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Chengxian’s runaway husband-to-be is… hopefully not unconscious in some nameless ditch somewhere in the middle of an annoyingly large, rain-dripping and root-tangled forest.
“Are we sure he’s still in here, Chengxian-gong?” Huiqing asks, her nose wrinkled as though personally offended by rotting forest detritus, and maybe she is. Huiqing earned her place as head of Chengxian’s trackers the honest way; Chengxian does not envy her sense of smell. “If we're wrong and he’s already reached the plains, the rains will be wiping his tracks clean - that, or his family will catch up to him before we do.”
“He hasn’t,” Chengxian says. “And they won’t.”
Huiqing knows her tracks, but Chengxian knows their quarry. More precisely, Chengxian knows exactly how badly injured their quarry is. Prince Kejun of Yuan can’t have already made his way out of the forest on foot, because Chengxian couldn’t either and he’s only half as clobbered as Kejun. Which had, briefly, been a very nice change from being exactly as battered - it’s been awhile since Chengxian won one of their fights so decisively. His half-sister, the Empress Meixian of Jin, had hosted a massive feast to celebrate his success: excellent food, better wine, laughter and bawdy songs and pride sparkling in his dajie's eyes…
And then right in the middle of all that, the missive came.
An offer: Prince Kejun’s hand in marriage to the victorious Grand Duke Chengxian of Jin, for peace.
Just what did you do to upset your father so badly, Kejun?
The wounds Prince Kejun gave Chengxian in their last fateful fight had not yet healed. And yes, Chengxian may have slowed that healing with several unwise bottles of excellent plum wine during their celebrations of the outcome of said fateful fight, but again: Chengxian unquestionably won. Prince Kejun was as good as sold to Chengxian while also unhealed from the wounds that Chengxian himself gave him.
What a wonderful start to a betrothal.
Meixian had left the choice to him. “They’re afraid,” she’d said, “or they wouldn’t make this offer. The war’s ours to lose at this point, xiaodi. If you don’t want him, or if you want someone else… Just say the word. I’ll work things out.”
Chengxian agreed to the match anyway, for a multitude of reasons. Because Kejun is an objectively good-looking man and Chengxian is profoundly shallow; because, lifelong enemy or not, Yuan or not, a little part of Chengxian has always admired Kejun…
Because if the Yuans are willing to sell Prince Kejun to Chengxian of all people - Chengxian the Demon Duke, bastard half-brother to Empress Meixian of Jin - they are definitely willing to sell him to someone far worse.
~
Huiqing picks up Prince Kejun's trail a little before nightfall. She is a marvel and Chengxian tells her so.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Chengxian-gong.” Huiqing has a unique ability to make Chengxian’s title sound like an insult. “And keep your voice down. He’s close.”
“Right,” Chengxian breathes, softer than a whisper, and slinks close to follow with a hand on the hilt of his sword. Even wounded as he is, Prince Kejun is a dangerous foe. And Chengxian is mostly unarmored - the Empress Dowager had threatened to whip him to death if he’d dared put his armor on over his own half-healed wounds, because the Empress Dowager shows her concern primarily with outlandish threats.
Let your guards do the fighting for once, you fool, she’d said. What else do we pay them for?
And Chengxian, like a fool, had sent his guards away three days ago to lead Prince Kejun’s other pursuers off the trail.
Chengxian is still glad that he’d listened. He’d have bled himself half to death by now walking so far with heavy armor grinding down over his injuries. But with his oldest enemy close…
Chengxian misses his helm most of all. He’s never gone to war without his helm; most of his mystique as his sister’s commandant is built around its twisted visage. Without it, he’s Empress Meixian’s beloved little brother, almost thirty and still bright-eyed and soft-cheeked and beardless; with it, he’s the Demon Duke of Jin.
He’s neither offended nor surprised that Kejun ran; he’d have done the same in Kejun’s place.
