Blood of the Oracle - study_a_latte - 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys (2024)

Chapter 1: tzafrir

Chapter Text

t z a f r i r

Chapter 2: augenblick

Chapter Text

It was almost 3 PM when Jeongguk and his closets advisors stopped to take a break for afternoon tea. The young King had his attention set on his phone, taping away at some mindless rhythm game. The newscast droned in the background beyond Jeongguk’s peripheral vision from where he sat slouched over the dark-coloured, leather settee with his feet propped on the ottoman.

Yoongi was stretched out on the chaise lounge chair by the window, napping like a cat in the light of the afternoon sun. Namjoon, also deciding to take a nap, lay sprawled over the navy, suede sofa with his head pillowed in Seokjin’s lap. The oldest affectionately threaded his fingers through his dozing lover’s hair, though his attention was on the news broadcast with a plate of sweets and a cup of coffee at his side.

“We are live at the Air Terminal for the arrival of High Royal Highness, Prince Kim Taehyung of Attalia,” the reporter announced. “His Highness’ arrival marks the first foreign visit that he’s made since his departure from the public eye three years ago. Many speculate that the Prince was recovering from an illness that took his eyesight. But the people of the Floating Isles are more inclined to believe that the Royal had received an alleged blessing by the Gods. Neither the Prince or the Royal Family has commented on the matter. ”

Jeongguk glanced up from his phone. He had made the executive call to allow press to report the arrival of the Attalian Prince. If this was the Prince’s first foreign appearance since he lost his sight, perhaps allowing the press to report this was not the best decision.

“Alleged?” Seokjin repeated. “What does that mean? The Prince did receive a blessing, right?”

“Supposedly,” Namjoon murmured, having been awake enough to listen to the news. “Aside from the legends and myths of Attalia that date back thousands of years, there isn’t much proof that a such gifts by the gods even exist. But like I said, the Floating Isles is shrouded in mystery and myth, especially the Royal Family. Doubt is sure to come.”

Jeongguk himself couldn’t help but doubt the legitimacy of the claim of a blessing. The King had done some research in the weeks leading up to the Prince’s arrival to court. But his research bore little fruit: all the information on the Attalian Prince was old, dating three years ago just as Namjoon said. The man kept to himself after the so-called blessing.

“No matter, I believe the blessing to be real and the Prince’s gift is a powerful one,” Namjoon said.

“Why?” Jeongguk asked.

“I think there is more to the King of Attalia’s insistence on an alliance,” Namjoon continued. He sat up, blinking and rubbing away the grogginess from his eyes. “When I spoke to him on your behalf, Jeongguk, it sounded as though he was reluctant in suggesting his son in a marital union.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like –” Namjoon paused, scratching his chin in thought, “like the King was playing a game of chess against the Empire, and he was deciding to put the queen into a vulnerable position – like he was putting his most powerful piece at risk.”

“Alright,” Jeongguk started. “If the blind Prince is the queen piece, when what is Naissus. What am I to the King of Attalia?”

Namjoon stood, walking over to the side table where the single serve coffee machine sat, picking out a pod from the wide selection that the servants had laid out.

“The King of Attalia knew that it was risky to bring the queen out onto the board so early in the game, but it was a chance he had to make,” Namjoon said. He turned around to face the young King, leaning against the table as he waited for his drink to finish brewing. “But he wanted to ensure that the queen was protected by a powerful knight.”

Jeongguk scoffed. “So, I am now reduced to a knight?”

“In this game of chess against the Empire, yes,” Namjoon said.

“Why do you have to relate everything to some sort of gloomy chess analogy?” Yoongi said, words slurred from his half-awake-half-asleep state, the advisor had probably been woken up from his nap by the chatter. “Why must everything in politics be compared to the most boring game in the world?”

Jeongguk reached for a sweet potato pastry on the tray atop the coffee table, chewing on the inside of his lip in thought.

On the TV screen, the Attalian airship had just lowered the stairs as a sleek black car pulled up at alongside the aircraft. Jeongguk easily recognized the familiar orange-hair man who had stepped out of the driver’s seat, he had personally asked Hoseok to escort the Prince back to the palace, trusting few but his King’s Circle.

The doors of the airship opened then, and the first to emerge was the silver-haired man: Park Jimin, the Prince’s guard. He was dressed in a fine black suit and sunglasses, lips pressed into a stern line. The man surveyed the area before stepping to the side of the platform, lips forming words as he held an arm out.

Then the Prince appeared, dressed in black slacks, a creamy white turtleneck, and a navy wool jacket. He wore a soft smile on his lips, eyes closed though, and left hand reaching for Park Jimin’s right arm. The Prince’s fingers rested on the crook of the guard’s elbow as they started down the steps. The Prince followed his guard, always just half a step behind, he waved at the press with his free hand, probably using the sounds of the clicking cameras as a guide.

The cameras zoomed in on the foreign royal as Hoseok greeted the Prince with a low bow at the base of the steps. The Prince said something and Hoseok nodded in agreement, but it was not something that the cameras were able to record. But before long, the Commander General had opened the car door and when the blond-haired prince and his silver-haired guard disappeared inside the black car, the news flashed back to the reporter in the studio.

“It’s unclear as to the nature of the Prince’s visit to Aurea, our sources believe that it is simply a vacation. However, the Crown has said little on the manner.”

“I wish we knew what the Prince’s gift was,” Seokjin said, “It may prove useful to us.”

Namjoon hummed his agreement, glanced at his watch and frowning at the time.

“We have a meeting with the Royal Hospital committee,” Namjoon sighed, running a hand through ash-blond hair.

“I know,” Seokjin replied. “I didn’t forget, we still have time.”

“Thank you for seeing to the gala, Jin-hyung,” Jeongguk said.

“Of course,” Seokjin said, “it’s an honour and a privilege to be a patron for the new hospital.”

Jeongguk’s phone chimed, and when he went to check it, Hoseok had texted him giving him a twenty-minute warning before the Prince was due to arrive to the palace.

“Come on, Yoongi,” Jeongguk called, retrieving his pinstripe blazer from where he tossed it. “We have 20 minutes before the arrival of our honoured guest.”

When the young King and his advisor arrived at the doors of the throne room, Jeongguk nodded at the guards who pulled the double doors open for him and Yoongi.

The throne room was empty. The King’s footsteps on the marble floors echoed loudly in the high ceiling space.
Jeongguk ascended the stairs with Yoongi just steps behind him. The Right Hand stopped and took his place at the base of the second staircase, folding his hands behind his back. Jeongguk then took his place on the throne, sitting where his mother sat before him, and his father before her.

The throne of Naissus sat upon a dais separated by two flights of stairs, framed by intricate metal work that created a golden halo around the monarch. Jeongguk hated it. He wanted to have the throne room renovated, to lower the dais and remove the metalwork. But Namjoon objected, stating that it would be unwise to tamper with the years of history and tradition that this room stood for.

Jeongguk could hear footsteps outside the room now. He squared his shoulders and straightened his back just as the doors opened.

Hoseok entered, nodding subtly at Jeongguk and Yoongi before making his announcement. “His Highness, Kim Taehyung of the Divine House of Chrysantheme, First Prince of Attalia, and Lord Park Jimin of House Turnesol, Crownsguard of the First Prince.”

Jeongguk crossed his legs, elbows resting on the arms of the throne as he laced his fingers together in an attempt to appear relaxed. He was undeniably nervous when the Prince entered. This was not just another guest at his court, not another noble that he had to appease. This was someone who could be standing at his side ruling Naissus – standing at his side as his partner.

Park Jimin appeared first at the threshold of the door, stepping into the throne room with the Prince half-a-step behind and his hand on the guard’s shoulder. They ascended the stairs with ease, the Prince’s steps never faltering. When Park Jimin stopped at the center of the platform, the Prince stepped forward, his footsteps sounding sure in the silent room as he placed his right hand over his heart, bowing at the waist a full ninety degrees.

Park Jimin mimicked the greeting.

“You stand in the presence of His Majesty the King of Naissus, Jeon Jeongguk of the Ancient House Cepheus,” Yoongi announced.

“It is an honour to meet you, Your Majesty,” the Prince said. His voice was thick like treacle, deep and throaty. His words lingered, floating like a hypnotic wave. “Thank you for inviting me to your court.”

The prince was breathtakingly gorgeous.

Then Yoongi caught Jeongguk’s attention out of the corner of his eye. The advisor had balled his hands into tight fists behind his back. When Jeongguk shifted his eyes back to the Attalian prince and his guard, he realised that Park Jimin’s eyes were focused solely on Yoongi. The guard stared wide-eyed, lips falling open with almost child-like shock, Park Jimin then snapped his head away, blinking rapidly.

“Yes.” Jeongguk replied. “Indeed. I hope you will find your stay at Aurea pleasant.”

The King ensured that his voice reverberated throughout the room, hoping that it would drown his ceaseless thoughts as he tried to focus.

“Your journey must have been tiring. Lord Hoseok will show you to your accommodations at the palace. I hope you will do me the honour of joining me for dinner tonight.”

The Prince grinned, “It would be my privilege, Your Majesty.”

Once the Prince had left, door slamming shut behind him loudly, Jeongguk sagged in his seat.

“So,” he started, watching as Yoongi pulled out his phone, no doubt making a note to let the kitchen staff know of the extra guests at the King’s table tonight.

“So,” Yoongi repeated.

“If I didn’t know any better – which I actually don’t – I’d say that there was something going on between you and Park Jimin.”

Yoongi stopped typing, shoving his phone and both hands into his pockets. He slowly made his way up the rest of the stairs, stopping in front of Jeongguk. The Right Hand licked his lips, taking a deep breath.

“You remember what I told you before your ascension?” he asked.

“Of course,” Jeongguk replied.

When the young King prepared for his ascension to the throne, his first task was appointing those his trusted as members of the King’s Circle. He appointed Yoongi with the position as his closest advisor, despite the protests from several Noble Houses of Naissus on the account that Yoongi was not one of them.

The man was not Naissian.

Yoongi arrived at court twelve years ago at the age of sixteen, and was adopted into House Eridanus by the Queen Mother herself. It was a trying time; the late King had fallen to the plague and Jeongguk was too young to take the throne at the age of ten. So, his mother ruled in his place as reagent.

She adopted Yoongi into her family, raising him along side Jeongguk as an older brother, hoping to groom the intelligent young man into someone who could stand by Jeongguk’s side as an advisor. The court was less than thrilled to house the foreigner, and Yoongi refused to speak of his past to anyone, Jeongguk included. But when Jeongguk had asked Yoongi to be his Right Hand, Yoongi decided it was time to reveal everything. Today, outside of the King’s Circle, few know of the Right Hand’s origins.

“As I have told you, my family was part of the Attalian nobility.”

“Did the Prince know you?”

“My family wasn’t high enough to be part of the King’s Circle, and the Prince was young when I left. So, no. I don’t think so,” Yoongi explained. “But perhaps now he will, if Park Jimin decided to tell him anything.”

“How do you know Park Jimin?”

“We were… friends,” Yoongi mumbled. “He was only twelve then. I didn’t think he would remember me.”

“Well, clearly, he did,” Jeongguk scoffed. “Is that why you swore in front of Jin-hyung a couple weeks ago? Cause you realized that Park Jimin could be coming here?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see him again,” Yoongi mumbled, sitting down on the arm rest of Jeongguk’s throne, arms crossed and eyes closed. As if he was reminiscing of a time long past. “I don’t know if he’ll understand why I left.”

“Did you love him?” Jeongguk asked softly.

Yoongi snorted. “I was sixteen, what did I know of love but raging teenage hormones?”

“Ever the romantic,” Jeongguk muttered, rolling his eyes.

The doors suddenly opened again, and an attendant stepped in. “The Lord Chancellor, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, Jeongguk, Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon greeted. “How did the meeting go?”

“Well enough,” Jeongguk replied, stepping down the dais. “He’ll be joining us for dinner tonight, too.”

“Excellent,” Namjoon said. “I just finished the meeting with the Royal Hospital committee and I wanted to finalize our plans for the gala with you. Jin-hyung is waiting.”

“If it’s about the catering, Jin-hyung is going to be much more useful that this idiot,” Yoongi retorted. “This one eats everything.”

Jeongguk scowled, shoving his brother off the throne.

“No, it’s about the guest list,” Namjoon said. “There were some individuals that you might want to invite, but Jin-hyung wants both your opinions first.”

“Well, let’s get going,” Jeongguk said, shoving his hands into his pockets and sauntering after Namjoon, looking forward to dinner for more than just the food.

Chapter 3: wissensdurst

Chapter Text

w i s s e n s d u r s t

It was later that evening when the butler arrived at the young king’s study to announce that dinner was ready. Jeongguk spent the last couple of hours after the meeting about the gala reading over some documents he had put off.

Jeongguk stretched, massaging his temples as he shut the door of his study behind him, feeling drained as he made his way to the private dining hall.

Hoseok caught him in the hallway, eyebrows raising as he looked up and down the King.

“You look a little worse for wear there, cousin,” the Commander General commented.

Jeongguk rolled his eyes, “You try listening to Namjoon-hyung and Yoongi-hyung argue for thirty minutes on the pros and cons of inviting the Dowager Countess of Lyra to the hospital gala. Then tell me how you feel.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Hoseok tsked. “Maybe you should straighten your shirt up a bit; we do have company this evening after all.”

Jeongguk almost forgot. He stopped, checking his appearance in the reflection cast by the dark window. He had abandoned his tie and blazer in his study, and his shirt fell untucked from his trousers. His hair was also disgustingly dishevelled, brown locks sticking straight up against his forehead and ears. He quickly smoothed down his hair, tucking his shirt in and buttoning it up to the collar. Jeongguk considered running back to the study to retrieve his blazer for a moment.

“Wait, the Prince is – is blind. It shouldn’t matter how I look.”

“Yeah, but his Crownsguard isn’t blind,” Hoseok replied. “He would probably describe to the Prince in perfect detail how the King of Naissus looks like an absolute slob.”

“I’ll meet you in the drawing room, hyung. I’m going to get my jacket.”

“I’m kidding,” Hoseok said, tossing an arm around the younger man before he could double back. “Besides, it would be rude to keep our guest waiting.”

“Did the trip back to the palace go smoothly?” Jeongguk asked. They both fell into a steady stroll with Hoseok’s arm still resting on his younger cousin’s shoulders.

“It was uneventful,” Hoseok said. “I took your Porsche. The media might enjoy the personal touch.”

“I know, I watched their arrival on TV.”

“Hm,” Hoseok hummed. “Then you’ve seen how close Park Jimin and the Prince are. The pair are attached at the hip. I never saw Park Jimin stand more than a foot away from the other.”

“What’s the Prince like?”

“He’s kind. Sweet. Greeted me with a smile and began addressing me as ‘Hoseok-hyung”. Asked me to call him by name, too,” Hoseok said.

It was then that the pair arrived at the double doors leading into the Clio drawing room.

The Palace of Sol was the official residence of the Naissian royal family in the city of Aurea. The massive palace housed centuries of history, priceless heirlooms, and numerous works of art that hung in the hundreds of rooms. The Clio drawing room was one of the many staterooms within the castle but by far the smallest. It was the most sparsely decorated too after Jeongguk had nearly all the paintings moved to the one of the galleries and the entire room stripped down and modernized with soft paint colours, dark leather couches, an electric fireplace, and a massive flat-screen TV. The only painting that the young king chose to keep was the portrait of his late father.

Hoseok always teased Jeongguk for rejecting the flamboyance and extravagance of royalty, as Jeongguk often chose to take his meals in the private dining room attached to the Clio room rather than the main hall or – heaven forbid – the state dining hall with tables large enough to comfortably fit several hundred guests. He preferred the intimacy of the small room with a table just large enough to sit his closest members of the court as well as the occasional guests. But with the arrival of the Attalian Prince, there must be some semblance of tradition and etiquette. Which was why they gathered in the drawing room first.

Namjoon and Yoongi were already in the room, lounging with their phones in hand and the TV humming in the background. The two barely moved to acknowledge Jeongguk and Hoseok as the footman announced the King’s arrival.

The young King joined his brother on the couch. Yoongi grunted, wiggling towards the armrest to avoid being squished by the younger man.

“Where’s Jin-hyung?” Hoseok asked.

“Still in the infirmary,” Namjoon replied. “A guard dislocated his arm during training, Jin-hyung has to put it back.”

“Will he make it in time for dinner?”

“I don’t think so,” Namjoon replied.

“So, it’ll just be us and Prince Taehyung and his guard.”

“Hm,” Namjoon agreed. He set his phone down, crossing his legs and turning towards the young King. “What do you think of the Prince?”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk said. “We only exchanged formalities in the throne room. I can’t formulate an opinion on just that. He looks just like he does in the pictures, I guess.”

“Well, I saw him by the grand entrance earlier,” Namjoon said.

“What was he doing?”

“Counting the number of steps there were on the grand staircase,” Namjoon said. “It would make sense that he’d want to familiarize himself with the layout of the palace, especially given his circ*mstances. There were some of the staff around too, just passing by. Then I saw him trip when he missed a step, and the staff nearly jumped out of their skin rushing to his aide.”

“He is a prince, why wouldn’t they?”

“No one would jump to help the Jeongguk if he fell, and he’s the King,” Yoongi reasoned. “They’d be laughing their asses off.”

Jeongguk harrumphed, elbowing Yoongi in the side.

“The Prince had his guard with him though,” Namjoon argued. “There was no need.”

“He’s rather endearing, though,” Hoseok chuckled.

“Exactly, he’s exceptionally charming and enthusiastic,” Namjoon continued, lips pursing into a thin line. “And he knows that. There is a reason why he is adored by the public.”

“What are you suggesting, Namjoon?” Yoongi asked.

“I’m just warning you to be on your guard around Prince Taehyung,” Namjoon said. “Or he’ll have you wrapped around his little finger.”

The footman opened the doors of the drawing room then, stepping in and announcing: “His Highness, the First Prince of Attalia and Lord Park Jimin.”

The Prince entered, and as Jeongguk seen before, with fingers curled around Park Jimin’s arm. The Crownsguard looked intimidating as ever in pitch black, and the Prince had changed too, opting for a sapphire-blue dress shirt tucked into black slacks. His blond hair fell over his forehead, brushing against eyelids that seemed as though they’ll stay forever closed.

“Your Majesty,” the Prince greeted softly.

“Prince Taehyung, Park Jimin-ssi,” Jeongguk returned, he glanced around the room, seeing the other men had risen from their seats as well.

“I assume there are more joining us for dinner?” the Prince asked, probably hearing the shuffling around the room.

“Ah, yes, just my closest advisors.”

The Prince let go of Park Jimin’s arm, stepping in front of the guard as Jeongguk introduced each of the three present gentlemen, giving precise descriptions of where they all stood in front of the Prince.

The blond-haired man held his hand out, shaking hands with each man in turn.

“Ah, and lastly, the man to your left is my brother and Right Hand of the King, Min Yoongi.”

The Attalian Prince took a confident step to the left, hand once again hovering for a handshake. Park Jimin had mirrored the Prince, shaking hands with each man before hovering protectively behind the Prince when he stood before Yoongi.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” Yoongi said, grasping the Prince’s proffered hand.

“And you, Min Yoongi-ssi,” the Prince said. The Prince stepped aside, as Park Jimin took his place to shake Yoongi’s hand.

“Min Yoongi-ssi,” the guard greeted. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeongguk saw Namjoon’s eyebrow raise. It was not hard to miss the hostile way that Park Jimin spat Yoongi’s name. It wouldn’t long before theLord Chancellor figured out that Park Jimin shared a history with the Right-Hand Man.

“Shall we go through to the dining room,” Jeongguk asked, attempting to deflect the attention away from his adopted brother.

“Yes,” the Prince said, head turning towards Jeongguk’s voice, as he found Park Jimin’s arm again. “Lets.”

Dinner was a quiet affair, they all avoided talk of internal politics while in the presence of a foreigner, but the conversation flowed smoothly, especially when the Prince asked so many questions: what are summers like in Naissus? How big is Aurea? Are there any festivals?

Jeongguk remained out of the conversation, allowing Namjoon and Hoseok to answer the Prince’s endless questions. Soon, the Attalian Prince was addressing both Namjoon and Hoseok as ‘hyung.’ Yoongi occasionally pipped in a remark, but for the most part, let Hoseok animatedly tell the Prince about a game played during the Autumn’s Eve Festival.

The young King found himself fascinated by the Attalian Prince’s mannerisms.

When the servants brought the first course to the table – a creamy looking soup – Jeongguk hesitated, wondering if he should tell the Prince what was served. But before he could, Park Jimin had leaned towards the Prince, lips close to the other’s ear as he whispered. The Prince nodded, fingers sliding across the edge of the table and brushing against the handles of the silverware until he found the soup spoon. Park Jimin must have mapped out the entire table for the Prince in his whispers.

The Prince had such an effortless grace in his movements, long fingers ghosting over the silverware and brushing against the base of his glass of wine before wrapping around the stem.

“Min Yoongi-ssi,” the Prince called, pulling Jeongguk out of his observations. “You are of House Eridanus, correct?”

“Indeed,” Yoongi said.

“Then, I wonder if my ears are deceiving me,” Prince Taehyung mused, “but I swear, you have an Attalian accent when speaking the common language.”

In a matter of a single conversation, the Prince had managed to uncover a secret that Yoongi had spent years trying to hide.

Jeongguk had to hold back to urge to whip his head towards his brother. The Prince may be blind, but his guard was not, and if the king showed any sign of alarm it would be suspicious. The Right-Hand, however, showed no indication of unease. He had prepared for the case that his origins were discovered.

“You have a good ear, Your Highness,” Yoongi said, placing his silverware down and reaching for his glass of wine.

“I was born in Attalia, in the capital of Marsylle. I am not part of the aristocracy, though. My mother was an art historian with a love for travel. She found a position as a curator in a project cataloging the heirlooms at the Palace of Aurea here in Naissus and the family up and moved. My mother passed away when the epidemic arrived in Naissus twelve years ago, and my father soon followed with a heart attack. It was the Queen Mother who took me in afterwards.”

The story was not far from the truth – though it was Yoongi’s own interest in the arts that caught the Queen Mother’s eyes.

The Prince did have a delicate accent when speaking, words coloured with soft, lyrical intonations of syllables and slurring of ‘w’s into ‘v’s. Yoongi too had a similar accent, especially when the Right-Hand man was tired.

“I am sorry for your loss, Min Yoongi-ssi,” the Prince said, lowering his head. “Are you parents buried in Attalia or Naissus?”

“Naissus,” Yoongi replied. “It is where they consider home to be.”

“If I may, I’d like to visit their graves,” Taehyung asked.

It was then that Jeongguk looked up from his meal, reaching for his own drink. He caught his brother’s stunned stare at the Prince, eyes widening in surprise before softening into an almost fond smile.

“I think it should make them very happy, Your Highness.”

“Taehyung,” the Prince said. “I’d like it if you’d call me Taehyung, if I may call you Yoongi-hyung.”

“Of course, Taehyung.”

With that, Jeongguk knew exactly what Namjoon had meant.

The First Prince of Attalia was charming indeed.

* * *

After dinner, they all retired to the drawing room again where Yoongi took to pouring the men a glass of scotch before quickly downing his and disappearing, muttering something about catching up on sleep. Namjoon left his glass on a table, stating loudly that he was going to bring dinner to Seokjin. Hoseok stayed for a bit before declaring that he too needed to get some work done, abandoning the King alone in the presence of the Attalian Prince and his guardian.

The Prince sat on the sofa with his legs crossed and both hands resting on his knees, effortlessly balancing the glass of alcohol. Behind the sofa, Jimin stood, silently hovering behind his charge, the picture of calm with one hand around the rocks glass and the other in his pocket.

Jeongguk raised his glass to his lips, swallowing the burning alcohol in one gulp as he regarded the pair.

“I hope that you are not regretting inviting me to court, Your Grace,” the Prince said.

“Why would I regret such a thing?”

“You were rather quiet a dinner,” the Prince said with a coy smile.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Prince Taehyung,” Jeongguk said. “My thoughts were preoccupied.”

“If I may be so bold to ask for permission to address you by name, Your Grace?”

“Of course,” Jeongguk replied. “If I may do the same.”

“Of course,” the Prince echoed, “Jeongguk.”

The King’s name effortlessly rolled off Taehyung’s tongue, his pronunciation painted with the hues and flowers of the Attalian accent.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk said, the Prince’s name falling from his lips in a soft breath.

Taehyung’s lips quiver before a lopsided grin appears.

“Once again, I must thank you for accepting me here as your guest, Jeongguk,” Taehyung said. “It is an honour that you will consider an alliance with Attalia.”

“Consider?” Jeongguk said.

“Of course,” Taehyung continued. “I will not force a union onto you if you wish it not.”

“Won’t the King of Attalia be displeased if an alliance is not made?” Jeongguk asked.

“You think my father cruel?” Taehyung asked softly. “It was not my father who suggested an alliance with Naissus, but I.”

“Really?”

“I hope to be a good friend to you, Jeongguk,” Taehyung said. “If not more.”

The blond Prince stood, raising his glass up in a toast before bringing it to his lips.

Jeongguk, mirrored the movement, eyes following the dip of Taehyung’s Adam’s apple as he tossed the alcohol back in one gulp.

“And I you, Taehyung.”

“You were wrong about your little chess game, Namjoon-hyung,” Jeongguk said to the tactician. “It wasn’t the King of Attalia who’s moving the pieces, but Taehyung himself.”

“Is that so,” Namjoon mused. “It’s not so hard to believe, though is it? Now that you’ve met the prince?”

“No, not hard to believe at all.”

“Why did I ever agree to become your Right Hand?” Yoongi murmured.

The older man lay across the sofa in Jeongguk’s living room, mumbling curses as joints cracked when he stretched. It had been nearly two weeks since the first dinner with Taehyung. Jeongguk had spent most of the time travelling between cities in Naissus attending public events and meetings.

Jeongguk collapsed in the chair opposite, curling up with his legs thrown haphazardly over the arm of the chair.

The King’s duties usually lasted well into the evening, so much so that he had been eating dinner in his private chambers at nearly midnight for the past couple of days and tonight was no different.

“I could have been living quietly as your adopted brother in the lap of luxury, spending my days sleeping or in the Euterpe Room. Why am I here.”

Yoongi dialled a number on his phone, calling the staff to request a late dinner be brought to King’s chambers. Jeongguk pulled out his phone while waiting, skimming through his newsfeed which was filled with the latest reports of the Orivalian Empire’s progress and pictures of the Attalian Prince walking through the streets of Aurea.

He had little time to see Taehyung in the past weeks, and when he could, it was only in media reports about the Attalian Prince. Taehyung had apparently been frequenting the local bakeries and parks, stopping to chat with the common folk. The media absolutely loved him: the kind, blind Prince who’s stealing the hearts of the Crown City.

When Jeongguk learned of Taehyung’s frequent outings, he made quick work to notify Hoseok, ensuring that the Prince had a chauffeur to take him where he wanted to go and extra guards to follow him.

But with all the attention that Taehyung gartered, so did the rumours and questions about the Prince’s business in Naissus. Many officials asked Jeongguk about the Prince’s presence in the city, and Jeongguk deflected every single inquiry.

Once the young King addresses the potential alliance with Attalia, then the official courtship between the First Prince of Attalia and the King of Naissus begins. When that news travels, it would be Attalia’s first move in retaliation against the Empire with Naissus backing them.

Jeongguk wanted to assure himself that this was the decision he was willing to make.

Jeongguk exited out of the news app, tapping into his current favourite mindless phone game. He wanted to take his mind off matters at hand, but something bothered him.

A lingering question that he couldn’t answer but needed the answer to.

“Hyung, what do you think Taehyung’s gift is.”

Yoongi grunted, shifting to his stomach, pulling his torso onto the arm of the sofa. He blinked blearily, dark hair falling into his eyes.

“Why the sudden interest?”

“It’s been two weeks since Taehyung arrived at court,” Jeongguk said. “The Privy Council already suspect the truth of his visit, but those old men demand a clear answer as to why the First Prince of Attalia is at court. There is only so much Namjoon-hyung can say before they get restless.”

“I don’t know why Taehyung’s powers relate to trouble with the Privy Council,” Yoongi said. “Besides, why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

“How?” Jeongguk nearly shouted. “‘Taehyung, I need to know if you have some sort of supernatural ability or the alliance is off.’”

“Why would you call off the alliance?”

“Because – cause –”

“Because he’s actually blind without some sort of special ability?” Yoongi finished. “That’s not good enough of a reason, besides you like him. I’ve seen the way you drool at the pictures of him in the news.”

“Hyung!”

“And how fast you called Hoseok when you realized that Taehyung was going out with just Park Jimin as his guard. Man, Namjoon was right to warn you.”

Jeongguk fisted a handful of the silky pillow squished underneath his hip and whipped it at the older man.

Yoongi spluttered as the pillow made contact. “Respect your elders, brat!”

“Respect your king,” Jeongguk retorts tiredly. “But that’s not the point. What if it doesn’t work out?”

“You mean a relationship with Taehyung?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fine,” Yoongi said. “This is the modern century. No one is forcing you into an arranged marriage you do not want, Jeongguk. Especially me. Remember what the King of Attalia said: he wanted you to see his son as a friend.”

Yoongi sat up, the knocking on the door indicating that dinner had arrived. The older man thanked the woman who brought the cart and wheeled it into the room himself, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“An alliance with Attalia could prove extremely beneficial,” Yoongi continued, sitting down on the sofa again and handing Jeongguk a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. “But it’s up to you, kid. I think it’s smart to deflect the questions for now – but there is nothing wrong with actively pursuing a relationship.”

Jeongguk ate in silence, shoving meat and rice into his mouth as an excuse not to reply to Yoongi.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention: Taehyung did visit the fake graves. He left a bouquet of white peonies and carnations.”

“Did he?” Jeongguk murmured with his mouth still full. “Hyung, could you tell a messenger to inform Taehyung that I’d like have lunch with him in the gardens tomorrow?”

“Of course, Jeongguk,” Yoongi said. “I’ll even clear your entire afternoon schedule.”

Taehyung and Park Jimin were already there when Jeongguk arrived in the palace gardens.

It was a pleasant day to be outdoors; the sun was just peeking behind a couple cotton white clouds today. Aurea’s spring months were mild in temperature when not rainy.

“His Majesty the King,” the guard announced as Jeongguk approached the white canopy tent raised in the middle of the flower garden. Taehyung stood, waiting for Jeongguk to arrive and take a seat before joining him. The prince was sitting at the small, round table surrounded by two wicker chairs with ivory cushions. He was dressed in a white shirt and dark-blue slacks, looking casual but fresh. Park Jimin was similarly dressed, for once foregoing the all-black ensembles for a blue-striped dress shirt and white trousers. Jeongguk felt just a bit overdressed in a light-coloured linen suit.

Jeongguk cleared his throat, “Thank you for joining me for lunch today, Taehyung,”

“The pleasure is mine,” Taehyung said.

“You must forgive me for being absent as of late,” Jeongguk said. “There were matters that took precedence.”

“Of course, the duties of a King to his country must always come first,” Taehyung said.

“I hope your stay in Aurea has been pleasant thus far.”

“The city has its charms,” Taehyung said. “It is certainly livelier than Marsylle.”

Jeongguk watched as the palace staff placed trays of finger sandwiches, scones, and quiches, greens, and pastries onto the table. Park Jimin, who stood behind Taehyung’s chair, leaned down, murmuring into the Prince’s ear again. Jeongguk pretended not to eavesdrop, pulling the bottle of rosé out of the ice cooler and uncorking it. He poured Taehyung a glass, then for himself before he hesitated.

“Could you get another chair for Park Jimin-ssi?” Jeongguk asked the footman.

“No it’s alright, Your Majesty – ” the guard began to protest.

“I insist,” Jeongguk interrupted, he filled another glass with the blush-coloured alcohol and handed it to the guard.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the guard said, taking the glass and hesitantly sat down when the footman brought another chair.

“Say, your gardener must have a flair for flamboyance, Jeongguk,” the Prince said.

“What makes you say that?”

“He chose blooms for their appearance without taking into considering how the flowers’ scents mingle,” Taehyung said.

The Prince stood, taking a couple steady steps out from underneath the canopy. Jeongguk thought Park Jimin would have followed, believing that the guard would shadow the Prince’s every move. But the silver-haired man remained seated, fingers wrapped around the stem of his glass but his eyes fixed only on Taehyung.

“I believe there are wisterias over there,” Taehyung said, pointing in the general direction of the massive purple flowering tree. He held his head high, tilted to the side as he spoke. “Jasmines here, gardenias on the right, and… lily of the valleys behind us.”

“You’re quite accurate,” Jeongguk said. “How can you tell?”

“Their scents are rather overpowering for someone who has to rely on their other senses.”

Jeongguk didn’t venture into the flower garden often, preferring to circle the entire estate grounds on his early morning runs. Besides, his rhinitis wouldn’t make a walk through a pollen-filled path particularly enjoyable. But Jeongguk remembered how Attalia, specifically the capital city of Marsylle, was famous for its flower gardens. He hoped that the gardens of the palace might be a comfort to the Prince.

“I hope the scent is not offensive to you, Taehyung. We could always move if it is.”

“Nonsense,” Taehyung replied, turning around and flashing a pert smile. “I find it rather refreshing.”

“Tell me, did you tend to your gardens back home, Taehyung?” Jeongguk asked, plating a slice of quiche.

“Sort of,” Taehyung replied. He returned to his seat, hands wafting around him as he searched for the table, fingers softly brushing the edge and finding the arm of his chair. Park Jimin tore his eyes away from Taehyung once he was seated, reaching for scones and sandwiches.

“My mother’s summer château in Avinhon has a rose garden in my name: her gift to me on my 18^th birthday. The gardeners ask for my opinion on the best blooms when I was sighted.”

“And now?”

“Not so much anymore, roses all share a very similar scent,” Taehyung said.

“Such a shame,” Jeongguk murmured softly. He did not intend to bring up the subject of Taehyung’s sight. In all honestly, Jeongguk just wanted to get to know the Prince. But curiously bubbled within him.

“May I ask you another question?” Taehyung asked.

“Certainly.”

Taehyung picked at a sandwich, tearing it into bite-sized pieces with his long fingers. Jeongguk watched as Taehyung popped it into his mouth and chewed slowly.

“Do you find me attractive, Jeongguk?”

The young King blinked dully. He reached for his glass, taking slow but steady swigs of wine to wet his dry tongue.

“Yes. I think your very attractive, Taehyung,” Jeongguk answered finally – honestly.

Taehyung’s grinned. “Shame that I didn’t see pictures of you when I was sighted. All I’ve heard were rumours of how handsome the King of Naissus was.”

“I’ve been told that I am quite easy on the eyes.”

“Is that so?” Taehyung started to move again, standing and tracing along the edge of the table towards the King. Jeongguk rose to his feet when the Prince’s shoes knocked into his own, eyebrows raised in question.

“Will you allow me to find out for myself?” Taehyung asked, with a hand outstretched.

He meant to feel.

Jeongguk swallowed hard.

“Of course,” he said, fingers slow to take the Prince’s wrist, trying not to alarm the blind man. The King then pulled the Prince’s hand towards him, soft, warm fingers brushing against his face before Taehyung pulled away.

“Wait,” Taehyung said, “it would be rude to start with your face.”

The Prince knelt before the King, fingers tracing down the length of Jeongguk’s body.

“Wha-what are you do – ”

“You can tell a lot about a person by their body,” Taehyung said, his hands patting Jeongguk’s calves. Jeongguk snapped his head over to Park Jimin, hoping that maybe the guard had some sort of explanation – or better yet, would help him get out of this mess. But all Jeongguk was met with was a nonchalant shrug as the guard continued to eat.

“You’re a runner,” Taehyung said, hands now gliding up the King’s thighs, sliding along his hips and across his waist. The flat of Taehyung’s palm pausing against Jeongguk’s stomach before a laugh fell from the Prince’s lips. “Or perhaps you like to exercise in general.”

“It’s important to keep fit to run a country,” Jeongguk managed to cough out, desperately trying to ignore the heat consuming him. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeongguk saw a smirk on Park Jimin’s face.

The Prince’s hands continued to travel up his chest and down his arms. “You have broad shoulders, long arms. Right-handed. Though I believe you’d be proficient in wielding a weapon in both.”

“If by ‘weapon’ you mean a sports racket or a pen, you’re right.”

Taehyung’s index and middle finger rested on the curve of Jeongguk’s wrist now, pressing into his pulse. They were so close, chests nearly touching as the Prince leaned closer. Jeongguk held his breath, trying hard not to stare at the shadows underneath the Prince’s eyes cast by the length of his lashes or the soft curve of rosy lips.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Jeongguk?” Taehyung asked, his words barely above a whisper. “Or are you just attracted to me?”

“Perhaps a bit of both,” Jeongguk finally breathed.

Taehyung’s hand finally made its way to Jeongguk’s face, fingers brushing along the curves of his jaw, nose, brows, and cheeks.

“You have a strong jaw, straight nose,” Taehyung observed, “you are young.”

His index finger traced along Jeongguk’s lips, resting on the bottom corner.

“Very handsome indeed.”

Taehyung dropped his hands from the king, and Jeongguk quickly backed away, nearly falling back into the chair. Now he definitely saw Park Jimin biting his lips to hold back a full-on grin.

“Now I know the stories are true,” Taehyung said, returning to his chair and sitting down.

“What about the stories of you?” Jeongguk asked, seizing the opportunity.

“Most people, in fact, will not take the trouble to find out the truth, but are much more inclined to accept the first story they hear,” Taehyung said cryptically with a smirk as he brought the flute of rosé to his lips. “You’ll find the truth out in time.”

Jeongguk opened his mouth, attempting to get the Prince to divulge more information.

But then the flute of champagne slipped from Taehyung’s fingers, clattering onto the table and rolling into the grass with a dull thud. The sparkling liquid seeped into the ivory tablecloth and stained Taehyung’s white sleeve pale pink. Jeongguk stood, napkin in hand until he realized that the Prince still hadn’t moved.

Taehyung’s eyes were blown wide open.

In all the photographs of the Taehyung, Jeongguk remembered that the First Prince had dark-brown eyes, pools of warm brown.

But now, the prince’s irises were an icy blue, crystals of colour so wide that his pupils were barely visible.

Park Jimin was beside the Prince in an instant, kneeling in front of the blond-haired man.

“Your Highness,” Park Jimin called, grasping the Prince’s arm. “Your Highness – Taehyung, can you hear me?”

Taehyung jumped at the sound his guard’s voice, unseeing eyes flickering back and forth and fingers searching for the guard’s arm.

“Jiminie?” Taehyung called, his voice sounding scared and impossibly small.

“I’m here, Taehyung,” the guard replied reassuringly. Taehyung clutched onto the guard’s arm like a lifeline, wide eyes moving impossibly fast.

“Are – are you well, Taehyung?” Jeongguk asked carefully.

Taehyung turned at the sound of Jeongguk’s voice, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Ah, forgive me, Jeongguk,” Taehyung whispered, his body sagging in his seat, and his head lolled forward as a tremor started to overtake him. “I – I suddenly feel rather ill.”

“Should I call for a physician?” Jeongguk asked.

“Ah, no,” Taehyung said, smiling softly – but it did nothing to ease Jeongguk’s worries. “I believe I just need some rest. Forgive me for retiring early.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Jeongguk replied numbly, watching Taehyung slowly get up, leaning heavily on his guard as he did. Park Jimin had his lips planted firmly into a thin line as he helped the Prince to his feet, wrapping his arm around the other’s waist and almost carrying the Prince back to the castle.

Jeongguk watched the pair leave.

Throughout the Prince’s ordeal, Jeongguk couldn’t move. His arm remained outstretched with the napkin, mid-step towards the Prince, and mouth gaping open as he was struck by Taehyung’s eyes, recovering only when they were closed again.

Jeongguk quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialling Seokjin’s number and hoping that the physician was free.

It had been two days since the lunch. Two days since Taehyung fell ill and the young King had heard little about the Prince.

“How’s Taehyung?” Hoseok asked when he entered the breakfast room.

Jeongguk glanced up.

“Don’t know,” he replied, words garbled from a mouthful of rice."Haven't heard anything from Jin-hyung yet."

“Maybe the rumours were right,” Hoseok said. “What if it was an illness?”

“See, Yoongi-hyung?” Jeongguk said. “This was why I needed to know. Is it a supernatural ability or is it an illness?”

“He never seemed ill before,” Yoongi said. “Namjoon believes Taehyung has a gift.”

Jeongguk sighed, putting his spoon down and massaging his temples.

Namjoon still wasn’t at the table to defend his beliefs, and neither was Seokjin. Jeongguk knew that both usually arrived the earliest.

He wondered – briefly – if they had spent the night together before trying to clear the thought.

The door burst open suddenly, the footman having little time to announce the arrival of the newcomer.

It was Namjoon, hair strewn about, still dressed in his night clothes.

“Namjoon-hyung, what’s – ”

“The Emperor of Orivala is dead.”

Chapter 4: vagary

Chapter Text

v a g a r y

“What,” Jeongguk hissed.

“It’s all over the news,” Namjoon panted, raking a hand through tousled, bedhead hair and slamming the door shut behind him. He fumbled with the painting hiding the TV and once it lifted, scrambled for the remote with shaking fingers to turn it on to the news channel. The screen was bright with a red banner declaring ‘Breaking News.’

“ – announced from Rossarya earlier this morning,” the newscaster said. The footage switched to a video from an Orivalian news network of a woman dressed in pitch black grimly reading off a document.

“It is with the greatest sorrow that we make this following statement. The Citadel of Rossarya announced that His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Park Min-jun passed away peacefully in his sleep early this morning. The people of Orivala pass their profound sympathies to the Royal Family.”

Silence.

Yoongi sighed, sinking into a slouch and muttered curses under his breath. Jeongguk pulled out his cellphone, unlocking it and swiping through for his news app. As he scrolled through the homepage, everything was coloured in bright red banners and all-caps, each article declaring variating headlines titled: ‘THE EMPEROR IS DEAD’ with selective images of the old ruler throughout the years.

“We couldn’t have possibly seen this coming,” Hoseok said grimly, as Namjoon turned the TV off. “We knew of the Emperor’s poor health, but I didn’t think it would deteriorate so quickly.”

Namjoon slid into a chair, waving away the staff who tried to serve him breakfast. He crossed his arms, lips pressed into a grim line and eyes focused on a single spot on the table: his thinking pose. “I thought we had at least a year if not more to – ”

But he was never able to finish his sentence as one of the servants entered the room with a cellphone in hand. He bowed to men inside before addressing the King.

“Your Majesty,” the man began, “the Marquis of Spes is on the phone for you, sir, and the Countess of Somnus is on the other line.”

“My father?” Hoseok asked, standing. “What is it that he wants?”

“And Park So-jin?” Yoongi said.

“It has to be about the passing of the Emperor,” Namjoon concluded. “They must want to have your ear first, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk scowled. “Of course, they do.”

Really, Jeongguk should have known. The members of his Privy Council have surely heard the news by now. They have doubted his reign, some believing him too young to take the throne after forcing his mother to relinquish her position as the Reagent. The death of a ruler of an empire was a colossal problem, and Jeongguk had yet to deal with an issue of this magnitude since his ascension.

Seokjin slid in through the door then, the calm smile on his face falling as soon as the tense atmosphere in the room hit him. “What is it – what happened?”

Yoongi summarized everything in a single sentence. “The Emperor of Orivala died, and members of the damn Privy Council are calling.”

“What. When did this happen?” Seokjin asked. Namjoon pulled out his phone, handing it to the older man. Seokjin scrolled through, reading what Jeongguk assumed to be an article regarding the event.

“Sir,” the servant called again. “Do you want to take the calls?”

“I don’t think you should,” Namjoon cautioned. “Not yet. It’s best to hear what they all want to say at once – to ensure equality amongst the members – it is bad enough that you have me in your King's Circle. They will call you out for being too partial to some members.”

Jeongguk nodded, turning to the staff member, “Tell them both that I cannot speak to them now, but I have heard the news, and I will be arranging a Privy Council meeting shortly.”

The man nodded, scrambling out of the room and pressing the phone to his ear. Jeongguk pulled out his own phone, sending a text to the Ambassador to Orivala that he’d need to speak with her as soon as possible.

“This is one of the many tests of your young reign, Jeongguk,” Namjoon said.

“And I will rise to it.”

“Are you calling Jieun?” Yoongi asked when they both arrived in the study after breakfast. Jeongguk nodded, booting him his computer and sliding into the leather office chair.

The study was the main room where Jeongguk did most of his work. It was where documents were written, decrees were considered, and naps were taken. There was a sofa set surrounding a fireplace with a flat screen TV fixed above and a large, mahogany desk behind it that served as Jeongguk’s workspace. Mounted on the wall above the desk was a portrait of the young King posing in the regalia of his coronation.

Jeongguk always does his best never to glance up; the portrait reminded him too much of his father. The artist’s rendering of his face appeared too foreign to the young man, too severe and world-weary for the then 18-year-old.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to call us yet,” Jeongguk said, spinning around in the office chair as he waited for his computer to load.

“Jieun knows how hard it is for you to get up in the morning,” Yoongi said, half-sitting on the table top, tucking his hanging leg underneath the opening of the desk and balancing most of his weight on the other leg.

“You’re the one to talk,” Jeongguk retorted, pulling up the video chat window and clicking on the Ambassador to Orivala’s name.

The call went through on the second ring, and the image of a young woman appeared. Lee Jieun, the duch*ess of Hespera, was Jeongguk’s older cousin on his father’s side. Jeongguk had spent his childhood looking up to the older woman, considering her to be his older sister. When Jeongguk became King, he appointed the bright and driven 25-year-old as Ambassador of Naissus to Orivala. He fully trusted her to represent the Crown with their foreign relations.

“Jieun-noona,” Jeongguk greeted. She nodded.

“Jeongguk,” she returned, “Yoongi-oppa.”

Yoongi grunted, crossing his arms and slouching to get his entire face into the screen.

“So, I take it you’ve heard the news,” Jieun said.

“Yes,” Jeongguk said, laying his chin in the flat of his palm, “has House Cerebyrn made a statement?”

“Not yet, I believe His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince Park Hae-jin plans on making an official declaration tomorrow.”

“What’s the situation like in Rossarya?” Yoongi asked.

“Everyone is in grief,” Jieun said, “practically everything has shut down. The flags are all at half-mast. The people in Rossarya loved the Emperor; people are gathering at the Citadel to pay respects.” She laced her fingers together as she spoke, resting her head on top of her knuckles. “However, I’ve heard sparks of resistance,” Jieun said lowly. “Galatea still has many rebels against its new regime. It’s a dangerous place to be in – even before the death of the Emperor, this will only add fuel to the fire.”

“Are you safe?” Yoongi asked.

“I’m in the safest place possible within Orivala,” Jieun said, “security has only increased since the rumours of rebellion and with the news of the passing of the Monarch.”

“When will you return to Court?” Jeongguk asked.

“I was due back next week,” Jieun said, eyes moving off the camera to check on a calendar. “But I can extend my stay until after funeral at least.”

Jeongguk nodded, “Keep us updated – I’ll be sending you a letter of condolences on my behalf before tomorrow morning.”

“Certainly, Jeongguk,” she said, bidding them both goodbye before cutting the connection.

Jeongguk sighed, stretching his arms above his head. “You’ll need to draft a statement on this – for both the Royal Family of Orivala and for the Naissian public.”

“Hm,” Yoongi murmured in agreement, getting off the table and sitting himself down at the sofa in front of the TV with his laptop balanced on his thighs, fingers typing away some semblance of a letter. The Right-Hand Man would go through it with Jeongguk at least four to five times before they both came up with something that Namjoon would find satisfactory for the King to sign off on.

Jeongguk joined Yoongi on the sofa with a pile of documents in one hand and his own laptop in the other. Despite the precedence that death of the Emperor took, Jeongguk cannot neglect his other duties, which included going through the mountain of papers that his secretaries leave at his desk every morning. So, he started with the first of his documents – an invitation to open a new university campus in Argentum – the second largest city in Naissus. He’ll probably have enough time to attend – perhaps visit his mother at Luna Castle.

A knock on the door drew both their attention away.

“The Lord Chancellor, Your Majesty.”

Namjoon entered. “The Privy Council meeting is set for tomorrow afternoon,” he announced. “It was the earliest that all the members could be present or send in a representative.”

“Good,” Jeongguk said.

Namjoon sat down in the leather single-seater across from them, taping away at the tablet in his hands. He found the time to clean up from when he promptly left the breakfast conservatory, declaring that he needed to begin arrangements for the council meeting. He was now dressed in a sky-blue dress shirt and light-coloured trousers, his hair smoothed back.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet, Namjoon-hyung?”

“Uh, no,” he said absentmindedly, “not hungry, though.”

Jeongguk shook his head, and Yoongi immediately pulled out his phone to request the staff to bring some food to the study.

“Jin-hyung might be better at this me,” Yoongi said, tapping the delete button on his keyboard fervently. “How do you write a statement of condolences about an Emperor that spent most of his life conquering countries with an iron fist?”

“He was loved by Orivalians,” Jeongguk said, trying to be helpful.

“The Emperor was revered – worshipped – held in the highest regard as a – as a god,” Namjoon continued, leaning against the armrest and placing his head into his palm. “As all Monarchs are, after all, ordained by the heavens. They all fail to see that Emperors and Kings are merely human.”

“Oh, don’t pull that bullsh*t on me now, Namjoon,” Yoongi snapped. “I asked for help on this, not a lecture on philosophical nature of the Monarchy.”

Jeongguk snorted, “Where were you this morning, Namjoon-hyung. You and Jin-hyung are never late for breakfast.”

“We had – had a late night,” Namjoon said cautiously, putting down his tablet – finally.

“Meaning they f-”

“Had uh – had some things to get done,” Namjoon said, speaking loudly and deliberately over Yoongi’s muttering. “But in the morning, Jin-hyung went to check on Taehyung, as you asked.”

“Right…” Jeongguk sighed, all too eager to move on in subject. He had forgotten that it was only this morning that he began a conversation with Yoongi and Hoseok regarding the Prince and his health. “What did Jin-hyung say?”

“Jin-hyung reports that Taehyung’s fine, he was showing signs of fatigue – may be the first signs of a cold – he just needs some rest.”

“His eyes – ”

“Jin-hyung never saw Taehyung’s eyes – and he didn’t have a reason as to why he would need to check either,” Namjoon said.

After the Prince had left the garden two days ago, Jeongguk ran to see Namjoon, spluttering and tripping over his words like a child as he told the older man about ice blue eyes.

“It’s just a cold,” Yoongi repeated. “Nothing to fuss over.”

“But Jin-hyung did say that he liked Taehyung – liked his genuineness and friendliness.”

“That’s a good sign at least,” Yoongi said.

Jeongguk nodded to himself, gnawing on the inside of his lip and returning to his documents.

“Just a cold,” he muttered to himself.

The twenty-four hours leading up to the Privy Council meeting were busy ones. Jeongguk stayed up late into the night – drafting the address to the people regarding the Emperor’s death as well as sending a revised version to Jieun to deliver to the Royal Family of Orivala. He also needed to attend a meeting regarding the budget of the Royal Household, finalize plans for the gala in the next week, and finish reading through the pile of documents before another stack landed on his desk the next day.

So, Jeongguk spent his free hour in the afternoon before the meeting dozing on the sofa in his study. Sleep came easy for the young King, not even the soft rays of the mid-day sun could disturb him. His thoughts, however, would not let him rest comfortably as the present blended into the past and coloured his dreams.

The death of the Emperor could not have been easy for the Crown Prince – even when it came as peacefully with age as it did. Through the eyes of his younger-self, Jeongguk too stood before the corpse of his father – deathly pale with open sores covering his skin – the stench of sweat and death and antiseptic reminding him that no dream could be this vivid and this could only be a memory.

He remembered being pushed away by his mother and advisors. Remembered them yelling in his ear that he could still catch the disease. Remembered how his mother fell into deep depression – finding solace only in the fact that Jeongguk was almost the spitting image of his father and finding Yoongi who shared the late King’s love for music and history. Images flashed before his eyes, faces of those passed and those still alive. The old Emperor, his father, his mother, his brother, the Crown Prince soon-to-be Emperor, and the First Prince of Attalia.

And eyes so blue – so cold grey – that Jeongguk shivered in his sleep. It wasn’t as though he did not want to pursue a relationship with the Prince. The position that Jeongguk held did not give him many opportunities to experiment with his feelings. But he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t smitten by the Prince – as almost everyone in his court was. But the looming idea that the Prince could be ill, much more than just a common cold, scared – no terrified – Jeongguk. He did not want to end up like his mother, jaded and broken by his father’s death.

Jeongguk pulled himself out of sleep, blinking tiredly and disoriented. There was a fleece throw draped over him that he remembered not having before falling asleep and soft murmurs of voices just above his head. It was then that Jeongguk realized that he wasn’t alone and that his head wasn’t pillowed against warm cushions but instead the lap of someone who smelled like figs. He glanced up, to see a halo of light-coloured hair and broad shoulders.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Seokjin said as Jeongguk pulled himself upright. The oldest of his advisors’ voice sounded off, grave and stern.

“What’s going on,” Jeongguk mumbled, words slurring together as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Did something happen, why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the sleep,” Yoongi replied from his seat at Jeongguk’s desk.

“But now that you are awake,” Namjoon said. “Something did come up.”

Jeongguk clumsily swung his legs off the sofa, slipping his dress shoes on but keeping the blanket wrapped around him. There were trays of food and a pot of tea and coffee on the table – it seemed that his advisors decided to take afternoon tea in his study while waiting for him to wake up.

“The Crown Prince made his address,” Hoseok said. Namjoon turned the volume up on the TV, pressing play on the recording.

The Crown Prince of Orivala, Park Hae-jin was a stern looking man. Handsome, tall, and imposing with his dark hair slicked back and dressed in a black suit and overcoat. Jeongguk had never met the man before; he was too young when the late Emperor celebrated his Golden Jubilee – it was the only time he’d ever be able to meet the Crown Prince. But Jeongguk had heard stories: the charming and ambitious Emperor-to-be was ruthless in battle and snake in politics.

Park Hae-jin rose to the podium in front of an imposing, Gothic palace known as the Citadel of Rossarya.

“People of the Orivalian Empire,” Park Hae-jin began in the common tongue. His accent held the clean and crisp sounds of the Orivalian language. “It is with a sad heart that I announce the passing of my father. My family and I thank you for your well wishes in our time of grief. My father was a strong and powerful ruler who has united many of the lands of Iaryen under the banner of House Cerebyrn in the name of the Orivalian Empire. Today, Orivala must look to the future, to broaden our horizons beyond the traditions of the past.

“Which is why I stand before you today to announce that my coronation and official ascension will take place in three months’ time. I know that it is rather unorthodox to push for a coronation in a time of my father’s morning. However, I feel that such will truly bring our nation into a bright new age. Thus, I stand here to invite all to celebrate the rising of a new dawn upon Orivala. I strive to earn your respect and love as my father has done, to be worthy of your devotion as your new Sovereign. Thank you.”

“What – ” Jeongguk muttered, still trying to clear the sluggishness from his thoughts. “Why the hell would he push for a coronation so soon? He should have already ascended – the coronation would simple be a – a formality.”

“Not in Orivalian protocol,” Seokjin said as he poured himself another cup of coffee and handed a fresh mug to Jeongguk.

“With the death of a monarch in Orivala,” Namjoon began to explain, “the seat of the Crown remains vacant until the period of mourning ends. This means everything comes to a grinding halt: wars, battles, celebrations, negotiations, everything. Afterwards, the ascension of the new Sovereign is marked with the coronation, and life moves on again.”

“And how long exactly is the period of mourning?” Jeongguk asked.

“Around six months,” Yoongi replied. “A full five orbits of the moon.”

“But Park Hae-jin called for a coronation in three months,” Jeongguk said. “Why?”

“That’s what we were discussing before you woke up,” Namjoon said. “The Crown Prince will face ridiculous amounts of criticism for such actions – like we said – Emperor Park Min-jun was loved by the people. What does he gain from this?”

“Nothing but scorn,” Hoseok supplied. “They’ll call him a ruler too hungry for power and an unfilial son.”

“But there has to be a reason,” Namjoon argued. “The Crown Prince is known as a cunning man; he wouldn’t have forced this without a plan – a motive.”

Namjoon stood from his seat, beginning to pace in wide circles in front of the fireplace. Seokjin discretely moved the coffee table closer to the sofas, knowing that Namjoon would end up stubbing his toe or worse: break the table and everything on it.

Jeongguk slowly sipped on his coffee, the burning liquid helping to chase away the remnants of sleep and dreams. Behind him, Yoongi spun in lazy circles in the office chair with his head lolling back and turned up to the intricate painting on the ceiling. Hoseok sat on the desk beside Yoongi, popping sliced fruit into his mouth.

“To quell the rebellion,” Yoongi suddenly said, jolting upright. “It wasn’t just f*cking rumours; it has to be true.”

“What rebellion?” Namjoon asked.

Jeongguk put his coffee down on the table, jumping to his feet with wide eyes. He was the only one who understood Yoongi’s outburst. “We spoke to Jieun-noona yesterday morning, she said that there were rumours of an uprising in Galatea.”

“What – why didn’t you tell us?” Seokjin asked.

“Because they were rumours,” Jeongguk hissed. “It didn’t seem important at the time!”

A footman appeared at the entrance of the study, bowing before the five of them. “Your Majesty, Lord Chancellor, My Lords, the Privy Council is ready for you, sirs.”

“The Crown Prince’s address is going to be the first thing on their minds, Jeongguk,” Namjoon warned. “The death of a Sovereign is never as interesting as the rise of another.”

“Of course,” Jeongguk sighed. He stood, snagging a biscuit off the tray and shoving it into his mouth and washing it down with the rest of the coffee. “Let’s get this over with.”

It was chaos in the meeting of the Privy Council. The Council was held in one of the oldest rooms in the Palace of Sol, unchanged since construction and a constant reminder of the years of tradition. In the centre of the room, on a raised dais sat the young King on a silver throne draped in blue velvet. On either side of the throne were three rows of seats where the members of his Privy Council sat.

Behind Jeongguk, Yoongi stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his lips pressed into a thin line: annoyed. The nobles were yelling over each other, trying to get their word in. Namjoon attempted to control the conversation but soon gave up after being unable to hear his own voice.

“This is outrageous!”

“It really should not concern us what Orivala does – it’s their problem, and they’ll deal with it.”

“And it will eventually become our problem when the new idiot emperor has a coup on his hands!”

“We are across an entire ocean – Attalia will be the one who has to deal with it.”

“Attalia is neutral and has remained neutral for a reason!”

“I demand silence!” Jeongguk suddenly said, gripping the arms of his chair in both hands.

The room fell quiet at the rage of the King. Jeongguk relaxed for a moment, sighing and leaning back into his chair. He took a deep breath. He hated raising his voice – it made him appear childish, which was not what he wanted here in front of his council members.

“Please, My Lords and Ladies,” he said, coolly. “We are here to discuss the future of Naissus in these events. I come here to ask for your advice not to listen to you argue amongst each other.”

A woman stood then, her shiny black heels clicking. Park So-jin of House Cygnus, Countess of Somnus. She was part of an old house of nobility; her family showed great loyalty to House Cepheus throughout the years.

“Your Majesty, Lord Chancellor, My Lords and Ladies,” she began her address, “we sit at a perilous point in history. The Empire has spent the past half-century expanding through the lands of Iaryen. How long before they look across the Offing Sea?”

“It is too soon to think about this, Lady Park So-jin,” said the Viscount of Honos, Shin Sung-rok. This was only the seventh Privy Council meeting Jeongguk called since his ascension. It was difficult to remember all the names and faces of the nobility let along more. Jeongguk knew little about the Viscount, other than the fact that he came from a house of new nobility. If Jeongguk had it his way, he’d keep his Council limited to those he held in absolute confidence. But he needed to keep the gentry happy – both old and new.

“Your Majesty, the Emperor just died and for the sake of the gods,” Shin Sung-rok said with a co*cky grin “The new Sovereign is likely to destroy the Empire himself with how he is approaching things.”

The Council members chuckled.

“Indeed, the people are unhappy with the rule of the Orivalian Empire,” an older voice called: The Marquis of Spes, He was Hoseok’s father and Jeongguk’s uncle. The Marquis was the Queen Mother’s older brother, a man that watched Jeongguk grow up. “Our sources believe that dissent is strong in the countries that were annexed by the Empire, Your Majesty.”

“It has been less than a month since the fall of Galatea,” Park So-jin said. “An internal rebellion could erupt at any time.”

“Which could be why His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince chose to push for his immediate ascension,” Namjoon said, standing to speak, “to quell possibilities of rebellion and to ensure Orivala’s strength.”

“And in doing so, become a threat to us,” the Marquis of Spes finished.

“Orivala sits precariously under the leadership of the new Emperor,” Namjoon said, “moving forward but also moving backwards in the most barbaric way by not honouring its long history of traditions. I fear that death of the late Emperor and the rise of the new Sovereign so soon could cause mass opposition against His Imperial Highness.”

“Your Majesty,” Park So-jin called, “I believe it might be wise to send a delegation to the funeral of the late Emperor as well as representative to the coronation.”

“And why is that?”

“It is important that we show our respects to the late Emperor as well as show of support for the new.”

Seokjin stood, offering his calm voice into the discussion, “Naissus has always remained out of the matters of the main continent – why must we involve ourselves now?”

“Because times are changing, Your Grace,” Park So-jin said, turning to address Seokjin’s question. “If Orivala has moved on from their traditions so must we. We cannot remain stagnant.”

“Lady So-jin,” Shin Sung-rok said, “though I certainly do not oppose the idea of graciousness and friendliness to our foreign neighbours, an act of this nature is a show of Naissus – a show of our King – bowing to the might that is the Orivalian Empire!”

The statement caused another uproar, the nobles standing, nodding in agreement, and shouting at Park So-jin. Jeongguk once again had to yell for silence, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in attempts to ease aa growing headache.

“Your Majesty,” Park So-jin said, “sending a representative is not a show of submission, but rather a show of peace and strength, to remind Orivala that the great Naissus lies beyond the Offing Sea and we are by no means weak.”

Jeongguk laced his hands together, thinking.

“And if I heed your advice and do send a delegation, who would you all suggest?”

“I place my vote in the Duke of Concordia, Lord Kim Seokjin, his high status and strong character will do well in representing His Majesty,” the Countess said.

Jeongguk nodded to himself. Seokjin has always been good with diplomacy.

“Your Majesty,” Shin Sung-rok called, “if I may, I would like to offer myself as a candidate for this as well,”

“Lord Shin Sung-rok, you have done nothing but argue against my suggestions,” the Countess snapped. “And you’re a Viscount. A title lower than mine and you think that you’d be up for consideration as a representative for our King? Even Lord Min Yoongi, the King’s Brother wouldn’t consider such a thing – you’re lucky to be a member of the Privy Council.”

“Lady So-jin,” Seokjin called, quietly, “There is no need for reproach.”

“Lord Shin Sung-rok,” Namjoon said, “Though I am certain your standing and skill are up to standard, I do agree that Lord Seokjin would a more suitable candidate.”

The rest of the council nodded in agreement.

“Then it is settled,” Jeongguk said. “Lee Jieun, the duch*ess of Hespera will be the representative at the funeral of Emperor Min-jun and Kim Seokjin of House Ophiuchus, Duke of Concordia, you will represent the Crown in Orivala at the coronation of Emperor Park Hae-jin.”

“It is my honour, Your Majesty,” Seokjin said, bowing with a hand over his heart.

“That is all my Lords and Ladies,” Jeongguk said, standing and quickly taking his leave.

“Your Majesty,” came the chorus of acknowledgments behind him.

Several hours after the council meeting, and with the majority of today’s papers filed through and Jieun briefed on her duties regarding the funeral, Jeongguk had a couple of hours of downtime before meeting Hoseok in the gym. So, he made his way to the media room, hoping to get a bit of mindless gaming in.

Jeongguk and Yoongi spent a chunk of their youth in the media room. There was a baby grand piano in the back, where Yoongi often played when Jeongguk settled with video games, enjoying each other’s wordless company. The brothers venture less often to the room now, but the shelves were always lined with the newest consoles and gaming titles: for when the young King needed to remind himself that he is a man just out of his teens.

The door to the media room was open when Jeongguk happened on it, just a crack, but he could hear some sort of jazz music playing beyond the doors. He cautiously peeked into the room, the soft music growing louder when he poked his head in. The projector screen was on in the darkened room, a console controller sitting on the table between the L-shaped sofa. It took a moment for Jeongguk’s eyes to adjust to the dim light of the room when he stepped inside, but when he could see again, he noticed a figure stretched out across the length of the far corner of the couch.

Taehyung.

He lay on his back, chest rising and falling gently, and arms wrapped around a tablet resting on his stomach.

He was asleep.

Jeongguk took a step back into the hall, glancing back and forth, wondering where Park Jimin could have gone.

There were sure signs of the guard being in the room: a dark leather jacket draped over the side of the couch, and a zombie first-person shooter game paused mid-campaign on the screen. Jeongguk crept towards the couch, feeling as though he was intruding in the Prince’s private chambers despite this being an open room for anyone in the palace. But Jeongguk came here for a reason, and he will play video games – so heaven above, he will play. Besides, if Taehyung woke up, it’s not like Jeongguk intruded on his personal space, the Prince fell asleep in a public room of the palace.

