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Chapter Text

Jeongguk was never meant to be a gift.

He was brought up with dignity, education, and status. His family expected him to be another alpha in a long line of male alphas, as his brother, father and grandfather were before him. Jeongguk presented as an omega at fifteen, but never mind that. He was set up to continue his education, to be schooled in fields of leadership, hunting, and law as if he were an alpha too. After all, why couldn’t any son of a noble family have power, regardless of his subgender? That is what Jeongguk was meant for. Influence. Respect. Responsibility, and he would have gotten it too.

But omegas, well…when it boils down to the truth of it all, the facts will always remain that everyone, no matter what they promise, will always hate omegas. Because they will always be less. Jeongguk will always be less, in the eyes of those outranking him. The current events unfolding with him as the epicenter are all the proof he needs, after all. His family line intended to send a gift to The King, a display of goodwill in these times of unrest and unruliness. A message from the Jeon line straight to the innermost walls of the castle: Some of your people may seek to deceive and unseat you from the throne, but Jeon’s are loyalists. You have our utmost faith, and we will prove that to you with an offering.

And they didn’t send Jeongguk’s brother, did they? They would never dream of sending their strong, sturdy alpha son. Of course not, it was Jeongguk who was packed up like a spring chicken being shuttled to the slaughterhouse. There were less than forty-eight dreadful hours between the moment Jeongguk’s father took him aside to break the news as lightly as he could, and the moment the butler offered him a hand for the final time and lead him into the carriage that would take him to a nearby dock to cross the wide, churning river that sat between his township and the royal palace. The one and only home to Min Yoongi, His Majesty The King, and the very recipient of this gift.

Of Jeongguk.  

Jeongguk’s single consoling note of relief is that concubines are oftentimes granted comfortable lives within the palace. That is, if The King should accept the offering that is Jeongguk’s flesh, blood and body. If he is to cast Jeongguk away, the future becomes devilishly uncertain. He could generously choose to send Jeongguk back exactly the way he came, or he could rather selfishly acknowledge the fact that as a gift, Jeongguk is his whether he chooses to keep him or not, and send him off to a much lowlier level of living. Castle servitude. Royal entertainment. A sex worker, or even a cast-off re-gift to a lesser ranking member of the court. 

How shameful. Jeongguk thinks, if that were to happen, he’d be more likely to take his own life out of humiliation alone than to learn how to live with his new role.

The carriage gives a particularly strong lurch, evidently hitting some hitch in the road, and Jeongguk’s stomach rolls accordingly. He’s been of an ill disposition ever since the crossing of the river. The water had been tossing and turning, shifting the boat with such violent turmoil that he almost felt as if the river too was taking on his rage and reflecting it back at him. Perhaps they were both feeling scorned on this awful day. Jeongguk presses a gloved hand to his mouth, willing down a sudden gag threatening to creep unpleasantly up his throat. He will not subject himself to further embarrassment by vomiting all over the carriage sent to collect him. He may currently be reduced to a glorified whore, but he’s not yet lost all semblance of pride.

Jeongguk draws his shoulders back, sitting out of his shameless, slumped position of dejection. It’s easy to lose his composure away from the eyes of others, but if he is to become a member of the palace he should rather train himself to be subjected to constant scrutiny, and he will not quiver under that and dishonor his family or his name. It’s a high gift for The King, after all, to be offered noble blood for concubineship. More of an honor, perhaps, than he deserves, but that remains to be seen.

Jeongguk is unfamiliar with The King, apart from the distant way that the public knows him. Ascended to the throne too young, keeps his head down and the doors of his palace tightly sealed. To keep danger out? Or to conceal secrets within? Jeongguk allows himself a conspiratorial outlook on the entire thing for once as he’s about to be thrust into the middle of it all with no safety catch to land on if he should fall. Better to regard everyone with distrust than to be naive and play into the hands of someone who wishes him harm. So no, Jeon Jeongguk does not trust The King. He does not trust his court, he does not trust his home, he does not trust his own father for having shipped him off in the name of cordiality.

And most of all, Jeongguk does not think he should have to be here at all.

