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Summer had, with great reluctance, granted its glory to autumn.
And the damp autumn winds carried in the medal ceremony.
It was held outside, just before the turn of winter, a small gathering of revered officials and military generals. Lined up in rows were the guests of honor: flushed knights who had either performed great services for the crown or bribed the ministers.
Seungcheol searched the array of men until he found a stoic-looking Minghao towards the back of the legion. He exhaled contently, and settled back in his chair, flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes.
The ceremonies themselves were boring, as ceremonies tended to be. Knights gave droning speeches about ethics and heroism as their families wiped away tears from cold-reddened cheeks.
The royal Swan Bells rang three times in their honor, choral sound carried by the empty air and high skies. When the sun hovered at its peak, a traditional military prayer was recited for the Sun Deity. Oh Great Sun Deity, please bring us more delirious heroes or rich dunces , most likely. Seungcheol didn’t understand a word of the old Sol dialect, but a military prayer wasn’t too hard to generalize.
Once all the annual medals had been pinned (most chivalrous, protector of the silver mines, and smile of the year), Wonwoo ascended to deliver the traditional speech. The crowd quieted, watching their Sun King raptly.
Seungcheol did too, leaning forward so he wouldn’t miss a single word.
“Today, we are not only celebrating acts of heroism, but acts of great sacrifice.” He gestured towards the knights. Towards Minghao, who straightened. “One of our own palace guards, the honorable Xu Minghao from the 8th Regiments, left his home for six months to search for a deflector in the frigid Sol Mountains. He was the one who ultimately subdued Jeon Wonjae, securing not only our throne, but the safety of our kingdom.”
He raised his hands, addressing the crowd with a warmth that rushed down Seungcheol’s spine. “To him, we award our highest honor: the emblem of the Sun Guard, and invite him to become a permanent member of the 1st Legions.”
The 1st Legions were the highest promotion for any infantryman. And, they came with added benefits: less work, more freedom, and a possible honorary discharge from the infantry. Minghao could finally pursue his dream of painting.
Seungcheol couldn’t restrain himself. He flew up from his seat at the king’s side and clapped wildly, smiling until his teeth were probably blinding the Sun Deity himself.
Slowly, the awkward crowd took his lead and began to smatter with applause. He could see Minghao’s eyes darting every which way until he sunk abashedly into his silver armor.
“Don’t your hands hurt?” Wonwoo asked, leaning into his ear amusedly as the official ceremonies winded into the afterparty.
“Oh yeah,” Seungcheol said, feeling pride rushing through him as he continued clapping. “But it’s worth it. I told you Honorable Soldier Minghao would be the one. I only make friends with high quality people, you know.”
Wonwoo smiled a little, pulling away. “Of course. How could you be wrong?”
Ears ringing, Seungcheol watched Minghao pry himself away from the admiring gazes of the guards and wander carefully towards them.
He was practically shimmering, star-like.
“Honorable Advisor,” Minghao began once he was close enough, voice thin under the avid conversation around them. “Your majesty.”
The bow was quick and deep, and he promptly swiveled back around to look at Seungcheol. “I missed you,” he confessed, voice rough and tentative, hands white with the cold as he clutched a glass of wine. “The Northern Kingdoms felt like home again, but it was lonely without you and Han.”
Seungcheol patted his shining pauldron, not feeling Wonwoo’s gaze drift between the two of them. “That’s why we wrote letters. Did you like the homemade candy I sent?”
Minghao nodded, earnest in a way that made Seungcheol force down a coo. “Yeah, I could barely smuggle it away from the other soldiers. Hardtack is disgusting, no one liked it.” His eyebrows rose with passion. “I was thinking that I might just take you up on your offer.”
Seungcheol frowned. “What offer?”
A wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already. Remember when you said that you wanted to marry one of us? You were pretty serious about it, too.”
Seungcheol blinked, a dozen memories summoned back into his mind and clamoring for attention.
( It was a terrible evening, one year ago. Wonwoo seemed ready to marry a foreign princess, and Seungcheol was drowning in misery. Minghao and Jeonghan were his only saviors, pulling him out of desperation with far-fetched declarations and warm hugs.
Endlessly grateful and a little delirious, he had groaned, “Wow. I might just marry one of you guys.”)
The evening chilled. The sun seemed to actually flicker in the sky.
Without thinking, Seungcheol spared Wonwoo a look from the corner of his eyes.
Wonwoo was looking back at him, lemon eyes suddenly sharp. His fingers were turning white too.
Maybe it was from the cold.
He swallowed, quickly looking away. He needed to end this as soon as possible. Call it instinct, developed from twenty years of loyal service. Call it caution, learned from twenty years of avoiding courtiers with ears like elephants and mouths made for gossip.
“Well, it wasn’t a declaration,” Seungcheol trailed off awkwardly. “More of a...let’s say a joke?”
“Okay. Is the proposal still up?” Minghao teased, suddenly talkative.
He was smacked lightly before Seungcheol could be publicly reminded of any other inconvenient marriage promises. “I was desolate and desperate, Hao. Stop taking advantage of my vulnerability!”
Minghao glanced at Wonwoo, and then back at him. Something seemed to click in his mind. “But I deserve a reward, don’t I? For capturing the deflector? What if you just-”
Seungcheol had some self preservation yet. He didn’t let Minghao finish his sentence. “Go talk to the finance minister. Go!”
“Who?”
Seungcheol swiveled Minghao around and gestured towards the man in the red robes of a high minister. “Go get yourself a raise!”
If there was something other than art (or torturing him) that tempted the knight, it was money. Seungcheol couldn’t get another word in, because Minghao was off, armor glinting gold in the dim evening sunlight.