When he sat down, Jeongguk noticed that there was a space that was still warm: Park Jimin must have just stepped out of the room. Jeongguk picked up the controller, unpausing the game and realizing that the guard was playing the game on mute, while Taehyung slept with the soft jazz music in the background.

Jeongguk continued the game. Park Jimin got pretty far on the campaign. Jeongguk got through another checkpoint before he started hearing Taehyung mumble something under his breath. Jeongguk paused the game, wondering if Taehyung had woken up. But the prince didn’t move, his words becoming more coherent. Then Jeongguk realized that the Prince was sleep-talking.

“Jiminie, not the red shirt. It doesn’t suit me,” Taehyung said. Jeongguk scoffed, coughing snickers into his hand at the sudden ridiculous statement.

The prince wore a white shirt today, with sky-blue cuffs and a collar embroidered with brilliant tropical flowers. It does look good on him. Jeongguk concluded that the guard chooses Taehyung’s outfits for him with the Prince deciding the choice of colours.

The young King wondered how intimately the two knew each other, and if they were just as close when Taehyung was sighted. The silver-haired man weaved himself so seamlessly around the Prince as if he were a shadow.

“Just run,” Taehyung continued to mumble. “I don’t know, just do it.” He shifted to his side, arm falling off the side of the couch, his tablet teetering on the edge. The man himself getting dangerously close to falling off.

Jeongguk stood, hesitating as he debated between pushing the sleeping Prince closer to the inside of the sofa, waking him up, or just letting him wake on his own when he fell face first into the plush rug.

Jeongguk decided on the first option.

Jeongguk cautiously tiptoed towards the prince, easing the tablet out of the sleeping man’s loose grasp and placing it on the table. There were goosebumps rising on the man’s exposed skin, dark circles beneath thin but long eyelashes, and a pallor that Jeongguk did not associate Taehyung with.

The Prince was recovering from some sort of cold, after all. But in spite of that, Taehyung’s beauty was undeniable. In sleep, Taehyung was innocence personified. His blond hair was strewn wildly over the floral brocade of the throw cushion pillowing his head, and his lips parted with his breaths.

There wasn’t a quilt like there was in Jeongguk’s study, so the young King shrugged out his blazer, draping it over the sleeping Prince. Jeongguk rolled the older man onto his back, maneuvering him closer to the inside of the couch and tucking his dangling arm by his side. A flash of gold fell from the Prince’s grasp and landed on the rug.

Jeongguk bent to pick it up, fishing a rose gold pendant off the floor. It was a delicate piece of jewellery: a thin chain attached to a circle of vines and leaves that had small diamonds embedded in it. Jeongguk admired the elegant pendant before placing the necklace on top of the tablet on the table, standing up again.

“She cannot go to the coronation,” Taehyung said. “Jennie, I can’t see. I can’t see you.”

Jeongguk froze, wondering if Taehyung finally woke up. But he merely shifted, unconsciously pulling Jeongguk’s blazer closer to him. The young King exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Jennie, Taehyung had said. That was the name of the Crown Princess of Attalia, wasn’t it? Perhaps, as Jeongguk decided to send Seokjin, the King of Attalia has decided to send his daughter. Attalia was a welcomed friend amongst most of the nations of the world. But why wouldn’t the King send his eldest son? Jeongguk shook his head; perhaps he was overthinking, these were the ramblings of a sleep-talking man, after all.

Jeongguk turned around to see Park Jimin standing at the door carrying a tray.

“Your Majesty,” the guard greeted.

“Park Jimin-ssi,” Jeongguk started, feeling strangely guilty for being caught. He could feel the guard’s eyes assessing the situation: the young king hovering by the Prince’s side. His jacket draped over Taehyung.

“Jimin,” the guard finally said. “Jimin would be fine, Your Majesty.”

Jeongguk returned to his seat on the couch, watching as Jimin placed the tray down on the table. There were a couple of bottles of water, juice, milk and a plate of tarts, sandwiches, and fruit on the platter.

“Would you want something to drink, Jeongguk?” Jimin asked. Jeongguk nodded, taking the only bottle of apple juice on the tray and cracking it open. Jimin’s brow furrowed as he watched Jeongguk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want the apple juice?”

“No, no,” Jimin said, shaking his head.

“Would Taehyung want it?”

“No, no. He doesn’t like apple juice” Jimin replied. “I don’t even know why I grabbed a bottle,” he muttered to himself.

“I decided to continue your game,” Jeongguk said, pointing at the screen with the bottle cap. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all,” Jimin replied, cracking open bottle of green tea. “How about we start over and do a two-player campaign?”

“Sure,” Jeongguk replied almost too enthusiastically. He jumped at a chance to play with someone. Rarely do Hoseok and Yoongi indulge him by playing, and Namjoon and Seokjin were always too busy with their own duties. Jimin went to grab the second controller from the shelf, and Jeongguk took the time to exit out of the current game, going back to the main menu to add two players and restart the mission.

Jimin sat down beside Jeongguk, crossing his legs and resting the controller on his knees.

“Did he say anything?” Jimin suddenly asked as they sat waiting for the screen to load. Of course, the guard knew of Taehyung’s sleep-talking habits.

“Uh, sort of, nothing really made sense,’ Jeongguk said. “Said something about not liking red… does he have a habit of talking in his sleep?”

Jimin scoffed, nodding. “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to hear Taehyung having a conversation with himself. He just asked for something to drink, but I can’t tell if he was awake at the time or asleep. But he might be hungry when he gets up, so I got something anyway.”

“You could have called the staff to get it for you,” Jeongguk said, placing his apple juice on the table and eyes on the TV screen as the campaign started.

“I don’t mind,” Jimin said, settling back against the couch.

“He…” Jeongguk began, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “he also said something about the coronation. About not letting ‘her’ go.”

Jimin said quiet, eyes glued on the screen as he took down several zombies with stunning speed, accuracy, and calm. But Jeongguk could see how the older man was gripping his controller until his knuckles turned white.

“It is not my place to talk about this,” Jimin finally said. “Perhaps, when Taehyung wakes, you could ask him yourself.”

Jeongguk nodded, knowing when to drop the subject. They fell into comfortable silence, playing the game to the soundtrack of a muted jazz band and Taehyung’s breathy snores.

It was about a round and a half later when Jeongguk received a text from Hoseok, saying that if he wanted to meet at the gym now, they could.

“Sorry,” Jeongguk said, “I have to go now, I have a workout session planned with Hoseok-hyung.”

Jimin nodded, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe I’ll join you next time.”

It was the first time that Jeongguk took in the older man’s physique. Jimin, despite his shorter stature, seemed to loom behind Taehyung. The guard made his presence known with his striking hair, dark clothes, and bulging mass of muscles.

“Sure, if you’re up to getting your ass handed to you.”

The guard laughed, “We shall see.”

The work out session with Hoseok left Jeongguk physically exhausted but his mind feeling refreshed and clear. He had just gotten out of the shower in his rooms, the surround speakers belting out some hip-hop playlist on his phone. The young King was in the middle of towel drying his hair when there was a knock on the door.

It was late in the evening – almost ten. If it were any of the men within the King's Circle, they would have barged through the doors by now. The guard at his door knew better than to block them from coming in.

“Who is it?” Jeongguk called.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Taehyung, Your Majesty,” the guard replied.

Jeongguk frowned, “Come in.”

The guard opened the door, and in the dimmed hallway outside, Jeongguk saw the Prince, a white cane in his right hand and Jeongguk’s blazer draped over his left arm. Jimin wasn’t with him.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk greeted, watching the man swing the cane in a wide arc around him as he walked, finding his way through the door and into the room.

“Forgive me for disturbing you so late, Jeongguk,” Taehyung said., turning towards the sound Jeongguk’s voice. “I wanted to return your blazer.”

“There was no need,” Jeongguk said.

“And I wanted to see you,” Taehyung continued, “to thank you.”

Jeongguk felt a redness rising to his face and was strangely thankful that the Prince couldn’t see it. Taehyung held out the jacket as an offering. The young King quickly moved to take it, bare feet padding on cold, marble floors – he should have put on a pair of slippers. Taehyung still wore the dress-shirt and pants, and though the shirt had small wrinkles from his nap and wear, he still looked elegant and classy – unlike Jeongguk in his t-shirt and sweats.

He hung the blazer over his arm, awkwardly glancing at the man still standing there. “Uh, would you want to sit?”

“Actually, I was about to take a walk around the gardens,” Taehyung said, “but I’ll have to wait till Jimin returned from taking care of some business.”

“I could come with you,” Jeongguk offered, trying to sound nonchalant.

The Prince smiled, a dazzling grin that was almost too much teeth. “I’d like that.”

“Uh, let me just grab a jacket,” Jeongguk said, leaving Taehyung by the entrance to his rooms and running back to his bedroom, grabbing a black hoodie draped over a chaise chair and haphazardly tossing the blazer in its place. He paused for a moment, before going to his closet to grab a thick, blue cardigan. He pulled a pair of grey trainers from the bottom rack too, slipping them off and shrugging the hoodie over his head as he headed to the living room.

When he returned to the living room, he found the prince at the couches, sitting at one corner with his legs crossed and the cane resting at his side. There was a thin smartphone in his hand and close to his mouth as he murmured.

“Send message to Jiminie,” he said clearly. “I’m going out for a walk with Jeongguk. Don’t wait up for me. Send.” He paused, waiting for the audio cues of the message sending before putting his phone back into his pocket and folding his hands in his lap.

Jeongguk cleared his throat, moving to the couches. Taehyung tilted his head to the sound of Jeongguk’s approach as he got to his feet.

“I brought you a cardigan,” Jeongguk said. “It might be cold outside.”

Taehyung smiled, “That’s very thoughtful of you, will you help me put it on?”

“Oh – yes, of course.”

Taehyung turned around as Jeongguk slid the sleeves over his arms.

“Shall we go?” Taehyung asked, pulling the cardigan closer and smoothing the collar of his shirt down against the wool of the sweater. The vibrant colours of the embroidered flowers on his collar stood out against the dark wool. The sweater looked better on Taehyung that it would ever look on Jeongguk.

“Um – sure,” Jeongguk said, words halting awkwardly. He hadn’t had to help the blind Prince alone before – Jimin had always been present. “W-would you want me to lead you? Or do you prefer to use your cane?”

“I’d prefer you to lead,” Taehyung replied easily. He folded the cane away, tucking it into a holster at his belt. “Not that I couldn’t do it myself – but I prefer the familiarity of touch. Take my hand and place it on your arm, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk blinked, startled by how easily Taehyung responded to these questions. No hesitations. No embarrassment. Just a tone of command.

Taehyung held out his right hand, palm up. Jeongguk cautiously took the prince’s hand, placing it on his own left arm as he seen Jimin done. Taehyung smiled, fingers brushing against Jeongguk’s arm until it rested in the crook his elbow just under the bulge of his bicep.

Jeongguk wondered if Taehyung could feel his pulse – because Jeongguk could feel his heart beating loudly in his ears.

“Now you walk,” Taehyung said. “Just tell me if there are stairs, or a ramp, or changes on the ground.”

“Alright,” Jeongguk said. He was cautious to start, steps slow and halting. Eyes focused on the Prince’s feet. But then he realized how sure Taehyung was of his own steps, how much trust he placed in Jeongguk to lead. The Prince walked with his back straight, head tall, and his free hand resting in his trouser pockets. So, Jeongguk sped up his steps, slowing only when they reached the stairs leading down to the gardens.

“There are stairs here,” Jeongguk said, slowing his steps down. Taehyung’s grip on his arm tightened and Jeongguk curled his own arm closer to himself in the case of Taehyung tripping at least he could catch the older man. But the prince did no such thing. “Step. Step. Step. Platform here. Down the second set. Step. Step. Step. Step. And we’re at the bottom. So, where did you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” Taehyung replied. “I like fresh air.”

So Jeongguk steered them towards a path lined with evergreen trees that bordered a large, rectangular pond in the centre of the gardens. The path would take half-an-hour at their pace and if they wanted to return, cutting through would be easy. Jeongguk never stood in such close proximity to the Prince – but now that he did, he realized that the Taehyung carried the scent of lavender and roses on his person, a soft, floral scent that seemed to always accompany him.

“Have you heard of the death of the Emperor?”

“Or to further his ambition,” Taehyung murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“How many free nations are left on Iaryen?”

Jeongguk paused, biting his lips. “Uh. Two. Aquileia and Lugdunum.”

“When did Galatea fall?”

“A – about a month ago,” Jeongguk answered.

“After a two-week campaign, as I recall,” Taehyung said.

“Yes, but with the death of his father, Park Hae-jin wouldn’t think of marching on Aquileia or Lugdunum.”

Taehyung didn’t answer right away, but Jeongguk thought he heard the Prince mutter: ‘He could.’ Taehyung cleared his throat then, tightening his grip on Jeongguk’s arm, and leaning in. The scent of lavender and roses growing stronger. “Are you sending a representative to the coronation?”

“Uh, yes,” Jeongguk answered distractedly. “Kim Seokjin, Duke of Concordia – Jin-hyung – you remember meeting him?”

“Oh yes,” Taehyung chuckled. “He came to visit me yesterday morning. On your orders, he told me. It was considerate of you to think of me. Jin-hyung is a kind man; you’re lucky to have someone like him in your King's Circle.”

“I’m sorry for not visiting you, myself.”

“No, I understand,” Taehyung said, “You are a busy man.”

“No, no,” Jeongguk said absently.

“All I needed was some rest, but Jimin was getting restless, cooped up in our rooms while I slept. So, we went to the games rooms, which was where you found us. Sorry, I wasn’t awake to greet you.”

Jeongguk shook his head, “Oh, no. No. It’s fine; I’m – I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Jimin told me that I said some strange things in my sleep,” Taehyung said, chuckling. “Something about a coronation and my sister.”

“Ah, yes.”

“I suspect my father will send my sister, if Attalia is invited to the coronation,” Taehyung continued.

“Do you – want her to go?”

“No,” Taehyung answered. “Not really – I fear it unsafe. She is young. But, Jennie is quite level-headed – more prepared for the politics of ruling than I.”

“You have – a younger brother too, don’t you? Ah – there’s a step up.”

“Yes, Mingyu. My younger brother is too – too spirited, and I believe that was my fault,” Taehyung said. “Besides, my father wouldn’t want to involve Mingyu in politics if he can help it. It’s a cruel world for one so young.”

“Why did you renounce the throne – if – if you don’t mind me asking.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Taehyung replied. “I would not make for a good leader. Honestly, I was rather dreading it as the years passed, and they began preparing me for a position that I did not want. My grandmother was my strongest ally – she steered me towards the decision I was eventually going to make.”

“How did your father take it?”

“Not well, at first,” Taehyung sighed, “I am his eldest son. But when he saw how strong and brilliant Jennie was, he knew that it would be for the best.”

They rounded a corner, the palace and lake now parallel with the path of trees. There was little light to guide their path, and the moon’s beams were not bright enough to reach past the towering pine trees. The Palace of Sol was located in Aurea, but the grounds were on the edge of the city, the lights of the city centre bright but far in the distance beyond the highest points of the palace.

“And you?” Taehyung asked. “You’re rather young to have taken the throne, with your mother as reagent in a time of peace in Naissus; there was little reason for you to have ascended so soon.”

“As you said, the world of politics can be cruel,” Jeongguk repeated, licking his lips before continuing. “My mother was a strong leader, but in her failing health, she grew dependent on the Privy Council and the man who was serving as Lord Chancellor then only had his ambitious in his eyes.

“When I became of age, he pushed my mother to force me to sign an accord to allow him to be co-reagent until my 25^th birthday. Of course, I couldn’t allow this to happen. So, with the help of Namjoon-hyung, Jin-hyung, my brother, and cousin, I was able to take the Crown.”

“Did you resent them?” Taehyung asked softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you resent them for forcing you into the position so soon?”

Jeongguk thought about it. “No, I don’t think I do. It was a choice that I willingly made.”

A smile pulled on the prince’s lips again, one that tugged at Jeongguk’s heartstrings. It was soft. So soft. Beautiful. And tender. Like the Prince understood Jeongguk completely.

“Why are you smiling?” Jeongguk asked.

Taehyung shook his head. “I was just thinking about how good of a king you proved to be by stepping up so young.”

But that couldn’t have been all that made Taehyung smiled. But Jeongguk dropped it.

It was quiet, save for the footfalls of their steps on the gravel path and the rustling of the night creatures. It was peaceful – Jeongguk rarely, if ever, took a night stroll through the gardens. Nightly runs, yes, but those are always accompanied by the blaring sound of hip-hop music coming out of his earphones.

Never does he take a walk through the quiet path surrounded by trees. Jeongguk closed his eyes, breathing in as a cool breeze brushed through his wet hair, and he shivered.

“Are you cold?” Taehyung asked, stopping in his step and pulling Jeongguk to a halt with both hands on the King’s arm.

“Ah, no, not really. I just got out of the shower when you came to my rooms; my hair is still wet,” Jeongguk said. Taehyung’s brow rose, almost disappearing entirely into his blond hair.

“We should head inside then,” Taehyung concluded, urging Jeongguk forward again. Jeongguk started walking, a hand unconscious finding Taehyung’s on his arm.

The Prince’s fingertips were cold.

“You’re cold too,” Jeongguk said. “We could have something warm to drink – would you want to go to the kitchens? I could make tea or coffee?”

“Hot chocolate,” Taehyung concluded. Jeongguk laughed.

They cut through the path, heading straight into doors of the library. Jeongguk led Taehyung through the narrow halls that took them to the staff’s elevator leading down into the kitchen.

Taehyung’s hand slid down to Jeongguk’s wrist as they walked single file through the door.

The kitchen was empty and dark. Jeongguk felt about for the light switch, light blinding him for a moment when he flipped it on. Taehyung remained silent behind him. Jeongguk led the man towards the wood-top island, taking Taehyung’s hand on his wrist and putting it on the table.

“I think it would be best if you stay here,” Jeongguk said. “I don’t know my way around the kitchens, but I’ll find some stuff to make hot chocolate.”

“Alright,” Taehyung replied, leaning against the table. “Let me know if His Majesty needs help.”

Jeongguk rolled his eyes and wandered towards what he distinctively remembered could be the pantry. There was so much food in the pantry, the large space engulfing him in rows and rows of kitchen essentials. It took him a while to find a jar of sugar, a couple of bars of chocolate, and a bag of marshmallows. Jeongguk also stopped by the fridge, grabbing a jug of milk before bringing them back to the island where he left Taehyung.

He found the prince sitting on top of the island, tangling his feet over the edge and humming under his breath.

“Alright,” Jeongguk said, talking to let Taehyung where he was. “Let’s hope I don’t… f*ck it up..”

“I assume you don’t venture into the kitchens very often?” Taehyung asked.

“When I was younger,” Jeongguk replied, “always got kicked out though.”

Jeongguk found a small, steel pot and after figuring out how to light the gas stove just across the wood island, he started warming some milk.

“You know,” Taehyung started. Jeongguk turned around to find the Prince patting around a bar of chocolate, finding the seam of the wrapper and peeling the foil away. “I wasn’t expecting you to start making actual hot chocolate – I thought we’d find a coffee machine in one of the rooms.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk said. “Well, if you’re okay with that, then I’ll just put all this –”

“No, wait – ” Taehyung jumped off the counter. “ – there are marshmallows. Let’s just – finish.”

Jeongguk bit his lips, trying hard not to smile at how endearing Taehyung was.

“Where are the bowls,” Taehyung asked. “I can start breaking some chocolate up.”

Soon after, they sat at the large, long table in the mess hall with two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of soft cookies between them.

“Do you often cook, Jeongguk?” Taehyung asked – and Jeongguk felt his breath catch at the way the Attalian Prince says his name. He’ll never get over it.

“Uh, not at all,” Jeongguk finally answered. “Jin-hyung is the one who enjoys being in the kitchens. He’d be appalled by this concoction.”

Taehyung laughed. “I think for the first recipe you’ve made, it turned out well.”

Hot chocolate was a lot harder to make than Jeongguk thought: their drinks turned out too sweet and the chocolate never dissolved well in the milk, tiny particles were floating inside their mismatched mugs. But neither seemed to mind, Taehyung had popped more marshmallows between his lips than there were in his hot chocolate and Jeongguk dunked the cookies into the hot drink until it almost fell apart before eating.

“We’ve made,” Jeongguk corrected.

“We’ve made,” Taehyung repeated in agreement, taking a sip of his drink. “I hope to see you more,” Taehyung mused. “Are you travelling anywhere soon?”

“No,” Jeongguk said. “After the fiasco with Orivala, I believe the only thing I have this week would be the gala.”

“Gala?”

“Hm,” Jeongguk hummed, mouth full of cookie. “The Crown raised funds for the opening of a new hospital in my mother’s name; it would be a gala to thank the patrons – all who are members of the peerage of Naissus and some companies.

“Is the Crown hosting?”

“Of course,” Jeongguk sighed. “It’s rather tiring, but it’s for a good cause. Would you like to attend?”

“I’m not a benefactor of the hospital though.”

“It shouldn’t matter, you’re a guest of my court. That should give you reason enough.”

“I’ll attend,” Taehyung paused. “If it is as your personal guest, Jeongguk.”

Chapter 5: frühlingserwachen

Chapter Text

f r ü h l i n g s e r w a c h e n

Jeongguk does not remember much of his childhood before the death of the King. Everything he remembers comes in glimpses that he compares to days after his father’s passing.

Before: the colours of his mother’s dresses (House Eridanus favours the blues and greens of the river unlike the pooling ink of the Royal House).

After: his mother adopted the black of House Cepheus – the cold colours of the Crown. Colours of mourning. After was the bright neon of the TV screen and video games, of sunlight struggling through pulled curtains. He remembers the scent of antiseptic and bleach – remnants of the epidemic – and tastes the dust that coats his father’s rooms. After: there was silence. Sobbing.

“His Highness, the Crown Prince, is too young to take the throne.”

“He cannot rule until he is of age, even then, what kind of king would an eighteen-year-old make?”

“Then who shall rule in the name of the Crown?”

“I will,” came his mother’s voice – steadier and louder than it had ever been in the months’ post his father’s death. The young Crown Prince later learns how his mother had to close her heart – sew the gaping hole in her chest close and become the Dowager Queen Regent. To protect Naissus. To protect her son.

He later learns of the sacrifices his mother made when he grows older, learns just how much his mother loves him.

But now all he knows is the distance.

Jeongguk remembers more now.

Turning pages and days spent in the accompany of his tutors. Learning, always learning. Lonely nights in front of the TV with a console controller in hand. Footsteps echoing and travelling further and further away from him.

His 11th birthday is approaching.

Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi?

“You look more and more like your father every day.”

Yes, but will Jeongguk ever be able to measure up to the man his father was?

“I think you’d make him proud, Gukkie.”

Min Yoongi. Yoongi-Hyung.

Colours flood again, off-whites, hazy greens, and creamy pinks. Yoongi-hyung’s eyes are pools of warm black – like the colour of Jeongguk’s House. Chocolate brown of the upright piano that his mother had moved from the music room into Yoongi’s personal rooms. The piano was father’s favourite. Sunlight filtering through open windows. Afternoon naps taken on warm plush carpets. Earthy, sweet scents: flowers and dirt. His mother’s breathy laughter – her laughter – and the slow, calming notes of Yoongi’s piano.

His mother’s laughter.

“Jeongguk. Jeongguk, my darling, come let me teach you the art of flower-arranging.”

Jeongguk remembers immediately setting down his game, for nothing meant more to him than his mother’s love and he will happily sit through a boring old lesson on flower-arranging to see her smile. Then comes the lesson, learning about utilizing textures and shapes and colours.

He remembers how Yoongi-hyung was there, 17-years-old with nimble fingers that danced across piano keys and held prickly stems with ease and morphs single flowers into pretty bunches. Whereas Jeongguk struggles, hands clumsily dropping stems and fingers easily pricked by thorns. Try as he might, the talented Crown Prince did not have a talent in flower-arranging. He ruined perfect blossoms and crushed leaves underneath his palms. But he’ll do it – to make his mother happy.

Jeongguk’s 13th birthday. Then his 14th.

He learns the importance of his position. Of the sheer nature and magnitude of his status.

Jeongguk’s 15th. Then his 17th.

The Crown Prince of Naissus’ 18th birthday.

His coronation.

Long live King Jeon Jeongguk of the Ancient House Cepheus.

The Queen Mother moves to Argenteus into Luna Castle.

Jeongguk faces his adulthood amid the glimpses of his memories at Sol Palace.

After the after: colours dim to the midnight of the new King, who rarely is seen wearing anything but black. Sunlight streams through clean windows and casts glares on Jeongguk’s desk. His days begin with early morning jogs to get his blood flowing and end with late-night walks to calm him down. Days spent listening to complaints and propositions. Nights spent staring at tiny words on white pages. Scratching pens, clicking keyboard keys, and scuffling paper. The lullaby of the piano. Yoongi-hyung’s favourite cologne, a sweet and woody scent that lingers where he has been.

Long gone are the lessons of flower-arranging from the Queen Mother.

Long gone are the soft and creamy blossoms that grace the halls and rooms of Sol Palace.

But long live the King.

“Your Majesty, Lord Libertas, should we have the placement napkins folded in the style favoured by Her Majesty the Queen Mother?”

“She had the napkins folded in a specific way?” Yoongi asked, sitting up from his weirdly-angled slouch across Hoseok’s legs and the arm of the sofa.

“Yes, the Rosebud, sir.”

“The what?” Yoongi repeated. “What the f*ck is that?”

Jeongguk shoved the mouthful of muffin into the sides of his cheeks before asking, “What are we doing now?”

“The Double Diamond, sir.”

Jeongguk blinked, nodding as if he understood what a ‘Double Diamond’ was. “Well,” he started, “as I have instructed: if the rose thing was what my mother had done before, go back to it.”

With only three days left before the gala and less than forty-eight hours before the arrival of the Queen Mother, the staff at Sol Palace were on edge – scrambling about fixing, dusting, arranging, and tidying.

It was setting the King on edge.

It wasn’t as if the palace was left in shambles after the Queen Mother moved out of the primary residence of the King and into Luna Castle, but the Queen Mother had certain standards in comparison to her young son.

All Jeongguk demanded of his household was for everything to have a function. The decorum and tradition of the Royal Household meant little to him. However, the Queen Mother was an entirely different story. In her household, the portraits and heirlooms would have remained in their original positions since Sol Palace was built, but the gaudy nature of priceless vases and statues sitting in the halls where anyone could accidentally bump into, namely Namjoon, was unappealing to the young King. So, he had almost everything moved to the Gallery and ensured that the Lord Chancellor was never allowed to step foot inside.

However, with the Queen Mother visiting, some pieces had to be pulled out of the Gallery and placed back in its original positions, and the old traditions and practices of the household put in place.

It wouldn’t have been much of a problem for Jeongguk had he the leadership of the Head of the Royal Household to manage things. But the old woman who held the title passed away from age the year before, leaving the position vacant.

The members of Jeongguk’s King’s Circle helped with some of the responsibilities for the time being. The staff, for the most part, were able to handle the affairs of the palace without the Head. But with the arrival of the Queen Mother, and the King’s single instruction of ‘have everything done the way the Queen Mother would have wanted it,’ they sought the King and his brother for advice and interrupting them in the middle of afternoon tea with their friends.

“Another thing, sir,” the Master Secretary continued. “The housemaids draw up the curtains at 11’oclock in the morning. However, Her Majesty had them drawn up at dawn and closed at sun down.”

“Why did we change the hours of the curtains rising?” Jeongguk asked.

“Because I don’t appreciate being blinded before breakfast,” Yoongi grumbled, settling down like an oversized cat in Hoseok’s lap again. “Just – raise them at dawn again, just until the Queen Mother leaves.”

“Despite the bad boy appearance, you’re such a softie, Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok laughed. “Whatever makes Oisukmo happy, right?”

Yoongi clicked his tongue, eyeing the secretary who handed Jeongguk a hefty looking manila folder.

“These are the documents regarding the funds of the Royal Household, sir, normally, we would have the Head go through them, but with the circ*mstances, everything goes to you, sir.”

“Right,” Jeongguk muttered, finally swallowing the muffin and pressing his lips into a thin line. He’ll be missing some sleep tonight.

“Are you sure you’re cut out to be a King, Jeongguk? Because it seems like you’re struggling to run your household,” Seokjin said.

“The next thing they’re going to ask is if the Queen Mother wanted the toilet paper roll to be mounted over or under,” Hoseok chuckled.

“That’s easy, Hoseok-hyung,” Jeongguk said. “It’s always over.”

“Why does it f*cking matter?” Yoongi muttered.

“When the toilet paper roll is positioned with the loose end hanging over, it reduces the chances of accidentally touching the wall and transferring germs,” Namjoon answered easily.

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Seokjin said impassively.

“It’s just one of the many reasons,” Namjoon shrugged.

Jeongguk nodded, about to add another augment when he was interrupted by the Master Secretary coming in yet again. “Your Majesty, My Lords, forgive me for bothering you once more, but I forgot about the flowers.”

Jeongguk groaned, throwing himself onto the single leather settee and covering his face with the folder.

“Jeongguk, it’s flowers,” Namjoon said, lifting the mug of coffee to his lips. “It’s not like you’ve received news that war was declared on Naissus, stop overreacting.”

“I rather deal with war than flowers,” Jeongguk mumbled, his words muffled by papers atop his face.

Seokjin scoffed. “Despite all the effort Her Majesty took to teaching you, you still can’t do a proper arrangement, can you?”

“It’s not just that,” Jeongguk whined. “It’s the Royal Florist.”

“Indeed,” the Master Secretary said, “Oh Joon-ho-ssi requests an audience with you, sir.”

“Is he available now?”

“Yes, sir, he’s waiting outside.”

Jeongguk sighed and stood, tossing the stack of papers into Yoongi’s lap. “Send him in.”

“Of course, sir,” the Master Secretary said, stepping out of the room and closing it quietly behind him.

“Have you met Oh Joon-ho, Joonie?” Seokjin asked.

“No,” Namjoon replied. “I haven’t had the honour.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Well, you’re in for a treat.”

When the Master Secretary knocked and opened the door once more, the Royal Florist, Oh Joon-ho walked in – no, more like glided in. Jeongguk was not one to judge anyone’s sense of fashion – especially when his own consisted of white t-shirts and black jeans on days when suits and dress shirts were not necessary. But there was always something about Oh Joon-ho’s style that led to inevitably ogling.

Perhaps it’s the constant flower crowns that sat upon the man’s head (today, he walked the halls with a circlet of jasmines and silky deep green leaves in his hair) or maybe it was the brightly painted nails and crystal-encrusted suits. He dipped into a flourish of a bow in front of Jeongguk and the King’s Circle.

“The Royal Florist, Oh Joon-ho-ssi, Your Majesty,” the Master Secretary announced before closing the door behind him.

Jeongguk held out his right hand, holding back a cringe as Oh Joon-ho took it and placed a kiss on the King’s knuckles. The strong scent of the florist’s perfume wafted its way towards Jeongguk, catching in his throat and he struggled not to cough. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Namjoon’s eyes widen.

“Your Majesty, My Lords,” Oh Joon-ho greeted.

“Oh Joon-ho-ssi,” Jeongguk returned, taking his hand back as quickly as possible without looking like he was shocked. “What seems to be the problem.”

“Your Majesty,” the eccentric man began. “My family have served House Cepheus for many generations, sir, going back since the time of your great, great, great grandfather.” He waved his arms, showing off fingers with red painted nails and lamenting dramatically. “I love working for you, sir. I love the gardens and the palace. I do not want to leave, but I simply cannot work with Her Majesty the Queen Mother – not when she has given me such reproach. Thus, I have come to tell you that I will hand in my notice if you’d require me to design the flowers during the Her Majesty’s stay.”

Jeongguk held back a sigh. He does not have the time to deal with this drama. He couldn’t let Oh Joon-ho resign, and the florist knew it too. Why else would he come to King at such late notice? Jeongguk wasn’t particularly close to the man, and he dreaded the idea of having to find someone new – especially with the position of Head of the Royal Household still vacant. Besides, Oh Joon-ho did an excellent job of maintaining the gardens and taking care of the flower arrangements during times where there were guests in the palace – which wasn’t very often.

In the days of the Dowager Queen Regent, flowers littered the palace. There were arrangements in almost every stateroom and occupied bedrooms done by the Queen herself. But since Jeongguk rose to power, he instructed the Head of the Household to have flower displays only in the main rooms that hosted guests. Jeongguk had little say in what kind of arrangements they were either, nor did he really mind. But Oh Joon-ho’s arrangements were rather flamboyant, overly large with bright and blinding colours that clashed with the dark curtains and monochromatic décor of the rooms and halls.

“There is no need to hand in your resignation, Oh Joon-ho-ssi,” Yoongi supplied in Jeongguk’s silence.

“I believe we could find someone to fill your position for the time being,” Jeongguk said. “But I hope that you’ll continue your duties of maintaining the gardens.”

“Of course, sir, thank you,” Oh Joon-ho said, bowing lavishly once more, “and thank you, Lord Libertas, for addressing my concerns.”

“Well,” Namjoon started when the man left the room, leaving behind the overwhelming scent of jasmine in his wake. “He certainly leaves his mark.”

Hoseok snigg*red. “I forgot Oisukmo was rather opinionated about our Florist.”

“You mean she hates his guts,” Yoongi said.

“Didn’t she rip him a new one during Yoongi-hyung’s 25th birthday?” Jeongguk asked, flopping down on the sofa beside Namjoon and Seokjin – the other one entirely occupied by Yoongi’s outstretched form and Hoseok.

Seokjin chuckled. “I remember. She said that the flowers must have been done by a clown.”

“Who will you ask to take over then?” Namjoon asked.

“Jin-hyung, could you manage the arrangements?” Jeongguk asked, smiling sweetly at the older man. “It’s late notice, but you enjoy flower arranging, don’t you?”

Seokjin sighed, it was an immense request that Jeongguk was asking. It wouldn’t be a couple of arrangements, but at least a couple dozen for the halls, one for every one of the staterooms, galleries, and the Queen Mother’s guest rooms, on top of the duties that Seokjin already had to tend to as Royal Physician and Duke of Concordia. But there was little time left – under two days until the Queen Mother’s arrival – and Jeongguk could not find someone else to hire. And really – it was hard to resist the young King’s puppy dog eyes, and Jeongguk exploited that knowledge.

“I suppose I could postpone the meeting with the Medical Household…” Seokjin muses. “But I also have a brunch meeting with the CEO of that biopharma company that you wanted to fund.”

“Oh right, I forgot I asked that of you,” Jeongguk said, smiling faltering as he realized just how busy Seokjin was.

“I can go,” Namjoon offered.

“No, Joonie –”

“Seriously, Hyung, it’s the least I can do. With the gala in a couple of days, there is very little for me to do. Besides, I always wanted to learn more about this deal - it might make the company more willing sign the contract if the Chancellor was involved, no?”

Seokjin nodded, placing a hand on Namjoon’s thigh with a soft and grateful smile. “Alright, I can handle the flowers. I don’t think the gardens would have enough flowers to accommodate for the number of arrangements, not without cutting every shrub bare.”

“I’ll give you full access to the funds of the Royal Household,” Jeongguk said. “Whatever you need.”

Seokjin nodded, getting up to make his way to the gardens to take an inventory of what he could use.

“Wait – Hyung!” Jeongguk called. “Please – just – not too much pink?”

Jeongguk snapped his head up to the sound of knocking on his door – a welcome change to the monotonous tapping of his pen as he read through endless documents.

“Come in!”

“The Duke of Concordia, Your Majesty.”

Seokjin walked in carrying a tray of fruit tarts and two cups of coffee.

“Hyung?” Jeongguk said. “What are you doing here?”

It was later in the evening, Jeongguk had retired to his rooms but was still going through some papers that needed his attention. Yoongi had ditched him, deciding to spend some time in the music room brushing up on some songs. Hoseok kept the young King company though, head bobbing to some music on the sofa as he waited for the younger to finish so they could go for a late-night walk together.

“I have some interesting news,” Seokjin said, setting the tray down on Jeongguk’s desk. The young king immediately plucking the slice of strawberry on top, popping it into his mouth and tasting the sweet custard cream before the tart berry. Hoseok joined them at the table, pulling his earphones out and stealing a sip of coffee.

“What is it, Hyung?”

“I ran into Taehyung and Jimin just now,” Seokjin said. “They’re headed out to a private dinner party.”

“Who’s?” Hoseok asked.

“Taekwoon-hyung,” Seokjin said smiling.

“Jung Taekwoon-hyung,” Hoseok repeated. “As in the antisocial Marquis of Edesia, Jung Taekwoon-hyung? When did Taehyung even meet him?”

“I believe it was rather Jaehwan’s doing though,” Seokjin said, sitting down across from Jeongguk’s desk, grinning at the mention of the restless socialite. “He texted me earlier telling me about a special guest at Taekwoon-hyung’s party, and he’d love it if I’d come too.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised though,” Hoseok continued. “Taehyung is a social butterfly.” The Commander General turned to Jeongguk, eyeing the King like he was a speck of dust on his suit. “Unlike you.”

“Hoseok-hyung,” Jeongguk started. “Please don’t mock my sad social life that I am well aware of. That’s treason.”

Hoseok threw his head back laughing.

“Anyway,” Seokjin continued. “I was discussing with Taehyung the predicament I was in with the flowers. And he offered to take the duties off my hands.”

“Really?” Jeongguk said. “But he’s a guest.”

“He was rather insistent,” Seokjin said. “He seemed so enthusiastic about it. Besides, Attalia is a country famed for flowers. Why not?”

“Why not,” Jeongguk repeated.

Breakfast the next morning came with a small surprise for Jeongguk. Namjoon was out of his seat, standing by the window with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a mug of coffee, a soft smile on his face.

“What’s going on out there?” Jeongguk asked.

Namjoon turned, smirking. “Come see for yourself,” he said, gesturing towards the gardens with his head. Jeongguk followed Namjoon’s line of vision. He quickly recognized the Attalian Prince amongst the heads of black and brown hair. The Prince’s blond shone in the light of the morning sun.

He was kneeling in the grass, wearing a white sweater with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and a gardening apron wrapped around his middle. Not that it would help with keeping his clothes clean, already there was a smear of dirt across his shoulder and dark patches along his sleeves. Jimin worked beside him just a few feet away, a pair of shears in his garden-gloved-hands as he cut down a bloom of roses and placed them in the basket by Taehyung’s side.

Jeongguk learned from Yoongi that in Floating Isles, the language of flowers and the art of arranging was taught to all noble children. After all, flowers are what they are famed for. Yoongi had a talent for flower-arranging, something Jeongguk learned early on. But his style did not correspond to the Queen Mother’s, Yoongi favoured darker flowers and more fillers in the form of deep greens and berries. Seokjin’s approach seemed to match Jeongguk’s mother’s the most, the oldest of the King’s Circle preferred pale blossoms with fillers of gypsophila and spray roses.

Yoongi joined the pair by the window, squinting through bleary, sleepy eyes. His frown softened.

“I had a message sent to Taehyung last night about access to funds for ordering more flowers,” Seokjin said from his seat at the table. “Seeing that I would not know when he’d be back from Taekwoon-hyung’s party. Jimin had this delivered to me earlier this morning.”

Seokjin handed Jeongguk an opened envelope. When Jeongguk pulled the papers out, he was hit with the scent of vanilla and lavender. The documents were printed, detailing the purchases required for the number of arrangements needed.

“Taehyung did all of this before breakfast?” Yoongi asked, peering over Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“All before I got up,” Seokjin said. “He assembled a team for the gardens on his own too.”

Jeongguk turned to the scene outside again, noticing Oh Joon-ho joining Taehyung and his line-up of gardeners. The Royal Florist’s crystal-covered suit was blinding in the sunlight and today he wore a crown of bright yellow roses. But, the surprising thing was that he held another flower crown of vibrant red and pink carnations in his hands, the florist knelt down beside the Prince, placing the crown in the Prince’s lap. Taehyung’s hand wrapped around the blossoms, feeling the shape of the entwined stems until he realized what it was.

A brilliant smile grew on Taehyung’s lips, closed eyes crinkling at the wideness of his grin. Jeongguk would even say that it was a goofy grin. A beautiful, glowing, goofy grin. The Prince placed the circlet of blossoms on his head, remnants of soil on his fingertips catching in his hair, leaving dark marks. Taehyung said something, lips racing and hand grabbing carelessly onto Jimin’s light-coloured dress shirt. The guard glanced over, eyeing the handprints Taehyung left on his shoulder, but then a smile pulling on his usually stern face before he replied.

Jeongguk could almost predict their conversation.

Jimin, do I look pretty? Taehyung would ask.

Yes, very pretty, Taehyung. Jimin would respond to humour the Prince.

Jimin glanced up suddenly, feeling the presence of eyes on him. He caught Jeongguk’s eyes, nodded a greeting before his eyes turned to Jeongguk’s right. Yoongi quickly turned back to the table, sitting and gulping down his coffee. Outside, Jimin had looked away too, inspecting the bush of roses intensely.

“Taehyung’s got a small army out there,” Hoseok said, glancing out the window from his seat. “And he befriended Oh Joon-ho. Think they’ll finish on time?”

“I think they’ll be fine,” Jeongguk said, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the beautiful man with flowers in his hair.

“Woah,” Yoongi said, whistling. “It’s like Eommoni never left.”

It seems that Taehyung had the main hall his base, there were baskets of flowers wrapped in paper in the corners of the room with a couple of staff unwrapping them and another couple polishing silver vases. But what had Jeongguk’s jaw agape was the arrangement Taehyung was working on.

In the middle of the room, just at the base of the Grand Staircase, was a circular oak table where a large, silver vase sat in the middle holding an enormous bouquet of white roses, hydrangeas, ranunculus, and carnations. Also on top of the table, stood the Attalian Prince, balancing on bare feet with his sleeves rolled up, dirt smeared across his forearms, fingers stained green, and flower crown sitting on a slant on his head. He held a long stem of a carnation in one hand, the other brushing against the ornate bouquet, searching for an empty space that requires more flowers.

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Seokjin said quietly as they descended the stairs.

Jimin turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, straightening into a bowing at their arrivals.

At the base of the table, the Crownsguard shadowed Taehyung, holding a bunch of hydrangeas and roses in one hand with the other resting in his pockets. He looked at ease, but Jeongguk had little doubt that if Taehyung were to slip, Jimin would jump into action in half-a-heartbeat.

And the King was grateful for that.

“Is someone there, Jimin?” Taehyung asked, fingers still tracing the outline of the bouquet, weaving the carnation into place.

“Yes,” Jimin replied. “Jeongguk, Seokjin-hyung, and Min Yoongi-ssi.”

Jeongguk had little time to question the odd formality Jimin had for his older brother before Taehyung pulled the attention away.

“Ah, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung greeted. “Have you seen the other arrangements?” He reached down, hand making grabbing motions in Jimin’s general direction. “A rose, please.”

The guard placed a stem of the requested flower in Taehyung’s grasp.

“They’re perfect,” Seokjin said. “You got the design spot on.”

“It’s rather opulent,” Taehyung said. “But you did tell me that Her Majesty the Queen Mother had not visited the palace since Yuletide two years ago. I thought that it would be a nice welcome back.”

“Did you do all the arrangements, Taehyung?” Yoongi asked, stepping out of the way as several footmen passed by the two noblemen and King, bowing as they carried small vases holding bouquets of blushing ranunculus, white carnations, and icy-green leaves. They were undoubtedly elegant bouquets, and the light colours stood out against the darker curtains and wood finishes without looking out of place.

“Not all of them, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung answering, wedging the blossom into a space with his right hand and his left resting against the top of the petals, levelling the rose with the blossoms surrounding it. “Jimin did a bunch and Joon-ho-hyung helped.” He stopped, wiping his hands on his dark trousers. “This one is done too.”

Jeongguk was amazed, he didn’t have Namjoon’s penchant for destruction, but never would he be able to handle the blossoms with such tenderness. Taehyung’s fingers barely touched the petals, yet he was able to discern between empty and occupied space and can tell which flowers would look well where, all without his sight.

“How do you do it?” Jeongguk blurted. “How can you arrange flowers so well?”

“Practice,” Taehyung replied with a shrug. “Besides, Jimin is doing all the hard work by picking the prettiest flower for me. I just have to put it in place.”

“He’s modest,” Jimin said. Taehyung laughed and still circling the table, took one step too close to the edge.

His toes curled into empty space, and the arch of his foot slid forward as his entire body followed.

Taehyung was going to fall.

Jeongguk leapt forward out of reflex, heart pounding in his ears and adrenaline fueling his steps. But he’d never make it time. Then he saw a blur of silver as Jimin appeared underneath Taehyung, wrapping arms around the Prince and lowering him to the floor with ease. Like Taehyung weighed nothing. Like this was a regular occurrence.

“Holy sh*t,” Yoongi hissed. Seokjin clutched his heart, attempting to catch his breath.

Taehyung’s flower crown slipped off his head in the commotion, falling to the ground and rolling to a stop by Jeongguk’s feet.

Jeongguk squared his shoulders, closing his mouth before anyone realized that he held his mouth agape and knelt down, picking up the wreath of blossoms. “I – uh – I have your flower crown.”

Taehyung smiled, that all too wide pull on his lips and showed off too much teeth. Where were the soft smiles and coy grins? Not that Jeongguk was complaining. Any and all smiles suited the gorgeous man, and Jeongguk was delighted to be the subject of such grins. How cliché it was to say, but Jeongguk was drawn to Taehyung’s smiles like a moth to a flame.

“Thank you, Jeongguk,” Taehyung said, he held out a hand, and Jeongguk saw that despite the Prince’s talent, he was not immune to the thorns. Small cuts littered the Prince’s palm and fingertips, some scabbed over but others are fresh with soil sticking to open wounds.

“Your hand,” Jeongguk said. Taehyung pulled his hand back, stroking his dirt-covered fingers with the other hand.

“Ah,” Taehyung said, understanding Jeongguk’s concerns. The Prince’s smile softened until it just a ghost of a smile, still unfamiliar to Jeongguk – it was genuine – raw. “Cuts come with the territory of playing with flowers. It’s alright; they’ll heal very quickly.”

Jeongguk then stepped forward, placated by Taehyung’s voice and daring with the sight of his smile. He placed the flower crown on Taehyung’s head with both hands, gently. He expected some sort of reaction from Taehyung – he wanted a smile – that bright, eye-crinkling, teeth-baring smile.

Instead, he saw Jimin’s eyes grow wider, and Taehyung took a step back, biting his lower lip and turning his face his face away as redness rose on his neck and cheeks. Was he embarrassed – or confused – or shocked?

Yoongi cussed behind him.

“Uh,” Taehyung started, it was bizarre to see the Prince at a loss for words. “Thank – thank you, Jeongguk.” He cleared his throat, touching the back of his neck hesitantly, leaving dark streaks on his skin. “I - we should get going, I –uh – didn’t specify where the footmen should be putting the vases and I haven’t even started on the flowers for the ballroom.”

“Right, sorry to keep you,” Jeongguk replied stepping to the side as Taehyung took Jimin’s arm and begun ascending the stairs.

As soon as the Attalian pair were out of sight, Yoongi stomped up to Jeongguk and smacked him upside the head.

“Ow, Hyung, what was that for?” Jeongguk hissed, rubbing the sore spot.

“You’re an idiot,” Yoongi said. “And they’re f*cking insane. This is why I left Attalia: because there are princes who jump off tables and guards who catch them without batting a f*cking eyelash.”

“Yeah – but why hit me for it,” Jeongguk whined. “It’s not like I made him jump.”

“No, but you’re a love-struck fool,” Seokjin supplied, shaking his head. “You might as well just give Taehyung the title of Prince Consort.”

“What did I do?” Jeongguk spluttered. “I just gave him his flower crown back!”

“What?” Yoongi hissed “Don’t you remember the significance of giving flower crowns in Attalia?” The older man groaned when Jeongguk shook his head. “I thought I explained this to you before Taehyung arrived!”

“Maybe,” Jeongguk mumbled. “I just – there was a lot of information! How am I supposed to remember it all?”

“Flower crowns are gifts of affection,” Seokjin explained. “A symbol of devotion and a budding friendship.”

“But – but it wasn’t – I didn’t – Oh Joon-oh was the one who gave it to Taehyung. I just gave it back!”

“By putting it on his head,” Yoongi snapped. “Giving flower crowns is one thing, but crowning someone is a powerful declaration. You announced yourself as his suitor. As the sole suitor.” Yoongi sighed. “I thought you knew what you were doing.”

“I thought we were going to have an engagement on our hands after what, a month?” Seokjin mumbled.

“Oh, sh*t,” Jeongguk said, running a hand through his hair, and cheeks growing red hot and the collar of his dress shirt suddenly suffocating. That’s why the Prince looked so stunned. Jeongguk just forced himself on Taehyung. Just after growing comfortable in each other’s presence.

“I need to apologize to him.”

“Why?” Seokjin asked. “You are his suitor though, that’s why he’s here: to seek an alliance via marriage.”

“But I don’t want to force that on him,” Jeongguk whined. “I wanted a – a relationship that would flow naturally, not because either of us were forced into it, but because we genuinely like each other.”

Seokjin sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Look at you, all grown up and ever the romantic.”

“It’s clear to see that you’ve fallen hard,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Apologize if it makes you feel better, Jeongguk,” Seokjin said. “But I don’t think it would be necessary.”

“I’m glad I dyed my hair back to black,” Yoongi said, barging into Jeongguk’s closet, early the next morning, searching for something to wear because his closet held nothing but varying shades of black.

Jeongguk rummaged through his clothes too, pulling his ear piercings out as he browsed.

He hummed in agreement, “Shame, I rather liked that mint-green though, suited the colours of your House.” He pulled a light-coloured sweater off the hook rather than the darker colours that both he and Yoongi favoured.

“You mean when you broke it, and I covered for you.”

“Or when we got caught for sneaking out.”

“When you got caught for sneaking out, and I took the blame. Again.”

“And for underage drinking.”

“I hope you see the pattern in here,” Yoongi said, turning away from the mirror and having to jump to pull Jeongguk into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles through Jeongguk’s hair. “See, this is all sh*t that you did, and I have to cover your ungrateful ass.”

Jeongguk yelped, sliding out from underneath Yoongi’s grasp, laughing as he ran out the door.

“Your Majesty, Lord Libertas, Her Majesty the Queen Mother has arrived.”

They both headed out the doors, waiting by the palace steps side by side. The air was cold but humid in the spring afternoon like it was about to rain. Jeongguk was glad that he put on a sweater this morning, tugging on the sleeves and hem to straighten it.

The car drove around the circular driveway, stopping at the bottom of the steps where Jeongguk and Yoongi both waited. A woman stepped out of the car aided by the driver. Beyond the gates, Jeongguk could make out the sounds of clicking cameras as reporters and paparazzi took shots of the King waiting for his mother.

Jeongguk inherited little of his mother features save for the softer shade of brown hair in comparison to his father. The Queen Mother smiled, lowering into a curtsy before the King before leaning up to press a kiss on his cheek. Her hair, pulled into an intricate knot at the base of her neck, ticked Jeongguk’s nose.

Yoongi murmured the same greeting, bowing to the Queen Mother and he to pressed a kiss against her cheek. He offered her his arm and Jeongguk took his mother’s arm on the other side as they all headed inside.

It had started raining, dull grey clouds overtaking the once blue skies, dark shadows now overtaking the room, Jeongguk stood to turn on the lights, hoping the soft yellow lights brightens the mood.

The Queen Mother took the opportunity to lean closer. “I know that both you and Yoongi are trying to protect me, but you must remember that I spent most of my life in the spotlight as the Crown Prince’s betrothed, then as wife of the King, then nearly a decade in your name, my child.”

“Yes, Eommoni.” Jeongguk paused. He could speak freely to his mother – could he not? “You’re right… the Attalian Prince is here on talks of an alliance.”

“Marriage?” she asks.

“Of course, what kind of alliance would be as binding between two countries?”

“Do you like him?”

“Eommoni.”

“I know who you are, Jeongguk,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “I know your preferences, and I will not stop you from finding love.”

“And what about an heir to the throne?”

The Queen Mother placed her cup and saucer back onto the table, reaching for her son’s hand. “So much tragedy has befallen our family with the passing of your father and uncle. If you do not have children of your own, the Crown will be passed to your cousin. Though I hope to one day have grandchildren, I might have to settle for Ji-eun’s. So, my child, do you like him?”

And all at once, his mother was able to dissolve some of his most pressing concerns. Concerns that Jeongguk did not even realize that he had other than the nagging reminder of his duty as King.

“I - I find him… attractive,” Jeongguk admitted quietly, words almost lost in the melody of Yoongi’s song. “But that wouldn’t equate to love.”

“Not yet at least,” his mother replied. “Jeongguk, my love, I’m not going to urge you to take on the alliance, this is not just a matter of politics anymore, but a matter of your happiness. And that is your decision alone.”

Jeongguk licks his lips. “Namjoon-hyung believes that the First Prince of Attalia was given a gift for the price of his eyesight.”

“That’s a radical speculation.”

“There is no proof,” Jeongguk said. “Nor is there anything to counter it.”

His mother hesitated, waiting for the ending of Yoongi’s soft song to morph into another piece. “I don’t think you remember, but one of the first symptoms of the plague is the loss of vision.”

The Plague. The illness that crippled Naissus over ten years ago and ripped Jeongguk’s father from him. His heart dropped.

“But – but, the Plague never travelled past our coast – we were completely isolated. Under Martial Law even.”

“But even so, Yoongi was able to enter the country. Who is to say that someone wasn’t able to sneak out, enter Attalian court and infect the Prince?”

“Eommoni are you suggesting that Taehyung caught the Plague?”

“It’s just a theory, and it sounds just as possible as a gift by the so-called gods of Attalia.”

“Namjoon-hyung believes that Taehyung has a gift,” Jeongguk retorted with a pout. His mother smiled.

“This is all just speculation,” his mother said. “Besides, Namjoon was always a rather optimistic boy.”

The rain had not let up since yesterday afternoon. The grayness outside darkened the room in a way that no lamps would brighten. It made Jeongguk feel sluggish, tired, and uninterested in his work and the spread of afternoon tea – which was rare.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi were with him, lounging in Jeongguk’s private rooms as the tailor fitted them with their suits for the gala. Seokjin had the fitting yesterday and was in the middle of his meeting with the Medical Household. It was Hoseok’s turn, Namjoon’s suit already finished as he sat enjoying the afternoon break with them.

“I spoke to Eommoni about Taehyung yesterday,” Jeongguk started, mindlessly tapping away at another phone game he just downloaded. “Well – more like she interrogated me about him.”

Yoongi scoffed from his place sprawled on the sofa with his arms hanging limply over the armrest. “Of course, she did – shame they haven’t met yet.”

“Taehyung’s been overzealous about the flowers,” Namjoon said. “Missing dinner just to see to the arrangements in the ballroom and all.”

Or was Taehyung avoiding Jeongguk?

“What did she ask?” Hoseok said.

“Oh, you know,” Jeongguk started, shuffling to the side of the couch as Hoseok took a seat beside him and Yoongi dragged himself off the couch and towards the three-way mirror. “What is he doing here, whether or not I liked him.”

“And your answer?”

“He has been here for less than a month! We’ve spoken and seen each other less than a dozen times.”

“You had a midnight stroll with him in the gardens then snuck into the kitchens, made hot chocolate, left the stove on and scared the poor girl who came in who came to see her sovereign and a foreign prince at the mess table,” Namjoon summarized.

“Then you go and put a flower crown on his head,” Yoongi drawled.

“He did what?” Namjoon cried, swinging around and nearly spilling the contents of his coffee mug all over Hoseok.

“Eommoni also brought up another theory.”

“About?”

“Taehyung’s blindness.”

“Oh?”

“She thinks that he could have been sick with the plague.”

“The Naissian Plague?” Hoseok clarified.

Jeongguk nods.

“That couldn’t be, the cure was discovered and quickly dispersed soon after the late King’s death,” Namjoon said. “Taehyung fell blind three years ago.”

“That’s not true,” Jeongguk argued. “You said that in the past three years, Taehyung had made few public appearances. That could be for many reasons - including contracting an illness.”

“But that’s such a far-flung theory – how would Taehyung even have gotten in contact with the Naissian Plague? He has never been here,” Namjoon argued.

“I guess it would be more plausible for him to have a gift,” Yoongi said.

“He has a gift.”

The young King stood in front of the mirror; his reflection stared back with uncertain eyes and teeth gnawing on lips. “Alright,” he sighed.

“Your Majesty,” the guard greeted upon Jeongguk’s arrival in front of Taehyung’s rooms.

“Is the Prince in,” Jeongguk asked.

The guard nodded, knocking on the door. “Your Highness, His Majesty the King is here.”

Taehyung’s muffled voice came seconds later. “Come in!”

The guard bowed, opening the door for Jeongguk.

The room was large and airy, with ivory couches and furniture. Jeongguk had arranged for Taehyung’s rooms to be on the second floor of the palace with a balcony overlooking the rest of the estate and windows that shone with the light of the rising sun and the shadows of the setting sun. The windows were open, white curtains dancing in the wind of the rainy day, the smell of rain permeating the room, mixed with the scent that Jeongguk could only describe as Taehyung.

Lavender.

But the Prince himself was nowhere to be seen.

There was a mess on the coffee table, reminders of the presence of two people sharing the sitting room: a familiar leather jacket that doesn’t belong to Taehyung, an open book, two half-empty mugs, the flower crown draped over the corner of an open laptop. It was a lived-in space, comforting in its mess – and despite Jimin’s lower station, there was more than just a professional relationship between the two: Taehyung and Jimin were close friends.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Taehyung’s voice echoed from the bathrooms, accompanied by the sound of splashing water. “Please sit, Jeongguk!”

Jeongguk hummed an agreement and took a seat on one of the sofas, smoothing out his trousers and crossing his legs. There were several bouquets of flowers around the room, now Jeongguk noticing how the room smelled so floral. There were bright peonies mostly, a bouquet sitting in a glass vase in the centre of the mess on the coffee table. Papers were stern haphazardly across the surface, business cards of bakeries, flower shops, and cafés with little notes written in an elegant scrawl in the corners.

‘Best croissants, good green tea lattes, most fragrant gardenias.'

Jeongguk wondered if it was Jimin’s writing or Taehyung’s.

Taehyung must have brought reminders of home, one for each of the members of his family. Jeongguk wonders if Taehyung misses his family, coming here and staying for nearly two months already. He once said that his father was not cruel - and Taehyung was a grown man, but homesickness does not discriminate, especially not one who’s loved and is loved.

He placed the necklace inside the velvet box, returning it to its rightful place.

Taehyung appeared then, padding from carpet onto marble floors with his hair wet and wearing deep-blue silk pyjamas with the shirt open, showing off his lithe body and skin flushed pink from the hot water.

Jeongguk turned away spluttering underneath his breath and struggling to hide the rising heat.

“Sorry, I was just taking a bath,” Taehyung said. His eyes remained closed, tendrils of water dripping down his hair and lashes into the corner of his nose and cheeks. He disappeared back into the bedroom, and Jeongguk could hear the shuffling of fabrics until he returned with a plush towel draped over his head. “Jimin and I weren’t expecting company.”

“I’m sorry to have – uh interrupted,” Jeongguk said, as the Prince ruffled the towel through his blond hair. Jeongguk casted his eyes on anything but Taehyung’s open shirt.

“It’s alright, I was just about to get out of the bath anyway,” Taehyung said, folding the towel against his neck and smoothing down his dishevelled hair. Wet strands that missed the Prince’s combing fingers stubbornly stuck out in odd directions.

He was beautiful.

“So. Uh, where – where is Jimin?” Jeongguk asked, realizing how quiet he’d been just gawking.

“Went to the kitchens, we both missed dinner, unfortunately.”

“I see,” Jeongguk said

“I got carried away with the flowers in the ballroom,” Taehyung explained, his hands traced the arm of the sofa, marking the whereabouts of the furniture. His fingers skimmed Jeongguk’s elbow, and he had to fight the urge to tense up. Taehyung had been more forward in the past with hands running up Jeongguk’s body and face – the mere grazing of fingertips should not send such fire into his bones.

“You could have called someone to fetch dinner for you,” Jeongguk said, cautiously, trying so hard to continue the conversation.

“We’re troubling the staff enough,” Taehyung said. He slipped in the space between Jeongguk’s legs and the coffee table, legs skimming Jeongguk’s knees as he sat down beside the young king. Taehyung carried with him the soft scent of lavender and chamomile. Perhaps it was some sort of oil in his bath.

He seemed to remember that the buttons of his shirt were open, fingers deftly buttoning them closed.

Much to Jeongguk’s relief.

He licked his lips, fiddling with his thumbs.

“I also wanted to come and – apologize.”

Taehyung’s brows furrowed and he turned his head to the side. “Whatever for?”

“For my actions yesterday afternoon,” Jeongguk said in a rush, repeating his rehearsed words. “I was unaware of the importance of such a gesture with flower crowns and I am sorry if I intruded and overstepped my boundaries. You are here to forge an alliance, but as you said about not forcing it on me, I would never want to force a relationship onto you.”

Silence.

“I forgive you,” Taehyung said, softly. “To be honest, I wondered when you grew so bold. But this makes more sense.”

“I’ll try and be better,” Jeongguk said, “to learn the customs of the Floating Isles, so I don’t make the same mistakes again.” He looked down at his hands – a bad habit for if he wanted to command an audience, but here all Jeongguk wanted was to convey his emotions. Besides, if he met Taehyung’s eyes, he’d be left tongue-tied once more.

“I – ” Jeongguk started – but his words were interrupted as the guard knocked, opening the door as Jimin came in, carrying a large tray and grumbling under his breath. But then he saw Jeongguk and lowered into a bow.

“Oh. Good Evening, Jeongguk,” Jimin greeted.

“Ah, Jimin, your back,” Taehyung said, turning to the sound of the Crownguard’s voice. “Jeongguk came to ask if we needed any assistance with clothes before the gala.”

Jimin shook his head. “No, we should be good, thank you for your consideration though.” The guard set the tray of food down onto the coffee table, pushing aside the mess of electronics and papers.

“Would you like to stay and eat with us, Jeongguk?” Taehyung asked.

Yes.

“No,” Jeongguk said. “Thank you, but I have something things to take care of.” He stood, hands clenching awkwardly at his side. “Well – then – I hope you both have a good evening.”

“You too,” Taehyung replied softly. “I look forward to tomorrow.”

Jeongguk spared one last glance at the Prince before he left.

With a couple of hours before the gala, Jeongguk returned to his rooms to get dressed for the event. He sighed, loosening his tie and stretching his neck.

“Your Majesty,” called an unfamiliar voice. Jeongguk turned around to see an unfamiliar man with dark eyes and a sharp jawline. That wasn’t his valet.

“Uh, who are you and where is Chung-ho?” he asked.

“My name is Kihwan, sir. Chung-ho is sick,” the man replied. “I’ll be taking over as your valet until he’s better.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk said, nodding. He turned, allowing Kihwan to pull of his jacket. “Is it serious? I could ask the Royal Physician to see him?”

“Oh, no, sir,” Kihwan said. “I believe he just ate something funny in town and got a case of food poisoning. He should be alright in two days’ time.”

Jeongguk nodded, undoing the buttons of his dress-shirt and preparing to jump into the shower when a burst of colour in his dark room caught his eye.

Sitting on his bedside table was a crown of tiny red spray roses and tear dropped shaped leaves.

Jeongguk stopped, fingers brushing against the fragile petals, finding a little note hidden underneath the blossoms. It was written in a different hand than what Jeongguk had seen in Taehyung’s rooms, different than the scrawls on the business card. The writing was thin and in clean cursive, slanted with uneven spaces between words.

‘I hope you’ll accept as I have accepted yours.’ It read. ‘Yours, Taehyung.'

Flower crowns are a symbol of affection and budding friendship, Seokjin had said.

Jeongguk smiled to himself, placing the note down by the table and plopping the crown on his head, avoiding looking at his valet in the eye as a blush rose on his cheeks.

Chapter 6: tǎntè

Chapter Text

He is slow to wake.

Jeongguk has always been slow to wake.

The calls of his valet fall on half-conscious and half-asleep ears.

“Your Royal Highness,” Chung-ho calls. “Your Royal Highness. Sir.”

Jeongguk opens bleary eyes, blinking in the dim room as his valet turns up the light of the lamp.

“Chung-ho?” Jeongguk mumbles, shifting over to his side. “What time is it?”

“3 am, sir,” Chung-ho replies. “Her Majesty the Queen Regent wishes to see you, sir.”

Jeongguk continues to blink, pulling himself up on an elbow.

It took him ages to fall asleep tonight when it usually came so easy. He was disoriented – confused. Why did he have such terrible feelings rocking through his core, tumbling and twisting into his dreams? He rakes a hand through his hair; there must be a good reason why his mother would want to see him at 3 am in the morning.

Then he remembers.

“Where?” Jeongguk croaks, throat suddenly dry.

“In the Throne Room, sir.”

It must be.

It had to be.

No longer tired, the Crown Prince struggles to disentangle his limbs from the blankets, nearly rolling off the bed in his efforts.

“Find and wake my brother and cousin,” Jeongguk says, waving Chung-ho away when he tries to aid the Prince. “Ask them to meet me at the doors of the Throne Room immediately.”

