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Books are made up of parts. Layers of paper bound by tightly wound threads, weaving through holes of instability to make the whole stable. Each page might seem delicate on its own, prone to tearing or wear, but together they form a story- something enduring, something complete. Jisung likes books. He likes the way they feel solid despite their fragility, the way their bindings hold secrets in place. He likes their complexity.
His favorite books are always fantasy stories, ones with dragons and daring escapes, star-crossed lovers and magical worlds. He prefers lives that are far removed from his own- the lives of farmers turned heroes, of scholars seeking ancient treasures, of anyone who isn’t a prince. Someone who isn't born into importance, but makes themselves important. Someone who isn’t him.
In his chambers, stacks of books threaten to spill over from every surface, their spines whispering promises of lives only wished. Jisung sits by the window, a well-worn copy of The Silver Drake balanced on his knee as the sea breeze flutters in comfortably. He’s read it before, a dozen times at least, but the story still pulls at him. The protagonist, a humble blacksmith, forges his destiny in the face of impossible odds, wielding courage and wit to outsmart fate.
“A blacksmith doesn’t concern himself with international reputation,” Jisung murmurs to no one in particular. “A blacksmith doesn’t have to hold the weight of the world in hands much too tiny for the responsibility.”
Felix, his best friend disguised as an overpaid maid, snorts from where he’s folding linens. “Don't act like you hate who you are. Your eyes light up when townspeople talk to you. You're the first to go play with children or hand money out to literally anyone asking.”
Jisung glances up, raising an eyebrow. “Those are trade secrets, Judas.”
“Judas,” Felix repeats in a whisper, his grin sharp. “But you're not a blacksmith and neither am I. I draw the line at manual labor.”
“You are quite literally folding linens manually,” Jisung huffs, closing the book with a soft thud, no malice in his tone nor his smile. The threads of its binding creak faintly- resilient, even with multiple hours and days of care wearing it down. He sets it aside and rests his chin on his hand, gazing out at the courtyard below. It’s busy with staff making preparations for another event- there's always another event.
The threads of his own life feel frayed, tangled beyond repair.
He doesn't hate who he is- not by a longshot. He doesn't hate his responsibilities, his people, even his family. He's third in line for a crown that's never been in sight. Jisung is fine with that- he just wants more from life itself. He can't just be a blacksmith on a heroic journey, or a wandering adventurer that falls in love with a forest spirit, or a man who rides a dragon.
He's a prince.
The entire kingdom at his fingertips, and he just feels limited. Jisung has already told his parents that he's gay. He wasn't surprised when both of his brothers, the King, and Queen, were all supportive. They were more worried that he'd be lonely than anything. He can't be arranged with a princess or the daughter of a duke and… other kingdoms and families tend not to be as open-minded as his.
The biggest excitement in his life boils down to eyeing pretty men entirely out of reach at town events- people well below his pay grade that he'd never be allowed near. That and books- always books. But they can only do so much.
"Earth to Your Highness. Or… Mars to Your Highness, I guess. You're like an alien, I swear. Zoning out and able to just teleport your brain to another world. God, I wish I had that ability." Felix giggles before piling the last of the fabric in the small basket and setting it to the floor. He walks over and sits across Jisung, leaning over intently, as if everything in Jisung's mind is the most important thing he could hear at the moment.
"Oh, yes. The inherent ability to maladaptive daydream on a constant basis or lose myself to thoughts that barely make sense to the brain creating them." Jisung lets out another sound somewhere between a chuckle and a huff, before shaking his head and looking at his friend.
"Well… the… the malative thing sounds pretty unhealthy. Mal means bad, right? You told me that, I think." Felix grimaces as he tries to understand.
"That's correct." Jisung smiles proudly- he can't help it. "Mal is the Latin root for 'bad' or 'evil.' Maladaptive daydreaming is like… when your brain takes a break from the situation you're in. Takes a break from reality. And it kind of… deposits you into a different reality for a little while. Like a daydream you're an actual part of. Does that make sense?"
Felix nods slowly, pursing his lips and brows furrowed as he thinks to himself. "You could totally be a teacher on Mars. You couldn't be a blacksmith- sorry, that just doesn't fit you- but you could definitely be an alien teacher. To like… other aliens."
Jisung stares at him for a moment, blinking slowly with his mouth hanging open just slightly before they both burst into laughter. When a knock sounds on the door, Felix hops up from his seat and smiles. "I'll see what they want. You keep reading the same book for the five hundredth time.”
The prince gasps and lets his mouth continue to hang open in faux offense. “Fine. That is exactly what I will do- and I will enjoy it just to spite you.”
A snicker in response- layers of love and playfulness woven into years of understanding Jisung like no one else ever has.
“Let me know if anything changes this time."
✦❘༻♚༺❘✦
Everything changes- or it’s going to. It will.
Before Jisung had his books, there were flower crowns and mud-grass cakes and constellations under firelight. The flower crowns that he and Felix used to make as children, prancing around through fields of green wearing daisies and lavender, babies breath and eucalyptus atop their skulls. They made cakes out of mud and grass, sticks and leaves, and ruined a perfectly new brick oven trying to “properly cook it.” At night, under forts made of blankets and in dark rooms no one bothered to check, they’d hide with firelight and their awful homemade iterations of castle maps and giggle about the gossip they’d heard throughout the day. Jisung would try and pick constellations and star clusters from Felix’s freckles- the stars outside weren’t all that exciting in comparison to his best friend’s.
These things made Jisung who he is- shaped his childhood. A good portion of it revolved around Felix and the boy’s innate ability to make him happy. As he grew, he found books that let him experience other worlds, other people that interested him as much as his best friend. People that seemed to good to be true.
But everything changes- or it’s going to. It will.
He is the third child to King Han Yeojang, Prince Jisung. Not a blacksmith, not a child of flower crowns, not a bakery of mud crafts or a star gazer. It really shouldn’t have surprised him when his parents sent someone knocking on his door to call Jisung to the otherwise-empty throne room with words that would change his life.
"We've arranged a marriage partner for you.”
Jisung’s parents sit on their pretty side-by-side thrones, encased in gold and white and ornate little carvings that truly display the amount of expendable wealth their family has- as they drop seemingly world-ending news on him. To their credit, their faces are etched with a surprising mix of anticipation and anxiety.
He’s still shaking off the exhausting from the whirlwind of courtly duties that he’d had to perform earlier that day, and he doesn’t have the filter not to blink at them in bewilderment. He’s tired, even if he had time to relax and read. Sue him.
“A what?” he asks incredulously, the words settling in his mind slowly like heavy raindrops splattering onto the courtyard cobblestone. He knows the sound well- he leaves his window open to hear it clatter when he reads.
He thought he was safe, immune from the political maneuvers that so often involved occasions like matrimony. His eldest brother was married off to the new crown princess, and his second oldest brother would likely experience a similar fate- but his parents know and respect his orientation so… why would they want him married? He wants it to be a joke. He so desperately needs it to be a joke. They know he’s a hopeless romantic. They know he’s not even remotely into women. They know he wants something organic, life-shattering and world-crushingly beautiful when his love story is written into history books. But looking at their earnest faces, he can tell that they aren’t joking.
It’s pitiful, mostly, because he’ll do anything for his family. Charity events, socializing with people he doesn’t know, learning the ins-and-outs of kingdom etiquette and political warfare even though he’ll never sit on that throne… anything. Even this. He’ll do it, he knows it immediately even though there’s thorns growing in the pit of his stomach. He wants to ask questions, and stomp out of the room throwing a fit, but he loves them and he loves the kingdom. He’ll do it. That’s not in question. He just doesn’t understand why he has to.
His mother steps up from her seat and walks over to him, reaching out to take and pat his hand in hers. “I know it’s not what you expected. And it’s not what you wanted, Jisungie,” she says gently. “But we think this could be good for you, for us. For our kingdom and… theirs. This is an amazing opportunity for you and I would hate to see it go to waste.”
His father takes over, without standing. The look on his face is enough. They hate asking this of him- they know what he wanted in life, but this is part of being a family. A royal family. They know it and so does he. "We've found someone who can respect your… preferences, who works well with them," he says tentatively, "Another prince.” He hesitates before confessing, “A prince who prefers men as well.”
The clarification may seem unnecessary to anyone else, but it is much needed for Jisung. Jisung felt as though he'd been dropped into uncharted territory. He genuinely thought he’d be the first, the only, for a long time. He thought that he’d be paving the way for future royal lineages. He never once considered that there could be another openly gay member in royalty that he hadn’t heard of- especially with how he’d heard of other kingdoms treating those who were born outside of heteronormativity.
When he fantasizes about his romantic future, the life he wants for himself, he never thinks of royalty. He sees a cottage and a garden, an open living room where they can dance to crackling fire and music that’s only hummed between the small gap as they hold onto each other. He dreams of someone faceless, nameless… but they’re never wearing royal garb. He’s third in line- a lesser book that wasn’t expected to make it onto international shelves. He expected a life of loneliness.
This is a possibility that he didn’t consider.
"Do I have any say in this?" Jisung asks, trying to keep his voice steady. He might as well ask. There’s no harm in asking.
His parents share a glance before his mother speaks up again. "We want you to meet him, spend this spring in their court," she says, her gaze soft yet determined. "If you don't want this after meeting him, we'll respect your decision."
And there it is- an ultimatum wrapped in the guise of choice, and not by their own fault. They don’t understand how important they are to him and how seriously he takes their requests. Despite his shock and confusion and utter exhaustion, Jisung can’t resist feeling a glimmer of curiosity. A prince who prefers men- just like him. Would he be kind? Understanding? Or just another man playing the part?
She continues in his silence, his mother’s voice still gentle- as if she is as worried and anxious as Jisung is. “We’re in a good season for travel. You can take Felix, spend the spring there as mentioned. We’ve heard it’s beautiful, and it’ll give you the chance to… really give it a try. Get to know him.”
“May I ask more questions?” Jisung blinks through the heavy frustration and takes several deep breaths before and after talking. He doesn’t know another way to make it through this conversation- but he doesn’t want to save any questions for later. He doesn’t want to have to re-discuss this topic until absolutely necessary.
“Of course, son,” his father nods, swallowing heavily.
"Do they… do they know about me? Or… did they just choose the first gay prince that could be paired with their son?" Jisung asks, his heart pounding. It’s not like all queer people are automatically kind or safe to be around. Everyone is human, after all. Not all books are written with the same level of depth and care.
He tries to be kind and caring and loyal in all aspects of life, but he’s not naïve enough to believe that everyone else does- or wants to do- the same.
His parents exchange another knowing glance before his mother responds. "Yes, Jisung," she said softly, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "We've told them everything. We wouldn't want you to be in a situation where you'd have to hide any aspect of yourself. They know you love to read, and keep mostly to yourself. You love your people and care strongly for them, and you try to make sure everyone else does the same- they know that, too.”
"And what have you heard about the prince? Do I know about him- anything?" His voice sounds small to his own ears, filled with vulnerability he seldom allows himself to express to his family.
The room is silent for a beat before his father takes over. “We’ve heard so many good things, Jisung,” he begins, his voice steady and reassuring, confident and powerful. He’s the king for a reason. “Prince Minho’s reputation precedes him, as does the Lee Kingdom in general. He is know to be vastly kind-hearted and considerate, wise beyond his years. They say he, too, has a great love for his people, and that he values empathy and intellect over pure lineage. When children are brought up for his lineage- he mentions adoption. His parents are in full support, much like we try to be. They trust him whole-heartedly, and that means a great deal.”
A hint of relief washes over Jisung at this, before anxiety tries to creep its way in. He’s not ready to talk about children. He’s not even ready for this conversation, as much as he tries to will himself to be. The Lee Kingdom isn’t unknown, exactly. They just keep to themselves. A neutrality of sorts- not quite a good thing, in the eyes of other countries, but not bad. "And how soon… how soon would we need to…" He struggles to finish the sentence, the implications weighing heavy in his mind.