Before Seungcheol could look back at his king, and clarify that no , he hadn't been making wedding plans, the defense minister had ambled forward with blueprints for a new fortress at the sea borders.
Seungcheol wasn’t a consort. He, as an advisor, couldn’t interrupt such important affairs with fleeting whims.
It was alright. He could wait. He could do just about anything for his king.
Wonwoo leaned over the papers, adjusting his crown, only it still looked a little lopsided. Without thinking, Seungcheol raised himself on the tips of his toes and shifted it until it rested like a halo on his silver hair.
And the sun must have envied the king’s beauty, for it flew out of the clouds again, painting the treetops gold.
~
The day had suddenly become dreary, uneasy clouds pressing insistently into the sky. The sun was nowhere to be seen.
From the bed, Seungcheol watched Wonwoo stalk through the doorway, kick off his shoes, and toss his ceremonial robe off into the distance. Hmm . Wonwoo never liked messy chambers.
Seungcheol barely dodged one of the projectiles, swatting it into a corner of the massive bedchambers where he would likely never find it again. “You seem upset,” he observed, because stating the obvious was just his charm.
“No,” came the quick response. “Of course not.” Then, Wonwoo positioned himself at the foot of the bed and collapsed on top of him.
Seungcheol exhaled an oof at the sudden weight on his chest, before sighing like the old maids did. He unpinned one of his arms to gently stroke the hair on the nape of the king’s neck, feeling strands as soft as swan feathers under his fingertips. “Wonwoo-yah. You’re not usually this way.”
“I don’t usually hear about my advisor handing out marriage proposals,” he grumbled, voice muffled by Seungcheol’s shirt. “Was it just them or are there other suitors in the palace I should be worried about?”
As if. He imagined a long line of nobles clutching sun lilies and his favorite foods.
Seungcheol cackled at the thought, head falling back against the cushions, but he was quickly tugged back so that Wonwoo could continue nuzzling into his neck. “What, do you think I just go out asking every other noble for his hand in marriage?” he joked, pulling off the king’s glasses so they wouldn’t break.
Half-blind, soft blue eyes glared back at him, red around the edges, before Wonwoo pressed his face back into the crook of his shoulder.
Seungcheol loved how childish the king could become even when he was so put-together in court. Wonwoo’s long legs were curled up tightly so he could shrink into his lap, clinging onto him as if he was the sunlight stuck to the sky.
Like this, he almost didn’t seem to be the 10th Sun King, Sovereign of the Sun Kingdom, Pride of the Jeon Dynasty.
Seungcheol would cuddle him back, but he was being crushed. His heart was going to burst, and not from true love. Whatever poets made comparisons to such things must have been insane.
Love wasn’t like a thousand rocks on your chest. Love was light and airy, like swans and feathers and Wonwoo.
“Alright, alright,” he huffed, swinging the younger to the side of the bed so he wouldn’t combust. “It was just a joke. I’m not marrying anybody. I swear by the Sun Deity and all his swans.”
A pause.
There was a warm kiss pressed to his throat. Seungcheol inhaled sharply, feeling thin legs shifting to rest between his sprawled thighs. “You better not,” Wonwoo whispered, hovering on top of Seungcheol. “The king would never let you. You can’t just disobey me like that.”
And the sun must have envied their closeness, for it sunk dizzily into the horizon, clinging to the mountains which beckoned it closer.
~
Chilled sunlight streamed into the Queen’s Chambers. A few of the mirrors on the higher walls caught it, and sent blinding beams soaring across the room.
Jeonghan glanced around with the air of a critic before settling into the divan.
Seungcheol fiddled with his ring at the curtainway, anxious for judgment. Jeonghan’s word was as good as law when it came to interior design and everything aristocratic.
“It’s great,” came the words at last, and he sighed with relief. “The Queen’s chambers look much larger with all the sunlight coming in. And all the silver emblems you’ve added are perfect. Not too shabby or overbearing.”
“Thank you,” Seungcheol grinned, not closing the door which connected his chambers to Wonwoo’s. “I do all this only to please you, oh Scion of the Yoons.”
Jeonghan sniffed expensively, sinking back and flicking hair out of his face. “And you’re telling me that despite you residing in the Queen’s chambers, despite you two wearing matching rings, and despite you owning every sun-shaped token on this side of the Sol Mountains, no one has figured it out?”
Seungcheol shrugged, sitting down and nudging a cup of tea across the glass table. “Not a single man or maid. The courtiers love their scandals, and yet not one of them has noticed that I’ve accepted the king’s hand.” He patted his cheeks disbelievingly, still feeling a little dreamy about it all. “I suppose even I can barely believe it.”
Jeonghan shrugged. “Well, that’s obvious. You’ve spent so long sending him eyes of full devotion, love, and all else, that you can’t believe it’s requited.”
He didn’t appreciate doses of the truth. Seungcheol threw a cushion at him, and dodged when it came flying back.
“ Also, ” Jeonghan continued, undeterred by aerial assaults all. “You were likely preparing to just ask me.”
Ask him? For his hand in marriage? Were swans silver too? “What?” Seungcheol cried, ears turning red. “Where did you get that idea? I wasn’t that desperate.”
A playful scoff. Jeonghan leaned back against the wall, arms spread out as if he owned the place. “Come on . I already know about your little crush. You’re devastatingly down for me, and let’s be honest. If it wasn’t him, it would be me.”
He pointed an arrogant thumb at himself. Seungcheol gasped dramatically, quickly absorbing Jeonghan’s theatrics, for he too had the heart of a superstar.