• ••

The jacketed guards who lead Jeongguk from his carriage through the high, arched gates and into a holding room do not speak a word to him. No greeting. No questions as to the quality of his arduous journey (it was an unpleasant one, Jeongguk’s stomach is still rolling threats to shoot bile up his throat. Now even more than in the carriage would be an unfortunate time for that to happen) 

They hand him off to a willowy man in a crisp hanbok stood stock-still and proud-chested. Jeongguk notes, he gives the illusion of being taller than he is due to his swanlike form, the stern posture of a well decorated soldier, his face angular and soft at the same time, creating for a strange juxtaposition. He looks like an omega, smells like an alpha, but he’s on the small side for one. He fixes Jeongguk with a regal look.

“Jeon Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk swallows over the mound in his throat. He doesn’t speak, half due to the fact that he isn’t sure if the man is addressing the guards handling him or himself, and half due to the fact that he runs a high risk of being sick all over the floor should he open his mouth at this very moment. 

“He arrived not ten minutes ago,” the guard at Jeongguk’s left bows his head alongside the offering of information. “His presence within The Palace walls has been taken note of, and we have sent word via a letter back to his home that he docked in fine condition.”

Well. Fine condition would not be the way that Jeongguk would describe it, but he supposes it can be argued that he is alive and in one piece. Perhaps that counts as fine enough in the books of the Royal Guard. 

“Thank you, Iseul,” the more regally dressed man murmurs. “I shall be taking him from here, you’re both dismissed until you receive additional notice.”

Like two marionettes guided by the same hand, the guards snap to attention, offering salute to the robed man, and stride off in perfect tandem with one another, leaving Jeongguk to fend for himself. 

“Jung Hoseok,” the man speaks first to break the silence left between them.

“Jeon Jeongguk,” Jeongguk murmurs. He is uncertain whereabouts exactly he ranks here. In his home, surely, he would be bowed to and greeted by guests, even those elder than him. Here, a concubine, he could be held in high esteem, or he could be deemed as someone to be seen and not heard. A feast for the eyes rather than a living human being. Jeongguk is yet to find out what sort of king his Majesty, Min Yoongi is toward those beneath him. 

“I know who you are,” Jung Hoseok replies briskly. He leans back against the thick, wooden door behind him and prompts it open soundlessly, taking a graceful step back to allow Jeongguk in before himself. 

The room is wide, boasting arched ceilings and intricate woodwork etched into the proud pillars and jousts, though despite the grandeur offered by the initial visual of the room, it’s rather lacking in material comfort. A pelted rug in the center of the room, a table and clay teapot off to the side and nothing much apart from that. Jeongguk does hope he isn’t meant to live and sleep in these quarters. There doesn’t even appear to be a bed around. 

“Only a temporary holding,” Hoseok speaks as if he were reading straight into Jeongguk’s mind. He brushes a delicate hand through the air, a vague gesture at their surroundings. “His Majesty, The King knows to expect you, but certain affairs have held up his day. You must be tired from traveling, but I rest on orders to see that you stay here until His Majesty can meet and accept you. Forgive me in advance for the inconvenience.”

Jeongguk finds he almost preens at that, against the better judgment of his humbler self. It seems as though Jung Hoseok is inclined to treat him with perfectly acceptable respect. An apology for any inconvenience is, Jeongguk believes, always a sure way to begin any conversation under these circumstances. Because yes, Jeongguk does rather resent being held here instead of offered a place to lay down, and yes he is fairly sour over the fact that The King will not be able to greet him immediately upon arrival. 

How long will this drawn out game of not knowing if the gift of his presence and body will be accepted or rejected last? Will he home here in the palace or be cast aside to an uncertain future, far from home and without anyone to rely on?

“Jeongguk-ssi?”

Jeongguk looks up, sharp and startled. Jung Hoseok is watching him carefully, almost with caution. 

“I asked you a question.”

Jeongguk lifts his chin. “I’m very sorry, forgive me, I did not hear it. My travels have…exhausted me more than I had predicted they would.”

Hoseok cracks the corner of a smile and tips his head. “Well, that’s an answer for me then, isn’t it? I had only asked how you fared on your journey.”

“Only acceptably,” Jeongguk replies without elaboration. He debates adding a sentiment along the lines of the rocking of the boat doesn’t often suit me , but he doesn’t want to alarm Hoseok - or subsequently The King himself - over his temporarily ill-leaning disposition. Nobody from any village or kingdom desires a sickly omega, Jeongguk well and truly knows that to be a fact. It bodes poorly for fertility.

“Well, I’m confident that you should find it much more comfortable here than you ever did upon the water. That is, ahem , in the case that His Majesty should find you a suitable addition to his harem.”