But Chengxian grew up secure in the knowledge that he’d never be in such a place - there had been just one attempt, years ago, after the death of Chengxian’s father. One attempt to rid the court of the late Emperor’s inconvenient bastard, presented to the Empress Dowager - then regent for her young daughter Meixian - by broadly smiling officials.
The Empress Dowager had never exactly been fond of the son of her late husband’s mistress.
The Empress Dowager had torn the proposal to shreds, then burnt the shreds, then personally driven the officials responsible out of the court wielding a whip in each hand.
The Empress Dowager does nothing by halves. Meixian still swears that her mother breathed flames that day.
Did they tell you your fate before they sold you, Prince Kejun? Or was the ink already dry on the treaty when you heard of your own betrothal?
~
They find Prince Kejun huddled pitifully in a cradle of tree roots and moss, his (objectively handsome) face turned into his arms to stifle his strangled sobs.
“You’re not looking well,” says Chengxian from a safe distance. Kejun can move. Chengxian has scars testifying to that fact, and he fully expects Kejun, wounded as he is, to lunge upon finding himself suddenly harangued by the very same husband-to-be he fled.
But Kejun only flinches, curling more tightly in on himself as he stares up at Chengxian with wide vulnerable eyes, and there is not a hint of recognition in his gaze.
“Um,” says Chengxian, eloquently.
He’d readied himself for violence, not an introduction. Surely they must have met at least once off the battlefield?
Chengxian has met most of Prince Kejun’s many siblings despite their war. He had a politely stilted conversation with Kejun’s oldest sister when they’d stumbled upon each other in the same temple on a diplomatic visit to the kingdom of Song, and they didn’t dare argue for fear of offending the gods within; Meixian once slapped one of Prince Kejun’s horde of younger brothers for insulting Chengxian at some other neutral kingdom’s party - Chengxian, as a mere duke, couldn’t do so himself - and then neither Jin nor Yuan had been invited anywhere else for over a year.
Has Prince Kejun truly never seen Chengxian un-demon-helmed?
“Jiangjun,” Kejun whispers, eyes lowered, soft and deferentially pleading, “Jiangjun, I was separated from--”
Huh.
It’s not the worst guess on Kejun’s part. Chengxian, while out of his full and excessive regalia, is still obviously someone of importance in the Jin military. Kejun himself is clad in the incomplete, ambiguously mismatched armor of conscripted foot soldiers and could plausibly belong to any army.
“Oh, I’m not a general,” Chengxian says cheerfully, stepping forward, and does not elaborate further. He can feel Huiqing rolling her eyes behind his back. “You shouldn’t rest here, the ground’s too damp. Can you stand?”
"I-- I can,” Kejun stutters, and he does. But only just barely, and Chengxian has to catch him quickly around the waist when he sways alarmingly. Kejun makes a little noise of pain, and Chengxian almost shifts his grip before he remembers that he - or the unknown officer of the Jin army he’s now pretending to be - isn’t supposed to know exactly how and where Kejun is injured.
“What hurts?”
Their adjustments end with Chengxian’s arm slung supportively around Kejun’s lower back, a hand at his mostly-uninjured hip. There’s a shy pink cast to Kejun’s face as they stagger along, and the tips of his ears are red.
“We’re headed east,” Chengxian says, to take his mind off the timid, unfairly adorable blushing of his husband-to-be. “In the direction of the capital. Huiqing here has a great-grandmother’s birthday to attend.” This is not a lie. “Yourself?”
“T-the Baixue Coast,” Kejun mumbles, which is an excellent choice for a fugitive. A clever man, Chengxian’s runaway husband-to-be. Refreshing and medicinal waters, beautiful sea views, a medium-sized port city to flee from… Except that no one from Jin bothers to properly call it the Baixue Coast, owing that Jin only has the one coast.
“I can take you there.” Huiqing’s eyebrows vanish into her hairline at Chengxian’s words. “Haven’t been to the seaside for a bit, it’ll be no trouble at all.”
