Chapter Text
The drums sounded, far away, in a distant land, but Yeonjun knew that his fate had changed once more.
There was no telling when the armies would reach them, him and the other slaves, shackled and bound and stolen from their past lives, like cattle, to be sold and branded to their master's desires. Yeonjun wasn't sure if the drums and the armies would ever reach them. His master was a scholar after all, a man of literature and God. Not even the armies of the new Emperor would dare to touch him. His master, because that was the only title Yeonjun could refer to him with lest his tongue be carved out.
As vain as it was, Yeonjun's beauty had protected him from severe harm so far, but he did not know if the approaching army would find themselves equally enchanted with his face and voice as his master seemed to be.
"Yeonjun!" his master barked, scowling, a paltry attempt to hide his fear. His voice was drowned by the yelling and the chaos that had surrounded their house, and Yeonjun could hear the screams even in the kitchen where he had taken refuge with the other slaves. The dry desert air burned with the violence. He heard the prayers going up smoke, the pleas for mercy as women and children were stolen from their homes. Yeonjun closed his eyes.
The drums were closer now, and echoed the beat of the marching soldiers, he could hear them reverberate through the stoned walls, through the cobbled pathways. Paik, they were called. The foot soldiers, infantry. His master was afraid of them, and Yeonjun drank in his fear like the sweetest of wines.
Yeonjun was once counted in their ranks. He was a warrior. A leader of his tribe who was captured by these godless men and then taken to serve this man. He only called himself a scholar but had no traits to back his claim. Instead, Yeonjun was forced to witness the wasteful and indulgent life he lived, gouging himself on food and bodies in equal measures, lining his pockets with gold and silver that did not belong to him.
If the armies did not reach their gates, then Yeonjun would take matters into his own hands and kill the bastard where he stood. One swing of a sword and it would be over, he could run and be free. His tribe would not accept him back. Yeonjun was defiled now, worthless. He wasn't a proud warrior with honor and dignity, he was a peasant servant who had lost the rights to his own body.
His master yelled his name again, and Yeonjun got up from his position on the floor slowly. The other slaves eyed him warily. Some glanced at him with pity, some with envy. Yeonjun was the only one among the slaves and the servants whose faces weren't marred by cruelty. The only one who was treated like a living thing instead of property.
When he reached the central courtyard, he found the master walking anxiously, pacing the length of the courtyard with enough worry that Yeonjun was almost curious to see if he could carve out a route. "Yes?" he said, keeping his head low, and eyes on the ground, the smell of smoke and blood and charred flesh was pungent, there was no wind in the air, and yet his cotton robes fluttered.
The drums were closer now, and Yeonjun could see the smoke rising from the east.
They had raided his master's friends, it would seem.
His master stopped pacing, and Yeonjun heard him walking towards him, but he still kept his eyes low. "The Emperor's army approaches," the master said, his voice shaking. Yeonjun couldn't tell where the anger stopped and the fear began.
Yeonjun didn't say anything.
The man continued, "The Emperor's brother leads the army and he will be here at any moment. I want you to gather all the slaves and start preparing for a feast."
A feast? At this hour? Well, if his master wanted to die by sheer stupidity, Yeonjun wasn't going to interrupt him. "Yes, master."
"Dismissed," he said, turning around to pace the length of the courtyard once again. Yeonjun did not waste any time and hastily walked to the kitchens. They had the ingredients and supplies to make the feast, but it would drain them. Even if they survived the advancing army, Yeonjun doubted that they would survive the coming days with limited food and water.
The others were as he had left them - frightened, timid, useless. Yeonjun hated them. They had given in to their circumstances and never wanted to rise past the label of slaves. They had accepted their fate and were willing and complacent in the face of the violence they were subjected to. To them, their shackles were permanent, and the hands that put it on them were godlike. They would never rebel, they would never cross the line.
And so, Yeonjun abhorred them.
"He wants us to prepare a feast," Yeonjun announced, and watched in detached amusement how the entire household fell apart in panic.
One of the male servants, a small mousy boy with brown wisps for hair and brown embers for his eyes, came rushing to Yeonjun, "Are you certain that's what he said? A feast?"
Yeonjun nodded. "He wishes to welcome the Emperor's brother with a show of grandness, I assume."
The head cook, a woman who was thrice Yeonjun's age, and just as jaded scoffed. "What an arrogant idiot. Well, if we all are to die tonight, let us at least die like Kings." She punctuated her statement with a sharp bang against the stone walls, and walked over to where the meads and the sweet wines were kept and reserved for royalty. Yeonjun watched, intrigued and impressed as she opened up one of the wines and spat in it, and placed it right back, to be served to all the nobles who would be walking in through their threshold.
Yeonjun nodded at her, grudging respect building in him. They might be ready to die on this day, but Yeonjun wasn't. He refused to die shackled. If today really was the day that Yeonjun would reunite with his ancestors - then may his Gods protect him because he would die while holding a sword as a free man.
"Alright," she yelled, rallying the others as much as she could. Yeonjun could see their defeat on their faces. "Start preparing the feast, and make sure there is enough to feed the royal retinue."
"But it would drain our storage," someone said. "We won't survive the siege."
"Girl, we will all be dead before that," the chef scoffed, and yelled at them until everyone started working according to her orders. Yeonjun was spared from this labour, only by the virtue of the fact that he would be called in to serve their master at any point. He closed his eyes, let himself fall into the rhythm of the marching army, the sounds of screams and of the chilling silence that followed.
He tried not to think about the state of his own family that he had left behind. Whatever happened to them, Yeonjun wondered? And then ruthlessly made himself forget about them. Their survival was no longer his concern, he reminded himself. All he wanted was to survive. His family, whatever was left of them, needed to fend for themselves now. Yeonjun had no place in their lives, and they had no place in his mind.
At some point during the waiting, Yeonjun was called again. His collar was removed and replaced with another, more intricate one, showing off his master's wealth and his good fortune. Yeonjun knew, as vain as it was, that his beauty might yet again be the reason why he lives to see another day. He knew what the others called him behind his back; in awe and in disgust. Thousand Stars, they said. Thief of a thousand fates, they meant. Witch, thief, devil, Yeonjun had heard it all.