"You mean marriage?" His mother gently offers the word which had been lingering unspoken in the air. "That's something you can decide together, Jisung. Your father and I want you to feel comfortable first, make sure this is right for you. We’re not forcing you to get married, we’re just pushing for you to try and get to know him. Just… try. That’s all."
It’s the least he can do. He’s third in line for the throne, and wouldn’t end up doing much for the kingdom, otherwise. They’ve allowed him ample freedom in his life- enough to dwell in fantasies and build a life on flower crowns and bound pages. A standard “nth” prince and a prince with two amazing brothers ahead of him in line. He doesn’t know how many siblings Minho has, but he hopes it’s a good amount. He hopes that the family, his siblings, and that they all taught him how to be a good person.
If Jisung has to do this- he just wants Minho to be a good person. He hopes beyond hope that that’s not too much to ask for.
Just as he’s about to gain his bearings and respond, the doors burst open, admitting Jisung’s eldest brother into the room, his presence filling the space like an unannounced storm. More rain. More courtyard cobblestones. He wonders how the flowers in the courtyard stand tall after a heavy downpour. He’ll need to look it up and read about it. Rain is a comfort, at times. Other times, it’s unwanted.
“Mother, Fath- I apologize for interrupting. Are you talking about the marriage arrangement? You needn’t worry, Jisung,” his brother announces with a confident grin as he stands by their mother. Bon-Hwa, the first son in line for the throne. They get along well enough, but he didn’t expect another person to be in the heat of the conversation, and he didn’t expect the topic, either. “Crown Prince Lee Minho is an amazing person. You'll love him. And he’ll love you- it’s hard not to."
Crown.
Crown Prince Lee Minho. His parents are setting him up with someone meant to be a king.
Everything changes- or it’s going to. It will.
┗✦❘༻♚༺❘✦┛
The clash of swords rings through crisp morning air and they seem to sing upon contact. Minho's opponent stumbles back, panting, and lowers his blade. Those watching begin clapping immediately, erupting into cheers and applause. They'd probably cheer no matter what he does- he's their future King- but Minho can't help the pride he feels in himself. Sparring has always been a good way to relieve stress.
"Incredible, Your Highness," his opponent chuckles through broken breaths as his lungs work to refill themselves. "I didn’t stand a chance against you."
Minho grins, lowering his sword and extending a hand to his opponent. "You’re improving, though. That last strike was solid. Just work on your footwork- you’re leaning too far forward."
The other man nods, still catching his breath. "Thank you for the advice, Your Highness. I’ll work on it and adjust."
He sets his sword down and sees his personal guard and best friend leaning against the fence surrounding the training field beckoning him over with a tilt of his head, arms crossed and a lopsided smile on his face. "You know, you’re making the rest of us look bad."
"Maybe you should train harder, then, Chan." Minho shoots back, his smile growing at the compliment. "Or maybe I’m just born with a natural affinity towards fighting."
Chan rolls his eyes but can’t hide his grin. "I’ll remember that the next time that I save your life."
The playful banter continues as they walk off the field, the sounds of training continuing but fading behind them. Minho wipes sweat from his brow and slings a towel over his shoulder. "You’re not here just to admire my skills, are you?"
"Actually, no. Your parents want to see you in the meeting room," Chan said, falling into step beside him. "Urgently, I think."
Minho’s easy smile falters for a moment before he nodded. "Right. Duty calls." He tries to think of all the reasons they could be calling him to the conference room, but there are too many to count. They could be postponing his coronation set for summer, or there could be issues among the kingdom which- he can’t prepare for that, technically. It’s hard to know how to prepare for something when preparation isn’t possible.
As they make their way through the palace halls, Chan’s voice breaks the outward silence. "You know, I still don’t understand why you even need a guard. You’re probably the best fighter in the kingdom."
Minho laughs, shaking his head. "Someone has to keep me humble."
"Oh, sure. That’s definitely my job," Chan says with mock seriousness. "Keeping His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Minho, the most humble man alive."
They both laugh, the sound bouncing softly against the polished stone walls. But as they approach the towering doors of the meeting room, Minho feels his laughter and smile dwindle. He needs to focus. Back straight, head high, emotion held back. He is to be King. His parents have expectations he needs to uphold and exceed.
Taking a deep breath, Minho steps into the meeting room while Chan stands outside. His sharp, cat-like eyes scan over the bookshelves he climbed as a child, the table he hid under when playing hide and seek, the swords on display that he used to hold and pretend he was fighting at the front of a war with. There’s no playing or pretend, anymore. This room is for serious discussion. His parents sit on the far end, their soft faces turning toward him as he approaches.
Their expressions soften even further as they take in their son- the crown prince, soon to be King. There's a touch of pride in their gaze that Minho has always savored, but today it’s accompanied by something else… something that resembles hesitancy.
“Minho,” his mother starts, her voice gentle and soft. Her eyes are kind, a mirror of Minho’s own. “Please sit.”
He complies, resting himself on the plush chair across from his parents. He folds his hands neatly on his lap, his posture straight and regal. Whatever it is- he will not let them down. He will attack the cause of their concern and hesitancy and he will do it with grace. "Mother, Father," he nods in respectful acknowledgment.
“We have something important to discuss with you,” his father begins seriously.
His mother cuts in softly before his dad can continue. “We’ve found you a potential partner for marriage.”
At this, Minho's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He hadn't been expecting this. After all, he’d made no secret of his sexuality within the kingdom’s walls. Why would they want him to wed?
“And who might this be?” he asks carefully, trying to keep his tone neutral.
“His Highness, Han Jisung,” his father replies succinctly. “The third Prince of Goryeo-Han Kingdom.”
Minho finds himself at a loss for words- he was right, he couldn’t have prepared for a conversation such as this. He knows of the Hans’ kingdom, and he knew that there was a third prince, but had no information on him. He wasn’t driven to find any, either.
"Who is he?" Minho finally asks, curiosity piqued despite his initial confusion.
The queen's smile widens slightly, still ever-so-soft. "Prince Han Jisung," she starts warmly, "is kind-hearted, creative, and remarkably intelligent. From what we gather, he loves reading and has an admirable ability to connect with people. We’ve heard wonderful stories of the love his townspeople hold for him."
Minho remains silent for just a moment, absorbing this new information. When he finally speaks, he attempts to only let his professionalism show as a courtesy to his parents and their positions. “And what are the benefits of a marriage or alliance with the Han Kingdom?”
“Trade, first and foremost,” his father replies, resting his hands on the polished tabletop. “Their kingdom is coastal, and their seafood trade is unrivaled. An alliance would ensure a consistent supply of fish and other sea products, which would be a boon to our people. Moreover, their fabrics from water-fed cotton and silk fields is truly incredible. When considering an alliance with them, we found that their third prince has something in common with you."
Minho’s brows furrow slightly as he blinks slowly, processing everything the king is saying. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before his mother is speaking again, seemingly rushing to add more information in an attempt to help explain.
“Because they’re coastal, they also have marines. We are landlocked, but it would help if we ever engage in a war requiring sea travel. It’s something we don’t have.” When the crown prince stays silent, his heart thrumming in his chest over the unexpected, the queen continues. “This alliance would be wonderful for the kingdom, but… we also have much to offer. We won’t force this on you if you dislike the idea. We can attempt a different negotiation for an alliance with them. If you’d like, we were considering a… trial of sorts.”
The king takes over, clearing his throat before speaking and making direct eye contact with his stunned son. “We were considering housing him for a short time to let you get to know each other, and see if this is an arrangement you both could fathom.”
They then allow the silence to pass, patiently waiting for Minho’s consideration and response. He never considered that he would partake in an arranged marriage, but it’s fairly common among royals. He’s no more special than any other, and the alliance is something to consider. There’s a lot to think about, but this “trial” would give him time to do that, and meet the other man.
If he’s to consider this, he would need to make sure that Jisung is the right person to lead with- someone who would treat his people with respect, someone with heart. His parents may have heard that he’s a wonderful person, but words aren’t always to be believed, especially when there’s something to be gained from them. They could have been fed false information to make the alliance sound nicer, though he’s sure they would have considered that… He needs to find out for himself.
"Alright," Minho finally says, folding his hands in front of him on the table. His voice is firm now, touched with newfound resolve. "I will meet with Prince Jisung. But I do want to get to know him first… beyond royal titles and political alliances."
His parents smile at his decision- a mix of relief and pride passing between them.
"That sounds wonderful, son. We’ll pass word," his mother encourages gently while his father nods in agreement.
Minho has many questions that need to be answered, and many criteria that need to be met if this arrangement were to move forward when they meet.
He needs a plan.
┏✦❘༻♚༺❘✦┓
With the era of flower crowns and mud cakes came the urge to be someone- anyone- different. Someone who matters. Felix used to wear a towel around his neck and stack his flower crowns, pretending to be “Lee Felix of the Goryeo-Han Kingdom". Jisung stopped asking why he wasn’t prince of the “Lee Kingdom” after two or three times. Felix always said he had to stay in this kingdom because he needed Jisung by his side. He didn’t want another kingdom- it’d be too far away.
Jisung would act as his servant, effectively swapping roles. He would be dubbed a knight, or act as a farmer coming to the prince with complaints about draught and asking for more gold to employ more workers. He would be a dragon tamer visiting the kingdom, asking the prince for a place to stay in exchange for a rare dragon egg. He would be a war general helping the prince learn stances to teach his men. Anything and everything, even if it wasn’t realistic. He was just someone that could do something, and so was Felix.
That never stopped them from getting in trouble. Felix’s mother would sweep him away, telling him that he couldn’t act like a prince and make the actual prince work for him- pretend to be a servant for him. And then they’d wake up and do it again the next day while “baking” cakes made of wet dirt for the imaginary friends in their lives.
Jisung wonders now if Felix still plays with the idea of what being a prince is like. He’s certainly struggling with the idea, himself.
He trudges back to his room after the talk with his parents and brother, doing his best to act as if he isn’t nervous, isn’t terrified, isn’t incredibly confused at the unexpected turn of events. He shuts the door behind him and disrobes down to his eggshell-colored satin undergarments- he will not be going back out tonight. Maybe tomorrow, as well. He sits by the window and cracks it again to hear the ironic pitter-patter of raindrops bursting against stone- his parents and brother must be excitedly planning for his trip to meet Lee Minho.
His fingers have barely started skipping through pages to find the one scene he needs the most right now. The blacksmith has just started his adventure into the world and is roped into an encounter with a terrifying beast- one he’s not prepared for. He needs courage, but he’s not used to needing courage. Even though Jisung has read this innumerable times, he doesn’t remember how the blacksmith dealt with it. He can’t bring to mind how the man summoned courage to fight when he’s only ever made weapons instead of using them.
When he finds the page he’s looking for, he curls his knees to his chest. When he was younger, he’d get in trouble for the position- it’s not very ‘royal’ of him, but it’s comfortable. His fingers carefully hold the book as he begins to read again, and he doesn’t bother to look up when his ears catch the slight creak of the door opening and shutting again. There’s no one else that would ever just walk into his room unannounced.
“I assume it didn’t go well, based on how you’re dressed and curled up reading that book again,” Felix says softly, walking up to sit on the large windowsill with him. He brings a blanket over from Jisung’s armoire and covers their legs in it, looking out the window before sighing. “I don’t want to push, but I’m worried. I heard that there’s an arrangement in place?”
Jisung hums, a noncommittal sound that could be interpreted as either agreement or dismissal. Whether it was the former or the latter, Felix doesn't press. He simply stares at the prince for a moment, before turning his gaze back to the courtyard outside- Jisung can just barely see his head turning out of the corner of his eyes.
"I hear he's kind," Felix says eventually, breaking the silence. His voice is quiet, almost afraid to pierce through the tranquility of the room. "Crown Prince Minho, I mean. The staff is talking about how the Lee Kingdom is a wonderful place, and the prince is both kind and handsome. They’re jealous."