Kejun doesn’t protest. He stumbles along obediently by Chengxian’s side as they pick their way through the undergrowth to the nearest forest path.
“Not far more. There’s an inn nearby,” Chengxian tells his not-yet-husband. His words are far too intimately gentle for the stranger he’s pretending to be, but Kejun is shaking from exhaustion and pain at his side - he’d have fallen already if not for Chengxian’s arm around him, and Chengxian wants to show him sweetness. “You can rest there, and we’ll get horses for the rest of the trip.”
“Thank you,” Kejun murmurs, quiet and dazed. The husband-to-be Chengxian wasn’t entirely sure he wanted; the husband-to-be who definitely doesn’t want him. Kejun is stumbling blindly along at Chengxian’s side, completely trusting, head lolling weakly against Chengxian’s shoulder to bare the vulnerable lines of his pale throat, and…
Ah, fuck, Chengxian thinks.
~
They remain in the inn for five days as Kejun recuperates.
Chengxian chases Huiqing off to her great-grandmother’s birthday party on the third day, after countless assurances that he would be fine alone with his (completely helpless!) husband-to-be. Huiqing doesn’t have to suffer with him in this isolated wayside inn - Chengxian is a duke and Huiqing is in service to a (in Chengxian’s admittedly biased view) very generous duke; they are both used to finer things.
This scanty inn is a poor place for recovery.
Chengxian prefers to spend his own convalescences in the comforts of the royal infirmary, doted upon by doctors who have cared for him since his birth. Lifelong friends slipping in and out to tease him for getting injured in the first place; Meixian escaping her royal duties to sit by his side and stroke his hair…
And the Empress Dowager, of course.
Charging in like a rampaging bull to castigate her daughter for spoiling Chengxian in one breath and turning on everyone else with shameless hypocrisy in the next: this pillow is not soft enough, and go fetch his blanket, how can he rest properly without his own blanket?!, and where are the healing soups?!?!, on and on until the sickroom is arranged precisely to her satisfaction… or until Chengxian summons the strength to call, “Love you too, daniang,” loudly enough to be heard over her strident bellowing, to send her storming out in a flustered fury.
But what choice do they have? Kejun cannot travel in his current state. Not unless Chengxian reveals himself, and pulls rank to have a comfortable carriage summoned in haste, and drags his terrified husband-to-be screaming and struggling to the palace.
So Chengxian sits by his not-husband’s bedside. He keeps watch. He fluffs threadbare pillows as best he can, and feeds Kejun tragically subpar soup.
~
The kingdom of Jin is not a large one. A swift rider, switching horses daily, can make the journey from the border forest where Chengxian found his wayward not-a-husband to the coast in less than a week; Chengxian leads Kejun along the scenic route, and it takes them two.
Chengxian is well aware that he is an exceedingly proud man. The Empress Dowager informs him so loudly and frequently. (Only once has anyone else had the temerity to agree. The Empress Dowager, who can change her face faster than a bianlian performer, almost brought down the palace roof bellowing that your Grand Duke has every right to be as conceited as he pleases, you worm, he is the beloved brother of the Empress Meixian!!!!) Chengxian is proud of his looks, proud of his strength and skill, proud of his place by his sister’s side.
He is proud of the kingdom of Jin, and in this Chengxian and the Empress Dowager are in rare open accord - their kingdom is a beautiful one.
Chengxian wants to share this beauty with the man who was his lifelong enemy and now is pointedly not his husband, in the brief time they have together before Kejun reaches the Baixue Coast with its gleaming ships and slips from Chengxian’s fingers for good. Jin does not have tall, snow-peaked mountains like the kingdom of Song, or crystalline lakes like Yuan - Jin is a joyously patchwork land, lush floral fields and riotously bursting orchards alongside stark and moonlit crags with deep caves full of glowing worms and little blind fish; two weeks is far too little time to share it all.