Chung-ho nods and heads to instruct the guard standing outside the Crown Prince’s rooms. Meanwhile, Jeongguk stumbles into the washing room with his heart beginning to pound loudly in his ears. He quickly cleans up, splashing cold water on his red-blotched face and runs a comb through a mess of tangled hair before heading to the closet.

His shaky fingers struggle, grappling with the buttons of his dress shirt before Chung-ho steps in and Jeongguk let his arms fall uselessly to his side.

The Crown Prince of Naissus waited several months for this day – worked for several long months with Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin all in preparation for today.

He knew not the events that occurred in the Privy Council meeting this morning – only that he had not seen his mother, the Dowager Queen Regent, since the end of the assembly. Neither Yoongi nor Hoseok or Jeongguk were allowed in the meeting: they were not members of the Queen Regent’s Privy Council after all. Only Namjoon and Seokjin were the ones with the title and position to rally up a faction in the name of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince.

In Jeongguk’s name.

He had been pacing outside the Privy Council chambers, biting lips and wringing fingers. When the doors of the assembled room opened and his mother appeared – he searched her eyes, looking for the betrayal and anger he was sure she was feeling. But he found nothing but a hard blankness and that terrified him more than her wrath.

Did he disappoint her?

“Sir,” Chung-ho calls, breaking Jeongguk out of his thoughts. The valet held Jeongguk’s jacket out for him. The 18-year-old Prince blinks, smoothing down his hair nervously and clearing his throat. He let the valet slip the jacket over his shoulder, pressing out the wrinkles with soft pats. “Already, sir.”

Jeongguk nods, sparing a glance at himself in the full-body mirror.

He had chosen a black dress shirt, black slacks, and a black jacket.

The colours of his House. The colours of mourning.

If all goes well, he will be mourning the death of his youth before dawn.

He steps out of his rooms and down the hall, trying hard not to wring his fingers and tug on the sleeves. The halls were dark; lights dimmed in the early morning hours and curtains drawn. The only sounds were Jeongguk’s echoing footsteps and his own breath.

Yoongi waits by Throne Room when Jeongguk arrives, pacing in circles and seafoam green hair in a tangled disarray. Hoseok stands beside him, tapping his foot relentlessly and picking at the collar of his dark sweater.

“I’ve called Jin-hyung and Namjoon,” Yoongi says, stopping when he heard Jeongguk approach. “They both decided to stay nearby after the Privy Council meeting, Namjoon had a feeling that something might happen tonight.”

Seokjin and Namjoon did not live in Aurea, having their own estates to manage. But it’s typical of Namjoon to have such foresight and decide to stay.

“They’ll be here soon,” Hoseok says.

Jeongguk nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Yoongi stops before Jeongguk, gripping his shoulders in both hands and meeting the young boy’s eyes with a resolute look.

“Whatever happens in there,” Yoongi begins, “know that we stand with you.”

Jeongguk nods again, closing his eyes, and attempting to take a deep breath. Hoseok patted Jeongguk on the back.

“We stand with you, always,” Hoseok repeats.

Jeongguk squares his shoulders, nodding to the footman. The footman pulls the doors open, the wood creaking with the effort and the sound grating against Jeongguk’s ears.

“His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince.”

Jeongguk steps inside, eyes adjusting from the dim halls into the darkened throne room. There was barely any light – just the glow of the moon shining through the wide windows. It casts shadows into the room: creates patterns of the windowsill on marble floors and shades the looming silhouette on the Throne of Naissus in darkness.

His mother.

Jeongguk licks his dry lips.

“Eommoni,” he addresses, wincing at the shakiness of his voice, bowing deeply.

She sits on the throne, and Jeongguk could not see her eyes in the darkness – only the fabric of her dress: light blues and greens of House Eridanus – colours that Jeongguk had not seen his mother wear since his father’s death.

“Jeongguk,” his mother calls, “come.”

He heeds her command, stepping up the stairs of the dais, footsteps echoing.

Jeongguk stops in front of his mother as she offers her hand. He bends, wrapping fingers that – mercifully – have stopped shaking around his mother’s and places a kiss just above her knuckles. He releases, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on his mother’s cheek. The formal acts of showing fealty to the one who sits the role of the Crown.

He backs away, folding his hands in front of him and keeping his head low.

Heart still thumping in his chest.

“You – you wanted to see me, Eommoni?”

His mother carefully folds her hands in her lap before standing, sweeping past her son as she circles the throne. Her heels clicking on marble floors. Jeongguk remains rooted to the ground.

“It seems as though,” she starts, “the members of my Privy Council had split into factions.”

Jeongguk swallows.

“There were accusations thrown against the Lord Chancellor, Cha Seung-won, regarding actions he has taken without my consent today at my Privy Council meeting,” the Queen Regent says. “It was also, brought to my attention that you have come of age. And there have been discussions by some members of my Council – without my knowing – of support of your ascension as King, Jeongguk.”

His mother stops pacing.

“To think, that only a couple of months after your 18th birthday, when Seung-won and I have repeatedly asked you to sign the accord – you pull a stunt like this. Splitting my Privy Council into factions, arranging private meetings to win support.”

“I – I’m. Forgive me, Eommoni. But, I – I had no choice,” Jeongguk chokes, eyes fixed on the intricate patterns on the wood of the throne. “I’d sign the accord if it were you asking me, but this was Cha Seung-won wishing a joint regency! You would no longer hold the power of veto. All decisions would be made with majority votes in the Council, and Cha Seung-won has over half of the Privy council under his thumb. The people are questioning the Crown’s decisions because of the choices Cha Seung-won has made. What would he do with more power, Eommoni?”

The Queen Mother sinks to the grounding, sitting on the steps of the dais. The skirts of her dress pool around her and a ragged sigh falls from her lips. Jeongguk glances up.

“Eommoni?”

His mother’s anger was what he feared tonight: the wrath and disappointment of the Queen Mother for his actions against her. Jeongguk had planned for her refusal – planned for a forceful removal of the Regent from her position.

But not this. Not the tears that run tracks down his mother’s cheeks and the tired sag in her shoulders.

“I wanted to spare you,” she says softly, so quietly he wonders if he heard right. “Give you a couple more years for you to cherish your youth.”

Jeongguk steps forward, reaching for his mother. “Eommoni – ”

“I tried – Jeongguk, I wanted you to sign that accord – spare you of the responsibilities – just until your 25th birthday.”

Jeongguk sits down beside her, placing a hand on her knee.

“But the world will not wait, will it?” Jeongguk says softly. “I have been the King since Abeoji’s death – since I was 10. It’s time that I step up in the position that he left behind – I’ll make you proud, Eommoni.”

His mother pulls a smile on her lips, swiping the back of her hand along her cheekbones and the sides of her nose. She stands, pulling Jeongguk to his feet and leading him up the dais once more.

She sits him down on the throne.

Jeongguk hesitates, attempting to edge off the velvet chair and all significance that it holds.

“I’m proud of you, my son,” his mother says, and Jeongguk stops breathing.

He closes his eyes, dropping his head into his chest and tries hard to swallow the painful lump in his throat.

He waited so long to hear those words; he didn’t realize that he needed it.

“I will support your ascension,” his mother says. He feels her press a kiss on his forehead and no – he will not cry.

He will not cry.

“I have signed the papers of my abdication, they will lower my Royal Standard by dawn and upon your command, raise yours.”

He could barely see her, barely breathe as his mother leans in and places kiss on his cheek.

Takes his hand and press her lips on his knuckles.

She lowers herself into a curtsy, nearly kneeling on the floor and Jeongguk jumps to his feet.

“Eommoni – ”

“Your Majesty,” his mother whispers. “Long live King Jeon Jeongguk and long may he reign.”

The young King of Naissus turned his head, hiding his face behind his hand as he attempted to stifle a yawn. The evening events had barely begun, but Jeongguk was already tired – and bored. The quiet, lulling waltz playing in the background and the mild, sweet floral scent of Taehyung’s flower arrangements did not help.

Jeongguk stood at the entrance of the Erato Room, the largest drawing room in Sol Palace used for hosting major affairs such as the gala.

Namjoon stood on Jeongguk’s left, exchanging pleasantries with the guests after they’ve paid their respects to the Sovereign. Yoongi stood to Jeongguk’s right, muttering information regarding the guests into Jeongguk’s ear. The announcements of the guest’s title and rank would never be enough for Jeongguk to remember who they were.

Jeongguk had only risen to power for four years, the names of his Privy Council members were hard enough to learn and remember let alone the rest of the extensive list of Naissian Peerage and society.

“The Marquis of Edesia, Jung Taekwoon of House Pavo and Lord Han Sanghyuk of House Pavo,” the Herald announced.

“You remember, Jung Taekwoon-hyung,” Yoongi said, “he was present at the opening of the Naissian Games and attends most of your birthday celebrations too. Han Sanghyuk is his younger cousin.”

Jeongguk smiled pleasantly as the tall men walked into the room, the younger with a playful sparkle in his eyes and the older with a gentle but stern gaze. “I remember Jung Taekwoon-ssi, he didn’t say much.”

Yoongi hummed. “We shared an apartment together when I moved to Aurea, haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

“Oh, Yoongi!” the said fashion model said, spotting Yoongi from behind Jeongguk. “I rarely see you anymore since you’re in His Majesty’s employ.”

“His brother first and foremost,” Yoongi corrected, eyes crinkling and gums showing with his smile.

“Keeping him busy, aren’t you, Your Majesty?” Lee Hongbin said playfully with raised eyebrows. Jeongguk remembered meeting the man in the past now, remembering Lee Hongbin’s straightforward honesty and bluntness.

Yoongi tsked, rolling his eyes. “We will catch up later, Hongbin.”

The model smiled, pulling his older brother who took the opportunity to have a starring contest with Namjoon.

“What was Lee Jaewhan doing?” Yoongi asked when the brothers left.

“An interrogation,” Namjoon sighed. “Jaehwan-hyung does this every time we see each other. He wanted to ‘test my worthiness of Jin-hyung’s heart.’”

Yoongi snorted.

If anyone were ‘worthy’ enough for Seokjin, it would be Namjoon. The young politician was utterly in love with the older man, practically worshipping the ground Seokjin walked on.

The young King glanced around the room, surveying how full it was with guests meandering in small groups holding co*cktail glasses, chatting amongst themselves with footmen weaving in between them offering drinks.

The Queen Mother sat one of the leather sofas tucked against the far wall with the Dowager Countess of Lyra beside her.

Jeongguk winced.

Earlier, when the Dowager Countess arrived, she had loudly proclaimed the eligibility of her granddaughter for all to hear and was intent on matching Jeongguk with the girl. Thankfully, the Queen Mother stepped in, leading the older woman away from Jeongguk as he attempted to regain his wits.

The Countess was an influential member of Naissian society, she was the matriarch of her House and was firmly set on raising the station of her family through ties to the Royal House. Jeongguk could not outright say no in fear of offending the woman.

Jeongguk looked away, refusing to catch the eye of the Dowager Countess if he could help it. He could see Seokjin by the open windows. The older man’s rose-gold hair complimented the lighter-coloured flowers in the monochromatic room. Hoseok stood beside him with a hand casually set in his pockets.

Seokjin may not be particularly close friends with everyone, but he was well-regarded for his contributions to medicine, and Hoseok respected for his position in court. The physician jumped when Lee Jaehwan shouted his name from afar and rammed into him for a hug.

Jeongguk chuckled.

“The Earl of Fama, Cha Seung-won of House Corvus.”

Jeongguk froze.

Head whipping back to the entrance of the drawing room.

Heart sinking down to his stomach and mouth running dry.

“Who the f*ck invited him,” Yoongi snapped.

“Jin-hyung and I,” Namjoon said in a low voice, kind smile still plastered on his face despite the severity of his tone. “The committee would not take no for an answer; it was necessary to invite Cha Seung-won since he did contribute a large sum of money to the hospital.”

“It would be stupid not to invite him,” Jeongguk concluded grimly, trying hard to swallow, “it’ll cause a scandal.”

Jeongguk took a deep breath, trying to mimic Namjoon’s smile. Yoongi kept his frown and narrowed eyes, taking half a step forward, so he stood side-by-side in solidarity with his younger brother. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeongguk saw his mother peering over her shoulder.

The former Lord Chancellor had not aged a day since Jeongguk dismissed him from his position. All the guests had worn variations of black in respect of the Sovereign. But Cha Seung-won strolled in dressed in a maroon suit with a single black and silver feather brooch pinned to the lapel of his jacket: the emblem of House Corvus.

“And you have not changed at all, Cha Seung-won-ssi,” Jeongguk replied through gritted teeth.

“Forced retirement from my political career has been rather kind to me,” he said, grinning. “It’s always a pleasure to return to Court, though.”

Jeongguk forced himself to return the smile. “It won’t be a permanent return, but, please, enjoy your evening.”

Cha Seung-won threw his head back in a loud cackle. “Well then, I hope to chat with you soon.” He dipped into an exaggerated bow, palm open for Jeongguk’s hand.

“Not too soon, I hope,” Jeongguk spat, pulling his hand back as soon as he could. He watched as the man turned to greet Namjoon, eyeing the younger man who had taken up his position, before sauntering into the crowd.

“I didn’t think he’d actually come,” Namjoon said. “We meant to tell you both – but with the death of the Emperor of Orivala, it must have slipped.”

“But why now?” Jeongguk asked. “He’s never been a benefactor of the Crown before.”

“It’s f*cking fishy,” Yoongi said. “I don’t like it.”

I’m not sure,” Namjoon said. “Perhaps it’s because the hospital is in the Queen Mother’s name instead of yours.”

“Her Royal Highness, the duch*ess of Hesperia, Lee Ji-eun of House Cepheus.”

Jeongguk sighed in relief. Ji-eun entered in an elegant, crushed velvet, off-the-shoulder black dress. She sank into a graceful curtsy before leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss Jeongguk’s cheek and even in heels, she could barely reach.

“Jeongguk,” she greeted, turning to both of the King’s companions. “Yoongi-oppa, Namjoon-oppa.”

“Noona,” Jeongguk said. “I’m glad to see you.”

“As am I,” Ji-eun replied. “But…was that…Cha Seung-won who came in earlier?”

“We had to invite him.” Yoongi scowled. “Did everything go well in Rossarya?”

She nodded. “I’ll come by the study tomorrow before I leave for Aerarius to visit my parents. Where is Joongmo, by the way?”

“In the middle of a conversation with the Dowager Countess of Lyra,” Jeongguk said, gesturing to where his mother sat. “Give her a bit of time, if you interrupt them now, the Countess will turn her attention to you.”

“And you know how many ¬‘eligible grandchildren’ the Countess has, Ji-eun,” Yoongi grumbled.

Ji-eun winced, laughing wearily. “I see Hoseok-oppa over there, I’ll go say hi to him first.”

Jeongguk nodded, watching his older cousin go before turning to Namjoon.

“How many more?” Jeongguk whined.

“Just two,” Namjoon replied, glancing at the doorway.

“His Royal Highness, the First Prince of Attalia, Kim Taehyung of House Chrsyantheme and Lord Park Jimin of House Turnesol.”

The room abruptly fell quiet, the booming voice of the Herald suddenly holding so much power. Jimin was the first to appear around the corner with Taehyung right behind him. The Prince’s left hand rested on the guard’s right shoulder, half hidden behind Jimin’s form.

The Prince was dressed in a black suit, the jacket stitched with golden chrysanthemums. Jimin was equally impeccably dressed in all black with two silver sunflowers pinned to the collar of his dress shirt. Jeongguk noticed that the Prince preferred lighter colours; it was rare to see Taehyung in black.

And despite wearing the inky tones of House Cepheus, the pair did well to represent their houses and countries with the floral accents in their suit – understated – but, it sent a message that they were foreign guests of the Crown.

“Your Majesty,” Taehyung greeted. The title rolled smoothly off his tongue, but it didn’t sound as good to Jeongguk as his own name falling from the Prince’s lips.

Neither of them had an obligation to kiss the hand of the Monarch considering that they were not subjects of Naissus, but when Taehyung stopped in front of Jeongguk, dipping into a bow, he raised a hand to ask for the King’s: a gesture of goodwill.

But it was unexpected.

Jeongguk’s heart leapt to his throat – the evening’s surprises are not doing good things for his health. But he complied, slipping his fingers into Taehyung’s waiting palm. The Prince wrapped long fingers around Jeongguk’s, lifting the limb closer to his face.

Taehyung’s lips barely touched Jeongguk’s knuckles – but that was the closest Jeongguk had ever gotten to Taehyung’s lips.

(Whereas Taehyung had run his fingertips along Jeongguk’s lips at their garden luncheon all those weeks ago. Jeongguk tried hard not to dwell on those memories because of the illness that took the Prince soon after.)

When Taehyung straightened, Jeongguk held onto Taehyung’s hand, boldly placing the man’s fingers on his left forearm. Taehyung grinned; lips curling and cheeks puffing out as if he was trying not to smile. The Prince readjusted to slip his hand underneath Jeongguk’s and rested his fingers on the crook of the King’s elbow.

It was an intimate gesture: a clear sign that Taehyung was the King’s personal guest.

Taehyung’s hand tightened around Jeongguk’s arm as if he could feel the atmosphere: the confusion, the questions, and the gawking.

The King of Naissus was courting.

Then came the hushed whispers of the guests, the shocked gasps, and the cry of outrage of the Dowager Countess (she had been trying long and hard to match her eldest granddaughter with the young King and now realized exactly why he kept dodging.)

Jeongguk shifted, tensing and bringing his arm closer to himself, pulling Taehyung with him.

“Have you met my mother?” Jeongguk said in a low voice, lips close to Taehyung’s ear, making it clear that this conversation was meant just for the two of them, hoping to indicate that the show was over.

“No,” Taehyung said, following Jeongguk in suit. He cupped his hand between his lips and Jeongguk’s ear. “I have not had the honour.”

He pressed into Jeongguk, tightening his grip on Jeongguk’s blazer. Taehyung purposefully drew attention to the touches, drew attention to the displays of affection and supposed secrets they whispered to each other.

This was the moment where the rumours and gossip began.

Taehyung’s blindness never once seemed to be a hindrance to him.

He was a social butterfly. That much was for certain; he attracted attention not only for his looks but everything else.

At the reception before dinner, he drew a small crowd around him. After greeting the Queen Mother, Jeongguk and Taehyung were separated, the King having been caught by Seokjin to speak with the CEO of the pharmaceutical company and Taehyung swept away by Lee Jaehwan who wanted to introduce him to the masses of socialites and nobles.

At dinner, Taehyung sat across from Jeongguk. The young King having Hoseok beside him, his mother on the other side, and the Prince sat with Ji-eun on one side and Jimin on the other.

Despite how he was Jeongguk’s personal guest, and that Jeongguk was King, everyone was more interested in the Taehyung.

“He is charming,” the Queen Mother said, leaning in to whisper into the young King’s ear. “Charming and handsome indeed.”

Jeongguk hummed his agreement. It was mesmerizing to watch. All eyes were drawn to the coy smiles and melodic laughter of the Attalian Prince.

Jeongguk could never command attention in a room the way Taehyung could. Jeongguk was respected because of his title, Taehyung was adored.

Jeongguk lifted his wine glass to his lips.

“It was good that you chose Jin-hyung as the representative of the Crown at Emperor Park Hae-jin’s coronation,” Hoseok said, pulling Jeongguk from his thoughts. “My father was rather unhappy that it wasn’t me though.”

“Is Gomobu still trying to push you towards a higher position?” Jeongguk asked. He spun the stem of his wineglass, the light of the candelabra catching the shine in the wine, reflecting the soft white and pink flowers and bringing his thoughts back to Taehyung.

“Sort of,” Hoseok replied. “But I am happy where I am. To aid you as your Commander General and as a member of your King’s Circle is enough. There’s nothing more that I want.”

“I could gift you with another title with a marriage, Hoseok-hyung,” Jeongguk said, shaking his head when the footman came by with the decanter of wine.

Hoseok laughed, letting the footman refill his glass. “Funny you should mention that. My father is considering a match.”

Jeongguk paused. “Have you met him?”

“Her,” Hoseok said.

“Oh.”

“Bang Minah,” Hoseok said, subtly pointing to a pretty woman several seats down the long dinner table. “She’s 28-years-old, not nobility, but the heir of Bellis Industries. Marriage would put me in an advantageous position in society. She’s friendly, doesn’t flaunt her status around. But of course, not my ideal match.”

“I could stop the potential engagement, Hoseok-hyung. You just need to tell me.”

“I know,” Hoseok replied. “But I can’t let you get involved – you’re already dealing with the Privy Council’s unhappiness about your bias towards the members of your King’s Circle. Besides, if I decided to refuse, my father would eventually understand. I just don’t want to disappoint him.”

Jeongguk nodded slowly. “How is your mysterious paramour?”

Hoseok sighed, smiling though his shoulders drooped. “Unhappy with discussions of my potential engagement. But we’ll work it through.”

Food continued to be served, and drinks flowed as the gala dragged on.

Jeongguk later stood, pulling a thick piece of cardstock from his inner jacket pocket and clearing his throat. The room slowly fell silent. Jeongguk cleared his throat again, glancing at the speech Namjoon had helped him write.

He thanked the guests for coming and toasting to his mother’s health and his guests.

His speech was coming to a close and Jeongguk was happy to disperse the attention away from himself. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cha Seung-won.

Jeongguk was certain that it wasn’t an accident this time.

Namjoon apologized sheepishly for the disruption as the footmen cleaned up the small mess.

The young King pulled his eyes away from the ex-Chancellor, taking advantage of Namjoon’s distraction to try and find his place in the speech again. Jeongguk forced a smile, thanking everyone for their generous donations towards the foundation of building the hospital.

“The Crown thanks you for your contributions and I sincerely hope that you will enjoy the rest of the evening.”

The room erupts into polite applause as Jeongguk sat down, tucking the speech back into his jacket pocket. He bit his lip, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and trying not to let his eyes wander back to Cha Seung-won. So, he lifted his gaze straight ahead, finding Taehyung with his head tilted to the side, right ear turned towards Jeongguk with a bright, teeth-revealing grin.

And Jeongguk found himself returning the toothy smile.

After dinner, the guests were ushered into the adjacent ballroom, where a band played, and more drinks were served. Jeongguk ended up sitting at a table, legs crossed with the tailing ends of the bubbling champagne travelling down his throat. He could see Namjoon and Seokjin standing side by side in the circle of their peers, shoulders touching and mirroring each other’s minuscule movements.

Yoongi and Hoseok were enjoying the music on the other end of the room. Jeongguk’s cousin was bobbing along with the beat, attempting to hold back the desire to break out into dance. Lee Hongbin stood with the pair, nonchalantly swirling a whiskey glass as he spoke to Yoongi.

Ji-eun sat with Jeongguk’s mother. The young woman held onto arm of the Queen Mother, talking softly into her aunt’s ear.

Jeongguk decided against joining any of them; he learned over the years that the presence of the Sovereign quickly dashed casual conversion into a lulling awkward silence, followed by carefully worded remarks.

He then found himself searching for the Attalian Prince, who was quickly swept away from the dinner table. It wasn’t too long until Jeongguk found the halo of blond hair, arm tucked around Jimin’s elbow as they wound their way through the crowd.

Jimin had his eyes set on Jeongguk, guiding Taehyung through the crowd. The guard spoke to Taehyung, cupping his hand over the Prince’s ear to block out the sounds of the band playing. Then Jeongguk saw a smile blooming on the Prince’s face. Toothy and rectangular. His pace picked up.

The people around Taehyung nodded and bowed as the Prince passed, but before the pair could cross the floor of the ballroom, Lee Jaehwan appeared again with Han Sanghyuk by his side. Jimin blinked rapidly in surprise before a helplessly cheery grin pulled his lips.

And even from halfway across the room and over the music, Jeongguk could hear Lee Jaehwan’s yelling. “Come on, Taehyung, we haven’t introduced you to Hakyeon-hyung yet.”

“He’ll love you both,” Han Sanghyuk said, matching Lee Jaehwan’s enthusiasm. The two linked arms with Jimin and Taehyung and dragged them back into the crowd.

Jimin glanced over his shoulder, meeting Jeongguk’s eyes, wincing apologetically and mouthing the words ‘we’ll be back.’

Jeongguk pulled his lips into a grin, nodding his understanding – but really, he’d be lying to himself if he wasn’t dejected. He barely had a chance to talk to Taehyung the entire evening. He wanted more of those simple touches: the firm strength of Taehyung’s hand against his arm and Taehyung’s hot breath against his ear.

“Jeongguk – how lonely you seem sitting here by yourself.”

Jeongguk shifted in his seat, turning to see Cha Seung-won sitting down across from him at the small table. The man crossed his legs imperturbably and placed his glass of whiskey neat on the table.

Jeongguk lifted his wine glass to his lips, downing the rest of the alcohol in one gulp.

“Cha Seung-won-ssi,” Jeongguk said. “Your company is not needed.”

The man turned, resting his elbow on the table. “Shame, and here I thought we could have a civil conversation, Jeongguk.”

“It’s Your Majesty, then sir after that,” Jeongguk hissed.

Cha Seung-won chuckled. “Of course. You know, I could have helped you to greatness.”

“I don’t want your help, not after all the ‘help’ you’ve given my mother,” Jeongguk hissed. “You’re lucky I only took your title as Lord Chancellor and that I did not strip you of your rank and lands.”

“But of course,” Cha Seung-won said, “I’ve witnessed the fury and mercy of the young King first hand.”

Jeongguk crossed his legs, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he exhaled slowly though his nose. His heart beat furiously in his ears, and he could feel the heat of anger rising up his neck.

“I don’t think you’ve made quite a stir in the media as you have tonight.”

“What do you mean.”

“The King of Naissus, courting the Blind First Prince of Attalia. The boy who was thrown to the side because of his blindness was he not? And what a prize the King of Attalia would win once his useless eldest son weds the King of Naissus – what an alliance he got. What a story!”

“Taehyung renounced his claim to the throne, before he lost his sight,” Jeongguk corrected, blood boiling and words falling from his lips as he defended the Attalian Prince. He called the footman over for a stronger drink.

“Or so the story goes,” Cha Seung-won said, raising an eyebrow. “What do the Attalians call him? Blood of the Oracle? What a bunch of fools – believing that the monarchy are descendants of the Gods when, really, they’re nothing more but ordinary people with an extraordinary amount of power. Look at our own monarch: a boy, with no exceptional talent – just a birthright.”

Jeongguk spluttered on his drink, lost for words – as he is always lost for words around Cha Seung-won.

“Well, I’ll be leaving now,” Cha Seung-won said, standing and brushing his pants with the back of his hand. “These parties are still such a bore.”

Cha Seung-won stopped in front of Jeongguk, bowing while holding the young King’s eyes. “Thank you for the invite, Your Majesty.”

He never returned to say his farewells to the guests – it wasn’t a state dinner, so the everyone left when they wanted.

It was nearly midnight by the time the last guest left the palace.

The veranda was quiet, chilly in the spring turning summer night. The moon was bright though – its light dimmed by soft clouds. It had thankfully stopped raining hours before the gala. The thick marble railing was still awfully cold but Jeongguk didn’t mind as he sat across the banister, back resting against the post. The chill of the stone underneath him helped to cool the burning shame in his cheeks – or perhaps it was the burn of the alcohol.

Jeongguk doesn’t know anymore – the rocks glass in his hands had been emptied and refilled three times in the last hour that he sat outside. It was bound to do something to his sense of judgement.

“Jeongguk?”

The young King turned around to see Taehyung slipping out from the ballroom, white cane in hand and Jimin nowhere to be seen.

“I’m here,” Jeongguk said, watching the Prince turn at the sound of his voice.

“How far?”

“Um, about – about – I don’t know – 20 metres away? Straight line. Yeah. Nothing is in your way until you reach me.”

Taehyung followed his directions, scanning his cane along the ground.

“Here,” Jeongguk said. The Prince reached out, grazing Jeongguk’s shoulder with his fingertips. His eyebrows furrowing.

“Are you sitting on the railing?” Taehyung asked.

“Yeah, care to join me?”

Taehyung shook his head, fingers still resting on Jeongguk’s shoulder before gliding down the side of his arm and finding his free hand.

“Your hands are cold,” Taehyung remarked, curling Jeongguk’s fingers into his own. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

“An hour or so,” Jeongguk replied absentmindedly, thoughts preoccupied with the feeling of Taehyung’s warm hands – now he realizes how cold he was.

“No wonder. I’ve been trying to find you for ages,” Taehyung said, rubbing the back of Jeongguk’s clenched fingers. “You seem tense.”

“Do I?” Jeongguk murmured.

“You smell of whiskey,” Taehyung said. “You’ve been drinking more than you usually do.”

Taehyung was right. Jeongguk drank way more than he should. And no, he doesn’t hold his drink well: alcohol always loosens his tongue and inebriated Jeongguk does not lie.

“Maybe it is because my personal guest keeps getting stolen away from me.”

Taehyung bit his lips, brows furrowing again – and Jeongguk wished, for just a moment, that he could see the Prince’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention.”

Jeongguk grunted, lifting the glass again.

“How much have you been drinking?”

Jeongguk chose not to answer.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asked. “I didn’t realize that my – my lack of presence would disappoint you so much.”

“It’s not you,” Jeongguk said quickly, shaking his head despite knowing Taehyung couldn’t see. “You don’t disappoint me. I’m glad you enjoyed it – I’m glad you came. My mother likes you. Everyone likes you, finds you charming. Me? My presence kills conversation.”

He saw Taehyung noticeably tense.

“I enjoy talking to you,” Taehyung says quietly. “I like your honesty. Most people pretend to like me, take pity on me, including me in conversations because I can’t see. ‘Shame,’ they’d say behind my back, ‘he’d be such a catch if he weren’t blind.’”

The Prince leaned into Jeongguk, pressing his shoulder into Jeongguk’s side as he spoke.

“But never you. You never pitied me.”

The Prince smiled softly.

Jeongguk always had search eyes for people’s emotions; eyes were the windows to the soul after all. But that was impossible with Taehyung. So, he searched Taehyung’s lips and found irritation in pressed lines, mischievousness in pretty curves, and joy in wide rectangles.

And now, now Jeongguk found warmth in softness.

He wondered if Taehyung’s lips would taste the way Taehyung always smelled: like lavender.

Taehyung suddenly reached across Jeongguk then, fingers searching for Jeongguk’s other hand until he found the glass cupped firmly in his grasp. The Prince pulled on it, and Jeongguk let go, eyes following the delicate silhouette of lips in the moonlight.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight. You could ask me that again when you’re sober.” Taehyung said.

Jeongguk vaguely wonders what he asked Taehyung.

“Good night, Jeongguk, drink some water before sleeping.”

“Good night, Taehyung,” Jeongguk muttered.

He didn’t watch Taehyung go, the sounds of the Prince’s cane enough to indicate him going inside.

Jeongguk swore quietly to himself, letting his head fall back against the stone pillar.

Jeongguk wondered what disappointment would look like on Taehyung’s lips and if he’d already seen it on the older man.

(Jeongguk slept fitfully that night, dreaming of moments in the past that today’s words dug up.)

Jeongguk flies down the dais, taking the steps two at a time before slamming his body against the doors. The light of the hall blinds him for a moment before he realizes that there were more people. Yoongi sat on the floor, arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line. Namjoon is pacing, Seokjin is sitting with his legs crossed on the lone chair and Hoseok leans against a wall beside him.

His friends, his brothers.

Their eyes rise at the sound of the creaking door – a look of hopefulness with questions.

(Jeongguk knew what those questions were now: Did they do it? Did the Queen Mother resign without them having to resort to rebellion? Or did all their efforts go to waste? Is Jeongguk the king?)

He couldn’t meet their eyes; he stares at anything but those expectant bright gazes. He nods, head moving in jerking motions.

They’ve done it. He is King – at 18-years-old.

The youngest king in Naissian history without a regent.

He sees the four standing before him.

They all kneel– the highest order of fealty: the promise to lay their lives down for the King.

(Jeongguk remembered that without Namjoon, none of this would have happened. Jeongguk would have signed the accord. His mother would spend seven more years as co-Regent with Cha Seung-won. Perhaps Cha Seung-won would have taken Jeongguk under his wing, broken him until he was nothing more than a puppet king. But was Jeongguk any better of a ruler now?)

“Where is he?” a voice booms from down the hall, Jeongguk turns.

(The voice drew closer. It was louder than he remembered and echoed further. But it was the taunting voice from his youth – the one who voiced his innermost fears then and now.)

“What have you done?” Cha Seung-won bellows. He storms into the hall and tosses a document into the air.

Jeongguk instinctively catches it, glancing down to read it.

A copy of the abdication papers signed by his mother.

“You, insolent boy. To think that you would go against me like this when I was so close to becoming co-regent.”

Hoseok steps in, putting himself between Jeongguk and Cha Seung-won. “I suggest you watch your tongue, Lord Chancellor. This is your Sovereign King you are speaking to.”

“The Privy Council has voted against you, Lord Chancellor,” Namjoon says. “You’ve lost.”

“I have taken my place rightful place as King,” Jeongguk says. He straightens his back and attempts to look down his nose at the older, taller man. “And for your actions against the Dowager Queen and I, I hereby strip you of your position as Lord Chancellor and I’ll be cleaning up my Privy Council of your supporters as well.”

(Jeongguk remembered the confidence and conviction in his own voice. Where did it all go when he needed it most tonight?)

“What do you think you’ll do with a Circle of men barely in their 20’s with you as a King just turned 18? How do you think you’ll rule a nation? Then you’re going to ‘clean up’ the Privy Council? Those are men and women who served your father, Jeongguk.”

“And those who have shown loyalty to me will remain. Times have changed, Cha Seung-won-ssi. And I am not my father.”

(Would he ever amount to what his father was? Would his father be proud or disappointed?)

Jeongguk turns, speaking to his mother’s senior secretary. “I have been told that the Queen Mother’s Royal Standard will be lowered at dawn, have mine ready to be put up in its place.”

“Of course, Your Hi – Your Majesty,” the secretary said, tripping over Jeongguk’s new title.

“You have been dismissed, Cha Seung-won-ssi,” Seokjin said quietly. “Certainly, you know the way out.”

Yoongi places a hand on Jeongguk’s back, propelling him in the opposite direction, away from the fuming man. Jeongguk complies, taking one last glance over his shoulder.

Cha Seung-won watches him go, pointing a finger. Jeongguk turns around, digging crescent-moons into his palms as he leaves.

“Mark my words, Jeon Jeongguk: you will not succeed as the Sovereign for long. You will soon disappoint everyone – they will see that you are just a boy with too much power, Jeongguk!”

(What did Cha Seung-won call him tonight? A boy, with no extraordinary talent, unable to stand up for himself. Now Jeongguk remembered what he feared most: disappointing those who loved him because Cha Seung-won was right.)

“Jeon Jeongguk!”

Jeongguk.

“Jeongguk!? Jeongguk, wake up!”

The young King’s eyes shot open and a hoarse, breathy gasp flew from dry lips.

His heart was racing.

“Jeongguk, are you awake? Jeongguk!?”

Jeongguk’s vision was blurry and he had to squint in the dark light, but he could make out the light-coloured hair from anywhere.

It was Taehyung. It was Taehyung who called him and woke him up from his nightmare.

The Prince was half-on half-off of Jeongguk’s bed.

His hair matted down against one side of his head. His pyjamas top was wrinkled, and falling off his shoulder. His breath came in huffing pants from parted dry lips.

Jeongguk read fear and desperation from those lips.

But then his eyes.

His eyes.

Taehyung’s eyes were blown wide open, ice-blue irises were glassy and shiny in the glow of the lamp by Jeongguk’s bedside.

“Get up – get up right now! We need – need to get out,” Taehyung yelled. He took a fistful of Jeongguk’s shirt, yanking hard.

Jeongguk stumbled out of bed, heart pounding and head throbbing.

“Taehyung – what’s – ”

“Hurry! We need to hurry –”

Taehyung gripped his arm, pulling him desperately towards the door. The man waved his free hand in front of him grazing walls, corners, and the sides of the furniture in Jeongguk’s room.

“Taehyung – what’s wrong?” Jeongguk asked, words garbled by a dry tongue and aching head.

Taehyung didn’t reply, breaths sounding loud and ragged as he towed Jeongguk along.

Then they’re out of Jeongguk’s chambers and into the dark hallway.

Taehyung wasn’t carrying his cane.

No guards were standing by Jeongguk’s door.

He decided that he probably dismissed them sometime after stumbling back to his rooms.

Jeongguk tried again, now awake enough to understand that something was terribly wrong if Taehyung had barged into his room at god-knows-what time then frantically tried to drag him out.

Something was wrong.

“Taehyung – ”

An ear-shattering crash.

Glass windows cracking and shattering.

Walls crumbling.

Ground shaking.

Taehyung’s hand was ripped out of his.

He was thrown off his feet.

His breath knocked out of his lungs.

Bright, scorching light behind his eyes.

Blistering heat lapping at his back.

And then the pain.

Sharp, searing pain suddenly radiating out from the back of his head.

And then blackness.

And –

Chapter 7: interlude: mélomanie

Chapter Text

i n t e r l u d e : m é l o m a n i e

Sweat makes Jimin’s shirt stick uncomfortably to the back of his neck. He runs a hand across his forehead, catching a glimpse of his flushed cheeks and bleary eyes in the glass doors.

He spent far too long in the labyrinth, got too carried away in Taehyung’s laughter and the adrenaline of pounding footsteps around hedge corners. He did not realize how dehydrated he became, how the blistering, summer sun burned his exposed skin and left him dizzy and panting for breath until he and the other children came bursting from the exit. He needed to find shade – some place to just lie down for a moment. Taehyung would be safe in the company of his siblings as they recounted their triumph over the hedge maze to the Queen.

The 12-year-old boy slams his body against the doors, pushing them just wide enough to slip through. The empty halls of the Chateau-de-Marsylle were cooler, but not by much. He stumbles into the palace, bleary-eyed and squinting against the light of the sun filtering through ceiling high windows as he tries to find the Violette Drawing Room – perhaps he’d find his mother and the comfort of her knowledge and care.

Billowing white curtains flutter like waves on the edge of his vision and Jimin could barely hear his own footsteps over the sound of his laboured breaths. But despite the headache pounding against his temples and the dizziness tempting to overtake him, he hears a familiar melody.

Of course, Yoongi would be here today. It was the Festival of Summer Solstice, all the Noble Houses of Attalia were invited to the Chateau-de-Marsylle to celebrate.

Yoongi is never at the palace very often – not like Jimin who finds the palace to be his second home. No, Yoongi and his family only show up only during state dinners and festivals and the older boy always manages to slip away from parties to find refuge in the library.

Jimin follows the song of the piano, turning down the corridor away from the drawing room and towards the Grise Library. The melody steadily grows louder, Jimin’s steps grow larger, and his heart pounds loudly in his ears.

Yoongi.

Jimin bursts into the Library, metal handle creaking and wood door groaning with his loud entrance.

But not loud enough to stop the older boy from playing.

The piano at Chateau often sits to collect dust, though Jennie does play, the young princess prefers the flute. Taehyung does not have an affinity for the instrument and Mingyu cannot seem to sit still long enough to learn. The old, grand piano sits abandoned in the library until Yoongi comes along every so often.

The pretty, antique brown piano settles in the far corner of the library. But Jimin could see Yoongi from where he stood at the entrance. The 16-year-old was dressed in a white dress shirt and light-coloured pants and despite the summer heat, has a beige cardigan draped over his lithe frame.

Yoongi is always cold though - so rarely does he venture out without the comfort of a jacket or sweater even in the sweltering months of Harvest.

His back was turned to Jimin and his shoulders slouched over the ivory keys.

Yoongi’s hair wasn’t the natural dark brown of their first meeting – nor the mottled red of their following encounters. Instead, the older boy sported a dusty-pink shade. Soft and warm like the sunrise of an early spring. The colour suited him – suited the flower of Yoongi’s House.

It is sunny where Yoongi sits, sunny and bright and warm.

The melody cuts to an abrupt stop just as the door slams shut behind Jimin with a resounding thud.

Yoongi turns, standing and the piano bench shifts from the movement. The sound of wood on wood grates on Jimin’s ears.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin whines.

“Do you need a doctor?”

“No.”

“You’re probably dehydrated, let me get you some water.”

“Just sleep – wanna sleep it off, Hyung.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply for a couple of seconds, but Jimin could hear the creaking of the piano bench, then the splashing of water. Jimin turns his head and cracks an eye open.

The first thing he’s met with is a glass filled with water in front of his face, then Yoongi’s worried face next to it. Yoongi’s hair shone in the afternoon light, and Jimin wondered how the older boy would look with a circlet of red carnations or pink cherry blossoms in his hair.

Jimin stupidly contemplates braving the outdoors to make the older boy one. But the sheer thought of the sun’s scorching heat pulls a whimper from his lips.

“Drink half of it,” Yoongi orders sternly. “Then you can sleep.”

Jimin takes the glass, pulling himself up onto his elbows. He pouts as he obediently lifts the glass to his lips. Yoongi rolls his eyes. The frown was now disappearing, replaced with a relieved grin.

Quiet and unassuming is the care and attention that Yoongi gives Jimin. Just like their first meeting two years ago when Jimin broke his ankle pushing Taehyung out of the path of a spooked horse: little words need to be said.

Jimin settles back against the pillows, closing his eyes against the rays of the sun.

Jimin hears the sound of wood on wood again, quieter though, muffled. He turns his head to see Yoongi moving to pull the fall board over the keys.

He wasn’t going to play.

And Yoongi complies.

The melody is hesitant to start, slow and soft before it slowly gains momentum but never losing its soft touch.

Jimin wasn’t extraordinarily musical, despite his mother’s attempt at tutoring him in multiple instruments, he finds his rhythm and melody in physicality. But, he still had the knowledge, the background to understand how extraordinary talented Yoongi is. The older boy is improvising, adding his own variations to classical pieces.

It’s a different song than the one Yoongi was playing earlier, the melancholy tones gone and replaced with a sweet melody.

The piano sings underneath Yoongi’s touch, and Jimin falls closer under the comfort of sleep.

“You should become a musician, Hyung,” Jimin mumbles, words garbled. He wonders if he’s making any sense.

The tempo of the song slows.

“I want to,” Yoongi answers.

“You’d be an amazing musician, Hyung - everyone would love you.”

“But…”

“But…?”

“If only…”

It feels like only minutes later that Jimin realizes the silence in the room and that he had fallen asleep. The sun has begun to set, casting shadows in corners of the library.

Nights are always colder because Attalia floated so high above the clouds. The curtains danced in the breeze of the chill settling into the room, but Jimin is warm nestled underneath the weight of wool on top of him.

Wool?

Jimin shifts in his sleep, peeling his eyes open to see plush silk of peony petals pinned to the left side of a familiar beige cardigan. He closes his eyes once more, the warmth surrounding him pulling him back under. But then he realizes that there were fingers softly – hesitantly – running through his hair.

Jimin wonders if it is his mother, but he couldn’t smell her perfume, he’d recognize the familiar sweet and fruity scent of wisteria flowers. Instead, Jimin’s senses are filled with the essence of orange blossoms: bright citrus and warm floral. Besides, peonies aren’t flowers of his mother’s house.

Jimin forces his eyes open, trying to pull himself away from the embrace of sleep. He glances up and sees pink – just as soft and plush as the petals.

Yoongi.

It was his fingers.

It was his cardigan.

The older boy sits on the arm of the chair and slouches over the back.

Yoongi pauses when he notices Jimin awake, fingers freezing in Jimin’s dark hair, and eyes dilating.

But the 12-year-old does not notice the older’s surprise.

Jimin settles back to sleep, closing his eyes and sighing contently, nuzzling into the pillows and Yoongi’s hand.

“Thank you, for taking care of me, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin mumbles, and as he drifts, those fingers continue combing through his hair. “I love you.”

Sleep as a way of playing with memories – in between the world of wake and sleep, memories cannot be trusted.

But Jimin was certain that he remembers the tenderness of fingers running through his hair, the sweet fragrance of orange blossoms that draws closer, and the familiar baritone drawl whispering the words:

“And I, you.”

It was so monotonous – intimidating even.

The number of staff dwindled in the night, with only a small number of guards and those left cleaning up the ballroom left.

Taehyung was comfortably nestled amongst the plush sheets of his bed. Though the Prince enjoyed parties, it was rather a sensory overload, and it left him drained and tired.

Tonight, however, Taehyung did not return to their rooms particularly happy. But he refused to discuss matters with Jimin and Jimin would not press his best friend. Taehyung will tell him when he was ready to – as things always were between the two of them.

But Taehyung’s peculiar mood left Jimin too restless to sleep. So, he decided to wander the corridors of the palace. His shoes clicked on the marble floors, reverberating in the dark empty halls. He ended up wandering away from the state apartments and towards the Grand Staircase.

It would be too late to venture into the city, too rainy for a nighttime run, and it would be too boring to play video games alone. So Jimin decided to seek out the gym - he remembered the young King saying something about working out with Hoseok.

But before Jimin could hunt someone down to ask for directions, he saw the glow of a light from a small crack of an opened door.

The Erato Music Room.

The King’s Right-Hand doesn’t stop playing.

Yoongi set the glasses down onto the flat, marble railing, pouring a measure of alcohol into one glass and handing it to Jimin.

Jimin took it, eyes hard and fingers stiff as he stood with his back against the door.

The man poured himself just a bit more, placing the decanter by his feet and leaned against the marble pillar.

The balcony had no other exit but the door behind Jimin and the drop from the second story that would prove agonizing if not deadly. There was no escape – no matter how long Yoongi stalled.

“No – I –”

“What was it: ‘the Earl of Libertas, Min Yoongi of House Eridanus?’” Jimin continued, cutting Yoongi off, spitting the title between his lips. “What a story. Your mother passed from the Naissian Plague. Your father died of a heart attack. Then, the poor orphaned boy was adopted by the Queen Mother because of his love of music.”

“I can – ”

“What a lie,” Jimin said through gritted teeth. He raised the glass, downing the contents in one gulp and letting the alcohol burn down his throat and fuel his anger. The anger and confusion and loathing that Jimin had felt since the moment he laid eyes on the Right Hand in the Throne Room, since the moment he recognized the delicate features and baritone voice.

Jimin snorted, crossing his arms. He stayed silent, giving Yoongi the opportunity to continue.

“I am not guilty of my father’s crimes – but if word gets out that I am the living second son of House Pivoine, serving under the King of Naissus, you’ll cause a scandal so great it could derail Jeongguk’s reign.”

Jimin took a step forward, his chest pressing against Yoongi’s and his lips brushing against the older man’s ear.

A trace of orange blossoms invaded his senses.

“Your right… I ran away from my family and faked my death,” Yoongi began. “But not because I was involved in my father’s offences.”

Yoongi closed his eyes and in that moment, Jimin realized just how much the man had aged since their last meeting in childhood.

Jimin bit his lips, shifting uncomfortably in the silence that had overtaken them.

“I thought you died,” Jimin whispered numbly. “I thought – I saw the car crash on the news.”

“Suran-noona let me use her autonomous car and we programmed it to drive off the cliffs – no remains would be found, the easiest method,” Yoongi explained. Jimin found Yoongi’s eyes. In them, he found no trace of regret, but there was a sadness.

“I went to your funeral.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I mourned you.”

“I’m sorry to have hurt you,” Yoongi murmured, lowering his head.

“Your family mourned you.”

Yoongi lifted his eyes. It was dark – the light from indoors was barely enough for Jimin to catch Yoongi’s expression: tense and confused.

And Jimin was drunk on the smile – or perhaps drunk on how much he drank. He never held his liquor well – never wanted to hold his liquor well, he let it consume him, amplify his emotions – he used it as an excuse.

“We can still be friends, Jimin.”

“I loved you, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin said softly, slipping back into the familiar honourifics he used 12 years ago.

It slipped easily off his tongue.

Yoongi was tripping over his words – he was rambling.

“I – I knew you weren’t a child, but I never wanted to consider –”

Yoongi had always been eloquent, and now Jimin saw the older man struggle to formulate his thoughts.

“I never wanted to consider you as more,” Yoongi said quickly. “Never wanted to – Jimin, I was part of a House that was nothing in the grand scheme of the Royal Court. You are the first son of the Marquis of Châtaigne of House Turnesol: the Crownsguards of the Royal Family. You will always out of my reach.”

Jimin reacted on instinct – years of training to protect Taehyung made him instinctually seek to protect those around him. He pounced on Yoongi, pulling the man closer to the ground and using his own body as a shield.

The blast was loud.

It left Jimin’s ears ringing, adrenaline rocking through his body, and the same insistent thought of: where is Taehyung, is Taehyung okay? Taehyung. Taehyung – Taehyung.

But Jimin knew where Taehyung was.

Jimin had yet to remember the layout of the palace, but he knew that the northern wing was reserved for the private apartments of the Royal Family. Jimin was also certain that Taehyung’s rooms were in the eastern wing of the palace, and from the balcony, Jimin could see an entire section of the northern wing was engulfed in black ashes.

“Yoongi-hyung –”

“Those are Jeongguk’s rooms,” Yoongi murmured, detached. “Those are – that where Jeongguk is.”

And like Jimin, who’s priority will always be Taehyung. Yoongi’s priority is always Jeongguk.

Jeongguk. Jeongguk. Jeongguk.

“JEONGGUK!”

Chapter 8: oneirataxia

Chapter Text

o n e i r a t a x i a

And.

And –

Jeongguk couldn’t breathe. Each inhalation was short and filled with smoke and particles that forced a ragged cough from his throat.

A loud, high pitched ringing assaulted his ears.

And –

Everything burned.

He forced his eyes open. His entire head pulsated as bright lights barraged his vision. He could only make out his hand in front of him before his vision spun and the world spun, and his stomach churned and f*ck – he was going to puke.

And the ringing still persisted – it hadn’t stopped.

There was a burning and an ache he could feel permeating his skin and entering deep into his bones, and his head – someone was drilled a f*cking hole in the back of his head.

He couldn’t breathe.

The ringing.

Jeongguk raised his hands, clamping them over his ears in hopes of dulling the reverberating ringing. His fingertips brushed against hot wetness at the back of his skull that matted his hair down, and it stung like hell where his fingers pressed.

What the f*ck –

“Jeongguk – Jeongguk!”

Jeongguk could recognize that voice anywhere.

Yoongi – Yoongi-hyung. But why couldn’t Jeongguk couldn’t hear well – he couldn’t think straight over the ringing. Stop the ringing – making the ringing stop.

“Jeongguk – you need to stop moving. Stop moving.”

Seokjin.

He wasn’t moving, was he?

He would stop moving if Seokjin could stop the ringing – Seokjin would be able to stop the ringing – he was a doctor after all.

“There’s so much – so much f*cking blood, Jin-hyung.”

Hoseok. Why did their voices sound so far away?

“It’s common for head injuries to bleed profusely.”

Why wouldn’t it stop ringing and ringing and ringing?

“Concussion,” Seokjin said, his voice lacking the warmth, replaced by a clinical distance and Jeongguk did not like the sound of it. “Split the skin. I don’t think his skull is fractured."

Why won’t the f*cking ringing stop?

“His ears are bleeding, Seokjin.”

“Tympanic rupture. Your eardrums ruptured, Jeongguk, that’s why there is ringing in your ears. It will pass.”

Oh. Concussion.

That’s why his head hurt.

Concussion.

Right?

But the ringing.

Just make it stop.

“Why is he asking the same f*cking question over and over again?” Yoongi screamed, and Jeongguk could hear the panic in Yoongi’s voice.

And his mother’s voice – Jeongguk could hear his calling his name in terror. That made him scared, his heart was racing, he could hear his heartbeat on top of the damned ringing and ringing and ringing – and the pain – just make it stop. Make it all stop.

“Anterograde amnesia, it’s the brain injury. He can’t remember that he’d asked the same questions already.”

Hands were prying his arms away from his head, laying him flat on his back, holding his arms away from his ears, holding his head still when all he wanted was to curl in upon himself.

Stop – all he wanted was for the ringing to stop. Pressure on his head, pressing against the sharp burning ache at the back of his skull.

“Ji-eun, keep your aunt calm. Namjoon, call for the medical household now. Hoseok, Jimin stabilize any open wounds Taehyung may have – but do not move him. Yoongi, I need you to hold Jeongguk down – if he keeps thrashing he’ll hurt himself more and let me know if he loses consciousness immediately.”

And then he heard Yoongi’s voice, far away but calm. Calm as it can be through a storm.

“Jeon Jeongguk – Jeonggukie, you have to stay awake, okay? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

He could feel hands prying his balled fists open, intertwining between his fingers, clasping hard enough that Jeongguk could feel his bones protesting.

Yoongi. Yoongi-hyung.

Why was he on the ground, what happened, why was Yoongi scared, why are his ears ringing –

“Everything will be fine, Jeonggukie. You’ll be fine. We’ve got you – we’ve got you.”

“Do you find me attractive, Jeongguk?” Taehyung asks, his voice is muffled by the sound of crashing glass. Wine spills on the table, soaking into Taehyung’s white sleeves like rosé-coloured blood.

Blue eyes.

Jeongguk remembers the first time he saw Taehyung’s eyes. The pictures that Namjoon showed him revealed warm pools of brown. Jeongguk had little to say about those eyes before – too caught up in the Attalian Prince’s brilliant smile, stunning beauty, and the prospects of an arranged marriage.

But now, when he looks back upon it, he remembers the kindness and warmth those dark, brown eyes.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.

So, what do Taehyung’s crystalline blue eyes say?

Bright and icy-blue eyes that gleam like hazy stained-glass. Now, Jeongguk remembers what he saw in Taehyung’s eyes: knowledge of something beyond the peaceful flower gardens, something that terrified him and that he wished not to see.

It was such a stark contrast between the eyes Jeongguk saw tonight.

Wide and clear and desperate – desperately wanting to see.

Jeongguk recollects seeing similar eyes in his youth: his father’s.

As the Plague took the late King, his eyesight was the first to fail him: as it does everyone who succumbs to the illness.

Those warm, liquid brown eyes that Jeongguk’s mother said he inherited. He barely remembers the weeks leading to his father’s death. But Jeongguk remembers seeing the first few symptoms.

The headaches, the weakness, all passed off for exhaustion of his kingly duties as the Naissian Plague devastated the country.

But then came the loss of vision.

Jeongguk was there when the doctors whisked his father away into isolation. They did everything they could to prologue the late King’s life, but it was surely inevitable.

He remembers his mother’s wailing cries and the wide, glassy, desperate look in his father’s eyes – the desperation to see – the desperation to live. And he saw it tonight in Taehyung’s eyes.

Jeongguk remembers what he had said when he drank too much at the gala.

“You smell like lavender. Would your lips taste like lavender if I kissed you, Taehyung?”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight. You could ask me that again when you’re sober.”

But he’ll never have the courage when he is sober.

“But that’s not what you really want to know, is it?”

Brown eyes. Taehyung’s kind brown eyes and brilliant grin.

Then brown irises bleed into crystal blue.

Unseeing. Blind.

“Yes, I find you very attractive, Taehyung.”

How could he not with the Prince’s genuine kindness? But how could he when questions run rampant in Taehyung’s wake?

The Prince’s skin took on the sickly pallor of the late King before his death.

“Wouldn’t you rather know if it’s the Plague?”

Voices. There were familiar voices that were calling him from the quiet haze of sleep. The ringing in his ears – he remembered it was louder – now it was a dull reminder of… of… something. Another unfamiliar sound: a rhythmic beep that sang in tune with the thumps in his chest.

A heart monitor?

He was so tired, all he wanted was to shift into a comfortable position and drift off again – but something was bothering him. His thoughts felt disconnected like there was a fog separating his body from his mind. He couldn’t feel or move his limbs. But he could feel the dull burn, and something told him that the pain would be worse if it weren’t for that disorienting fog.

“…rest.”

“How could I when…”

Yoongi. And that was his mother’s voice.

“…Jeongguk will be fine, Your Majesty. He’ll make a full recovery. You should get some sleep.”

Seokjin.

Full recovery. Did something happen? Was that what was keeping him from sleep?

“I cannot argue with you, Yoongi. Nor could I force you from his side.”

“I’m stuck with Jeongguk forever, Eommoni.”

“We all are.”

Stuck with him forever.

Until earth returns to earth. Till death –

No, he couldn’t do that to Yoongi – couldn’t do that Seokjin. Hoseok. Namjoon.

“sh*t, I think we woke him up.”

Fingers brushed his hair, catching in something plastic that was pressed against his cheek and shoved into his nostrils.

“Jeongguk,” Seokjin called. “Jeongguk, can you open your eyes for me?"

He complied.

But Jeongguk was always slow to wake. He peeled heavy eyelids back, and the world was a blurry mess of dim colours and spinning lights. He whined with a parched throat and a thick tongue.

A white light flashed between his eyes, and he tried hard to shift away from the blinding brightness.

“Pupils are responding normally,” Seokjin said softly. “CT scan and X-rays came back negative, blood oxygen levels are normal, and vitals are fine. So, concussion, three staples in the back of his head, minor smoke inhalation, and some second-degree burns. He’ll recover.”

“How are you feeling, my love?”

Okay – he thinks. Just tired. He could feel his limbs now, but with that realization came the rising fiery pain.

“I’ll increase the morphine drip…I could pull the oxygen cannula now...would be more comfortable....”

What felt like only seconds later, Jeongguk was beginning to lose the connection with his body again, and the promise of blissful darkness called.

“Go back to sleep, Jeongguk…”

The late King of Naissus, Jeon Yeong-hwan, was famed for his gentle heart and his tragic death. He married his betrothed, the youngest daughter of House Eridanus, at twenty-five years. Two years later, he ascended the throne upon his father’s death. A year after, the young Queen gave birth to a healthy son, His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Jeon Jeongguk, and the future of the House and realm was secure.

The country was stable under the rule of His Majesty, King Jeon Yeong-hwan, but not even a just and kind ruler could stave off the inevitability of morality. There was not a scandal in his thirteen-year long reign and all was well until the Naissian Plague struck.

The King was not the first to fall within the Ancient House Cepheus, his younger brother, Prince Yeong-su, perished at the beginning of the epidemic, leaving behind his beloved wife and daughter, Ji-eun. The second was one of the King’s closest friends and advisors.

The third, was the King himself, falling to the Plague merely weeks before the cure was discovered.

His Majesty the King had sworn in Prince Yeong-su and his two closest friends as members of his King’s Circle in an ancient tradition known as the Oath of Blood.

It was a ritual passed down from the Kings of Old to bind the lives of the ruler’s most trusted advisors to his own. In the event of the King’s death, it was customary that those who were bound to him to follow. However, that was a tradition that long since died. Centuries have passed since the last fallen king had members of the King’s Circle depart alongside him.

The tale of the tragic King and his King’s Circle lived on past their deaths, for the neither the King nor any member of his King’s Circle survived the calamity.

The last member of the King’s Circle did not catch the Plague – but nor could he continue to live in the wake of his fallen brothers.

And in his grief, he took his own life.

The lights were low, dimmed so Jeongguk saw only shadows in varying shades of grey. He closed his eyes.

Someone was beside him, fingers of his left hand curled into the other’s palm. He could recognize it – feel the raised skin at the base of their digits, remembered that Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin all carried similar scars. But only Yoongi’s stood out in faded pink against pale skin.

Jeongguk instinctively thumbed the pad of his left index finger, feeling the smooth bump where he pricked his skin four times to draw blood. Once more than his father – one more life he would take with him to the grave. This was his only reminder of the Oath; the scars of his brothers were larger – the sacrifices of his brothers will always be greater.

He faintly squeezed Yoongi’s hand and the man jolted.

“Jeongguk, are you awake?” Yoongi asked, voice hoarse and groggy as if he was asleep.

“I think I was dreaming,” Jeongguk heard himself murmur.

“About?” Yoongi asked, voice low and almost humouring him. Jeongguk opened his eyes, the headache subsiding enough that he did not feel like puking as his vision focused on Yoongi’s silhouette and the IV pole behind him.

“I was dreaming about the Oath of Blood,” Jeongguk said.

“Oh?”

“I can’t help but think about what – what he did for Abeoji.”

“I see…”

“Don’t do that for me, okay?”

“You’re fine, Jeongguk,” Yoongi said. “You’ll be back to full health and acting like a f*cking muscle pig in no time.”

Jeongguk could tell that Yoongi was trying hard to keep his voice light, keep the bored grumble present in his tone. But it was difficult to mask the strain. But Yoongi’s voice was soft in the darkness, soothing and lulling Jeongguk back to the warm comfort of sleep.

“But if something were to happen, don’t do that for me,” Jeongguk said, his words began slurring. “Live. Be happy. Take care of Ji-eun-noona.”

“Just shut up and go back to sleep.”

But he needed to say one more thing. Something Yoongi needed to know – in case something was to happen.

“I love you, Yoongi-hyung.”

“Go the f*ck to sleep; you’re higher than a kite.”

Fingers card through his hair again, and Jeongguk remembered long ago when Yoongi had lulled him to sleep like this.

A hand brushed over his, finding the scar on his finger.

“I love you too.”

“Are you sure, Yoongi-hyung?” Jeongguk asks hesitantly, gripping the arms of the throne and struggling not to bounce his leg. The heavy sword balances precariously in his lap and the slightest movement would have it jostling and slipping to the floor. “You’re swearing yourself to another King.”

“I know,” Yoongi replies, making his way up the dais with sure and measured steps. He rakes a hand through seafoam green hair and straightens his black jacket. “Though I was part of an aristocratic family, I swore no oath of fealty to the King of Attalia.”

Yoongi stops before the throne and Jeongguk has to crane his neck to meet the older man’s eyes.

“Besides, I am not swearing myself to you as just your subject, Jeongguk, but as your older brother,” Yoongi smiles softly, ruffling Jeongguk’s hair. “I’m doing this because I want to. I want to protect you, to stand by you for the rest of my life.”

Jeongguk returns a smile. “Thank you, hyung.”

“And also, to beat the sh*t out of you if you pull some dumb f*ck move.”

“Thanks for ruining the moment, hyung.”

“Can’t let you get all sentimental on me.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, but his hands are steady as he wraps fingers around the decorative hilt of the ceremonial blade, unsheathing it from the scabbard in one swift motion. The gleaming steel shines brilliantly in the light of the afternoon sun, blinding Jeongguk and forcing him to squint.

He stands, watching as his older brother bends to one knee, lowering his head.

Jeongguk takes a breath, placing the flat of the blade on Yoongi’s left shoulder, the sharp edge of the steel merely centimetres from the exposed skin of Yoongi’s neck.

“Are you, Min Yoongi, son of the Baron of LaNoix of House Pivoine, son of the Queen Mother of House Eridanus, Earl of Libertas, willing to swear the Oath of Blood?”

“I am,” Yoongi says quietly.

“Do you pledge your life and blood to me, Jeon Jeongguk, son of the Ancient House Cepheus, King of Naissus.”

“I do.”

Jeongguk pulls the blade away from Yoongi’s shoulder, placing the blade in his palm and holding it horizontally before him and offers the sword to Yoongi.

Yoongi remains kneeling but lifts his head and takes the sword, his left palm flat against the blade and his right wrapped around the hilt.

Jeongguk reaches for the dagger at his hip, with the same decorative styling on the hilt and words of the Old Language etched in the steel. The dagger was passed down from sovereign to sovereign and the sword to be used by those making their vows.

The Oath is always writ with steel and signed in blood.

Jeongguk pulls the dagger free of the sheath and places the point over his left index finger, nicking the skin. A bright red globule of blood forms, glistening as it drips.

Yoongi slowly tilts his right wrist, the sword slanting as the sharp edge rests on his open left palm. He moves the blade in one swift motion, slicing a clean line through the centre of his hand from one side to the other, red spilling onto the steel and seeping onto black marble floors.

“I swear upon my flesh and blood,” Yoongi says, “my life is yours, my King.”

Jeongguk lifts his finger and places it over Yoongi’s palm, tracing the open cut on Yoongi’s hand with his own bloody finger, mixing red with red.

“May my blood be your blood,” Jeongguk declares, pulling his hand away.

Yoongi nods, rising to his feet. He closes his bleeding hand, placing his right hand over his heart as he bows at the waist.

“Till earth returns to earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”

“How is he, Yoongi-hyung?”

A low grumble. “Jimin…Better…. isn’t asking the same question over and over again. Jin-hyung has him on a quite a co*cktail of drugs – he’s… he’s a bit delirious.”

“Jin-hyung told me he should be fine.”

“Yeah, just needs to sleep it off… how is Taehyung?”

A tired sigh, the creaking of a chair.

“Stable. Jin-hyung asked me to leave while he addresses Taehyung’s broken ribs. Doesn’t want me to look over his shoulder while he works and fret. His own words.”

“Only Jin-hyung could get you to leave Taehyung’s side.”

“I could say the same for you.”

A breathy laugh.

And Jeongguk drifted off once more.

The next time Jeongguk opened his eyes, the ringing in his ears dissipated, he could feel his limbs without thinking they were on fire, and his headache was nothing more than an annoying reminder at the back of his head.

He turned to find Yoongi curled up on a sofa pushed right up against his bed with his head pressed against Jeongguk’s shoulder. Half his body rested on the mattress and the other half was curled on the sofa in what was probably the most uncomfortable position to sleep in.

Jeongguk scoffed, it had been a long time since he and Yoongi shared a bed. When he was much younger, at a time when he rebelliously refused to accept his role as Crown Prince and duty as the future King.