Jisung doesn't reply immediately, his eyes still fixed on his book. The staff knows about the Lee Kingdom. The staff knows- or at least they’re pretending to- but Jisung knows nothing. International politics aren’t something he’s had to study. At least, not yet. Jisung’s work in the castle amounts to very little, considering he enjoys the majority of his “work.” Exhausting or not, he attends events in place of the royal family. He visits towns and carries messages, opens new buildings with the royal seal. But he doesn’t need knowledge of other kingdoms, because he doesn’t experience anyone from them. Not often, at least. He doesn’t travel- but apparently word does.
A few seconds or minutes or millennia pass- long enough for Felix to start doubting he'd heard him- before he finally speaks. "And?"
Felix blinks in surprise at the question. "And… what?"
"And does that mean I should accept that at face value?" The words come out sharper than Jisung intended them to, but he can't bring himself to regret them. His fingers threaten to tighten around the book, but he relaxes himself and sits up straight- he can’t do that to the pages. “Do they know, without a doubt, how he acts behind closed doors? What face he puts on in front of commoners? People in our position- they do that. They act differently around people of their own stature than they do with… staff and townspeople and the like. They put on a front to make themselves more likeable.”
“They.” Felix says with a small grin. As if Jisung isn’t one of them- he knows. He already knows. The way his lips are pushing to the left just slightly, the small dimple being created- it tells Jisung that Felix is trying not to giggle. “You’re not like that, though. You’re sweet to everyone. You’re memorable and kind-hearted and honest with everyone, royalty and staff alike. What if he’s the same?”
“I find that to be a… difficult idea to entertain.” Jisung doesn’t know how to properly explain the worry eating at his insides. He’s not even sure if a few months is enough time to truly get to know someone. If the mask is good enough, it can last quite awhile without signs of wear or tear.
Felix reaches over the blanket and pulls one of Jisung’s hands into both of his. “The last time your brother went into town- the people asked where you were. Bon-Hwa tried to visit and make some purchases, and I heard he even became a little frustrated because every shop owner asked how you were doing, and when you’d visit again.”
He can’t help but scoff at the notion of Bon-Hwa getting irritated over something so trivial. He’s the future king, but spends little time with his people. When his clock ticks, each sound is a dollar sign. Law, military, and economy- he knows the ins and outs of those topics better than anyone else. But Haneul from the clothing store? He doesn’t know that she spends 14 hours a day sewing and talking to customers just to provide well for her three children. Jimin from the coastal greenhouse? Bon-Hwa doesn’t know that he’s traveled five different countries and eight kingdoms looking for rare seeds so he could gather flowers and herbs the Han kingdom knew little of.
Kang-Dae, his second brother, handles financials and interactions with other politicians and royals. He’s barely around the castle, let alone the town itself.
It makes sense that they’d ask for Jisung- it’s been his job to know them and keep up appearances. Luckily for him, it’s been easy work. They have good people residing in their kingdom.
But, like his brothers, he finds it hard to believe that a crown prince would be invested in his people. He finds it more likely that he wears a mask like Bon-Hwa does. Tries to smile when things irritate him. Bon-Hwa is still a good person at heart, though. He doesn’t know if this Lee Minho is.
He wants to find out. He’ll always do what his family needs or wants- not because he has to, but because he wants to. He loves them. He may want more from his life, and he may enjoy fantastical stories on layered pages that fulfill him in ways he hasn’t otherwise experienced, but he knows his duty. He knows the position he was born into. He didn’t expect this kind of arrangement or task, but his parents only asked him to try. He can do that, even if it scares him- but he’ll do it in a way that satisfies his own curiosities.
His parents and the staff say he’s wonderful and kind, but he has questions that need answers. He knows politics. He knows royalty. He knows the masks that are worn at the top of the hierarchy. He has to wonder if Minho would carefully lay a book back in place, or if he would fold and mark the pages- if he is the kind of man who would rather cut loose a frayed thread than try to weave it back into place. He wonders if the Crown Prince would know the name of shop owners. How many children they have and what they have to do to provide for their families. He wonders if that’s too much to ask from someone who’s going to take a throne, and already has a lot on their plate, or if it’s reasonable to hope for that level of knowledge and care.
He wouldn’t know. He hates that he can’t know until he gets there.
“What if…” Jisung begins, then hesitates. Felix turns back to Jisung, tilting his head in that way he does when he’s trying to read Jisung’s mind.
“What if, what?” Felix prompts.
Jisung’s fingers trace the edge of the book’s cover, seeking comfort in its familiar texture. “What if we could… test him? See what he’s really like?”
Felix’s eyes narrow. “Test him how?”
The idea blooms in Jisung’s mind, stitching itself into a plan. He straightens, the corners of his mouth quirking upward subtly. “What if he didn’t meet me at all? What if he met someone else?”
Felix groans, already sensing where this is headed. “Oh no. Your Highness, whatever you’re thinking…”
“You’d make a wonderful prince,” Jisung says brightly. They’ve played these parts before. “And I… well, I wouldn’t be a blacksmith, but… I could live life as someone else for a day,” he says as if promoting a promise. “You played pretend as a child! This would be much the same.”
“I was a child, Your Highness.” His best friend scoffs. “And I was in trouble every time we were caught!”
“Just a day,” the prince pleads again. “You won’t even have to see him or talk to him, if we can avoid it. I just need to speak to staff. We can say you’re not feeling well when we arrive and put you up in a room.”
Felix stares at him, then laughs, loud and incredulous. “You’re serious.”
Jisung nods, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. “Deadly serious. Let’s see if Prince Minho can pass the test of a commoner.”
“The things I do for you.”
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“I don’t like this, Your Highness.” Chan’s brows furrow and he takes a deep breath as he steps out of the adjoined bathroom to Minho’s room. He’s dressed in the Prince’s typical garb, and it takes a moment for Minho to register Chan’s words.
The new doublet is tailored to fit like a second skin, fashioned in the Kingdom's signature deep scarlet and indigo hues. Intricate embroidery in silver thread traces the edges of the collar cuffs, with their symbol delicately depicted in dot-needling.
Beneath the doublet, a fine silken shirt in pristine ivory peeks through, it's high collar adorned with miniature stones polished to look like snowdrops. The trousers are tailored from ebony leather- definitely more Minho's style than Chan's, but that is to be expected. Silver filigree traces up the sides and forms an outline that vaguely resembles vines.
At the waist, a belt of braided silk and silver thread cinch the outfit together, bearing a jewel-encrusted crest of the royal family- a gleaming ruby encased in violet and onyx trim centering it. The knee-high boots of polished obsidian complete the ensemble, and Minho doesn't know how to feel.
He never imagined seeing his best friend in casual royal attire.
It passes, though, because the words finally register and he frowns with a sigh. “I’m not trying to ask anything of you. I simply need a little time to meet the Prince on my own terms, without him knowing who I am. I’m not asking you to meet him, or submit a decree, or marry him.”
“I-” Chan starts, looking more confused and just slightly irritated than a few moments ago.
“I won’t force you to do this, obviously, I just need to be able to get a feel for who the Han’s third prince is, and after much consideration, this seemed the best option. If they catch a glimpse of you, you’ll be wearing the normal attire, but you don’t have to do anything fit for my title. I want him to think me a commoner, staff. If you have other options that will allow me to gather the information I need in such a short time, please say so.”
Minho takes another deep breath- he might be more stressed than he realized. This is important. This is for his people. He doesn’t know if anyone could measure up to his standards, and care for his people the way that he does.
“I meant the clothes, Minho.” Using his name rather than his title means that Chan is thoroughly annoyed. “These are so tight and uncomfortable. Why do royals insist on flaunting wealth by looking pretty rather than wearing efficient attire?” He groans and tries to stretch his leg out, but the leather limits his movement.
Minho would feel more embarrassed if stress wasn’t his primary emotion at the moment. “Sorry. We’ve just been waiting for them to arrive for days- I didn’t think my parents would send word, and then he’d just… come here so soon.”
“It’s for the best. I honestly believe that.” Chan nods slowly, but Minho can’t tell if his slow exhales are from thoughts running through his mind, or the tight clothes that the guard is unaccustomed to. “There’s less time to stew and be anxious. Less time to hear from the mouth of others, and dive in to get to know him, yourself. And I don’t mind playing the part of your prince, let’s be clear. I just hate these awful clothes.”
“They are awful, aren’t they?” Minho grimaces before chuckling with his best friend. He’ll try and be quick about it, so he doesn’t draw out a lie. He understands that there would be consequences for his actions if he does end up enjoying the prince’s company.
They’ve made preparations- the parents are to stay away from his wing of the castle for a few weeks, anyway, and staff knows that they’re switching places. They’re ready, and yet Minho can’t rid himself of the nervousness eating at his insides. This could go so horribly wrong. Even worse, it could go horribly right and Minho’s entire future would be different and he won’t have a plan for it- he doesn’t have a plan for marriage.
He’s given very little time to think to himself, and take another look at Chan, before a maid comes rushing in to let them know that the Han prince has arrived by carriage. Chan sighs and tugs at his doublet before standing straight.
“We should go meet their carriage together, at least. And then I can retire to your room, if you’d like.”
Minho blinks through the sudden arrival of their guest, and nods, swallowing down the tension he’s been holding in.
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“Let’s go over the plan again.”
Felix rolls his eyes, tugging at the long-sleeve garment he’s wearing. They expected the Lee Kingdom to be much less warm than their coastal terrain, but it’s still warm. Felix is sweating in place of Jisung, who is wearing standard maid apparel, and he almost feels guilty for swapping clothes so early in the ride, since his clothes are light and airy. Felix is wearing layer on top of layer of royal garb and less than an hour in- he regretted ever wanting to be royalty, even as a child.
“We’ve been riding in this carriage for how many days? And you want to go over it again, Your Highness?”
Jisung has to cough to stifle his chuckle before he responds. “Felix. You will call me Felix or Lixie until we swap places again. If anyone happens to overhear us, there will be no confusion. I am Felix. You are Your Royal Highness, Han Jisung.”
“I hate this. I want you to know that. I hate this.” Felix narrows his eyes, glaring at Jisung as he tugs on his sleeves again. “Do not ever question my adoration for- and loyalty to- you.”
Jisung smiles and nods. He wouldn’t question it, anyway. Felix would follow him to the ends of the Earth, he knows. He would do the same. “Again, please.”
His best friend sighs in dramatic exasperation before speaking in the most monotone voice Jisung is sure he can muster up. “We arrive- hope they don’t come to greet us. If they do- I keep words to a minimum and let you speak for me when possible. If they don’t, even better. Either way, we say that I’m not feeling well from the trip and I’m taken to my room, where I will attempt to spend the majority of the time until you’ve had a chance to gather information from staff and the Crown Prince, himself.”
Jisung can’t help his widening grin. Felix has the plan memorized- but that’s to be expected when they’ve reviewed it so many times. “Amazing. I am glad we are ready.”
“What… what will you do if the Crown Prince is angry about this? If he feels deceived?” Felix asks, watching the smile slide from Jisung’s face as he looks down. “I just ask because… well, that is a possibility if he believes his ‘betrothed’ is someone else, entirely.”
The prince takes a moment to think, swallowing down the vocalized version of the question that’s been wracking his brain for days. “I will explain my worries- that I wanted to know how he is as a person, who he is, without the pressure of being the one who might marry him. If it bothers him, or we’re sent home, so be it. We go back to our lives and rest easily knowing we did what we could to appease any anxiety about the possible marriage to a stranger.”
He nods slowly before looking back up at Felix. “I can’t just blindly trust this man is who he says he is when the future is at stake. Everything is… hearsay. My parents don’t know him- don’t know his kingdom well enough. We have no inside knowledge about how things are being run, how he treats people. But if I can gauge how he approaches his staff, his citizens, I’ll know enough to move forward, at least. Continue getting to know him. Right now, I can’t do that. I will be in a constant state of ignorance and nervousness. That is what I will attempt to explain, should I choose to move forward and give this a chance.”