The golden collar around his neck just emphasised the point.
He was a slave who had stolen a thousand fates to be awarded this one. A slave who was treated like a prized possession while others suffered in his stead. Branded as he was, Yeonjun had nothing to his name, not even his own voice.
So, when his master ordered him to stand to the side, to be ready to greet the incoming army, Yeonjun obeyed. He nodded his head, kept his head down, and stood where he was expected to. Spoke nothing more than what was needed, looked no further than his own hands.
Yeonjun watched as the seconds bled into minutes, and minutes bled into hours. Reality around him was distorted. He watched, detached, as the servants ran around and prepared a feast. He watched as they went out to set the table, and then as the retinue arrived and claimed the space as if they already owned it.
The army approached them and his master welcomed Choi Soobin, the brother to the Emperor and one of the generals of his army.
Yeonjun watched as Choi Soobin scanned the entire courtyard, saw as Choi Soobin made note of everything and all the expenses, saw how he turned up his nose at the feast and the servants running around trying to cater to the army. Saw Choi Soobin as he saw him.
When Choi Soobin approached him, Yeonjun wasn't scared. He noted everything with a detached precision, nothing seemed to touch him. Not even Choi Soobin, who looked at him as though he was appraising the value of a new asset. "Who are you?" he asked, finally, his voice was deeper than what Yeonjun had expected.
"Choi Yeonjun," he answered, daring to meet his eyes.
The general raised an eyebrow, "You carry a family name and wear the brand of a slave. Decide, who are you?"
"Choi Yeonjun," he repeated. Soobin smirked.
"You're too beautiful for a slave. How much did your master buy you for?"
"A thousand gold coins," Yeonjun answered, his own amusement held at bay with the inevitability of his fate.
"A steep price for someone like you." Soobin appraised him again, and the smirk was replaced by a wicked grin. "The Emperor will enjoy you, Choi Yeonjun. Maybe then, your choice will finally change."
A dull panic set in but it was muffled. Distant. It hadn't reached Yeonjun yet. Even if it did, Yeonjun wondered what the point would be in panicking. His fate was set in stone, there was no changing it. The General had claimed his life for the Emperor's, and it was now forfeit.
His resignation must have been plainly written on his face because Soobin laughed, mean and cruel like it was his birthright, before he turned around and yelled at someone to prepare Yeonjun for the travels. His master protested, and Soobin relieved his neck from the burden of his head for his troubles.
Well, Yeonjun wanted to do that. Yet another thing they had taken from Yeonjun.
Then, he was being pulled away in different directions, hands on his elbows and waist dragging him away from the scene in front of him.
The Emperor's slave must be clean, he heard. And then there was water on his skin, it felt like reincarnation. It did not feel like redemption.
The Emperor's boy must be clothed appropriately, he heard when they donned the lightest of silks, the prettiest of dyes on his body.
The Emperor's property must be branded by him alone, he heard when they removed the collar but shackled his hands and sent him to their camp near the banks of the river.
The sun rested high in the sky, judging them, weighing the mortal sins against each other. As Yeonjun was shoved and pulled and scattered in different places, his future limited to the possibilities these shackles presented, he thought of how fickle life was and how fragile it could be.
The Emperor's property.
That was one fate Yeonjun did not want. They said he had stolen a thousand fates for his good fortune as a slave, for his beauty that was bewitching. Yeonjun wondered if any of those fates decreed him a free man, he wondered why he had stolen the fate that would have him caged inside the golden walls of the Imperial palace.
The sun stayed high in the sky for far too long, and within its unrelenting glare, Yeonjun was taken and prepared for the journey, clean of all the blood shed that tainted the city. In their camp, no one came near Yeonjun, he didn't know if it was the shackles, or the whispers of rumours floating around that made everyone wary, but Yeonjun was grateful for the distance just the same.
He found himself tracing the iron bands on his hands, they were engraved with a saying in the barbaric tongue and Yeonjun found himself tracing the letters over and over again. He wondered if those words condemned the wearer, or if they blessed them with a quick death. Or if these too were reminders of whom Yeonjun now belonged to.
Never had he thought that this would be his life. He was destined for greatness, he was told. It was written across the stars on the day he was born, and the constellations were pressed into the palm of his hands. The priests had sung his praises, and then, Yeonjun was captured. And then his fate changed his masters.
And now, Yeonjun sat silently in front of the campfire, watching the royal retinue return from their campaign. Choi Soobin led the charge, his sword was bloody, there was blood splattered across his clothes. The rest of the party didn't look any better. But each of them had a vicious smile on their faces, all teeth, all bites. They looked resplendent in their bloody glory.
Yeonjun looked away.
He felt Choi Soobin make his way across the plains and take a seat right beside Yeonjun.
"Have you chosen yet, Yeonjun?" he asked, and Yeonjun heard the sword being unsheathed. Yeonjun wondered if he would be relieved from his fate tonight.
Yeonjun sighed, "I remain Choi Yeonjun." Was it a mistake?
The sound of a sword being cleaned filled the air between them, and Soobin didn't say anything. They sat in a silence far too companionable than Yeonjun was comfortable with.
Yeonjun found himself glancing at the sword, it was a good blade. The hilt was studded with rubies, and there was an inscription carved into the steel itself. The sheath, that Soobin had thrown carelessly on the floor, was studded with similar rubies on black leather and carved with designs and imagery. He was curious, he could admit that, but he didn't think his curiosity was so easily read.
"It says, may the souls find peace, " Soobin said, breaking the silence, and showing Yeonjun the sword. "I do not agree with it, however. Why should the slavers and the rapists and those who follow false gods find peace?"
There was an irony in there, and Yeonjun looked at Soobin. The smirk was present, infuriating as always. He shouldn't open his mouth, Yeonjun knew very well that Soobin was baiting him. One mistake and Yeonjun wouldn't have the protection of his beauty anymore.