Yoongi sported dark circles under his eyes and chapped lips. He was snoring softly – something that occurred only when he was exhausted beyond belief.

Across the room, sat Namjoon, lying back in a recliner with his hands clasped over his lap and head lolling over a soft pink pillow – his usually immaculately styled hair fell in a disheveled disarray against his forehead.

Jeongguk scanned the room and he recognized the familiar cement walls, bulletproof glass doors, and abstract art that decorated the otherwise grey room: the underground safe house beneath Sol Palace. It was the same rooms the late King occupied before passing, a place Jeongguk had not seen since his father’s death.

They must have renovated it since, updating it with the latest medical equipment needed to care for members of the Royal Family in the case of a crisis – which confused Jeongguk.

“Are you finally awake?”

Jeongguk glanced over to see Seokjin entering the room with a relieved smile on his face. The low light in the room and the glow of his tablet casting an unhealthy pallor to his skin.

“What happened?” Jeongguk croaked, the words almost failed to form around his thick, dry tongue. Seokjin checked on the heart monitor, taking notes on his tablet before putting it down and grabbing a tray from a table at the base of the bed and moving it to the side table.

He helped Jeongguk sit up, deciding to prop him up using a mountain of pillows rather than moving the bed and disturbing Yoongi’s rather fitful sleep. Jeongguk was of little help with Seokjin’s rearranging, his body was not cooperating and the clean white bandages crawling up his forearm gave him little to no information.

“Have something to drink first,” Seokjin said, placing the tray across Jeongguk’s lap and bracing the legs of the tray on the bed.

There was a bottle of water, a carton of apple juice, and a covered stone bowl on the platter. Seokjin cracked open the bottle of water for him, and Jeongguk took it with unsteady fingers, cautiously lifting it to his lips.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Seokjin asked softly.

Jeongguk frowned, memories came slow and he had to force himself to recall anything past the thumps of his headache.

He remembered waking up in his room at almost noon, swearing under his breath and bolting upright. Chung-ho came in saying that he let Jeongguk oversleep because of how late he had stayed up. Brunch was served in his rooms. Namjoon came while Chung-ho helped Jeongguk dress, muttering under his breath about how atrociously Jeongguk had dressed himself yesterday to meet the Queen Mother and now it’s all over the tabloids.

“This morning,” Jeongguk replied. “I overslept. Chung-ho was laying out some clothes for me and Namjoon-hyung was going over the evening’s speech.”

“This morning…” Seokjin said. “Is that all?”

“What time is it?”

“8 pm,” Seokjin replied hesitantly.

“sh*t. Did I miss the gala?” Jeongguk asked, failing to register Seokjin’s caution. Jeongguk rubbed his forehead with his right hand, refusing to move his left as Yoongi’s fingers were still intertwined with his.

Wait – why would missing the gala result in him being here?

Namjoon had awoken with all the noise, jerking upright and blinking blearily. He glanced up – the same relieved look and sag in his shoulders appearing when he met Jeongguk’s eyes.

“You’re awake,” he sighed, standing and making his way over to the bed.

Namjoon’s anxiousness was alarming – the Lord Chancellor rarely, if ever, outwardly displayed his apprehension. And that only served to make Jeongguk nervous.

“What happened, why am I here?”

“Jeongguk,” Seokjin sat down. “I need you to remain calm. Do you remember anything else before the gala?”

“No…” Jeongguk said. His thoughts were sluggish like a fog had descended and each step only led him deeper into a maze of confusion. “I can’t remember anything else – am I okay?”

“You had a concussion,” Seokjin explained slowly. “You’re suffering from retrograde – and anterograde – amnesia, I think it has affected your memories of anything after yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday morning?” Jeongguk repeated weakly.

“It’s 8 pm the next day, Jeongguk,” Seokjin said. “You slept on and off for nearly sixteen hours.”

Jeongguk swallowed thickly, the water sloshing inside him uncomfortably as the terrible feeling of dread settled down with it.

“How did I get a concussion?” Jeongguk asked.

“There was an explosion in your apartments,” Namjoon said. “It went off in the middle of the night after the gala. We suspect it was a bomb.”

Jeongguk didn’t respond.

His thoughts wouldn’t let him compute the information; it was all passing through one ear and out the other. He closed his eyes, taking a breath.

Bomb.

A bomb.

Some things were coming back to him now: the pain, the ringing, the panic in Yoongi’s voice.

What.

“What – how – ” Jeongguk stuttered unable to formulate and coherent thought.

“We’re still investigating,” Namjoon continued. “We hoped you would have some recollection of what occurred.”

Seokjin opened the stone pot and Jeongguk glanced down to see steam rising from the juk inside. The older man placed the spoon beside the bowl.

“You should eat something,” Seokjin said.

But how could he eat now?

“No, you need to tell me everything,” Jeongguk demanded. “The gala already happened? A – a bomb?”

“Yes,” Yoongi said, groggily. “We will, after you’ve eaten.”

Their conversation, despite trying to keep it down, had managed to wake Yoongi. Seokjin took the opportunity to lift the bed, settling Jeongguk in a more comfortable position.

Yoongi sat up on his elbow, hand remaining intertwined in Jeongguk’s, blinking and squinting and searching Jeongguk’s eyes for something, before nodding to himself and shifting over onto the cot.

Jeongguk took the spoon, stirring the rice porridge in uninterested circles, he wasn’t hungry – but when was the last time that he ate?

“What happened after?” Jeongguk asked – hoping that something – anything could suddenly jog his memory.

“Hoseok, Jimin, and I were in the Euterpe Music Room when the bomb went off,” Yoongi said. “We were the first to find you.”

“Namjoon and I were in the media room,” Seokjin supplied.

“When we all arrived, your rooms were destroyed but both you and Taehyung were halfway down the hall lying in the wreckage.”

Taehyung was there.

Jeongguk remembered that Taehyung’s guest rooms were on the other side of the palace in the east wing. There would be little reason for the Prince to visit the apartments of the Royal Family.

“Why was Taehyung there?”

“We’d like to know that too,” Namjoon said.

“Jimin told me that Taehyung was asleep when he met me in the Music Room,” Yoongi said. “But he’s unaware how Taehyung got to the northern wing.”

“And then, after you found us?”

“Seokjin stabilized your injuries and Taehyung’s. We moved everyone to the underground safe house, including Eommoni and Ji-eun.”

“The entire palace is under lockdown until you’ve awoken,” Namjoon explained. “Hoseok is managing the investigation as we speak.”

“Is everyone alright?” Jeongguk asked.

“Fine, it was just your rooms that were targeted.”

“I – I still don’t understand how this happened and – why? Why was there a bomb?”

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon said, grimly. “There is no easy way to say this. But this was certainly an assassination attempt on your life – on the King’s life.”

“As we said, we’re still trying to piece together how this happened,” Seokjin continued. “How anyone was able to make it past the palace security.”

And before Jeongguk could formulate another question, the sound of an electronic padlock opening interrupted them as Hoseok entered.

“Jeongguk,” Hoseok said, “Oh, thank goodness your awake.”

“Anything new?” Yoongi asked.

Hoseok shook his head, shutting the door quietly behind him and Jeongguk could hear the lock automatically close behind them – that was new. His King’s Circle was taking this very seriously. And Jeongguk knew that he should too, but everything was so hard to understand.

Concussion. Amnesia. A bomb. Attempted assassination.

Taehyung.

“Nothing new,” Hoseok said, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I cannot keep the staff in the dark for much longer – there is no hard press evidence either.” The Commander General wore a rather intricate looking suit, black with a glossy sheen – too dressed up for his normal day to day wear. In fact, everyone was dressed in the remnants of extravagant suits with rumpled silk shirts, loose ties, and missing blazer jackets.

Then Jeongguk finally accepted that the gala must have really happened – that this wasn’t just some strange dream. His King’s Circle hadn’t changed even until now because they were too concerned about his well-being.

Everyone looked so – tired.

Namjoon nodded, “We’ll have to explain the situation, and let the news out that the King is alright.”

“Do the people know?” Jeongguk asked.

“No,” Namjoon said. “I’ve done my best to keep the media in the dark about matters until you have awoken to finalize decisions. There is much to do, Jeongguk.”

“Which would have to wait until he’s had enough time to recover,” Seokjin said, frowning with his eyes set on the bowl of rice porridge. Jeongguk had not taken a bite.

“I still don’t understand how Taehyung is involved,” Jeongguk said, ignoring Seokjin.

“Neither do we. No matter, Taehyung is too incapacitated to answer questions right now,” Namjoon said, “and Jin-hyung would not further risk the Prince’s health.”

“How badly injured was he?”

“No better than you,” Yoongi said, glancing at Jeongguk.

“Three fractured ribs, second-degree burns, and some open wounds,” Namjoon continued said. “He’s in and out of consciousness; the morphine’s keeping him out of sorts.”

“He’s mumbling a lot too – ” Seokjin supplied. “Jimin always looks so anxious whenever someone comes to visit him.”

“He’s hiding something,” Namjoon said, grimly, “I hate to speculate, and I didn’t want to bring this up because we had other more pressing issues to deal with, but Jimin knows more than he is offering to tell us.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Jimin never wants Yoongi-hyung in the room.”

Yoongi’s brows furrow. “We shared a complicated history – he wasn’t ever comfortable with me.”

“He came to speak to you earlier,” Namjoon said. “Called you ‘Yoongi-hyung’ when it had been ‘Min Yoongi-ssi’ since his arrival here. No, it isn’t you – it’s the fact that you speak and understand Attalian."

Seokjin nodded. “Taehyung’s sleep talking. Whatever he’s saying, Jimin doesn’t want someone who could understand him to overhear.”

“Does it have to do the bomb?”

“I don’t know – ” Namjoon said, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t like not knowing – not knowing what we’re up against and why would anyone want to kill you. But what I do know is that he was responsible for getting you out of your rooms before the bomb went off. If Taehyung were any later, you wouldn’t have escaped with the injuries you have; you’d be dead.”

Jeongguk let that sink in. Still confused – still so overwhelmed with the amount of information and the sheer number of gaps in his memories. From yesterday morning to tonight – the memories of the gala, the explosion – everything was gone.

“Try and get some rest,” Seokjin said. “We’ll get through this, Jeongguk.”

Chapter 9: oppholdsvaer

Chapter Text

o p p h o l d s v æ r

The ground was cold underneath Jeongguk’s bare feet.

Goosebumps travelled up his limbs, and he struggled to suppress a shiver.

The hallway of the underground safe-house was dimly lit in the quiet hours of the night. It was late – or early – perhaps several hours since Jeongguk awoke. But he couldn’t get to sleep again, nor would he dare to wake his worn-out brother. But the fog of lost memories had his stomach churning, and there was no resting position comfortable enough, so, Jeongguk ventured out of the room.

There were three rooms with frosted glass walls down the hall, Jeongguk’s and two others next to his. The three bedrooms were supplied with medical equipment just like his was in the event of an emergency. There were other rooms in the underground shelter, spaces that held little but the necessities. He remembered staying in one of the rooms for days on end with his mother when the Plague had befallen Sol Palace, remembered that there was little in the room that could keep a boy of ten-years entertained for long.

He knew Ji-eun and Queen Mother were in one of those rooms now – Hoseok had his men clear the palace of any obvious threats, but it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to matters concerning the lives of the Royal Family. Namjoon and Seokjin returned to their rooms upstairs. Yoongi stayed with Jeongguk, curled up into a ball on the cot beside his bed. Hoseok took one of the empty medical rooms, too tired to return to his own guest rooms or house in the city.

Jeongguk assumed Hoseok was in the room that was completely dark.

The other room – the one right across from Jeongguk’s – was filled with a faint warm light, and just beyond the glass wall, Jeongguk could see a figure moving, stretching with his arms raised. Jimin.

Jeongguk shuffled to the door, dragging tired, protesting limbs with him. He didn’t have the passcode to the door, only Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin had access to Taehyung’s rooms in the safe house. So, he raised a hand and knocked softly, watching as Jimin quickly dropping his arms and silently glided to the doors.

The padlock beeped, and the door creaked open. Then Jeongguk was met with the weary, but alert eyes of the Prince’s Crownsguard.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin said quietly. His voice was hoarse. He was dressed in all black with a wrinkled dress shirt and a pair of trousers. He hair was askew, sticking up in random directions as if he had constantly run his fingers through the silver locks.

“Jimin,” Jeongguk returned softly, “Can I come in?”

The guard blinked, “Uh. Yes. Yes. Of course.” He pulled the door open further, stepping aside as Jeongguk sluggishly shuffled through.

Jeongguk hovered by the door. The beeping of the heart monitor was a nauseating reminder of the circ*mstances in the midst of the quiet.

Seokjin had removed everything when Jeongguk woke up, clearing him of the IV, heart rate monitor, oximeter once he had some porridge and painkillers and managed to keep it all down.

Jeongguk kept his eyes down, staring at his feet for one deep inhalation before slowly raising his head.

Taehyung’s figure was shielded by a thin, white curtain at the base of the bed, but even in the dim light and the shaded white, Jeongguk could tell how severely the Prince been injured. His skin had taken on an ugly pallor, a thin sheen of sweat matting down blond hair onto his forehead. He had an oxygen cannula pressed under his nose and curled around his ears. An angry cut sat across his left cheekbone with a matching bruise trailing up the side of his eye.

White blankets covered most of his body, but his left arm was exposed with thin intravenous lines trailing up the back of his hand and bandages wrapped around his wrist and palm.

And – and he looked so frail.

Jimin sat down, sighing.

Like Yoongi, Jimin had pulled the couch all the way over to the bed. Over the back of the fabric settee, lay a rumpled black suit jacket with two silver sunflower pins were discarded on top. Jeongguk found himself staring at the delicate accessories – anything for a short, momentary distraction.

“He – uh –” Jimin started, “He looks a lot worse than he is.”

“I’m finding that really hard to believe,” Jeongguk breathed.

Jimin cracked a weak smile.

“Your doctor keeps trying to reassure me – I’m finding it hard to repeat it to myself sometimes.”

Jeongguk cautiously sat down beside Jimin, careful not move too fast – afraid that any movement could hurt Taehyung even if he weren’t touching him – and careful not to jostle his own wounds.

“He will be okay though, right?”

Jimin nodded, “Taehyung has three broken ribs.” Seokjin told Jeongguk that too. “It didn’t puncture any organs, but…but it would be agony to breathe, Seokjin-hyung has him propped up because he said it would make it easier – and he’s sedated so his body could try and recover.

Jimin rubbed his face, squeezing his eyes shut and running his hands through his hair again, “Taehyung doesn’t take well to drugs,” the guard continued. “Seokjin-hyung said it could take another ten to twelve hours before it wears off, he’ll be groggy and maybe nauseated for days. But – but it’s better than – ”

Jimin stopped himself, and Jeongguk could easily finish the sentence in his head.

Better than to see him in pain.

“How are you feeling,” Jimin asked, changing the subject. “I’m glad to see you awake and standing.”

Jeongguk nodded lightly, peeling his eyes off of Taehyung and turning to Jimin. The guard fared no better than Jeongguk’s King’s Circle, with dark circles tattooed underneath his eyes, his skin and lips dry, and his clothes wrinkled. There was a smear of dried blood on the guard’s neck and into the side of his hair – Taehyung’s blood, Jeongguk assumed. The Crownsguard hadn’t left Taehyung’s side and had almost been twenty-four hours since the incident.

“You could go clean up,” Jeongguk offered, “I’ll stay with him.”

Jimin didn’t move – didn’t even consider that as an option.

“There is blood in your hair,” Jeongguk said softly, “Have you eaten anything since?”

Now Jimin shifts, fingers combing through his hair again.

“Go, Jimin,” Jeongguk said softly, “As you said, Taehyung will not wake up anytime soon, and I don’t think you’d go until he does.”

Jimin hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. “Where is Yoongi-hyung?”

Yoongi-hyung – Yoongi-hyung?

That was new; it was Min Yoongi-ssi not a day ago. But then Jeongguk remembered: Namjoon had said that Taehyung talks in his sleep and Jimin’s concern regarding Yoongi’s understanding of Attalian.

“He’s asleep,” Jeongguk said casually.

Jimin nodded, finally making a decision. There should be little to worry regarding Jeongguk’s understand of the lyrical language of the Floating Isles. The older man stood, Jeongguk could hear Jimin’s bones cracking in protest.

“I won’t be long,” he said. “And I won’t be far away."

“I will call if anything changes.” Jeongguk said, “There are some clothes in the spare rooms, and Jin-hyung left some food in the fridge.”

Jimin nodded again, silently treading to the door and shutting it softly behind him, leaving Jeongguk in silence.

The heart monitor was louder now, without the breaths of another in the room, and obnoxiously so, but the steady beats reminded Jeongguk that Taehyung was okay – that he will be okay.

The young Kind tried to lean back against the settee, but the pressure against the wounds on his back had him wincing and sitting upright once more. So, instead, he rested his forearm on the empty space on the bed by Taehyung’s legs, moving slowly. Jeongguk cautiously searched for Taehyung’s hand. Like his left hand, Taehyung’s right was swathed under a layer of white bandages.

So, Jeongguk carefully and gingerly lifted it from underneath the covers. The Prince’s fingers were cold, clammy almost. Jeongguk was careful, not to squeeze too hard – he did not know what kind of wounds lie underneath the bandages, but he could see small cuts on the pads of Taehyung’s fingertips.

Taehyung’s fingers were not soft like Jeongguk once thought – but roughened and harden from his experience with handling flowers and gardening, and nowt those hands were further ruined by tonight.

Jeongguk sighed, leaning closer and hesitantly resting his lips on the back of Taehyung’s hand. His skin no longer held the familiar scent of lavender. Instead, it was replaced with the smell of plastic, rubbing alcohol, and iron.

Jeongguk closed his eyes, squeezing Taehyung’s hand just a little tighter.

“Do you want to take a break?”

“No,” Jeongguk insisted, as he took unsure steps, wobbling as he walked, “We’re almost there.” Yoongi was beside him, arm wrapped around Jeongguk’s waist, ready to support the younger’s weight should he falter. Hoseok led, his steps deliberately slow.

It was a straining journey to the remains of the King’s Apartments. Jeongguk’s entire body ached, and though his headache had subsided to a dull throb with the help of painkillers, his sensitivity to light made his eyes pulse. It had been less than a day since Jeongguk woke up, and Seokjin would rather have him rest just a bit more. However, Jeongguk insisted on seeing the damage done to his rooms.

He was panting by the time they arrived, wincing as grey spots stole his vision and his shortness of breath took the remains of his balance. Yoongi’s arm tightened around him. Hoseok crossed his arms firmly over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line as if he was trying hard not to comment.

Park Sun-young, Hoseok’s fire-haired Lieutenant, stood by the remnants of the doors to the King’s Apartments, bowing upon Jeongguk’s arrival.

“Your Majesty, Lord Libertas, Commander General.”

Jeongguk had met Park Sun-young on many occasions in the past in her role being Hoseok’s Lieutenant. The Commander General always spoke greatly of her intelligence and capabilities.

“Sun-young-noona,” Hoseok said, “Any developments to report?”

Sun-young shook her head. “Almost everything was destroyed in the blast, the bomb left traces of shrapnel, but no conclusive evidence could be found. We deduced that it was a PE4, probably procured off of the black market.”

“How was it triggered?” Yoongi asked.

“Via cellphone or a timer – I’m not sure,” Sun-young replied. “But, in this day and age, it wouldn’t be difficult to build such a device that is triggered from afar. I am afraid; if that is the case, the suspect could be long gone from the country by now.”

Jeongguk nodded, pushing forward and stepping through the charred doorframe.

Rain pounded loudly on the roofs and windows of the palace. The sounds of rushing water resonated louder in Jeongguk’s decimated rooms with its shattered windows and blackened, char-covered walls.

Nothing was left untouched in the explosion, though most of the walls remained standing, they exposed the framing, the wood doors splintered and broken, the furniture overturned, shattered, and burned.

“It was timed to go off around midnight,” Hoseok said, kicking away a piece of wood that looked like it came from a chair. “We suspect it was hidden in your bedside table, Jeongguk, the force of the blast extended from there.”

“Any ideas on how it got there?” Jeongguk asked, evenly.

“The maids clean your room every day after you leave in the morning, Your Majesty,” Sun-young said, glancing down at the notes she made on her phone.

“When we questioned them, they’ve told us that there was nothing suspicious found. I believe the bomb could only have been placed sometime in the afternoon, prior to the incident, between the morning when you left and the evening when you’ve returned.”

“When would the suspect have the opportunity? The King’s Apartments are locked and unguarded when unoccupied,” Yoongi said. “Who has the keys?”

“Chung-ho,” Jeongguk answered. “The King’s Valet. The maids would retrieve the key from him and return it. Are the keys missing?”

“Bak Chung-ho himself is missing, sir,” Sun-young said.

“What?”

“We cannot find him, Jeongguk,” Hoseok said. “He won’t answer calls, and he wasn’t in the palace when we locked it down shortly after the explosion.”

“As of now, it is safe to assume he is our prime suspect,” Sun-young finished.

Jeongguk closed his eyes, massaging his temples. “This – this doesn’t make any sense.”

“Chung-ho has been Jeongguk’s valet before he ascended,” Yoongi argued. “He was personally chosen by Eommoni.”

“Nothing is declared definitive, My Lord,” Sun-young said.

“We are compiling some CCTV footage from the cameras in the hallways,” Hoseok said. “Perhaps that would present us with more information.”

Jeongguk hummed in agreement. The CCTV surveillance cameras would help identify who was in and out of the King’s Apartments and perhaps jog his memories as well. Seokjin had warned him that it was possible that he wouldn’t recall the memories that he’d lost, but if he could, he would in the first couple of days while his brain recovered.

“I want to see it as soon as you’ve compiled it, Hoseok-hyung,” Jeongguk said.

“Of course, Jeongguk,” Hoseok nodded.

“And thank you for your diligence, Park Sun-young-ssi,” Jeongguk continued.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Jeongguk opened his eyes, scanning the once familiar chambers. The electricity was cut from the rooms, and the turbulent clouds in the afternoon sky did not provide any light to the darkened space.

These were his father’s rooms once before.

Jeongguk had moved into the King’s Apartments shortly after his ascension to the throne. He remembered the first time he entered the chambers; the eerie silence and the smell of antiseptic still haunted the space despite the years.

He had it refurbished, as he did the rest of the palace. Jeongguk kept little of the old décor, recreating the space to be functional for his own use.

Seeing the rooms in ruins did not hurt him as much as he thought it would. Everything could be replaced, Naissus was prosperous, and the Crown’s personal treasury abundant, rebuilding the King’s Apartments would not even leave a dent in the fortune House Cepheus has collected over its long history.

But there were other things could not be replaced.

Jeongguk pried Yoongi’s hand off his hip. The older man hesitated, tensing for just a moment before letting go. Jeongguk staggered on trembling feet towards the remnants of the bedroom and the doorway just off the left.

The walk-in closet fared no better than the rest of the room with plush white carpets dirtied and charred, shelves knocked over, and the burnt remains of clothes strewn across the floor. The wooden display cabinet in the centre of the room that held most of King’s accessories was unrecognizable. He did not need to check to know that everything inside was gone.

There were few things that he kept belonging to his father. Most of the fallen King’s belongings were burned or discarded; there was very little that could be dipped in disinfectant.

The signet ring of House Cepheus was one of them. The silvery band often sat on Jeongguk’s little finger, as it did on his father’s hand, and his grandfather’s. But the ring was an heirloom – it was not his father’s ring as it was the ring of the Royal House.

The other was a leather watch with the late King’s initials engraved on the inside of the band. It was well-worn, ageing with fraying stitches, indentations in the leather, and a tiny chip in the face of the watch. It was not an heirloom of any sort nor an expensive piece of jewellery.

But it was his father’s favourite, and Jeongguk had kept it safe over the years.

“Was anyone else hurt?” he heard Yoongi ask.

Hoseok shook his head. “Only Jeongguk and Taehyung. The wall between Jeongguk rooms and yours, Yoongi-hyung, are destroyed. As are the walls of the hall, but other than that – the damage does not extend past these rooms.”

Jeongguk turned on his heels, blinking away the blurry spots in his eyes. The burns on his skin prickled, and though he was dressed in a loose-fit cotton t-shirt and sweats, the clothes rubbed against the bandages uncomfortably. He returned to the sitting room, taking one last glance around.

“Have you gathered enough evidence?” Jeongguk asked.

“There is little evidence that remains, Your Majesty, we will resort to the surveillance footage now,” Sun-young replied.

“Good. Then I’d like to start rebuilding the rooms immediately,” Jeongguk said quietly.

Yoongi stared, perhaps surprised by how composed Jeongguk was. “I will speak to the Royal Secretary regarding finding a suitable architect.”

“Thank you, Yoongi-hyung. I think that would be all then,” Jeongguk replied curtly, Yoongi joined his side again, snaking an arm around him and Jeongguk was grateful to let his older brother bear some of his weight.

The King did not miss the silent exchanging of glances between his cousin and brother.

It was a look of pity then pride.

Pity for the boy who lost his last physical reminders of his father, pride for the man who will move forward past his grief.

But pride was an emotion wasted on him because Jeongguk was not grieving. Not anymore.

But the saying is true: you really don’t start to miss things until they’re gone.

The rainfall had picked up, and the once gloomy afternoon had transformed into a heavy storm.

The darkness and dreariness of the thunderstorm had engulfed the palace in tension. The staff walked around high strung, and the increased number of guards followed Jeongguk around diligently, eyes trailing after every passing individual with suspicion. It did not help that more guests were walking the palace halls when the Privy Council members arrived for a meeting that early afternoon.

The thunder rang in Jeongguk’s ears over the echoes of shouting in the Privy Council meeting.

As his nobles yelled over each other, Jeongguk was trying hard not to slouch in his seat, not to show his obvious discomfort.

But he was exhausted.

Jeongguk tried hard to keep his back straight and his shoulders locked, if Yoongi or Namjoon or Seokjin caught even a glimpse of fatigue, they’d put an end to his attempt to keep up his duties and drag him back to bed. He cannot appear weak here, not in front of his worried, high-strung King’s Circle and not in front of his insatiable, power-hungry Privy Council.

“This is an act of high treason!"

“But who would want to assassinate His Majesty?”

“What of the territories under the Commonwealth of Naissus?”

“The Commonwealth are independent nations,” Namjoon argued, always as the voice of reason. “Their only tie to Naissus is through culture and language; the Crown is a merely a figurehead to them.”

“Perhaps they fear being overrun, that we will take Orivala’s example and conquer them as the Empire has with Galatea,” Shin Sung-rok suggested.

“It is within the very constitution of the Commonwealth that such actions are forbidden. Clearly, Naissus gains nothing by conquering these territories,” Namjoon said.

“And they gain nothing by harming our King,” Hoseok’s father agreed.

“Has there been any trace of dissent present in any of the nations or republics?” Jeongguk asked wearily, choosing to humour the idea.

“No, Your Majesty, but it wouldn’t be improbable to imagine radicals wishing to separate from our sphere of influence,” Shin Sung-rok continued.

“You mean from Vesontio,” Park So-jin chimed in. “It has been years, even before the late King’s ascension that we have heard even a speck of opposition from the Vesonts. They have remained peaceful under the guidance of the Archduch*ess Kim Yong-sun."

“But the Vesonts have always been unhappy, wishing to separate from the Commonwealth, especially in the recent downturn of their economy,” Shin Sung-rok said. “The radicals have been pushing the Archduch*ess to separate, and in the midst of Naissus’ recovery from the plague, I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to take advantage of our weakness.”

“What weakness,” Park So-jin snapped. “Naissus has recovered. It has been twelve years since the Naissian Plague. Her Majesty, the Queen Mother and His Majesty the King have done well to restore Naissus to her former glory. If anything – they feel threatened by the new and young Emperor of Orivala.”

“Yes, but attempted regicide?”

“Enough. This is all speculation,” Jeongguk snapped, suddenly. “You are grasping at straws that are not there.”

The clipped tone in his voice silenced his council in seconds. Jeongguk sighed, “I called you all here to assure you that your King is well and to ask if you have any facts about possible discord within our realm– not to listen to your gossip and rumours about our Commonwealth.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Park So-jin said, backing down swiftly.

“It is wonderful to see you recovering so swiftly,” Hoseok’s father said, nodding to himself.

“It was fortunate that you were not in your rooms.”

“And unfortunate that the First Prince of Attalia was caught in the midst of such chaos.”

“Why was the Prince near the Royal Apartments, Your Majesty?”

Silence. Jeongguk shifted.

“I’ve heard rumours that the Prince of Attalia is here not for a cordial visit but to secure an alliance,” Shin Sung-rok said, an almost smug grin on his face as if he enjoyed making Jeongguk uncomfortable.

“Your Majesty?”

Jeongguk licks his lips. He would have to tell his Privy Council sooner or later. “It is true; the First Prince was invited to Aurea in the talks of an alliance between our nations. Nothing is confirmed on either side.”

“And you decided this without consulting your Privy Council,” Shin Sung-rok said. “But I am certain that the King’s Circle knew?”

“Yes. But it was not a discussion up for debate, the First Prince’s visit was cordial,” Jeongguk said. His patience was wearing thin. The condescending tone in Shin Sung-rok’s voice growing more and more noticeable.

“Your Majesty, what a scandal it would be if the world found out that the First Prince of Attalia was found outside of your rooms the night of an assassination attempt.”

“Which is why it will not leave the confines of this room, correct?” Jeongguk said. “The First Prince of Attalia is my guest at court, and I will not stand for slander against his name.”

“What of sending word to the King of Attalia about his son?” Parl So-jin asked.

“His Royal Highness the Prince is incapacitated and unable to make a statement regarding the events,” Seokjin said, “until he wakes up, we have chosen not to inform Attalia. This decision was made with the approval of the Prince’s Crownsguard, Lord Park Jimin.”

“We agreed that it would be best to avoid misunderstanding,” Namjoon continued. “It is fortunate that Lord Park Jimin, as the Prince’s companion and advisor, was so understanding while the Prince recovers.”

“No matter, Your Majesty, what this incident taught us if anything, is that it is time you consider marriage to secure an heir for the throne.”

“I will not speak of this matter,” Jeongguk snapped. “I am not here today to discuss my relationships.” Yoongi glanced at him through the side of his eyes, Jeongguk’s annoyance was obviously too clear. He took a deep breath, crossing his legs.

“But what of an heir?”

“Should anything happen to me, the Crown, as it always has, will be passed to the next rightful successor to the throne, my cousin, Lee Ji-eun the duch*ess of Hespera. She would be more than capable of becoming Queen.”

Jeongguk sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Namjoon suggested the meeting to ensure the Council that the King was alive under the guise of debating possible suspects, but why he would think that the Privy Council – members of the Peerage, would have any information regarding this?

“Rest assured, my Lords and Ladies, that if I was considering a serious alliance with Attalia, that I would ask for your wise opinions,” Jeongguk concluded, holding back the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance.

“I’ve heard rumours about your relationship with the First Prince is more than just friendly, Your Majesty,” Shin Sung-rok said. “That it has already become serious.”

Silence.

“And who spoke to you about this rumour, Lord Honos,” Jeongguk asked slowly.

“The ex-Lord Chancellor, the Earl of Fama, Cha Seung-won-ssi,” the Viscount of Honos replied.

Jeongguk licked his lips. His King’s Circle informed him of the events of the gala, filling in the missing pieces of information that Jeongguk lacked, including the appearance of the ex-Lord Chancellor at the dinner party.

“So, I see,” Jeongguk murmured. The terse displeasure in the young King’s voice now replaced by a quiet, deadly calm. “My Lords and Ladies, thank you for your time. However, this meeting has borne no fruit in the investigation on the matter. Thus, the Privy Council has been adjourned.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the Council Members chorused.

“You may all leave,” Jeongguk said, “But I’d like to speak to Lord Honos alone.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Jeongguk wrapped his fingers around the carved decorations on the armrests of his throne, feeling the sharp edges digging into his palm. Yoongi made no move to leave as he stood by his younger brother’s side and Jeongguk made no move to force Yoongi to go: it would be futile anyway. Namjoon caught Jeongguk’s eye as he passed by. The Lord Chancellor did not appear happy with Jeongguk’s decision to speak to the Viscount, but he subtly nodded. Seokjin granted him a forced smile in support on his way out.

Shin Sung-rok grinned, straightening the lapel of his suit jacket as he stood and leisurely sauntered from his seat to stand in front of the King.

“Your Majesty,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and bowing his head.

Jeongguk took a deep breath.

The Viscount of Honos, Shin Sung-rok of House Centaurus.

House Centaurus was one of the oldest of the Noble Houses of Naissus. Though relations between House Centaurus and House Cepheus were amicable in modern times, it wasn’t always the case historical: the Noble House held the belief that they were cheated out of the throne. House Corvus, to which Cha Seung-won belonged to, often supported House Centaurus’ claim but never pushed it forward,

In the years of the Queen Mother’s reign when Cha Seung-won had split the Privy Council into factions, House Centaurus was among the few that supported him.

And despite Jeongguk’s attempt at eliminating his body of advisors of those who would oppose him, he could not dismiss an entire Noble House from his Privy Council. Though Shin Sung-rok remained compliant on most occasions, he would not pass up an opportunity to diminish Jeongguk’s confidence.

The young King leaned forward in his throne, eyes trained on the Viscount as he articulated every word with precision.

“So,” Jeongguk began, “Tell me, Shin Sung-rok-ssi, what did Cha Seung-won have to say on the matter of an alliance with Attalia?”

“Your Majesty,” the man began, “I believe your actions at the gala have made it very clear that you and His Royal Highness the First Prince share more than just a friendship. You’re courting him. It’s was made very obvious and whatever Cha Seung-won-ssi had to say – ”

“But he had something to say, didn’t he?” Jeongguk pressed.

“These are not my opinions, sir,” Shin Sung-rok said, smiling as if abashed. But Jeongguk knew better.

“Of course not,” Jeongguk snapped, almost mockingly.

“I believe – if my memory serves me correctly – ”

“Get on with it,” Jeongguk hissed.

The Viscount sighed, “Cha Seung-won-ssi spoke of how You Majesty has utterly fallen for the Blind Prince. He said that it was the downfall of our monarchy to let a young boy take the Crown, a young boy who cannot differentiate between duty and personal indulgence.”

Jeongguk stood all too quickly, white spots appearing in front of his eyes. Yoongi tensed beside him, arms falling to his side and knees bending like a cat ready to pounce. His eyes flickered between Jeongguk and Shin Sung-rok, ready to support his younger brother should he falter.

Jeongguk’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and he could feel his lungs working, but the oxygen wasn’t quite reaching his brain.

It hindered his thought-process, made him think with his heart rather than his mind, and he was furious.

Jeongguk stepped forward, standing chest to chest with Shin Sung-rok. Jeongguk was shorter than the older man, and he had to look up to meet the Viscount’s eyes, but what the young King lacked in height, he made up for it in presence. Shin Sung-rok took a step back, brows furrowing, and Jeongguk could hear him take a sharp intake of breath.

“Is this because I refused to entertain the idea of having you represent me at the coronation of the Orivalian Emperor?” Jeongguk hissed. “Is that why you’ve chosen to ridicule me, Shin Sung-rok?”

“I would never, sir,” the Viscount said, swallowing audibly. “I just repeated the word of Cha Seung-won-ssi.”

“I didn’t think you needed reminding, but I stand corrected,” Jeongguk murmured. “Shin Sung-rok, I am the only son of King Jeon Yeong-hwan of the Ancient House Cepheus, and therefore it is my birthright to rule, no matter what you and Cha Seung-won may believe. I. Am. Your. King.”

“Lord Libertas,” Jeongguk called, deliberately using Yoongi’s title and refusing to use Shin Sung-rok’s. “Remind me, how are members of the Privy Council elected?”

“They are chosen by the King,” Yoongi replied coolly, “and serve at His Majesty’s Pleasure,”

“Your Majesty – ” Shin Sung-rok started, breathing out a chuckle and incredulous smile.

“So, do not test me, Shin Sung-rok,” Jeongguk continued, “I have given you a place out of respect for the old Noble House Centaurus, but do not think that it is assured."

Blood vessels popped along Shin Sung-rok’s neck and Jeongguk could see the older man clenching his jaw.

“Of course, sir,” Shin Sung-rok said, his words missing that arrogant tone.

Jeongguk hid a sneer. “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the man replied, bowing and turning to leave.

It was hot. Jeongguk’s skin felt feverish around his neck, and the heat rose to his cheeks. The painkillers that Seokjin prescribed were not strong enough to completely distract him from the pain, but they were too strong and left him unable to think clearly.

He prayed that he wouldn’t pass out before Shin Sung-rok left the room.

“Jeongguk,” Yoongi repeated, he rested a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, pulling the young King’s arm over his shoulder. Jeongguk sagged, sighing in relief at the sound of the slamming door. “Are you okay?”

“I need to lay down,” Jeongguk said honestly.

They make their way to his study, by then, Jeongguk had all but relied on Yoongi to carry him.

“Jin-hyung told you to take it easy,” Yoongi said, frowning and easing Jeongguk towards the couch. “Not to sh*t on Shin Sung-rok.”

“He deserved it,” Jeongguk groaned, loosening the tie around his neck and sluggishly shrugged off the black blazer before gingerly flopping onto the couch.

“Can’t argue with that…” Yoongi sighed.

Seokjin had yet to remove the staples in the back of his head; the wound was tender to touch and even worse to sleep on. The burns on his back were beginning to heal, but not fast enough and gods, the headache.

Jeongguk lay on his stomach, cheek squished by the plush pillow underneath his head. The dizzying colours behind his eyes barely dissipated but at least he could catch his breath.

Namjoon joined them in the room, rubbing his temples between his index and forefinger.

“So, what did he have to say?” Namjoon asked.

“Nothing important, he just took an opportunity to take a jab at our decidedly young King,” Yoongi replied. He sat down on the sofa across from Jeongguk, crossing his legs and calling the footmen to serve afternoon tea. The footmen scrambled around the three, placing trays of sandwiches, scones, and fruit on the table as quietly as possible. “But Jeongguk put him in his place.”

“I can’t believe this,” Jeongguk breathed, words muffled by the pillow. “That f*cking bastard, Cha Seung-won, is still trying to turn the Privy Council against the Crown.”

“You know how close House Corvus and House Centaurus are,” Yoongi said.

“Despite that, I don’t think any of the Council Members are involved in the attempt,” Namjoon said. “They have no motive; even House Corvus gains nothing with regicide.”

“But with this, they will doubt my reign,” Jeongguk said. “You said that you saw me talking to Cha Seung-won at a gala and I cannot remember what I said – what he said. What if I told him something that he could use against me, against Taehyung?”

“You have done nothing wrong,” Namjoon said. “If anything, you have proven your merit by ascending at such a young age.”

“Or my incompetence,” Jeongguk mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon called. His tone was soft but serious. Jeongguk opened one eye. The Lord Chancellor stood before him, hands clenched.

The older man took a deep breath. “Jeongguk, your late father was a good man, but Naissus remained stagnant in the thirteen years of his reign.”

Jeongguk’s eyes narrowed at the almost casual insult to his father’s legacy.

“House Auriga has a reputation of apathy,” Namjoon continued. “My father and grandfather, though members of the Privy Council, did not choose to support the King wholly, especially in the recent years where the Crown has done nothing to change Naissus.”

“What…are you saying, Namjoon-hyung?” Jeongguk said slowly.

“I am saying that I chose to support you despite that,” Namjoon said, softly, “I would not have stood in front of the Council, as young as I was, and insisted on your early ascension if I did not believe that you were capable.”

Jeongguk sat up despite his unsteadiness and fatigue, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Namjoon-hyung…”

“I would not have accepted the position as your Lord Chancellor and member of the King’s Circle if I did not think you would become a great King,” Namjoon continued. “But I did – we did – because Naissus has prospered under your reign. What Shin Sung-rok and Cha Seung-won want is to see you fail, because they wanted a puppet King and instead they have a strong and competent Sovereign.”

It was quiet, Jeongguk could hear his own heart beating and the sound of his even breaths. He dropped his head into his chest, blinking away the burn in his eyes.

Yoongi reached over and combed his fingers through Jeongguk’s bangs: a silent agreement to Namjoon’s words.

“And you are allowed to love and make mistakes, Jeongguk,” Yoongi said, “You are human.”

Jeongguk nodded his understanding, not trusting his tongue enough to speak. But they would know his gratitude and how thank you will simply not suffice.

“The Earl of Libertas, Your Majesty,” the guard at the door announced.

Jeongguk shifted in his sleep, peeling back his eyelids. The golden glow on the dark walls was unfamiliar to the dazed, young King and it took him a while to figure out that these were not his rooms.

With the King’s Apartments destroyed, and the safe-house no longer suitable or needed, Jeongguk had taken up residence in one of the guest rooms in the East Wing.

All of the guest rooms were uniquely decorated, each themed with specific colours. Seokjin and Namjoon had a permanent place in the palace, in the apartments coloured in muted pinks and accents of forest green. The First Prince’s rooms that he shared with his Crownsguard were decorated in off-whites and ivory shades.

The guest apartments that Jeongguk currently occupied were painted in rich, midnight-blue and highlighted in the soft light of paper lanterns and golden ornaments.

Jeongguk sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and untangling himself from the blankets.

“Ji-eun just left for Aerarius,” Yoongi called from the sitting room as the guards quietly closed the door behind him, “she’ll arrive at Stella House in about two hours.”

“Good,” Jeongguk mumbled. “And Eommoni?”

“Sun-young-noona will accompany Eommoni to Argenteus tomorrow morning, and she will personally oversee to Eommoni’s protection at Luna Castle.”

Jeongguk nodded, standing up and stretching.

It had been hours since the Privy Council meeting and the short break in Jeongguk’s study. But the King’s Circle had much to do.

Hoseok was in charge of fortifying security around the King and securing transportation for Ji-eun and the Queen Mother out of the city.

Seokjin took it upon himself to oversee informing the public on the incident as well as taking care of Jeongguk and Taehyung’s health.

Yoongi cleared Jeongguk’s entire schedule for the rest of the week, attending the meetings he couldn’t cancel on Jeongguk’s behalf despite his younger brother’s protests.

So, Jeongguk, having little to do, returned to his rooms and took an uneasy nap.

“Maybe we should go too Argenteus too, Jeongguk,” Yoongi said. He sat down on the velvet-blue sofa, crossing his legs. “We did promise Eommoni that we’d go.”

Jeongguk could tell that Yoongi was trying to keep his tone airy and casual. He grumbled to himself as he shuffled out of the bedroom.

“Did Namjoon-hyung put you up to this?” Jeongguk asked. “To try and get me out of the city for my own ‘safety.’”

Yoongi sighed, putting his feet on the coffee table and slouching. “I do agree with him that it would be for the best.”

Jeongguk gingerly sat down beside his older brother, sliding over and resting his head in his older brother’s lap. Despite taking a nap, Jeongguk did not feel any less tired. The amount of rest he’d gotten had reduced the haze of the painkillers and the head injury, but as it slowly scattering away, his once numb acceptance no longer remained.

There was an attempt on his life. In his own home. In his own bedroom. And they almost succeeded.

What if he didn’t leave his rooms?

What if Yoongi was with him? What if it was his mother or Hoseok or Ji-eun?

What if Taehyung was killed?

And so Jeongguk can’t leave, he couldn’t let his brother and King’s Circle deal with the aftermath of such an event.

“Not yet,” Jeongguk said quietly. “I won’t be any safer than I am here. The faster we figure things out, the better.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Yoongi said, sighing loudly again.

“The Lord Chancellor, Your Majesty,” the guard called as Namjoon entered, one hand in his pocket, and the other brandishing a thin, black flash-drive.

“Is that the CCTV footage?” Jeongguk asked, straightening upright.

“Yes,” Namjoon replied as he entered, he sat down on the couch adjacent to Jeongguk and Yoongi, picking up the laptop from the coffee table and setting it on his thighs. “Hoseok gave it to me on his way to another meeting, said there were only two video files on the drive, but the rest of the footage was irrelevant."

“Have you watched it?” Yoongi asked. Namjoon shook his head, eyes glued to the screen as he inserted the drive into the port.

“I just got out of my meeting with Ah-young-noona,” Namjoon replied.

The Lord Chancellor had arranged for a meeting with Seokjin’s cousin, Kim Ah-young, the Minister of Foreign Affairs to discuss the relationship between Naissus and her Commonwealth. Though he believed that there was little be concerned about, Namjoon had never been less than thorough.

“And?”

“It’s true that Vesontio wants true independence from Naissus,” Namjoon said. “But it wasn’t the Archduch*ess’ doing, Ah-young-noona is looking into finding more information on the radicals, but she cannot see them resorting to violence nor anyone else within the Commonwealth.”

“So, the culprit is someone Naissian,” Jeongguk stated.

Namjoon paused, tilting the laptop screen down, “I do believe that the suspect was present on the day of the gala.”

“You mean one of the guests?”

“It isn’t a possibility I can rule out just yet, Hyung,” Namjoon replied. “But, I went through the guest list, I couldn’t discern anyone who could have a possible motive. Jin-hyung, however, believes that it could be one of the staff.”

“What,” Jeongguk asked, eyes narrowing, “but I thought Hoseok-hyung had questioned everyone.”

“Everyone who was present,” Namjoon said. “It was midnight when it happened, so most of the day staff that do not reside in the palace had left.”

“You think it could be one of them, Namjoon?” Yoongi asked. “But everyone who was hired by the Royal Household had clearance."

“There is a strict background check before hiring personnel, yes,” Namjoon agreed, readjusting the laptop as he crossed his legs, “However, with the position of Head of the Royal Household vacant it is not unlikely that protocol was lightened, and something might have slipped.”

“Say someone was able to infiltrate the palace,” Yoongi started, eyes narrowing as he fiddled with the hoops in his ears. “The apartments of the Royal Family, especially the King’s Apartments, have restricted access.”

“Yes, but the list of staff members who do have access is extensive,” Namjoon said. “Hoseok’s men are having a difficult time tracking them all down, like I said, with the position of Head of the Royal Household vacant, the paperwork is getting overlooked.”

Jeongguk scowled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Damn it. I knew I should have found a replacement soon – but I didn’t think that it would come back to bite me this hard.”

“I also never thought the consequences could be this severe…” Namjoon murmured. “No matter, viewing the CCTV footage would give us the greatest degree of knowledge on the matter.”

Jeongguk nodded, shaking his leg impatiently as Namjoon connected the laptop to the TV. The bright lights of the screen made Jeongguk squint, the dull ache surfacing behind his eyes again. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Seokjin had warned him to avoid lights, bright screens, and anything that required concentration – just until his brain could heal from the concussion. The Privy Council meeting drained him, but he cannot delay attempting to recover lost memories.

Namjoon pulled up a folder that contained two video clips. He clicked on the first one, pulling up footage of a camera that was placed on the ceiling, having a view of the entire hallway and the doors of Jeongguk’s chambers. The video had little colour, the familiar, empty halls bathed in soft blue hues.

“This is right before the bomb went off – just about midnight,” Namjoon said, eyes flickering between the TV screen and the laptop.

“Did I go to my rooms right after the gala?” Jeongguk asked, grabbing a plush pillow and tucking it into his lap, resting his chin on top.

Namjoon hummed. “Yes, according to the footmen, they saw you were going to your rooms, they said you seemed a little…”

“…A little?”

“Drunk,” Yoongi supplied. “One of the footmen said that he served you quite a bit of whiskey on the veranda before you returned to your rooms around 11’oclock.”

Jeongguk bit his lips, hiding the scowl of the embarrassment of lost memories of his inebriation.

“Did anyone else see?”

“No, the guests have all left by then,” Yoongi replied.

“Why are there no guards at the door?” Namjoon asked. “Did you dismiss them, earlier?"

“I could have – but I don’t remember…” Jeongguk said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I did.”

It wasn’t customary to dismiss them, the guards were there for the protection of the Royal Family, but it was modern times, the guards stood there endlessly when there were security cameras at every corner. Yoongi had a bad habit of dismissing the guards before retiring to bed, even after Hoseok had berated him. Jeongguk had taken his brother’s habit in stride, more often than not dismissing his guards at the door when returning to his rooms late at night.

“This needs to stop,” Namjoon said. “They are there for your own protection, both of you. Jeongguk you are King and Yoongi-hyung, your position and status mean you are no less important.”

Yoongi scowled but did not argue. Jeongguk sighed. Namjoon was right, of course.

Jeongguk gnawed on the inside of his cheek, eyes returning to the TV screen. Namjoon quietly hit the play button.

Nothing happened in the first couple of seconds, and Jeongguk could hear Yoongi’s soft breathes beside him, but then he saw a familiar figure tearing down the hall.

Taehyung.

The First Prince was without his cane, using the walls as a guide as he ran with reckless abandon. The blond-haired man crashed into one of the tables, knocking over a bouquet. White flowers scattered across the floor as the vase shattered on the ground and Taehyung landed on all fours on top of the debris. He lurched to his feet, and Jeongguk could see stains of a dark liquid on the marble floors.

Blood. He had sustained cuts on his hands.

Taehyung latched onto the door, pulling himself to a stop as he fumbled with the knob and slipped into the room.

“Taehyung knew,” Jeongguk murmured quietly.

“I assumed that he was with you when it happened,” Namjoon started, “But as Jimin said, Taehyung already retired to his rooms for the evening which leaves the question: how he knew about the bomb?”

“Do you think… do you think it could be his gift?” Yoongi asked.

Jeongguk blinked as the memory of Taehyung’s eyes surfaced behind his own.

“Maybe, could it be premonition, instinct?” Namjoon considered, “If it that is his gift, I see why he chose to keep it a secret.”

“I’m still finding it difficult to accept that as a possibility,” Jeongguk said. “Even if the proof is sitting in front of me.”

Jeongguk watched, he saw himself and Taehyung come stumbling out into the hallway. Taehyung grasping Jeongguk’s arm in one hand, tugging him as he stumbled and swayed. Jeongguk was dressed in a rumpled black dress shirt untucked from trousers, lurching as he tried to follow Taehyung – his coordination off: drunk. His clothes indicated that he hadn’t changed before somehow falling asleep.

They made it down the hallway, just half a metre out of the room before a bright explosion ripped through the doors.

It threw Jeongguk and Taehyung off their feet as if they were weightless, and into the opposite wall. Jeongguk watched as his head bounced off the surface as he landed on his side. Taehyung went flying into a table and crumbled to the ground, curling in on himself.

The young King bit his lips, watching as the version of himself on screen lay motionless for a minute before slowly and sluggishly moving, hands wrapping around his head, blood getting all over his fingertips. Moments later, Yoongi came flying down the hallway, sliding to a stop by Jeongguk and Jimin came to a halt by Taehyung.

The clip ended, and Jeongguk let go of a shaking breath, his stomach churning with eerie sight of moments that he had forgotten. If he were any closer – if Taehyung were just a moment too late – they would both be dead.

What if he hadn’t shown up at all?

“Are you alright?” Namjoon asked. “Can you remember anything?”

Jeongguk blinked. He shook his head.

“I – no – nothing,” he said. “Just – the ringing and Yoongi-hyung’s voice.”

Taehyung maneuvering the items in his hand to knock on the doors and someone answered.

Jeongguk hummed, “Can’t see his face, but who else could it be?”

They watched as Taehyung handed the box to Chung-ho. The valet bowed, taking the box with both hands and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Jeongguk co*cked his head to the side, blinking at the oddity of the footage.

“What was inside that box,” Jeongguk asked, his voice was unnervingly calm, so much so that it surprised him.

“There were no remains of any kind of box in your rooms,” Namjoon said.

Then Jeongguk’s blood ran cold as sudden thought crawled up his spine. “Do you – do you think that the bomb could have been in that box?”

Silence.

“Was it… Taehyung…?”

“There is no motive,” Namjoon said quickly.

Jeongguk dropped his head into his hands, raking his hands through his hair.

“How could you still defend him when the evidence is right there,” Jeongguk asked in disbelief. “It’s not a gift. Taehyung knew. Taehyung gave Chung-ho a mysterious box.”

“We don’t even know what’s in the box,” Namjoon protested. “And this does not explain why Chung-ho is missing – it explains little – ”

The door creaked open and in came Seokjin and Sun-young, both speaking on top of each other.

“The Duke of Concordia,” the guard announced. “And the Lieutenant-General.”

“Lord Libertas, sir, I need to speak to you, there has been a development – ”

“Good news, Taehyung’s awake and has been for a couple of hours now – ”

Namjoon’s phone went off, and he glanced down at it with Seokjin peering over his shoulder. Yoongi joined Sun-young in the corner as the two discussed some new information.

And Jeongguk – Jeongguk stared blankly at the TV screen, breathing heavily.

How did Taehyung know, how did he know, how – how – how.

How.

He stood, slipping silently out of the room and storming down the hall.

“Open the doors,” Jeongguk ordered as he stopped in front of the First Prince’s rooms.

The guards hastily bowed and pulled the doors open upon the King’s sudden and frenzied arrival.

“His M-Majesty the King.”

Jeongguk angrily stormed through the sitting room and into the bedroom with its double doors opened wide.

Taehyung did not fare any better awake than he did unconscious.

The dark circles were almost a permanent fixture underneath his eyes, the shadows morphing into green-yellows and purple-reds from the cut and bruise on his cheekbone. His blond hair fell over and covered closed eyelids, and his cracked, pale lips were pulled into a pained grimace.

Jimin stood beside Taehyung, one hand in his pocket and the other flipping his cellphone around. He glanced up, staring at Jeongguk with furrowed brows.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin greeted cautiously.

“Jeongguk – ” Taehyung said, the young King’s name falling from his lips with a rasp.

His wrath bubbled in his chest and words spilled from his lips.

“Did you set up the bomb in my room,” Jeongguk asked.

“What?” Taehyung whispered.

“Jeongguk, please – Taehyung just woke up, not now – ”

“I asked the Prince, Park Jimin,” Jeongguk snapped.

“Jeongguk – why would you think –”

“You knew when the bomb was going to go off; you had that information.”

“But that doesn’t mean that I would have attempted to kill you,” Taehyung said, his words were halted like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

“Then how did you know, Taehyung!” Jeongguk yelled, voice growing hoarse with the strength and the volume of his tone. “How did you know about the bomb?”

“I – I – ”

Jeongguk was getting dizzy; his short, uneven breaths were not enough. He moved too quickly, over-exerted himself in his haste to get here, somehow outran his King’s Circle.

But he needed to know – he needed something – he was frightened, scared, and confused. And –

And Jeongguk once loved the way that Taehyung said his name, his shoulders nearly sagging in relief at the fact that it was more than just a delirious whisper coming from his lips. Jeongguk hated how his heart twanged at the sound – and how it once was a comfort, and now all he wondered was if Taehyung’s affection was all fake.

And what if Shin Sung-rok was right?

The windows seem to always be open in Taehyung’s rooms.

The smell of earth and rain seeping through the air. Thunder rumbled, and Jeongguk could feel it underneath his feet, fueling his heartbeat. Fueling his rage.

“Do you have the Plague,” Jeongguk asked callously.

“What – ” Jimin interrupted again.

“Leave us, Park Jimin,” Jeongguk snaps. “I will speak with the First Prince alone.”

Jimin began to protest, but Taehyung stopped him with a gentle hand, grasping the guard’s shirt with shaking fingers.

“Go, Jimin,” Taehyung whispered.

Jimin glanced down, chest rising and falling as he angrily ruffled his fingers though his hair. His hand then dropped to his side limply.

“I’ll be in the sitting room,” Jimin said softly, placing a hand on Taehyung’s and squeezing. He glanced back at Jeongguk – glaring almost. Jeongguk could tell that it was difficult to anger the Crownsguard, but he could feel it, Jimin’s rising wrath as Jeongguk continued to assault Taehyung with questions. But Jeongguk did not care.

Jimin bowed grudgingly, spitting Jeongguk’s title from between clenched teeth. “Your Majesty.”

The Crownsguard closed the bedroom door softly behind him.

And then Jeongguk began pacing, anything to keep the spots in his eyes from occupying his thoughts.

“Do you have the Naissian Plague?” Jeongguk asks again.

“Jeongguk – this is absurd.”

“How did you know, Taehyung?” Jeongguk yelled. “There was CCTV footage of you running to my rooms right before the bomb exploded – how did you know?”

Silence.

Taehyung laced his fingers together in his lap, his breaths sounding uneven, hitched – like anything deeper than short gasps would hurt and he bit his lip.

“What did you give my valet?” Jeongguk asked. “Was it the bomb? Were you conspiring against me with my valet?”

“What?”

“He’s missing, did you know that?” Jeongguk continued. “Did you plan it so that he’d take the brunt of the blame and you’d walk away free?”

“Stop pacing,” Taehyung hissed.

Jeongguk stopped.

“How could you accuse me of – ”

“I invited you to court,” Jeongguk interrupted, “on the terms of a possible alliance. I have honoured you and given you my trust, and in return –”

“Have you given me your trust?” Taehyung asked, his voice growing louder. “How can you say that you’ve given me your trust when you stand here accusing me?”

“Then give me something, Taehyung!” Jeongguk yelled. “Answer a question!”

“You ask if I have the Naissian Plague, and my answer is no. My blindness is not a result of an illness.”

“Then what is it.”

“If you trusted me, then you’d wait until –”

“I have been left with nothing but f*cking speculations upon speculations!” Jeongguk screamed, “How could you ask me to trust you when you will not extend the same to me! My Privy Council members are pushing for a marriage that would produce an heir – but I have refused all talk of such because of you. I have people mocking me because of my affection for you. I defended you all for what!”

“I saved you!” Taehyung yelled, hoarsely. “I pulled you from your rooms before the bomb went off!”

“A bomb that you knew about,” Jeongguk returned, but now he had all but lost his vision to the blurs of grey. “You knew that this was an attempt on my life – how – how did you know Taehyung – that is all I am asking – was this – was this a trap?” Jeongguk asked.

Words were coming faster, terrible thoughts formulating as quickly as Jeongguk could speak. “Was this all a ruse to – to get close to me – and then use me and then kill me? Did you have some sort of change of heart? Or was it a ruse to save my life so I’d be indebted to you? So that I’d have no choice but to say yes to an alliance.”

“What would I gain from setting up an elaborate plot that clearly implicates me? It results in nothing but me becoming bedridden with f*cking three broken ribs, and a king who isn’t dead. I have nothing to gain from hurting you – Jeongguk – I thought – I thought – I gave you a flower crown. I thought you saw.”

“…What?”

“The Commander General, Lord Jung –”

The bedroom doors crashed open and Hoseok came storming in with Jimin hot on his heels.

“Jeongguk! Jeongguk – we have to go. They found Chung-ho,” Hoseok yelled, panting as he spoke.

“Where was he?”

“He’s dead.”

A young woman with a short, uneven blonde bob and a pair of round glasses greeted them at the doors of the hospital morgue.

“Lee Hye-ri,” Yoongi introduced, running a hand through his damp hair after walking in the rain. “The forensic pathologist seeing to this case, she is sworn to secrecy on the events that occurred.”

She nodded. “Your Majesty,” she said softly, “My Lords. Please, come with me.”

She led them down the sterile, clean hall, unlocking the doors to one of the examination rooms, where a metal table sat in the middle with a white sheet covering a body.

It was cold, uncomfortably cold in the basem*nt office, and despite how open and spacious the room was, the air was suffocating and thick. Jeongguk rubbed his arm uneasily.

Yoongi stood beside Jeongguk, Hoseok and Namjoon in front of him.

Lee Hye-ri pulled on a pair of blue gloves, adjusting her lab coat and tucking her hair behind her ears.

“The police found the body in the Arethusa Lake about three hours ago. It’s not a pleasant sight, Your Majesty, My Lords,” she said cautiously, fingers gripping the white canvas sheet. “The body was exposed to the elements and with the heavy rain…”

“Are you sure it’s Bak Chung-ho?” Hoseok asked.

She nodded, “Yes, sir, some items were missing on his person, but there were other identifying factors.” The forensic pathologist lifted the sheet, exposing the face and folding it across the torso.

Jeongguk clasped his hands tightly behind his back, swallowing the hard lump in his throat.

It was unmistakable, Jeongguk had seen this face nearly every day for the past seven years.

Death had been unkind – death was always unkind.

Jeongguk looked away, taking short breaths through his nose and his vision was beginning to spin again – and gods – he just wanted everything to stop.

“How did he die?” Namjoon asked.

Lee Hye-ri turned the corpse’s head, where there was a dark area covered in dried blood.

“He took a blow to the head with a blunt object – broke the skin and cracked the skull,” she explained. “But it wasn’t the cause of death.”

She put the head down, gesturing to the prominent, deep purple line across his neck. “He was strangled by a rope. This was a murder. The killer was quick and efficient. I believe the victim was specifically targeted.”

Namjoon lowered his head, and Hoseok sighed in defeat. Jeongguk could hear Yoongi muttering under his breath in words of a foreign language: a prayer to the Mother Goddess of Attalia he assumed..

Jeongguk shut his eyes.

Bak Chung-ho was a few years Jeongguk’s senior. They had met when Jeongguk was fifteen-years-old when the role of Crown Prince of Naissus finally demanded that he look the part. They were never close – both holding strictly professional conduct around each other – but there were times when Chung-ho saw Jeongguk at his lowest when the weight of his duties and responsibilities crushed him.

But the King’s Valet never commented or spoke of the matter afterwards.

The older man was in charge of Jeongguk’s wardrobe as well as micromanaging the upkeep of the King’s Apartments and everything within. Jeongguk often dressed himself in his younger days, but upon his ascension, Chung-ho took it upon himself to ensure that Jeongguk looked every bit the regal King even on casual days.

Jeongguk’s last memory of the man was the morning before the gala, where he grumbled unhappily under his breath about Jeongguk’s choice of outfit to meet the Queen Mother in. The pictures in the newspapers were not overly flattering for the King.

And now Bak Chung-ho is dead.

“Do you know when he died?” Hoseok asked.

“Two days ago, I’ll put an estimate on roughly between 1:00 pm to 5:00 pm,” Lee Hyeri said.

“Any clues to the suspect?” Yoongi asked.

She shook her head grimly. “No. The rain washed away all the evidence; not even footprints were left.”

“Was anything taken?” Namjoon asked, “An access card? A set of keys?”

She pulled the gloves off, tossing them with a practiced throw into the garbage can by the door as she grabbed the chart file. “Um, no keys, but there was a card – is it a card into Sol Palace?”

“Yes,” Namjoon replied.

“No, we didn’t find it,” Lee Hyeri said. “The police searched the premise as well as scoured the lake. There was nothing definitively linked to the victim. The rest of his belongings were untouched.”

“The suspect killed Chung-ho for the keys to your rooms, Jeongguk,” Namjoon said. “That’s how he got in. The question is how he got in unnoticed and unquestioned by the guards.”

“Was there… a lapel pin found?” Jeongguk asked, finally contributing to the conversation. He had not gotten over his shock – he wondered if he’d even gotten over the fact that there was an attempt on his life.

“No,” she said, “His uniform was intact, but a pin was not on his person. It could have fallen off in the attack and gotten lost.”

“No,” Jeongguk said. “I know where it was.”

All the valets hired by the Crown wear the same uniform, but there was one thing that set them all apart which was a lapel pin that marked Chung-ho as the King’s Valet, an item that he wore with pride.

Everything was coming together now.

Chung-ho had been missing since the morning before the gala. That meant that the person Jeongguk saw on the CCTV footage was not Chung-ho – it was an imposter.

Someone killed his valet and took his place. Someone else was in his rooms, and – and – planted the bomb there.

And Jeongguk had no memory of this person – nothing more than a glimpse of a figure in his doorway through a video.

Hoseok swore under his breath.

“Have you notified his family?” Namjoon asked.

Lee Hye-ri shook her head. “Not yet.”

“He has a sister,” Jeongguk answered numbly, “She’s my age, I think. His mother and father died in the Plague."

“What will we tell her?” Yoongi asked.

“We cannot tell her that her brother was killed in a plot against the King,” Namjoon sighed, “that will further put Jeongguk’s life in danger if the public finds out.”

“But he died for me,” Jeongguk protested. “He was murdered because of me. He deserves to be honoured – as a hero.”

“But for what, Jeongguk, for what purpose?” Namjoon retorted. “Your kindness, though considerate, will do nothing for Chung-ho in death – all it will do is bring more danger to you – your enemies will see you weak if your valet was so easily killed, especially in the wake of this controversy of an assassination attempt.”

“So, Bak Chung-ho died in a freak accident,” Hoseok concluded, “he slipped when he was taking a walk down the lake where he fell and hit his head – that will be the story.” He turned to Lee Hye-ri. “Surely you could cover up the wounds on his neck if he sister wishes to visit the body.”

“Yes, sir, that would be doable,” Lee Hye-ri replied.

“But – ”

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon started. “The fact that your father died in the Plague was enough to show the Sovereign’s inevitable mortality – the knowledge that you could have been killed in an assassination attempt and the murder of your valet will only add to the scandal.”

“How could you be so cold?” Jeongguk whispered. “A man is dead, and you worry about a political scandal?”

“The Monarchy is fragile as it is,” Namjoon continued, his tone softening, perhaps realizing how much this hurt Jeongguk. “The years of your reign have changed Naissus, put us on the map as an international power. The King must appear unconquerable – invulnerable. The Crown must always take precedence.”

Namjoon was nothing if not pragmatic, and Jeongguk understood the need to be practical and emotionally distant but this – this was cold.