Felix takes a deep breath and his eyes harden with understanding. “Alright. You know I’d follow you anyway.”
“I do know.”
The patter of three taps sounds against the front of the carriage as they slow to a stop. “Your Highness, we’ve arrived,” the voice rings out from behind carriage walls. Felix and Jisung can only stare at each other for a moment, taking everything in and bottling down any worries. They both close their eyes and inhale deeply, grabbing at each other’s hands for brief, grounding contact before readying themselves to stand.
When they open their eyes, Jisung gives a single, hard nod towards Felix, who straightens his back and looks ahead before returning the three taps against the wall as a sign of understanding. He’s watched Jisung do it enough times.
The prince looks at his best friend with a silent “thanks” as the door opens and they step out.
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“Let’s go meet this prince.”
┗✦❘༻♚༺❘✦┛
Minho didn’t have expectations about this prince- or at least he tried not to.
He certainly didn’t expect the two men that stepped out of the carriage, though. The prince standing in front of him stands straight, looks serious. His hair a sun-bleached blonde with freckles scattered throughout his face. His attire is much like that of what Chan is wearing, but the colors are different. Where Minho’s, and now Chan’s, are reds and purples and silvers… the Han prince is wearing shades of blue with accents of white and gold.
Literal ocean waves, in the most elegant way achievable.
He looks at Chan to see his mouth agape, and he understands. The prince is pretty- he’s gorgeous. But when Minho turns his head back to the arriving pair, his focus can’t stay on the prince. His- staff? Maid? Minho doesn’t know, but whoever the prince has brought with him is the most breath-stopping, stunning man he’s ever seen. Longer brunette waves curled by ocean air, the sunlight bouncing off of his perfectly rounded cheeks and nose, his frame. His frame. The dark blue belt snugly wrapped around white fabric at his waist. The large, chestnut colored eyes. Everything is too much to take in.
He could stare for hours and still not understand how this man is real.
Chan takes over with the pleasantries, nearly stumbling his way through saying “Welcome” to the prince, but Minho is putting too much effort into focusing to step in. His hand is white-knuckling Chan’s sword as it lays hanging on his hip and he attempts to shake off the urge to continue looking at the man he’s not being asked to marry.
But then he looks at Minho, too.
They maintain eye contact for a moment, and it’s hard to tell what Chan is saying or how the prince is responding. The man with the brunette curls blinks his way for a moment and turns back to the prince, taking a deep breath. Minho swallows before doing the same.
“So feel free to make yourself at… at home. Make yourselves… comfortable, is what I mean.”
Chan’s nervous, but that’s fine. It’s nothing Minho can’t explain or make up for when he reveals who he is. He steps forward, tightening his grip on his sword even further. The second he moves, Chan’s voice stops.
“I’m the Prince’s personal guard. I will show you to your rooms while His Highness attends an urgent meeting scheduled from this morning. We apologize for the inconvenience, but I hope to show our hospitality fully, whether he is in attendance or not.” His eyes dart between the two new arrivals standing at the carriage. He should be speaking directly to the prince, but he’ll have to be forgiven if he can’t just… ignore the man standing directly next to his possible betrothed.
Chan nods, his gaze entirely focused on the prince as he apologizes and tells them they’re in good hands with his guard, and that staff will move the items they travelled with into their rooms. Before he turns to leave, he looks at Minho and drops his shoulders just slightly before moving them back up- a sign that Minho needs to tone it back. He is being too regal for a commoner. They have a few small signs like these, courtesy of Chan’s worry that Minho wouldn’t be able to pass for just staff.
He clears his throat and motions to the castle, watching both of them to the best of his ability. He has a mission. He wants so badly to focus on the pretty man, and it’s certainly hard not to give into that, but he has. A mission. The prince gives a small bow of thanks and follows him through the entrance, courtyard, and corridors. Both of the new arrivals look around, taking everything in. He expected… more talking, but they’re both quiet. The prince looks like he wants to jump and say something every few moments, but then straightens himself out and takes a deep breath.
The man he brought with him is entirely unreadable. He’s looking at the paintings on the walls, the sconces, the flowers in the courtyard, the staff passing by… everything. As if digesting the information he’s gathering with his eyes alone. When he speaks, Minho wants to sigh. Of course his voice is pretty. A little deep, a little silky, and a little quiet. “How long have you resided here?”
“I have lived in this kingdom my entire life. Born and raised.” He slows his walking to allow time for conversation before they reach the guest rooms.
“And you enjoy it? Both the kingdom, and life here in the castle?” Chan should give the shoulder-sign to this man. He speaks with intelligence and grace, class and composure. But when he thinks about it, so does Chan, for the most part. There are few differences in their styles of speaking.
“I do. This kingdom is where I would stay, even if given the opportunity to leave. It is home. Even for the people I do not know personally, they are family. The weather is nice, our economy is good, and we are treated well- at least they try to treat us well.” He furrows his brows slightly. As much as he’d like to act like staff, he doesn’t want to blatantly lie. He doesn’t feel comfortable saying that his own family treats people and assume everyone is happy. He can only confirm that they try their best.
“What do you mean by try?” The man asks, tilting his head before looking directly at Minho while walking.
He must be asking the majority of these questions for the prince, because the blonde hasn’t spoken up once since they began walking. Minho understands. They’re likely just as nervous as he is, if not moreso for being in a kingdom that is entirely new to them. “We…” He can’t change his words to “They” and arise suspicion, so he clears his throat and shakes his head a moment. “We are paid well, we live comfortable lives and we’re given a generous amount of time to ourselves. They are kind. Most people do not leave the kingdom, and that is by choice.”
These are things that his family tries to ensure, anyway. He hopes they are considered kind- they certainly try to never treat anyone as lesser, or their troubles as unimportant. He looks from the man speaking to the prince, who still keeps quiet and looks around at everything they walk past.
“That’s good.” The man says, and he smiles softly. So, so, softly it tugs at Minho’s chest immediately. It’s a stunning smile. “And how do staff sleeping arrangements work for those who stay here?”
This question- Minho expected, thankfully.
“Staff typically sleeps in the southern wing of the castle, but for personal staff- yourself and myself, for example- we sleep in the rooms directly across from those we personally assist. We are currently in the western wing of the castle, where His Highness and I sleep, and you two will reside. We are on opposite ends of the wings, for your comfortability. And the King and Queen sleep in the eastern wing. The northern wing is for guests, when we have them, as it is closest to the entrance and dining hall.” Minho has given the speech, with some variations, likely thousands of times before. However, he didn’t expect silent nods from both the prince and the man who’s name he still does not know. There are no follow up questions, nothing more asked or said until they reach their rooms.
Minho wants to ask the same questions to the curly brunette, but that’s difficult to accomplish with the silent prince right beside him. When he points them to their rooms, the prince looks at the brunette and waits for a nod before glancing away and entering the room that is to be his. The blonde gives Minho a small smile and another bow before saying, “Thank you for showing us the way. I’ll likely keep to myself for the… time being, as the trip did not… fair well on me. My… staff should be reached before I am, if possible, should… anything be needed.”
The prince looks towards the brunette again before pursing his lips and taking a deep breath, closing the door behind him once Minho says he will have kitchen staff bring a tonic. Minho continues a few paces, leading the man to his room. It’s not enough time to ask the questions he wants to. It’s not enough time to look at him longer, or readily answer any other questions he has. It’s not even enough time to gather his name, as the man thanks him with a sincere smile that reaches his eyes.
“You are kind to walk us all the way here and offer a tonic for His Highness, and for answering our questions. It’s greatly appreciated.”
“Of course, I’m happy to.” He’d spend more time answering questions and offering his time, if it were possible. He needs to know more about this man, and he needs to get answers to his own questions. “We’ve also stocked both of your rooms with books we’ve had recommended. The… King and Queen mentioned that your prince likes to read. We didn’t know if you did, as well, so both rooms have books to choose from. If these aren’t to your liking, or you are not interested-”
“There are books?” He cuts Minho off with wide eyes, turning into his room and leaving the door open. The man doesn’t seem at all surprised by the extravagance of the room, but finds the shelves lined with fiction series immediately. His smile somehow widens, and he has an entire constellation of stars in his eyes when he softly pulls The Silver Drake from the shelves- Minho doesn’t know what the book is about, but he wants to read it because of this stranger’s excitement alone. “I’ve likely read this five hundred times and it’s still just as good as the first time. Just as intense, just as heart-wrenching.”
He’s not even looking at Minho, he’s just smiling down at the book, running his hand softly over the cover and edges of the pages. “This was incredibly thoughtful of your prince, of the royal family in general. Thank you. Believe me when I say His Highness will be elated.”
“Of course.” Minho needs to go. He cannot stand here and let himself instantly fall for a sweet smile and the careful caress of a book now on his new to-read list, or the rays of light in pretty dark amber eyes. He can ask his questions later. He cannot get sidetracked.
He cannot. Get. Sidetracked.
There is an entire wedding and the future of the kingdom at stake.
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It’s not fair. It’s really not fair. The guard is so pretty, and Jisung was not prepared. If anyone asks him right now, he can’t even tell them what the actual Crown Prince looks like- which is pathetic, and he keeps telling himself that. His possible betrothed was standing just a few feet from him, and all he can say is he thinks the man’s hair is black. It’s not his fault- no one should be born as handsome as the guard who stood by the prince’s side.
Maybe an inch taller, pretty light brown hair with bangs that just barely create a ripple effect around his eyes and ears. His eyes- gods, those eyes are almost cat-like and they’re so deep. He seems so confident, sure of himself. The way he carries himself-
This is the problem.
Jisung sees pretty, unobtainable men “below his class” and he’s only allowed to look from afar. He’s plenty used to it, so why is his mind completely swarmed with thoughts about when he’ll get to see this guard again? He’s holding his favorite book in his hands, he has a plan that he has to put into action quickly, and he’s here to get to know the man his parents want him to marry.
The guard only just left a few minutes ago- maybe ten. So it makes no sense that that feels like too long, and his brain won’t stop bombarding him.
He shakes it off and makes his way to Felix’s room. He lightly raps his knuckles against the door and waits for Felix to crack it open with furrowed brows and concerned eyes until he sees Jisung. The latter pushes through and closes the door behind him, sighing heavily as they both quietly make their way to the bed. It’s weird. The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s weird. Jisung knows why he has plenty on his mind- but now he’s worried if Felix is okay.
“The crown prince is so handsome.” Felix finally breathes out, as if he’s been holding it in. As if he’s been thinking about it constantly and needed to get it out of his system.
“I wouldn’t know.” Jisung’s chest nearly concaves as he scoffs aloud. “I could not pull my focus from the guard. The one who walked us to our rooms.” The silence returns for a moment. He needs to get a hold of himself. Staring into the air while he collects thoughts that can’t escalate into anything worthwhile won’t do him any good.
He stands up and clears his throat, running his palms and the pads of his fingers down the lightweight fabric on his skin and takes a deep breath. Now that he’s here in the new kingdom, and able to think about the time it’ll take to collect the information he needs, he has questions.
“Is it normal for betrothed royalty to let a guard walk us to your rooms and then just… leave us? Without plans or knowledge of the grounds or… anything?” Felix asks, looking out the window from where he sits on the bed. His eyes flit back and forth as if his mind is running faster than he can process. Jisung understands- that’s one of his questions too.
“I am unsure. I’ve never been in this position and neither of my brothers have been set to marry, yet. It doesn’t matter, I think. The more time we have alone, the more I can get done.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he feels his fingers rake through his curly strands of hair before he starts to put a plan together. “Two days. I will try and handle everything in these next two days. Talk to the kitchen, the maids, the stable hands, everyone I can.”