“I would never betray my king-”
“If you had to, I’d recommend myself.” Jeonghan declared, looking off into the distance and throwing his arm out. “ A merger between the Yoons and the Chois. More glorious than the Sun Deity himself!”
A thud.
Both of them startled and glanced towards the open curtainway.
Wonwoo stood there, probably recently returned from his private banquet with the Finance Minister. His lips were pursed together, jaw even sharper than it normally was. Next to his feet, presumably dropped, was a small silk-wrapped package.
Oh dear Deities of the Sun and Moon. How much had been overheard?
Seungcheol had left that curtain open to let the air in, not passing kings and the like.
“Ah, your majesty,” Jeonghan murmured, coolly rising up from his divan and bowing. “I’ll leave you then, Honorable Advisor.”
He slipped out past Wonwoo like the sinking moon, before either of them could react.
Seungcheol scowled. That coward.
~
“Okay, okay, I see how this looks,” Seungcheol protested, following Wonwoo out of the Queen’s chambers. “But don’t be upset. You’re the love of my life.”
Wonwoo turned around, face perfectly nonchalant as he rolled his sleeves up. “What are you talking about?” he asked, eyes blank. “I’m not upset.”
Seungcheol squinted. Wonwoo sounded like sharp knives, scraping, when he lied. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The response was too quick for him to be appeased. His deep, clipped voice was followed by a shrill ripping sound.
Seungcheol flinched as he sat down.
Wonwoo dropped a slice of freshly torn parchment in his lap and pressed a dripping quill into his hands. “Write all the names of people who might have any reason to think that you intend to marry, romance, kiss, court, or love them.”
With a suppressed smile, Seungcheol tossed the quill aside and stood up again. “And what are you going to do with them?”
Wonwoo took off his crown and busily occupied himself removing his cape. His back was turned to Seungcheol. “I’ll have them all quietly banished for conspiring against the king.”
Seungcheol could tell that it was supposed to sound like a powerful sovereign, only he sounded less threatening than a purring cat. It was almost a sulk.
Seungcheol’s hands curled, overwhelmed with endearment, as if all the celestial beings had infused their love into his incapable heart. Or perhaps they had simply given Wonwoo all the cuteness they could muster.
He wouldn’t doubt either option.
Wonwoo tugged the heavy velvet off and wrapped it around a chair. “You know, you told me that you didn’t go around asking for everyone’s hand.” Seungcheol could practically see the pout from behind. “But it seems to me that you did exactly that.”
With a groan, Seungcheol looped his arms around the king’s waist and pulled him in. “Don’t tell me you haven’t ever had a crush before, Wonu? I wouldn’t mind you telling me.”
He was already a little too used to hearing about romantic prospects for his Wonwoo. Another two or three wouldn’t shake him.
Too much.
“I did have a crush,” Wonwoo admitted carefully, and Seungcheol leaned back, a little shocked. A lot shocked.
He wasn’t a hypocrite, but he hadn't penned Wonwoo down as somebody who would just fall for anyone in the castle. At this rate, he might have to be the one challenging suitors to duels under the sun.
“On who?” he asked, tentative that he might have to wrestle off a maidservant or two. Or maybe Jeonghan. Everyone had a crush on Jeonghan. Maybe that’s why Wonwoo seemed so-
“It was on you . ”
Oh.
Guilty silence followed. Seungcheol loosened his grip, slumping.
Then he spotted a small, smug smile peeking out through the vanity mirror.
“Stop trying your earnestness with me,” Seungcheol complained, embarrassment making itself known on his ears. He teetered on his tiptoes and hooked his chin on the younger’s shoulder. “It just makes me feel bad.”
“You should feel bad. I thought I was the love of your life,” Wonwoo replied, carefully unraveling the silver twine around a package.
Leave it to the king to stab him with his own words. Seungcheol sulked, eyes drooping. If Wonwoo wasn’t so soft, perhaps he would have succeeded on the battlefield too. He certainly knew how to deliver a blow.
After a minute of quiet sulking and unwrapping, Wonwoo turned in Seungcheol’s arms, holding up a shiny token to the sunlight. “Alright then,” he muttered, leaning down until he was eye level with the advisor’s chest. “Stay still unless you want to be pierced in the heart.”
“What are you-” Seungcheol cut himself off, holding his breath as the king pinned something the breast of his ceremonial coat. He didn’t entirely trust a vengeful Wonwoo not to prick him purely out of spite.
Wonwoo stepped back once the silver clicked, looking only a little proud of himself as he stretched.
A silver brooch was fastened into the shimmering blue satin. A likeness of the crown engraved at the top, then the ruby-red initials J. W. pressed into a delicate crest. A king’s claim.
Near the bottom of the pin, if Seungcheol could see as well upside-down as he fancied, there were words in the Sol Dialect script, long and curled. Only the Sun priests and the tribes in the mountains still spoke it.
Suddenly, he regretted skipping some of his childhood lessons.
Still, the pin was heavy, solid silver, which even in a kingdom overflowing with it, must have been difficult to wrangle.
Why so sudden? Seungcheol couldn’t think of an occasion. Perhaps it was his rising-day soon. He would have to check the calendar. Meanwhile…
“Wonwoo-”
“Hyung.”
Seungcheol received a peck on the lips for his efforts, and then another one on the jaw. “Just wear it everywhere, all the time, okay?”
Then, he leaned down and brushed his mouth over Seungcheol’s collarbone, as if cementing his command into the elder’s skin. Sunlight burst proudly through the curtains and warmed the lingering touch.
Seungcheol convinced himself that if he wasn’t so flustered (and in love), he might have objected more instead of strutting around for the first few days like a fool.
Then again, they were both fools.