“…Of course,” Jeongguk said, stared numbly at the older man.

“I will see to it that Bak Chung-ho receives a proper funeral and honours for his years of service to the Crown,” Yoongi said.

“See to it that the Crown will also manage his sister’s living expenses and education,” Namjoon added.

But that is not enough – that will never be enough.

Rain struck the windshield in loud, constant taps, the sound of the windshield wipers drowned out Jeongguk’s breaths and heartbeats.

The trip back to the palace was quiet.

Yoongi drove, and Jeongguk sat in the passenger seat, sunglasses shielding his face and eyes focused on the blurry shine of the wet road before them. In the darkness of the afternoon storm and shade of his glasses, Jeongguk could barely make out the shapes of the cars or buildings passing by.

The warmth of the heater and Yoongi’s constant tapping on the leather wheel should lull him closer to sleep as exhaustion pulled on him. But it would not come. He glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of a black Tesla behind them.

Yoongi and Jeongguk took an unmarked car with Hoseok and Namjoon trailing behind them.

It was on Namjoon’s insistence that he and Hoseok take a vehicle that Jeongguk favoured to give the impression that all was well, and that the King’s safety was not compromised. But of course, that wasn’t true, else Jeongguk would be in the one in the vehicle, not his King’s Circle playing bait. Jeongguk did not like having Namjoon and Hoseok risk their lives for him – did not like having anyone risk their lives for him.

It was fortunate that media did not feel like braving the weather to take photos of him today, there were no cars following them. But Yoongi remained diligent, constantly checking the rear-view mirrors.

Jeongguk pulled his arm up against the side of the car, pillowing his head in the crook of his elbow, closing his eyes in attempts to stave off a headache for just a bit longer before resorting to more painkillers.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jeongguk called, and he hated how small his voice sounded and how it broke and cracked on the last syllable.

“Jeongguk?”

“Hyung, what do I do?” Jeongguk tore off his sunglasses, pressing his forearm against his eyes and – finally – he let the grief and the anger through the floodgates, feeling hot tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

The vehicle slowed to a stop at the back entrance of the palace, the guards already forming a thin line between the door and the car.

Yoongi cut the engine, and without the warmth of the heater and the quiet hum of the engine, the dampness of his shirt was starting to bring a chill and the rain echoed loudly in Jeongguk’s ears.

“How many more will die?”

The passenger door was suddenly pulled open. Jeongguk snapped away from the window, leaning back against the headrest and digging the heel of his palms into his eyes. Namjoon’s shadow loomed over him with Hoseok at his side. Both of them were under the rain, the footmen hovering with open umbrellas nearby but Hoseok waved them off.

The pair were on the phone line the entire way back to the palace; so it was not a surprise that they’d hear him speak.

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon said slowly.

The Lord Chancellor knelt down. Jeongguk pulled his hands away from his eyes, blinking to clear his vision.

What was it that Namjoon said before?

All Monarchs are ordained by the heavens.

“This was not why I took the throne, Namjoon-hyung,” Jeongguk muttered. “I didn’t want to become a god. I didn’t want my life to mean more than anyone else’s – this – ”

“This was not your fault, Chung-ho’s death is not your fault. It is the very nature of your position as the Crown: it comes with the position. There will be people who will die for you – but we will do our best to stop any more causalities from happening.”

Yoongi unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over the console, pulling Jeongguk into his chest. “We will fix this –take things one step at a time.”

“I’ll will look into finding out who the imposter was,” Hoseok said. “Now that we have some more information to work with.”

“It’s a heavy burden you bear, Jeongguk,” Namjoon murmured. “But you are not alone.”

Namjoon was right – the weight of the Crown was crushing him, and there will be those who will pay the price of his burden. But he is not alone.

Jeongguk nodded. He staggered out of the car, the footmen rushing to shield him from the rain.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin called once they made it through the doors. The Duke came rushing down the stairs, striding purposefully towards the rather rain-soaked group and following them into one of the sitting rooms. “And? Was is Bak Chung-ho?”

“It was,” Namjoon said. “He was murdered, keys to the King’s Apartments stolen as well as lapel pin of the King’s Valet.”

“So, it was a setup,” Seokjin said.

“The culprit infiltrated the staff… but how come no one found it suspicious?” Namjoon asked.

“It could have been planned for months,” Seokjin said. “The culprit must have been hired by the palace ages ago, laid low… just another face amongst the hundreds of staff.”

“But he was close enough to learn about Chung-ho’s movements,” Yoongi said. “Probably learnt Chung-ho’s schedule before making his move and planting the bomb. He was smart to keep his face hidden from the cameras.”

“He hoped on no one noticing him, stayed invisible…”

“I’ll go through the records of the employees,” Hoseok said. “But he could be anything – gardener, footman, historiographer…”

“But we don’t have a face,” Seokjin argued. “He could have used a fake name – he could still be in the employ of the Crown for all we know, banked on the assassination attempt working and getting away with it because only Jeongguk would have seen and remembered his face.”

“But he didn’t get away with it,” Yoongi said.

“But he did,” Jeongguk said. “The bastard did get away because I can’t recall anything about him – f*ck.”

“But someone else would remember something,” Namjoon said, with wide eyes. “Taehyung.”

“You’re going to ask a blind man if he remembers the face of an imposter?” Yoongi said incredulously.

“It doesn’t have to be a face,” Namjoon argued. “A – a voice, a scent, a name? Anything would help."

The Lord Chancellor turned on his heels prepared to storm out of the sitting room but Seokjin latched onto his arm, pulling him back.

“No,” Seokjin said. “You cannot question him now, not after what happened.”

He turned to Jeongguk, and the young King knew that if he didn’t have staples in his head, the older man would have smacked him by now. “I am appalled by your behaviour, Jeongguk. You made Taehyung’s injuries worse, aggravated his wounds.”

“sh*t – I – I forgot that I – I,” Jeongguk started.

“What exactly happened?” Namjoon asked. “We didn’t notice that you were gone until after Park Sun-young-ssi told us about Chung-ho.”

“Jeongguk came thundering into Taehyung’s room and started an argument,” Seokjin said. “I don’t know what it was about, but I do know that you left him unable to breathe and on the verge of passing out. What were you thinking?”

He wasn’t.

This entire day was filled with poor decisions led by his heart rather than his head.

“I accused him of planting the bomb and of false affections,” Jeongguk explained in a rush. “It was stupid – stupid and wrong. Taehyung is injured because of me… and he saved me. I was irrational and stupid and yelled at him… and f*ck. How do I fix this? What do I do?”

“You can start by apologizing, tomorrow,” Seokjin said. “I don’t want to bring up matters regarding this to him until he’s better.”

“I don’t think he’ll forgive me…” Jeongguk muttered. “I… f*cked up….”

Yoongi glanced over, offering no words of comfort: he agreed.

“You know,” Namjoon started. “I haven’t the chance to speak with Taehyung as much. But I’ve seen the way he talks – the way he smiles. He smiles for others – pretends to be happy – but his smiles for you are genuine.”

The silence in the halls was not as reassuring as Jeongguk would have hoped. The rain had stopped since yesterday evening, but opaque, grey clouds still covered the skies. It wouldn’t be long before the storm continued again and strangely, Jeongguk wished for the rain.

The hum of rainfall and thunder had become a constant comfort in the last twenty-four hours. A constant in the absolute insanity. Now all Jeongguk was left with were the sounds of his pounding heartbeat and the breaths of the two guards beside him as he stood in front of the bedroom doors of the First Prince of Attalia.

Jeongguk closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

“Your Majesty,” the guard called quietly. “Would you like me to announce – ”

“No,” Jeongguk said, shaking his head. “I will do it myself.”

The guard bowed, returning to his station against the doorframe.

Jeongguk opened his eyes, stepping closer to the door and raising a fist to knock with his heart thrashing in his throat. But he paused, frozen with knuckles just centimetres from the wooden door as the silence in the hall was marred with tense voices beyond.

Jeongguk could hear Jimin’s voice, steady as he spoke in the lyrical language of Attalia, but there was an abrasiveness to his tone. Taehyung’s tone was just as strained, his voice deeper, softer, but no less curt.

They were fighting, arguing, spitting quick remarks at each other that Jeongguk did not understand, but he could make out one word, he heard Taehyung say it enough that he’d recognize how his own name slips off the tongue in the melodic accent.

Yoongi was right – he behaved poorly, as a King and as a friend.

Jeongguk sucked in a deep breath, biting his lips nervously as he knocked faintly. The voices inside grounded to a halt.

“Who is it?” Taehyung asked tersely.

“Taehyung?” Jeongguk called softly. “It’s… Jeongguk. May…may I come in?”

Silence.

The door creaked open, and Jeongguk was met with the sharp, disapproving eyes of the Crownsguard. His hair was pushed back – as if wind-blown – or if he had vigorously been raking his hand through the silvery locks again.

Jimin pressed his lips together, lowering his head slowly in a bow. “Your Majesty,” he greeted through gritted teeth.

“Jimin,” Jeongguk said quietly.

“Let him in, Jimin,” Taehyung called softly. Jimin took a deep breath through his nose, but slowly opened the door allowing the King through.

Jeongguk took hesitant steps inside. The temperature was cooler inside than it was in the hallway – as always, the windows were open in Taehyung’s rooms.

When Jeongguk walked in, he saw Taehyung propped up against the wide alcove seat underneath the open window. He was draped in blankets with a loose white shirt hanging off his shoulders. The shirt did nothing to hide the bruises dusting his skin, trailing down the curve of his shoulder and no doubt littering his torso.

Taehyung held a large gel ice pack to his chest, gingerly shifting into a more upright position.

Jimin was at his side in seconds, gently easing the pillows underneath the Prince. The tension was high in the room, Jimin kept his eyes trained on Taehyung, and the Prince clenched his hands into a tight fist – it was a fight – and despite that, Jimin supported him always.

Taehyung fidgeted with the ends of his blanket and Jeongguk could see how wrinkled and crumbled the crisp white sheets had become in his hands.

“What is it, Jeongguk?” Taehyung asked.

“I—” Jeongguk started, fidgeting with his hands behind his back. “I—I’d like to speak with you – alone – if I may.”

Jimin regarded him with scorn, and Jeongguk stood in the breathless tension. The Crownsguard scowled, “The last time you spoke with Taehyung alone, Your Majesty, I returned to him gasping. I don’t think so."

“It’s alright, Jimin,” Taehyung finally said. “I think Jeongguk has regained his composure.”

Jimin swallowed and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but then reconsidered. He finally sighed, “As you wish, Taehyung.”

And though Jeongguk was relived with the bit of privacy, the shortness in Taehyung’s tone was unmistakable. Jimin turned to the Prince once more, breathing deeply as his shoulders rose and fell, he closed his eyes, balling his fists before releasing and his shoulder dropped.

He turned to leave, glaring at Jeongguk with a sneer and knocking his shoulder into Jeongguk’s angrily on his way out – Jeongguk winced – but the pain was welcome, a reminder of how poorly he reacted, and how loyal Jimin is to the Prince.

The door shut quietly behind him.

Silence.

Taehyung shifted, patting the empty space on the cushion beside him, “Sit with me,” he said.

Jeongguk hesitated, moving slowly. It was cooler where Taehyung sat than the rest of the room. The smell of soil after rainfall permeated the air, mingling with the scent of lavender and drowning out the pungent antiseptic that had followed Taehyung for days. Jeongguk realized now how much he missed the familiar, calming scent that surrounded the Prince.

Taehyung was propped up on a bunch of pillows, blankets covering his legs. He looked a little better, with his hair all fluffy from a wash and brushed away from his eyes. The discolouration on his cheek still remained, but the cut was healing and the dark circles under his eyes just a little less deathly.

Jeongguk cautiously sat down, swallowed uncomfortably loudly. He could feel how straight his back was against the wall, his shoulder tensing when it pressed against Taehyung’s side.

It was cooler where Taehyung sat than the rest of the room and Jeongguk shivered when his elbow brushed against the gel ice pack. Taehyung silently shuffled the blankets over, covering Jeongguk’s lap in the cotton comforter.

Jeongguk shifted underneath the blankets, muttering a stuttering thank you. He picked at his fingers, licking his drying lips as he tried to formulate words – tried to formulate an apology.

“I – I – ”

But the words died before they left his tongue – words were not enough to convey his remorse and regret.

“Do you have any good memories of the rain?” Taehyung asked suddenly.

“What?”

Taehyung sighed, the movement led to him settling closer to Jeongguk, sliding against him until his head rested on Jeongguk’s shoulder and his hair brushed against Jeongguk’s jaw. The young King stopped breathing, shoulders stiff and still like a statue.

“Tell me a story of a memory of yours in the rain,” Taehyung said as he reached out, right hand tracing the sheets until he found it: Jeongguk’s hand. Taehyung wrapped his fingers around Jeongguk’s. His hands were colder than the young King’s, and instinctively, Jeongguk returned the gesture, intertwining their fingers together.

“This rain reminds me of autumn in Marsylle,” Taehyung started when Jeongguk did not speak. “When it rained this hard, I spent the afternoons with my grandmother in the conservatory watching it rain over the glass. The sounds were comforting. I can still vividly remember my grandmother’s voice – she used to sing to the flowers. My mother’s House had a very peculiar connection with plants – gladiolus in particular.”

The Prince wrapped his other hand around their interlaced fingers, brushing the pad of his thumb over Jeongguk’s knuckles. The comforting scent of lavender settled Jeongguk thoughts and the comfort and warmth of Taehyung pressed against his side made him – for just a moment – forget everything that had occurred and remember the bright, toothy smiles.

Jeongguk racked through his memories, searching until he found one of the rain.

“I remember… that my father took me out to his favourite bakery,” Jeongguk said. “He drove us on a motorbike, and we got caught in the rain on our way back. We looked like drowned rats – and the pastries we brought back were soaked.”

It was an ordinary story, a mundane memory of his childhood. But one where he can vividly remember the glisten of water over the cracked face of his father’s favourite watch behind his eyes.

Taehyung smiled, chuckling once before wincing.

Laughing must hurt.

Talking must hurt.

Breathing must hurt with three broken ribs.

And Jeongguk fought with him.

“Taehyung – ”

“There is never a rainy season when I don’t think of my grandmother.”

Jeongguk clamped his mouth shut. Taehyung mentioned his grandmother once before – stated that she was his strongest ally. Jeongguk thought – assumed that she still –

“Is… she…?”

“Gone,” Taehyung said, nodding into Jeongguk’s shoulder. “She passed before my 21^st birthday.”

“My father…passed way to the Plague sometime after, that was our last outing together.”

“They both left us in the rain. Didn’t they?”

Jeongguk hummed, glancing out the window, though the rain had stopped, everything was still very wet, huge droplets of water falling from the tree leaves just outside Taehyung’s rooms. Now Jeongguk could appreciate the serene calm of the skies after a storm, and why Taehyung always kept the windows open.

The Prince’s fingers stopped dancing over Jeongguk’s hand.

“Sometimes, I wonder what she’d think of my decisions,” Taehyung said, and Jeongguk could hear a soft slur in the older man’s voice. “If she’d be proud of what…what I chose to become,” Taehyung continued, words running together and phrases spreading apart as he began drifting.

Now Jeongguk realized how weary Taehyung was.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk whispered. “I’m so sorry – I – I can’t – I didn’t – ”

“I know,” Taehyung returned softly. “I know.”

And in a moment of boldness, Jeongguk titled his head and pressed his lips against Taehyung’s head. But even the overwhelming scent of lavender in the Prince’s hair was not enough to calm the ripple of shame and disappointment in his chest.

“I wasn’t thinking – that is no excuse – but I wasn’t thinking,” Jeongguk mumbled almost incoherently into the crown of Taehyung’s head. “And I was so afraid of – of everything and – and, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Taehyung repeated, his words regaining the clarity of consciousness. “But you were right.”

“No, I was wrong to have accused you – ”

“But you were right that you deserve my trust in return for yours,” Taehyung said. He shifted, struggling to right himself off of Jeongguk’s shoulder and disentangle their fingers. “…There is something that I need to tell you."

“I – I don’t understand…?”

“I think it’s time that I tell you the truth.”

Chapter 10: interlude: oracle

Chapter Text

17 Years Ago

- Winter -

Jimin pulls on the hem of his canary yellow cardigan, frowning at his distorted reflection in the window. He’s drowning in the bright-coloured sweater, small hands disappearing inside his sleeves. He hates how the petals of the flower pinned over his heart blend together with the fabric – he wants the sunflower to stand out: he wants to wear it with pride.

“Come on, Jiminie,” Taehyung calls, beckoning the boy over to where he stood with the Dowager Queen of Attalia. Jimin complies, taking Taehyung’s outstretched hand in his own.

The small seven-year-olds trailed behind the old woman. Taehyung held his grandmother’s hand in his left and his right grasping tightly onto the fabric of Jimin’s yellow cardigan.

They marched in what could have been a single file line if only Jimin had managed to not to get distracted down the Great Gallery of the Chateau-de-Marsylle. Jimin has never seen the Great Gallery of the palace before, despite the numerous times that he’s stayed at the chateau. It was becoming a routine for seven-year-old to spend his weekends away from the Turnesol Manor. He remembers his mother saying that it wouldn’t be long before he’d be staying at the residence of the Royal Family permanently – a known arrangement due to his role at the future Crownsguard to the Crown Prince.

That isn’t important to Jimin right now, for now, the young boy’s eyes wander from painting to painting, vision spinning as he took in the portraits of the old kings and queens of Attalia swathed in heavy, dark fabrics. The portraits hung high above him, and Jimin has to crane his neck to meet the eyes of the imposing Sovereigns. He sees some portraits of the ancient rulers with their Crownsguard standing tall behind them, and he wonders how long it would be before Taehyung and himself join them all.

But then Jimin stops, staring with wide eyes.

It was an unusual piece, especially in a gallery of stern kings and queens of the past.

It was easy to distinguish the painting from the others, catching the boy’s attention with its bright and vibrant colours but soft and wispy strokes that made it almost dreamlike.

It depicts three beautiful women in an otherworldly landscape filled with flowers. They were so beautiful that Jimin knew instantaneously that they couldn’t be human.

“What is it, Jiminie?” Taehyung asks.

Jimin whips his head back to meet his friend’s curious gaze, realizing that he had stopped both the Prince and the Dowager Queen. He opens his mouth to apologize but is met with the soft and encouraging smile of Taehyung’s grandmother.

“Who…who are they?” Jimin asks, nodding his head towards the painting.

Taehyung glances over.

“Oh! They’re the Goddesses,” Taehyung answers easily.

“Oh.”

“My child, did your mother ever tell you how the Floating Isles came to be?” the Queen Mother asks.

“Yes,” Jimin answers, nodding slowly. “Eomma sometimes told me stories before bed about the Mother Goddess, but… I can’t remember everything.”

“It’s alright,” the Dowager Queen says. “It will be a while before the stories are of any significance to you. And to you as well, Taehyung.”

“But can you tell the stories again, Halmeoni?” Taehyung asks. “Please? So Jiminie can hear it too. I love it when you tell the story about the Mother and the Maiden and the Blessing.”

The Dowager Queen laughs, gently caressing her grandson’s cheek as she turns to Jimin. “Would you like to listen to the story, Jimin?”

“Okay,” Jimin agrees quietly.

The Dowager Queen leads them to an ivory-white chaise lounge in front of the painting, sitting in the middle as both Taehyung and Jimin sit down on either side of her. She pulls them close, wrapping an arm around each of them as she begins in a low, dreamy voice.

“Long ago, before the days of the Divine House Chrysantheme and mighty Crown Guards of House Turnesol, before the formation of the noble houses, before Attalia was known as the Floating Isles, long before then, there was a time when the gods and goddesses walked amongst the mortals.”

Taehyung shifts, lying down in his grandmother’s lap. The old woman smiles, running her fingers through Taehyung’s hair and she glances over to Jimin, pulling the shy boy close against her chest – like his own grandmother would.

“A young king of a small country met a woman during his travels to the village. He fell in love with her and she with him. They married, and he made her Queen, together, they had a beautiful baby girl whose eyes were blue as the summer sky. They were happy for a time until the King began to grow older as the years went, but his Queen remained as young and as beautiful as the day they met. It was then that he realized that he married a goddess, but not just any goddess…”

The Dowager Queen points to a figure in the painting with inky black hair and wore deep reds and autumnal flowers in her hair. “The Goddess of Life, the Mother,” the Dowager Queen whispers. She moves her finger to the side to point to the figure standing in the middle whose bright blue eyes bore into Jimin’s. “That is her child, who is half-human, half-god: the Maiden.”

Jimin nods slowly.

“Like her mother, the Maiden held the powers of the gods, but like her father, she had the flesh and the soul of a mortal human. She lived longer than mortals, and when her father passed, she ascended to the throne. Without the ties of marriage holding the Mother Goddess to the mortal realm, she had to return to the skies to attend to her duties, but she could not bear to be ripped from her child. So, she raised a little country out of the waters, suspending it between the earth and the heavens where she may watch over her daughter.

"The Maiden ruled over the kingdom in the sky with a just and kind heart, as her father did before her. She was beloved by her people, as she was blessed as a messenger between mortals and gods. When the Maiden’s own child became of age, she stepped down from the throne to let him ascend as the Dynast King.”

“That’s him over there,” Taehyung says, raising himself onto his elbows and pointing at a portrait down the hall of a handsome man holding a beautifully intricate blade between his hands.

“Yes,” the Dowager duch*ess says, “that’s him.”

“The Maiden, being of divine descent, would live well past the life expectancy of those of her mortal flesh and blood. That upset the Goddess of Death: The Crone.”

Jimin’s gaze continues to the last figure in the painting dressed in black. She was just as beautiful as the others, just as ethereal. But her eyes, white and pupil-less, were even more daunting to stare at than the piercing colour of the Maiden’s. And Jimin could see out from the black fabric of The Crone’s cloak was a hand, thin and white as bone.

“The Crone sought the soul of the half-god, half-human, but this angered the Mother Goddess, wanting to do nothing more than to protect her daughter. The Maiden, however, knew that if a war waged between the two, her people in the mortal realm would suffer. The Maiden had lived a long and fulfilling life, having passed the throne to her son. So, she agreed to let the Crone take her soul, on the condition that the Mother presents a gift to her bloodline as deserving of their heritage.”

“The Crone agreed, so long as a payment be made if the gift of the Mother be taken – to remind us mortals of the price of a gift from divinity.”

“What are you three doing?”

Jimin glances over to see Taehyung’s father come. He jumps to his feet, scrambling to greet the King as his parents have taught him, only to have the King shake his head.

“No, it’s alright, Jimin,” the King says, placing a warm hand on the young boy’s shoulder.

“Appa,” Taehyung calls, smiling brightly.

“I thought you were on your way to the gardens with Halmeoni,” the King says.

“We were,” Taehyung replies. “but Jiminie saw the painting of the Goddesses, and I wanted to hear Halmeoni tell the story.”

“Oh, really,” the King starts, lowering himself down onto the sofa beside Jimin with a grunt. “I thought you knew the story by heart now, Taehyung.”

“I do,” Taehyung says with a pout. “But Jiminie doesn’t, and Halmeoni tells the story the best.”

“I see,” the King replies. “So, where were you?”

Taehyung looks at Jimin encouragingly.

“The gift,” Jimin answers.

Taehyung nods. “Halmeoni was just telling us about the gift. But you should tell it, Appa.”

Jimin looks up at the King, to see a glimmer protest in his face, but it quickly melts away into a helpless smile: for no one had the ability to say no to Taehyung.

“Alright,” the King sighs as he crosses his legs and rests his hands comfortably on his knee. “So the gift. When someone of divine blood becomes of age, the Mother speaks in your dreams and asks you if you want to receive the blessing, a gift from the gods – but it does come with a price: the Crone’s reminder."

“What kind of blessing?”

“It could be anything, the gift of healing, telepathy, clairvoyance. Those who do take the blessing are bestowed the great title of Blood of the Oracle.”

“Did you take the gift, Your Majesty?”

“I did not.” The King turns, speaking to Taehyung now. “Nor did your grandfather. Nor your great, great grandmother, nor anyone in the family for over a thousand years.”

“Why not, Appa?” Taehyung asks.

“Because they didn’t need to,” the King replies. “Because Attalia has peace.”

“Would you take the gift, Tae-tae?” Jimin asks.

“I can’t until I’m of age,” Taehyung replies. “Not until I’m 21-years-old.”

The King puts a hand on Taehyung’s head.

“You’ll never have too,” he says resolutely.

“But it is always your choice,” the Queen Mother says. The King looks up, and Jimin could see a hardness in his eyes as he regards his mother’s words.

“I know,” Taehyung replies. He turns and smiles brightly at Jimin, taking the boy’s hand in his. He squeezes Jimin’s small hand twice. “I’ll do it if I have too, to protect Attalia. Besides, I’ll always have Jimin to protect me, right?”

Jimin grins. “Right!”

o r a c l e

(n.) a person or agency considered to provide wise and insightful counsel or prophetic prediction or precognition of the future, inspired by the god; as such it is a form of divination

ORIGIN | GREEK

i n t e r l u d e: o r a c l e

The blast rung loudly in Jimin’s ears. It dissipated in his right ear, but remained a constant, high-pitched humming in his left, amplifying the sound of his heartbeat as he sprinted down the hall after Yoongi.

The drawing room wasn’t far from the Apartments of the Royal Family and the closer that Jimin got, the heavier and thicker the trail of blackened smoke became.

It was an explosion.

Jimin coughed, blinking against the burning sensation in his eyes as he tried to survey the scene. He could see Yoongi in the smoke, dark hair and clothes blending into the black clouds. His hands stood out – pale skin coated in red as he knelt over the body of someone curled into a ball.

The King of Naissus.

“Jeongguk? Jeongguk?!” Yoongi screamed. The fear and hysteria in the man’s voice made Jimin’s breath catch in his throat.

Made him feel breathless and dizzy and made his thoughts run dry.

He let out a shuddering breath, turning as he ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the vicinity, checking to see if there was anyone else who was injured or hoping to catch the culprit.

The blazing embers of a fire burned several feet before him, like waves of a red ocean. Black debris and smoke rained down, and – something caught his eye: peeking out from the remains of fallen furniture was a familiar pattern of white fabric and black polka dots.

That was the pattern of Taehyung’s favourite set of pajamas.

Everything seemed to slow down.

Jimin’s body moved automatically. He sprinted, yanking his limbs forward, tearing the broken pieces of wood away.

Faster – faster-

Taehyung- Taehyung- Taehyung.

Like Yoongi’s priority will always be Jeongguk, Jimin’s will always be Taehyung.

“Taehyung!” Jimin yelled.

The prince coughed, groaning as he shifted at the call of his name. Jimin drops to the ground, hovering above Taehyung’s crumpled frame.

Blood. There was so much blood.

The once white silk now stained black and red. Jimin’s eyes flitted to find the source, immediately placing his palm over a large gash on Taehyung’s abdomen. The prince gasped, whimpering when Jimin’s hand made contact and his eyes fluttering open.

In the haze of smoke, Jimin could see the fading embers of blue around Taehyung’s pupils.

“Taehyung,” Jimin breathed in relief. “I need help! The prince is injured!”

“Jimin?” Taehyung wheezed. “Jiminie?”

“I’m here, Taehyung,” Jimin replied, loudly. “What happened?”

“Jimin, Jeongguk, is he –” Taehyung asked in a slurred drawl of Attalian, “- is he?”

Jimin glanced back to see Seokjin and Namjoon running down the hall. The physician scanning the scene with sharp – focused eyes and moving quickly towards his king.

“Seokjin is attending to him,” Jimin replied quickly. “What happened, Taehyung.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, his now brown eyes fluttering shut. Jimin gritted his teeth, pressing down harder onto the wound as he takes one Taehyung’s hands in his, disregarding the slick blood that coats the prince’s fingers.

“Taehyung,” Jimin called again. “I need to know what happened. I need to know what to do.”

“I saw – saw an explosion – in Jeongguk’s – Jeongguk’s rooms…his rooms,” Taehyung slurred. “Someone…someone tried to hurt – hurt him. Someone wanted to kill Jeongguk…Jeongguk.”

Jimin needed more information – needed to know exactly what happened. But Jimin knew that the prince wouldn’t be able to remain conscious for much longer.

“What do I do, then, Taehyung?” Jimin asks, dropping low and humming the words into Taehyung’s ear in hushed Attalian. But the prince continued to drift, his grasp on Jimin’s hand growing weaker. Jimin pulled, tightening his grip and pressing harder into the wound.

Taehyung hissed, head lolling and eyes fluttering open, pupils moving unseeingly.

“Taehyung, what do I do?” Jimin repeated. Taehyung visibly swallowed, chest heaving and Jimin’s heart drops. He hated this – hating having to hurt Taehyung to get him to concentrate – but he needed information, instructions, anything – because he knew that the prince will be out for the count.

Taehyung swallowed again, licking his lips. “Call Jennie,” he finally said. “Call Jennie as soon – soon as you can. Someone tried to kill Jeongguk. My father must not. Abeoji cannot know… not… not…”

Before Taehyung could finish, Hoseok arrived, hovering with wide, frightened eyes as Jimin once did.

“Apply pressure on the leg,” Jimin commanded. The Commander General nodded swiftly, tearing off his jacket and covering the large gouge on the back of Taehyung’s right thigh. Taehyung whimpered, writhing away from the touch.

“Don’t move, Taehyung,” Jimin warned.

“Tell Jennie, Jimin,” Taehyung repeated. “You must.”

“I will,” Jimin whispered, “I will.”

“The medical staff will be arriving soon,” Hoseok asked, glancing back down the hall, “What is he saying?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin lied easily. “He’s not making any sense.”

“Jiminie, someone tried to kill – ”

“I will,” Jimin repeated, cutting Taehyung off before he said anything incriminating. “Just hang on, Taehyung.”

Then Jimin frantically began murmuring a jumbled mess of a prayer under his breath, he never prayed to the Goddesses before, believing he had enough control over his life to manage his own fate. But in this instance, he’ll do anything, he prayed to the Maiden, to the Mother Goddess, to the Goddess of Death herself, that he’ll do anything – anything at all – if she’d just let Taehyung live.

3 Years Ago

- Spring -

The estates of Blamont Castle were always covered in greying white, whether by the winter’s snow or by the asphodel flowers that cover the fields.

Tonight, with the early spring sun disappearing over the horizon and all the windows and doors open in the ballroom, the sunlight bathed the marble walls of the room in a soft orange and pink glow, offsetting the grey vases filled with dreamy white flowers of House Asphodeline.

Blamont Castle was built centuries ago on a cliffside, just on the western outskirts of Marsylle. It was the official seat of House Asphodeline and rarely were any outsiders invited to the estate unless it was for an important event.

Today, the Earl of Grenadier was celebrating his 60th birthday, and Jimin and Taehyung were in attendance with their families.

Jimin tugs at the hemline of his suit jacket, conscious of the eyes drawn to the pin on his lapel. It was of a silver shield with the motif of a chrysanthemum flower and a diamond in the center: The Mark of the Crown Prince’s Guard.

Traditionally, Crownsguards are knighted at 21, especially in regard to the Crownsguard of the Crown Prince who would be knighted after the heir apparent’s 21st birthday celebrations – one of the grandest events in Attalian customs.

But Jimin was knighted one of the youngest Crownsguard in history at 18 because of his talent and skill. He should be accustomed to the attention by now, having been knighted for two years. However, being the Crownsguard to Taehyung always came with its downfalls when the soon to be 21-year-old sits in center of the spotlight, especially tonight with all the guests jumping at the chance to greet the young prince and congratulate him on his coming-of-age and with Jimin there, they decide to congratulate him on his investiture as well.

Taehyung’s birthday was almost 11 months away, but already the Palace of Marsylle was in shambles preparing for the celebrations, and many nobles and socialites were hoping for an invitation to the auspicious event.

But Taehyung could care less about it.

When the party lulls, Jimin pulls Taehyung aside, finding him a seat at one of the glass tables. The prince sighs as he sits on the alcove by open windows, resting his chin on his hand against the windowsill. A footman came by, handing the prince a warmed blanket.

Taehyung smiles and takes it, draping it over his legs just as Jimin snags a mug of mulled cider from a passing footman.

As the guard sits, Taehyung turns, eyeing the mug that Jimin set down. The Crownsguard raises a brow, pushing the mug tentatively towards the other man. Taehyung leans forward, grasping the ceramic cup in both hands and pulls it across the table.

“What is the point of congratulating me on turning 21?” Taehyung says, taking an annoyed sip of the mulled wine, wincing as he swallows. The prince brings the mug to his lips once more, taking another gulp. Jimin presses his lips together.

Taehyung rarely drinks.

“It’s customary,” Jimin replies, “You know how important becoming-of-age is.”

“I’ve not accomplished anything – I’m not even becoming King.”

“You’re given patronage to over a dozen charities and organizations,” Jimin reasons.

“That was the one thing I accomplished tonight,” Taehyung murmurs. “Viscount of Groseille is happy to donate a large sum of money to continue funding the restoration of historic sites.”

Taehyung sits up straighter, smiling fiercely at something behind Jimin’s head. Jimin turns to see Jennie crossing the room.

“Jennie!” Taehyung greets as the princess sits down beside Taehyung, swiping aside her red dress that was as vibrant as her brother’s hair. He offers her some of his blanket, but she shakes her head, leaning over to check the contents of his cup instead.

“Is that…alcohol?” she asks. “Since when do you drink alcohol at parties?”

Taehyung shrugs.

“You look a little tense,” Jennie says. “Something wrong?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Just tired.”

Jennie’s eye narrow and her lips press into a firm line. But she doesn’t pry further.

Jimin whips his head over when he sees a flash of white in his peripheral vision. He smiles softly when he recognizes Jisoo’s calm smile and Chae-young’s halo of rose-gold hair behind his sister. Both of them held two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Jisoo places a cup in front of Jimin, sliding into the seat beside him as she tucks her gauzy white gown underneath her. Chae-young sits across from the older girl, handing the other mug to Jennie.

“Thanks, Chae-youngie,” Jennie hums happily, leaning her head against her 17-year-old cousin.

Jimin pushes his mug towards Taehyung and takes the goblet of mulled wine out of the prince’s hands. Taehyung meets Jimin eyes for a second before flashing a cheeky grin in thanks as his eyes dart down to where Jisoo places a couple of confectioner’s bags of brightly coloured marshmallows on the table. Taehyung snags a bag of chocolate dipped squares.

“So what have you guys been up to?” Taehyung asks as he slowly peels open the plastic wrap.

“Just talking to everyone. There’s a lot of gossip going around,” Chae-young says, reaching into Jisoo’s bag of pastel-pink marshmallows and placing one carefully into her overflowing mug. “A lot of talk about the increased turmoil in Iaryen.”

“Oh?” Taehyung says, “Tell me more, cousin.”

Jimin places his elbows onto the table, leaning closer as Chae-young lowers her voice to a whisper.

“Much of the talk tonight revolves around Taehyung-oppa’s upcoming birthday celebrations or Jimin-oppa’s inauguration as Crownsguard,” Chae-young says in a hushed tone. Taehyung’s lips quiver into a straight line at the mention of his upcoming birthday. But then his cousin continues, “If not that, all the conversation seems to be about the growing hostility on the main continent.”

“Everyone loves gossip,” Jennie comments, rolling her eyes.

“What have you heard?” Taehyung asks.

“The usual,” Jisoo says, tucking strands of her long hair behind her ear as she lifts the mug to her lips. “Outrage with the Orivalian Emperor, Park Min-jun, for conquering so many lands and territories.”

“Are you guys holding a council meeting without inviting me?” comes a, familiarly raspy voice. Jimin scoffs loudly when he sees Ahn Hwasa strutting towards them. She stops, her daringly low-cut indigo dress pooling at her feet as she drops into a graceful curtsy.

“Your Royal Highnesses,” she greets Taehyung and Jennie. “My Lord and Ladies.”

“Hwasa,” Taehyung returns, the wide cheeky smile on his face pulls at his eyes. They all attended the same boarding school, but as the years passed and adulthood approached, the duties of each of his friends had them parting in separate ways. It had been several months since they last saw her.

Jimin stands, offering Hwasa his chair as he moves to lean against the wall closest to Taehyung’s side.

“What were you all talking about?” Hwasa asks, taking Jimin’s offered seat. The bold and brilliant woman was a member of House Gouet as evident by the silver arum lily brooch pinned on the left side of her dress. The 20-year old woman held the title as the First Daughter of the Earl of Lemangue, and her knowledge of international politics was unprecedented. Her father occupied an important seat within the King of Attalia’s government as the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Jimin knew that Hwasa was interested in taking the position once her father retired and perhaps serving at the future king’s - as Taehyung’s - Foreign Minister.

“We were discussing how all Iyaren may soon fly under the banner of the Orivalian Empire,” Jisoo sighs.

“Hm,” Hwasa says, raising an eyebrow as she slowly nods in agreement. “From the patterns of his conquest, I think the Emperor looks to Estermery next.”

“But Estermery won’t engage in war,” Jennie argues. “It is against their faith - their very nature of being pacifists.”

“That doesn’t mean that they’ll surrender willingly, Jennie-unnie,” Chae-young remarks.

“The lands are sacred,” Jisoo comments quietly as she takes one of the bags of marshmallows. “The culture is drenched in the faith.”

“So, you think they’ll take the path of least resistance and bloodshed to protect the country?” Taehyung asks, crossing his arms.

Jimin runs a hand through his hair. He finds it unnerving, listening to his younger sibling, Taehyung’s sister and cousin discuss heavy politics as if it was the weather. “Which will be…?”

“An alliance through marriage,” Hwasa murmurs.

“The heir to the Orivalian Empire is Crown Prince Park Hae-jin, isn’t that correct?” Taehyung asks.

“Yes.”

“Does he have any siblings?”

“Not that I know of, the Empress passed years ago, and the Emperor never remarried…” Hwasa says, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on top.

“Perhaps Park Hae-jin will marry the Estermerian Prince?” Jennie says.

“The Prince of Estermery is about your age, Jennie,” Taehyung murmurs, “ and the Crown Prince is over a decade older.”

“Though marriage would solidify an alliance, I don’t think that the Archduke of Estermery would do that to his son.”

Taehyung absentmindedly balances a square of marshmallow between his fingers, eyes lowered as he visibly gnaws on the inside of his lip. Beside him, his sister mirrors his discomfort, her eyes focused on white-painted nails, teeth biting on cherry-coloured lips.

The Royal Family were all too familiar with arranged marriages, though the Floating Isles were known for their peacetimes, it was not above the struggle for wealth and power. Jimin frowns, he knows what the Royal Siblings were thinking about: if the Orivalian Empire were to make a move on Attalia, would the King propose an alliance through marriage to protect the lands? If so, which one of his three children would he have the heart to offer?

“What about Galatea?” Taehyung asks.

“They will declare war if Estermery makes an alliance, I’m sure of it,” Hwasa declares, reaching over and taking a glass of red wine as the server passes by. “Especially since Estermery is the only thing standing between Galatea and the Empire. Lugdunum and Aquileia have chosen to stay out of it… though…that is until Orivala waits at their doorstep. Naissus won’t get involved… nor will the Territories of Duscae: no one wants to oppose the growing Empire.”

“The Territories of Duscae?” Jisoo asks.

“Formerly known as the Naissian Empire, but the territories no longer belong to the country,” Hwasa says. “Now they are the Commonwealth of Duscae.”

Jimin has heard lots about Naissus and their growing wealth and military.

“They were isolated during the years of the Naissian Plague, weren’t they?” Jimin says. “And still to this day, they have not made themselves present internationally.”

“Naissus might enter the world-stage soon enough,” Hwasa says, her words muffled as she lifts the wineglass to her lips. “They are quickly regaining strength after the plague that nearly destroyed them eight years ago.”

“It killed the late king, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks, brows furrowing as if he was trying to remember details of the event. Jimin could barely remember when he heard the news of the Naissian King’s passing. There was something else that was on his mind at the time.

Right, he remembers now: Min Yoongi’s death.

“Who is in power now?” Jimin asks, shifting on his feet and leaning against Taehyung’s back.

“His wife, the Queen Regent. However, there was just a coronation, if I remember correctly,” Hwasa says.

“And we weren’t invited?” Jennie pouts, pulling out a bright red phone from the pocket of her dress.

“No one outside of the Naissian Commonwealth was invited,” Hwasa says. “He’s young. Just eighteen.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “King at eighteen?”

“Youngest king in Naissian history,” Hwasa continues.

“Hey, is that Byul-yi-unnie?” Chae-young asks, straightening as she points to a figure crossing the ballroom. Jennie looks up from her phone and Hwasa spins around.

“We should go speak to her,” Hwasa says, standing quickly.

The girls leave, bidding Taehyung and Jimin goodbye as they cross the room to where the older woman was spotted.

Jimin takes a seat across from Taehyung again. The prince dejectedly stirred his untouched hot chocolate. The marshmallows had melted into a large gloopy cloud atop his cup and Jimin finds it strange that Taehyung hasn’t already drunk half of the sugary drink.

“It makes me uneasy,” Taehyung murmurs, his eyes downcast. “Hearing about what’s happening in Iaryen…about the possible fate of Estermery...and being unable to do anything…”

Jimin takes a sip of his mulled wine, reaching to grab a bag of pastel orange marshmallow squares.

“What do you expect us to do?” Jimin starts softly. “Attalia’s not famed for our strength in the military. We barely have enough soldiers to protect our borders. We’re commerce and artisans. Besides, striking against us would require a force of airships, and if we choose to take part in the war, we’ll need military airships.”

Taehyung bites his lower lip. “No, but... I feel as though we should be able to do something. We’re a neutral party, friends with everyone and yet not enough do anything about it.”

“Attalia has a reputation, we are the Floating Isles. Divine.”

“Only by our people. The rest of the world believes that the isle’s ability to float is due to science, something about the gravitational pull and buoyancy.” Taehyung tsks, rolling his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand.

Jimin remains silent, squishing the marshmallow between his thumb and forefinger.

“Religion matters so little to people…” Taehyung continues, resting his chin in his hands again, eyes half-glazed as he watches people mingle around the room. “Those who are faithful are ridiculed, why else do you think my father pushes for tourism of the castles and galleries in Marsylle rather than the temples of the Goddesses. Many have no concern for the faith – if things don’t make sense, they look to science and not to the heavens.”

Jimin pops the marshmallow into his mouth, using it as an excuse not to reply just yet. The Crownsguard was never as religious as the Crown Prince. He prays to the Mother Goddess out of habit built over his childhood spent in the proximity of the Royal Family. He always had a lingering notion of doubt, especially as technology continues to progress.

“Doesn’t matter though,” Jimin finally says, “The king wouldn’t have it. We are an impartial country. We kept our peace because no one sees us as a threat. Once the Sky City of Marsylle becomes the Sky Fortress, then we are in danger.”

“You sound like my father,” Taehyung whispers, glancing back at Jimin with a soft smirk. He returns to stirring his still full drink. “As well as the kings before him. But times have changed, Jimin, and I fear Attalia will falter if we cannot change with it.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow at Taehyung’s bold statement. “Oh? Will you be the king to bring Attalia to the future?”

Taehyung freezes, fingers dropping the spoon as he curls his hand into a fist. He drops his gaze, breaking eye contact with Jimin as he turns away abruptly.

“Taehyung?” Jimin asks. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Taehyung replies quickly, too quickly. “It’s nothing…”

“Taehyung -”

Taehyung suddenly stands. “Halmeoni!”

Jimin puts his mug down, twisting into a stand. He turns to see the Dowager Queen making her way over to the alcove seats with her cane in one hand and a young court lady grasping to her other. The crowd parts for her, bowing and curtsying to the Queen Mother. Taehyung is at her side in a heartbeat, dipping lowly and taking his grandmother’s free hand to press a kiss against her knuckles and then on her cheeks. He takes over for the lady’s companion with a bright smile that crinkles his eyes, helping his grandmother into his seat.

Jimin moves to place his hand over his heart, bowing before the Dowager Queen. Jimin offers a seat to the Dowager Queen’s lady companion. She declines, stating that the Queen Mother is in good hands and if they need to find her, she won’t be far.

“Your Majesty,” Jimin greets.

“Children,” the Dowager Queen says with a sigh, resting her cane against the wall, “Sit.”

Taehyung smiles widely, settling beside his grandmother. “I didn’t think you were going to come, Halmeoni. Are you feeling well enough to be here?”

“It is not very often that celebrations are held at Blamont Castle,” she says as Taehyung drapes the blankets over her legs. Jimin sits across from the pair, relaxing as he leans against the chair, with one arm hanging comfortably over the backrest. “In my reign, I’ve been here only twice. It is not an opportunity I am to miss because of a mere cold.”

“If you say so, Halmeoni,” Taehyung sings, all trace of his earlier discomfort gone in his grandmother’s presence.

“Now tell me,” she says, leaning into the table with a conspiratory grin, “Have you found any potential suitors? I am surprised they aren’t gifting you with hundreds of flower crowns already.”

Taehyung laughs, a soft, breathy sound leaving his lips. “Halmeoni! I am not even of age yet.”

“No matter, I am determined to see one of my grandchildren married before I leave this earth.”

“Don’t say that, please,” Taehyung returns, quietly, taking his grandmother’s hand into his own. “I’ll get married when I find the right one. And you’ll be there by my side.”

“Alright, my child,” the Dowager Queen relents, and Jimin smiles at the scene.

“Tae-tae-hyung!” comes a sudden call. Jimin turns to see the youngest of the Attalian King’s children skidding to a stop before the table. Mingyu was already so tall for his age at 16-years-old, lanky limbed and just ever so slightly off balanced. Jimin just barely managed to get to his feet to properly greet the Second Prince himself. Mingyu comes rushing towards Taehyung and their grandmother, sits down on her other side, stopping just to bow and take her hand to kiss the back of her knuckles and both of her cheeks.

“Halmeoni, Tae-tae-hyung, Jimin-hyung,” Mingyu greets, sitting down beside Taehyung and throwing his arms around his older brother. Taehyung laughs as his younger brother nuzzles closer. “I was looking for you, hyung.”

“Where is Ji-hyun?” Jimin asks.

“We split up to find you,” Mingyu replies. “I’ll send him a text to let him know that I found you, but there is something I need to tell you, Tae-tae-hyung.”

“What’s the matter?” Taehyung asks with a soft smile.

Mingyu leans closer, disregarding how the fiery chrysanthemum blossom in his breast pocket is being squashed by Taehyung’s arm. “I just overheard that the Asphodeline brothers are looking for you, Tae-tae-hyung,” Mingyu says. “Something about giving a tour of the castle, since you are Crown Prince…”

Taehyung’s smile falls, and his eyebrow raises.

“Oh?” Jimin whispers.

“And it was the Asphodeline brothers who wanted to give me this so-called tour?” Taehyung says.

“The Earl’s sons, aren’t they?” the Dowager Queen asks.

“Yes, Halmeoni,” Mingyu replies.

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to allow them to give you a tour, Taehyung,” his grandmother says, “Perhaps they’ll show you something new about your heritage... your blood right. They are keepers of the grave. You never know what you might find.”

Taehyung turns to stare into his grandmother's eyes. The Dowager Queen of Attalia dotes on all three of her grandchildren, but it is no secret that she has a particular bond with Crown Prince. Jimin furrows his brows in confusion as the two share a knowing look.

Silence.

“Halmeoni is right, Jiminie,” Taehyung says, “Let’s go.”

“I last saw them in the library,” Mingyu says, taking Taehyung’s place beside the Queen Mother. “When Ji-hyun and I were looking for a place to charge our phones.”

Taehyung nods, pressing another kiss on his grandmother’s hand before standing.

Jimin follows, bidding farewell to the Queen Mother and Mingyu as he trails after the Crown Prince.

“Taehyung,” Jimin calls, grasping hold of the prince’s hand tightly.

“Hm, Jimin?”

“About what happened, before Halmeonim arrived,” Jimin starts, “I hope I did not say something that offended you, that was not my intention.”

“No, I know,” Taehyung says, “It is just - the topic of… ascension bothers me - perhaps because it makes me think of about what must happen for me to rise to power.”

The prince says his explanation slowly, words choppy. Jimin did not believe that Taehyung was entirely honest. But he knows that Taehyung will tell him in due time.

“I’m sorry for bringing up ill thoughts,” Jimin murmurs, squeezing Taehyung’s fingers twice.

Taehyung returns the gesture with a boxy, bright grin. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Just like Mingyu said, Taehyung and Jimin find the Asphodeline brothers in the extensive library of Blamont Castle.

“His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Lord Park Jimin of House Turnesol” the footman announces as Taehyung and Jimin enter. The brothers stand from their seats by the fire. Kim Jong-dae rises in one swift, smooth movement, whereas his brother bolts to his feet. The tumbler in his hand sways and the amber-coloured liquor nearly spills.

“Your Royal Highness,” they return with low bows.

“Kim Jong-dae-ssi, Kim Jong-in-ssi,” Taehyung greets.

“It is an honour to host the members of the Royal Family,” Kim Jong-dae says, “My father is delighted to have such esteemed guests attend his birthday celebrations.

“The honour is truly ours,” Taehyung says, “Blamont Castle is not like the Palace of Marsylle, ancient history colours these walls – all the way back to the days where the goddesses walked the earth.”

“Please, allow my brother and me to give you a tour of the estate grounds,” Kim Jong-dae says, gesturing to the doors, leading Jimin and Taehyung out into the dimly light halls of the ancient citadel. It was just as Mingyu said.

It was not unusual for the nobles to begin making their move to earn the favour of the future sovereign. But Jimin does not know what Jong-dae has to gain from giving a tour to Taehyung.

Neither Jimin nor Taehyung have personally spoken to the eldest of the Earl of Grenadier’s sons. But Jimin has heard rumours, mainly from Hwasa about the 25-year-old’s ambition and cunning. He wonders what Jong-dae has heard about the clever and handsome Crown Prince.

“Do you know the history of the castle, Your Royal Highness?” Kim Jong-in asks softly.

“Not exactly, House Asphodeline hides many secrets,” Taehyung murmurs with a knowing grin.

“You are not wrong,” Kim Jong-dae returns with a playful smile of his own.

Taehyung clasps his hands behind his back nonchalantly, eyes trailing up and down the high ribbed-vault of the ceiling. Jimin walks on the right-hand side of the prince with one hand resting in his pocket as he listens to the conversation. “I know that there are catacombs beneath these grounds. Extensive catacombs that date back thousands of years, and are the final resting place of those of Asphodeline blood.”

“You are well versed, Your Royal Highness,” Kim Jong-in murmurs.

Taehyung turns, his usual perfect posture dropping as he addresses the younger of the brothers. “Please, we’re the same age, Jong-in-ssi. Despite not being in school anymore, it does not change, you can call me Taehyung.”

Jong-in returns the grin hesitantly, glancing over to his brother.

“And I hope I can take the liberty to call you, Jong-dae-hyung?” Taehyung asks, his voice echoing across the walls. “And of course, in return, you may call me by name.”

Taehyung’s friendliness visibly unsettles Jong-dae. He nods in hesitant agreement, clearing his throat as he takes a couple steps ahead.

“What else have you heard about the catacombs, Taehyung?” Jong-dae asks.

“Hm, only what’s in stories and songs, hyung,” Taehyung replies as he follows in suit.

“Then you’ve heard of the sword of the Dynast King?”

Taehyung blinks.

“Of course, the sword of the Dynast King: first of House Chrysantheme,” Taehyung says, his deep, throaty tone dances over the title. “The blade was wrought in the blood of the Maiden’s sacrifice.”

“As far as the stories go, the sword’s final resting place is here, in the catacombs of House Asphodeline,” Jong-dae continues.

“Ah yes, I remember the stories,” Taehyung says.

“Strange how no one has unearthed the blade yet,” Jimin pipes in, “Considering its history.”

“It is said that only those with the Blood of House Chrysantheme can find the sword,” Jong-in says.

Taehyung’s brows raise as Jong-dae stops at a set of intricately carved wooden doors, beyond which Jimin sees a long hall filled with dark paintings. The gallery, Jimin assumes.

Jong-dae gestures for Taehyung to go first and Jimin follows closely behind.

“Few outside of House Asphodeline have the right to go down into the catacombs,” Taehyung says as he enters the room, his footsteps muffled by the dark carpeted floors and his words sounding softer and heavier without the reverberating echoes, “As sacred as they are.”

Taehyung wanders ahead of Jong-dae, glancing at the priceless paintings that hung on the walls. Jimin follows, his steps slower, wearier. He remembers the bright gallery of the Palace of Marsylle, the high windows on either side of the hallway would bring in the brilliant, rays of the sun and the soft, glowing beams of the moon. But in the gallery of Blamont Castle, there was little light, save for the pale glow of the lanterns.

The paintings were different as well. Unlike the gallery of Royal Family, where portraits of kings and queens of past and present sit, the galleries of House Asphodeline were filled with still-life vanitas. Jimin’s eyes linger on the wilting flowers, melting candlesticks, and yellowing skulls that seem to be present in every single painting.

“Yes, very few,” Jong-dae replies, with his hands behind his back and that coy smile returning, “But I’m willing to let you, if you wish, Taehyung.”

Taehyung stops mid-step, turning his head back to flash questioning glance.

“And why would you offer me such a grace, Jong-dae-hyung?”

“We never got off on the right foot,” Jong-dae says, strolling lazily towards the prince with both hands in his pockets. “And as your 21st birthday is approaching, you to be anointed as the heir apparent, as the Crown Prince – as the future king. It would be appropriate for me to make my stand. House Asphodeline has...long forgotten the honour of serving on the King’s Privy Council."

“A seat that is given by merit is it not?” Taehyung says, airily. Jimin scoffs under his breath, now he knows why Jong-dae wanted to befriend Taehyung: for power and wealth.

“Surely if past or future monarchs saw the virtue of having a member of the noble House Asphodeline upon the Privy Council,” Jimin starts, tearing his eyes away from the shadows of the painting before him, “Then a seat would be offered.”

Taehyung turns, letting only Jimin see the playful raise of his eyebrow. Jimin could see Jong-dae’s smile falter and behind him, Jong-in bit on his lip and pressed his hands together into a tense fist.

“But of course,” Jong-dae replies finally. “However, I hope by doing this – it’ll remind you of the favours once past. I could be in your Privy Council one day, and I want to be your friend, Taehyung – and what better way than by giving you this?”

Jong-dae turns, reaching up and pulling a large framed painting off of the wall. Jimin did not have a chance to look at that particular painting yet, and he’s glad that he’s only able to catch small glimpses of it through Jong-dae’s figure. More skeletons, more melted candles and wilting flowers, but there was also a set of eyes in sunken sockets that seemed to follow him.

Jong-dae sets aside the painting and Jimin tears his eyes away from the macabre painting to see that there was a stone passageway behind the frame. It was dark, and unlike the rest of the castle, which was fitted with electricity and modern appliances, the passageway appears to be lit by the glow of torchlight.

"You’re granting me passage to the catacombs?” Taehyung asks.

“As a favour for the future King,” Jong-dae says.

“What if I find the Sword of the Dynast King?”

“Then I hope you will remember that it was Kim Jong-dae of House Asphodeline that helped you find such glory,” Jong-dae says.

“And if I cannot?”

“You will be king by heritage and blood right. That is something that I can never take or give you,” he says, gesturing for Taehyung to walk through the doorway first.

Taehyung co*cked his head to the side, easy smile still playing on his lips, though his eyes regarded Jong-dae hesitantly. Behind him, Jimin could see Jong-in shuffling nervously.

“I accept,” Taehyung says, nodding his head. He clasps his hands behind his back as he strides confidently through the doorway.

J imin catches Jong-dae smiling to himself before following the Crown Prince. Jimin follows after them with Jong-in trailing behind. The Crownsguard wanted to be closer to Taehyung, to make sure he was okay – but he didn’t like having Jong-dae standing behind them both in a dark, almost pitch black hall.

When the soft glow of the gallery no longer reached the tunnel, Jong-dae pulls out his phone and leads them towards another door, where he produces a tiny key from around his neck and slides it through the hidden keyhole. He opens it and lets Taehyung and Jimin through.

It’s cold.

And then Jimin realizes that they must be outside, it was a small balcony beyond the door, and instead of the fields of asphodel flowers that Jimin expected to see, it was nothing but the dark horizon and the greying clouds beneath the Sky City. The Blamont Castle sits on the eastern edge of Marsylle, after all.

Jimin looks up to find a jagged cliff face – he could barely see the walls of the citadel beyond it. He scans the small balcony finds the beginning of a spiralling stone staircase on the right, half embedded into the cliff-face, and half-hanging free.

“The staircase will take you down into the catacombs,” Jong-dae says. “I will wait in the gallery for your return.”

“Thank you, Jong-dae-hyung,” Taehyung says. “I hope to return with the gift you’ve given me.”

“I hope you do as well, Taehyung,” Jong-dae bows and turns, exiting through the door and leaving it just a crack open behind him. “Come, Jong-in!”

Jong-in remains – staring at the door and his brother’s retreating figure. He then looks at Taehyung. He’s remained silent throughout the journey.

Shy.

Jimin remembers that Jong-in was somewhat shy when they were in school together. But never cruel.

“Taehyung…” Jong-in starts. “I don’t know what Jong-dae-hyung is planning, but be careful….though House Asphodeline does well to maintain the catacombs – one wrong step and – ”

“To our death we’ll plunge,” Jimin murmurs, placing a hand on the railing of the balcony and peering down into the gray clouds.

“It’s alright,” Taehyung says. “I understand the risks that I’m taking.”

Jong-in digs into his pocket, producing a box of matches.

“It’s pitch black in the crypts. No technology works down there. I think it’s because of some sort of radiation in the soil. But….anyway…there are some torches down there, so take these.”

Taehyung smiles, nodding as he takes the matches.

“Be safe, Taehyung. I’ll…pray... to the Crone for your safe passage.” Jong-in bows, and leaves.

Taehyung’s smile falls, and he turns, tossing the box to Jimin, he catches it.

“Come on, Jimin,” Taehyung says.

Jimin remembers seeing a documentary on TV about how scientists were doing their best to explain the phenomena that are the Floating Isles – something about the buoyancy of the landmass and how the forces of gravity exerted on the specific soil of Attalia has changed its properties.

As they go further and further down into the crypt, the light of the moon fades, and Jimin reaches for the walls to support his descent, he pulls out his cellphone, intending to use the flashlight. But his screen began flashing on and off in eerie horizontal lines.

“Jong-in was right,’ Jimin mumbles. He takes a match and lights a torch hanging closest to him, “Technology doesn’t work… radiation he says?”

“A modern attempt to explain the supernatural powers that surround the area,” Taehyung says, comfortably falling into step beside Jimin and the light of the torch. “Jong-in isn’t particularly religious.”

“What is it then?” Jimin asks.

“The Crone,” Taehyung replies.

Ji min feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

He swallows audibly.

The crypt spirals downwards in stone cold caverns, with tombs built into the walls against the spiralling staircase, names and epitaphs engraved into the stone walls, worn down by the years that passed, but still in good shape with the upkeep by the family. The cavern was dark and damp – but well kept. Like Taehyung said – House Asphodeline had a history as keepers of the grave. Down, at the bottom of the crypt sat the stone statue of the Crone, shrouded by greying stone fabrics, her eyes obscured by the stone crown on her head. An all-seeing power – an all-knowing power as she watches over the crypt of departed souls.

“The Crone?” Jimin whispers, stopping to stare at the statue. He exhales shakily, brows furrowing at the sight of his breath fogging. It wasn’t cold enough for him to be able to see his breath, and yet down here in the catacombs, the air seems thicker.

Taehyung also stops.

“House Asphodeline are keepers of the grave, worshippers of the Crone,” Taehyung says. “No one is allowed within these crypts.”

“What is it that you’re looking for down here?” Jimin says.

Taehyung points at the statue, and now Jimin notices the gleam of metal at the base of the sculpture. It was a sword with golden floral etchings on the steel blade.

" The sword of House Chrysanthemum of course,” Taehyung says lightly. “The Sword of the Dynast King.”

“But… but how can that be? Surely if the sword exists, it should have been found by now.”

“Of course, it exists,” Taehyung says. “My father knows it’s down here. My grandmother knows it’s down here – everyone in House Chrysantheme knows where the Sword of the Dynast King rests.”

“Then why have you not retrieved it?”

“Because it rests in the crypts of House Asphodeline, worshipers of the Crone. Jong-dae is not doing this out of spite of me, he isn’t doing this because he despises the monarchy. But it is what the monarchy represents -- eternity, divinity -- a mockery of death and mortality. He’s allowing me to find the Dynast King’s sword not out of the kindness of his heart -- but because then I’ll owe him. And it is never good to owe anything to House Asphodeline. To owe House Asphodeline is to owe death. And there are greater things that I want than a sword for the price of owing death.”

Jimin’s brows furrow, as he glances around the catacombs.

“Then why did you agree to come down here?”

“Because there is something even more valuable than the Sword of the Dynast King,” Taehyung said turning and grinning.

“Which is…”

“The Pendant of the Maiden’s Tomb,” Taehyung says.

Taehyung’s eyes glow almost amber in the light of the torch, bright and wide-eyed as he licks his lips and starts to speak in a low tone.

“As the stories go, it was made by a member of House Asphodeline on the orders of Kim Sunjong, the Wandering King, centuries before. It was a map that was said to lead the way to the Tomb of the Maiden.

“How did you know it was here?”

“Much of the history of House Chrysantheme is not passed down via achieves and books, Jiminie, they were passed down as stories and songs to protect the lineage of the Maiden. Nowadays, everyone knows the stories and songs. Most of them are false…but some are true. Everyone writes it off as an old myth, but I’ve done some digging, and I know that it is here, I never thought I’d have… this simple opportunity to get it.”

“What’s the story then,” Jimin asks, as he watches Taehyung pause at every crypt to squint at the faded name. Jimin raises the torch higher, rubbing wearily at the back of his neck as they ascended again.

“Almost a thousand years ago, Kim Sunjong, Wandering King of House Chrysantheme married a woman of House Asphodeline. He told her of the secrets of the blood, secrets that should have told only to the most trusted advisors. The king told her the location of the Maiden’s Tomb. It was knowledge that was passed down through oral stories, but the king worried that such knowledge would be lost as time passed. He had her make a pendant that described its location but only coupled with the help of the Mother Goddess can one reach the Tomb. But…strangely… she took it to her grave.”

Taehyung pauses. “Here it is,” he whispers, pointing to the faded epitaph before him. He touches the stone crypt. “The grave of Kim Yonghwa.”

Jimin freezes. “Taehyung… Are we – grave robbing? You’re going to defile the final resting place of this woman.”

Taehyung turns, his face blanks as he blinks.

“Not defile, Jimin – I just want the pendant back.” Taehyung slowly. His fingers brush against the coffin. “We’re not grave robbing, we’re merely….”

Taehyung stops.

And Jimin knows it’s because he’s coming to realize what he’s about to do.

Taehyung pursing his lips. “You’re right, we are grave robbing. But I want to back what belongs to my family, and I will atone for my crimes with my blood…Do you have a knife on you?”

Jimin frowns but complies as he reaches for the small switchblade in his boot and hands it to Taehyung.

“Why do you need it?”

“To pay my respects and atone for my sin.”He cuts his index finger, wincing as the blood wells and drips over the edge of his skin, falling to the ground.

“Oh, Goddess of Death, Ruler of the Afterlife, Bringer of Eternal Dreams,” Taehyung calls, “sacred are these grounds that I humbly walk on. Forgive me for the crimes I am about to commit. I make the sacrifice of my flesh and blood for the price of disturbing the souls that rest here. I make the sacrifice of mortal blood to atone for my sins of disturbing the grace of the Crone.”

Taehyung wipes the blade on his pants after the prayer, sticking his bleeding finger into his mouth.

“I’ll do it,” Taehyung says, words muffled by the digit between his lips.

“You’re going to try and lift the crypt on your own?”

“I don’t want you to pay the price for my crimes.”

The guard stares as Taehyung returns the knife to Jimin.

He sighs loudly, handing Taehyung the torch.

“What are you doing, Jimin?” Taehyung asks. Jimin flips the switchblade open again.

Jimin was never as religious as Taehyung. But he’ll do anything to assuage the Crown Prince’s fears.

The Crown Prince’s eyes widen. “Jimin, no -.”

“Your crimes will be my crimes, Taehyung. I am your shield,” Jimin says quickly, pressing the point of the blade into the pad of his finger. “And besides… there is no way you’re going get the crypt upon on your own.”

The Crownsguard swipes quickly, watching bright red appear on his skin as he mutters the same prayer under his breath.

He wipes his finger on his pants, sheathing the blade back into his boot as he takes the torch from Taehyung.

“...Thank you, Jiminie,” Taehyung whispers.

“So, why is it so important.”

“Because the pendant is the only remaining item that maps the location of the Maiden’s Tomb.”

“You can’t believe that actually exists.”

“Of course, it does,” Taehyung says. “It is where the Blood of House Chrysantheme receives the blessing of the Mother Goddess. No one has taken the gift since it has gone missing – since Kim Yonghwa died. It has been almost a thousand years.”

Jimin furrows his brows – his memory of those who receive the gift was not as good as Taehyung’s. Those who bear the title of Blood of the Oracle.

But Jimin remembers the story of the blessing. He remembers the afternoon spent in the company of the Dowager Queen and Crown Prince years ago. He remembers the King speaking about a price to pay.

“Why do you want it? Do you want to receive the gift?”