He looked away, and heard Soobin laugh in victory. "Your shackles say the same, if you were wondering. I doubt you'd find peace under my brother," he chuckled. "I would wish you luck if I thought you'd survive the night."
"You could make my misery end right now," he said, looking at the sword. "You wouldn't need to wish me luck ever."
"What would be the fun in that?" he could hear the smirk in Soobin's voice. "Those shackles will be replaced by a collar soon, because you, Choi Yeonjun, are too beautiful to not belong to the Emperor."
"I could cut my face right now, gouge out my eyes and sew my lips. It would be a kinder fate to subject myself too," he mused.
"You could," Soobin admitted. "But I've heard what they call you, Thousand Stars. I don't think that of all the fates that you have stolen, this one belongs to you."
"It is nothing but a name."
"And so is Choi Yeonjun, yet you wear that with pride."
Yeonjun scowled. "Why does His Highness worry about my fate?"
"I would hate to see you go to waste before my brother has had a taste," Soobin answered, and in one swift motion, got up and sheathed his sword. Their conversation was now closed, Yeonjun's first audience with the royalty was a dangerous mixture of insults and companionship. He hoped that his insolence would be enough for Soobin to have him killed during the night.
It would be a kinder fate.
***
They set out for the Sultanate of Sideris early in the morning, when the chill from the night still lingered around them. Yeonjun hadn't slept that night, and had remained a silent sentry in front of the fire instead. Once Soobin had left, Yeonjun had settled in his skin, twisting Soobin's parting words until they made a modicum of sense.
The guards ignored him, so did the servants, and the other nobles who were a part of this campaign. No one had come near him.
Yeonjun was grateful for the solitude but it made him apprehensive. He wasn't sure what he had done to afford such indifference from the gentry, but he wasn't about to risk it being taken away either. So, he stayed in front of the fire, kept his head low, and didn't sleep. If someone was coming to slay him under the cover of night, Yeonjun would rather face him head on.
But no one came, and Yeonjun could breathe.
When the stars had just started fading from the night sky, the first tent stirred, and Choi Soobin came out of it, looking effortlessly regal. Yeonjun noted how he exited the tent with no one else and how serving girls and boys flocked to his side the moment he stepped out. Yeonjun noticed how Soobin didn't speak to anyone, and instead, walked straight towards Yeonjun when he noticed him.
"We leave in an hour," he announced, taking a seat just like he had the night before.
Yeonjun nodded, he wasn't sure if there was an answer expected from him. "Why do you treat me so?"
Soobin considered his question. "You have spirit."
"So did the people you killed," Yeonjun retorted, angry and resigned all at once. He didn't want to give Soobin the satisfaction of seeing Yeonjun defeated. But then Yeonjun wondered what the point of pretending even was. Soobin, for some reason, had spent far too much time conversing with Beomgyu, warning and advising him in equal amounts. Yeonjun wasn't a fool. He knew the only reason why the guards and the other nobility had spared him all of last night was because he was branded with his favour. But, Yeonjun didn't want this favouritism, not when this favour meant he was marked for death. Soobin himself did not believe that Yeonjun would survive the night. Yeonjun wasn't sure if he wanted to.
He was a gift, a toy, to be given to the Emperor, for the Emperor to see do with him as he saw fit. Nausea churned in his stomach as the thought settled in - the repercussions and consequences of what it meant took over him. The Emperor would see him in the court, and he would be pleased. Even if he wasn't, Soobin would order Yeonjun to greet the Emperor and serve him, however he dared fit. If not the Emperor, then the General, and if not the General then the Prime Minister.
There was no life worth living left for him. Yeonjun would be used and discarded, used in the worst ways because of the collars and the shackles that marked him.
May the souls find peace, what utter bullshit.
Yeonjun was never going to find peace, not when he was being ready to be catered off to an Emperor.
"Yes, but I haven't killed any warriors of the western tribes," Soobin remarked. When Yeonjun turned to look at him, shock painted plainly across his face, Soobin looked bemused. "Did you truly believe that I wouldn't find out, Choi Yeonjun of the Nereides Tribe?"
The sound of his home, of his community and his family, falling from those lips made Yeonjun ache. He hadn't heard the name of his home from anyone's mouth, and even if it was this barbaric general saying it, Yeonjun couldn't help the longing that filled his entire body. "It was never a secret, Your Grace."
Soobin laughed, it wasn't a sound of amusement. "You're too proud, Choi Yeonjun. Even the title sounds like an insult when you say it."
"I don't mean any offence to Your Grace," Yeonjun said, half-hearted. Even if he did mean offence, it had become glaringly obvious to Yeonjun that Soobin wouldn't have him killed until they had presented in front of the court.
"Even if you did, I doubt I would take offence to anything that escapes your lips," Soobin admitted, his eyes dark as he traced the curve of Yeonjun's face. "You are far too enchanting."
Yeonjun looked away. Bitter.
His gaze fell on the coal, the burning embers, the sword that lay not even a few steps away from him. It would be so easy. He could be free of this curse for eternity. Soobin must have followed his gaze, because he took his sword up, and unsheathed it, bringing the blade to Yeonjun's neck. "Say the word," he said, mercy and cruelty mixed in the most brazen of ways.
Yeonjun's breath hitched. He looked at Soobin, sitting patiently across from him, the ruby-encrusted sword his only faithful ally. Yeonjun truly believed Soobin at that moment. He trusted that Soobin would set him free, grant him that peace that hadn't been Yeonjun's for half a decade. He could say and in less than a moment, Yeonjun's blood would paint Soobin's sword and he would be free.
But there was no sword in Yeonjun's hand.
The shackles burned where they sat. In the end, there was only one answer.
"No," he said. Soobin nodded, like this was exactly what he had expected. He sheathed his sword again, the words hiding from Yeonjun again.
"This is what I meant," Soobin said, as if he was trying to make Yeonjun understand his own soul. "You have spirit."
"So you want to break it?"
"No," and the darkness was back - or maybe it had never left - when Soobin replied, "the Emperor must have it in his possession."