And the sun must have envied their idiocy, for it disappeared sullenly behind the clouds and wrapped itself in their gray depths.
~
The birds’ hymns jostled a new dawn awake. On the windowsill, two sun-breasted songbirds spoke to each other in secretive trills.
A voice interrupted their muffled conversation. “Where are you going?”
Seungcheol turned around, trembling fingers struggling with his shirt buttons.
Wonwoo’s head was barely visible above the pile of comforters and blankets stacked on Seungcheol’s side of the bed. Like the sun emerging from the Sol Mountains.
Seungcheol grinned, pleased at the thought. He was getting better at these poetic comparisons, it seemed.
During Sundays, when there were prayers held for the Sun Deity in the grand temple, the courts didn’t adjoin until noon. Neither the king nor his advisor minded sleeping in.
In a forever harried palace, it was a rare sight to see. The breeze, too lethargic to blow through the window and refresh any man. The sunlight, stretching its arms and barely reaching the edges of the palace. Dawn was only lazy on Sundays. Other times, it rushed in too quickly and never lingered long.
A languorous morning, and two languorous lovers.
Maybe one languorous lover. The other was a little too irritated to be lazy.
Seungcheol huffed, fumbling with the small clasps of his tunic. He could feel Wonwoo watching him over the comforters. Waiting, ever so patient, and not saying a single word.
He gave up under the gaze, ambling over to the bed and shoving his blankets aside so that the king could reach up. Like winding wind, Wonwoo’s thin fingers quickly moved up through rows of pearlescent buttons.
It was daily morning routine. Seungcheol couldn’t button his own shirt. Wonwoo would never offer to help, choosing to watch until Seungcheol was forced to walk up to him and sulk.
“Where are you going?” Wonwoo repeated, tugging his crisp collar until it was stiff.
Seungcheol hummed, mesmerized by the way thin fingers brushed against silver clasps. “Jeonghan and Minghao are going to a jousting match,” he recalled, delayed by straying thoughts of how endearing Wonwoo’s nose was, all wrinkly with focus. “I thought I would join them.”
Eastward, an envious sun soared upwards, suddenly encompassing the palace with warm gold.
Wonwoo’s hands froze, and Seungcheol looked up from them. “What?” he prompted, concerned.
A lick of the lips, careful and slow. Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray from the buttons. “Stay with me.”
Seungcheol’s eyes widened. Wonwoo was never the type to ask for these things.
He mulled the thought over for a second. Stay. On one hand, he had promised Han to have more “fun” outside the palace, and it was the biggest tournament of the year. On the other, there must have been something weighing on his king’s mind if he truly wanted him to stay.
Maybe Wonwoo didn’t like jousting.
“Why?” Seungcheol asked, already anticipating a vague response. Perhaps his mind was already made about it. Perhaps, with any request of Wonwoo’s, it always was.
With a lurch, he was tugged by the collar, feet slipping on the marble floor. Precariously, he hovered over Wonwoo’s face, shirt bunched up in large hands. The king’s eyes were sharp and heavy lidded, bottom lip crimson.
“Hyung,” he rumbled, voice lower than the sinking sun when it was stirred with sleep. “You should stay.”
Seungcheol stayed.
~
“May I be reminded of your official title?”
Seungcheol paused, mouth poised to say, ‘ First Advisor to the King’.
But was he really that anymore?
They were suspended, between friends and lovers, dangling on the bridge of a treacherous canyon. Perhaps a surrounded army, fending both ends off with weakening forces. Like the creeping autumn, bracing between two extremes.
Only the season couldn’t last forever. Someday, it would freeze into winter, else turn back to summer for solace.
Seungcheol wasn’t Most Honorable Consort to the King. Seungcheol wasn’t really Advisor to the King. What was he?
What were they?
He tried to convince himself that titles didn’t really matter much. If a life of secrecy was what would keep Wonwoo’s reign intact, he had no qualms about it.
“Most Honorable Advisor,” Seungcheol said finally, edging his words with a nervous laugh as he rubbed his throbbing temples. “Sorry, the season must be getting to me.”
An empathetic nod. “Everyone, really. Autumn does that to men. Wears them away like chipping silver.”
~
The final crimson leaves of the season were flaking off thin branches, weaving around the pillars. The gazebo was ancient, roof crumbling and intricate swan sculptures missing wings or tails.
Still, the glass ceiling let the sparse sun shine in, brightening the roses which wilted across the worn walls.
It was the last day of the season on the sun calendar, and Wonwoo always liked to have private meetings with his ministers. Even close advisors weren’t allowed to attend them. Seungcheol didn’t want to anyway. Anytime he could avoid the ministers was a victory.
Often, he amused himself by strolling around the Swan Gardens, lingering near the lake where the swans loved to swim. Today he was playing a board game with Minghao and Jeonghan inside a garden house.
He could taste the ice in the wind, refreshing over the smell of rotting roses. Perhaps it would snow sometime soon.
Carefully, he moved a chariot piece down the board, closer to the end, where there was an old etching of the Sun Deity.
Minghao rolled a silver die, scored a high number, and moved backwards instead of forward.
“What are you doing?” Seungcheol cried, slapping the bench with a cold-stung hand. “You’re supposed to go closer to the Sun Deity, not father away! You could have won on that move!”
Minghao swallowed. “Sorry.” He seemed distracted, as if he had to forcefully drag his eyes back to the game.
When Jeonghan rolled, he knocked over five of the swan tokens carelessly while trying to get to his piece.
They toppled and clattered against the wooden board. The thick air smelled suffocatingly of grass, and Seungcheol took a long, deep breath of it.
“Alright, this is no fun,” he sighed, flipping the board so the pieces scattered across the leafy floor. “What is it? What is wrong? You’re acting as if someone has insulted your honor.”