“Be careful,” Felix says. “I don’t mind sitting in the room and playing ‘sleepy prince’ until you have what you need- as long as you’re careful.”
He wants to be sarcastic- say “What’s the worst that could happen?” But he knows. They could technically both get in a lot of trouble if the King and Queen took offense to their plan. They could lose the marriage opportunity which, while not an awful consequence, could end up embarrassing the royal family on the coast. Not to mention, the guard he was so hopelessly fascinated by? If Jisung were to be exposed, it would shatter any chance of forming a friendship, let alone anything more. He could be banished from this kingdom entirely.
“I will,” he promises Felix, trying to sound more confident than he feels.
Despite his doubts, Jisung sets off the next morning with a game plan in mind. One that he’s giving himself two days to complete. He starts with the kitchen, where he chats with the cooks under the guise of having an interest in culinary arts. Their staff is kind and eager to talk to him, which makes asking questions easy. It’s almost alarming that not a single person has something negative to say about the royal family- outside of the King’s apparent pickiness when it comes to his palette. Even for a happily-staffed Kingdom, it feels wrong that no one seems to have grievances. The girls giggle over how pretty Crown Prince Minho is, or how handsome his personal guard is, to which Jisung heavily agrees. The guys talk about how strong both of them are.
The staff seems in awe more than anything.
When Jisung heads to the stables, he’s surprised that he doesn’t see the Crown Prince out and about. He passes warrior training, where he’d heard the Prince spends most of his daylight hours when not in conferences- but he’s not there. He even asked, at one point. One of the kingdom’s warriors hung over the fence, calmly watching the sparring rounds, so Jisung posed a question about the Prince’s whereabouts. When he heard stables, he continued along. Two birds- one stone.
The prince isn’t there either, but the guard is. He steps into the stables so see the gorgeous personal guard slowly petting down one of the horse’s faces before leaning his face inwards and resting it against the horse’s. His eyes are closed and his face is scrunched in an emotion that’s difficult for Jisung to read.
Jisung walks over slowly, so as not to startle or surprise either of them, and clears his throat. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he tries to say casually.
The man pulls back from the horse, the corners of his mouth just slightly turning upwards in an amused smile. “And where did you expect to see me, then?”
That is not what Jisung meant, and he says as much. “I expected stable hands here and… one of the warriors said the prince was here. I came to… check everything out.” He can’t say he wants to question everyone. He’s trying to be as nonchalant as possible so that the Prince and his guard don’t catch wind. The guard nods as he pulls even farther from the horse, reaching down for a large cube of a grainy white substance. He offers his hand out, brows raised in a silent expectation for Jisung to take it.
Jisung steps forward, letting the cube be dropped into his hand. He knows that confusion is written all over his face- he feels it both internally and externally. “What am I to do with white sand?” It feels like sand, anyway.
“The way you converse is somehow both very proper and very casual,” the guard says, his brows twitching inwards in an obvious show of deep thinking. “It’s interesting.” He steps behind Jisung in what should be an innocent movement, but it sends shivers up Jisung’s spine- ones that he tries very hard to control, but his breath stutters in its place. He feels a hand slide its way under his- the one holding the cube- and the guard lifts Jisung’s hand up to the horse, who eagerly eats the cube straight from his palm.
“It’s sugar. Not sand,” the guard whispers before chuckling and leaving Jisung’s space.
It’s not fair. It’s really not fair.
Jisung turns to see the guard leaning against the door of an empty stable sectioning, eyes raking down Jisung’s figure quickly before he looks away. “What were you coming to check out? And why were you looking for the prince?”
“I… am not at liberty to disclose that information.” He tries to think quickly on his feet, but he feels like that may come across as even more suspicious. It’s hard to think when the man is staring at him like that. He’s only read about encounters like this in books. Encounters that make the blood under skin feel warmer, make one’s heart beat faster with little to no physical contact or exertion. He can see how people could become addicted. It’s addicting.
When the man smiles fully, Jisung notices his top front teeth sticking out just a little more, and that’s addicting too. It’s adorable and he’s convinced that this man should always be smiling. “Understood. I’ll make sure the prince knows to come see you.”
Now he has to think of something to say to the prince. Fantastic.
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“What happened to not having to actually act the part or say anything?” Chan huffs out with half of a laugh. Minho understands- that was the plan. Until the pretty boy who’s name he still does not know said he needed to speak with the prince. It’s political- make the visiting prince and his staff happy by giving them what they want. That’s all. It has absolutely nothing to do with how pretty the stranger is, or how his voice sounds or how he carries himself or how his breath hitched the moment Minho stood behind him. Purely. Political.
“I relayed to him that you were looking to speak with his prince as well, considering it’s now been days since they arrived and we have gotten nowhere. He agreed to speak with Prince Jisung about the four of us meeting in the courtyard later today.” Minho turns from side to side in the mirror, checking his side profile before deciding to tighten his belt.
“And who is he? Do you know who he is to the prince yet? His name?” Chan asks, watching him adjust his attire in the mirror again. His lips are quirked to one side and he looks… fond. For the life of him, Minho doesn’t know why he looks so fond right now.
“Lix, or Felix. I reached out to the maids and-”
“The maids know everything,” Chan says with a nod.
“They know everything. His name is Felix. He’s the prince’s right hand, he typically sticks to maid duties but apparently he and the prince have been close since childhood.” Minho says, taking a deep breath before leaving the mirror to slip on his shoes.
“Like us.”
“Mmhm. Like us,” Minho agrees with a smile. He turns to Chan, who is still wearing that look. “Can we go?”
“Eager?” Chan’s smirk grows and his eyebrows raise slightly, whereas Minho’s furrow.
“What is that look for? And yes, I would consider myself eager to finally converse with the prince who has stayed in his room since arrival.” He licks his lips in impatience and waits for a response.
“Mmhm. Let’s go, then.” Chan closes his eyes and shakes his head before moving toward the door.
“I asked what that look was for,” Minho tilts his head and moves to the side so Chan can walk out first.
“With time, Your Highness. With time.”
———————
Purely political.
It’s hard to stay on track when the man looks this good. He has the slightest amount of rouge applied to his cheeks and lips for color- for what, Minho doesn’t know, but he’s grateful. He’s positive that the maid would look stunning in a singular paper bag. His belt is also fastened tightly at his waist, showing how sinfully small it is compared to his broad shoulders and perfectly thick chest.
He needs to pay attention to the prince, but his betrothed and Chan are busy staring at each other stupidly. It was awkward, at first- neither seeming to know what to say. Chan, he understands, but it seems weird that the prince who handles conversations regularly wouldn’t know how to hold one now. He meant to lead the talk, he really did.
But this… Felix? Lix? Minho wants to call him other things, and none of those include his name. How could someone like him possibly exist and not be attainable. Would his parents let him choose a maid? Probably not. He could fight for it, though. But he and the prince are childhood friends, so he likely wouldn’t agree to staying here while his friend went back home and-
The prince hasn’t stopped staring at Chan. Interesting.
“What would you say you’re looking forward to most in running the kingdom?” The man breaks Minho from his thoughts, and breaks the prince and Chan from their staring contest. He’s leading the conversation. Alright.
Chan looks at Minho before swallowing audible and sitting up straighter. “I-”
“Since you’re new to the kingdom, you’ve missed the incredible number of speeches he’s given on his excitement and plans. He most looks forward to boosting trade and providing shop owners with secondary income through international routes. He wants to make the draft voluntary instead of it’s current involuntary status, and he plans to look into options for research into disabilities to help the kingdom’s citizens that are unemployed due to disability.” Minho says, listing them off from the numerous times he’s been asked before.
“I- Our prince,” the maid starts, “thinks that changes beneficial to commoners are important. Protect your people, and they’ll protect your legacy. We are firm believers in that. Do you know how your citizens feel about these changes? What methods do you employ to converse with them about grievances or otherwise?” He looks to Chan, eyebrows raised. He’s really leading the conversation.
Minho steals a glance at his prince, who keeps looking from the table to Chan, and back down. He’s not… engaging at all. Minho needs to change that if he plans to gather any information. All he knows right now is that Prince Jisung sleeps a lot when he’s sick, he’s apparently shy, and he might be interested in the man pretending to be the crown prince.
Oh, this might get messy.
“We hold monthly ensembles. We call it an ensemble, but it’s a four-part meeting in the throne room. We hold four of them to make sure that everyone gets a chance to come. A meeting can last half an hour to two hours, depending on how many people choose to talk. We go through everyone, though, no matter how long it takes. If anyone has something to say or suggest, we allow them to do so, there.” Minho has to bite back a smile. This was his idea. Two years ago, he saw how hard it was for a commoner to gain an audience to the Royal Family and he set out to change that.
The maid looks genuinely impressed and happy with his answer, but Prince Jisung doesn’t seem to have an opinion on the matter. If he does, he’s quiet about it. Maybe he’s just a quiet person- Minho doesn’t know, and that’s a problem.
“Prince Jisung, we know what the Royal Family here would gain from a marriage and alliance with you, but are we allowed to ask what you gain, or what you hope to gain through an alliance with us?” Minho asks, tearing his gaze away from the pretty man across from him to look at the prince. It’s more of a task than it should be.
“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat. He can’t seem to decide who to look at- Minho or Chan- so he looks to his maid. “We- I-”
“It would mostly be an economic alliance, though we are excited for the possibility of land-assistance if a war were to ensue,” the maid responds confidently. “While we hope that would never be necessary, we’re not naïve enough to believe that war will never happen. The main function of the alliance, however, would be trade routes. You have fabrics, dyes, and most importantly, vegetation that we do not have available in our climate.”
It’s so transactional. He responds like royalty. Or an advisor. A duke, even- someone with high education and extensive experience in both casual and formal conversation. It’s so interesting… he doesn’t seem like a maid at all.
Minho would prefer that.
All things considered, he’s significantly more interested in this man.
┏✦❘༻♚༺❘✦┓
It’s infuriating.
Prince Minho is like a textbook- one that Jisung is supposed to read, but can’t. And he doesn’t really want to, either. There’s a shiny new fantasy book sitting right next to the textbook, and it’s holding his attention more than it should. The guard is so much more than a book, of course- but he wants to read, anyway. The Crown Prince doesn’t answer questions, doesn’t seem to have any opinions on anything and stays quiet when he shouldn’t. There’s also the problem of him taking an apparent interest in Felix, who isn’t an actual prince, or of a higher class at all.
Jisung is supposed to be learning more about this prince, making a decision about his future and the marriage his parents want for him. But he just can’t tear his eyes from the guard.
He’s smart. Jisung is smart, so he doesn’t understand why he’s struggling to stay logical and neutral about all of this. He scratches his head in frustration as he heads back to his room. When he closes the door behind him, he puts his head in his hands and sighs in frustration. Half of him wants to believe that this is a sign- he’s not interested in the prince, he’s not going to be, and he just needs to decide if he enters a marriage for the sake of his family or if he rejects it altogether. Neither of those solutions help him with his current infatuation- which he hopes will simply fade soon.
The other half of him wonders if he’s not even giving the crown prince a genuine chance. If he had his mind made up before he step foot in this kingdom, which led to him attaching his interest to someone else immediately. He can’t seem to stay logical.
He shifts around on the bed two or three times before getting up and deciding to take a walk- he could use one. He runs his fingers along the textured walls as he strolls down the hall, trying to figure out what his next plan of action is. The lights glow around him and guide his endless path to nowhere in particular. It’s only when he shivers twice in a row that he notices the goosebumps on his arms and feels tiny pricks against his skin. It’s chilly compared to the weather in his Kingdom. On the coast, cold weather isn’t common, and he didn’t dress for the weather here when he decided to take his walk.