He didn't give Yeonjun the time to reply before he grabbed him by the arm and hauled them both up. Yeonjun let him because there was no other choice. The hour before dawn, Yeonjun followed Soobin as he prepared for their journey ahead. Sideris was a day's ride away from this town, and supposedly cooler than the dry desert air that clung to Yeonjun uncomfortably. Even after all these years, he never got used to the desert, born and brought up in the humid forests as he was. Soobin too, seemed to be suffering under the harsh sun. Yeonjun didn't pity him for it. At least in these matters, the sun was fair.
Yeonjun watched, dark-eyed, as Soobin moved and barked orders to get the camp moving. Nobles, guards and servants all rushed around to obey him. In less than half an hour, the tents were broken down, the steads ready, and Yeonjun was riding in a fine mare beside Soobin, just as the sun had started peeking from the horizon.
At first, they rode hard and fast, pushing their horses with no respite until they had crossed the desert and reached the much more lush evergreens of the Sultanate. They rode east, and then they rode north. Yeonjun lost track of the way, thinking of the west, thinking of his home that he could have reached had he not been a coward. But Soobin's sword glittered in the harsh sun, and the iron shackles burned him continuously.
Soobin didn't speak to Yeonjun, but he didn't speak to any of the others in their caravan either. The nobles tried to curry some favour, they came up to Soobin and presented reports, tried jests and offered serving girls and boys like some token of appeasement, but Soobin did not look at any of them. He sent away the ministers and courtiers and the soldiers with hardly any word. He ignored jests and tales to ride silently, and made sure that Yeonjun was beside him at all times.
Was it protection for Yeonjun's sake? Or was it assurance that the Emperor's cargo wouldn't be hurt or tainted during the journey?
Yeonjun tried not to dwell on it and took the respite for what it was.
They arrived in Sideris with little fanfare, during the dead of the night when the ghosts had already retired to their crypts. Yet, the palace remained alight, and he could hear distant sounds of revelry from the palace. Soobin dismounted, steady on his feet after hours of unrelenting travel. Yeonjun followed, he wasn't as lucky as Soobin but thankfully stayed on his feet and didn't fall down in utter embarrassment. The rest of the nobles weren't so lucky. Yeonjun saw at least a few needing help to stay standing as soon as they had dismounted.
"We will meet the Emperor immediately," Soobin told him, ignoring the ruckus behind them. "He must meet you before anyone else does and as of now, I am sure he must be in the middle of a drunken evening."
"If he is inebriated, Your Grace, would it not be better to meet him when he is not?" Yeonjun asked. He knew it was a futile attempt, and he really couldn't delay the inevitable, but it didn't hurt to try.
Predictably, Soobin shook his head in denial of the request. "Trust me, I know my brother," Soobin said, a wry smile on his face. "Choi Yeonjun, you really shouldn't bother with the titles, it doesn't become you."
"Then what should I address you by?"
"My name ought to do for now, either until your choices or until my brother finds out," he smirked. Yeonjun was really inexplicably enraged by that expression, and it took everything in him to not raise his hand against the royal.
"As you wish, Soobin," Yeonjun bowed, and tried not to spit at the taste of that name in his mouth.
"Better, but now I might be too addicted to my name from your lips. Whatever should I do in the face of such a siren?"
"Deafen yourself, perhaps?" Yeonjun replied, unthinking. His eyes widened when he realised just what he had said, but before he could ostensibly fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, Soobin's laughter took over the courtyard. The caravan fell silent at the booming sound, and Yeonjun was convinced that he was going to lose his head right then and there, shackles and all metaphors of his freedom be damned.
But Soobin just continued to laugh, the sound echoed around them and was tinged in genuine humor. When he stopped, he patted Yeonjun on the shoulder, still chuckling as he dried his eyes. "Oh, I am so jealous of Beomgyu already. Let us not dally any longer, for I am not sure I have that extent of restraint in me."
He didn't bother to say anything else, just dragged Yeonjun along, waving at the servants to attend to the horses and the loot Soobin had brought back from his expedition. The servants rushed, their eyes trained to the ground, not even daring to look Soobin in the eye.
So many of Yeonjun's tresspasses had been forgiven and laughed at. Thousand Stars, thousand fates. What good were they when all it brought him was another master and another shackle? He would bow before the Emperor and then be used in whatever manner he deemed fit, by whatever hands he deemed worthy.
Yeonjun wasn't naive, he knew what awaited him as Soobin guided him down the winding halls of the palace, taking him deeper inside halls until they came to a set of large mahogany doors, guarded by two soldiers each carrying a set of sword and spear. The sounds of revelry were louder here. Yeonjun shivered. His fate was inevitable now, there was no escaping it. Perhaps, he should have accepted the mercy Soobin had offered him early in the morning. It would have been kinder.
Yet, he could feel the phantom weight of the collar on his neck. Yeonjun was never going to die a slave.
The guards bowed at Soobin, and glossed over Yeonjun's presence as though he was of consequence. And he wasn't, in every way that mattered
The iron shackles reminded him and everyone of what exactly his position was.
"Is he inside?" Soobin asked them, and barged right in when the guards nodded, dragging Yeonjun with him. "Brother!" he exclaimed, and immediately the music and din quieted.
Yeonjun took his opportunity to study the room they were in. It was beautiful and ostentatious in the way only royals were. Everything was glittering with gems and diamonds and gold and silver. There were slave girls lining the walls, dressed in impeccable clothing, looking like nobles themselves except for the golden collars and golden chains on their hands. There were girls dancing in front of an audience too while men lounged in sofas and dais all around them, throwing gold coins and jewellery as if it was nothing.
He stayed behind, close to the walls and near the shadows, while Soobin marched forward and greeted the Emperor. It was then that Yeonjun had his first look at the man.
He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it hadn't been this. The Emperor was a man no older than Yeonjun in appearance, with long black hair that fell down to his shoulders and the most beautiful pair of eyes Yeonjun had ever seen. His lips were plump and glossed over and added to his beauty even more. All the glittering red and green rubies he wore paled in comparison to his sheer beauty.