Minghao and Jeonghan looked at each other, a look flying between them like a star shooting across the sky.
Seungcheol gaped. “Really? Somebody insulted your honor? I didn’t even know people did that anymore.” He paused, filtering through the possibilities before finding a more likely option. “Or did no one compliment your clothes today? Is that it?”
Finally, Jeonghan cleared his throat, silvery gaze darting as he pulled a black fur coat tighter around himself. “Your-your pin,” he said, looking an odd mix between amused and concerned.
Seungcheol looked down, quickly straightening it. “Yes, his majesty gave it to me-”
“It’s huge. For what reason?” Minghao interrupted, eyes shining like silver. “Have you perhaps been promoted to Most Honorable Consort?”
As if. “No? I-I don’t really know? I thought it might be my rising day soon, but I forgot to check.”
“Your rising day isn’t until next summer!” Jeonghan hit his arm. “We just celebrated it. Don’t be so forgetful, or I’ll drag you to the healer’s cottage.”
Oh yeah. He knew that. Seungcheol chewed his lip, trying to sort through dates in his mind and prove that he wasn’t an amnesiac. The healer’s cottage was a nightmarish place. “I know it’s not the day we met-”
“So you remember the day you met, twenty years ago, when you were a young child, but you don’t remember your own day of birth?” Jeonghan cried.
Seungcheol recoiled at the ridiculous accusation. “Well, of course! One is much more important than the other-”
“Wait, wait. Has he been showing any signs of jealousy?” Jeonghan piped up, before gazing off into the distance with a dramatic flair. “Eastward, an envious sun is rising!”
Forget his literary ambitions, the court had already found itself a promising poet within the scion of the Yoons. Seungcheol glanced towards the sky and begged for reprieve. “I thought the moon was the envious Deity in the scriptures, oh articulate one.” He received a stinging poke to the chest, as if he had uttered a personal insult to Jeonghan.
“Suns can be envious too. More envious, actually, since they’re used to having all the attention-”
“Hyung,” Minghao said, sounding as if he was trying to tend to a wild animal. “Do you know what’s written at the bottom of that pin?”
Seungcheol peered down, squinting. He wasn’t quite sure why he was squinting actually, since he wouldn’t understand the Sol Dialect even with crystal vision. “No,” he began carefully, scared of being interrupted for the fourth time. “Only the priests can read this.”
“I thought all nobles close to the king were taught,” Minghao wondered, scratching his ear.
“Skipped his lessons, no doubt,” Jeonghan deduced, rolling up his black sleeves and shifting forward. “The Sun De-his majesty must be disappointed.”
Seungcheol had skipped his lessons, but he couldn’t be judged for it. What sane, normal, ordinary toddler liked learning ancient languages, of all things? Then again, he thought, Jeonghan wasn’t sane or normal, and he could hardly be imagined as a toddler.
Maybe a very bossy toddler. Ah, that was valid.
His thoughts were interrupted by ice cold hands bleeding through his shoulders. Seungcheol was shoved (without grace) into a section of the circular bench where the golden skylight could illuminate the silver brooch.
“Alright, look here,” Jeonghan began, suddenly inches away and pointing to each engraved letter like he was teaching a child to read.
First he was interrupted, then ridiculed, now treated like an infant. Seungcheol was feeling very demeaned today. Still, awash with curiosity and too scared of Jeonghan to object, he leaned in. “What does it say?” he whispered, feeling that his voice should match the suspense of the moment.
The air chilled even further, frost collecting on flowery walls.
Jeonghan’s eyelashes cast striped shadows across his high cheekbones. The sunlight, swan white through the glass, was a silver diadem crowning his hair. Carefully, he ran his fingers over the metal.
Seungcheol hunched his shoulders in, holding his breath.
“It says-”
“Hyung?”
The voice was deeper than midnight, and struck familiar thrums in Seungcheol’s heart.
All three looked up at the same time. At the entrance of the summer house stood Wonwoo, hands fisted at his side as he peered in.
His purple suit was a little undone, likely with haste. Silver hair flew into his spectacles, the shadows of the overhead leaves darkening the upper half of his face. Seungcheol just wanted to reach out and-
“You normally spend your season’s end in the East Gardens,” Wonwoo said, lips pursed. “Alone.” Blue eyes darted to the other two, lingering on a stunned Jeonghan. “We have been searching for you.”
There were mountainous guards assembled behind him, presumably the rest of his search and rescue party, whose eager gazes were darting between him and the king.
Minghao and Jeonghan quickly stood up and executed perfectly mechanical bows.
Seungcheol scratched his cheek, feeling a little crowded into the small pavillion. “You have? I informed Honorable Knight Lee where I was going.” He smiled, waving at the affable guard. “I thought I would explore some instead of staying near the swan lake.”
“Well, it’s thanks to Honorable Knight Lee that we ever found you, else heavens know what-” Wonwoo cut himself off, looking a little red.
A cool breeze cycled through the garden house before escaping through the gateway.
Wonwoo sniffled. Then cleared his throat, timbre suddenly rough. The season had been oddly chilly this year. Perhaps he was catching some sickness.
But Wonwoo never got sick.
Seungcheol stepped away from his friends and towards the king, trying to wrestle the concern on his face into something proper. Emotions, such fickle things. “Wo-Your majesty? Are you alright?”
“No.” Wonwoo’s reply was quick, and his face was unreadable. “Actually-actually I have been feeling quite uneasy after the meeting.”
He cleared his throat again, hand drifting to the buttons on his vest as if they were pressing in too tightly into his stomach.
