as they look on at an unexpected scene. The red-haired boy walks forward and he’s not wearing the clothes of a Jung ward, elegant yet simple. No, Yuta wears emerald green and gold, bright and conspicuous, clothes that demand attention, clothes that remind everyone exactly who he is - a royal.
“Your Highness, Prince Taeyong,” Yuta says, unwavering, and he kneels, never breaking eye contact with the crown prince, who looks on with a blank expression on his face, just as he’s looked at every other suitor before him. “Today, not only do I ask for your hand in marriage, but I offer unity between Ryojima and Sajado, an Empire and a Kingdom that could rule in both strength and numbers.”
“What are you doing?” Jaehyun mutters under his breath before looking at the exit from the corner of his eye.
“Today, Prince Taeyong,” Yuta says and Jaehyun doesn’t miss the way his voice softens, like petals falling softly upon a snowed pond, “I offer you undying love for the rest of my life.”
Jaehyun doesn’t have time to stay for the prince’s reply, but he swears - Jaehyun swears - he sees the ghost of a smile on Taeyong’s lips.
He doesn’t stay enough to confirm this, Jaehyun runs.
Jaehyun runs before his parents can stop him because now that Taeyong’s courting has ended, it is Doyoung’s turn.
“Jaehyun!” he hears his father yell, grasping at his sleeves before the boy scurries away from the Jung grandstand.
His feet take off against the dirt pavement and the wind blows his hair as he gains speed.
He knows he’s being selfish - not towards his parents, but to Doyoung.
Jaehyun had seen Doyoung’s face during the ceremony, grim, dreading. He’s not the type to enjoy public appearances, to be the center of attention, especially if it is something as trivial as political marriage proposals - Jaehyun can almost hear the way Doyoung would talk about this, thinking it below him.
But Jaehyun doesn’t really have an option, does he? If he were to propose in private, his parents would force him to take back the proposal. At least this way, no one but Doyoung himself will be able to reject him.
And he cannot wait a few years—what if Doyoung gets married before he can even confess his feelings to him? No, he cannot possibly wait that long, it would destroy Jaehyun if he never even got a chance to confess.
“Kim Bona!” he hears the knight being presented, “Captain of the Princess Guard! Suitor of Prince Doyoung.”
Jaehyun stops in his tracks, “You’re kidding.” He hears the heavy footsteps of the guards his father has sent after him and starts running again, a knot in his throat forms as he thinks of Bona, the girl who’s made her way through the ranks for the past few years, pretty and respected. What is her business with Doyoung! “Oh, you sick woman.”
He makes his way toward the soldier’s stables, away from the courtyard, making sure the guards see him. The sun is setting and soon it will be dark outside, marking the end of the ceremony. If he takes an offside path quietly enough, he’ll be able to outrun the guards and make his way back to the grounds. Hopefully, he can make it in time.
“I must really like him,” he says to himself, nearly running out of breath as the cold air fills in his lungs, sharp and burning. Branches scratch his face and his hair, by now, is probably tangled chaos. His clothes are probably not as neat and clean as Bona’s and Jaehyun regrets not thinking about this a little bit more thoroughly but not much can be done by now.
When the guard steps have ceased, Jaehyun starts running back, legs aching.
The sun has almost set, the sky an array of purple and orange, when he hears, from a distance, yet another thing that makes him choke on air: “Ten Chittaphon! From the royal line of Go Han,” You’re kidding me, “Last suitor for Prince Doyoung!”
“I’m going to drink poison,” he says to himself, not stopping as he nears the entrance grounds.
“Jaehyun!” The duke is already waiting for him there, to no one’s surprise. “You’re mad! Stop this right now.”
“No,” Jaehyun panics and starts running around the wooden stands, where a few people sitting at the back are now noticing the chaos happening between Duke Jung, Jaehyun, and the nearing guards. He didn’t expect tonight to go like this, but he supposes he’s never been one to follow plans anyway. “I’m sorry!”
He has no thoughts once he walks through the audience stands, his father right behind him, trying to physically stop him, grasping at air. Ten is walking away from the grounds, his proposal over. The ceremony is over.
He’s going to start throwing up, his body aching, his mind frazzled. Doyoung is still standing in the middle of the grandstands, the black figure against his bright siblings making Jaehyun’s heart swell.
He steps into the grounds.
“Jung Jaehyun!” he screams the words himself, his throat raw against the cold air. “Duke heir of the Jung Duchy!” His father stops before stepping into the spotlight himself, he would not dare create a scene in front of the royals.
His knees give out, but his voice does not waver. “Prince Doyoung, I ask for your hand in marriage.”
The stunned silence that was there for Yuta is absent for Jaehyun. Instead, there are murmurs and small talk both from commoners and nobles alike.
Marquess Jaehyun—and Prince Doyoung?
Jaehyun does not pay them any attention. He does not look at Im Nayeon, who tries hiding laughter behind her face, he does not look at Soonyoung who starts looking around at everyone else, he does not look at Wonwoo, who looks on curiously at the scene with bated breath, he does not look at his father, who is sweating, distressed. He does not look at Taeyong, who watches Jaehyun with a cautious glance, he does not look at Seola who raises an eyebrow at the scene, nor at Jungwoo, whose face has paled like soft silk.
Jaehyun only looks at Doyoung. Doyoung looks back, his body motionless. To anyone else, Doyoung’s red eyes might look dead, Jaehyun sees the fire behind them, flames dancing in them like a raging ocean. He is not happy, and Jaehyun did not expect him to be.
“The Royal Kims thank you, Lord Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, as is the response he’s given Bona and Ten, the official responses he’s been taught to give. His voice, cold and impersonal.
He turns around and leaves the stand, murmurs following his reply.
Jaehyun’s heart feels lighter, at least for a moment. And then—like a hurricane that arrives to destroy everything in its path, this is the moment that changes the course of Jaehyun’s life forever. Not necessarily for the better.
➽