Was he breathing? Yeonjun wasn't sure. For so long he had heard men praise his own appearance to the point he had come to abhor it, but here, now, standing a few feet away from an Emperor who looked like a deity descended upon the earth, he was so thankful for his beauty because then he could stand behind the Emperor and not be ashamed.
"I see you have returned," Emperor Beomgyu said, reclining in the lounge and eyeing Soobin lazily. "I hope your trip was a success?" It wasn't a question and failure wasn't an answer.
Soobin nodded, reclined similarly, eyeing the dancers with a greed that was inherent to every man. "Very. The city was ripe for the taking, and there was hardly anyone left to oppose your rule."
"What of the courtiers who supported my dearest father-in-law?" Beomgyu asked, and Yeonjun shivered at the reminder of how bloody this Emperor's ascension had been. Emperor Choi Beomgyu had ruthlessly killed his father-in-law and his wife, the Princess of Sideris. He had lined the pockets of every old courtier with gold to keep them pliant, and as soon as all the blood heirs had been disposed of, he had killed every last courtier who had served in the old king's reign.
"They have joined our family in the heavens," Soobin answered, ruthless.
Beomgyu returned the smile, his eyes sharp. "I am pleased to know you return with success brother."
Soobin chuckled, "Have I ever returned with anything less? In fact, I have brought you back a gift from my travels," his words were sharp, and his eyes sharper as he waved the girls away. "Yeonjun," he called out, and the merriment ceased, Beomgyu sat straighter. The music stopped playing, and Yeonjun had no choice but to step forward, eyes downcast and each step heavy. There was an anticipation buzzing around him, settling into his bones.
He stood in front of them in complete display, daring to meet the eyes of the Emperor, and waited with a bated breath.
Beomgyu didn't say anything for a while but his eyes stayed firmly on Yeonjun, dark and glittering. A lesser man would have looked away. Yeonjun did not. The silence reigned over the court long enough for whispers to fill in where the music was ringing. One noble audibly gasped when he saw Yeonjun, his voice clear over the silent whispers.
It broke Beomgyu out of his reverie and he looked at the rest of the people in this room. His expression darkened, anger taking root. "Get out," he ordered. Yeonjun startled, taking a step back, ready to follow every word Beomgyu said. "Not you," Beomgyu stopped him, eyes peering into his soul. The meaning set in, and the nobles who were loitering around the room startled.
"Your Majesty?" someone asked. Yeonjun didn't have the heart to look away from Beomgyu, even for a second.
"Get out," Beomgyu repeated, looking vexed for it. He wasn't a man who was used to repeating himself. "All of you. Immediately."
Hesitant agreements filled the room as courtiers exited at a snail's pace. Their feet shuffled against the ground, grating Yeonjun's nerves. He flinched when someone stepped too close to him, the scent of overly sweet perfume suffocated him. Beomgyu didn't look happy at his action, and Yeonjun tried to steel himself as much as he could. He didn't flinch when a different courtier moved past him, shoulder checking him on the way out.
That, for some reason, seemed to anger Beomgyu more.
Beside him, Soobin looked far too amused. "I told you," he said to Yeonjun, pleased and smug at being proven right, "The Emperor will enjoy you."
Beomgyu, however, paid no mind to Soobin's words. Instead, his attention was focused entirely on Yeonjun. "What is your name?"
"Choi Yeonjun," he answered, gaze locked with Beomgyu's. Yeonjun was sure that he wouldn't mind dying right then, he had seen unparalleled beauty and heard the divine voice of a deity. What else did he have to live for?
Then, Beomgyu stepped off his dais, walking slowly and sure, until he was standing right in front of him. This close, Yeonjun realised that Beomgyu was a few inches shorter and even more beautiful. He smelled of pomegranates, of temptation. "A family name on a slave? Quite the interesting gift, you've brought for me brother."
"I was born Choi Yeonjun, and so I shall remain," he answered, absolute and sure in a way he did not feel.
Beomgyu hummed, taking in Yeonjun's appearance. For the first time, Yeonjun felt modest about his condition. He was wearing the same thin cotton clothes that Soobin's servants had put on him in the desert. It was light and breathable, but nothing in comparison to the elegant set of robes that Beomgyu wore, deep purple and lined with silver threads. Even his scabbard was a deep purple colour and encrusted with sapphires that seemed to shine brighter than the stars.
"An honourable choice," Beomgyu said, stepping back. He addressed Soobin next even though his eyes were fixed on Yeonjun's face. "How much did you buy him for?"
Soobin smirked, and Yeonjun looked heavenwards at the expression. A mistake. Beomgyu's hand found purchase on Yeonjun's chin and dragged his gaze back to Beomgyu's, a silent command. His hand didn't leave his face, though, instead it traced a path from his temple to his lips, leaving a blazing touch in their wake. Yeonjun was sure he wasn't breathing, and he wasn't sure if Beomgyu was either.
But, Soobin interrupted them. "His old master paid with his head."
Beomgyu smirked, looking far too much like his brother at that moment. "And what had the master paid for him?"
"A thousand gold," Soobin answered. "They call Yeonjun a Thousand Stars, for he's worth more than the mortal coins."
"That I can agree with," Beomgyu murmured.
Yeonjun burned quietly at how these men spoke of him as though he wasn't even there, but Beomgyu's hand - cool to touch and blazing in its intensity - made him halt in his anger. Finally, Beomgyu removed his hand, bringing it to his side. "A man as beautiful as this," Beomgyu murmured, "and you bring him as a gift for me. What do you want, Soobin?"
"Give me the army and let me march east," Soobin demanded.
"We face attacks from the north, it is a fool's errand to march east when our people suffer," Beomgyu waved him off, turning around to face his brother finally. "Ask me for something reasonable, and I might yet grant it to you."
Soobin fell silent, considering. It didn't take him long to come to his next demand. "Give me the Prime Minister."
Beomgyu did not look the slightest bit surprised at this, instead, he smiled. "Only if my brother-in-law is amenable to it."