“And will he, do you think?” Jeongguk inquires, rather boldly without thinking. It’s an indelicate question to ask a stranger of a high capacity, but it isn’t often that he’s been known to master holding his tongue. 

However, it’s not indignation that paints Hoseok’s face as he reacts. It looks more to Jeongguk like hesitation mixed with strains of pity. He tips his head to the side and his delicate eyebrows pin themselves together. “I’m afraid I cannot say. His Majesty has been challenged by events of recent, and please do mind me when I say his disposition has seen more accommodating days. I’m sure you can understand I mean no disrespect to our King, but reality remains reality.”

Jeongguk resists the unpleasant urge to balk at the words. Everything Hoseok has just spoken can easily be translated into The King is in a foul mood and I do not believe it is my place to say so, but steel your nerves regardless. 

How very exciting for Jeongguk, as his guest. This wretched day may yet be doomed to become worse. 

There’s little to do in the room besides to stand somewhat awkwardly in the center of it, and hope that Hoseok doesn’t further question him much, so as to preserve the fragile nature of his digestive system in its current, rioting state. Now, mere moments away from meeting The King, would likely be the worst moment of all to be sick all over himself. So Jeongguk controls his breathing through his nose, picturing himself with grace and composure and enforces it onto himself. 

This too, he will stand through, and this too, he will rise above. 

It must be thirty minutes. Maybe forty, or closer to a full hour before a quickening of footsteps sounds outside the door and Hoseok - whose regal posture had slipped slightly within the undemanding silence of the room - stands proudly at attention once again. Jeongguk squares his shoulders elegantly and dips his head by several inches, allowing himself what he hopes to be a convincingly demure position as the thick wooden door swings open, and three figures stride in. Two guards first, broad of body and rougher, less attractive of face. Behind them, a smaller stature, yet somehow more commanding than the two larger men combined on presentation alone. Even if Jeongguk had never seen The King, he would make no mistake in assuming that this man was certainly, without a trace of doubt, His Majesty himself.

“My King,” Hoseok sweeps into a low bow, bringing his hand forward to settle on his waist as he bends. For manner’s sake, Jeongguk finds himself erring on the side of caution and doing the same, although he was not instructed to move as such. Surely all honorable people should bow in the presence of His Majesty, should they not?

“With the respectful regards and well wishes from the Jeon family in the East, they have sent their youngest son, their only omega as a gift for you. We have it on written authority from their house doctor that he is pure, untouched, and it is the family’s intention for you to have him as your concubine, if you should be so inclined to accept.”

Jeongguk drops his gaze to the floor at the delivery of Hoseok’s speech, and he doesn’t raise it, although he feels Min Yoongi’s eyes all over him, searching every inch of his skin as if he were seeking out flaws and inconsistencies. Jeongguk thought he had well-prepared his mind for the general humiliation of being forced into this situation, but even with his little talks to himself he finds, standing here now, he hadn’t quite steeled his nerves enough to expect how very degrading it would feel to be looked over like a piece of meat for purchase.

When The King looks at him, Jeongguk wonders, does he see a human being, or just another body for his marking and pleasure?

“Lift your chin.”

The order comes so suddenly, so unexpected that Jeongguk almost forgets to comply entirely. Rattled, he tips his head up to stare straight forward and finds himself eye to eye with Yoongi, who is regarding him without much outward interest. He has cold eyes, calculated and dark. They remind Jeongguk strangely of a cat that lived in the attic of his home when he was a child.

Jeongguk saw Min Yoongi once when he was a child too. His father took him and his brother to the crowning ceremony which took place following the death of the prior king, Yoongi’s own father. At the admittedly unfortunate age of just sixteen, Yoongi was already poised to take the throne whether he had wanted it or not, and Jeongguk watched it happen from afar. A decade younger than Yoongi, Jeongguk barely remembers the day at all, apart from hazy details, but perhaps then too he had looked upon Min Yoongi’s face and thought, despite it having absolutely no importance, that he does look rather like a cat. Delicate, angled features, keen intelligence that makes itself known in his gaze and could likely not be hidden even if His Majesty were to try.

Age has served him well, Jeongguk will give him that without hesitation. If he is to warm the bed of any man, Min Yoongi is not an altogether awful pick on the basis of appearance alone. He looks finer, and even more esteemed now than he did at sixteen, filled out in all of the right ways.