“I don’t know...maybe?” Taehyung replies. “… It is for my descendants as well – it is a blood right. Help me, Jimin.”

And Jimin scowls, finding a metal hook for the torch as he settles beside Taehyung. Taehyung closes his eyes, muttering a prayer to the Crone under his breath and begging for her forgiveness once more.

“1,2,3.”

And they both shove the stone aside. Despite the upkeep, dust plumes and a putrid odour cascade into Jimin’s senses

Taehyung coughs, shoving his nose into his elbow.

Jimin turns away biting his lip, holding his breath for a moment before pushing his nose into the sleeve of his dress shirt and inhaling the scent of his own cologne.

“Forgive me, Oh Mother Goddess, for disturbing the rest of one of my brethren, forgive me Goddess of Death for disturbing the soul of your child.” Taehyung whispers.

Jimin stands, pulling the torch down from the wall and shines into down into the stone coffin.

All that remains was a skeleton. The clothes that were centuries old, worn and moulted and jewels sitting around white bone wrists and neck. Then Jimin sees the gleam of light between the collarbones – a silver chain with a pendant hanging off the end. Taehyung sees it too, and gingerly, hesitantly reaches into the coffin with shaking fingers, he maneuvers the chain until he finds the clasp – ignoring the hollow sounds of the pendant bumping against bone - and softly and gently undoes it.

He looks down. “This is it,” he whispers.

In his hand was a flat disk with strange markings on it.

“A blood right,” Taehyung says, swallowing and tightening his fist around the chain.

Jimin paced along the length of the room in loose, chaotic circles. The haze of the smoke and the ringing in his ears have yet to dissipate from his thoughts. As were the images that came with it: blood, fire, moving Taehyung to the safe house – hovering, always hovering, helplessly while the Naissian doctors crowded around Taehyung.

Taehyung who refused to let go of Jimin’s hand, whispering incoherently – deliriously – for Jimin to contact his sister – Taehyung who at long last lost consciousness when the doctors pricked his arm with an IV pumped full of sedatives and painkillers.

Then silence.

This was Jimin’s chance to call Jennie, and he was hesitant, unsure of what he would tell the young Crown Princess.

He took a deep breath, punching in Jennie’s number into his phone and pressing it against his ear.

“Hello?” came the sleepy slur of the Crown Princess. It must be late in Attalia, being three hours ahead of Naissus.

“Jennie,” Jimin greeted slowly.

A silent pause, then Jimin could hear the static shuffling.

“Jimin-oppa,” Jennie finally said, sounding more awake.

“Is Jisoo with you,” Jimin asked, wondering if Taehyung would approve of him telling his sister. But Taehyung trusted him – trusted his decisions.

And look where it got him now.

“No,” Jennie replied. “Unnie is in the other room, why did you call Jimin-oppa? You wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important – especially not this late…. What’s happened – is Tae-tae-oppa alright?”

Jimin paused, racking a hand through his hair.

“He’s… he’s okay – he will be okay.”

Jennie waited, letting Jimin collect himself before explaining what happened – at least what he knows.

"There was an explosion that went off in the King of Naissus’ apartments,” Jimin said. “I don’t know if it was an attempt on the King’s life or an accident, but I think Taehyung saw it and saved him. They were both caught in the blast.”

Silence –

Then Jennie’s shuddering sigh – like a choked sob – swearing under her breath before trying to compose herself.

“The physicians said that he’ll be fine. That they’ll both be fine.”

“How bad,” she managed to choke out.

“Three broken ribs,” Jimin said. “Some partial thickness burns – that might scar…and two lacerations – both stitched up and the physicians are being careful about infections.”

“Is he – ”

“He’s unconscious – sedated….” Jimin replied. he ran a hand through his hair and feeling something dried on the side of his scalp. Jimin brushed haphazardly at it. He turned, glancing over at Taehyung.

“He wanted me to contact you. Probably to plan our next steps – he knew he’d be out of commission for a while.”

“…Abeoji cannot find out.” Jennie said, coming to the same conclusion Taehyung did. “Not while Taehyung-oppa cannot explain what happened. He’ll blame Naissus for putting Taehyung’s life in danger. He’ll go mad…. Was Taehyung-oppa… in the King’s apartments?”

“I don’t know if he went to the King’s apartments because he knew…Or if… if he went for…a rendezvous."

“Is he… how is it?”

“It’s only been a couple of months, Jennie. But – the King… the King made moves to officially court Taehyung last night. That should make Naissian news by the morning.”

“But – I don’t know if this changes things”

“It could have – it would have – but then this happened. I think it was an assassination attempt, Jennie.”

“And if it was, that means Naissus has internal issues that they’ll have to deal with, let alone manage foreign affairs,” Jennie says.

“Park Hae-jin’s coronation is three weeks.”

“And when are you leaving for Ravenna?”

“Six days – I’ll be attending the coronation right after.” Jennie continued. Jimin could hear the princess shuffling on the other end, her voice growing lower. “…was it?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin replied quickly. “I’m not sure – I don’t know. It could be? It probably was – but he’s – he’s under and I – I just need to follow his orders.”

“My father cannot know,” Jennie declared. “Not until Tae-tae-oppa is awake and can explain what happened. I will try and keep him distracted, especially with my coming-of-age ceremony approaching…"

“If this was an assassination attempt, it weakens the Monarchy and leaves the King vulnerable,” Jimin explained. “The Lord Chancellor and most of the King of Naissus’ Circle have agreed to keep everything hidden for now. Luckily, Sol Palace is so distant enough from the city centre that it is possible to keep everything quiet.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure, the Naissian King has yet to awaken.”

“Keep me updated.”

“Of course.” Jimin sighs.

“And Jimin-oppa,” Jennie started quietly.

“Yes, Jennie?”

She sighs “I can hear it in your voice. Don’t blame yourself. There is nothing you could have done. Tae-tae-oppa is not a child. He understands the consequences for his actions. He knows the risks, then and now.”

“I know, Jennie,” Jimin whispered, closing his eyes as he dropped his phone away from his ear.

3 Years Ago

- Summer -

Jimin’s breath fogged in the crisp spring turning summer air.

He wishes he wore something warmer, but Taehyung’s text came so suddenly.

And Taehyung rarely texts in full sentences. Rarely texts at all.

So Jimin came practically running to the Garden Conservatory and finds the Dowager Queen leaving with her lady-in-waiting trailing behind her.

He smiles softly. It’s been a while since he saw the Dowager Queen, for she had fallen severely ill since the Earl of Grenadier’s birthday.

He stops, when he makes eye contact with Taehyung’s grandmother, placing his hand over his heart as he bows.

“Your Majesty,” Jimin says.

“Jimin,” the duch*ess says, taping her cane on the ground as she sighs tiredly.

She looks tired, looks much worse for wear.

“How many times must I tell you to stop the formalities, child?”

“Forgive me, Halmeonim,” Jimin says, raising his head and smiling softly, “It is a hard habit to break."

The older woman takes her time walking over to Jimin, taking slow steps with her cane shaking in her hand. Her lady-in-waiting follows closely behind, hands wrapping gently but firmly around the elder woman’s arm.

Jimin watches as the Queen Mother does a once over of him. He remembers a time when he was so small, barely at her hip and now, she barely stands at his shoulders.

She sighs, reaching up and caressing Jimin’s cheek. “You both are coming-of-age so soon.”

“It isn’t that big of a deal, Halmeonim.”

“I hope not,” she says, releasing his cheek and taking his hand instead. “I hope it does not change you, does not alter your perception of the world. But, I do ask for one request, Jimin. When I am no longer here.”

“Don’t say that, Halmeonim,” Jimin breaths.

“You know it will happen one day, child.” The Queen Mother says, eyeing the boy.

“I’m his Crownsguard,” Jimin says. “I’ll never leave his side.”

“Not just that, it’s not about protecting him, Jimin, it’s about supporting him.”

Jimin furrows his brows.

"There will be decisions that Taehyung will have to make, hard and difficult decisions. And when I’m not there, I hope you will stand by his side.”

Jimin does not hesitate to nod.

“I will, Halmeonim.”

“I’m so proud of you, Jimin. And thank you.”

When Jimin bids farewell to the Queen Mother and enters the conservatory where Taehyung waits, he finds the prince sitting at the wall furthest to the entrance. Half-hidden by the vibrant green leaves that overtake the sides of the pathway. Jimin joins him, moving slowly and brows furrowing when the Crown Prince does not react to Jimin’s steps.

“Taehyung?” Jimin calls.

Taehyung doesn’t reply as Jimin joins him by the window. The guard sits with his back against the window, crossing his leg, leaning back, and closing his eyes.

Jimin tries to give Taehyung some space – he could see the redness that surrounds Taehyung’s eyes, and the tense rigidity of his shoulders. Taehyung’s grandmother must have spoken to him before Jimin arrived.

He’s been with Taehyung long enough to understand that he needs the company. The comforting silence of knowing that there was someone with him.

The Crownsguard waits, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He listens to the soft humming inside the glass building, enjoying the warm, humid air in the conservatory. The crisp spring air outside was a strong contrast to the warmth indoors. He listens to the air blowing throughout the conservatory and the hitched sounds of Taehyung’s breath.

“My father found out,” Taehyung whispers, hoarsely, “about our escapade in the catacombs.”

Jimin snaps his eyes open, brows furrowing. Taehyung doesn’t look at him, eyes downcast, fingers playing with the pendant that hangs on his neck: the map to the Maiden’s Tomb.

“He’s furious that I have jeopardized my neutrality amongst the families by choosing to accept the favour of House Asphodeline, especially since my birthday is less than 6 months away.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t take the sword.”

“But I did take something else,” Taehyung says. He runs both hands through his lackluster red hair. “I tricked Jong-dae.”

“As he tried to trick you.”

“He doesn’t think that I owe him. But the gods know.,” he whispers. “What kind of king I will be?”

Taehyung swings his legs over the ledge, hanging his head. “I told my father that we went looking for the Pendant but couldn’t find it. I don’t know if he believes me but…if I did tell him… If I showed it to him… I swear, he’ll throw it over the cliff to prevent anyone from taking the blessing.”

Jimin mimics Taehyung, slowly placing his legs down onto the ground as he shifts to sit closer to the other.

“…Would you?” Jimin asks, his voice low. “Would you take the blessing? Is that why you wanted it?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung answers quickly. Just as he did when Jimin asked the question months before. Taehyung licks his lips. “I…I’m not sure.”

Silence.

He remembers the stories, the tales of the blessing, and the title of Blood of the Oracle and the king’s reluctance to acknowledge Taehyung’s openness to the idea.

“I met your grandmother outside…She – she seems concerned about you.”

Taehyung finally meets Jimin’s eyes.

Jimin’s always found happiness in the puddles of black in Taehyung’s eyes, the soft happy grins that graces the prince’s face where duty has not yet touched. He hates the red that rims Taehyung’s eyes and that it waters as he stares at Jimin.

“And what did she say?” Taehyung asks, voice barely audible.

“Asked me to…support you, and your decisions… if … or… when she’s no longer here,” Jimin answers truthfully.

Taehyung shakes his head and Jimin could see his lips quivering and his shoulders shaking.

“Taehyung?” Jimin whispers

“Were you happy, Jimin,” the Crown Prince asks suddenly. “Were you happy that you’re the Crownsguard of the Heir Apparent, to the future King?”

Jimin blinks.

“I’m… happy to be your Crownsguard,” Jimin says cautiously. “Are you alright, Taehyung?”

Taehyung blinks, taking a deep breath to steel himself.

And Jimin knows that he’s being serious.

That this is serious.

Taehyung loses eye contact, staring down at his hands, twisting them nervously.

“Would you feel cheated if – if I was no longer the Crown Prince?” he asks.

Jimin pauses.

“Taehyung – ”

“I can’t – ” he whispers brokenly “What – kind – ”

Taehyung takes a shuddering breath and raises his head to look Jimin in the eyes.

“I’m going to relinquish my claim to the throne and my title as Crown Prince,” he declares, pronouncing each word with purpose.

Jimin blinks. He remembers Taehyung’s reluctance to speak about ascension at Blamont Castle.

“Why?”

“Because I cannot be the king that Attalia wants. I’m not like my father or my sister. I can’t – I can’t take the mantle of Crown Prince.”

“Is this because of what happened at Blamont Castle?”

“No… I was thinking about it much before the Earl’s party. The Empire is rapidly growing. I know that my father plans to ride the tides of this rising ocean – he won’t fight it. But...me...as king, I will want to fight it.”

Taehyung licks his lips, running a hand through his hair before clasping them both tightly in his lap. Jimin reaches out, resting his fingers on top of Taehyung’s.

“I will want to break Attalia’s long-standing neutrality,” Taehyung says. “I’d want to break our laws. I don’t have the ability to be the leader that Attalia needs – to lead the people. I’ll bring shame to House Chrysantheme.”

“Taetae…”

“I’m going to relinquish my claim to the throne, Jiminie,” Taehyung repeats quietly.

Jimin sighs, leaning against the cool glass.

“I’ve spoken to Jennie, and Halmeoni. They support my decision and Jennie is prepared to step up to the role. Jennie… Jennie would make a good queen. She’d make a brilliant Sovereign. All that was left, was to speak to my mother and father. And to tell you.”

“I know that you swore to be the Crownsguard of the future ruler of Attalia.” Taehyung takes a breath and his lips wobble again. “I will not blame you if you decide to break your oath to me.”

Jimin scoffs, then reaches down to his blazer, pulling off the lapel pin that sat proudly above his heart for the past two years. He returns it to Taehyung.

“This isn’t right anymore,” Jimin says, “If I am no longer Crownsguard to the Crown Prince, then I should wear the mark of the First Prince – to be the Crownsguard to Kim Taehyung.”

Taehyung smiles, wrapping his hand around the tiny accessory.

“Whatever your decision is, I’ll support you. It is my sworn duty to protect you, prince, king, friend, brother. I am your sworn shield, now until death.”

Taehyung grins, now finally letting the tears fall as he takes a shuttering breath, laying his head against Jimin’s shoulder, “Thank you”

“Thank you, Jiminie.”

It’s has been almost a full day since Taehyung woke up.

But still, Jimin slept fitfully. Still, he had nightmares of flickering lights and smoke and blood, and Taehyung’s still form and the feeling that the beeping of the heart monitor suddenly stopping.

Jimin wondered if he’ll ever get over seeing Taehyung’s crumbled form.

So Jimin constantly stole glances during the day, waiting until he could see the prince’s chest rise and fall before looking away.

Jimin wondered if Taehyung was asleep now because of how still he was, but he could see the knots in the prince’s brow, how tightly his lips were pressed together, and how he spun the ring around on his thumb.

Jimin turned on his heels, taking another quick peek at Taehyung.

“Stop pacing,” Taehyung mumbled, hoarsely as he shifted to pull the large cushion aside and feeling for the ice pack. “Or take your shoes off, the sound is distracting me.”

Jimin automatically pulled himself to a halt, running to help the prince, grabbing the gel ice pack where it sits just out of Taehyung’s reach and gently placing it over Taehyung’s chest.

Taehyung winced, screwing his eyes shut as he places a hand over Jimin’s and takes a shuddering breath. He was too still, and Jimin knew it was because of the pain, but Taehyung refused to take any more than the bare minimum number of painkillers that Seokjin offered – none that were strong enough to really ease the pain – only enough to take the edge off – because it leaves him feeling vulnerably dazed and ends with him feeling nauseous.

“Should I leave?” Jimin asked softly

“No, Jimin, no. That’s not what I meant,” Taehyung returned softly. “You’re giving me guilty vibes, stop it, you know it wasn’t your fault.”

Jimin sighed, sitting down by Taehyung’s side and began to fiddle with the bouquet of white and magenta lilacs that sat on the table next to the alcove, a gift from Seokjin, listening to Taehyung’s breaths.

Two days – it has been almost two days since the incident. But it’s hard to tell when Jimin’s days and nights blend together into a sleepless blur. He ran a hand through his hair, taking out his phone to see if there were any updates from Jennie.

Nothing – but that’s not a good sign either.

Taehyung continued to fiddle with the ring.

“You should speak to your father,” Jimin said.

“No –” Taehyung replied. “Not yet. Jennie has been keeping him updated, tells him she’s spoken to me, tells him I’m fine.”

“The Lord Chancellor will have to release a statement regarding the events soon,” Jimin said.

“Namjoon-hyung won’t – not until he has received a statement from me,” Taehyung swallowed, words halted as he tries to breathe. “And it’ll take another day at least – before he comes – given my state – that gives me time to think – before my father finds out."

“We need to tell your father, Taehyung,” Jimin repeated softly.

“No,” the prince said firmly. “Not yet – he’ll find out eventually – ”

“Did you see – ”

“Nothing,” Taehyung repeated. “So, I hope that means we have some time. When the King of Attalia learns of the news, he’ll personally send an airship to escort me home. I’m too valuable of an asset.”

“You’re his first-born son, Taehyung. You’re not an asset, you’re his child.”

“With a gift that is too powerful to lose and yet too valuable to utilize. No, we keep it a secret until it is no longer viable. My father will eventually learn of the news, but I hope to gain more knowledge of the attack before that happens.”

“Taehyung you can’t do this – how are you going to find any information? Jeongguk just accused you of being involved in an attack – ”

“He didn’t know.”

“That is not a good reason for being an ass,” Jimin hissed.

“He was terrified, Jimin,” Taehyung said. “He has responsibilities to his people and those he loves. I am the prince of a supposedly neutral country with a history that makes no sense to outsiders. Wouldn’t you be frightened if someone with only rumours of powers suddenly came into your life? Then suddenly saves you from an attempted assassination? Being the only one who had such information?”

“It doesn’t make any sense why he’d even think that you’d do such a thing,” Jimin muttered. “Especially not after what happened the night before."

“Jimin…. Jeongguk doesn’t remember, that I gave him a flower crown.”

“There must be gaps in his memories – Yoongi-hyung said he had a concussion.”

“That must be why... do you think he remembers what happened at the Gala?”

“No matter, it’s all over social media. ‘The King of Naissus is courting the First Prince of Attalia,’” Jimin said, reciting the news article he read earlier today. “But, when the Lord Chancellor decides to make the report of attempted assassination, it’ll be the last thing on everyone’s mind.”

“Speaking about the Lord Chancellor, Namjoon-hyung requested a meeting later this evening.”

“What are you doing to tell him?”

“I’m not sure yet...but...I busted into Jeongguk’s rooms to pull him out. They looked into the CCTV footage, its obvious I knew about the threat. There’s no way that I can lie my way out of this, not anymore.”

“You’re not….you’re not considering telling him – are you?”

“...Not Namjoon-hyung. Jeongguk.”

“No – no,” Jimin snarled, standing up and beginning to pace again. “You can’t.”

“It is my decision. I understand your loyalty to protect the Crown of Attalia, Jimin. But –– if I didn’t help – Jeongguk could have died.”

“Taehyung, you almost died,” Jimin snapped, emphasizing the words. He felt dizzy, breaths becoming as short as his temper. “You almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you! I am your sworn Crownsguard, Taehyung. This. Is. My. Duty. My loyalty is not to the King – not to the Crown of Attalia – my loyalty is to you and to you alone. Your station as the Crown Prince or First Prince does not change that - your blessing does not change that.”

“Yes, but –”

“You promised, Taehyung,” Jimin said breathlessly. “You promised me that you’ll tell me if it is a vision of great importance!”

“But you weren’t there.”

Jimin’s breath was knocked out of his throat.

Taehyung was right.

Jimin wasn’t there – because he was off dealing with his own issues – his own angry heart.

“I am not blaming you – no one is to blame, you’re right, I should have told you. But there wasn’t any time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am not blaming you, Jiminie,” Taehyung repeated.

Jimin bit his lip, running a hand through his hair.

“It was an assassination attempt,” Taehyung said confidently. He coughs, licking his lips. “It has to be. I just – I need to find out why and by whom. Conducting an investigation without help would be difficult. ”

Jimin starred. Taehyung’s tone of voice changed dramatically, moving forward in the conversation with a businesslike-tone as if Jimin’s outburst did not even happen. As if the Crownsguard’s frustration with Taehyung’s lack of care about his own life did not happen.

“But King made you swear that you’d consult him before you told anyone else of the gift,” Jimin said slowly, hoping to convince Taehyung to reconsider. “You swore on Halmeonim’s grave.”

“Father would forbid it,” Taehyung said.

“So, you’d break the oath,” Jimin said curtly. “You’d dishonour your grandmother’s memory for the sake of a child King.”

Silence.

Jimin was so desperate to protect Taehyung. He just wanted to prevent Taehyung from making choices that could make him a target or get him killed. But he was cruel, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it.

“Taehyung - ”

“How could you say that?” Taehyung whispered, voice shuddering. “Halmeoni would trust me to make my own decisions – she’d stand by me – she’d trust me - ”

“I know. I’m sorry – I’m so sorry – I wasn’t thinking. I know you loved her.”

“I did,” Taehyung said. His voice was rising. His tone becoming brisker. “I do...I love her. But I think…. I’m falling in love with Jeongguk – I’m terrified that I’m going to lose him too, Jimin. I thought I did. I saw it. You don’t understand how frightening it is to see, Jimin. To see that I could lose everything.”

“And... and... I don’t want to lie to him anymore, don’t want to hide anything from him anymore,” Taehyung said dejectedly. “Jeongguk deserves to know.”

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Taehyung, It’s Jeongguk. May…may I come in?”

Jimin turned – heart pounding. Taehyung slumped, eyes screwing shut as he took a shuddering breath.

“Open the door, Jimin,” Taehyung whispered.

Jimin complied, raking a hand through his hair as he yanked the door open. Before him stood the King of Naissus, looking abashed, head lowered, eyes flickering. Jimin has never seen the king look so small.

“Your Majesty,” Jimin hissed.

“Jimin,” the king greeted.

Softly.

Quietly.

“Let him in, Jimin,” Taehyung said.

Jimin carefully and slowly pushed the door open, keeping his eyes away from Jeongguk and on Taehyung.

Support him, said the Dowager duch*ess.

Support Taehyung in his decisions.

Can he?

Taehyung shifted, wincing as he paused to take a couple of shallow breaths before trying to sit up a little higher. Jimin moved just as Taehyung does, helping him ease into more comfortable position.

“What is it, Jeongguk?” Taehyung asked softly.

“I – I-‘d like to speak to you alone if I may.”

“The last time you spoke with Taehyung alone, Your Majesty, I returned to him gasping for air, I don’t think so,” Jimin snapped.

Taehyung placed a hand on top of Jimin’s, his long fingers wrapping around the Crownsguard’s.

He squeezed twice.

“It’s alright, Jimin, I think Jeongguk has regained his composure.” Jimin glanced over his shoulder to see Jeongguk’s eyes on the ground.

Taehyung’s grasp on Jimin’s hand had loosened, and he goes to move his hand away.

Jimin grasped Taehyung’s swiftly, pausing for just a moment before returning the motion.

Jimin sighed. “As you wish, Taehyung.”

3 Years Ago

- Autumn -

The nobles stand as Jimin and Taehyung enter the theatre-style arena, bowing and curtsy for the young and beloved First Prince.

Taehyung and Jimin were visiting the Sacred Islet of Ravenna, one of the major islands of Attalia, for one of its most important festivals in honour of the spirits said to protect its forests and rivers. It was one of the larger islands that surrounds the capital of Marsylle, and unlike the grand Sky City, which was the center of the arts and modernization, Ravena retained the ancient architecture in which Attalia was founded on. It preserves the tall imposing castles and temples with its high arches and imposing domes, thick marble columns alongside the rich colours of mosaics depicting the ancient gods, kings, and queens that once passed.

The islet was reachable only by airship or the impossibly built bridge that sits between the streaming waterfalls that plunges into the abyss below. Because of such, very few have ventured to the sacred islet until the age of modern technology.

The festival was a seven-day long event, filled with competitions to show off swordsmanship and dozens of decadent parties. It was a very elaborate and ostentatious festival, with many nobles and aristocratic families visiting from foreign and domestic society. Many of the royal and noble families all partake in the art of sword combat despite the introduction of guns and other methods of warfare centuries ago.

Taehyung came to represent the Divine House Chrysantheme as the ruling family of Attalia. As the first-born son, he had no choice but to attend the yearly exposition – it was always more of a display of grandeur rather than of might, of course, considering the history of peace Attalia has forged.

But the event gave those who were interested in sword fighting to flex their skill and those interested in fashion to show off the latest trend. Though the First Prince never cared for sword combat, he did have a talent for long-ranged weapons. Even then, rarely did he partake in the competitions. Jimin, however, enjoyed the art, liking the sound of his heart beating loudly in his ears, the strain against his muscles, the adrenaline rush, the watchful eyes on his back, and the constant praise of his peers.

Taehyung was content to show up to events for the parties dressed in the latest pieces from designers in Marsylle – happy to provide royal patronage to the brands that he loves. However, today, Taehyung decides to wear a velvet black suit with crystal chrysanthemum pins in the collar of his dress shirt, and a band of white around his arm with the dark petals of a gladiolus embroidered on it. Jimin is too, wearing dark colours – everyone who was close to House Chrysantheme is wearing dark colours. The First Prince also has given pause to his experimental hair colours for the time being, sticking to a soft shade of blonde.

He waves as Hwasa stood, curtsying to greet him before sitting down and patting the seat beside her. She wore an elegant black pant suit with her black hair curling in luminous waves down her back and her outfit complete with a fresh arum lily pinned to the left side of her blazer. She plays with the calling cards in her hands, engraved was the signature emblem of her family, House Gouet.

Taehyung nodded his greeting to the nobles in return, sitting at his designated seat in front of the arena. The entirety of front rows were reserved for monarchy and nobility – many whom were close ranks with the King of Attalia, but there were some guests who came from abroad to participate in the festivities as well – all wanted to see the splendor that was the Sacred City of Ravenna.

Jimin sits on Taehyung’s right, running a hand through his hair as he crosses his legs. He watches as the prince does the same, elegantly lacing his fingers together in his lap as he leans closer to Hwasa who sits on his left. Jimin fiddles with the thick piece of cardstock in his hands, running his index finger over the embossed outline of the sunflower, proud to be representing House Turnesol and his station as the First Prince’s Crownsguard.

“Hwasa,” Taehyung greets.

“Taehyung, Jimin,” she returns. “Shame Jennie couldn’t make it.”

“She’d make a better attendant than I,” Taehyung comments lightly.

Jimin couldn’t help but agree. The princess would be much better of a candidate, perhaps enjoying the festivities more so than Taehyung.

The afternoon’s events were taking place in an ancient building that once served as a shrine for the spirits but was now converted into a theatre on most occasions and an arena for the day.

There were other members of royalty present at the competitions today, familiar and unfamiliar faces, some were from the Territories of Duscae, others from the mainland of Iaryen who haven’t been ravaged by the Empire. But none were as revered or gossiped about as the young First Prince who had recently abdicated his position for the throne.

As for Jimin, he could feel eyes on him as well, he knew he had a reputation amongst those who partook in the arts, especially on the mainland of Iaryen. Afterall, he held the reputation for being the youngest Crownsguard in Attalian history.

He knew before long, someone would hand him their calling card to partake in a challenge. He scanned the theatre, wondering if there was anyone he would be interested in challenging.

“There is quite a crowd today,” Taehyung remarks, more interested in the people who decided to attend than the challengers battling in the arena.

“Anyone you find interesting, Jimin?” Hwasa asks.

“Not yet,” Jimin responds, turning back to the pair. “Shame that Naissus never takes part in these events. I’ve heard quite a lot about their style of swordplay.”

“Maybe next year,” Hwasa says, pushing her hair behind her ear in one smooth motion, eyeing the stage where two swordsmen squared off in an elaborate display of might with beautiful Vestonion weapons. “No matter, you have quite a few to choose from.”

“Next year?” Taehyung asks, curiously.

“At least with how things are going,” Hwasa continues. “The new king of Naissus is beginning to open the border. I heard that they’re prospering with opening trade outside of their commonwealth and creating a powerful military. Rumours are that the king is unveiling his first air fleet, complete with the state-of-the-art dreadnought he so aptly named ‘the Titan’.”

Jimin whistles, “They could give the Empire a run for their money.”

“Naissus could defeat the Empire if they can grow their fleet like that within the time that the new King has been in power,” Hwasa comments.

“Really?”

“The new king is young and proposes many changes to the country, revolutionizing it. ‘A king for the modern ages,’ as they call him.”

“A young king?” Taehyung repeats, airily. “I remember speaking of him at the Earl of Grenadier’s birthday…”

“Indeed very, young, younger than you, Taehyung. And he’s f*cking adorable and an eligible bachelor,” Hwasa says, pulling out her phone. “Here, let me show you – ”

But she never got a chance when an attendant arrives, bowing as he leans close to Taehyung’s ear.

“Your Royal Highness,” an attendant calls. Taehyung glances over and finds the attendant offering him a small folded piece of paper. “Forgiving me for interrupting your conversation, but I’ve been asked to give this to you.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “For me, are you certain?"

“Yes, sir.”

Taehyung takes it, unfolding it to reveal a piece of paper with the mark of an unfamiliar house and a name.

“What the…it’s a calling card,” Jimin says, “someone’s challenging you.”

“Not to a duel though, to a target challenge,” Taehyung murmurs. He swipes a finger of the emblem, tracing the shape of a lion’s head embossed in silver: the national animal of Orivala.

“Yoo Su-hwa,” Taehyung reads.

He looks up, searching the crowd and Jimin follows as well. Then someone raises their hand as if to get their attention.

Jimin squints.

They were across the theatre, blurred by the bodies that weaves in between Jimin’s vision in front of him.

But he now can recognize that face, Jimin’s seen it enough in the background of the Emperor of Orivala’s speeches and official photographs.

Clean and sharp features, a perfect smile, black clothes with gold and maroon accents, a brooch in the shape of a lion’s head in the centre of the collar of his black dress shirt.

The Lion of Rossarya.

Jimin’s blood runs cold.

“Is – is that?”

“Yeah…” Taehyung says.

Park Hae-jin: Crown Prince of the Orivalian Empire.

“Why is he attending?” Hwasa mutters.

“He has no f*cking right to attend an event like this – a festival to honour the peace…” Jimin starts.

“Through the display of combative arts,” Taehyung continues in defense.

“The city of Ravenna sends out invitations to all nations on the Crown’s behalf,” Hwasa says, “and it would be unwise not to send an invite to the Empire, especially now.”

Jimin shifts his eyes to see a pretty girl sitting beside the Crown Prince. She was much younger than both Taehyung and Jimin with long black hair and stunningly sharp eyes. She nods her head in rapid succession in greeting first at Taehyung, then Jimin, and lastly at Hwasa before turning and looking at the Crown Prince.

“Yoo Su-Hwa…. I presume,” Hwasa whispers lowly.

Taehyung is silent, then suddenly he lifts the calling card, grinning as he hands the cardstock back to the attendant.

He turns to the attendant. “I did not bring my own calling card,” Taehyung says apologetically, “but notify Yoo Su-Hwa-ssi that I will accept her challenge.”

“Of course, sir, please if you’ll follow me, I will take you to the place where the ranged weapon competitions are held.”

Taehyung stands, and already behind them, Jimin could hear low mutterings.

“Stay, Hwasa,” Taehyung says, “Challenge someone amusing, I don’t want too many people at the target range.”

“I don’t know how much good that will do – but as you wish, Taehyung,” she says. Hwasa flags down an attendant and making a show of handing them her calling card. Hwasa was famed for her combat skills with twin blades, powerful and yet graceful. There will be many who will want to watch her in action

“What the f*ck, Taehyung,” Jimin mutters lowly behind the prince, swiping a hand through his hair. “What are you playing at? You never agree to a combative challenge, including ones from me.”

Taehyung kept the casual gait, hands laced behind his back, and a soft grin on his face.

Jimin turned to see the Crown Prince of Orivala and Yoo Su-Hwa standing as an attendant led them towards the exit as well. Once they were outside the stadium, Taehyung drops the grin and the lightness in his step. He turns to glance at Jimin with a stern look.

“Search Yoo Su-Hwa on the web,” Taehyung demands as the attendant lead them to the pitch across the arena.

They meandered around the brilliant, fire-coloured trees before entering the tent where the competitors waited and prepared for the long-ranged weapon competitions. It was empty, warm in the autumn rays of Attalian sun, and lavishly stocked with equipment for long-range combat competitions, from bracers, finger tabs to a variety of bows and throwing knives.

Taehyung turns and dismisses the attendant.

“I need to know who I’m up against, Jimin.”

Jimin scowls, pulling his phone out of his pocket, typing in the girl’s name.

No pictures, nothing familiar under the name.

“Nothing…” Jimin says.

Taehyung turns around, brows furrowing as he carefully takes off his blazer.

“What do you mean nothing?”

“I mean there is nothing on the net about a Yoo Su-hwa of Orivala. She probably not of Orivalian peerage.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Taehyung bits on the outside of his lip, cross his arms as he thinks. “What if Park Hae-jin is hiding something. What if both hiding something. Only nobility and monarchy are invited to this event, rarely are socialites invited to attend festivities in Ravenna, especially foreign socialites. She has to be nobility.”

“Then who is she, and why is she challenging you?”

“Exactly, Jimin,” Taehyung says. “Who is this person, who is sitting next to the Crown Prince of Orivala and chooses to challenge me?”

Jimin turns his phone absentmindedly in his palm. “What have you heard about Park Hae-jin?”

“Very little – other than what my father has told me,” Taehyung says. He tosses his blazer over a chaise lounge behind Jimin, and turns to choose what appears to the first fabric arm bracer he finds. The prince sizes it over his forearm. It was obviously too big as he distractedly tries to put it on.

Jimin rolls his eyes, taking the ill-fitting bracer from Taehyung and handing him a leather one.

“Which was?”

“Be weary, for Park Hae-jin is a cunning one,” Taehyung says, letting Jimin help him do up the straps of the arm guard. He looks up to meet Jimin’s eyes. His free hand brushes at the pendant underneath the collar of his shirt. “Something’s wrong here and accepting her challenge is perhaps the only way to find out.”

“His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Orivala, and Lady Yoo Su-Hwa."

Jimin turns and bows in the same motion to the new arrivals.

As he learned from Taehyung and from years of being near the centre of Attalian court: being kind and respectful was one way through someone’s defenses, and they needed to get through Park Hae-jin’s.

“Your Royal Highness,” Jimin greets in the Common Tongue. “My Lady.”

Taehyung turns, giving his winning smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally met you, Your Grace,” he says, bowing before holding out his hand and shaking Park Hae-jin’s with both hands respectfully.

“And you as well, Your Royal Highness.”

“Please, Taehyung is fine.”

Park Hae-jin blinks, “Then you can call me hyung.”

“Hae-jin-hyung,” Taehyung repeats grinning widely.

A grin pulls on Park Hae-jin’s face but there was something… wrong with it.

Something calculating – something unsettling.

Taehyung turns to Yoo Su-hwa. “It a pleasure to meet you too, Yoo Su-Hwa-ssi, is it?”

“Your Royal Highness,” Yoo Su-hwa says, dipping into a curtsy, “Thank you for accepting the challenge.”

“It is my pleasure…”

“Actually,” Park Hae-jin says, stepping in, “I asked Su-hwa to send you the calling card because I didn't think you’d accept otherwise.”

“What do you mean, hyung?”

“Su-hwa isn’t challenging you, it is I.”

Taehyung blinks.

Jimin has known Taehyung for long enough to see the tiny flash of anger in his eyes, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the furrow of his brow and the small turn of his lips and the lowering of his head.

He’s angry.

But then it all melts away as he smiles pleasantly.

“I cannot refuse the Crown Prince of Orivala, can I?” Taehyung hums, and Jimin could hear a small growl in his voice. Jimin glances over, and he sees how guilty Su-hwa looks. How genuinely distressed she is for lying to Taehyung.

The Crown Prince smiles almost innocently.

“I look forward to it. Please, choose your bow and braces, hyung,” Taehyung says, leading Park Hae-jin towards the display of equipment.

Taehyung then returns to the chair when the Crown Prince and the younger girl browsed the displays, with Yoo Su-hwa brushing her hand against the wood of the bows beside the older man.

The First Prince continues to prepare for the competition, picking up his blazer and removing the arm band from his left sleeve. He hands it to Jimin to adjust over the sleeve of his dress shirt to display the deep purple embroidered outline of the gladiolus flower.

“He played me,” Taehyung whispers under his breath in Attalian. “He knew I wouldn’t agree to a challenge directly from him, but guessed I’d be curious enough to say yes to someone whom I don’t know and has a relationship with him.”

“Why didn’t you say no just now?” Jimin returns, adjusting the sleeve and helping Taehyung put on the forearm bracer again.

“Because I’ve already agreed – despite Hwasa’s efforts, I’m sure a crowd has already drawn outside,” Taehyung says, pulling off the chrysanthemum flowers on his collar and loosening the first button. “M y reputation was damaged when I abdicated my title. I don’t want to lose any more favor; besides, the crowd won’t expect much from me anyway and - ”

“My consolation on your loss of the Dowager Queen,” Park Hae-jin says, turning around and eyeing the pair. Taehyung looks up to see Park Hae-jin approaching. The older man had taken off his gold embroidered jacket and donned an arm guard, Su-hwa walks behind him, holding the blazer, his discarded tie and brooch.

Jimin regards her, wondering if she held the same p osition as he did for Taehyung. But he couldn’t see her being a Crownsguard, too young, he thought, sensing the shyness that surrounded her along with a protectiveness that Park Hae-jin held for her.

“She was your grandmother, was she not?” Park Hae-jin asks, reaching out and pinching the white arm band.

Taehyung follows the older man’s hands, eyes lowered as he stares.

“Yes,” Taehyung hums, voice barely above a whisper, “thank you for your condolences.”

“I am surprised that you are still attending the Festival, I was told you were quite close to her.”

“I was,” Taehyung says quietly, “But she wouldn’t want me to be wallowing in sorrow. Besides, if I didn’t come today, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to challenge you.”

“They were right about you, Taehyung. Charming as you are beautiful.” Park Hae-jin smiles and pats Taehyung’s shoulder. “I’ll meet you on the field when you’re ready. Forgive me if I brought up ill thoughts.”

He leaves the tent with Su-hwa in tow.

Jimin turns Taehyung around, placing both hands on Taehyung’s shoulders and searching the prince’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, Taehyung,” Jimin says, watching as Taehyung closed his eyes and take a shuddering breath. Jimin’s heart sinks. It took weeks to pull Taehyung out of the grief and the daze of his grandmother’s passing. There were signs, the Dowager Queen’s h ealth declined rapidly throughout the year, the elder woman herself knew her time was coming to an end. But it was a terrible blow for Taehyung. It took so much encouragement from Taehyung’s siblings and Jimin to convince him to take part in Ravenna’s festivities.

“And what .. back down?” Taehyung asks, lifting the tarp entrance of the tent just a smidge to take a peak.

Word of the First Prince of Attalia accepting a challenge must have travelled rather quickly. The stands were filling rapidly with the excited and tense murmurs of the crowd.

“Taehyung, you haven’t p roperly participated in a challenge since you were 16,” Jimin says under his breath. “And even then, you know you aren’t at the level to be taking part in a competitive event.”

He was good, that much Jimin knew, Taehyung was well versed in long-ranged weaponry. It was about the only thing that he participated in for his classes. But he also wasn’t aware of Park Hae-jin’s skills.

“I know that,” Taehyung returns.

“What would the people think?”

“The people see me as the sweet and kind and naive prince,” Taehyung says. “To them this is a friendly challenge. You know just as well as I, that everyone has little expectations on my skill set for combat, the goal here isn’t to win: it’s to find out more inform ation.”

He opens the tent, the crowd’s hushed whispers growing louder at his appearance. Taehyung was smiling when Park Hae-jin and Yoo Su-Hwa turn to greet him.

"Speak to the Yoo Su-hwa for me.”

“What,” Jimin hisses. “Taehyung, I’m not you – I can’t.”

“Try, whatever you can glean would be very useful. And I’ll do the same with the Crown Prince, there is something going on – I can sense it.”

“Taehyung, I have a bad feeling about this. Attalia is neutral, you shouldn’t be interfering to begin with.”

“And I think it’s time we change that.”

The competitions took place outside on a green pitch often used for other sporting events, now transformed into lanes for targeted challenges. The competition was divided into three rounds. The challengers each chose one of three weapons, the final being the use of a rifle. In the end, the one who scored the highest point in accuracy wins.

Park Hae-jin chose throwing-daggers and Taehyung made his choice the longbow.

The attendants bow, taking the participants’ chosen weapons and bringing them out onto the field. Taehyung smiles radiantly waving to the crowd as they approached the first lane and target.

Jimin and Yoo Su-hwa meandered off to the side, where the Crownsguard watches with trepidation as the low buzz of the crowd fills him with a nervous, excited energy. He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, toying with the ceremonial, decorative blade at his hip.

“The next competitors: His Royal Highness, the First Prince of Attalia vs. His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Orivala.”

The crowd claps politely, whispers and rumours flying. Jimin knew that the news of Taehyung’s participation would have already reached Marsylle.

All eyes were on the young prince as he makes his way to the dart board.

“Competitors, please make your way to the first round: throwing knives.”

Taehyung starts first, taking the hilt of th e blade in his right hand. He takes aim, running through the motion of throwing twice slowly and steadily before whipping the knife in a graceful, swift motion.

The dagger embeds itself in the wooden circle just within range of earning points.

“His Royal Highness, the First Prince of Attalia earns three points.”

Park Hae-jin steps up to the mark with the grace of a lion. He lifts the dagger with practiced ease and flings it at the board in one sharp and powerful swing.

“His Grace, the Crown Prince of Orivala earns ten points.”

Taehyung’s not so good at throwing knives.

His next one is a little better, throwing with his left hand this time and earns 7 points. He finally manages 9 points with his last throw, getting into the rhythm of it.

But he won’t catch up to the Crown Prince with knife throwing, the round ending with Taehyung earning 19 points to Park Hae-jin’s 26.

Jimin breath es out a sigh, he prays Taehyung excels in archery to make up for what he knows will be a failure in performance during shooting.

Taehyung hates using guns.

Jimin takes a deep breath, determined to learn something, just as Taehyung had requested. He turns to the young girl who sat beside him with her back ramrod straight and her fingers fiddling with the hemline of Park Hae-jin’s blazer.

“Lady Yoo Su-hwa-ssi isn’t it?” he asks softly.

She jumps glancing over and nodding quickly.

“Yes. Lord Park Jimin.”

“How are you enjoying the festivities?”

Her smile brightens, like a child. “Ravenna is beautiful. I’ve never seen the sky change so many colors, nor such soft, white clouds, it looks like Dragon’s Beard Candy.”

Jimin couldn’t help but smile at her childlike delight. Her quietness and excitement remind him of Jihyun.

“I take it you don’t leave Orivala often?”

“No, I’ve never left Rossarya before,” she replies.

“It’s actually my first public outing. Hae-Jin-oppa insisted that I come with him.”

“First public outing?”

She nods. “I lived a very sheltered life.”

Park Hae-jin draws his bow first, and lands 7 points. Taehyung uses a left-handed bow. But there was tension in his eyes, an awkwardness to his posture as he squares his shoulders and nocks his bow, pulling the string back. He turns and makes eye contact with Jimin. Jimin smiles, giving Taehyung his own version of the prince’s grin with all teeth. It seems to help.

Taehyung’s tense shoulders drop just slightly as he takes aim and releases.

“His Royal Highness, the First Prince earns 8 points!”

Jimin breathes out and Yoo Su-hwa claps politely beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “For tricking you and His Royal Highness. Hae-jin-oppa was afraid that the First Prince would not accept if he challenged him out rightly.”

“You aren’t wrong…” Jimin mumbles, licking his lips as his thoughts race on how to proceed. He makes the decision on being honest, like Taehyung would.

“I-I tried to search you up on the internet,” he says. “But it seemed to not have very many results…”

She nods, reaching up and curling a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Like I said, I live a sheltered life, I won’t make my official debut until I’m 18, or if Abeonim abdicates and Oppa takes the throne.”

Jimin’s breath catches in his throat.

“The Crown Prince is your brother?” he manages to get out.

She nods again, “Half-brother. I took my mother’s name.”

Princess – She’s a princess.

“The Emperor took another wife?”

“No, not exactly. After the empress died, my father did not take another wife, but he did have a mistress.”

“You’re…”

“Illegitimate,” she finishes. “But I’m still a princess of the blood. Knowledge of my existence is not a secret, Many of the peerage in Orivala know that the Emperor has another child. Hae-jin-oppa wants to keep me away from politics, at least until I’m of age. Oppa and Abeonim thought it would be best to keep my existence hidden until after Oppa rises to power. It’ll make the transition easier, so no faction attempts to put me on the throne. But my brother trusts me.”

“Is it because someone will want to put you on the throne?”

She turns, brows furrowing. She lets go of her brother’s jacket and starts to pl ay with the pleated skirt of her emerald green dress instead.“I guess so. But I’m not sure why – Hae-jin-oppa is born to rule.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because Oppa said you or His Royal Highness might ask and… I should answer you honestly if you do.”

Jimin blinks, licking his lips as he turns his eyes back to Taehyung and Park Hae-jin. Jimin wishes Taehyung was here. He’s not good at this, he doesn’t have Taehyung’s silver-tongue. He closes his eyes, like Taehyung said, Park Hae-jin is a cunning man. There has to be a reason why he’s allowing his half-sister to give all this information.

He wonders briefly if she’s lying.

But Jimin could see the resemblance in the pair: straight noses, and wide, sharp eyes, the same curve of their lips and cupid’s bow. Beautiful and most definitely siblings.

There has to be a reason why Park Hae-ji n would al low Su-hwa to divulge such knowledge.

Perhaps it is because he doesn’t see Attalia as a threat.

Park Hae-jin’s in the lead, only 2 points. Taehyung made a comeback with his choice of archery.

They take a short break, as Taehyung and the Crown Prince go to the table to find refreshments. Su-hwa bounces towards her brother and Jimin quickly heads towards Taehyung to report his findings.

“Did you learn anything?” Taehyung asks, bringing a cup to his lips.

“Yoo Su-hwa is not nobility. She’s royalty,” Jimin mumbles. “Yoo Su-hwa is Park Hae-jin’s half-sister, she’s a princess.”

Taehyung nearly spits the water he’s drinking. He turns sharply to the pair as Jimin reports the rest of his findings. He comes to the same conclusion that Jimin has – it makes sense.

“Why tell you though,” Taehyung mutters turning back and pulling the bracer off his arm. “This information seems to be too secretive to tell foreigners…unless he doesn’t see Attalia as a threat."

“That’s what I thought too.”

“Once again, our reputation precedes us. Never does Attalia become involved in the world of political aff airs,” Taehyung murmurs. “It’s a test – he lured me in with her, hook line and sinker…”

The judges call for order and the resuming of the challenge. Taehyung sets his cup down, preparing to head back onto the field. “I need to finish this, then we’ll talk. Talk to Su-hwa about Galatea and Estermery, she might not give an answer but – ”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Jimin finishes, he nods and returns to the sidelines.

“Third challenge: rifle shooting!”

Taehyung stares as the attendants hand him a pair of safety glasses and giant set of bright green earmuffs to protect against the sound of the pistol. Park Hae-jin did the same, and just before Taehyung puts on the earmuffs, the Crown Prince says something and Taehyung freezes, looking up and tilting his head to the side. Jimin couldn’t hear. But Park Hae-jin grins and Taehyung’s lip quivers downwards, before he nods with a light smile.

“Can I ask you another question, Su-hwa-ssi?”

“Of course.”

“I heard that Orivala plans on annexing Estermery,” he says, turning away from the field, smiling pleasantly at the young girl. “What are you thoughts on this?”

“It is true,” Yoo Su-hwa says quietly.

Jimin frowns, turning away to catch the moment before Park Hae-jin pulls the trigger.

“His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince earns 9 points!”

“Lord Park Jimin,” Yoo Su-hwa calls,

Jimin returns his attention to the girl and sees a change in her demeanour and the firm set of her lips.

“I...I understand that you see Orivala as a threat,” she says resolutely, “With how many countries we’ve conquered. And… I admit that I am naïve of the war efforts and of how much destruction we’ve caused, but I believe that the people are better off under the banner of my father. There are territories that have spent years living in poverty. My father does not ask them to change their ways, simply to offer their fealty to him in exchange for protection and supplies. When my brother rises to the throne, I know he will do the same.”

And Jimin could see the admiration in the young girl eyes. She truly does look up to the older man.

“So how are your brother and father planning to peacefully settle things with Estermery.”

“It was my brother’s idea to declare a union of the two countries through marriage.”

Jimin frowns. “Marriage?”

“The Archduke of Estermery has a son, just a couple years older than I,” she says quietly, hugging her brother’s jacket to her chest.

“Ahn Hanul,” Jimin answers.

“We are both too young to marry. But the promise of an alliance will ensure that war will not enter Estermian soil and we hope Galatea will surrender without conflict.”

“I find it odd that the Crown Prince does not want to marry Ahn Hanul, himself.”

“His Grace, the Crown Prince of Orivala wins with 77 to 71 points!”

Jimin whips his head around and swears under his breath in Attalian. It wasn’t as if he expected Taehyung to win, but it still incredibly discouraging.

Taehyung drops the gun, glasses, and the earmuffs onto the table in a pil e before tu rning with a tight smile. He stops, just Park Hae-jin leans in, his mouth just centimetres away from Taehyung’s ear. The First Prince stays rooted in place, as Park Hae-jin takes his hand and places a kiss on the back of Taehyung’s palm.

Jimin stares with wide eyes.

“I think it’s because Hae-jin-oppa has someone else in mind,” Yoo Soo-hwa murmurs.

Park Hae-jin turns on his heels, walking towards Jimin and Yoo Su-hwaJimin quickly lowers into a bow, heart pounding loudly.

“See you later this evening, Park Jimin-ssi,” the Crown Prince says, grinning as he takes his blazer and tie from his sister.

Taehyung returns, frowning as he watches the Orivalian pair leave.

“ What the hell happened?” Jimin asks.

“I made a bet with him. And I lost.”

“What was the bet?”

“He wants to escort me at the reception party tonight.”

Jimin sat in the corner of the hallway with his legs stretched before him and head pressed back against the wall. He had the guards go on a break, knowing that the next shift started in twenty minutes, and Jimin trusted himself to guard Taehyung’s rooms for at least that long. It also gave him an excuse to stay close in the event that the prince needed him. Jimin had lost his trust in the King of Naissus.

He played absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt and he knew he was a strange sight to see for anyone passing, slumped against the wall in front of the doors of his shared rooms with the Prince. His vision blurred in a mass of colours, until he sees the familiar tuff of black hair standing in front of him.

Jimin blinked, raising his head.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin mumbled.

The Right-Hand of the King stared with his eyes narrowed before sighing and slowly lowering himself onto the ground beside Jimin, moving gingerly as he leaned against the wall and stretched out his legs.

Yoongi’s arm grazing against Jimin’s as the older man shifted and with it, came the scent of orange blossoms again.

“So,” Yoongi finally started, humming in the soft melody of Attalian, “What the f*ck are you doing on the ground.”

Jimin threw his head back and scoffed at the strange absurdity of the question.

“I was banished from my rooms.”

Yoongi huffed, “For what?”

He sighed. “Because your King is speaking with my prince,” Jimin said quietly, “And I hope he is doing well to reconcile for his actions.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Yoongi started, “If you did want to give Jeongguk a piece of your mind.”

“Why, Yoongi-hyung, what a treasonous thing to say,” Jimin said humorlessly, turning to face Yoongi. The older man stared with furrowed brows.

“I hope you’re not beating yourself up for whatever happened, Jimin-ah,” he whispered.

“Whatever’s done is done, my duty is to prevent anything else from happening again.”

Yoongi sighed, raising a knee and resting his arm against it.

“… I assume you were sworn in as a Crownsguard?”

Yoongi said, eyeing the pin on Jimin’s lapel, like the pin of the Crown Prince, it was a shield with the motif of a chrysanthemum, but now instead of a diamond – which was what Jisoo wore – Jimin’s pin now has a centre of a deep blue sapphire stone.

Jimin nodded. “When I was eighteen.”

Silence.

“And you?”

“Hm?”

“And you’ve taken a pledge?” Jimin asked, pointing to the raised pink scar on Yoongi’s open hand. “I see the same mark on the others close to the King. You’ve taken an oath.”

Yoongi slid his fingers over the palm of his left hand, humming an affirmation. “It is a binding oath, I’m not Jeongguk’s shield as you are to the prince but…My life is his, as yours belongs to Taehyung.”

Jimin nodded.

“I’ll protect him,” Jimin whispered – more for himself than for Yoongi.

“I know you will,” Yoongi returned.

Silence.

“What is he like? Jimin asked, “Your brother – King of Naissus?”

Jimin hasn’t had very many encounters with the younger man. Only seen the soft glimpse of innocence that somehow still remained in his eyes though often clouded by the weariness of bearing the weight of the Crown. He once remembered seeing that in his own – and Taehyung’s.

Jimin may hate the king now for what he said to Taehyung… Taehyung forgives too easily. But if Taehyung would forgive Jeongguk, it wouldn’t be long before Jimin would too.

“He’s idiotic at times,” Yoongi grumbled. Jimin almost scoffs at the endearing softness in Yoongi’s voice as he insulted his sovereign. “And ambitious – he wants to accomplish so much in so little time.”

Yoongi shifted, rolling his head as he cracked his neck with a relieved sigh.

“Namjoon struggled to keep Jeongguk in line in the beginning months of his reign,” the Right-Hand Man continued,

“But he’s managing well on his own now. He no longer needs Namjoon’s constant guidance and he doesn’t run to Hoseok for comfort as much.”

Jimin nodded.

“And… what of the First Prince?” Yoongi asked. “Other than being able to charm my pants off, what’s he like?”

Jimin looked up, blinking.

“Forgiving,” was the first word that came out of Jimin’s mouth. “Kind. Clever. Probably equally as ambitious. And we all know Taehyung has a silver-tongue. His head is in the clouds sometimes – but I know it’s because he’s shouldering so much. And he loves – he loves with all his heart.”

“He wouldn’t – you know,” Jimin said, blurting words out again, as if he needed to defend Taehyung, “He wouldn’t try and hurt Jeongguk.”

“I know,” Yoongi said. “And Jeongguk knows too. I think. I hope you’ll forgive him for his actions.He’s still learning and growing and with the pressures of the Privy Council; it’s difficult. He’s a king that rules with his heart more than his head.”

“Taehyung would have been the same if he chose to be king.”

Jimin fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I-I hope you’ll forgive me,” Yoongi whispered casting his eyes down, voice growing lower and stumbling over his words. “I never wanted to lie to you – but I just – I couldn’t…”

Jimin remained silent, pressing on the sore muscle on the web of his thumb until he could feel the pain shoot up his arm.

“I know…. I understand why you had to leave,” Jimin mumbled. “I just – ”

Jimin froze, pausing at the familiar sound of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled his phone out, checking the caller ID.

It was Jennie.

“Sorry,” Jimin mumbled hurriedly, scrambling to his feet as he swiped the talk button, standing and stepping away from Yoongi so he doesn’t overhear their conversation.

“Hello?”

“It happened, Jimin-oppa,” came Jennie’s voice in a hushed, rushed whisper.

Jimin’s heart dropped as he began worrying about the worst: the King found out. He kept the Princess updated every day, knowing that Taehyung had more on his mind.

“What?” he whispered anyway.

“Orivala made the march and invaded Piran,” Jennie said. “Queen Lim Aruem has surrendered in the capital city. Aquileia has fallen.”

“Already?” Jimin breathed. He felt no relief from learning that the king had not found out about Taehyung’s injury and the incident in Naissus, rather only the growing tension and the rising apprehension – and his heart pounding loudly. “How could this be – it can’t have happened this soon – Park Hae-jin wasn’t even crowned yet.”

“It’s all over the news.”

Jimin turned around, meeting Yoongi’s eyes who stared at him with raised eyebrows.

“Aquileia has fallen,” Jimin repeated.

Yoongi stood, eyes furrowing.

The Right-Hand Man pulled out his phone, eyes widening at whatever was on the screen. He scrambled to his feet, storming down the hall.

Jimin turned, pacing erratically as he spoke.

“What else, Jennie?”

“Lugdunum has declared war against Orivala and is seeking aid from allies.”

Just as Taehyung predicted.

“My father is speaking to the Privy Council as we speak – he is considering breaking Attalia’s neutrality.”

“By allying with Lugdunum?” Jimin hissed. “That’s madness – the Duke’s forces are not strong enough – and even with the combined force of Attalia, it will not be enough.”

“He will want to speak to Tae-tae-oppa first – to see the state of the alliance between Attalia and Naissus.”

“Attalia and Lugdunum will not stand a chance against Orivala alone,” Jimin reasoned, “What the king wants to know is if the alliance with Naissus is strong enough for them to stand with us. But given the circ*mstances…”

“I know. Naissus wouldn’t even consider foreign affairs – not until these internal issues are dealt with.”

Jeongguk had sent a small envoy to the Floating Isles when Taehyung came to Naissus – a small force of no more than thirty men and two airships: not enough to defend Attalia’s borders, let alone march into battle.

“And Abeoji does not know that Naissus has internal affairs...” Jennie argues. “There is another issue. Abeoji is sending Shim Changmin-ssi to Sol Palace to meet with Tae-tae-oppa and the Naissian King.”

“sh*t, he’ll definitely find out. How long do we have?”

“Two days, at most.”

“f*ck,” Jimin ran his hand through his hair, pulling at his scalp, he started pacing again – always pacing. “Taehyung hasn’t seen any of this coming.”

“It’s difficult, you know how random these visions are. And how difficult they are on him,” Jennie whispers.

“I’ll figure it out, keep me posted, Jennie.”

“Of course, Jimin-oppa.”

He knocked on the door, not even bothering to wait before pulling on the knob and letting it swing open.

“Taehyung, we need to talk.”

3 Years Ago, the First Prince of Attalia’s 21st Birthday

- Winter -

It was late at night, and Jimin was in bed when he heard the door between his bedroom and Taehyung’s creak open. The Crownsguard reacts on instinct, rising out of bed and seizing the knife he kept underneath his pillow. He holds the knife close, heart pounding as he leaps over to the door on lithe limbs, pressing his body against the frame.

It’s been a while since Taehyung had snuck into Jimin’s room during the early hours of the night and Jimin’s thoughts race as he fears the worst: has someone invaded Taehyung’s rooms? Was there a fire? Did Taehyung hurt himself?

“Jimin?” came Taehyung’s voice, low and strained. Taehyung pushes the door open, slowly. His posture lacking the sense of urgency that Jimin feels. The Crownsguard grabs the Prince, pulling him out of the doorway and pressing him against the wall. He peers into Taehyung’s darkened rooms and finds no sign of a threat. Jimin shuts the door and scans Taehyung’s body for an injury, frowning as he realized that Taehyung was still dressed in the clothes from his birthday party. The white, flowery dress shirt and pale-pink trousers were crumbled as if he had gone to sleep in them.

“Taehyung?” Jimin returns, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Taehyung swallows loudly, his hand forming a claw-grip over the fabric around his neck. His breath comes in strained heaves and Jimin finally notices how Taehyung’s hair is matted against his skin from sweat and his eyes were glazed over.

“Taehyung, what’s wrong, what happened?” Jimin asks again in a rush, he presses his hand against the back of Taehyung’s forehead. His skin feels hot and clammy to the touch. “You’re feverish, do you want me to call for the physician?”

Taehyung shakes his head, swaying with the effort of his movement. “N-no. Don’t,” he whispers.

Jimin grabs Taehyung’s arm, hooking it over his shoulder as he drags the prince over to the bed.

The Crownsguard gently sets Taehyung down and he immediately keels over, pressing his face into Jimin’s pillow and scrunching his eyes shut. Jimin kneels beside him, hands resting on Taehyung’s shoulder in comfort.

“Taehyung – ”

“She’s Calling,” Taehyung mumbles through grinded teeth, pulling on his hair. “The Mother is Calling, she speaks.'

Jimin lets out ragged exhalation.

“Her voice is so loud,” Taehyung whispers. “She knows. She knows that I want it.”

Taehyung yanks on his shirt, fingers digging underneath the fabric. It was his neck it was grabbing, but the pendant that sits around his throat – the map to the Maiden’s Tomb.

“Come on, Jimin,” he says, breathlessly, swallowing loudly as he struggles to sit up, pressing a hand against his temple as if to still the world from spinning. He grabs onto Jimin’s arm with his other hand, trying to drag him towards the door. Jimin follows, hanging onto Taehyung’s arm tighter than Taehyung does. “We can’t – we can’t get caught. Abeoji would know what I’m doing – he’ll forbid it.”

“What are you doing?” Jimin asks.

Taehyung stops, leaning against the door.

“She calls for me,” he whispers, blinking. “She knows that I’m yearning for strength.”

“What?”

“Remember – remember the stories that Halmeoni told us?” Taehyung says, grasping onto Jimin’s arms. “When we were twelve, about the blessing of the Mother Goddess?”

“Yes, of course I remember – the stories -- the blessing - the gift -- the price -- but –”

“I’m of age, Jimin…and the Mother, she calls. I can feel it, she tells me of the blessing, of the gift and reminds me of the price should I choose to take it.”

Jimin does remember it, remembers the stories that filled his childhood dreams at the Palace of Marsylle, but he also remembers the warning of the King. The king had warned Jimin earlier this evening, pulling him away from the grand celebrations of First Prince’s 21 ^st birthday party. The king warned Jimin of the dangers of tonight, of the fevers that might overtake Taehyung as the divine blood that runs through his veins takes its course.

Now, he understands. It was the Mother’s Call for the Blessing. For the Gift.

“Tae-tae,” Jimin whispers, “It’ll pass, it’ll pass by morning. Your father told me that it will.”

“No – no, I don’t want it to pass.”

“Taehyung – your father – ”

“I know – he’ll forbid it – no gift would be worth the price the Crone would ask for. But I can’t – after – after meeting that bastard Park Hae-jin. Not after hearing what he has planned. I can’t ignore this any longer – Attalia will be in danger. Our home is in danger, Jimin and I have to – I have to do something about it."

‘Taehyung, I don’t understand.”

“I want to take the blessing of the Goddess. I will take her blessing and I need you to come with me,” Taehyung says, leaning against the door frame. “I – can’t – I cannot do this on my own.”

“Taehyung.”

“Jimin, you swore to protect me,” Taehyung cries.

And Jimin realizes three things:

One: Despite’s Taehyung’s burning temperature, his hands were incredibly cold and they shake like dying leaves.

Two: Taehyung must have been fretting about this since the party, since his grandmother’s death, since meeting Park Hae-jin at Ravenna.

Three: Taehyung was just as scared as Jimin was. Jimin knew that he had to be strong for him. If not more.

“I’ll be here, always.”

Taehyung nods, head moving jerkily as he turns the knob to the door.

“Where do we go?”

Taehyung closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “The conservatory.”

It wasn’t difficult to bypass the sparse number of guards that wandered the halls – nor difficult to avoid the eyes of the security cameras. The pair had snuck out together many a night in their youth. But it was never like this, with Taehyung nearly incapacitated. The prince leans heavily against Jimin for support, attempting to keep his footsteps light but was almost impossible. So Jimin stops, hoisting his charge onto his back and deftly made his way to the conservatory. Once they stand before the doors of the gardens, Jimin let the prince down.

Taehyung wanders through the pathway, making it slowly but steadily towards the gazebo, clutching his temple and weaving as if drunk. His hand brushes over one of the many intricate patterns along one of the marble pillars, moving slowly between the other pillars until he finds one that he’s looking for and pushes it and suddenly the stone floors of the gazebo move, a panel of stone shifting to reveal an ancient staircase.

“Taehyung?” Jimin asks, “Are you – ”

“The pendant, the map, leads me here,” Taehyung whispers. “And the Mother tells me of the flowers to touch and to go where She awaits.”

“Where is it?”

Taehyung does not answer, weaving towards the marble gazebo, brushing over the intricate marble pillars carved with intricate patterns that resemble vines and flowers – chrysanthemums. He feels for a particular flower, grasping it and twisting it several times, fingers turning white with the force he needs to exert. But the flower moves and then a panel suddenly drops in the gazebo and Jimin jumps back, heart pounding as he watches a square panel in the ground drop – and another – and another until it forms a winding staircase.

Goosebumps rise on Jimin’s skin.

“What the…”

Jimin fumbles for his phone, belatedly remember that he did not grab it. Taehyung shakes his head, appearing more lucid. “It won’t work down there.”

Just like in the catacombs.

Taehyung takes Jimin’s hand, pulling him along as he takes cautious steps down the staircase.

When Jimin’s feet hit the final stone step, he’s hit with the immediate scent on an earthy, herby flower: chrysanthemums. He’s finding it difficult to breathe in the thick, humid air – warm – so warm down here.

Taehyung lets out a breath – and down here, it fogs like it were winter.

“Where are we going, Taehyung?” Jimin finally asks.

Taehyung doesn’t answer, continuing forward with Jimin’s hand interlaced tightly with his own.

The smell of flowers grows stronger and stronger and the dim golden light of the conservatory disappears under the mystical blue glow of what Jimin believes to be water. The darkened, cold cave opens up suddenly and Jimin’s met with a shimmer blue-green lake overflowing with flowers along its shores. On the other side of the lake, intricate stone casket sits on a dais that was barely visible underneath the mass of white flowers growing on top. The scent of chrysanthemums grows stronger as Jimin’s feet hits soft grass rather than hard stone.