Quickly, the king’s legions nodded behind him, shuffling amongst themselves.
“Of course,” said one knight, pulling his furs tightly around himself. “His majesty has been searching absolutely everywhere for you, oh Honorable Advisor.”
More began to attest to the claim at the same time.
“Feeling sick for some time, if I recall-”
“Very flushed around the face, shivering and everything-”
Seungcheol blanched. Sick? Why hadn't he been told? Shivering? Why wasn’t he near a hearth? He could barely hold himself back from sweeping Wonwoo back into the palace.
Curse the courtiers who stressed upon propriety so. Curse the Sun Deity for letting his Sun King feel cold.
“The moon fever, no doubt. It has been circling our ranks for some time now,” declared another soldier.
Wonwoo’s cough sounded like muffled laughter this time, and Seungcheol fretted. Perhaps this too was a symptom.
“You must leave this place and come with his majesty at once!”
“I will,” Seungcheol agreed, stomach turning at the words Moon Fever . At his first step, all he could think of was Wonwoo . His king, literally worried sick looking for him. Seungcheol would never forgive himself if something terrible happened. He was having trouble forgiving himself already .
He hesitated for a moment on his next pace, almost turning back to apologize to Minghao and Jeonghan.
“Ah!”
Wonwoo stumbled, shoes sliding on the damp, leaf-layered floors.
Seungcheol burst forward to catch him before even the knights could, his own feet moving too fast on the slippery surface.
By whatever deities there were anymore, he managed not to fall himself.
The king was a heavy weight in his arms. “Wonwoo!” he cried, hastily threading his hand through a purple-sleeved elbow and letting the king lean on his shoulder. “Be careful!”
His heart was thundering in his throat, roaring like a churning storm, and his mind was too caught in it to filter the words leaving his mouth.
Seungcheol reached out with the other hand and plucked a blue rose from the walls, pressing it into Wonwoo’s hand. “Breathe in the aroma. It should help.”
He would have liked to give his king flowers on a better occasion than this. A rose that wilted less, and meant more.
A deep breath. He wrapped his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder and lifted him up. The boiling blood rushing through his body, each drop whispering Wonwoo’s name, turned the heavy king into a feather within his arms.
“Move aside,” Seungcheol shoved his way through the shocked mass of soldiers and marched back to the castle, missing the stern gaze Wonwoo threw back to his legions.
“We must hurry!” cried one of the guardsmen, and they quickly followed like a swarm of stars, exchanging excited glances.
And the sun must have envied their childish curiosity, for it too followed the Sun King and his lover, illuminating the path to the palace.
~
From the entrance to the King’s Suites all the way to the bedchambers, Seungcheol carried Wonwoo in his arms like a bride.
It was cold, so cold. He would have to gather firewood-but no, no, he couldn’t leave Wonwoo alone. Someone else would have to set up a flame.
Perhaps they should summon a Sun Priest or five to get the Sun Deity shining like he was supposed to. Blankets. Two blankets. Ten blankets. Swan feathers, the warmest ones, to layer upon the king.
The moment he brushed past the curtain, Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Stop.”
Seungcheol (and let no man say he was ever disloyal to his sovereign) dutifully halted halfway to the bed.
“I have a confession,” Wonwoo began, not meeting his eyes.
Seungcheol was a little impatient, concern strangling all rational thought. “May I place you on the bed before hearing it?”
“No.” Wonwoo adjusted his crown which had (miraculously) not fallen off. “I just want to say that…” He paused. “I’m not sick.”
The sunlight peeked shyly through the window. A gold ray streaked across them, warming the king’s face.
Seungcheol glared at him, boiling in worry and already making plans for strong medication, for Wonwoo was going delirious with fever already. “By the swans! All sick people say that, if they’re in the condition to speak. You’re probably already on your way to infection so if you would-”
“I was lying,” Wonwoo said, not meeting his eyes. “I never felt uneasy. Or sick. I just-I wanted you to leave that pavillion.”
Oh.
Seungcheol stopped thinking. Unconsciously, he shifted so that the king was more comfortable in his arms, softening his urgent grip. “Because…because I was close to Jeonghan?”
Wonwoo swallowed. “All I’ve been hearing of is a family alliance between the Chois and the Yoons. The matchmakers, the ministers, even the maids. Whenever I walk into a room, it’s being discussed openly. Right in front of me. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I know it is hard keeping us a secret. You are neither my advisor nor legally my consort, and it is for that reason that I have been-” he cut himself off, inhaling the flowery aroma of the rose. “afraid.”
Ridiculous. His king shouldn't have been wasting even a sliver of his beautiful mind, nor a section of his priceless words on such ridiculous matters. Seungcheol opened his mouth, poised to give a long tirade on how Wonwoo just shouldn't believe rumors or assume things so easily.
That even if Seungcheol remained Honorable Advisor for the rest of his life, it would matter as much as a star in the day sky.
That the day Seungcheol married Yoon Jeonghan , the sun would turn silver and they would all boil in it.
Then remembered that he himself had, just two seasons ago, believed rumors about marriages and alliances. A Princess Yi, from the Northern Kingdoms, who, even as a stranger, seemed ready to steal his king away.
Choi Seungcheol was (despite the rumors-you mustn’t believe those) not a hypocrite. And his Wonwoo deserved better than hypocritic advice.
Seungcheol thought about it, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. “Well, I can’t stop the rumors,” he started carefully. “Even if we romance in full view of the courtiers, they will undoubtedly continue gossiping, seeing as it’s all they’re good for.”
He pulled his gaze away from the frosty chandelier and towards Wonwoo, who was more brilliant than a thousand rows of silver and gold and all the hanging diamonds.