Jeongguk, realizing he’s been staring in silence for far too long, clears his throat and tries for a softened voice of revere. “It is my highest honor to stand before you, my King. To be your gift is all that I could desire.”

Fuck off . Jeongguk has never meant anything less in his life. What an abhorrent outlook, Jeongguk will never, as long as he lives, desire a meaningless purpose of belonging to another. 

Bite your tongue, bite your tongue , Jeongguk chides himself silently, fighting the urge to curl his fingers at his side in disgust. To make it here is to play the game, and to play the game is to first pick a character. And Jeongguk’s character is well-mannered, desirable and obedient, just like any king should like.

Much to Jeongguk’s displeasure, Min Yoongi doesn’t look half-impressed by his generous words. Instead, he turns to Hoseok, flat and unentertained. 

“How old is he?”

Jeongguk clenches his jaw and refuses to roll his eyes and betray his annoyance. Wouldn’t that question be better suited to himself?

Hoseok however doesn’t miss a beat. He folds his hands together and nods in Jeongguk’s direction. “Twenty, come this fall.”

Yoongi glances back to Jeongguk, flicking over his body without any visible emotion. If Jeongguk had to guess (which he doesn’t, but he will attempt to anyway as a means of occupying his thoughts) he would say that the closest thing to feeling on Min Yoongi’s face is distaste. 

“Isn’t that too young?” he asks with a delicate curl of his upper lip. “He has barely outgrown adolescence.”

Ha . Min Yoongi should be so surprised. Jeongguk may not have the advantage of years on his side, but he would wish for no one to make the mistake of assuming he’s either naive or uneducated in worldly ways. Anything he lacks in experience can be made up for in determination easily. 

“He has been well taught,” Hoseok offers. A much milder and better worded version of what Jeongguk might have spit out if he were any less keen on biting back his response to The King’s accusation. 

“His family and tutors regard him in high esteem, you may consider him mature beyond his years.”

Min Yoongi inhales, long and pinched through his graceful nose, and exhales a breath that flutters the finest, near-invisible hairs that have escaped the top-knot adoring his head almost as regally as any crown could hope to. Long hair, so blonde it’s almost white, and delicate gold jewelry woven in with effortless skill to remind those around him just how priceless he is at any given moment. 

“I have no use for him,” Yoongi huffs finally. 

Jeongguk’s stomach plummets toward the floor. God help him, this may be the moment he loses control and expels the small helping of egg porridge he had for breakfast. Not now, not now . Being sick would without a doubt cement The King’s choice not to take him on and Jeongguk cannot have that. 

To be sent here is humiliating enough. To be rejected and cast away, well, Jeongguk would never be able to shed that shame. Everyone back home would know, he would become a laughingstock of the entire village. If he’s lucky enough to be sent back to his village at all. 

“Another gift,” Min Yoongi approaches Jeongguk once again with a look of disdain. “Do you know, Hoseok, I don’t have interest in gifts?”

“I am aware, My King.”

“Land in the East, that’s a gift. Their cooperation, space to build more training units, that is a gift. An omega? That’s a cast off. Was there no use they could find for him back at his home?”

Jeongguk physically bites his teeth into his tongue to keep from scoffing at that. 

“I’m…confident there was,” Hoseok offers carefully. “But they chose instead to offer him as a gift to you. He is noble, a virgin and the only omega in this generation of his family. Should you not receive him with honor?”

The King rolls his eyes. Actually rolls them, like a petulant child being told he cannot have his way no matter how he begs for it. He reaches for Jeongguk suddenly, taking his wrist and holding it up as if he’s examining the quality. 

His hands are warm on Jeongguk’s skin, at least, and his scent is closer at this vantage point. Sweeter and softer than Jeongguk would expect of an alpha and a king, almost citrus-like in quality. He presses his thumb over a reddened point on Jeongguk’s forearm and looks back toward Hoseok. 

“He’s newly bruised. From his journey here, or before that?”

Hoseok dips his head. “I cannot say for sure.”

Jeongguk keeps his wrist limp in Yoongi’s hold, allowing himself to be pliable in any which direction The King wants him to move. “The journey here, my King,” he murmurs under his breath. “The river was of an unfortunate temperament today, and the rocking of the boat was severe.”

If Min Yoongi is mollified by that statement, he doesn’t show it. He releases Jeongguk’s arm, letting it fall uselessly to his side once again and steps away, no less displeased than he was a moment ago. 