“Where are we, Taehyung?”

The prince turns.

“The Maiden’s Tomb,” Taehyung whispers. “Where She of the Blood lays interred for all of eternity.”

Upon first glance of the platform on the other side, Jimin thought it was empty but then when he blinks again.

He sees a figure standing there.

A beautiful woman dressed in the vibrant shades of reds. Like the painting Jimin saw so long ago.

“Is that – is that – ” Jimin stutters at lost for words.

“The Mother,” Taehyung whispers.

The woman beckons the prince with her open arms and then Jimin hears a voice - a melodic call in a language that he could not know - sounds that he couldn’t decipher - it wasn’t Attalian - it wasn’t the Common Language.

But he could understand it – the words reverberated loudly in his mind.

“Oh come, my child.”

Taehyung lets go of Jimin’s hand, as if in a trance and moves forward.

He stops by the edge of the waters, the soft sound of waves lapping at the rocky edge.

And Jimin’s frightened – scared – he didn’t take it seriously – did not take the religion of his people seriously – how could he when there was no evidence – he worshiped the Mother and Crone – prayed to the Maiden for the wellbeing of his family out of habit and childhood fear of the unknown. But now – he was proven wrong and oh how it frightened him.

Jimin reaches out, latches onto Taehyung’s hand.

“Taehyung,” Jimin whispers.

The prince turns, and Jimin could see in his eyes’ determination beyond the dazed awe of the Mother’s call.

“Taehyung, are you certain?”

“I want to accept Her gift,” Taehyung says, clearly. No longer were his hands cold as ice, nor his eyes dazed by the fever that struck him earlier. No, now, the First Prince of Attalia stands tall. “I’ve made up my mind, Jimin – this is not something I rushed into. I have spent years considering it, and Park Hae-Jin’s appearance at court and Orivala’s actions have solidified my choice. I will do it to protect our country. Our home – ”

“You are your father’s first son – ”

“But I am no longer the Crown Prince. If I don’t take the blessing, who will?” Taehyung whispers. “Jennie? As the future sovereign, she cannot afford to pay the price. And Mingyu is far too young and I don’t want to force him to consider it.”

Taehyung nods to himself, smiling as he places a hand on Jimin’s shoulder, reassuring his friend, maybe even himself. “This was the reason I have relinquished my throne.”

Jimin drops his arm and Taehyung shakes his hand out of Jimin’s grip.

Taehyung steps forward again as he steps out of his slippers, so his bare feet touch the waters.

Jimin clenches his fist – past the sound of his heart beats – past the sound of his own breaths – he could hear Taehyung’s.

The Goddess is calling again.

“My child, what is it that you seek?’

“Oh, Mother Goddess,” Taehyung says, “It is I, Kim Taehyung, blood of House Chrysantheme, descendent of the Maiden. I ask of you for the blessing, for a gift that would help me protect the land and the people that the Maiden had loved.”

Jimin watches with wide eyes as Taehyung steps into the water, the soft splashing resounding around the darkened cavern.

But instead of sinking like Jimin thought he would, Taehyung floats, hovering above the water’s surface as he walks towards The Mother.

Something catches the Crownguard’s attention out of the corner of his eye.

Another shape materializes from the water, a figure shrouded in a dark cloak and wilting blossoms, as grey as her statue in the tombs of House Asphodeline.

The Crone.

Jimin takes a step forward, his body moving automatically as a cry pulls on his throat.

“Taehyung. Tae – ” but more words die on his tongue as something touched his shoulder. He freezes in step, only able to move his head.

He turns.

Another woman.

A beautiful woman with a thick crown of white flowers in her hair and bright blue eyes. An appearance almost transparent.

As if she wasn’t there.

Her touch on his shoulder sent shivers down Jimin’s spine.

She shakes her head bringing a finger to her lips, as if insisting that Jimin does not interfere.

This must be the Maiden.

He is meeting with divinity.

His heart pounds loudly – as finally the tales of old, the stories, and the religion – everything comes crashing down onto Jimin.

Jimin turns, heart pounding so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear anything else.

Taehyung has made it to the centre of the lake, reaching for the Mother Goddess’ outstretched hand.

“Oh, Kim Taehyung, Prince of the Chrysantheme Throne, Blood of the Divine House, Descendent of the Maiden. I, the Mother, will heed your prayers and bless you with the gift of foresight,” the Mother Goddess says. He closes his eyes as the Mother places a kiss on Taehyung’s brow.

The Crone floats above the water, and from the depths of her shroud comes the hands of bone, she leans into Taehyung, wrapping her arms around his chest and snaking fingers up across his face, resting on his eyes.

And Jimin wonders – how would it feel – how frightening would it be to have the Crone standing behind you.

He hears the Crone’s voice now, icy and no more than a whisper.

“Kim Taehyung, Prince of the Chrysantheme Throne, Blood of the Divine House, Descendent of the Maiden. I, the Crone, will take my toll.”

“Blessed be the bloodline of the Divine House,” the Mother whispers.

“Blessed be the Blood of the Oracle,” the Crone hisses.

Taehyung drops, falling through the arms of the Crone and letting go of the hands of the Mother. The lake submerges him completely. The sound of Taehyung’s body hitting the waters does not reach Jimin until seconds later. Moments later. Where the blood rushes to his ears and his hearts pounds loudly - he’s suddenly able to move.

Jimin takes a step forward, turning back to see if the Maiden would provide him with reassurance that Taehyung was okay, but she was gone. And when he turned around again, the two figures of the women also disappeared, but Taehyung was nowhere to be found.

No bubbles rise from the surface where he fell.

No movement – nothing – nothing.

“Taehyung!” Jimin sprints towards the waters, peering down with frantic eyes.

He searches and searches until he catches a glimpse of pale pink sinking – deeper and deeper.

Jimin jumps, crashing into icy cold waters. His searching hands quickly latches onto Taehyung’s still form, pulling him to the surface and dragging him out of the waters.

“Taehyung, Taehyung, can you hear me?”

Jimin lays him down on the bank of the lake, leaning down and pressing his ear against Taehyung’s chest.

A heartbeat.

But he’s not moving. Not breathing.

“Taehyung - Taehyung, wake up!”

Jimin’s thoughts spin and spin. Chest compressions, he needs to do chest compressions. Needs to get Taehyung to breathe -

Suddenly Taehyung jerks awake, rolling over as water sputters out of his lips.

His eyes tightly screwed shut as he vomits half the lake. Then Taehyung’s eyes flutter open.

And Jimin freezes.

No longer were Taehyung’s eyes the soft brown, but instead, glowed blue.

Chapter 11: para bellum

Chapter Text

Jeongguk shifts uneasily on the heels of his feet, staring at the intricately decorated doors before him. There were ivory marble pillars on either side, high and intricate columns marked with the emblem of House Cepheus. Jeongguk glances up, eying the stone reliefs depicting figures in white wearing armour, wielding spears and swords.

A battle.

A war.

He remembers learning about it – standing before this very door somewhere amidst the hours of tutoring, listening to the tutor telling tales of wars and battles of days long past. He remembers being a young boy, overwhelmed and in awe by the stories of victorious kings – wondering if he would ever measure up to his ancestors.

Still, to this day, Jeongguk stares, head craning up towards the ceiling and feeling no more sure of himself today than he did then.

The War of Othrys. This was the war that would determine the ruling family of Naissus – the beginning of House Cepheus’ thousand-year reign. It was fitting that this relief stood before the War Council room.

Jeongguk had never been permitted to enter the council room, never invited when Yoongi and Hoseok met with the Queen Regent, until now – two weeks past his 15th birthday. Jeongguk clears his throat and straightens the collar of his dress shirt, nodding to the footman standing beside the door.

The young prince flinches at the sound of his shoes clicking loudly against glass floors. He finds it strange that the room was dark. He hesitates, eying the footman who gave the young prince a small encouraging smile and a slight bob of his head to go in.

His eyes take some time to adjust to the darkness in the room with only the floor being illuminated by an unnatural green and blue light. Jeongguk blinks, pausing as he begins to recognize the shadows. The Queen Regent and Yoongi stand in the middle of the room, faces illuminated by the glass under them. Across from them, Hoseok stands with his hands clasped behind him. When Jeongguk looks down, he realizes that the glass was a holographic map, the shapes and the images forming a geographic layout of the world.

Yoongi’s stark white hair stands out in the blue-green light. He fiddles with a tablet in his grasp, glancing down to watch as the map underneath them changes.

“His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince,” the footman announces.

The Queen Regent’s heels click on the glass floor as she walks, lifting her head and nodding.

“Thank you,” she says, crossing her arms as she returns her gaze down to the expanse of land that Jeongguk recognizes as Iaryen.

Jeongguk bows, “Eommoni, Yoongi-hyung, Hoseok-hyung.”

Yoongi hums, glancing up and nodding as Hoseok crosses the room to stand beside Jeongguk, patting him gently on the shoulder.

“You asked to see me, Eommoni?”

“Yes, Jeongguk,” she turns on her heels, eyes raising as she clasps her hands neatly in front of her. “Are you aware of what is happening in Iaryen?”

Jeongguk nods, hesitating before stepping closer to the map. The toes of his shoes touch the southern edge of the Offing Sea as he leans over.

Who wouldn’t know what was happening in Iaryen? It was all the news would report on lately.

“The Orivalian Empire is expanding,” Jeongguk answers. “And it has taken many countries.”

The Queen Regent nods. “Now there is a growing concern that, in time, the entire continent will fall under the banner of the Lion.”

“The Orivalian Emperor Park Min-jun,” Jeongguk says.

“Yes,” his mother replies. She drops her gaze, scanning the lands of the Territories of Duscae and stopping where the marker for the Crown City lies. “Wartimes are changing, my child.”

Jeongguk takes a step onto the map, pausing as the digital image begins to move, Duscae and Naissus disappearing into the edges of the glass floor and Iaryen expanding. The young prince glances over to see Yoongi continuing to manipulate the map on his tablet; he double taps on the screen and suddenly a video file materializes in front of him, hovering over the valleys near the capital of the Republic of Lavicci.

“This is a video captured by one of the surveillance drones in Caglliari twenty hours ago,” Yoongi explains.

Jeongguk sees the image of rolling hills, in the picturesque Republic of Lavicci that borders the Orivalian Empire. It was quaint and like all the images that he has seen, it was teeming with the vivid colours of trees and shrubbery. The setting sun casts a pale, golden glow against the dark shadows of the mountains and the fields were brimming with fiery yellow and orange trees, save for the occasional deep green cypress.

Suddenly, the image moves and Jeongguk flinches, taking a step back as the tranquil scene is engulfed in a blinding, white light. The sounds of an explosion rattle him and in mere seconds, buildings collapse in on themselves and the streets are flooded by red flames and black smoke.

As an airship flies into view, the camera mounted on the drone falters, moving unsteadily as it flits out of the way. Rising higher and higher until it’s almost in line with the low-flying airship – and there – Jeongguk recognizes the insignia of the Imperial House Cerebyrn imprinted on the side of the massive air vessel.

Jeongguk is not a stranger to the horrors of war, but there was something about hearing and seeing the destruction first hand – almost being able to feel the heat – that terrified him and brought upon a chilling numb that spread through his bones.

Hoseok hums, the tone of his voice losing its kind and gentle melody, replaced by a bleak note.

“The Duke of Lavicci refused to bend the knee to Orivala,” Hoseok starts. “And so, Emperor Park Min-jun sent a fleet of airships in the night and destroyed the vineyards of Caglliari – one of Lavicci’s greatest sources of commerce and their pride. Lavicci and the Empire are officially at war.”

“Did…did anyone die?” Jeongguk asks, his voice sounding small and airy.

“Twenty-seven reported casualties from Orivala’s first assault,” Yoongi says, “The numbers will change.”

Twenty-seven…. That number is minuscule to the number of people that perished in the Naissian Plague – and even smaller than the number of casualties in the War of Othrys. But they were still casualties nonetheless.

“Are we… Are we doing anything? Can we send Lavicci aid?” he asks quietly.

His mother turns to him, “What do you think, Jeongguk? Should we?”

He freezes, the question catching him off guard.

“What do you think sending aid to Lavicci will do?”

He stops, licking his lips as his eyes scan the destruction left in the wake of the Orivalian fleet, watching as Yoongi’s tapping results in the colours of the Empire flooding into the borders of Lavicci. As if it was decided that Lavicci will not win the war.

He feels indignance rising from his core, how could they have already decided the course of a battle not yet fought? Especially if they were not going to lend a hand?

“We can help them win the battle,” Jeongguk says resolutely, “We can send forces to Lavicci.”

“And what will you tell our people? What will you tell the families that will lose their sons and daughters in a war that was not theirs?”

“Supplies?” Jeongguk tries again.

“What would that mean? What message are you sending? Do you know why the Empire is on a quest to conquer all of Iaryen?”

Jeongguk shakes his head.

“If I may, Eommoni.”

“Of course, Yoongi.”

“This crusade that Orivala is on, is mainly due to theology. Orivala and much of Iaryen worship the Pantheon of Old, mainly the Goddess of Dusk and the God of the Moon. House Cerebyrn has laid claim as the heaven-sent sovereign. And by right given by the gods themselves, they will rule. Iaryen has never seen more than 100 years of peace at a time.”

Yoongi tucks the tablet into the crook of his arm, folding his hands in front of him before continuing, “War and conflict are almost a constant in the history of the continent. The Orivalian Empire has a claim as descendants of the Day-Slayer and the Silver One; the other countries lay claim to the right to rule their lands by the gods as well. Naissus has no claim to any lands on Iaryen - Naissus’ economy is just beginning to rise after a great decline due to the plague - Naissus has nothing to offer and the little aid that we can provide - how would Orivala take it? They may turn on Naissus next.”

Jeongguk feels a lump rise to his throat.

“What say you, Hoseok?” the Queen Mother asks.

“Yoongi is right, but… in this day and age, the Orivalian Empire is using theology as a guise – all they seek is power and resources. Naissus has just begun recovering from the plague – we are only recently attempting to catch up with the technology of warfare. The Empire’s air fleets are devastating on the battlefield, and many countries who do not have the same resources are forced to surrender or are annihilated – we will not be able to lend any substantial military aid.”

Jeongguk turns, facing his older cousin. He rarely has ever seen Hoseok without a brilliant smile on his face. Now, he stands watching the rest of the video clip, hands folded behind him, and back straight. The 19-year-old man was recently promoted to the rank of Major-General in the Naissian Military, definitely young for the position, but Hoseok has shown nothing but discipline and intelligence to earn it.

“With advancing technology, warfare becomes…easier,” the Queen Mother starts.

“The battles become more decisive,” Hoseok says, “Victories achieved faster, casualties are greater.”

“Your advisors have spoken, Jeongguk, what is your decision now?”

“Naissus does not have the military strength to intervene, nor is it not our place…” he concludes, “We can’t….. We can’t do anything…”

Silence.

“Is that your decision?”

“Yes….”

“It is important to listen to your advisors, Jeongguk. But ultimately, when you are King, the decision is yours and yours alone. I think it is time that you begin your tutelage of military strategy and warfare,” the Queen Regent says.

Jeongguk’s brows furrow. “Military strategy?”

“War may not touch the borders of Duscae in the years of my reign…but it may in yours. It is important to learn, Jeongguk-ah.” The Queen Regent’s heels clip loudly on the glass as she crosses the Offing Sea to stand in front of Jeongguk. He swallows, having to look up and away from the map to meet his mother’s eyes. His nerves coil unpleasantly in his stomach. “War is horrific. But it may be a necessity to protect our country and our allies. One day, you will have to decide if sacrificing the lives of your people and thousands of innocents is worth the price.”

His mother turns to regard the map of the Empire with a sombre disdain.

“One day, you must be prepared, my child, to make the call for war.”

p a r a b e l l u m

(esp.) lit. “prepare for war,” taken from the Latin adage, “si vis pacem, para bellum,” which translates to “if you want peace, prepare for war”

ORIGIN | LATIN

The prince had only been laying against him for a few moments, yet already, Jeongguk was missing Taehyung’s warmth and weight on his shoulder. The young king inhaled slowly, trying to comprehend what Taehyung was telling him.

“The truth,” Jeongguk repeated quietly. “What... do you mean?”

Taehyung hesitated, breathing slowly as he coiled the ends of the comforter around his fingers.

“You must know, Jeongguk,” Taehyung began, his words slow, but confident. “I did come with the intention of securing an alliance between our countries, foremost. But I did want to become your friend, first. I did not lie to you about that. But I did not tell you the complete truth. Yes – I wanted an alliance with Naissus in hopes of deterring the Empire from attacking, but that was only part of it.”

Jeongguk's breath sounded louder in his ears now. He shifted, pulling on the comforter as his legs bumped against Taehyung’s.

“Have you ever met Park Hae-jin?” Taehyung asked quietly.

“No,” Jeongguk answered, instinctively shaking his head as well. “I’ve only heard stories of the Crown Pri – Emperor’s charm and ruthlessness…have you?”

“I have.”

Silence.

“You’re right, he is charming,” Taehyung said, his voice unbelievably quiet – Jeongguk almost couldn’t hear it. “He is also, undoubtedly, an ambitious man – calculating, calm, brilliant and – and.”

Taehyung’s fingers began turning white with the force of his grip on the blankets.

“I was sighted, when I first met him," Taehyung continued, steadily. Gone was the lethargy of reminiscing memories in the rain, replaced by an eerie calm before the storm. “There is… a cold fire in his eyes – a lust when he sees things that he wants to own. When I met him, he asked for details about the secrets of Attalia – about the lands and her Goddesses. About the secrets of the blood. I did not reveal any of our secrets – at least I hope I didn’t. But…Park Hae-jin has a way of spinning words.”

Taehyung paused and Jeongguk found himself frozen with a question resting on the tip of his tongue, lost as he questioned his right to ask such a thing.

“What secrets, you may ask?” Taehyung whispered, a flicker of a grin appearing on the corner of his lips, fingers falling loose from their tight grip. He smoothed the blankets out before lacing his fingers together. “Well… Park Hae-jin was knowledgeable of the Attalian faith. More knowledgeable than your Lord Chancellor, more knowledgeable than even your Attalian brother. Park Hae-jin believed in the gift…he was convinced of its existence.”

“I will admit,” Taehyung continued, “Attalia has many secrets – House Chrysantheme even more, and I fear that when Park Hae-jin rises to power, he’ll do whatever it takes to discover and exploit all that Attalia has.”

“But what – ”

Jeongguk jumped at the sound of loud knocking and the doors to the apartments opening without warning, almost elbowing Taehyung in the side. Jimin walked in, lips curled into a frown as his eyes fell on Jeongguk. The young king tensed – prepared for the Crownsguard’s verbal lashing again. But there is a strained look before his eyes dart over to Taehyung.

“Taehyung, we need to talk.”

Beside Jeongguk, Taehyung doesn’t move.

“Jennie called,” Jimin continued, turning to face Jeongguk, “Aquileia has fallen.”

Jeongguk blinked slowly, failing to understand for a moment. He fumbled for his phone, hoping that it’ll provide more answers. There were several missed calls from Yoongi and multiple notifications from Namjoon and Hoseok, all with the same message: come to the War Council room. Jeongguk stumbled, fingers failing as he tried to pull the blankets off his legs and ungracefully tumble to his feet.

His phone lit up again and Yoongi’s name appeared on the screen.

Jeongguk turned around, taking an unwillful step backwards. “Taehyung I – I have to –”

But then he hesitated. Jeongguk doesn’t want to leave; they were finally having a conversation, learning more about Taehyung, earning his trust. Strangely, Taehyung doesn’t appear surprised, his brows pulling tight for just a moment before he relaxed. Behind them, Jimin hovered by the door, holding it open as if expecting Jeongguk to leave – wanting the king to leave.

A footman appeared by the open door, breathing heavily as he bowed and greeted the three men. “Your Majesty,” he said, panting between each word. “The Lord Chancellor urgently requests for your presence in the War Council Room.”

“Go,” Taehyung finally said. He reached out, fingers searching until his hand found Jeongguk’s arm, gently pushing Jeongguk away. “We’ll speak of this after.”

Jeongguk swallowed, hesitant but placated by Taehyung’s promise. He turned, slipping past Jimin and the footman, heart pounding loudly in his ears and thoughts preoccupied with Taehyung’s words.

Jeongguk stormed towards the War Council Room; upon approaching the entrance, the footman who accompanied him back from Taehyung’s apartments, had to run to get ahead and quickly opened the door for the anxious King.

“H-His Majesty th-the King,” the footman panted.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi were already there, staring at the large holographic map of the world on the floor. Namjoon mumbled something, stepping onto the map and toeing at the borders between the Empire and Aquileia. Yoongi stood on the side, thumbing through his phone, glancing down at Namjoon’s movements.

They all turn at the announcement.

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon greeted.

“I heard,” Jeongguk said grimly. “Aquileia fell to the Empire.”

“The Aquileian Queen surrendered,” Namjoon replied. “She has made an official statement declaring that Aquileia will swear fealty to the new Orivalian Emperor, and rightful ruler under the eyes of the Old Pantheon Gods.”

“The Empire now has access to the westmost coast of the Offing Sea,” Yoongi said, putting his phone away into his back pocket.

“Lugdunum is surrounded,” Hoseok commented.

“And now the Empire is closer to Attalia…” Jeongguk murmured, turning when the door opened once again.

“His Grace, the Duke of Concordia, sirs.”

Seokjin strode through the open door upon being announced, boots squeaking, trench coat and hair damp from the humidity – he must have just gotten in from a walk around the castle grounds.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Seokjin said, shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it onto the couch in the corner. The blue light of the map cast an unhealthy glow on Seokjin’s skin, darkening the pale pink of his hair.

“Jin-hyung,” Namjoon greeted.

“How could this have happened?” Seokjin asked, reaching up and shaking the dampness out of his hair. “There was nothing – no reports of the Empire marching.”

“Nothing that we knew of,” Namjoon replied. “We were in the midst of our own internal affairs, Jin-hyung. It was difficult to keep track of foreign events.”

Jeongguk looked at the map, eyes following the growing colours of the Orivalian Empire expanding across the main continent, the Lion’s colours covering vassal states and territories that Jeongguk once remembered being of different shades in the maps of his childhood.

“How could this have happened?” Jeongguk repeated quietly.

“The Empire must have been planning the attack for weeks...if not months,” Hoseok said. “Aquileia’s capital is nearly impossible to reach by foot with the mountainous terrain that surrounds all four sides.” The Commander General crossed the room, his shoes clicking on the glass as he walked towards the image of the main continent. He crouched down in front of the mountains of Aquileia.

“Was Aquileia unaware of the Empire’s approach?” Namjoon asked.

“Piran was taken with airships,” Hoseok replied. “Meaning, the Empire has formed an air fleet that was formidable and swift enough to have crossed the treacherous mountain range silently.”

“Perhaps they weren’t prepared,” Seokjin said.

“Perhaps it was impossible to deter the Empire,” Yoongi said, grimly.

“Have we heard any other news?” Jeongguk asked.

Hoseok shook his head. “Our sources are limited. We did not have a consulate stationed in Piran. Now the entire city is under lockdown as the Orivalian Empire vassalises the country.”

Yoongi breathed slowly through his nose, walking over to the table holding the tablet that controlled the holographic map. He began tapping on the device and Jeongguk stared numbly as the colours of Orivala bled into the territories of Aquileia, lapping at the borders of Lugdunum.

“Any statement from Lugdunum?” Jeongguk asked.

Namjoon nodded, pulling out his phone and reading a document on it.

“His Majesty, the Archduke of Lugdunum has declared a state of war with the Orivalian Empire,” Namjoon read. “He is asking for foreign aid.”

“The Grand Duchy of Lugdunum is the last sovereign nation in Iaryen,” Seokjin said.

“If Lugdunum falls, then…Iaryen is under Orivalian rule,” Yoongi muttered. “Will the Emperor stop there?”

“No,” Jeongguk replied, loudly. “Park Hae-jin will take Attalia next.”

Namjoon turned, eyes narrowing. “…You sound very certain of this, Jeongguk. Yoongi-hyung told us you were just speaking to Taehyung… is there any additional information you want to share?”

Jeongguk chuckled humorlessly, running a hand tiredly through his hair as he tried to think about where he should begin.

A footman knocked on the doors, opening it as a messenger staggered in, standing hunched over for a moment to catch her breath.

“Your Majesty, Your Grace, Your Lordships, this is an urgent message from our intelligence services,” she said, hands shaking as she presented the sealed envelope to the king.

Jeongguk warily accepted the papers, ripping open the seal. The report was only two pages long, but Jeongguk was barely able to pick up a couple keywords: Galatea. Revolt.

Jeongguk looked up, finally noticing that his King’s Circle were staring at him, waiting. He folded the pages, handing it to Namjoon to read as he quietly summarized it.

“Galatea revolted against the Orivalian Empire.”

Yoongi swore under his breath.

“Park Hae-jin is out of his mind,” Seokjin murmured. “To have completely disregarded the mourning rites, called for a coronation, and marched into battle all in less than two weeks.”

“The report states that Galatea has engaged in guerilla warfare against military forces installed by the Empire,” Namjoon said, “They are marching through Estermery, burning the sacred temples and cities as they go.”

“Didn’t Estermery surrender to the Orivalian Empire years ago?”

“They didn’t surrender,” Namjoon sighed, folding the papers and shoving them unceremoniously back into the envelope. “Became a vassal state, came to an agreement through an arranged marriage.”

“Between whom?”

“Ahn Hanul of House Esfir, Prince of Estermery and Yoo Su-hwa…” Namjoon said, mumbling the latter’s name as if he was unsure.

“Yoo Su-hwa… who is she?”

“I’m not exactly sure…” Namjoon replied, shaking his head. “I assume it is a position close to the Imperial Family.”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning as he scowls at the map. “Civil war will break out at this point.”

“Lugdunum has a chance of mounting a force strong enough to fight back against the Empire if Galatea’s revolt takes back the country and severs the Empire’s connection to Estermery,” Hoseok said.

“So many lives will be lost,” Seokjin murmured. “Has any of the other countries declared war or anything?”

“No, not yet,” Hoseok replied.

“How strong is the Empire’s air force?” Jeongguk asked.

“Strong,” Hoseok said. “According to our intelligence, the Orivalian Empire just unveiled several new cruiser classes during the annexing of Galatea. I don’t know the full specifications, but it looks like their technology is almost comparable to Naissus’ latest vessels.”

“Were they unprepared for the revolt?”

“Appears so – the new Emperor seemed hell-bent on taking Aquileia.”

Jeongguk stared at the map, heart rising to his throat as the colours of the Orivalian Empire spread even further.

Information, he needs more information.

“Would Lugdunum stand a chance if we aid them?” Jeongguk asked.

“It may stall the Empire,” Namjoon said, “but it may not stop him from taking the main continent.”

“Hoseok-hyung… can you give me a detailed report of our air fleets by tomorrow? I want to know what we have available – in the event that we do decide to aid Lugdunum.”

“Of course,” Hoseok replied. “I know currently, most of our air fleets are defending our borders or are ready to be deployed. We do have the Famfrit heavy class carrier, thirty fighter class airships, and about 300 soldiers deployed in Attalia about three weeks ago”

“Emperor Min-jun was alive then,” Seokjin whispered.

“Right…” Jeongguk murmured. He vaguely remembered going through this with Namjoon and Hoseok, before Taehyung arrived. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Are you considering Naissus’ involvement?” Namjoon asked. “We have yet to figure out our own internal problems – an assassination attempt, Jeongguk.”

“We need our fleets, Jeongguk,” Hoseok said, “to stop the Empire from crossing the seas.”

“Jeongguk, if we heeded Lugdunum’s call for aid, we will be declaring war against the Empire, are you ready for that?” Yoongi asked.

Jeongguk nodded, “I understand. I know what is at stake. My priority will always be to protect our people, the Commonwealth, and our allies. But I need to consider all our options…Besides… Taehyung had some information to share.”

“How is Taehyung?” Seokjin asked. “I did not have the time to visit him this morning.”

“I don’t know… he’s using ice packs on his ribs and I think I interrupted an argument he was having with Jimin…” Jeongguk paused, breathing deeply through his nose. “Regardless…the point is that we’re going to get pulled into the conflict in Iayren one way or another.”

Namjoon waited.

“Taehyung believes that Park Hae-jin plans on taking Attalia.”

“What?”

“I don’t understand – Attalia is not of Iaryen – they do not worship the same pantheon of gods,” Yoongi said. “Attalia was untouchable and unattainable for centuries. House Cerebyrn has no claim to the Floating Isles.”

“It is no longer about theology – nor his right to rule – Park Hae-jin is passed that,” Hoseok said. “He wants everything, he will conquer everything.”

“We have to be prepared,” Jeongguk said, “If the Empire mounted a surprise attack against Aquileia, what is preventing them from attacking Attalia? Or Duscae?”

“What were you talking about with Taehyung?” Namjoon asked.

“I – was – he was – just telling me about…things before all this happened. Park Hae-jin had his eyes on Attalia much before the fall of Galatea, even before the Emperor’s health had started to decline. Taehyung’s intention of coming to Naissus was his idea, not his father’s, not the king’s. He wanted the news to travel, to show the Orivalian Empire that Attalia will not back down without a fight.”

Namjoon sighed.

“You were right, Namjoon-hyung,” Jeongguk said. “You said from the very beginning, about this being a game of chess.”

“We knew the chances we were playing when we got involved with Attalia,” Namjoon said. “The country is a jewel that I am surprised it took this long for the Empire to want it.”

The footman knocked again, bowing as the door slid open. Jeongguk’s heart rose to his throat and he waited for another messenger to come in bearing bad news, but instead, it was Jimin who stood waiting outside.

“Lord Park Jimin requests to speak with you, sir.”

Jeongguk’s brows furrowed, “Let him enter.”

He watched as Jimin stepped into the darkened room, waiting for the footman to close the door behind him before he began to speak.

“Forgive me for disturbing you,” Jimin began grimly. “I understand that this is a trying time, but there are some matters that take precedence. When His Royal Highness, the First Prince, was injured and unconscious, I made the decision to hold off on telling His Majesty the King of Attalia until more information was gathered, however - recent events have changed the circ*mstances. I fear we can no longer wait. His Royal Highness was informed that the Attalian Ambassador to Naissus will be requesting an audience with Your Majesty within the next couple of days. His Royal Highness wishes to arrange a meeting with you before that happens, sir. The prince also requests that you invite only your closest advisors to attend the meeting, sir.”

“When?” Jeongguk asked.

“Tonight, if possible, sir,” Jimin said, strained. “He asks that Your Majesty arranges the meeting place to be in a secure environment – somewhere where prying ears cannot hear us – it – it’s a matter of protecting the Attalian Royal Family.”

“Alright,” Jeongguk said. “Please let him know that everyone in this room is sworn as members of my King’s Circle. They’ve sworn their allegiance to me – and as such – are my closest and most trusted advisors. They will all be present – I will have someone escort you to the room this evening.”

“Of course, we will be waiting,” Jimin said nodding.

“Though I encourage him to get out of bed,” Seokjin interjected, “I do not think he should be walking so soon yet. I will ask someone to bring a wheelchair, in the event that he needs it.”

“Thank you, Seokjin-hyung.”

“I don’t like the idea of Taehyung straining himself.”

“Neither do I,” Jimin murmured, as he takes a step backwards, bowing deeply. “But – it must be done. By your leave...”

As the door closes behind Jimin, silence overtakes the room.

Jeongguk turned around, running a hand through his hair. “I think…I’ll hold off on making decisions regarding sending troops out until tomorrow morning. Until we have learnt more from Taehyung. Hoseok-hyung – I’d like more intel about the requests for aid that Lugdunum asks for. Yoongi-hyung, I think a meeting with Ji-eun-noona would be important – it is a blessing that she is out of Rossarya.”

Yoongi nodded, “I’ll make sure our people are safe in Rossarya, and ask Ji-eun to look into aiding their return to Naissus.”

“Of course. Namjoon-hyung, I think it’s time we call for another Privy Council meeting.’

“Yes – I will arrange for it, and I think it would be imperative to have a press conference as well, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk raised his eyes from the map.

“Press conference… For the assassination attempt?”

Namjoon hummed, “Not exactly…not yet…perhaps about recent events regarding Iaryen. The people have the right to know the potential for war.”

“You’re right, of course. Please keep me updated on any news. I’ll be in the study contacting Ji-eun-noona.”

“Wait, before you go, Jeongguk – ”

Namjoon reached into the folds of his blazer, pulling it out a hefty, red envelope and handing it to Jeongguk. It was made of thick cardstock with a highly decorative seal on the flap.

A lion’s head with a crown.

Jeongguk peeled it open. “His Majesty, King Jeon Jeongguk of the House Cepheus is cordially invited to attend the coronation of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Park Hae-jin,” he read.

“An official invitation to the coronation,” Seokjin said. “Did it arrive today?”

“This morning,” Namjoon answered. “I was on my way to your study when this arrived. I thought you should open it sooner rather than later.”

“There is still a coronation after this?” Yoongi seethed. “The Emperor has declared war at this point, and he wants to hold a coronation?”

“What do we do now?” Hoseok asked.

“Would you still want me to attend the coronation, Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk bit his lip, tapping his foot against the glass.

“No…Seokjin-hyung,” Jeongguk answered. He lifted his eyes and found each member of his King’s Circle awaiting his next words.

They look to their King.

“No…I think that accepting the invitation to Park Hae-jin’s coronation will imply that we are condoning his actions. Declining will have no consequences, Naissus has historically declined attending many events. In addition, Naissus does not have a right to enter the war in Iaryen – we have no claim to the lands in his crusade. There is no good justification to put the people at risk in a conflict that is not ours as the Empire has not yet threatened our Commonwealth or allies.”

“Unless Taehyung’s words ring true.”

“Exactly… so we wait, the more information we have, the better. But be prepared, it is possible that my next decision is to call for war…” Jeongguk said, pocketing the envelope into his blazer and stepping out with Yoongi on his heels.

It was late when Jeongguk called for an attendant to bring Taehyung to his study. The sun had set, and the few open windows allowed for the spring night chill to settle in the room.

Jeongguk ordered for coffee and tea to be set in the study, sending the staff home for the evening and the guards further away than just outside the study doors, feeling safe enough in the presence of his Commander General.

Namjoon poured himself a cup of coffee, and found a perch on top of Jeongguk’s desk as he lifted the cup to his lips.

“Seokjin-hyung, you brought a wheelchair to Taehyung’s rooms earlier,” Namjoon said. “Were you able to check on his condition?”

“His ribs are healing, and the laceration on his quadriceps remains clean and uninfected,” Seokjin replied. “I’m worried that Taehyung will overexert himself in the first couple of days as these wounds are healing, I’d like him to use a wheelchair for longer distances for now, just until the wound closes.”

“Thank you, Jin-hyung,” Jeongguk murmured.

There was a knock on the door, and Yoongi went to open it, frowning as Jimin appeared, pushing a wheelchair where Taehyung sat.

Pain - Taehyung looked like he’s in so much pain. Lips losing colour and breaths shortened. Jimin caught the look on Jeongguk’s face.

“Taehyung is refusing to take pain killers,” Jimin murmured.

“Not now,” Taehyung said, tersely through pressed lips. “I need to be clear-headed for this meeting.”

Jimin murmured under his breath – it sounded as though he was offering something to Taehyung, but the prince shook his head.

“Who is here?” Taehyung asked softly.

“My King’s Circle,” Jeongguk replied “Jin-hyung, Namjoon-hyung, Hoseok-hyung, and Yoongi-hyung.”

“Do you trust everyone?”

“With my life.”

“Is there any chance of this room being bugged?” Jimin asked.

“No,” Hoseok replied. “My men and I were thorough in our search. The room is clear.”

“No one outside?”

“No. I sent the guards to the doors of the wing. No one will hear us.”

Taehyung nodded, slowly sitting up straighter, composing himself.

“Of course, I think I should start from the beginning. Three years ago, I met Park Hae-jin at a festival held on Sacred Islet of Ravenna. It was… was a festival to honour the spirits sometime before the harvest months – many foreign nobility came to visit during the event.”

Jeongguk nodded, remembering there was often an invitation sitting on his desk around summer turn autumn months – never did he return it.

“Park Hae-jin challenged me to an archery duel….he…used the name of an unfamiliar aristocrat to catch my attention,” Taehyung said. “I accepted it - and he revealed it was he who challenged me. During the challenge, he wagered a bet - should he win he will be my escort to the reception party. I stupidly said yes, thinking that I could be a match for him. I thought that I could be a player in this game. I was wrong. He won. At the party… Park Hae-jin spoke about his plans - about what he will do once he takes the throne.”

“He planned on finishing what he knew his father would not continue,” Jimin continued. “The unification of Iaryen under the banner of the Empire. He was not intending to expand past the main continent….Until he heard the stories about the Floating Isles.”

“You see, few people believe in the gods and goddesses anymore…” Taehyung said. “I’ve seen the theories about how Attalia came to be – a phenomenon that is explained by science. But that is not the case – and Park Hae-jin knew it so. When he came to Attalia that day, he already knew that he wanted to own it. He came with the intention of courting Jennie. I am grateful that I went in her stead.”

Taehyung paused, and like this morning, his knuckles were growing white with his repressed anger. “Attalia has always been safe from the ravages of war and conflict. Since the beginning of her history, no one has been able to touch us – with the invention of airships, we became a center of commerce and arts – it is only now, when airships have advanced to the point of being powerful and devastating vessels of war, is our way of life being threatened.”

The prince stopped, taking deliberate and shallow breaths as slowly his seething anger seeped out of his being. Taehyung’s rigid posture fell and his tightly balled fists dropped open. His skin, already drained of colour, grew even more pallid.

“Park Hae-jin looks at people like they are objects that he wants to own,” Taehyung repeated, quietly. “Park Hae-jin wishes to own Attalia. That day, I recognized what part I would play in his grand scheme. It’ll only be a matter of time before it happens… He threatened to – to take the war to Attalia – and he’ll use it as the grounds for battle against Naissus. He stated that he will leave Attalia as vassal state – to let Attalia keep some remnant of independence should I - should I accept his proposal.”

“For marriage?” Namjoon breathed.

“Marriage,” Taehyung confirmed. “I am no stranger to my duties. Should marriage save Attalia, I am willing to wed him.”

Jeongguk lowered his head, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he tried to control the waves of displeasure. He did not like hearing Taehyung talk of arranged marriages.

“But it will not,” Taehyung continued. “Attalia has secrets – House Chrysantheme has secrets that should never be spoken to anyone outside of the blood, outside of those sworn to protect the blood. That is why we’ve chosen to keep our neutrality for centuries. But this is no longer possible.”

The prince paused, inhaling slowly. “It is imperative that nothing I say will ever leave this room,” Taehyung said, gravely. “For it not only puts my life in danger, but the lives of the entire House Chrysantheme.”

Silence.

“Your Royal Highness,” Yoongi says, calling Taehyung by his formal address to bring gravity to the situation, “forgive me, Taehyung. I may be Attalian by blood, but my sworn loyalties lie solely with my king. If this information poses a danger to Jeongguk, my brother - my king - or his reign, I fear I cannot keep such a promise.”

Jeongguk barely noticed it – probably wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t so attuned to his older brother’s actions. Yoongi’s eyes flickered to Jimin, and though his apology was addressed to Taehyung, it seemed as though… it was also directed at the Crownsguard.

Jimin’s eyes noticeably darken at Yoongi’s words, lips pressed into a straight line – and there was a dangerousness in the Crownsguard that Jeongguk has never seen before and he knows – like Yoongi would lay his life down for him, Jimin would destroy everything in his path for Taehyung.
Jeongguk saw Taehyung move, arm tipping over the edge of the wheelchair and long fingers resting on the front of Jimin’s calf – as if sensing the Crownsguard’s rising tension.

“Your concerns are valid, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung began, smiling softly. “I would never do anything to intentionally bring harm to Jeongguk, his reign, nor anyone in this room. I am putting only myself and my own family at risk by telling you.”

“I trust you,” Jeongguk said, speaking up loudly. “I don’t believe that whatever Taehyung has to say will bring harm to me or Naissus.”

Yoongi stared at Jeongguk for a moment, before darting over to Namjoon. The Chancellor turned to Jeongguk. There was no trepidation in Namjoon’s eyes, only trust. Yoongi turned back, nodding now.

“I swear to you, Taehyung,” Jeongguk said, “nothing you say will leave this room.”

“Good,” Taehyung said. “Now…tell me, what do you know of the faith? Of the Goddesses? I know Namjoon-hyung, you’ve read as much as you could on Attalia, and Yoongi-hyung, you grew up under the tradition.”

“It’s a polytheistic tradition that worships The Goddess Trinity. The Mother, the Maiden and the Crone,” Namjoon answered.

Yoongi fidgeted, biting on the inside of his lips as he wrings and stretches his fingers. Finally, he opened his mouth, a breath escaping before his voice came. It sounded far away, almost… uncomfortable and dazed - as if he was recalling details from the past.

“House Chrysantheme are descendants of the Maiden, daughter of the Mother Goddess, blessed by the Maiden’s sacrifice.”

Jeongguk stared. Yoongi rarely spoke about his relationship with the faith. His indifference at the mention of Taehyung’s blindness and the supposed gift made Jeongguk think that Yoongi did not believe. Though Jeongguk’s rule is ordained by the gods, he nor his court fear or worship them, and as the age of modernity continues, religion is but an ancient tradition and Jeongguk thought Yoongi had felt the same about the Attalian faith.

But more than once, Jeongguk’s caught Yoongi muttering in Attalian - praying, he learnt afterwards. He thought it was just a habit from growing up in an aristocratic family in the Sky City, but it was only now that Jeongguk realized how significant the faith is to his older brother.

Yoongi stopped speaking, taking a breath and scratching at the bridge of his nose. His brows furrowed,a thin line forming on his lips.

“It is said that divine blood runs in the veins of the Royal Family,” Namjoon supplied, “And… when one of the blood becomes of age, they are blessed with a gift, should they choose to accept the Mother’s grace.”

Yoongi started again, words slow and quiet. “To answer the call is to receive the blessing of the Mother and…to pay the debt owed to the Crone for receiving a gift of divinity.”

Jeongguk’s shivered, swallowing loudly as Yoongi spoke.

“You accepted her gift. On the eve of your 21st birthday,” Yoongi said monotonously. As if he was finding it difficult to comprehend.

“I did,” Taehyung replied.

“The Crone took your eyesight,” Yoongi continued. “What was the Mother’s gift?”

Silence.

Jeongguk’s heart pounded in his ears, loudly in his chest.

Jimin hadn’t moved, remaining still where he stood looming protectively behind Taehyung, eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of him, fingers turning white.

“Clairvoyance,” Taehyung whispered. “I have the gift of foresight.”

Silence.

Namjoon’s shoulders sagged and Seokjin sat down. Hoseok nodded quietly to himself, brows furrowing as he glared at the floor. Yoongi remained rooted where he stood, wide eyes trained on Taehyung, and fingers curling into a fist. He murmured something in Attalian and Jeongguk raised an eyebrow.

Finally, Jimin moves, scoffing at Yoongi’s words.

Yoongi glanced back as if realizing that no one understood Attalian.

“For blessed be the Blood of the Oracle,” he repeated in the common language. “It is a prayer, to protect the one who is gifted by the Mother.”

“I…know you may ask me to prove the existence of such a gift…it is difficult enough to explain, let alone have solid evidence…” Taehyung shifted, wetting his lips with his tongue again as he tried to continue speaking.

“I think your actions have proven it,” Namjoon said. “A gift of the gods makes more sense than anything we’ll ever be able to come up with.”

“How does it work?” Seokjin asked. “Do you have visions?”

Taehyung folded his hands together, pausing. “I do. It is difficult to explain. It’s never really clear. I am never sure when an event may happen. These visions - they may just be small things. But I’ve seen world events unfold as well.”

“What have you seen?” Namjoon asked.

“Emperor Park Min-Jun’s death…” Taehyung replied. “I had a vision of his death two months prior to the event – before I came to Naissus. I thought maybe there would be more time…I knew his death would trigger – would trigger the rise of Park Hae-jin and I fear what that would mean for Iaryen and what it would mean for Attalia. I hoped that the prospect of a potential alliance between Naissus and Attalia would deter the Empire.”

“I also… saw Aquileia’s fall…. I don’t know exactly when these things happen – only that it will.”

“That’s how you knew, wasn’t it?” Jeongguk murmured. “About the bomb – how you saved my life.”

Taehyung paused, head tilting towards the sound of Jeongguk’s voice. “Yes,” he breathed.

“But you said you never know when, how did you know that night?”

“I wasn’t sure…I wasn’t even sure if it was a vision or a dream. I…I can see in my visions. Not clearly though, so I rely on my other senses to understand more… that night…I remember… seeing a black blazer on the floor – there were embellishments that I remember feeling along the jacket that Jeongguk wore that night. It smelled like whiskey…I – had to …”

“Does it harm you to have these visions?” Seokjin asked.

“These visions can take a toll…Especially of this magnitude. I am still learning to hone this gift. A couple of weeks ago… when I fell ill, I saw Aquileia’s fall.”

“Wait,” Hosoeok started, brows furrowing as he crossed the room to stand beside Namjoon, “So, you knew Aquileia would fall, weeks ago? Why did you not warn Queen Lim Areum?”

“Because my father and King forbid it,” Taehyung said. “Besides, how do we explain having knowledge of this?”

“They would think we are in league with the Empire,” Jimin added. “If the Empire learns that Attalia knew – what would they think? We are an impartial country. The world cannot learn of the Royal Family’s divine secrets.”

Silence.

“What do we do now?” Seokjin asked.

“I fear that I must tell my father what has transpired here. I cannot keep my involvement in this a secret,” Taehyung said tiredly. “I hope you understand.”

“We trust that the information remains within the Attalian King’s circle?” Hoseok asked warily.

“My father will not inform anyone else - not when it involves knowledge of my gift and can endanger my life,” Taehyung assured him. “My sister has told me that the Viscount of L’citron will be coming to ask for an audience with you, Jeongguk.”

“Do you know the reason for his visit?” Seokjin asked.

“Not exactly,” Taehyung answered. “But I have a feeling it is to…ask about the state of the potential alliance between our two nations.”

Jeongguk sat down in an armchair, resting his head in his hands.

The alliance. What will he make of it now?

“I understand if you are unable to lend any aid to Attalia,” Taehyung said. “Not when you face internal matters such as these. But I ask for your permission to stay at court. I hope that it may delay the Empire’s advances, having heard of Naissus’ elite air force. In the meantime, I hope to use my gifts to help you uncover the truth behind the assassination attempt.”

“I cannot ask that of you,” Jeongguk said in a rush.

“You aren’t. I am offering,” Taehyung said with an air of finality. “My gift may not be much help in retrospect, but there may be visions of the future that are of some use. I will do what I can to protect you while you find the culprit. Have you any more information?”

“Someone murdered the King’s Valet,” Hoseok says. “Bak Chung-ho.”

Taehyung’s brows furrow, bowing his head and muttering in Attalian – a phrase that sounded familiar to Jeongguk: a prayer.

“Murdered,” Jimin cried. “How?”

“The authorities found his body in the Arethusa Lake, evidence showed he was probably stunned or knocked unconscious by a blow to the head, before ultimately being strangled to death,” Namjoon explained. “We think the culprit was after a set of keys to Jeongguk’s rooms.”

“The assassin took Bak Chung-ho’s lapel pin as well, made sure that it was visible in all CCTV footage and was careful to have their face hidden from view,” Yoongi continued. “The other staff were unaware of Bak Chung-ho’s disappearance until after the gala – the assassin planned for this – made sure the act was completed on a day where most of the staff would be too busy preparing for an event to pay much attention to the King’s Valet’s whereabouts.”

“Did anyone see the culprit enter the King’s Apartments?” Jimin asked.

“No, Bak Chung-ho was present that morning, Jeongguk remembered that,” Hoseok said. “He often returned to his home in the city during the day. His apartment is not far from Arethusa Lake.”

Taehyung paused. “You know… this does explain why Bak Chung-ho-ssi wasn’t there when I came.”

“That’s right…” Hoseok murmured. “You went to the King’s Apartments in the afternoon… why was that?”

“I was there to give Jeongguk a gift, a flower crown.”

A flower crown….it was a flower crown. Taehyung said that before – Jeongguk remembered how breathlessly Taehyung said it as an explanation.

“Did you not see it, Jeongguk?” Taehyung asked.

“I-I…don’t remember. I lost most of my memories of the day of the gala,” Jeongguk confessed.

“I see…” Taehyung said slowly. “It was in a box – I asked the valet to leave it on your bedside table with a note – the valet – but, I remember, clearly – that wasn’t Bak Chung-ho.”

“Do you remember any details about the man who was in the room?” Namjoon asked, standing with wide eyes. “Anything at all?”

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, eyelids screwing shut as he turned his head. “I remember knowing right away that it wasn’t the King’s Valet. I met Chung-ho-ssi weeks ago when I was looking for your chambers, Jeongguk, to return your jacket. This person...his voice was deeper, rasper.” Taehyung lifted a hand to his brow, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “He gave me a name – and – and an explanation for where Chung-ho-ssi was. Sick with food poisoning?”

“What was his name?” Hoseok asked, inching closer. Jeongguk could feel the tension rising from the Commander General, could feel the hope that Hoseok had in gaining more information.

“Kihwan.” Taehyung murmured. “He said his name was Kihwan.”

Hoseok stormed out of the room with little words, mumbling something about checking a list. But then he stopped, turning on his heels, making fierce eye-contact with Jeongguk.

“I am leaving, as such, I will be stationing guards at the door. When you leave, you will take a guard with you and you will not dismiss the guards posted at your door tonight,” Hoseok commanded, almost hissing the words.

Jeongguk nodded, swiftly, and wide-eyed at the ferocity in his older cousin’s voice. Hoseok turned to Yoongi, glaring at the older man as well.

“You as well, Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok snapped.

“Yes, Hoseok,” Yoongi replied automatically, blinking as if stunned.

The Commander General slammed the door shut behind him and through the walls, Jeongguk could hear Hoseok’s loud, barking orders for guards to return to their post at the door.

Silence.

“Did Bak Chung-ho have a family?” Taehyung asked.

“A younger sister attending university in Aerarius,” Namjoon said, “His parents died in the plague.”

“Was she informed of her brother’s death?”

“She was told that her brother’s death was an accident, not a murder...” Jeongguk said.

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, but then smoothed out with a small wobble of his lips before he spoke.

“To ensure that the assassination attempt remains classified information,” he concluded, “I understand.” There was a sadness in Taehyung’s voice, a soft resignation that made Jeongguk once again remember Taehyung’s intelligence and his sense of duty.

“Do you have any leads?” Jimin asked.

“No, nothing,” Namjoon says. “No suspects with a possible motive until you gave us a name, Taehyung.”

“There were some speculations…But, neither I nor my King’s Circle and my Privy Council have any information as to who may want me dead,” Jeongguk added.

“Your Privy Council… do they know what happened that night?” Taehyung asked.

“They know of your presence in the King’s Apartments the night of and that you both made it out, Taehyung,” Namjoon answered. “They don’t know why you were there.”

“And we shall keep it that way,” Jimin added tersely.

“Should they ask,” Taehyung started. “I think it would be safe to suggest it was a secret tryst – if you do not mind sullying your reputation.”

“I don’t,” Jeongguk said stiffly. “Rumours of our courtship have already circulated. Do you mind?”

“No,” Taehyung replied swiftly.

Yoongi stepped up – bowing low and formally. “I need to thank you, Your Royal Highness. You risked your life to save him – I can never thank you enough.”

Taehyung shook his head as if dismissing Yoongi’s unneeded thanks.

Jeongguk slouched into his seat, letting his head drop back as his eyes followed the intricate patterns on the ceiling. He swore softly, head spinning from Taehyung’s revelations.

“Jeongguk – should we proceed as planned?” Namjoon said.

“Yes…” Jeongguk murmured, sighing as he lurched to his feet. “I trust Hoseok-hyung will get to the bottom of this. He will deliver some news in the morning along with the aid that Lugdunum asks for. Yoongi-hyung, please inform my private secretary that I will see the Viscount of L’Citron… perhaps an audience with the Viscount for the day after tomorrow. Please continue with the press conference and Privy Council meeting, Namjoon-hyung.”

“Of course, if you would excuse me,” Namjoon said. Jeongguk nodded.

Seokjin walked up to Taehyung, kneeling by his side.

“I think you should take the medications now, Taehyung,” Seokjin murmured. “I can give you something else for nausea, but you need to rest.”

Taehyung hummed softly.

“You promised to take the painkillers after the meeting,” Jimin pleaded. “Please, Taehyung.”

Taehyung frowned but didn’t protest, allowing Seokjin to pour him a glass of water, and place two tablets into his hands.

After, Seokjin bid farewell, following Namjoon with the promise that he’ll come to see Taehyung in the morning. Yoongi left as well, stating that he’ll tell Hoseok about Jeongguk’s decisions and will plan the audience with the Viscount.

Jeongguk watches as Jimin’s eyes follow Yoongi out the door, but he remained standing behind Taehyung.

Leaving Jeongguk in the same position where he was earlier today: staring awkwardly at Taehyung.

“Jimin – can you – can you speak to Jennie? Inform her about what happened and tell her that I plan to speak to our father soon.”

Jimin hesitated, glancing over to Jeongguk, and sighed – as if knowing that this was Taehyung’s tactic to be alone with Jeongguk.

“I trust you can take Taehyung back to the rooms?” Jimin asked warily.

“Yes.”

“Okay...I’ll see you in a bit...” With the doors closing quietly behind the silver-haired Crownsguard, Taehyung let out a tired sigh.

Silence.

Jeongguk swayed uneasily on his heels, leaning against his desk for support.

“Jeongguk – can we – do you think we can go to the gardens?” Taehyung finally said, softly.

“Yes, yes of course,” Jeongguk replied, promptly scrambling to Taehyung’s side. “We’ll have to be accompanied.”

“Oh?” Taehyung mumbled, lips tilting and eyebrows raising. “Do they think we need a chaperone?”

Jeongguk huffed in amusem*nt, “I wish it were the case.”

“I don’t mind. I’ve been stuck in my rooms since I woke up,” Taehyung said, taking slow and shallow breaths between gritted teeth. “I just need some fresh air.”

Jeongguk hummed frowning at the clothes Taehyung wore. The Attalian prince was dressed casually, in a black long-sleeve shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. It was too casual for the often neatly dressed man, and too little for the chill of a spring-turn-summer night.

Jeongguk pulled a blanket off of the sofa, draping it over Taehyung’s lap, watching as the prince brushed a hand over the fabric before recognizing what it was. He pulled it close, smoothing the wool down over his legs with a small grin.

“Okay,” Jeongguk said, satisfied that it would keep Taehyung warm. “… to the gardens.”

When Jeongguk opened the door of the study, there were already two guards standing by the door.

“Your Majesty,” they greeted.

“The First Prince and I will be going to the gardens; I understand that we’ll need to be accompanied.”

“Yes, sir. If you will let us retrieve some lanterns, we’ll escort you and His Royal Highness.”

Jeongguk nodded, waiting for one of the guards to jog back with lanterns in hand. Taehyung did not speak throughout the journey, sitting silently as Jeongguk carefully pushed the wheelchair towards their destination. He wondered, briefly, if the medications Seokjin gave Taehyung were taking effect. Jeongguk was careful of bumps and took turns slowly to prevent aggravating the prince’s wounds.

It was quiet outside. The air felt damp and the ramp, soil, and grass underneath Jeongguk’s shoes were wet from the rain. It was probably almost midnight, according to the last time Jeongguk checked his phone. Late – and dark, but warm.

Both the guards carried lanterns mounted on long poles, one standing in front and the other behind Jeongguk as he pushed the wheelchair along the pathway. The gardens were lit with the soft golden glow of the little lamps on both sides of the gravel path. Jeongguk winced as he wheeled Taehyung onto the grass, awkwardly trying to drive the wheelchair through the uneven grounds.

“Sorry,” Jeongguk murmured quietly, “The pathway ended and now we’re on grass – I don’t think this wheelchair is meant for this type of terrain.”

“It’s okay,” Taehyung replied, long fingers gripping the armrests, “We’re outside.”

“Where do you want to go?” Jeongguk asked.

“…Can we go to the place we had tea that one afternoon? Where the wisteria and gardenias and jasmine flowers were?”

“Okay,” Jeongguk replied, pushing Taehyung through the formal gardens towards the flower garden. Jeongguk smelled the blossoms before he saw them, the shrubs and pots of flowers barely visible in the pale moonlight. The guards made themselves scarce upon arrival, remaining several feet behind them, diligently watching, but providing them with the privacy of conversation.

“Can you help me out of the chair, I want – I want to sit in the grass.”

“It’s wet from the rain.”

“Please,” Taehyung whispered and Jeongguk did not have the heart to say no, even though the ground was wet and the air was colder than he realized.

Jeongguk shrugged out of his black cardigan, draping it over Taehyung’s shoulders. Taehyung’s hand flew over the top of Jeongguk’s, clutching the king’s fingers and brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry, I’m giving you my sweater,” Jeongguk explained, realizing he might have startled him. “I’m going to take the blanket to lay on the ground.”

“Alright, thank you,” Taehyung replied, gingerly pulling an arm into the sweater and leaving the other side hanging over his shoulder - the side with broken ribs, Jeongguk realized. Jeongguk helped Taehyung out of the wheelchair. He moved gingerly – so slowly. Taehyung placed his arm around Jeongguk’s neck – letting Jeongguk almost carry him. He was light and even in Jeongguk’s injured state, it was easy to lower Taehyung down onto the ground.

Taehyung struggled to stay sitting upright, sucking in a breath as he braced himself using his hands. Jeongguk sat down beside Taehyung, watching as the older man attempted to right himself, clenching his jaw as his hands grazed along the grass, trying to find purchase to lean back in a comfortable position.

Jeongguk crept closer, shoulder touching Taehyung’s before sliding behind him - and then slowly, he felt Taehyung relax, his weight pressing into the left side of Jeongguk’s chest, his fingers finding Jeongguk’s knee, splaying over his thigh as he leaned against the king, like this morning.

Jeongguk had little experience with romance, but he’s read about it – seen it in movies and dramas.

These touches – should send butterflies crawling up his stomach to his throat, should have his heart beating madly. But with Taehyung, there was something comforting, easy about the simple touches they shared – from the very first moment in the gardens. Perhaps it’s the constant smell of lavender that puts Jeongguk at ease.

“It’s disconcerting to hear that you’ve forgotten what happened at the gala,” Taehyung said, pulling Jeongguk out of his thoughts.

“I know… I’m rattled by it as well…” Jeongguk started. “I know that I spoke to Cha Seung-won, the Earl of Fama. I cannot remember what about it…nor when I became so… inebriated.”

“I did not have the pleasure of speaking to the Earl of Fama,” Taehyung said, “who is he?”

“The previous Lord Chancellor… before I stripped him of his title and made it known that he was no longer welcome at court,” Jeongguk explained. “Namjoon-hyung took the role at the beginning of my reign. Cha Seung-won made quite a generous donation to the foundation… and since the gala was in honour of the patrons… I just… wasn’t expecting him to come.”

“Perhaps it was good that you don’t remember. I imagine he was not pleasant company,” Taehyung said, pulling on the sleeves of Jeongguk’s sweater over his fingers and yanking the collar closer to him.

Jeongguk hummed, remembering the words from Shin Sung-rok at the Privy Council meeting, “I just wish… I knew what I said…Or what I did at the party…”

Taehyung’s fingers found his, wrapping gently around them.“I went looking for you later in the evening during the party, I found you on the balcony.”

“What happened?”

“You told me that you were sitting outside for perhaps an hour. You smelled of alcohol.”

Jeongguk scowled in embarrassment as Taehyung continued, “You seemed… upset that we were unable to spend much time together at the gala. You…spoke about how your presence – in your words – kills the conversation due to your position.”

“Was that all we spoke of?”

Taehyung fiddled with the edge of the sleeve.

“You asked if my lips would taste like lavender,” Taehyung whispered and Jeongguk thought he was hearing things.

Silence.

Jeongguk remembered that – like the edge of a dream – he remembered the smell of lavender and wishing to taste it on his tongue. He remembered brown eyes bleeding into the blue.

“Then what?”

“I told you to ask me when you were sober.”

“Right,” Jeongguk muttered to himself. He sighed, shoulders sagging, arm slipping off of Taehyung.

“Please forgive my impudence.”

“No, Jeongguk, please don’t be embarrassed,” Taehyung said, almost chuckling, “I – I would have…given you an answer if I did not feel as though I was taking advantage of your state.”

Silence.

“Do you remember the first time we were here?” Taehyung asked softly.

Jeongguk hummed quietly. “You asked if I found you attractive.”

Taehyung huffed; the sound too breathy to be his usual deep chortle. He paused, wrapping an arm around his side.

“The medicine has yet to take effect?” Jeongguk asked.

“It is… but…Seokjin-hyung recommended this one – it’s slow-acting – but it won’t leave me feeling as nauseous after… but I rather not rely too much on pain medications.”

“Why not?” Jeongguk asked.

“I don’t like how it makes me feel – mindless and numb – and…. It makes it harder to tell if I am dreaming or seeing visions. The side effects are not worth it.”

Jeongguk bit his lips.

“You had a vision…that day?” Jeongguk asked. “I remembered seeing your eyes glowing blue.”

“Yes, I did,” Taehyung replied. “Jimin has told me they do when I have visions...I saw Orivala’s airships raiding Piran, and a grand scale assault on the palace. I also saw Queen Lim Aruem signing the accord allowing the Empire to vassalise Aquileia. I…don’t think it has happened yet, but it will in the next week or so.”

Jeongguk hummed in response.

Silence.

“No one ever told me the extent of your wounds.”

“Some staples in my head, a concussion,” Jeongguk answered, “some burns on my back and my arms… but I think you got the brunt of it.”

Taehyung straightened, pushing himself off of Jeongguk’s chest as he slowly twisted, curling his uninjured leg into his chest.

“May I?” Taehyung asked, holding out his hands, “Where did you hit your head?”

Jeongguk lifted their entwined fingers, guiding Taehyung slowly to the wound on the back of his head.

Seokjin had taken off the dressing, opting for frequent visits to clean the wound and rather than wrapping the King’s head in mountains of gauze. The wound was drying and Seokjin promised that within a week and a half, he’ll remove the staples.

Taehyung’s fingers were gentle and hesitant as if he was touching a flower petal. He flinched, as his fingers grazed over the edge of a staple, curling away and pulling back.

“It doesn’t really hurt to touch anymore,” Jeongguk said, releasing Taehyung’s hand. The older man’s hand moved from the top of Jeongguk’s head, fingers barely touching his hair, to the tip of his ear before Taehyung’s palm found his jaw and his fingers rested on his cheek. Jeongguk can feel the thin bandages on his palm, but his fingers are warm.

Taehyung paused, barely touching Jeongguk’s skin, waiting to see if Jeongguk would pull away – or if he’d grant silent permission. Slowly, Jeongguk shifted, pressing into the warmth of Taehyung’s hands and welcomed the touch.

Taehyung’s fingers traced across his cheekbone, over the bridge of his nose, up to his brow, and finally landing on the corner of Jeongguk’s lips. Jeongguk felt his eyes flutter shut, relishing in the feeling of Taehyung’s fingertip trailing along the edges of his bottom lip, and then, like in the dream he can’t quite remember, he wondered what it would feel like to kiss Taehyung.

He was sober now, wasn’t he?

Jeongguk slowly opened his eyes and found Taehyung leaning so close, the top of his head nearly knocking into Jeongguk’s chin.

“How long has it been? A month? You’ve aged since that day,” Taehyung whispered. “It feels like your cheekbones and jaw are sharper, you have more furrows in your brow, your lips…. settle more easily into a frown.”

His hand fell from Jeongguk’s face, torso tilting to the side as he slumped into Jeongguk’s chest, head resting against Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Jeongguk,” Taehyung mumbled, “I’m sorry that this happened. That I dragged you into my own mess as well.”

Jeongguk inhaled deeply, pushing down the spiral of apprehensive thoughts. For just a short moment, he allowed himself to forget all that happened to savour the scent of lavender.

“No…If you weren’t here, I don’t think I would have survived that night,” he replied, gently.

“I don’t regret helping you.”

“Neither will I.”

Jeongguk stumbled into the doorway of his study, weaving almost drunkenly towards the sofa before sinking down. His head lolled listlessly over the edge.

He closed his eyes when he saw Seokjin trail in after him, directing the staff to place tea on the table and leave.

It was late in the afternoon. The Privy Council meeting went over an hour the time that Jeongguk had allotted in his day, but he was unable to bring a close to the meeting with the endless questions and opinions that the council members shot at him.

“I have a headache, hyung,” Jeongguk whined, “The light is making it worse.”

Jeongguk felt the sofa sink down beside him and an audible sigh fell from Seokjin’s lips. Jeongguk refused to open his eyes, listening to the older man shuffle around beside him until he heard the sharp sound of objects clicking against plastic. He rubbed his temples, peeling one eye open to see Seokjin holding a bottle in his hands and prying the top open.

Seokjin shifted over, taking Jeongguk’s limp hand and dumping two pills into his open palm. “Take these,” he commanded. “It won’t make you drowsy. You’ll have headaches for a while, Jeongguk. But you’ll tell me if they get worse and if you feel like vomiting, right?”