He decides to go back to his quarters but as he turns the corner, he finds himself lost. The seemingly endless stone hallways are filled with portraits of stern men and graceful women in the type of luxurious attire he’s so accustomed to- but most of them are wearing warmer clothing. He can’t remember which of these corridors is the one to his room, and he doesn’t know how far he’s walked, replaying the same arguments in his head. It felt like a few minutes- but none of these portraits are familiar, and there’s no one around.
Jisung shivers again, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to keep warm when his eyes fall upon a simple wooden door at the end of the hallway. A small bronze plaque on the door reads ‘Storage’, it’s not where he intended to go but perhaps there might be something warmer inside- an old cloak or blanket, perhaps. He’d take a towel or pillow case at this point. Every second that passes feels colder, somehow.
He pushes open the door and enters a large room filled with furniture draped in white sheets, likely dusty but he can barely see. Stacks of crates, barrels, and boxes reach up towards the high ceiling next to rows of shelves. His fingers trace along rough crate edges and smooth velvet drapes concealed under dust-laden sheets as he uses the light from the hall to look around.
His gaze catches on a heap of what looks like old court clothes tossed aside, likely from past seasons and out of style now. He picks up a thick velvet cloak trimmed with fur, letting its weight fall over his shoulders. It’s oversized for him, but its warmth seeps through immediately, comforting against the cold draft that seems to fill every corner of this room. The warmth is appreciated even if the dust on it makes him sneeze.
The wind howls again outside and with a loud thud, the door slams shut behind him, plunging him into near darkness. He turns around just as he hears the soft clink of metal– the sound of a lock engaging. His heart pounds in his chest as he rushes to the door and jiggles the handle- it’s locked, as expected.
A sudden sense of fear wraps around him, as icy as the draft seeping in from the cracks in the stone walls. He’s trapped. A chill runs down his spine, not from the cold this time, but from a wave of dreadful realization- he is lost and locked within the labyrinth of a foreign castle, away from anyone who might be able to help- at least that he could see.
He tries to calm himself, standing still and staring at the door while taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the low light filtering in through a tiny window high up on one wall. A door. He was thwarted by a door. He doesn’t understand why the door would lock solely from the outside, and how someone could get trapped inside, but even if he knew the answers, they likely wouldn’t help him get out.
All he could do now was wait and hope for someone to find him. He has an understanding of how unnecessarily massive the castle is now, and he realizes that it might take a while for anyone to acknowledge that he is missing, let alone search in this particular room. Nonetheless, he knows that he can't just sit idle. Besides, simple movements help to keep his blood circulated in the cold- he knows that much from textbooks.
He commences banging on the door with all his strength, putting every ounce of desperation into each thump even if it makes the joint between his hand and wrist ache each time. He tries to grab a hard object he can't entirely make out in the dark, and use that instead, but it's too small. Within four or five times of banging it against the door, the nerves in his hand begin screaming when he crushes his finger. He throws it out of pure frustration and holds his finger as if the pressure will take away the pain. He wants to cry from the amalgamation of irritation, spikes of pain, and the confusion and stress that's starting to consume him. Everything that happens only adds weights to the threads holding him together, and he feels like he's going to snap. He will break.
Hours pass- or maybe minutes, he wouldn't be able to tell. It feels like an eternity locked away with his own mind running rampant. The darkness seems to deepen with each passing moment until it's tangible, slowly pulling him in. Eventually, exhaustion takes over and Jisung finds himself dozing off against the icy stone wall. His body feels numb from cold and fatigue, or maybe just stress- and his shouts are reduced to mere whispers disappearing into the darkness.
———————
Jisung wakes up to colors. The black behind his eyelids lets in peaks of oranges and yellows, brightening the darkness even with his eyes closed. Someone is calling for Felix- pretty voice. The man has a soft, pretty voice. He cracks one of his eyes open and is welcomed with the blurry face of the guard quite literally glowing from the warm light behind him. He feels a hand on his face, and it’s so warm that he sighs and leans into it without giving himself a moment to think. It’s so natural.
He only realizes it’s not a dream when the guard in front of him is shimmying his jacket off with a look of confusion and worry. He carefully pulls the dusty fur-covered fabric off of Jisung’s shoulders and arms, and slips his own oversized jacket onto Jisung. It’s padded and quilted on the outside, fur-lined on the inside, obviously made for this weather.
“Why are you in here?” The guard mutters with furrowed brows, more to himself than anything else, it seems. He closes each clasp on the jacket and Jisung is immediately ten times warmer than he was a few minutes ago, and only a portion of that is probably from how hard his heart is pumping blood with how fast it’s racing. Jisung’s eyelashes flutter around quick blinks when his mind catches up to where he is and the reality of what’s happening.
“‘Was taking a walk and got cold.” He pouts as he tries to sit up straight. His hands glide over the exterior of the jacket in appreciation before he looks at the guard. He’s wearing long sleeves but- “Won’t you be cold now?”
He receives a short chuckle in response before he notices the light becoming smaller and smaller, the wide opening of the door becoming a sliver. He rushes to stand up before his back creaks- he fell asleep in a terrible position on the floor. He must have rolled at some point, because he’s not within reaching distance. With his fingertips just inches from the door, it shuts again, and he can’t help but just stare at it.
A perfect metaphor for everything in his life at the moment, if you ask him. He reaches for light, the door shuts. Someone tries to save him from a mess he put himself into, they get trapped with him. There are so many possibilities, and they’re all frustrating. This would happen.
The sound of metal on a belt clinks to let Jisung know that the guard is standing and moving behind him. “No.” He answers, before calmly asking, “Is there something wrong with the door?” He doesn’t wait for a response before reaching for the handle and jiggling it to find it unmoving. He hums in acknowledgement as he catches up to Jisung’s dilemma before he sighs and sits with his back against the door, seemingly accepting things better than Jisung did. “When we hear footsteps or talking, we can bang on the door. Hopefully that will conserve energy.”
He’s much too calm, but Jisung guesses that training with military will do that. He handles crises well, which is useful for him, but not Jisung. At least he has an even warmer jacket, now.
“Are you sure you don’t want this back, now that we’re both trapped?” He asks, moving to sit beside the guard at the door.
“Positive. What made you want to walk to the eastern wing?”
It’s funny. He spent so much time trying to talk to the prince, only to end up spending the majority of his time with the guard organically.
“There were too many thoughts in my head. I believed that taking a walk would be helpful, but I started to become cold, and wanted something warm.” Jisung explains, his throat slightly dry. He couldn’t have been asleep for long, but his voice is sandy and his stomach grumbles terribly after his words fade. All he can do is wait.
The guard reaches into fabric likely on his belt, and pulls out something that sounds crinkly. Jisung can only just barely make out the movements through the darkness. He feels warm fingertips around his wrist, turning his hand over and his opening his palm only for it to be filled with something soft to the touch. “Sweet bread.” The guard says, simply. “I was on my way back from speaking with my… the King and Queen, and I snagged sweet bread from their dinner trays.”
He snagged it. The King and Queen must like him quite a bit if he can just take what he wants from their trays. Jisung accepts the bread and splits it in half. He’s hungry, but the guard wouldn’t have taken the bread if he didn’t want it. He reciprocates the guard’s movements and slides his hand down the man’s arm until he finds his wrist and hand, blindly placing half of the bread back in it. He can’t help but swallow dryly at the simple act of touching the guard. His chest feels tight and tense and… it’s just that. A simple touch, with not-so-simple reactions in his body and heart.
“Thank you. Did you have a good meeting with the King and Queen?” Jisung asks, taking a bite. It’s fluffy, sugary, and not dry, which he’s incredibly thankful for.
“It was a simple meeting. I have to inform both you and your prince that they would like to meet him tomorrow.” He says a little more quietly.
Jisung was wondering when this would happen. They’d kept their distance, but of course the royal family would want to meet him. He didn’t expect so little time to mentally prepare, but it is what it is. After tomorrow, he can no longer play the part of a maid. He’ll slip his normal attire back on and have to be himself. He’ll have to accept the responsibility that he’s been avoiding and make his decision.
Correction- have to voice his decision. He’s already made it subconsciously, though he’s been trying to avoid it. Tomorrow, he’ll have to ask what arrangements for an alliance can be made without marriage. He can’t marry Prince Minho and stand next to this guard for the rest of his life, completely out of his reach. He can’t let his little infatuation fester and become worse while married to someone that may be kind and a great leader but… someone he doesn’t feel for.
The simple touch of the guard’s arm sends Jisung spiraling. His gaze is distracting. The low voice in his ear that day in the stable haunts him. The prince doesn’t- and can’t- make him feel like this, he’s positive.
After finishing the bread, he leans on his right arm, placing his hand on the ground in between him and the prince, but something sharp pricks at his skin and he yelps, tipping over just slightly.
“Are you alright?” Concern is so evident in the guard’s voice.
“I’m fine. I just set my hand down on something-” He doesn’t even get to finish before the guard is reaching over to take his hand and pull it closer to him. He rubs his fingers over it- maybe checking for the wetness of blood, or a bump. He’s smart, and he’s caring, and this simple, simple thing is too much. Jisung’s decision is definitely made. He needs to leave. He can’t be here and continue to have this guard in close range. It’s dangerous. “Be careful.”
When Jisung is silent, the guard’s hand moves to his cheek, and then his forehead, knuckles and the flat skin of the back of his palm checking his temperature like his doctor has done in the past. It’s much softer like this, and heat spreads through Jisung’s entire body as if the jacket suddenly became fully engulfing.
He’s touching him again. That shouldn’t be enough to make him forget to breathe, but it is. Jisung grabs at his wrist quickly- whether in a panic or a need to touch him back, he doesn’t know- when his thumb brushes against a heavy scar extending from the bottom of the guard’s thumb down his wrist. “I’m okay.” He musters out. “What is this?”
Anything to change the topic and keep the contact of the guard’s skin on his.
“Ah. It’s just a sparring scar. Nothing exciting.” The guard sounds nearly as breathless as Jisung feels- which has to be from the cold. He can’t be just as affected by all of this… nothing, as Jisung is. He can’t be. There are so many possible problems with… everything.
He feels his mind going blank when he hears the guard’s breathing a little heavier, a little closer to him. He freezes entirely when the guard’s hand goes back to Jisung’s cheek and turns his head softly to face each other. “You’re… sure you’re alright?”
He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t do what he wants to. But he swallows again, a little less dry this time, as he leans just slightly closer into the space between them as he hums in acknowledgement. He has one day. If he has just the one- just until tomorrow- he might as well try and let himself just be. Even if he shouldn’t. And he' really shouldn’t.
But the guard moves closer, too. He can feel the air of heavy but soft breath near his face. They’re so, so incredibly close.
“I really shouldn’t,” Jisung thinks to himself, but the guard voices it out loud- just barely a whisper. He shouldn’t? If only he knew the difference in consequences for what Jisung is thinking- who Jisung is.
But despite the warning signal of those three whispered words, despite the knowing dread and weighted expectations heavy in his own heart, he's drawn to the guard as though by some magnetic force. The darkness around them seems to shrink until all that exists is the two of them, their breaths mingling and Jisung's heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.
Jisung’s heart hammers against his ribcage, its beat echoing within him louder than any fear or logic murmuring warnings in his ear. He shouldn't either, but in this moment, he wants nothing more than to experience... something with this man. Anything. Even if it will undoubtedly lead to heartbreak.
He nods, whispering back into the small space between them, “I know the feeling." And with the guard's breath ghosting over his lips and the mingled warmth spreading through him, Jisung closes the gap.
Their lips meet in a cautious and gentle kiss, filled with uncertainty and tension. It's hesitant at first, each testing boundaries they know they shouldn't cross. But then there is a sigh from one of them- he doesn’t distinguish who- that releases a dam of longing he didn't know was this pent-up.
The guard responds with an urgency that makes Jisung gasp, the sound swallowed by their deepening kiss. It becomes heavier, a heated exchange fueled by a raw emotion Jisung feels from both of them. His hands find their way into the guard's hair, pulling him impossibly closer while his fingers wrap around Jisung’s waist, anchoring him in place.