Jeongguk’s heartbeat is stored in his throat, frantic in every pulse. This is the moment he gets cast away, like the ash remaining after a rich fire. He won’t be allowed to stay here, The King doesn’t want him. Not useful enough to be allowed to remain in his home, not desirable enough to be retained here. A third, in between sort of thing that fills him with shame which spreads across his chest and makes breathing a painful thing. 

Yoongi takes a step back toward the door. “Send word back to his family thanking them for their gift and give the omega a room in my concubine’s quarters. You will be assigned his care and servicing personally, as with the others.”

Jeongguk can’t help the way he looks up sharply, shocked at every word leaving Yoongi’s mouth. He is…to stay? After all those sour looks and remarks?

Across the room, Hoseok looks no less surprised, though he appears more skilled at wiping it off of his face than Jeongguk feels. He bows his head solemnly. “I will do as you instruct. Thank you for your time, My King.”

Yoongi strides toward the guard-flanked door, looking very well as if he intends to leave without further comment, but before he can cross the threshold he stops again and turns to fix Jeongguk with a final, shrewd look. “And Hoseok? Have him see the physician and eat a meal before nightfall. He looks sickly and infertile, and that gives me no use for him at all.”

“As you wish.”

“Report the results of his examination to me. Permitting that his condition is well, allow him to be robed and join the others tomorrow.”

• ••

Jeongguk’s chambers are, as it mercifully turns out, finer and much more furnished than the holding room he had been placed in before meeting Yoongi. 

It’s a smaller room, but not by much. The ceilings are high, adding the effect of size, and the webbed windows are broad and grand, allowing the golden sunset to filter in and turn to dusk as the sun sinks behind the hills.

Hoseok leaves him alone, which comes somewhat to Jeongguk’s dismay. He promises to return with haste, citing his need to locate the attending physician, but something about his absence leaves the room feeling hollow despite the plethora of fine furniture and decor. A four post bed, thick richly colored purple curtains sewn with gold accents take up the center of the wall on the West side of the room, and Jeongguk has half a mind to crawl into it and rest his eyes awhile. 

He’s never minded being alone before this, but isolation rings hollow in his chest in a strange way that Jeongguk has never before experienced. It’s as if he’s realizing for the first time as he paces the stone floor, dashed with thick rugs that give way, soft fur beneath his boots, that he’s well and truly alone. 

Far from his family. Far from his home. From anyone he knew or anyone he could trust. Jeongguk never kept many companions in the first place, but there was his butler, his brother, his parents with whom he rarely had a conversation with but at least knew he could depend on them. 

Emphasis on could and not can, seeing as it is now a thing of the past. They gave him away. They valued him no more than a farmer values his prized cow. 

Jeongguk isn’t as surprised as he could have been when his stomach gives a final, ominous lurch, and he has just enough time to stumble toward the chamber pot peeking out from beneath the bed. Luckily for him, it’s both clean and empty. Or rather, it is until he spews sick all into it, propelled by the force of several retches so violent, it feels as if his organs themselves might be trying to escape through his throat. 

It aches. From the deepest point of his belly to the pounding in his head, Jeongguk has never felt anything quite as disarmingly sudden and uncomfortable. Although, he isn’t sure it can really be considered sudden at all if he’s felt the slow build of it all day, he was just in an advanced state of denial over the entire ordeal. 

Well, he’s here now, in this opulent room far away from the people and places he’s known before and there isn’t any real way to deny that, all that’s left is to accept it with the taste of bile on his tongue and the violent backflips his stomach is turning as it tries to right itself. 

“Jeon Jeongguk.”

A somewhat familiar voice - Hoseok’s voice - rings across the room, accompanied by the sound of the heavy door swinging open and clicking shut again upon entry. 

Jeongguk sits up with some difficulty, swiping his sleeve across his mouth to try and play down the sudden affliction of his illness. Hoseok is striding toward him, tailed by a second man, this one just slightly taller and wearing a pair of glasses that sit handsomely on his face, which is now creased with concern in a way that mirror’s Hoseok’s when he takes Jeongguk by his shoulder and brings him to his feet. 

“Are you ill?”

“Not as such,” Jeongguk murmurs, flushed with both embarrassment and the strain of trying to remain steady under such strenuous circumstances. “Motion sickness from the boat lingering. And I believe, perhaps some sense of…” Jeongguk trails off, catching himself before he can make the rather embarrassing utterance of homesickness.