Jeongguk nodded, shoving the pills into his mouth and fumbling for a bottle of apple juice on the table to wash it down.

“His Grace, the Lord Chancellor and the Commander General, Your Majesty.”

Namjoon walked in with Hoseok in tow after being announced. He ran a hand through his ash-blonde hair, throwing himself into the chaise lounge opposite to Jeongguk. The back of his knees knocked into the armrests before he unceremoniously tipped himself over the side and landed hard on the leather as his glasses fell askew.

“I hate Privy Council meetings,” Namjoon cursed under his breath. Jeongguk scoffed, following the older man’s example and crashed into the cushions.

The young king closed his eyes again, trying to fight the pounding headache in the back of his head while dealing with the thoughts from the Privy Council meeting.

“f*cking three and a half hours,” Seokjin muttered, “And still no consensus.”

“Though there is no decision on Naissus’ stance on the war in Iaryen - it is indisputable that Attalia will become involved,” Namjoon said.

“The council unanimously has agreed to send one of the Royal Fleets to protect the Floating Isles,” Jeongguk supplied – knowing that Hoseok was waiting for the news.

Hoseok nodded, crouching by the coffee table and grabbing a tiny dessert fork. He stabbed one of every coloured rice cake and placed it on a plate, pouring himself a cup of tea. “That most definitely is a victory.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk hummed, “I guess that is something to celebrate.” He pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes, hoping that it’ll help to elevate the pressure in his skull. Seokjin promised to remove the stitches by the end of the week. At least now, it doesn’t hurt as much when laying on the healing head injury or the burns anymore.

“Even then, they were reluctant – and many only conceded because of your sound reasoning, Namjoon-hyung,” Jeongguk said. “There was only one thing for certain which is how disappointed they are that I failed to inform them of my intentions to formally announce my courtship with Taehyung until now.”

The sofa dipped again as Hoseok sat beside Seokjin since there was no room with Namjoon sprawled across the other couch. The three of them squished cozily on the seat.

“War could be on the horizon, and yet all those f*cking nobles can think about is how they lost the chance to marry their child off to the King,” Seokjin said.

Jeongguk grunted, amused by how calmly Seokjin spoke – all too aware of the struggle for power.

“But you can’t group them all together,” Hoseok said around a mouth full of the sweets, “I’m certain my father was more than willing to support you, and so was Park So-jin-ssi.”

“So-jin-noona,” Seokjin sighed, “What a voice of reason in that room full of madmen.”

“You must not be too harsh,” Namjoon said, “the years of the Queen Mother’s regency and your reign thus far, Jeongguk, have been peaceful. Though the Empire’s expansion was always troublesome news, no one expected that this would happen so suddenly. Most of the peerages’ problems were to raise their station, and now with the surge of mounting concerns – from an attempted assassination of the king to an impending war – they cling to this problem in hopes of keeping some sense normalcy.”

Jeongguk raises his head, turning to face Namjoon.

“I understand that your patience is waning with the council, Jeongguk, but give them just a little more time to adjust. You are their King – and they cannot defy you – but having their support will be crucial in maintaining the peace once this all blows over.”

Jeongguk grunts, dropping his head back onto the fabric.

“Your Majesty, the Earl of Libertas and Lord Park Jimin.”

Jeongguk lifted his head, brows furrowing as his older brother entered the room with the Crownsguard behind him. He remembered his brother was just beside him after leaving the council room, but then Yoongi checked his phone and left, mumbling something about meeting them in the study. Namjoon flailed, struggling to sit upright, pulling his long legs off the edge of the couch. Jeongguk also sat up, back straightening when his eyes fell on the sharp curve of Jimin’s eyes and the stern turn of his lips.

“Jeongguk,” Yoongi called, “Jimin has some information to report to you.”

Jeongguk blinked, surprised by the familiarity of the Crownsguard’s name coming from his brother’s mouth.

Jimin bowed. “Forgive me for the intrusion, Taehyung would come himself, but he’s exhausted. I’ve convinced him to rest.”

Seokjin nodded with a soft smile as if appeased by the news, and Jeongguk was also happy to hear that Taehyung had taken time to rest.

“We were just settling down for afternoon tea, would you like to join us?” Seokjin asked.

Jimin opened his mouth, head shaking to decline, but Yoongi was already pouring two cups of green tea, handing one to the silver-haired man.

Jimin hesitated for a moment before bowing. He wrapped fingers covered in silver rings around the small ceramic cup, nursing it awkwardly as he quietly thanked Yoongi.

“Sit,” Yoongi murmured, settling beside Namjoon. But Jimin remained standing, licking his lips as he blinked several times. He took a breath, clearing his throat before he began.

“Taehyung has spoken to his father this morning,” Jimin reported. “His Majesty the King of Attalia did not receive the news of the attempt on your life well, or Taehyung’s involvement and the consequences. He had demanded that Taehyung returns to Marsylle immediately. This was what Taehyung predicted would happen and why we chose to keep the information a secret.”

Jimin paused, spinning the delicate ceramic cup in a full circle between his fingertips.

“It took much convincing,” he continued. “But Taehyung’s father has been…placated for now. Especially since – to my understanding – you spoke of Naissus continuing her alliance with Attalia and… the…implications of that. The Viscount will still be coming for an audience. The King wants solid evidence.”

“I understand… I have invited the Viscount to dine at the palace tomorrow,” Jeongguk said, leaning forward and pouring himself a cup of green tea. “It is short notice, but considering he wished for an audience and the state of current world affairs, I doubt he’ll decline.”

“I think not either,” Jimin agreed, turning away and bringing the teacup to his lips.

“Will Taehyung be well enough to attend?” Hoseok asked.

“I believe so. Even if he wasn’t, it will not stop him,” Jimin replied.

“Should the invitation be extended to the Viscount’s fiancé?” Yoongi asked.

“It will give off an air of normalcy,” Namjoon replied, as he stuck his fork into a pale pink rice cake. “Give off the impression that the state of affairs is still in order.”

Jeongguk gnawed on the inside of his lips, before nodding, “It wouldn’t hurt to extend the invitation. Do you think it’ll be possible to hold the dinner in the state dining hall? It is short notice.”

Jeongguk glanced at Namjoon who nods subtly, understanding Jeongguk’s intention. Though inviting the Ambassador and his fiancé to dinner was a friendly, intimate gesture, the fact that it would be held in the state dining hall signified the political nature of their visit.

“I will let Taehyung know,” Jimin nodded, “Also – Taehyung asks if Hoseok-ssi has been able to retrieve more information about Kihwan.”

“Not much,” Hoseok replied, taking a sip of tea. “He does exist in the directory of staff, Lee Kihwan.” Hoseok pulled up a picture on his phone, showing it to Jimin.

Jimin shook his head, “I have never seen him during my stay here.”

“My men are searching through the records for more information,” Hoseok said. “He is no longer in the palace… and…the house address provided leads to an empty apartment. I have investigators there searching for more information.”

“So far…. Lee Kihwan is not the assassin’s real name.” Hoseok leaned forward in his seat, lacing his fingers together as he rests his elbows on his knees. “It’s a false identity, which makes the search much more difficult – but not impossible. Obviously, the assassin was not expecting Taehyung to show up that afternoon, and he is lucky that Jeongguk lost his memories. But, what Taehyung gave was invaluable information. Now we have a face. I have sent out forces and informed our intelligence agencies. They have eyes on all ports out of the country – if he hasn’t left yet – we are going to catch him.”

Jimin nodded, “I will inform Taehyung of the news.” He downed the tea in one shot, placing the cup down onto the coffee table before turning his head toward Jeongguk. “Thank you for the tea, Your Majesty.” He bowed, spinning on his heels, but then paused, looking over his shoulder.

“Could I speak with you in private for a moment, Yoongi-hyung?” Jimin asked, softly.

Yoongi slammed his cup down onto the table, standing up quickly. “Sure,” he answered. “I have to go send the invitation to the Ambassador anyway.”

Jeongguk jumped, brows furrowing at the suddenness – Yoongi was never one for quick action, preferring to use his quick wit and sharp mind. It was rare to see the older man move as quickly as he did. Hoseok unsubtly sat closer to the edge of the couch, shooting a confused look at both Jeongguk and Seokjin. Seokjin returned the look with a wide-eyed glare of his own.

They both turned around to watch Yoongi scramble to join Jimin’s side. The Crownsguard stared for a couple of seconds, before turning and bowing to Jeongguk.

“By your leave, Your Majesty…” Jimin murmured before continuing on his way out.

When the doors closed behind the pair, Seokjin turned.

“What was that?” he hissed. “They came in together and they’re leaving together? Only days ago, Jimin would address Yoongi as ‘Min Yoongi-ssi’.”

“Yoongi-hyung was once of the peerage in Attalian court,” Namjoon mused, “Do you think Jimin found out and is threatening him?”

“No,” Jeongguk replied. “I don’t think Jimin is threatening him. They knew each other during childhood.”

Hoseok shoved another rice cake into his mouth, words muffled by the food. “The night of the gala, I fell asleep in the music room with Yoongi-hyung playing the piano. I woke up when I heard the explosion – Jimin was there too.”

Jeongguk huffed, “Odd,” he muttered, but refused to speak anymore. It wasn’t his story to share about his older brother’s affiliations with the Crownsguard.

“Now what?”

Jeongguk massaged the space between his brows.

“We proceed,” Jeongguk answered. “With the Privy Council’s backing, I’d like to study our possibilities for sending a fleet to Attalia.”

Hoseok nodded, placing his empty plate onto the table and grabbing the tablet in replacement. He fumbled with something in his pocket, before pulling out a small round object and placing it onto the table. With a click of a button, a holographic world map was projected on top. The Commander General proceeded to load the tablet with the specs and details of the Naissian Air Fleets, returning it to Jeongguk.

“What are your thoughts?” Jeongguk asked.

“Perhaps sending in the 1st or the 3rd fleet.”

“The first is the Dreadnought Titan?”

“Yes, he is older – slower, but most definitely equipped for battle. The other option is the Shiva.”

“The Shiva,” Jeongguk repeated, scrolling through the specs of the war vessel, “Not our latest model is it?”

“No, but she is fully equipped, functional, and deadly on the battlefield. Her speed is only rivalled by the Ifrit. She would make a formidable foe for whatever the Empire will throw at her.”

“I thought the commander of the Third Fleet retired,” Namjoon said.

“He did.” Hoseok grumbled, “I have yet to appoint a new commander. But since we may be sending the third fleet to Attalia, I have interviewed and accessed several candidates. I will appoint one by the end of tomorrow.”

“And what of defence for our borders?”

“We have the 2nd fleet, led by the Dreadnaught Ramuh on the outskirts of Aurea and the fourth fleet, led by the Leviathan on our borders with Corkidamia.”

“And the 5th fleet?”

“On loan to Ashua – which means they’ll be protected.”

“And the 6th fleet?”

“On standby in Aurea,” Hoseok replied. “It is our newest. The Sky Fortress is for protection of the Royal Family, should the battle be brought to Aurea.”

Jeongguk doesn’t argue that.

“Send the 3rd fleet to Attalia. I want this to be public.”

“We can invite the press to the hanger, where you’ll meet the commander,” Namjoon said.

“How soon can we make it happen?”

“The day after tomorrow, I’ll say,” Hoseok said.

“Alright. I want to invite Taehyung; the publicity will demonstrate our alliance.”

“If you intend to demonstrate the alliance, I believe you should also consider making an official statement,” Namjoon said. “Regarding that and your courtship.”

Jeongguk nodded.

“Good, I’ll draft a statement, and we’ll go over it in the morning,” Namjoon said.

“Jeongguk,” Seokjin started, having been mostly silent for most of their conversation on the logistics of Naissus’ fleet. “Suppose we catch Lee Kihwan, or whatever his name is….if he is guilty… what will happen to him?”

Silence.

“He will receive the capital punishment for 1st-degree murder and attempted regicide,” Jeongguk whispered. “Death.”

Seokjin had warned him to avoid screens, but Jeongguk hoped that a short reprieve of video games would take his mind off the impending idea of war. So, it was later that night when Jeongguk found himself going to the media room.

As he approached, Jeongguk realized that there was a familiar sound coming from the dimly lit room. It was already occupied – and judging by the jazz music – by Taehyung.

Jeongguk paused by the door, peeking inside to find Taehyung reclining on the far sofa, alone, with no sign of the Crownsguard.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung called out loud, head-turning towards the door. “Is that you? Are you there?”

Jeongguk flinched at the suddenness of Taehyung’s voice.

“Yes,” he answered, stepping cautiously into the room, heart beating in his ears, heat rising to his neck and cheeks.

Taehyung’s eyes were open, muted brown irises, framed by long lashes. Staring past Jeongguk – he couldn’t help but imagine…if Taehyung was sighted, his gaze would be incredibly piercing.

“How – how did you – you saw,” Jeongguk whispered.

Taehyung smiled, eyes fluttering shut again. “Come in, close the door behind you and you are welcome to turn on the lights.”

Jeongguk complied, closing the door quietly behind him but leaving the lights dimmed. It took a while for his eyes to adjust from the bright light in the halls, to recognise Taehyung and the furniture in the room beyond different shapes of shadows.

There was no wheelchair in the room, which meant that the First Prince was well enough to be on his feet.

But he still stumbled and moved slowly as he sat up. Jeongguk lurched to Taehyung’s side.

“Do you want me to help?” he asked.

Taehyung shook his head, leaning against a cushion as he made space for Jeongguk on the sofa. His breathing was still short. But he appeared better dressed than he was last night, wearing a loose, white dress shirt and a pair of black slacks, crinkled from laying down on the sofa, but still neat.

There was a familiar dark sweater draped over the prince’s legs.

“You still have my cardigan,” Jeongguk said, standing dumbly in front of the sofa.

“Yes,” Taehyung murmured, holding the fabric close to his chest. “I hope you don’t mind; I’d like to keep it for a while longer –”

“No, please, keep it,” Jeongguk replied, feeling a sense of pride and an unfamiliar sense of possessiveness surging within him.

“I’m trying to search for visions about you.”

Jeongguk tilted his head in confusion, “What do you mean?

“I don’t know if it’s true,” Taehyung began, “There aren’t any records of clairvoyance being a gift given by the Mother…but I feel as though I receive more visions when holding onto something belonging to the person I am searching for. Like it’s a channel of power.”

Jeongguk settled into the sofa beside him, Taehyung’s socked feet resting on Jeongguk’s thigh.

“…that day when you were sleeping here…you were holding a necklace engraved with the initials of your sister – were you searching for visions of her too?”

Taehyung’s eyebrow raised.

“You noticed?” Taehyung asked, with a grin, “That’s right. With the announcement of Park Hae-jin’s coronation, my sister, as Crown Princess, was the one who would be invited to the event. I feared the worst – that Park Hae-jin would set his eyes upon my sister – that he might ask for her hand in marriage. I needed to know – to prevent it.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“I did not see a coronation,” Taehyung sighed, “My visions of Jennie were of her visit to Ravenna soon….for a holy ceremony honouring the summer solstice and officiating her position as Crown Princess. It is the year of her coming of age after all.”

“Jennie did not take the blessing?”

“No,” Taehyung replied firmly. “She would never take the gift, not after taking the mantle of heir apparent. Such sacrifice is too great for a future sovereign.”

“Do you regret taking the gift?”

Taehyung smiled, leaning against the back of the sofa as he took a soft breath – unseeing eyes fluttering open once more.

“No,” Taehyung replied resolutely. “I don’t think I ever regretted taking the gift. As you have never resented taking on the mantle of King as early as you did.”

Jeongguk blinked, remembering the conversation they had – and the soft, understanding smile that graced the First Prince’s lips.

Taehyung moved, swinging his legs down and scooting closer to Jeongguk. He leaned back, resting his arm on the back of the sofa and pillowing his head in the crook of his arm.

“At first…it terrified me,” Taehyung whispered. “My world was pitch black, except for in my dreams and these visions – When I slept, it was impossible at first, to discern what was a dream and what was a premonition – even now I struggle with it.”

Silence.

“Were you sleeping that night?”

“Yes,” Taehyung breathed, “I prayed to the Goddesses that what I saw was but a terrible dream.” He paused, pulling the sweater closer and over one shoulder.

“But I’m glad that I had that vision.”

Jeongguk swallowed, nervously brushing his hair behind his ear, fingers catching on his piercings.

“I, unfortunately, haven’t seen much else since…”. Taehyung continued. “I hoped that I’d see something that would help with the investigation – but…unfortunately…”

“What have you seen? Surely your visions aren’t all deadly and terrible,” Jeongguk asked, attempting a joke.

“It’s not,” Taehyung grinned. “I’ve seen glimpses of Jennie’s visit to Ravenna recently… uneventful glimpses – a conversation with Mingyu, the lighting of her flame in the sacred temple of the Maiden, the anointing…”

“You won’t attend?”

“No…it is not within tradition for anyone to attend the holy ceremony,” Taehyung answered. “It is a rite between her, the High Priestess, and the Mother – it’s a rite of renewal.”

Jeongguk doesn’t remember Namjoon mentioning any sort of ceremony during the solstice. In fact, the Lord Chancellor was only able to give him the barebone facts about the faith. Like Namjoon had said – the faith of the Floating Isles…was shrouded in mystery…

“Did you…participate in the rite when you came of age?”

“I did.”

“I only remember the smell of chrysanthemums… I can’t recall much else of the ritual – if I am honest. My 21st birthday was almost six months before the summer solstice …It was an overwhelming time – I was just learning to handle the gift and the loss of my eyesight.” He murmurs, voice getting softer and quieter.

Taehyung cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “But…it was nice to catch a glimpse of Jennie in my visions. She wore a gown that looked like it was made from the stars. She’ll look beautiful.”

Jeongguk could hear the affection in Taehyung’s words.

“I also saw you entering the room – it was a short vision – barely anything, but even then, those are a blessing during these times.”

Taehyung huffs out a breath, shifting slowly, but with much more strength and grace than the last time Jeongguk saw him.

Jeongguk frowned, “Are you in a lot of pain?”

Taehyung lets out another breath, “Better than before. Seokjin-hyung said that the pain should progressively get better – by two weeks, the pain will be minimal – but it could take three months to heal completely.”

“He also tells me it could take two weeks for the symptoms of my concussion to dissipate.”

“You should be resting,” Taehyung said, “Not attending privy council meetings.”

“I could say the same for you,” Jeongguk returned.

“I am resting,” Taehyung said, smiling. Jeongguk scoffed, rolling his eyes at Taehyung’s cheekiness.

Taehyung’s smile grows wider at the sound of Jeongguk’s breathy laughter, and in the dim light, Jeongguk catches a flash of white teeth. He wished he could see those smiles more often.

“There was something else I wanted to discuss with you….” Jeongguk started, emboldened by Taehyung’s smile. “I know not of what aid Naissus can provide to Lugdunum – the Galatian revolt is nigh, perhaps Lugdunum will withstand…still…I want to discuss with you about sending another Fleet to the far borders of Attalia, to where the Empire might most likely strike. We sent a small squadron of airships when you arrived, but… it would not be equipped for war. Sending one of the Royal Fleets… This will discourage the Empire from striking just yet – just enough for me to see to the end of this assassination attempt and set our eyes on being able to deal with foreign concerns.”

Jeongguk watched as Taehyung’s brow raised, as he lifted his head from his arm.

“I have spoken to Hoseok-hyung… there is a matter I wanted to announce at a press conference…. I am aware of the gossip that runs regarding our relationship – and how it was confirmed during the gala.”

Jeongguk bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that the pain would help to calm his wildly beating heart.

“I don’t want to push you into anything that you don’t want, Taehyung,” Jeongguk continued in a rush, “But would you be willing to allow me to make an announcement at the press conference, to officiate our courtship?”

“Do you want this?” Taehyung asked.

“I do,” Jeongguk said. “I’ll have spoken to my Privy Council this morning about it – Some have not approved, but most are in favour. This is something that will benefit both our countries. Should the courtship be made official, the Empire will know that Attalia is protected by Naissus.”

Jeongguk tentatively reached for Taehyung’s hand, resting his fingers gently on top of the prince’s, waiting for permission to continue. Taehyung reacted quickly, wrist twisting and fingers curling around Jeongguk’s.

“Then yes, Jeongguk, you have my permission.”

“Attalia is now an ally and friend,” Jeongguk murmured, rubbing his thumb over the sharp bumps of Taehyung’s knuckles. “And Naissus will protect our friends.”

Jeongguk pulled on the lapel of his pinstriped suit, nervously pushing hair behind his ear before nodding to the guard to announce him.

“His Majesty the King, sir.”

Taehyung was sitting on the couch in the drawing-room of the chambers, dressed in an off-white wool sweater and a pair of loose dark-coloured trousers.

Jeongguk paused, admiring just how good Taehyung looks dressed in lighter colours.

“Jeongguk, are we late? Taehyung asked, smoothing down the collar of the sweater. “ Jimin is just finishing getting dressed.”

“No, I’m early,” Jeongguk replied. “I wanted to ask if I could walk down with you.”

A small smile forms on Taehyung’s lips. “I’d like that.”

“Can you choose a brooch for me?” Taehyung asked, pointing at the coffee table between them, turning his hand and waiting with his palm open. “They’re in the bottom-most compartment.”

Jeongguk turned, finding the familiar dark velvet box – he had seen it before, closed this time. He opened the drawer on the bottom of the box. Inside were a couple of intricate brooches in the shape of chrysanthemum flowers, all inlaid with precious gems, all with varying levels of ornateness. His eyes immediately are drawn to an elegant pin with ivory petals and a pearl centre.

Deciding on that one, he placed it gently into Taehyung’s open hand.

The First Prince’s fingers close around the jewelled accessory, feeling the edges. His lips curled into a grin as he breathed a soft laugh.

“I like your choice,” he said. He nimbly weaved the pin of the ornament into the fabric of the sweater, just over his heart, adjusting it with precision.

The adjacent doors to the sitting room creaked open and Jimin stepped out, wearing a crisp black dress shirt, and black pants, a silver sunflower brooch pinned to the left pocket. Unlike Taehyung who seems to favour lighter colours, Jimin favoured black – like a shadow.

He nodded in greeting to Jeongguk, unsurprised by his presence. Jeongguk assumed that the Crownsguard heard the guard announcing his arrival.

“Jimin,” Taehyung called, “Jeongguk and I will go down together.”

“I heard,” Jimin replied, “if that’s the case, I will go down first.”

“Has the Ambassador arrived?” Taehyung asked.

“Not yet,” Jeongguk replied, “it will take another ten minutes to drive in from the city.”

“Good…” Jimin murmured. He places a hand in his pant pockets, casually strolling out the door, “I’ll see you both later.”

Jeongguk watched as the Crownsguard retreats, silently closing the door to the apartments behind him. He turned, catching Taehyung affixing a pearl to his ear.

“It’s good that we got the chance to speak before the dinner,” Taehyung said. “Have you met the Ambassador?”

“Once before,” Jeongguk answered, “It was under my reign that Naissus began accepting envoys… I believe the ambassador was present during my last birthday celebrations…I did not have the chance to speak to him for long, he came alone then… he is bringing his fiancé tonight.”

“Yes, Song Ga-eun, who is not a member of the peerage,” Taehyung mused.

Jeongguk hummed, brows furrowing in confusion by Taehyung’s distinctive comment of rank.

“Arranged marriages are not as common anymore… but it is certainly a method to make allies and gain power. For someone in the Viscount’s position, marrying for love is rare,” Taehyung started. Jeongguk exhaled a low note in understanding, realizing that Shim Changmin had chosen love over prestige.

“House Chrysantheme has always been the undisputed sovereign house of Attalia. But our history is wrought with power-hungry nobles competing for the king’s favour, trying to marry into the royal family. Everything for wealth, power, and glory.” Taehyung paused, crossing his legs and leaning back into the settee with a gentle smile. “But Shim Changmin is different. He does not care for wealth and power, but simply for what he believes is right – he is a man who will speak his mind. He does not believe in arranged marriages – and he has been very vocal about his perspectives.”

“My father knows of my intentions here in Naissus. He understands that it is a possibility that my visit may result in an alliance – that I am willing to do so to save my country. But my mother does not want me to end up in a loveless marriage. That is why she has asked Shim Changmin-ssi to come. I understand that you will tell him about sending a fleet to Attalia and your official announcement of our courtship. However, this information is something that I can tell my father – this is not why Shim Changmin-ssi is here. He’s here to know – ”

“If I love you?” Jeongguk asked, suddenly – his voice sounding unnaturally loud in comparison to Taehyung’s soft voice in the room.

Silence.

“Yes.”

Taehyung stood, taking slow but steady steps towards Jeongguk, arms raising from his side and fingers reaching. Jeongguk found his arms moving, mirroring Taehyung until his fingertips touched the cuff of Taehyung’s sleeve and the First Prince’s fingers curled gently around Jeongguk’s wrist.

He stood so close – and though Jeongguk’s heart is racing – the scent of lavender and chamomile forces his senses to calm.

“I remember… you said some things the day I woke up,” Taehyung murmured.

“I said an awful lot of things,” Jeongguk muttered, “Things that I regret – things that are not true.”

A smile pulled on Taehyung’s lips “You told me of your affections for me – that day. Was that a lie?”

“No –,” Jeongguk answered quickly. “No, that – that was the truth.”

“Good,” Taehyung whispered, releasing Jeongguk’s wrist, fingers now running along his arm, over his shoulder, across his neck and then tracing over his jaw. “Because I will not deny my affections for you.”

Taehyung’s breath lands in warm puffs on Jeongguk’s skin.

“Good,” Jeongguk repeated, dazedly.

They were so close – if either of them turned their heads or moved closer, their lips would touch – and Jeongguk yearned to move just a little closer – to close the gap –

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door.

Jeongguk recoiled, spinning around in a huff.

Taehyung took a step back, clearing his throat before speaking. “Come in.”

A footman politely opened the door, bowing to them both. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, the Ambassador has just arrived and is ready for you downstairs.”

“We’ll be right down,” Jeongguk answered. The footman nodded, closing the door silently behind him.

Taehyung huffed a chuckle, “Shall we?”

The summer rain provided a bleak background to the otherwise peaceful dinner with the Ambassador. Namjoon was worried that the heavy thunderstorm would continue onto the day of the meeting with the new commander of the Third Fleet. But the morning sun was bright and warm and the drive to the airship hangar was quiet.

After uncovering the name of the man who impersonated Bak Chung-ho, Hoseok took all the necessary precautions and limited the number of staff in the palace to the bare necessities. He cleared the need for a guard to be present by Jeongguk’s side while he’s in the walls of Sol Palace but has not lifted the extra security measures when he’s out.

Hoseok sent a team earlier to scout the secondary highway and once deemed safe, the Commander General insisted that Jeongguk take that route to the airship hangar, along with Yoongi. Namjoon and Seokjin took the main highway, along with Taehyung and Jimin in another vehicle.

The road was long and winding as it went around the Crown City rather than through it. Yoongi fell asleep as soon as the palace was out of sight, but Jeongguk had a heaviness that settled in his chest. He was concerned about Namjoon and Seokjin and Taehyung and Jimin, even.

He pulled on the necktie, the stiff collar digging into his throat. The young king wore a simple, and sleek black double-buttoned suit to the event, his dress shirt a crisp white. Much of his clothes were damaged in the explosion, and it was upon Yoongi’s insistence that Jeongguk take his own valet for the time being. Until Hoseok managed to figure everything out.

Yoongi’s valet, a gentleman in his 30s, was kind, immediately took it upon himself to order Jeongguk some new pieces of formal wear.

He pushed the sunglasses that Seokjin recommended he wear, higher up his nose bridge. It had been almost a week…still his eyes were sensitive to light – and the headaches were bound to come if he did not heed Seokjin’s advice.

“We are just arriving, Your Majesty, My Lord.”

Yoongi startled awake, sitting up and taking a deep breath. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and reached into his blazer pocket to pull out his phone.

“Everyone has arrived,” Yoongi announced, flipping through the text messages.

The drive to the middle of the hangar was long, as the runway had to accommodate for one of Naissus’ greatest airships. Already, there were a dozen individuals dressed in the colours of the Naissian military. One of them standing out.

The military general turns as Jeongguk’s car approaches, one hand sweeping the formal cloak over his left shoulder.

Hoseok. The multitude of medals and ribbons on the jacket of his military uniform swayed with his movements. A peaked cap with golden embroidery formed an elaborate bow and arrow denoting his house and rank sits on his head, the brim covering his sharp eyes.

It has been a while since Jeongguk last saw his cousin in full military regalia.

Not too far away, stood Namjoon and Seokjin, also dressed in dark colours. Another car was already parked and Jeongguk quickly recognized the silver-haired Crownsguard standing beside the open door, patiently waiting as Taehyung pulled himself out of the vehicle.

The prince always carried himself in a way that ensured no one could ever forget that he is royalty, but today, Taehyung makes it apparent. Jeongguk felt his heart leap when Taehyung stepped out of the vehicle.

He was a vision, dressed in a brilliant white suit with a long sash tied around his middle. On the lapel of his blazer, was a shining and intricate brooch of a golden chrysanthemum, inlaid with diamonds. It was not a piece that Jeongguk has ever seen Taehyung wear – not a piece that was in the collection of jewels in his velvet box.

Yoongi whistled.

“This is the first that I’ve seen Taehyung take the traditions of Attalia seriously.”

“What do you mean?”

“That brooch that Taehyung is wearing…it’s called the Dream of Winter,” Yoongi said, words rolling into the melodic tones of Attalian as he spoke. “It is one of the royal heirloom jewels of House Chrysantheme. I remember seeing it in the gallery of the Palace of Marsylle when I was younger. No one, outside of the Royal Family, can wear chrysanthemum flowers fresh or jewelled – it is the symbol of divinity, after all. That piece is passed down and worn by the first-born child of the sovereign – who is traditionally the heir apparent. Despite his abdication of the title of Crown Prince, the fact that Taehyung still wears the piece denotes his position and status and shows that he demands the level of respect of his title as First Prince…. Blood of the Oracle.”

Jeongguk nodded, Taehyung does look like a king.

“Do you have any heirloom jewels?”

“No, I wouldn’t inherit any, my elder brother would. Besides… I preferred wearing fresh peony flowers over jewels,” Yoongi said. His fingertips touch the pin on the collar of his shirt.

Jeongguk glanced at his older brother. The man wore all black – which is to be expected, except for the silvery glint of a jewelled pin on the left side of his shirt collar. It was a piece given to Yoongi when the Queen Mother formally adopted him into House Eridanus. It was thin and delicate with twisting lines connecting each inlaid diamond into the shape of the constellation of his house. Yoongi rarely, if ever, wears it.

“But that no longer matters, does it?”

“No…” Jeongguk murmured. He turned his head, looking over to see that both Namjoon and Seokjin were not wearing jewels or brooches on their simple suits but knew that they were both wearing matching watches with the symbol of their houses on the face.

For a split second, he felt out of place – not wearing a symbol to denote his house. But does he truly need it – when he himself is House Cepheus? He is the Crown?

The car pulled up several feet away from Taehyung’s vehicle. Jimin’s head turned to face Jeongguk’s car. The Crownsguard’s eyes were obscured by a pair of aviator sunglasses. Jimin wore dark clothes again, with a large silvery sunflower brooch on his lapel with a shield hanging over his heart. Inside, was a flower in the shape of a chrysanthemum.

“What about Jimin’s pin?” Jeongguk asked.

Yoongi glanced up from his phone, eyes sharp and lips turning into a frown at the mention of Jimin’s name.

“What about it?” he asked almost wearily.

“Doesn’t it have a chrysanthemum on it?”

Yoongi leaned over Jeongguk’s thighs, trying to get a closer look at the pin on Jimin’s lapel. Jeongguk got a whiff of his older brother’s cologne, a woody scent mingling with bright orange.

“It marks him as part of House Turnesol, the ancient Crownsguards of the Royal House,” Yoongi said. “Jimin wears merely the symbol of the chrysanthemum. Sapphire is the colour of the First Prince of the Divine House Chrysantheme – Duke of MûrierSauvage. It shows that he is bound to Taehyung for life. That he is Taehyung’s sword and shield.”

“You say it so sadly.”

Yoongi pulled himself off of Jeongguk, keeping his eyes down.

“Hyung, what is going on between you and Jimin?” Jeongguk asked. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. Jimin has started calling you ‘hyung’.”

Yoongi turned his head to meet Jeongguk’s eyes for a moment, before sighing.

“Hoseok-hyung also told me that you were speaking to Jimin the night of the gala. Is everything alright?”

“I don’t know, Jeongguk,” Yoongi finally whispered. “I don’t know what’s happening – but Jimin knows the truth about my past.”

“…Hyung – your life could be in danger.”

“I am more concerned about how it can affect your reign should this information be leaked – but – I don’t think he has even told Taehyung… I trust him.”

Jeongguk waited, knowing that his older brother needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

“He said he loved me,” Yoongi whispered, he scoffed. “I’d be lying if I said that I felt nothing for him. But I don’t know if he still loves me? I just – I don’t know if I’m ready… But I can’t think about that now – You and your reign will always be my priority. Forever and for always.”

Yoongi paused, glaring at the space between them. He turned, quickly undoing the seat belt and pushing the door open.

“We should go, Jeongguk – they’re waiting,” Yoongi said, effectively ending the conversation.

“Right…” Jeongguk muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jeongguk knocked on the window, and the attendant outside opened it.

He stepped out of the car, and immediately the clicking of the cameras caught his attention. He glances over, raising a hand as he nods and greets the press.

“His Majesty the King!”

Jeongguk pulled off the sunglasses, making eye contact with Hoseok. He nodded, as he straightened his jacket and scanned his surroundings.

“Division, attention!” Hoseok yelled as the officers behind him heed his command. “Salute, His Majesty the King!”

Jeongguk scanned the line of armed troops. These are the men and women he’ll be sending to defend Attalia.

They might not come back.

He tried his best to make eye contact with each and every person, before nodding sharply to the soldiers, then turning to Hoseok.

“At ease,” Hoseok continued. He took off his cap and walked to meet Jeongguk.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted loudly, bowing as Jeongguk gave him his hand.

“Commander General.”

Hoseok straightened. Often Hoseok has a gentle, mischievous look in his eyes; now, his eyes are sharp, stern as he straightens his back. Jeongguk glanced over his shoulder. All the military personnel wore the same uniform, with high ranking officers adorned with metals, cloaks, and emblems signifying their status. Behind Hoseok, in the distance, stood a shorter, lithe figure – the only one in a cloak and had embellishments on their cap.

“Who did you choose?” Jeongguk asked. Hoseok’s lips pressed into a straight line.

“Jeon Soyeon,” he whispered, leaning in to murmur into Jeongguk’s ear, “of House Vela.”

Jeongguk’s brows furrowed. He was barely familiar with the name and title, having read it in the ledger of knighted officers.

“She’s young, isn’t she?”

“Young,” Hoseok agreed, “And recently risen in rank. Just a year younger than you. But talented and driven. She is fluent in Attalian.”

“I trust your judgement.”

“Namjoon recommended you come to meet her along with Taehyung. It will demonstrate solidarity in this endeavour and provide the necessary images to circulate through the press.”

“Alright,” Jeongguk replied.

“I will provide Taehyung and Jimin a short briefing before meeting the Major-General.”

Jeongguk nodded as he turned and began walking towards Taehyung with Yoongi on his right and Hoseok on his left. He saw Jimin turn his head, eyes downcast as he spoke into Taehyung’s ear.

Taehyung nodded, fingers reaching out for Jimin’s shoulder as they fell into step together.

His gait is strong, slower than usual – but he did not falter. It was as if he was never injured.

They meet halfway, Jimin bowing as he takes a step back behind Taehyung. The prince steadied himself, arm slipping off Jimin’s shoulder. Jeongguk did not see Taehyung up close this morning; the bruises on his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes were already fading as the days passed, but today, all their remnants were covered by a light wash of make-up. His hair was styled to fall gently above his closed lids, his lips appearing pinker and smooth, with a small smile curling on one side. With his back straight and the chrysanthemum flower catching the light of the hiding sun, he looked put together as if he was never injured.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung greeted quietly – knowing that no one could hear him casually address the Sovereign by name.

“Taehyung...Jimin,” Jeongguk returned.

The prince walked up to Jeongguk, bowing slowly with his hand pressed over his heart and lifting his free hand up with his palm open. Jeongguk slid his fingers easily into Taehyung’s waiting palm, watched as Taehyung’s long fingers curled around his own. With a smile, the First Prince pressed his lips onto Jeongguk’s knuckles.

His hot breath fanning against Jeongguk’s skin.

“I hear cameras,” Taehyung said. “Did you invite the press?”

“We did,” Jeongguk replies, “We want the news to travel about our alliance with Attalia and of our courtship. We’re going to make a show of strength.”

From the corner of Jeongguk’s eye, he could see Namjoon turning his attention to where the media had already gathered, cameras flashing as they caught the moment.

Jeongguk held onto Taehyung’s hand as Namjoon and Seokjin joined them.

“Will you come meet the commander of the fleet?”

“Of course,” Taehyung replied, allowing Jeongguk to gently place his hand into the crook of his elbow.

Taehyung pulled closer, shoulder brushing against Jeongguk’s. Jeongguk inhaled, waiting for the familiar scent of lavender and camomile to overtake him.

Hoseok leaned in, preparing to give the seven of them a briefing. “You’ll be meeting –”

“Lady Jeon Soyeon of House Vela,” Taehyung interrupted. “Major-General of the Naissian Air Force who will be leading the 3rd of the Naissian Royal Fleets to Attalia.”

Hoseok paused, eyes widening.

“That – information hasn’t been released,” Hoseok said, tripping over his words in shock. “No-no one should know that yet – I just told Jeongguk.”

“Try not to look surprised,” Jimin cut in, side-eying the cameras.

“Your blessing,” Seokjin said.

“You… had a vision?” Namjoon asked.

“During the drive here,” Taehyung said. “I thought you may be needing proof. I saw our conversation before meeting the Major-General. You informed me that the fleet will be stationed on the far borders of Attalia, closest to Iaryen. The fleet was instructed to remain in international air to prevent battle from reaching the cities.”

Hoseok hummed quietly, nodding in confirmation, brows furrowing.

“You were right, Attalia is not fortified for war,” Taehyung continued. “You told me that Jeon Soyeon-ssi is young, but she is talented and fluent in Attalian.”

Jeongguk felt a shiver running down his spine.

Hoseok took a step back, side-eying the cameras for a moment before straightening his back.

“Right.”

“Foreign conflict has not touched our borders for centuries, and I am sure my father would agree that we should keep it that way.”

“I guess… I will not be needing to debrief you,” Hoseok murmured.

Taehyung smiled coyly.

“Alright, right this way then.”

Jeongguk gently pulled Taehyung’s arm, watching as he easily fell into step beside him – trusting Jeongguk, just like the first moment.

“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” Hoseok said, “may I introduce Major-General Jeon Soyeon of House Vela.”

A young woman, dressed in a familiar uniform and dark cloak artfully draped over her right shoulder, stepped out from the ranks, removing her cap to reveal vibrant blonde hair, cut to just touching her shoulders, and sharp eyes. She tucked the cap underneath her arm and saluted Jeongguk.

“Your Majesty.” She turned. respectfully facing Taehyung as she bows. “Your Royal Highness.”

“Major-General,” Jeongguk started. “Thank you for your service.”

“Pleased to meet you, Major-General,” Taehyung said. “On behalf of the King of Attalia, I would like to thank you for your service.”

Soyeon bowed again, and smiling as she spoke directly to Taehyung, switching to the lyrical notes of Attalian, speaking confidently and somewhere in the mix, Jeongguk recognizes the name of his country.

Taehyung grinned, lips widening to show teeth.

“The Commander-General does not lie when he says you are fluent in the language, Jeon Soyeon-ssi,” Taehyung replied in the Common Tongue.

“Forgive me for my enthusiasm, sir,” Soyeon said, eyes crinkling as she smiled. “It is not often that I get to practice speaking the language.”

“You speak it beautifully. Have you been to Attalia?”

“Once,” she replied, “two years ago. During the autumn festivals in Ravenna – I was a participant. The Sacred Isles are beautiful – as is the rest of the Attalia.”

“So, you were?” Taehyung mused. “I was not present during the festivities that year. If I may, I’d like to invite you to come to visit the court in Marsylle when this is all over.”

“It would be an honour, sir,” she said, bowing deeply.

“Would you be able to tell me more about the vessels?”

“Certainly,” she said, turning and placing her hands behind her back. “The Third Royal Naissian Fleet is complete with one heavy carrier-class, three destroyer class divisions, three cruiser divisions, and seven fighter divisions. The Fleet has a total of 10,000 enlisted officers and 22,000 crew members.”

Jeongguk hummed, remembering going over these details with Hoseok after the Privy Council meeting.

“The commanding dreadnought is named after the Frostbearer herself.”

“The Frostbearer?” Taehyung asked. “Is that not the epithet of one of the Astrals?”

“Many of our great war vessels are named after the Six Astrals of Duscae,” Jeongguk supplied. “Shiva is a benevolent being. But mighty is her wrath.”

“A befitting name for a warship.”

“Indeed. We will be ready for the Empire, should they choose to come,” Soyeon said confidently.

“Let us hope that they do not,” Taehyung murmured.

Jeongguk shrugged his blazer off his shoulders as soon as he entered the palace, feeling the sweat accumulating down his spine. The days were getting warmer, and the darker colours favoured by House Cepheus only made things worse. He draped the blazer over his arm, running a hand through his hair.

They did not speak much on the ride home; the Right Hand of the King was quiet and astoundingly awake during the drive back – staring out the window and lost in his own thoughts.

Jeongguk did not want to push – Yoongi will come to him when he’s ready.

His older brother had parted with him at the doors, shooting a quick note that he’ll be in the music room, leaving Jeongguk hovering by the Grand Staircase, alone.

Hoseok stayed behind at the airship hangar. Both Seokjin and Namjoon texted Jeongguk to let him know that they arrived safely at the palace almost half an hour ago.

Jeongguk assumed Taehyung also arrived earlier; the main roads were faster than the ones that Jeongguk’s entourage took. So, Jeongguk was surprised to see Taehyung sitting on one of the bottom steps of the Grand Staircase, alone; he was still wearing his formal attire, fiddling with sash on his side.

“Taehyung?” Jeongguk called.

Taehyung’s back straightened at the call of his name, head tilting.

“You’re back, Jeongguk,” Taehyung said, “Good.”

“Where is Jimin?”

“He went back to our rooms,” Taehyung replied. “I think he is calling his siblings… it’s been a while since they spoke.”

Jeongguk walked slowly to the staircase, lowering himself down onto the step below Taehyung – both of them couldn’t fit on a single stair side-by-side.

“What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want to go back to the rooms…” Taehyung said, tilting his head back and resting on the iron baluster. “I was going to go for a walk, but… I didn’t want to go alone.”

“Were you…waiting for me?”

Taehyung hummed, “Do you want to go for a walk in the gardens with me?”

“Of course, always.”

Taehyung smiled, raising a hand. “Help me up,” he demanded.

Jeongguk jumped to his feet, reaching down and grasping Taehyung’s outstretched hand, gently but firmly pulling the prince to his feet. The prince tucked his free hand into the crook of Jeongguk’s elbow and started walking down the stairs, pulling Jeongguk along.

Jeongguk takes the lead when his feet hit the stone balcony, always saying a quick warning at the beginning and end of the staircases. There was a quiet intimacy that they shared and he enjoyed it – even from the very beginning – Taehyung was never shy about showing physical affection.

The smell of lavender soothed him, and he found the sound of Taehyung’s breath and the constant scent of lavender that surrounds him, hypnotic – addicting. Their walk began down the pathway near the pond, it felt like a lifetime ago the last time they went down this path.

Jeongguk clung to the moment of peace, clawing desperately after the strange calm that settled in his heart, stopping the swirling of thoughts in his head for just a moment. He focused on the scent of chamomile and lavender, the sound of Taehyung’s breath – calm, soothing as the sound of the gravel cracking underneath their shoes.

Jeongguk couldn’t help but glance at the prince through the corner of his eyes, the bright afternoon rays casting soft shadows underneath his eyelashes and bathing his hair in a golden light.

“The cicadas are coming out,” Taehyung commented, breathing in through his nose as he huffed a content sigh. “Summer is so close.”

“Hmm, it is getting warmer,” Jeongguk murmured, gladly filling the air with simple words.

“Should we have another garden picnic?” Taehyung asked. “Perhaps we should ask your King’s Circle to join us.”

“I’m sure they’d love to,” Jeongguk said – trying hard to mean it – to look forward to it. But it is difficult.

He stopped and Taehyung quickly halted beside him.

“Are you alright?” Taehyung asked.

Again, the dark rolling clouds of doubt and disquiet cover him – like the morning fog of spring.

“Jeongguk, speak to me.”

“How are you doing this?” Jeongguk asked, breathlessly.

“What do you mean?”

“Taking all of this in – handling it.”

“You seem to be handling it well.”

“I am not.” Jeongguk chuckled, humourlessly.

Taehyung dropped his grip on Jeongguk's arm, letting the king take several steps back and begin pacing.

“Someone wanted me dead, my valet is dead, and upon the counsel of my advisors – his sister will not know that he was murdered while in the service of the Crown.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Gods exist and you are blessed with a divine gift….… and to top it all off, there is the possibility of Naissus going to war….against the Empire. Am I… I prepared to face the consequences?” Jeongguk’s pacing grounded to a halt as he spun on his heels.

“Please – do not think I regret my decision to send a fleet to Attalia,” he continued again, realizing that he was rambling and perhaps speaking too quickly – but he needed to tell Taehyung. “I do not. I gladly chose to do it, to protect Attalia and to protect you. But it weighs heavily on my mind to know that my actions could result in the deaths of hundreds and thousands of my countrymen and I wonder – constantly – if I am making the right choice as King. It’s too much. It’s all too much – and – and how do you do it? How do you live with the choices you have to make?”

Taehyung doesn’t speak. Jeongguk’s breaths sound louder than the heavy thumps of his heart.

“Can we find a place to sit?” Taehyung finally said, reaching out to search for Jeongguk again.

Jeongguk snapped out of his thoughts – taking a shuddering breath as he shook his head and leaned into Taehyung’s touch, letting the prince wind his hand around Jeongguk’s.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He led them to a stone bench by the pond. Taehyung sat down quickly and Jeongguk lowered himself slowly beside the man. The Prince crossed his legs, leaning back and letting the sun bathe his skin in its warmth.

“During the first months of living with this gift.…I had a vision…of one of the nobles in my father’s court,” Taehyung began, softly. “I didn’t know her well, only that she was a generous patron of the arts, and had a young son. But, in my vision, I saw her dying in a car crash. I didn’t know when or how. When I told my father and pleaded with him to warn her, he forbade it, for what would it suggest if he told her of the First Prince’s premonition of her death?”

Taehyung laced his fingers together, resting his folded hands atop his knee.

“She died….a year and a half later when her car slipped on black ice in the winter. I was furious at first – for what was the point of having this gift – this power – if I were not to use it? But then I realized… the Mother gave me her blessing to save Attalia and protect the Crown. It has been three years since I took the gift… and constantly, I have to fight the battle between doing what is right by my heart and what is right to protect the secrets of my House and my father’s crown. It is ironic that fate has decided that I should continue this battle, despite relinquishing the throne. My father…he has always told me that to be King, to be the Sovereign… is to constantly wage war between your burning heart and the unfeeling Crown.”

“Does it get any easier?”

Taehyung shifted closer, hand tracing along Jeongguk’s arm, the back of his knuckles brushing Jeongguk’s jaw before his fingers rested on Jeongguk’s cheekbones.

“It does not. You know it does not.”

Jeongguk stared, focusing on the shadows underneath Taehyung’s eyelashes, leaning into Taehyung’s hand and breathing in the scent of lavender.

“I’m afraid,” Jeongguk mumbled, “of losing my heart to the Crown.”

Taehyung’s lips curl into a soft grin.

“Your struggle only proves that you are not. You will live through these decisions. You are a just and good king.”

Taehyung’s thumb grazed the corner of Jeongguk’s lips.

“Fear not, Jeongguk, for I can see that your heart burns brightly,” Taehyung whispered.

Jeongguk closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth of Taehyung’s hand against his skin, the scent of lavender, the sound of Taehyung’s breath so close – and believed in Taehyung’s words.

“It burns for you,” Jeongguk whispered.

Taehyung inhaled shortly.

Jeongguk leaned forward, hesitating, waiting for Taehyung’s reaction – waiting for permission.

He opened his eyes and saw the curves of Taehyung’s lips.

Parted, breathless.

Waiting.

He felt a pull.

Taehyung’s fingers urged him closer, and Jeongguk could feel the longing, craving, aching to close the gap just as much as Jeongguk felt.

He heeded it.

Jeongguk had little experience with romance, but he’s read about it – seen it in movies and dramas.

A kiss – his heart should stop – the world should stop – and he should think of nothing, but the feeling of Taehyung’s lips on his.

And yet, Jeongguk could feel his chest grow warmer as if his heart was on fire, but at the same time, a flood of peace overcame him, like Taehyung’s lips contained the very essence of the purple blossoms.

Too soon did they part and Jeongguk leaned closer, chasing after Taehyung’s touch. Their foreheads met, noses brushing – Taehyung’s fingers and thumb still pressed against Jeongguk’s cheek, and though the kiss was not long, Taehyung sounded like he was out of breath.

“So?” Taehyung whispered. “Do I taste like lavender?”

Jeongguk grinned at Taehyung’s tease.

Taehyung’s lips do not taste like lavender. But, they’re soft, warm, and tasted like the artificial honey of a balm.

“I think…I may…need another taste.”

Taehyung grinned – wide – with all teeth before pulling Jeongguk close and taking his lips again.

Chapter 12: interlude: sillage

Chapter Text

i n t e r l u d e: s i l l a g e

The halls of the Palace of Marsylle were dark, save for the pale glow of the paper lantern in Jimin’s hand. Most – if not all – of the lights in the palace were turned off to eliminate light pollution that would ruin the beauty of the Winter Solstice.

Jimin has been looking forward to the Winter Solstice for weeks – it means he’ll get to see Yoongi again.

He hasn’t seen the older boy since the Feast of the Mourning Star and that was nearly three weeks ago. He hasn’t heard from Yoongi either – but he knew that was his fault. Jimin had joined the royal family in the small mountainous village of Lunefleur right after the feast, and it was nigh impossible to get reception anywhere there. They had just returned home yesterday morning for the Winter Solstice festivities.

Yoongi had seemed down during the feast… quiet – more solemn than before and distracted. Jimin couldn’t figure out the reason why. But he was resolved to try to make the older man feel better this time around – if he was still feeling sad.

Jimin picks up his pace through the halls, knowing that if he ran too quickly, the paper lantern might catch on fire. He clutches a small box tightly in his other hand, a box that he painstakingly wrapped together earlier that week.

He knew where Yoongi would be, the Grise Library had become their refuge during these parties, but tonight, with the Winter Solstice, he brought something else. He made a gift, a pretty, grey handkerchief embroidered with pale pink peony flowers. He had spent some time with his mother, who had great talent in the art and practiced it over the weeks of summer bleeding into autumn before beginning to make the one he’ll give to Yoongi. Instead of putting his initials in the small corner to remind Yoongi of himself, Jimin needled in a tiny sunflower.

He is excited to give it to Yoongi – Jimin was nearly running, heart pounding in his chest as he navigates the familiar halls of his home to Grise Library, eager to see the older boy soon. Jimin thought he’d hear the soft melodies of the piano, but the halls towards the library were oddly quiet.

He barged through the door. “Happy Winter Solstice, Hyung!”

Nothing.

No raspy chuckle.

No familiar sound of wood grating against wood.

No melody of the piano.

No lingering scent of orange blossoms.

Strange.

Jimin makes his round through the room, looking to no avail before heading back to the party.

It was cold outside, even with the fur coat and a thick wool scarf wrapped around his throat. He could see his own breath in dark night – a thick fog of grey smoke erupting from his parted lips.

The festivals were held in the garden grounds of the Palace of Marsylle, where snow was lightly falling, illuminated by the multiple bonfires scattered across the large open area, and the paper lanterns that softly glowed, covering the area in gold.

It was barely late afternoon, perhaps nearing evening, but already, the sky was dark.

He could see Taehyung was with his siblings – and Jimin’s siblings too – listening to an entertainer weave tales of magic with cups of hot chocolate in hand. Jimin wanders further; he already spends so much time with his siblings and Taehyung. These events are his only time to spend with Yoongi.

He meanders through the group of nobles. He remembered seeing Yoongi’s father and mother and older brother at these events before. Maybe Yoongi is going to be with them.

“Did you hear about the tragedy?”

“What?”

“The second son of the Baron of LaNoix.”

“Ah, yes, tragic indeed, strange to see the family still attending the Festival.”

“It has only been two weeks, but you have to move on in life, don’t you? The Winter Solstice is in honour of the Crone after all.”

“The boy was so young – just sixteen.”

“By the grace of the Crone, so young?”

Jimin stops.

Baron of LaNoix.

That – that was Yoongi’s father’s title.

“And once again, misfortune strikes House Pivoine. Did you hear that the Baron’s coffers have been emptied again because of a poor investment?”

“No, I did not…. But that cannot compare to the death of a son.”

Jimin paused – breathing heavily.

What.

He could see Yoongi’s family now.

His father and brother were there – dressed in dark colours – white bands tied around their left arms embroidered with peony flowers. Grim looks on their faces.

“Jimin?” He heard his name being called, he looked up to see his mother and father approaching him.

“Jimin, are you alright? Are you cold?” his mother asks. “I thought you told me you were going to the library.”

“Why aren’t you with the others by the fire?” his father says.

“Abeoji,” Jimin whispers. “Is it true?”

He could see the concern on his parents' faces, wondering could possibly have distressed their eldest child.

“Come, sit with us, Jimin-ah,” his mother said, taking her son’s hand and leading him to a private corner behind the hedges of the formal garden. Jimin’s mother knelt down in front of him, her dress pooling at Jimin’s feet, disregarding that his boots were smearing snow onto the fabric.

His father sat beside him – Jimin felt young – he is young – but he felt like a toddler now with both his parents beside him. It’s been a while since he received the full attention of his parents – never did he doubt their love – but as the eldest, he had the duty to make his family proud. To uphold the long-standing tradition of the Crownsguards.

“Is what true?” his father asks quietly.

“What happened to Yoongi-hyung?”

“Yoongi-hyung?” his mother questions.

“M-Min Yoongi,” Jimin says, barely able to choke out Yoongi’s full title. “The Second Son of – of House Pivoine.”

“I didn’t know you were close with him.”

“Min Yoongi was the boy you were seeing in the library, wasn’t it?” his mother asks quietly. Her grip on his hands tightened.

It was then that Jimin realized that he was cold.

“Is that…is that why you were embroidering peonies on the handkerchief?”

“There was an accident two weeks ago…” his father starts gently. “When he was on his way to Avinhon… the automatic car lost control in the bad weather, it went over the cliffs. I was told… that they can’t find any remains.”

Jimin hears a strange sound – like choking – like sobbing.

He felt his lungs give up and his throat close up and – and – and his heart constricted so much it hurt, and it burned and burned and burned.

It was only when he felt the stinging in his eyes give way to hot streaks down his face that he realized that those sounds were coming from him and that he was crying.

“The funeral is next week, after the festivals of the Winter Solstice…would you want to attend?”

He couldn’t answer, curling into his father’s chest and dropping the box he carried so tenderly.

It was unspoken, his mother and father knew it – knew that their eldest child loved and loved with all his heart and that he truly must have loved Min Yoongi.

Jimin wishes he said it more often.

He felt an arm pull him close, hands on his cheeks wiping the tears away and his father’s soft words.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin… I’m so sorry.”

He wished he told Yoongi that he loved him.

“Come, we can talk in the drawing room,” Yoongi murmured quietly.

Jimin followed behind him, pushing his hands into his pockets to stop himself from wringing his fingers.

His footfalls are loud on the marble floors, offbeat in comparison to Yoongi’s long, relaxed strides. Jimin felt his heart pounding loudly…. he wasn’t expecting Yoongi’s appearance in Taehyung’s rooms earlier. Jimin barely was in the right mind to convince Taehyung to take a break, sleep, and take the painkillers.

He barely got through talking to Jeongguk with a straight head. How could he when finally – finally – his heart caught up to his head and he finally came to terms with what was happening.

Yoongi was alive.

Jimin watched as Yoongi shoved the door open, with his shoulder leaning against it as he waited for Jimin to enter.

Jimin slipped through, lingering just beyond the threshold as Yoongi let the door go. The older man sauntered to the sofas, turning on his heels and reclining against the arm of the seat. He crossed his legs, folding his arms over each other with his eyes downcast.

“So,” he rasped, speaking Attalian now. “What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

“We never had a chance to finish our conversations,” Jimin said, meandering over to the sofa opposite to Yoongi. He sat down, crossing his legs as he leaned back. “It seems like there is always some mad affair interrupting us.”

Yoongi scoffed. “It would seem so.”

Yoongi looked down, brows furrowing like he was trying to recall something.

“There wasn't much else I wanted to say. You know the truth, I can only hope you will keep it to yourself,” he said. Yoongi scratched at the back of his neck, eyes downcast as he spoke. “And, I hope to earn your forgiveness for hurting you as well.”

Jimin lowered his head, closing his eyes as he took a breath.

He thought he’d be angry still, when his hurt had enough time to fester into an ugly, blistering rage. But he felt nothing – nothing, but the overwhelming desire to forgive Yoongi.

“It was never my intention to hurt you,” Yoongi murmured, “I just – I couldn’t fathom why you would even care – ”

“Of course, I cared,” Jimin snapped. He raised his chin, eyes meeting Yoongi’s shocked gaze.

“Of course, I care, Hyung” he repeated quietly.

Yoongi broke away, suddenly finding the tassels on the floor rug very interesting.

Jimin smiled softly. Jimin always thought that Taehyung forgave too easily – but Jimin was no better.

“I forgive you, Yoongi-hyung.”

Yoongi glances up, catching Jimin’s gaze for just a second before his eyes returned to the floor.

“Thank you, Jimin,” Yoongi murmured, words barely audible. There was something in Yoongi’s eyes that Jimin couldn’t quite deceive. Disbelief? Hurt?

Silence.

Yoongi stood, taking a hesitant step towards the door, turning to look over his shoulder. He lifted his eyes slowly.

“Thank you, Jimin,” Yoongi repeated. “I should go.”

“Of course, Hyung.”

Yoongi closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Jimin alone in the drawing room

The scent of orange blossoms lingered where Yoongi had been, as it always had. It’s a scent that Jimin will never forget – clementine and orange blossoms – mingling with an unfamiliar warmth of wood – Yoongi’s preferred cologne hasn’t changed.

Jimin walked slowly back to the rooms he shared with Taehyung, wondering about what happens now – about what will happen in the future. He wondered if Yoongi put much thought into it. Jimin knew he didn’t.

Jimin quietly slipped through the door of the apartments, expecting Taehyung to be asleep. But then he heard Taehyung’s soft voice calling his name.

He enters the prince’s bedroom, brushing away the canopy-like drapes around Taehyung’s bed.

“Are you alright, Taehyung?” Jimin asked, “Are you feeling nauseous?”

“No, I’m not nauseous,” Taehyung said, words slurring together, as if he was trying to fight off the drowsiness of the medications. “How did it go?”

“As well as it could, I suppose,” Jimin replied, “Do you want me to report to you what happened now or later?”

“Later,” Taehyung murmured, slowly shifting onto his side. “Jimin… you know that I’d never push you, right? And you know you can trust me.”

Silence. Jimin dropped his hands from the drapes as a quiet stillness befell the room. He knew he could trust Taehyung.

He will tell the prince, he will when he has time to process his own feelings.

But, by the time he was able to come to terms with his thoughts, Taehyung’s breathing had evened out and he had finally fallen asleep.

Jimin pulled the covers higher.

“I know. I’ll tell you everything soon, Tae,” he murmured.

Namjoon and Seokjin saw the Ambassador and his fiancé out after dinner and a couple games of cards. Taehyung decided to retire early, something that Jimin was grateful for, seeing how hard Taehyung pushed himself to be sociable.

Jeongguk left too, walking Taehyung back to their apartments after bidding his guests farewell, leaving Jimin alone with Hoseok and Yoongi who had stayed behind in the drawing room.

Hoseok stood by the arched ceiling-height windows, pulling back the thick, dark drapes.

“This storm is going to last all night, perhaps into tomorrow,” Hoseok commented, watching as rain pelted the glass. “Joon’s worried that it will impact how much press we get at the hangar.”

“There is no point worrying about it now,” Yoongi replied. “Besides, we should celebrate our most recent victory – the Ambassador will probably speak well for the terms of the alliance.”

Hoseok hummed, turning around to watch as the older man stood and grabbed the decanter of whiskey from the side table.

“A drink?” Yoongi asked, turning to eye Jimin, gesturing to the cups.

Jimin nodded, standing up to pull a glass from the table as Yoongi opened a case of whiskey rocks, using the tongs to transfer several of the stones into each cup.

“Pour me some too, hyung,” Hoseok said joining them by the table, leaning against the wall.

Yoongi paused, glancing up and raising an eyebrow.

“What, you’re going to drink?” he said teasingly with a smile so big, it showed off the pink of his gums. “The last time you had more than a glass of wine at dinner, Seokjin-hyung had a field day taking pictures of how red your face got.”

Hoseok glowered, though the look was not as intimidating as Jimin knew the Commander General could be.

“It’s been one hell of a week,” Hoseok complained.

“You sure you want whiskey?” Yoongi asked again, “We can call for some beer or something lighter?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Just pour me some, hyung.”

Yoongi inhaled through his teeth, tilting his head.

“Okay,” he said, skeptically, pouring the Commander General a generous amount. Jimin clenched his teeth, trying to pull a smile together as he felt the twang of jealousy in his heart at the gentle and sweet familiarity between the two.

Yoongi turned to Jimin, holding the decanter and pouring Jimin a greater measure of the liquor than he poured himself.

Hoseok lifted his glass. Yoongi grunted a reply, still staring skeptically at Hoseok.

The three raised their glasses, Jimin and Yoongi taking cool sips of the liquor. The alcohol was sweet, honey-like and carved a warm path down Jimin’s throat. It was a high-quality whiskey, Jimin could tell that much.

They both turned to see Hoseok sniffing his whiskey before taking a tentative sip, and immediately putting the tumbler down, his face contorting into pain and disgust as he struggled to swallow.

Yoongi started laughing, a breathy, throaty chuckle. “I warned you.”

“Ugh,” Hoseok grunted, pushing the tumbler towards Yoongi. “Is this why you never invite me to drink with you anymore? Because of your sh*t taste in alcohol?”

“It’s because that’s your reaction,” Yoongi said, rolling his eyes. “And it’s not sh*tty, you just don’t have a refined palate.”

“I rather drink cheap-ass beers with Joon.”

“Those were the days,” Yoongi muttered, lifting the glass to his lips again.

“It sounds like everyone was close to each other before they became members of the King’s inner circle,” Jimin commented, turning and settling against the wall by the large windows.

“We are,” Hoseok replied as he leaned against the table, picking through the pretty paper box of chocolate confections that were left to pair with the whiskey.

“Yoongi-hyung, Jeongguk, and I pretty much grew up together,” the Commander General continued, carefully picking out a piece of candy. “Then Seokjin-hyung and Joon entered the picture sometime after Jeongguk’s 17th birthday.”

“Are they…?”

“Together?” Yoongi supplied. “Yes, practically married at this point.”

“Why don’t they?”

“I think time is the real constraint, with how busy Namjoon always is…” Yoongi continued “And Seokjin-hyung often represents the Crown when Ji-eun isn’t available.”

“I don’t think it bothers them…” Hoseok said, words garbled around a mouthful of chocolate. “I think they’re so disgustingly in love that barely anyone questions it anymore.”

“It must be a blessing to have a man like Namjoon-ssi as Lord Chancellor,” Jimin murmured. “I heard that it was he who orchestrated Jeongguk’s rise to power.”

Hoseok’s brows raised. “I always knew that Taehyung was the one with the silver-tongue, I didn’t know that you too were gifted, Jimin-ssi.”

“I’ve spent enough time with Taehyung to learn a few tricks,” Jimin said with a demure grin. “I don’t have any ill intentions, Hoseok-ssi, I simply would like to know more about those who surround the King and therefore, my Prince.”

“I suppose you do have the right to know,” Yoongi said, sitting down on one of the sofas across the fireplace, taking his glass and Hoseok’s with him. Now, Jimin realized that Yoongi predicted that he’ll have to finish Hoseok’s poured amount. Jimin gritted his teeth, feeling the burning alcohol fuel his annoyance. He doesn’t even know why he was annoyed, until the image of Yoongi’s easy, gummy smile flashed behind his eyes.

“House Auriga has a certain reputation in Naissus.” Yoongi started, “They are a powerful and ancient house that historically were strong supporters of House Cepheus’ rise to power almost a thousand years ago. As such, members of the House are often given a position in the King’s Privy Council. However, as time passed, the House’s perception of the Monarchy grew jaded – and more often than not, they were apathetic in politics.”

“Joon ascended to the title of Duke of Pietas and the estate after the passing of his grandfather during the Naissian Plague,” Hoseok continued. “His father was his representative in the Privy Council until Joon finished his university education.”