Sharp eyes, which were shiny with a level of vulnerability he had rarely seen. As if each word he spoke, he’d peel back another biting layer of ice and get closer to the pure soul burning inside.
Seungcheol sunk into blue, lemon shaped eyes, and didn’t look away.
“But you must know, no, I will tell you right now, that you are omnipresent in me. You never did let me confess to you properly, and while no amount of time will grant me eloquence, I can certainly try now more than then.”
He breathed in deeply until his lungs couldn’t take in any more air, and tried desperately not to read in too much into Wonwoo’s blank expression. “You are-you are the benevolent past which has lifted me into my present, and you are all my future will ever be worth.”
“You don’t escape my mind when I’m away from you. And if I am fortunate enough to be in your proximity, then nothing else can enter my thoughts. If I couldn’t be joined with you, then I would have accepted my fate, yes.”
He tried to construct more thoughts, tried to remember all the dramatic poetry he dreamed up in his leisure time. But instead of charismatic rhyme schemes, his mind was clogged with thoughts of Wow, pretty lips, so close, maybe I can just kiss-
“But now,” Seungcheol continued, more tentative. “Now that I’ve felt your lips on mine and worshiped every part of you, I could never draw away or accept anything other than you.”
He stopped, losing his path of thought.
“Unless-unless you wanted me to, of course. I’m not a creep. I’d draw away if you wanted me to-”
Wonwoo lurched up and kissed his open mouth.
The sun burst through the thin blinds to banish the frost on the chandeliers, melting cold skin and icy lips.
Seungcheol pulled away to catch his breath and get a luxurious faceful of evening sunlight. Wonwoo chased him, barely allowing him a gulp of air before pressing his lips on his again.
“I shouldn't have been frightened,” he rasped between kisses. “I’d never sign off on any marriage certificate of yours, wouldn’t let you find any wedding halls, wouldn’t let you get married to anyone else. You will only ever carry me like a bride, won’t you?”
Seungcheol would say yes, would grapple with the overwhelmingly delightful idea of marriage, would truly collapse with happiness that it was a possibility. Except he was too breathless to comprehend much of anything at all, growing floaty and delirious by each kiss.
To prevent the impending insanity of the king’s advisor (husband?!), he leaned back until his mouth was out of Wonwoo’s reach.
“So what does the brooch say?” he panted out, for lack of better conversation, and because the thought had been eating the back of his mind.
Wonwoo pouted, head lolling lazily back in Seungcheol’s arms until he was golden with sunlight. “I suppose you shouldn't have skipped your-”
“You can’t even shame me about that!” Seungcheol protested. “Because I skipped my lessons to help you through your speech and enunciation classes.”
Seungcheol felt warmth bursting through his chest when Wonwoo’s mouth broke into a reminiscent smile. Wonwoo smiled like angels. He didn’t even need to see the deities of heaven to know that they had each given a piece of their beauty to his king.
“Alright. It says…” he began, free hand reaching across to trace the script.
“ Il pertinet ad notre solius regis. ”
It was odd, the way his voice flickered, seeping naturally into the nasal tremors and wide boughs of the Sol dialect, deepening until it trembled the entire room.
As if he had always spoken it, as if the language was molded into the buds of his tongue. As preeminent as the sun which rose from the East, and the seasons which had cycled since time began to spin. The day seemed to brighten, clouds clearing so the sky could hear the golden language of the Gods being spoken in its true form again.
Which was an outrageous thought. No one spoke the Sol Dialect anymore. It had died out with the 50 Lost Sol Tribes. Nobles were taught the basics, simply for tradition’s sake, but only learned priests could decipher the letters, still piecing together old books and legends.
The Sol Dialect was all the Sun Deity had spoken, the script in which he had etched their saintly tablets.
“By the swans, you’re very good at that,” Seungcheol said, trying to calm his trembling hands and ground his feet, which seemed poised to soar. “But I skipped my classes, remember? So what does it mean ?”
Wonwoo’s eyes left the brooch and moved to his face. “Il pertinet ad notre solius regis.” An inhale. “He belongs to our Tenth Sun King. Jeon Wonwoo. ”
A searing flush, racing across two hearts, bursting into sparks in his lungs until he was breathing pure adrenaline. Choirs could have been belting from the heavens. The world outside must have melted under the ferocious rays of sun, which burst forth from a rip in the skies.
Seungcheol would have fainted, only he couldn’t faint on command. Also, Wonwoo was still in his arms, dubiously sick, and couldn’t under any circumstances be dropped.
And yet even the luminous Sun Deity couldn’t outdo his blush, blooming like flowers across his pale skin.
“You mean to say,” he began, taking slow breaths. “That I have been wearing that around the palace for the past week? A claim pin? Which anyone could just read?”
Wonwoo pushed his glasses up his long nose and twirled the rose between his fingers. “My subjects must be informed of these things.”
Seungcheol suddenly calmed, buzzing worry retreating back into his heart. “No one understands the Sol Dialect anymore,” he remembered, sliding into a relieved smile.
Thank the deities who had erased it from their tongues.
Wonwoo peered up at him. “Really?”
He muffled an exasperated laugh. “Well, we don’t mingle amongst Ancient Beings, your majesty. And no one else can read the Sol Dialect, especially not complex words like this.”
Wonwoo’s lips pressed into a knowing smile, the light from the chandelier reflecting in his amused eyes. “You never know. You just might be living with a few gods.” He adjusted his shirt a little bit.
Seungcheol snorted. “Well, both Minghao and Jeonghan seemed to understand it. Does that mean they’re deities?” He paused, trying to imagine either of them soaring through the heavens with swan wings, or having hair threaded with constellations.