“Anyway,” he tips his chin up, finding strength in his stance once again. “I just require sleep, I won’t be sick after a night’s rest.”

“I agree, sleep is required…urgently,” Hoseok nods, stepping away but still keeping a cautious eye trained on Jeongguk. He has the ruffled air of a mother hen having found one of her chicks stuck in a predicament. In a strange way, it endears Jeongguk to him in spite of his utter disdain at being placed here. 

“This is Kim Namjoon,” Hoseok reaches back, taking the shoulder of the man behind him and drawing him forward. “He’s the palace physician, a beta, and he will be attending to you and your fellows in the harem when needed. As of tonight, he will perform a brief- ” Hoseok pauses, shooting Kim Namjoon a significant look, “-exam to ensure you carry no illness nor injury before being admitted to the court in an official capacity.”

“Brief, yes,” Namjoon nods, pushing his glasses up with the hand that isn’t holding a packed cloth bag. He smells herbal, sharp and clean, like mint and freshly steeped tea. “And then you can sleep.”

“Then I will bathe you,” Hoseok corrects primly. “You will be cleaned in preparation for robing tomorrow. And then you can sleep.”

It sounds like an awful amount of effort for as tired as Jeongguk is, but he doesn’t have the footing yet to request special accommodations. As the newest member of the court, it would be unwise to make demands and risk being labeled as disagreeable. A disagreeable omega is like a wagon without wheels: not one person is interested in keeping it. So he swallows his arguments and nods in spite of his discomfort. 

“As you wish, Hoseok-ssi.”

“You may call me hyung,” Hoseok remarks, taking Jeongguk’s elbow and guiding him toward the chair by the window. “We will be spending a substantial amount of time together, as I do for the other members of The King’s harem. I am primarily tasked to the care and upkeep of you all.”

Namjoon follows after them, shaking his bag open and pulling things out of it to be laid on the wide side table as Jeongguk obediently sits, directed by Hoseok’s careful hands. 

“When was your last heat, Jeongguk-ssi?”

“Over two full moons ago. I have one every three,” Jeongguk replies, tipping his head to rest on the back of his chair while the physician, Namjoon, rolls Jeongguk’s sleeves and begins to feel at his wrist, his pulse, then moves his hands downward, pressing on either side of Jeongguk’s abdomen.

“And how do you fare during them?”

“Fare?” Jeongguk repeats. “As in-?”

“As in the symptoms you experience,” Namjoon amends, adjusting his glasses again and looking upward to Jeongguk. “Fever? Pain in the pelvic area? Desires to…?”

He trails off, leaving the end of the question unfinished. It would be rather indelicate for him to ask a King’s concubine such a brashly worded question, even if Jeongguk has only just been accepted as such. The usual social courtesies still apply, so he resists the urge to respond with a plain “ to get fucked ?” and instead merely nods.

“Fever, always. For the first several days, it fades out. No pain, not in the tangible way, just…wanting.”

As a beta, Jeongguk doubts Kim Namjoon will understand the discomfort of heats with no partner. It’s not the pain of a physical ailment, it’s the pain of needing something so deeply and being denied it again and again and again, but it always fades. Jeongguk doesn’t find himself with yearning outside his heats, he gets along perfectly well on his own. If you asked him, he’d say romance is a frivolous distraction from the real, meaningful things in life. Influence, the political climate, enacting change and seeing it brought to fruition. Those things matter, romance is personal and therefore selfish, and, for all intents and purposes that he can see, a waste of time. Who Jeongguk is in his heats is (thankfully) not who he is in his heart .

“And outside of heats?” Namjoon prompts. “Any illnesses? Inclinations to be unwell, or otherwise aversions worth noting?”

“Motion sickness, as it would seem,” Hoseok hums, the ghost of a smile playing on his extraordinarily pronounce cupid’s bow. 

“No matter,” Namjoon waves the concern away, standing up straight again. “The King’s omegas very rarely leave the castle, I don’t expect you’ll have a journey, boat or carriage, ahead of you soon.” He cups Jeongguk’s jaw in either one of his hands carefully, turning his head left, then right, examining his face with a critical narrowing of his eyes. 

How wonderful , Jeongguk has half a mind to sulk, but he restrains himself. Confined to the walls of a castle, surely only allowed to mingle with his fellows, who are nothing but competition to him. Jeongguk can’t think of anything less appealing. 