Jisung shouldn’t be doing this. He knows that. But he wants to allow himself a moment of selfishness, and it tastes just as sweet as the bread on their tongues when he opens his mouth to the man in front of him. They must be on the same page- both struggling with the weight of giving in. They must both be feeling the trepidation of their feelings because the guard again whispers, “I really shouldn’t,” when he pulls back for a moment.
Jisung gives him a moment. He knows what he wants, and he knows what he can’t have. He’ll kiss the guard all night if the man will let him, but he waits anyway. He’s making a hard decision for himself, but he can’t make the guard’s decision for him- whatever is keeping him hesitant is worth respecting.
He’s given just a minute- a single minute of silence being broken by heavy breaths as they both still and wait. He feels the flush in his cheeks, no longer cold as heat racks through his body when the guard crashes into him again. He can’t help the whine that leaves his throat as he’s being pushed backwards slowly, softly- just like everything else this man does. The guard’s hand sweeps under him, checking the floor for anything hard before laying Jisung’s back against it and falling over him. Both hands move to his waist and he pulls Jisung flush against his legs before his tongue swipes at Jisung’s lips again.
Jisung’s own palms flatten against the guard’s chest, fingers splaying out to feel the firmness of his build beneath the fabric of his uniform. He arches into the guard's touch, their bodies aligning in a way that sends a shiver coursing down his spine. As the guard presses his thigh between Jisung's legs, directly into where he wants him the most, a gasp leaves Jisung’s lips, swallowed by the guard’s mouth still sealed over his own.
A sudden jolt pulls them apart as the guard breaks away abruptly. His breath is ragged, eyes wide with a combination of guilt and regret visible even in the dark as he stammers out an apology. "I can't.” He backs up further, swallowing his hesitation audibly. “I'm so sorry...I can’t."
Their moment of intimacy and then abrupt silence is shattered by distant footsteps from behind the door. In an instant, they're scrambling to their feet as though scalded by a sudden burst of flame. The guard is quick to react, helping Jisung sit up and running his hands through their hair to flatten it before wiping away traces of their kiss with the back of his hand. He takes a deep breath and then begins banging on the door for attention. Jisung finds himself praying for intervention. It’s not even about getting out of the cold anymore. He can’t imagine another hour or two of awkward silence after ending that kiss.
Within mere moments, they’re saved in multiple ways by another maid opening the door with confusion on her face. The guard’s sigh of relief is too much for Jisung to read into. He got his kiss, and it didn’t make his world any easier to be in. Tomorrow, the guard and the crown prince will likely hate him, anyway.
The walk back is nothing short of agony for Jisung- every step laced with guilt and confusion that makes his heart feel heavy in his chest. The silence between them is absolute and deafening- broken only by their ragged breaths that hang in the frosty air. The guard’s eyes are averted the whole time, reciprocated guilt marring his usually confident features.
The sight of him like this is more painful than Jisung would ever care to admit. It’s his fault.
He walks Jisung all the way to his bedroom- guilt or not, he makes sure that Jisung arrives safely and doesn’t get trapped in any more storage closets. Before he leaves, he turns to face Jisung and apologizes again, voice barely above a whisper. “I really am sorry.”
Jisung watches him, etching the image of the apologetic guard in his mind. It is a moment that would be replayed in his dreams for years to come, he’s sure- a memory that will be both cherished and regretted in a variety of ways. "I understand," is all he says before the guard disappears down the corridor. Alone in his room, Jisung lets out a sigh of relief and sadness all at once. It’s as though he was releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. As he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, thoughts of tomorrow rush in unpleasantly.
Tomorrow, he would have to face Prince Minho and discuss an alliance without marriage. Tomorrow, he would have to face his own heart and confront the feelings he harbored for the guard. Tomorrow seems so far away, yet too close for comfort. But tonight- tonight was about a stolen kiss in the dark.
┗✦❘༻♚༺❘✦┛
Purely political. He couldn’t keep it purely political. He couldn’t play his part.
Minho closes his eyes as he fits himself in the proper attire that he hasn’t stepped foot in since the coastal prince’s arrival. He should have spent this time figuring out if the marriage arrangement would work. Instead, he is forced to settle with the understanding that he let himself be distracted by perfection. That’s what the prince’s maid is- perfection. The way he sounds. The way he feels. The way his doe eyes stared up at Minho in the dark, waiting to see if they could continue or not.
He had to stop himself before it went too far- this meeting today threw a wrench into his plans, but he’s simultaneously grateful at the reminder that he doesn’t get to do whatever he wants. He’s a prince. The crown prince. He has responsibilities, and no matter how badly he wants this man, he can’t have him. He’s not even sure what to do about the marriage arrangement- if the coastal kingdom will even work with their people after he turns the other prince away. He can’t in good faith marry someone while he yearns for a man walking the same paths he does every day.
His parents will be upset, but they will support his rejection of the marriage. He can’t positively say the same about the coastal kingdom.
The castle is quiet at this hour, save for the occasional whispers of staff preparing for the day. A sense of anxiety and pure frustration grips him as he turns towards the throne room, the weight of his decision heavy in his heart. When he finally stands in front of them, ready to meet his parents early to talk to them about his decision, he hesitates. He hears the maid’s voice through the door, apologizing. He must have come to visit them early, as well. But it should be the prince talking to the King and Queen, so confusion laces his brown and his frown as he pushes through the door, quietly.
This is not the same man he was with in the storage room last night. The blonde, freckled prince is nowhere to be seen, but in front of his parents stands the maid in royal coast attire. Ocean blues and pearl whites and perfect accents of glittering gold line his frame, the ring on his finger signifying that he’s royalty. Minho can feel his face further tightening in confusion before he sees the man bow, his hands at his side. “Thank you for accepting me earlier than our meeting was scheduled. Again, I apologize for commandeering your time in such a manner.”
His parents either haven’t noticed Minho, or they’re just as struck by the man’s charm as Minho is.
“Of course, Prince Jisung. You prefer Jisung over Prince Han, correct?” His father asks with a soft smile.
“I do. Prince Han typically refers to my eldest brother, and while I hold much love for my family and our name, I do prefer that my first name be used in reference to me.” He stands straight, both of his hands clasped forward in front of his body- not necessary in the coastal kingdom, but a sign of respect in Minho’s.
This can’t be right. He wants it to be, but it can’t be.
“Prince Jisung it is, then.” The queen’s smile is much wider, and still just as soft. She’s looking over the man as if she’s already planning the wedding in her head.
“I must thank you for inviting me to your kingdom to give both myself and Crown Prince Minho the opportunity to become accustomed to one another. Your staff and son have been very accommodating.”
The class in his voice. His mannerisms. His charm. His attention to detail and answering for the “prince” when they talked. Minho should have known. He’s half-elated at the news that this man is his prince, half-upset that he didn’t consider that prince Jisung could be employing the same tactic he did.
“And have you two… become well-accustomed? How is your arrangement with him fairing?” The queen asks, taking over conversation. She has both hope and worry in her eyes- Minho knows the look well.
“With complete transparency, I’ve heard nothing but amazing things about your son and they all seem to be truthful. However,-” Jisung takes a deep breath, and Minho realizes that he’s likely about to do the same thing that Minho wanted to. He’s going to reject the proposal based on a fallacy they both took part in creating. He recognizes the tiny pricks poking under his skin, the tightness in his chest, the irresistible urge to step in as fear. Jisung doesn’t know who he is. He can’t make a decision without all of the information, just as Minho couldn’t.
He made a mistake, and he’s terrified to lose this opportunity now that everything has changed.
He clears his throat and strides farther into the room, his eyes on Jisung as he walks forward and stands at his side, bowing to his parents and then turning back to the prince he’s supposed to marry. The one he wants to marry. “I apologize for interrupting, but I need just five minutes with Prince Jisung before our meeting continues.” He doesn’t wait for a response. He can’t. He’s terrified and excited, hopeful but anxious. He takes a moment to just stare at the widened doe eyes looking at him, and doesn’t even think before reaching to lace his fingers into Jisung’s and pull him outside of the throne room.
His heart is racing out of control, but so is Jisung’s. He can feel the prince’s heartbeat in his fingertips, pulsing against the skin of the hands wrapped against each other. Jisung lets himself be pulled and doesn’t say anything until they’re outside. When they stop, the prince looks down at their hands for a few seconds, and then back up to Minho. “You… are-”
“And you are.” Minho responds before he can finish. Jisung comes to the realization just as quickly as Minho did, sucking his bottom lip in slightly as he processes everything.
“You’re here early, as well,” Jisung says. Prince Jisung says with his perfect voice and sweet, chestnut-colored eyes. Minho can hear his parents’ heavy, commanding steps coming up beside them and he knows he’s about to be scolded for pulling the prince out like this, but he couldn’t care less. The man of his dreams, who had all but commandeered his every thought since he’d arrived- he’s standing right in front of him. After that kiss last night, everything he’d felt, how hard it was to stop the sparks between them not once- but twice… he doesn’t want to let him go just yet. At all, if he can help it.
“You still don’t know me,” Jisung whispers, looking almost sorrowful and worried. As if anything could make Minho think about him less. Want less of him.
“Be the blacksmith,” Minho rushes out. He desperate, and he doesn’t care that he sounds it. “Take a chance with me, and I’ll spend my life getting to know you, too. You can be my adventure, and I’ll be yours. Be the blacksmith.” His heart races even harder, his breath coming heavier as Jisung stands in silence, his eyes fluttering between their hands and Minho’s face, searching it for something Minho hopes he finds.
When he tries to poorly fight a smile, Minho all but melts inside.
“You read The Silver Drake.” It’s a fact. The prince doesn’t ask, because he knows.
“You were smiling when you picked up the book after your arrival. I started and finished it the next day.” Minho doesn’t try to fight his own smile- it’s nearly impossible, anyway. His parents are staying silent, but keeping close observation. They don’t know what Minho was doing, and they apparently didn’t know what Jisung was doing, but he hopes they catch up so there’s less to explain, and more time to spend with the man in front of him.
It’s fast. Minho knows it’s fast- Jisung is smart enough to know, too. It doesn’t matter. The prince takes a deep breath and looks to Minho’s parents and says, “If you deem that I am worthy of marriage to your son, whether it be now or over time, then I will accept the proposal.”
┏✦❘༻♚༺❘✦┓
Jisung is convinced that the threads weaving books together, the paper and quills that tell fantastical tales, the words of authors who can transport you into another world- they have absolutely nothing on stolen kisses and a love that burns so hot that it all but consumes a person.
He looks around to catch Chan and Felix slow dancing, Minho’s parents clinking their goblets of wine together, Jisung’s own parents and siblings laughing up a storm and introducing themselves to everyone in sight, and he feels… blissful. Most of the wedding gifts were fitting for their new bedroom, or books from around the world that Jisung hadn’t read yet. He’ll read every single one with Minho by the firelight each night- it’s his new goal, and Minho is extremely willing to fulfill any request Jisung poses towards him. He’d likely give Jisung the world if he asked.
Minho is the fictional love interest that Jisung always falls in love with when he reads. He is the loving, peaceful type that would do anything and everything for the one he cares about. He leads with the same kind of heart and the love he has for his people. He’s unreal, but he’s right here, dancing with his arms around Jisung’s waist, looking at him like nothing else in the world matters. He’s right here.
Jisung didn’t think he’d ever be this lucky, or get this far with a man he thought to be a guard, but the universe gave him the ultimate gift. A book that can be read over and over and over again, and always has something new to give him- like stolen kisses and a love that burns so hot it consumes him. When he takes a deep breath and bites his lip, slowly sliding his hands down to wrap around Minho’s, their gaze connects and his lover understands, immediately.
His lips tilt to the side in the smallest smirk that still shows off his perfect little rabbit teeth, and he turns to leave the courtyard, pulling Jisung behind him with their hands still linked.