"Kai will speak to you first thing in the morning, then," Soobin nodded, getting up from the dais and bowing mockingly at Beomgyu. "I expect you to keep your word."
"Do you doubt me now brother?"
Soobin's eyes flitted to Yeonjun. "No, I am just worried you wouldn't be this agreeable come morning."
Beomgyu hummed. "Only time will tell. Leave us now."
"Your Majesty," Soobin bowed once more, and on his way out, he nodded towards Yeonjun. "I wish you luck."
I hope you survive the night.
If only so Beomgyu would remain agreeable to grant him whatever favour he requested. Yeonjun's position had never been clearer. A pawn, a toy, a gift. To be traded and used like a pawn and discarded when it was done.
"A thousand stars," Beomgyu spoke, musing. He sat on the lounge again. There was no one else in the room, and suddenly, his voice and presence seemed larger than life. "Have you stolen a thousand fates, too?"
"So they say," Yeonjun admitted, he wasn't strong enough to keep the bitterness out.
"Do you not agree?" He asked. Was he curious? Or was this an attempt to see how much he could press Yeonjun's nerves?
"No, Your Majesty." Yeonjun would always be thankful that his voice did not waver in front of the Emperor, especially when he seemed to be going against what was expected from him.
Beomgyu hummed. "Use my name. This false modesty and obedience takes away from your beauty."
"I could not presume," Yeonjun startled. It was one thing to call Soobin by his name, it was an entirely different beast to call Beomgyu by his given name. Yeonjun did not want to consider the implication.
"You're not. I am ordering you to use my name," Beomgyu said, raising an eyebrow. Another refusal would mean an insult.
Yeonjun bowed. "As you command, Beomgyu."
"Better," he said, satisfied. "You will be introduced to the court tomorrow, Yeonjun. But make no mistake, you belong to me, and me alone. Should anyone touch you, their hands will be cut off, should anyone speak to you, their tongues will be ripped out, and God forbid, should anyone presume to make you theirs, I will rain hellfire on them," Beomgyu warned, a tiger staking its claim. Heat pooled in Yeonjun's belly at the words and the intent behind them.
At least for a while, Yeonjun was safe.
"And should you let anyone touch you that isn't me...," Beomgyu didn't have to finish his sentence. Yeonjun knew the fate that awaited him would be worse than death. He was a possession now, but Yeonjun didn't mind belonging entirely to the Emperor. The possibilities were limitless.
Yeonjun bowed again.
Beomgyu got up again and for a second, Yeonjun thought that he would touch him again. Instead, the Emperor went to the doors and called for a servant girl, who came running at his call. Yeonjun watched closely as Beomgyu didn't even bother to acknowledge her, and how he came to stand in front of Yeonjun again, but this time, there were no heated touches to distract Yeonjun from the company.
"Show him to the quarters beside mine, have him bathed and dressed in a concubine's robes," Beomgyu ordered. "Make it known that no one is to go near him, and have Kai assign him a guard duty. And have those abominable shackles removed from his person."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the girl bowed.
Beomgyu delivered his last order, the final nail in his coffin. "Make sure that a slave's collar is present on his person at all times instead."
Yeonjun made to leave, assuming his audience with the Emperor was over. Yet again, Beomgyu stopped him with a bruising grip on his arm. His free arm gripped Yeonjun's cheeks, like he had only moments before. This time, however, Beomgyu crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss and did not relent until Yeonjun kissed him back.
It was not surprising perhaps that Beomgyu's lips were as soft as his eyes, and he tasted of citrus. He kissed like it was owed to him, taking his pleasure as though it was his birthright, and how could Yeonjun ever deny his Emperor?
They parted with a breathless want. Beomgyu stepped back, licking his lips, hands fisted at his sides, and his pleasure tenting his clothes obviously. Yeonjun wasn't faring much better.
"I will see you in an hour. Be prepared," a command for both him and the servant girl. Yeonjun must be situated into his rooms and ready for the king in exactly an hour lest they anger him.
They nodded, exiting the room quietly. The girl didn't say anything, Yeonjun wasn't sure if he could listen to whatever thoughts that might be running through her head. He wasn't sure if he could face his own thoughts and his own indignity at this moment. But he bore it, because there was no other option. Yeonjun was now a prisoner in a gilded cage, so far away from the life he once had, the life and the family he could never return to.
He hated himself, slightly, for thinking about a life that was already gone. Even in the face of new horizons and all that they meant. Yeonjun might not be a free man now, but there could be a time when he would walk the cities without the collar and the chains. There could be a time where he looked at himself in the mirror and saw the warrior he used to be, and not the slave he had become.
It might be in the distant future, or it might be right around the corner. A thousand fates he had stolen and consumed, at least one of them should set him free. And if none of them did, then Yeonjun would steal another fate just so he could have something to call his own.
***
The girl, meek and quiet, led him first to the armoury, where there were dozens of shackles and even more keys hanging on the walls. She removed his iron chains with a quick efficiency, as though she did it everyday. For all that Yeonjun knew about her - which was precisely nothing - she could be removing shackles everyday. What did he know?
She stayed quiet on their route, and the halls followed her. There was a stillness in the air that felt almost unnatural. To Yeonjun, it was as if the walls were judging him, trying to find if he was worthy to reside in this palace. He wasn't, and he knew it, but why should the palace itself know it?
After the armoury, she took him to a small bathhouse in the outer pavilion of the palace. He had no spare clothes, and she seemed to already know that too, if the way she frowned at his state was any indication. He was nudged inside the bath house, still nary a word escaping from her lips, and Yeonjun, against his better judgement, decided to take advantage of what was offered to him.
Stripping himself of his clothes and entering the water was short business. The perfumed water and the rose petals stuck to his skin incessantly, and despite how much he tried, he could not get them off. He stayed in the water for a long time, letting his thoughts fall away with the gentle lapping that seemed to echo inside the stone structure. He had an hour before he was supposed to see the Emperor. It should not take him that long to prepare himself, or situate himself in the new rooms.