Perhaps Jeonghan was the Moon Deity, luminous and seductive and slipping through the night. Perhaps Minghao was Polaris, the lone Star of Wisdom, stoic and teasing alike. They were both alarmingly pale, silver light clinging to their lean figures. Tall, sharp, and undeniably ethereal.
Jeonghan, who loved roaming around the castle at nighttime and watching the moon waxing and waning.
And Minghao, who hailed from the Northern Kingdoms just like the Northern sky was home to Polaris, always longing to ascend back into his rightful place.
Wonwoo kept on staring at him, eyes widening the more silent Seungcheol remained.
“I must-” Seungcheol cackled finally, feeling exhausted from all the thinking. “I must be catching the Moon Fever myself because I’m truly turning delirious. Gods. Ha. They’re the biggest jokers I’ve ever met.”
The king settled back, exhaling. Then inhaled again. “I apologize.” He glanced up at Seungcheol. “For being so distrusting.”
Seungcheol drifted down from his flight, touching the tips of his toes on the soft Earth. He didn't hesitate before speaking this time. “The Sun Deity himself must envy you. So how could anyone blame man for envying man?”
Wonwoo closed his mouth, looking taken aback. Seungcheol sniffed with abashed pride. He was really getting a grasp on this poetry thing, it seemed. At this rate, instead of consort, perhaps he could pursue the title of ‘Court Poet’.
“Besides, it really bolstered my ego, if we must be honest.”
The king laughed, voice loud and light. The heavenly sound jolted Seungcheol’s mind back, the way his arms ached or his legs shook a little.
“Wonwoo-yah, can I put you down now?” Seungcheol asked, voice strained.
Wonwoo blinked out of his reverie, realizing that he was still lithe in his advisor’s grasp, arms wrapped around his neck. “If you must,” he sighed, being carried to the bed at last. “I’d rather be in your arms than on the throne.”
Seungcheol dropped him into the pillows, partly from shock, and partly from his throbbing arms. “Those may have been the most romantic words you have ever spoken,” he said, breathless, awed because his king could be a poet so effortlessly when it had taken him eons of pining.
“Really?” Wonwoo’s voice was scheming, careful with thought. “Could you carry me around everywhere then?”
“Your majesty!” Seungcheol cried, falling down across the bed himself and sinking into the blankets. “You need not even ask. I will save your poor, long, beautiful legs from doing any work at all! I will be the chariot of swans to your Sun Deity!”
Wonwoo looked pleased, rolling back into the swan white sheets. “Did you know,” he began innocently. “That you called me ‘Wonwoo’ in front of my soldiers?”
What?
Seungcheol’s eyes blew out as the memories filtered past, the words rushing back to his mouth again.
( A rose. A red-nosed guard, suddenly wide eyed. A king, descending heavily into his arms. “Wonwoo! Be careful!”)
He could slap himself. He should slap himself. He would slap himself, sometime soon. Oh dear Sun Deity, who shone in the East. What had he done?
“Oh no.” Seungcheol grasped his hair. “What now?”
Now they would have to tell everyone. Or maybe he would have to distance himself from the king. Would the soldiers have spread the word already? Perhaps they could stop the rumors in time.
Wonwoo seemed blissfully ignorant though, pulling Seungcheol’s blanket onto himself too, despite being eternally warm. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Seungcheol bit out, wriggling out of the suffocating heat. “How are we supposed to pass that off? I should never be speaking to you informally. The young guards will chat with their beloved maids. The maids will whisper and theorize until the ministers hear. It will no longer be a secret.”
Wonwoo tossed the blanket off the moment Seungcheol let go of it. “I don’t mind that,” he said calmly. “Do you?”
Did he?
Seungcheol shut his jaw and thought about it. Really thought about it.
Aside from sheer worry, did he?
It would be different.
The ministers would look at them differently. Every glance and every smile would be scrutinized. Perhaps a nasty remark or two, perhaps some blistering gazes.
He could gently slip his hand into Wonwoo’s, like the old queen did to the king whenever he seemed nervous. He could gaze at him unhindered, everywhere he went, like the sun which stared lovingly at the earth.
That was worth everything, seeing the relief in Wonwoo’s eyes when he was close. A king needed his companion, whether advisor or consort. And Wonwoo needed him as a consort. Seungcheol had never been a great advisor.
No, he decided. He didn’t .
Change? Certainly, it had made him afraid.
But the Sun Deity would never have risen each day if he feared a different dawn, or a different view of the world.
And the brisk autumn would never overcome the summer if it was frightened by the different fields it brushed across.
And the swans would have never loved so unconditionally if they were scared of facing different skies to soar through together.
And for Wonwoo’s sake, even the greatest fear wouldn’t render him incapacitated. The kingdom needed its Sun King, but Wonwoo needed Seungcheol. They would find a way to make both work.
“As long as I can love you,” he began. “I don’t think I would mind much of anything.”
Wonwoo smiled into his throat, reaching for his hand. “As you say, oh most honorable consort.”
Seungcheol pulled him closer and pressed his eyes shut so the world wouldn’t spin and make him dizzy with happiness.
Outside, the clouds sprinkled down their first snowflakes, like twinkling stars cascading down from the heavens.
The sun was a golden gemstone embedded in the sky’s gray silk. It must have envied the king, for it soared higher and higher from the East, searching for a consort of its own to love without the night to limit it.
~
Seungcheol laughed into his pillow as a thought struck. “Wait. If that was enough to get you upset, you should have heard that one time I promised a maid I’d kiss her because she tied my shoes before a footrace.”
Wonwoo sat up, grip tightening. Thunder cracked in the background, and Seungcheol stopped laughing. “You said what?”