“Are you sure we can leave, yet?” Jisung can’t help but ask.
“We’ve said our vows. We’ve danced our dance and thanked everyone for our gifts.” Minho looks back to him as he pulls him through the doors to their new room. “If you want to leave, we leave. And there will be no complaints from me about having you all to myself.”
Jisung’s giggles are cut short by Minho pushing him softly against the door to shut and lock it, moving one hand to his waist and the other to his cheek, sliding back into his hair before pressing their lips together. It starts like this- soft, sweet, slow- every time. And the slow build of their kisses are just as addicting as when Minho starts to lose control, and needs more. The first touch of Minho's lips on his feels like an awakening, a slow burn that stirs him the way nothing else can.
Jisung's breath hitches as his eyes flutter close, surrendering himself to the sensation of Minho's lips against his. He always will. Minho wants and Jisung will give him everything. It’s written in their pages.
It’s slow, languid at first. It tastes like the honey-strawberry wine they had during the reception and the mint leaves Jisung had been nibbling on to calm his nerves as the whole kingdom watched him marry himself away to a dream. Every move of their lips is warmth and comfort, yet every sensation is still new, exciting, intoxicating.
Minho’s hand travels from Jisung’s face to his neck, this thumb brushing over his pulse point as if trying to memorize his heartbeat. His other hand moves to rest on Jisung's lower back, pulling him closer until there isn't an inch of space left between them. The way they fit together is absolute and seamless. As the intensity grows between them, so does the urgency. The movement of Minho’s lips becomes more fierce and demanding, leaving Jisung breathless, desire building in his body.
He wanted to wait until tonight. While Minho wanted more, he never pushed. He didn’t want to wait, but he did for Jisung, and never made him feel anything but supported. Now that they’re here, Jisung can’t even begin to worry about embarrassment, humiliation, being bad at it- he just wants.
Their hands find their way under each other's clothes, fingertips dancing over familiar yet foreign skin. Their clothing becomes a barrier too much to bear and with careful tugs and pulls are discarded onto the floor where they join in an intimate pile. The cool air hits their exposed skin but does nothing to quell the heat burning between them. Jisung's hands find their way into Minho's hair, tugging lightly at the strands and eliciting a groan of pleasure from his lover.
Minho tilts his head and gives the small, classic smirk that Jisung has come to love so much before spinning him and walking him backwards towards the bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, he collapses onto his back. Minho hovers over him, planting both of his palms onto the bed, on either side of Jisung’s head. The way his hair is hanging forward, his skin is glistening in pale moonlight filtered in from a high window, and the proximity- it all leaves him breathless.
There are no words exchanged during the time Minho leans back down to kiss him, running both hands from his shoulders over his chest, down his waist and hips to his thighs, slowly kissing down the exposed skin until he reaches the small patch of skin connecting his inner thigh to the place he needs the most attention. Minho sucks the skin into his mouth and runs his tongue over it, back and forth, just as slowly as their kiss began. Jisung has to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth and remember to breathe. They’ve barely done anything and his legs are shaking.
When Minho opens his mouth and releases the skin, he wastes no time in moving onto the next area. Kisses, a hickey on his inner thigh, and light touches- that’s all it’s taken for him to be fully hard and leaking onto his stomach. He puts his weight on his elbows as he lifts himself slightly to watch the scene below him, capturing the moment that Minho extends his tongue from beyond his lips and just as slowly licks up Jisung’s erection along the vein.
The sensations flood Jisung in a torrent of pleasure. His breath hitches, and he suppresses a choked gasp as warmth spreads through his body. Minho's hands are firm on Jisung's thighs, holding them open as he continues to give attention to his lover through purposeful, slow licks and the swirl of his tongue along the tip. His eyes meet Jisung’s, the sight of him writhing under his touch clearly fueling him on. There’s a teasing glint in Minho’s eyes that mirrors the smirk on his lips whenever his tongue dips into the slit and Jisung’s fist flies to his mouth to give him something to bite and keep quiet.
It’s useless, because a whine escapes Jisung at the sweet torture, one hand instinctively carding through Minho’s hair while the other moves to clench the bedsheets under him. His heart is pounding loud in his ears like a frantic drumbeat matching his arousal mirrored in every hitched breath.
"Minho," he murmurs breathlessly, but his plea trails off into a sigh when Minho swipes the flat of his tongue against the tip. His lover chuckles lowly before taking Jisung fully into his mouth. The warmth and wetness have him moaning out loud, hips lifting off the bed instinctively before Minho’s hands pin them down again as he moves slow but insistent, tracing every vein with his tongue, tasting him entirely and relishing in every sound that falls from Jisung's parted lips.
As though he had all the time in the world, Minho continues his movements, alternating between long drags of his tongue and sucking lightly until Jisung’s fingers are digging into his scalp. He sucks harder as he pulls up, and Jisung’s hips try to buck up in response, but the weight of Minho’s hands keep them pinned. Minho pops off and releases Jisung’s cock from his mouth just to hold his tongue out and let more spit dribble downwards before engulfing him again. His right hand leaves Jisung’s thigh and a dry finger prods against his hole, just rubbing circles and applying pressure. It has Jisung absolutely writhing as he grips Minho’s hair harder, his hand flying back to his mouth from the bedsheets. His legs begin shaking as he notices the hard coil winding in his stomach, ready to release.
Minho pulls off again to let out an airy chuckle against Jisung's heated skin at just how responsive he is. “Not yet,” he whispers huskily, placing a light kiss on the head before opening a small container next to their bed. He moves Jisung back up the bed properly, laying his head on two pillows and moving one to rest under his hips. It’s a small thing- likely a common thing- but Jisung feels so loved and cared for by the small ministrations. He gets himself comfortable and waits. He’ll wait and let Minho lead, because “trust” isn’t enough of a word to describe what he feels. Minho knows him. They’ve spent months at each others’ sides, getting to know each other and feeling more secure in their decision to become wed.
They’re here, and Minho has kept his promise, so he’ll let Minho lead.
He dips three fingers into the cool oil inside the container by their bed, warming it up between his fingers before coaxing them around Jisung’s entrance, circling gently but never pressing in, making sure that the area is thoroughly wet before dipping his fingers again. Watching Jisung squirm under his touch brings a dark satisfaction to Minho’s eyes as he lets himself explore liberally now that tonight is the night. As he finally pushes one finger inside, Jisung's breath hitches and he grips the sheets tighter.
Minho’s hands are gentle as they trace over Jisung's body, his touches soft and soothing to Jisung’s slightly tense muscles. There's a small sting but it quickly gives way to pleasurable sensations as Minho gently thrusts the finger in and out, letting Jisung adjust to the feeling. When Minho carefully adds another finger, Jisung lets out a broken moan at the added stretch. His body lights up like a wildfire and his mind becomes consumed with the pleasure that is slowly building inside of him. His heart is racing at an overwhelming pace but he couldn’t care less.
As Minho works him open with careful precision, it isn't long before Jisung relaxes around his fingers. His breath falls from his lips in soft gasps, and he just lets himself feel. His mind is full of Minho- every touch, every stroke sends a new wave of pleasure coursing through his veins. Jisung has no idea how long this extends before a third finger is added- time seems to have lost all meaning. The room is filled with sounds of heavy breathing, low moans, sporadic gasps, and the slick noises of Minho’s fingers moving in and out of him.
Just when he thinks he can't take any more, Minho pulls his fingers out. Jisung whines at the loss, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he looks up at his lover with hazy eyes. Minho, however, simply smiles at him in reassurance and wipes his fingers on a towel beside the bed. "Are you ready?" he asks, gently stroking Jisung's hair.
Jisung nods, biting down on his lower lip as anticipation bubbles inside him. He watches as Minho coats himself with the remaining oil, his breath catching in his throat as he does so. When Minho lines himself up with Jisung's entrance, both of them gasp at the touch. It's an overwhelming sensation that has Jisung gripping the sheets tighter than ever before. With a slow push, Minho enters him and they both groan at the sensation, perfectly in sync. Jisung's hands move up to grip Minho and his nails dig into strong forearms but it does nothing to deter Minho from pushing in further until he's fully inside- a stretch with pressure, but there’s no pain. For a moment, they both simply breathe, allowing Jisung to adjust to the unfamiliar fullness.
Minho peppers him with kisses to pass the seconds and minutes until Jisung is well adjusted. He kisses his nose and cheeks and lips in quick succession until Jisung is giggling and shaking his head at the playfulness in such an intimate moment. His giggles quiet and leave him with a smile as he reaches up to take Minho’s face in both of his hands, giving him a nod to signal that he’s ready.
Minho’s hands stroke calming patterns on Jisung's thighs as he begins to move, pulling out and pushing back in slowly. The sensation is overwhelming but not unbearable - it’s just different. It's a delicious stretch that has Jisung’s knuckles turning white around Minho’s arms. He keep the slow pace for a few minutes, making sure that Jisung feels comfortable and adjusted, but then quickly begins to build a rapid tempo. Just like their kisses.
“M-Minho,” he stammers out, eyes squeezed shut as he feels the buildup coming faster, the sound of skin slapping on skin resonating almost louder than the words his voice produce.
“Shh,” Minho coos softly, brushing Jisung's hair back from his forehead. “Just breathe, Sung-ah,” he murmurs, the sound sending a warm shiver down Jisung's spine.
Minho’s rhythmic thrusts only get faster and rougher, each one hitting deeper inside Jisung that has him arching his back and moaning aloud. The coil inside his stomach is winding tighter and tighter with every thrust until he can hardly keep his eyes open. On an especially sharp inward thrust, Jisung yelps out loud as a bolt of white-hot pleasure shoots through his spine. Minho hits a spot that has starbursts dancing behind his eyelids and every nerve ending in his body lighting up like a Christmas tree.
"Minho!" Jisung loses all sense of keeping quiet as he screams, throwing his head back onto the pillows. Minho's eyes are dark as he watches Jisung's face contort with pleasure. With a smirk, he alters his angle so that every thrust hits Jisung’s prostate dead on, drawing out cries and whimpers from the latter as waves of ecstasy wash over him.
Minho releases one of Jisung’s thighs to reach between them. His hand wraps around Jisung’s leaking cock and starts pumping in time with his thrusts. The combination of Minho’s hand on him and Minho hitting that spot deep inside him has the coil inside Jisung snapping abruptly. He doesn’t even get the chance to warn Minho before he comes hard, crying out loudly as his orgasm sweeps over him in violent waves. His hips buck wildly into Minho's hand as he rides out the aftershocks of his climax.
Minho follows not long after, spurred on by the way Jisung clenches around him. A few more targeted thrusts have him groaning out Jisung’s name as he reaches his own peak, spilling himself deep inside his lover. He stays buried within Jisung as they both ride down from their highs, catching their breaths.
He pulls out slowly after a few moments, pulling the pillow away and laying the towel underneath them before he collapses beside Jisung, pulling him into his arms. They lay in silence for a while, the only sounds in the room being their heavy pants and the occasional soft sigh. Minho brushes away the loose strands of hair stuck to Jisung’s forehead with sweat before kissing his temple.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against Jisung's skin, his voice choked with emotion. His fingers trace over Jisung's flushed cheeks and down to his lips, his thumb gently brushing over them. Jisung opens his eyes slowly, looking up at Minho with tears glistening in them. A smile breaks out across his face as he wraps his arms around Minho's neck, pulling himself closer to him. “Thank you… for being the blacksmith. For taking a chance on… on me. Thank you for… just- I love you.” He says, burying his face into the expanse between Jisung’s shoulder and neck.
“Thank you for being my adventure,” Jisung responds, his tears seeping into the cracks of his voice through his exhaustion. “I love you, too. I love you more. You are… everything.”
And he means it. Minho is his everything. His adventure, his favorite book to read, his favorite textbook and guide to learn from, his favorite binding thread for the pages that make them. Books are made up of parts, and Jisung loves all of him.