But Chengxian tries, and pride in his kingdom is not the only cause.
You would have been happy here, he needs Kejun to know. The enemy prince who almost became his husband is not going to stay, but, I would not have had you for my husband to leave you miserable for the rest of your life. Jin wouldn’t have been your prison.
There is beauty too in the kingdom of Yuan, and yet Chengxian himself would have fled if he were in Kejun’s place.
Unlike Prince Kejun, Chengxian has grown up knowing that he can always, always flee back home.
Chengxian will not be his husband’s jailor, and Kejun does not want the Demon Duke of Jin.
But Kejun does want, which is the painful part. Chengxian can see the longing in the eyes of the man who will never be his husband, when Kejun gazes smiling at Chengxian with juice from the fruit Chengxians cuts for him running down his chin. From the way Kejun leans on his arm when Chengxian helps him from his horse each evening. From how Kejun sighs, soft and trusting, as they curl chastely together each night.
Kejun wants the not-too-important officer Chengxian is pretending to be. A man who has never beaten Kejun into the dirt on the battlefield. A man who has never bloodied him.
The man Kejun wants is a lie.
~
There is never snowfall along the Baixue Coast, only fine white sands as glimmering and bright as the glaciers of the high mountains of Song. Seabirds are wheeling and calling as Chengxian and Kejun crest the final rise of the road leading down to the sea; gentle waves murmur; the scent of salt is thick is the air.
They halt, Kejun’s eyes wide with the wonder of a prince of a landlocked kingdom. Chengxian had wanted to share this view more than he wanted to share anything else.
He’s always loved the Baixue Coast.
He doesn’t know if he’ll even be able to gaze upon it again without his heart encasing in ice.
“We should part here,” Chengxian says. His hands tremble as he dismounts and his limbs are numb and heavy; his voice has gone thick and rough in his aching throat. “Take the horses. They’ll fetch you good coin.”
Coin enough to buy Kejun passage away from Jin. Away from Chengxian.
Coin enough to start a new life.
Chengxian will not stay to watch Kejun leave - it will be far safer for Kejun if Chengxian can honestly tell the world that he does not know the whereabouts of the wayward Prince of Yuan. He’ll walk down the road to the military stables and borrow a horse; riding swiftly and switching horses daily, he’ll be home in a matter of days to drown himself in wine and sob against Meixian’s shoulder.
He will let his husband go.
But Kejun leaps from his horse too, scrambling to Chengxian’s side and seizing his hands, eyes wide and soft lips parted in protest. “Please,” he begins, so softly, so sweetly--
“I can’t go with you,” Chengxian says. “I can’t. Forgive me.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Kejun says. His hands clutch at Chengxian’s with a swordsman’s strength. “I’d never ask that of you. I only meant--”
He draws a shuddering breath, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes.
“Chengxian,” he says, very softly, and Chengxian’s heart seizes in his chest. “Chengxian-gong. Are you really letting me go?”
Chengxian stares.
The man who cannot be his husband just spoke his name. Prince Kejun has never called Chengxian by his name; they have only ever cursed each other on the battlefield where Chengxian is the Demon Duke. The man Chengxian is starting to love just called him by his name, and Chengxian’s voice has faded in his throat.
“Prince Kejun,” he says at last, “what the fuck? When did you know?”
“I always did,” Kejun says. His smile is a shy and shivering thing. “Did you really believe I didn’t? It was just-- I thought--”
He looks down, blushing, at their joined hands, and Chengxian longs to kiss the tips of his ears.
“You’ve never been cruel,” Kejun continues in a sudden rush, “all those years we fought. When you found me, I just hoped that-- that if I pretended, and gave you a way to save face, you might… you might…”
He trails off, hands trembling, and there are tears in his eyes.
“I might let you go?”
Kejun nods.
“I don’t want you to let me go anymore, Chengxian-gong,” he whispers. “My zhangfu, my husband… I think I want to marry you. I think I want to stay.”