Yeonjun's thoughts were scattered in different directions. On one hand, the orders His Majesty had given him were plain and clear. Yeonjun belonged solely to the Emperor and anyone trying to claim him for themselves would be met with a brutal end. It was protection, in a way. But how long would this last?
He was to be dressed in concubine's clothes, but Yeonjun was absolutely not a concubine. He was a slave, with nothing to his name. How was he supposed to carry himself? An introduction in the court was meant for nobles and royals of the same creed, what would the Emperor achieve by introducing Yeonjun? He would be left open for ridicule and taunts by any random person in the streets. Did he want this? Could he not find a way to run away even now? There were coats-of-arms, and decorative swords lined along the walls. Even with a dulled blade, Yeonjun could always slit his neck before any considerable harm reached him.
But no, Yeonjun would die a free man.
His ill-thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knocking. The same girl peeked her head in, and gestured for him to follow her, laying down a set of robes at the edge of the pool for him to wear. Yeonjun tried not to sigh as he followed the instruction. The hour would slip by them if they did not hurry.
From the bath house, there was only one destination left. Yeonjun tried not to gawk at the paintings and the opulence. He tried not to think about the fabric sitting against his skin and how it was the most comfortable and beautiful thing he had ever worn. He tried not to think that he would be living on the same floor as the Emperor, and about all that it implied.
The rooms afforded to him were luxurious. More luxury and extravagance than he had seen in his entire life. The bed was made of dark wood and draped with veils, providing him with the illusion of privacy. There were two doors that led out of the rooms, one was the main door that they entered from, and another one was connected with the Emperor's.
Why a concubine's rooms would be connected with the Emperor's, Yeonjun did not know, and he did not care to find out either.
The girl had dressed him in a cool maroon set of robes, beautiful and yet lightweight. Something that could be removed easily. Yeonjun did not think about that. There was jewellery on him, now. Rings on his fingers, a belt along his waist, all made of gold and embedded with more gems than Yeonjun had seen in his entire life. Curiously, he was given sapphires and rubies.
In a miraculous feat, the girl had gotten him bathed and ready in less than an hour. Then she placed a bottle of oil on his bedside, and asked him to strip. "I can help prepare you," she said, mild and meek even as the filthiest things escaped her. She had her eyes downwards, not even attempting to look at Yeonjun even as she asked him to strip and lay himself out.
Beomgyu's warning flashed in his head, playing in a loop until he had taken over all of Yeonjun's thoughts. No one else could touch Yeonjun, according to the Emperor's commands. But surely, he did not mean it in this way? The girl was only trying to help Yeonjun. He doubted that the Emperor would have experience or be patient enough to prepare Yeonjun for what awaited him during the night.
Still, he didn't want to go against the Emperor. He would rather do this by himself than be laid open and bare in front of a stranger and go against a direct command. Yeonjun would only die as a free man, and this increased the chances of that never happening.
"It is alright," he said, finally, taking the bottle of oil and waving her off. "I can take care of this myself."
"The Emperor asked that I prepare you," she insisted.
"I somehow doubt that he meant it in this manner. Really, it is alright, I can take care of this, you need not worry." He tried for a soothing smile, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded or if his own terror reflected in his smile instead. At the girl's grimace, Yeonjun was leaning towards the latter. She nodded hesitantly seeing his stubbornness on the matter and exited the room quietly.
Yeonjun sighed, falling into the bed with a soft, umph. The day had been long, longer if he considered that he'd barely slept for over twenty four hours. He wanted to sink into the soft mattress and close his eyes, forget about the world that waited for him outside of these doors. He did not want to think about his fate and how he was a slave to the whims of a rich man.
At least, Beomgyu was beautiful to look at. At least it wouldn't be as painful as it could have been.
The clock ticked down and reminded Yeonjun that he did not have time to think and worry about all that he did or did not have. He was alive, that alone was more than what most got. He was alive after mouthing off to a royal. Yeonjun shouldn't ask for more, he was already incredibly fortunate with what he had.
He looked at the bottle of oil still clutched in hands. Was he really going to do this? Prepare himself and present himself like a bitch in heat? No, it was worse than that. He had no choice in the matter. At least, he had the experience to help him in this avenue, even if the experience came from how he had prepared his lovers in the past.
It shouldn't be too difficult to do it to himself.
Yeonjun fortified himself. He had to. Everything about this shamed him, and yet, the thought of Beomgyu, laid in his arms, helped him through that initial embarrassment. He did not strip his clothes, it would be too much, too soon, but he slithered a hand down his pants and rubbed over his dick. The fact he only needed to think about Beomgyu before he felt himself responding was a secret he would take to his grave.
After that, it felt clinical, almost. Removing his pants, in one smooth motion, he slicked a singular finger in oil and circled around his rim, teasing and testing the muscle. He pressed inwards and felt the muscle give. His hole was tight, for the lack of a better word. He moved his finger in and out in a rhythmic motion hoping to relax himself. The thought of Beomgyu played in a loop, and made all of this bearable, even pleasurable, if Yeonjun was brave enough to admit it.
When he bent his finger and changed the angle of his wrist just so, that blinding pleasure took over what little uncomfort he was feeling. Soon, one finger turned to two, and Yeonjun was almost enjoying himself. He resisted the urge to press against that spot, wanting to experience that pleasure with Beomgyu. Two fingers turned to three just as the hour winded down. Deeming himself adequately prepared, Yeonjun removed his hands, and went to wash it off, leaving the bottle of oil on the nightstand.
It was just his luck that Beomgyu entered in that moment, an image of elegance and want combined into one. He looked at the scene in front of him, Yeonjun laid down, flushed, his hands slick, his trousers somewhere on the floor and the bottle of oil innocuously sitting on his bed, and slammed the door behind him with an unnatural strength.
Yeonjun had the privilege of experiencing Beomgyu's expression shift from shock to lust. "I see you started without me," he commented, removing his outer robes and walking over to Yeonjun leisurely. He got up, mortified, trying to find anything to cover his lower body with. "Stop," Beomgyu ordered, casual, like this was an everyday occurence for him. Yeonjun dropped his hand, the sheets spooled around him, a shameless display of his lust. "I hope you enjoyed it."
Was he supposed to reply? Say anything? Yeonjun swallowed as Beomgyu's intense gaze stayed fixed on his appearance.
"Whom did you think of?" he asked suddenly, breaking the tense silence between them.
"What?" Yeonjun asked, the question incomprehensible. His lips were dry, so he licked them, and felt himself twitch at how Beomgyu's eyes followed his every movement.
"Whom did you think of when you prepared yourself?" Beomgyu repeated, speaking to Yeonjun as if he was slow.
"No one," because there was no way he would admit that he thought of Beomgyu, laid out in his arms, moaning and wanton, begging Yeonjun for more. How could he tell Beomgyu that Yeonjun imagined the Emperor bouncing on Yeonjun's dick, over and over again, begging for more?
He couldn't. So, it was better to lie and save his neck.
Beomgyu scoffed, bending down to be at eye level with Yeonjun, his hand snaking up Yeonjun's length and applying the perfect amount of pressure. Yeonjun couldn't help the moan that slipped past his lips. He was aching, having already tortured himself with the images of Beomgyu. "Have you already started lying to me?" he taunted, twisting his wrist in equal parts pleasure and pain.
"No," Yeonjun gasped. The haze of lust and want had taken over him completely, but not enough for him to slip completely. "I swear, I was not thinking of anyone, Beomgyu."
Beomgyu's mouth twisted in disappointment, and he removed his hand, leaving Yeonjun hanging high and dry. He stepped back only to remove his clothes completely and then, before Yeonjun could catch his breath, Beomgyu was kissing him with the ferocity of a man trying to devour his last meal.
Their kiss was all teeth and brutal want. Yeonjun wanted the pleasure that he had been denying himself. And Beomgyu wanted to own Yeonjun's soul. They barely parted in between, the only air that reached their lungs was an amalgamation of their souls. Beomgyu took and took incessantly and Yeonjun gave everything in return. Beomgyu pulled away, just long enough to whisper, liar. An accusation that he knew was true. But then, lips were on his again, and Yeonjun forgot to defend himself.
Hands tugged at his robe, and Yeonjun obliged, removing his clothes in a quick manner, but not daring to touch Beomgyu in return. Then Beomgyu's hands traversed the expanse of his body, and Yeonjun let them. He stayed still as Beomgyu explored every inch of his skin and tried not to think about how the Emperor fit perfectly within his arms, or how his frame - roughened and hardened with years of physical labour - drowned Beomgyu's smaller one completely.
He did not think about how the Emperor's hands were just barely the same size as his and yet seemed to be dwarfed in comparison to Yeonjun's arms.
It was a losing battle.
When Beomgyu's lips reached his neck, Yeonjun moaned, a low, guttural sound that seemed to go straight to Beomgyu's dick, if the way it twitched against Yeonjun's thigh was any indication. If Yeonjun had any say, they would have already been in the throes of passion, but he had no say here, no control. He let the Emperor do what he wanted and take what he needed without uttering a single word of complaint.
His hands laid pliantly on the bed, knowing that it would be too much if he were to reach out and touch Beomgyu the way he wanted to.
Beomgyu's lips were slick with spit, and Yeonjun wanted so desperately to kiss them again, to run his fingers through those silky black hair. But he did not, because he was fortunate to be even getting this and he wasn't about to ruin it. The lips on his neck went lower, and then closed around his nipples. Beomgyu's free hand came up to pinch his other nipple, twisting and turning it, pinching however he deemed fit.
Yeonjun gasped, a choked sound that he didn't know he was capable of making. He was aching and desperate for more, and Beomgyu was as torturous in his pace as he was in conquering lands.
The lips came back to meet him, and Yeonjun poured his frustration into it. He could feel how empty he was too, after all the time he had spent preparing himself.
Finally, Beomgyu eased their suffering and removed his trousers, as Yeonjun laid in the bed, gasping, catching his breath.
There were no words exchanged, no words of warning, before Beomgyu positioned himself in between Yeonjun's legs and just thrusted inside Yeonjun's loose entrance. Because he was ready and waiting for this. Because that was all he was meant to be. The heat in his belly made way for nausea, and yet, Beomgyu's careless regard for Yeonjun's body seemed to have no effect on him anymore. Beomgyu spread Yeonjun's legs further apart, making himself comfortable in the space between. His hand closed around Yeonjun's dick, but he didn't move, just squeezed, because the Emperor could.
A strangled gasp escaped Yeonjun's lips at the rough treatment, and Yeonjun felt dizzy as Beomgyu pushed himself further in, his size making it near impossible for Yeonjun to breathe, let alone think. Beomgyu didn't give him the courtesy of warning or letting him adjust to the sudden intrusion. He pulled out and thrust back in at his leisure, chasing a pleasure that belonged only to him. And Yeonjun took it, for there was no other choice. He took it because that was what was expected from him. He took it because this also is something that he was fortunate to have.
Sooner than it had started, Yeonjun felt Beomgyu thrust in completely, finding release and uncaring of the position Yeonjun was in, of his wants and desires, because Yeonjun was fortunate to have even this.
Beomgyu fell beside him, panting, his cum leaked from Yeonjun, leaving behind a mess that Yeonjun did not want. There were no words exchanged, except for the sounds of their exhaustion and his satisfaction.
The Emperor left like he had entered, immediately, taking all that was due to him and not leaving anything behind except a bone-deep sadness and filth to clean up.
Yeonjun could have chased his own relief, but what was the point? He was marred by Beomgyu, and there was no way he could replace the feeling of that touch, of those hands, of those lips. He sighed, getting up and making his way to the bathing rooms in a desperate attempt to clean himself. At the end of the day, Yeonjun was reminded that the Emperor was a man, a godless, barbaric man that took what he wanted, and he was just another thing for him to amuse himself with, and when he would grow tired, Yeonjun would be discarded. Thrown away. A broken toy. A worthless man.
The bottle of oil still sat on his nightstand.