Some form of distaste must make itself clear in his face, against his best efforts, because Hoseok steps forward. “It’s nothing to balk at. Life for a King’s omega here is of a high quality.”

Easy for you to say. You aren’t one of them .

Jeongguk forces a smile onto his mouth the moment Namjoon lets go of his face. “I’m sure of it. I am…pleased that my King has taken me on.”

Namjoon reaches for his bag, shaking around what sounds like several vials and other contains jostling about inside the cloth. He pulls out a small jar and presses it onto Hoseok’s waiting hand. “He appears to be in good health. A minor bruise on the wrist, it’s new, likely from the journey over here. He is to be handled with more care from this point onward, that is my recommendation. I do not think he is ill, just drained from a day’s travels.”

“Noted,” Hoseok replies, mild in tone and with a polite nod to Namjoon. “You know I’ve been tasked with attending to him myself, I will do so with the utmost consideration.”

Trapped in the castle or not, utmost consideration are words that ring pleasantly on Jeongguk’s ears. 

“The herbs,” Namjoon begins as he slings his bag back over his shoulder and begins to retrace his steps toward the door. “Are to be added to his bathwater. They will put you at ease, Jeongguk-ssi. A night’s rest should have you in a pleasant condition come tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Namjoon,” Hoseok follows after him, shuffling the physician toward the door, gentle, but insistent. “We will bid you goodnight, and I’ll take it from this point.”

Namjoon seems to agree, because he exits the room without any further discussion, and Hoseok strides back over to Jeongguk’s chair, stopping in front of him to regard him with a sympathetic expression.

“Come,” he holds out his hand in offering, urging Jeongguk to use the support as he stands. “I will have the staff draw you a bath.”

The bathroom is attached to the bedroom, which is mercifully convenient. It’s constructed of stone and painstakingly sculpted and placed tile. The tub is large, and considerably deeper than what Jeongguk is used to at home, so it takes a fair amount of time for the hassled looking scullery staff to tote the water for it up, bucket by bucket, while Hoseok dutifully checks the temperature again and again until he’s pleased with it and sends the others out and turns to Jeongguk to disrobe him.

Jeongguk finds himself grateful that Hoseok waits until it’s the two of them alone to begin unfastening his clothing. It isn’t as if he’s any stranger to undressing, being highborn means he has the privilege of handmaids at home who see to this sort of thing day in and day out, but he has known them for years, and he has known the staff here for mere minutes. He finds himself uncharacteristically clamming up over it.

But Hoseok is…fairly non-intimidating in the face of everything else. He has a mild scent, it reminds Jeongguk of the jams his cook back at home made every harvest season, tart fruit and fine sugar combined into one to create a pleasant, softly-sweetened sort of aroma, and beneath it, an almond-like undercurrent. He carries the authority of an alpha, unassumingly so, but seeing as he’s tasked with looking after the King’s harem, it would be unusual for him to be one. Such responsibilities are more often reserved for betas, well-mannered and very unlikely to be territorial. An alpha looking after royal concubines personally would mean he’s held in deeply trusted, high regard by The King himself. Jeongguk, being as inclined to prying as he is, wants terribly to ask.

He goes for a more roundabout way to the question as he sinks into the steaming water, sprinkled with aromatics that waft around the air, herbal and lush. “Have you served long as a member of the court?”

“Oh, yes,” Hoseok nods. He plucks a stoppered bottle from the assortment on the tub’s edge and pries it open, dripping glossy oil onto his cupped palm and sliding his hands together to warm it. “I was born into it. May I touch your back? These oils are remedial, they will loosen your muscles for sleep.”

Jeongguk turns in the water, allowing Hoseok better reach to the bare expanse of his back, a wordless approval to the request. “Born into it?” he prompts, still seeking further information. It’s in his best interests to collect intel discreetly. Knowing the people he is surrounded by will be his greatest asset in finding his footing, and eventually his power in this place. 

“My father was the head of the King’s Guard,” Hoseok replies, mild in tone as his hands find Jeongguk’s skin and begin to knead into soft flesh. “And his father before him. I was raised alongside Yoo- The King, as his companion of sorts, under the expectation that I would one day assume the role of my generational line, and I did, for a time, but I…” Hoseok trails off, perhaps briefly unsure of his statement. “I did not care for it.”

“Unfortunate,” Jeongguk murmurs. “How come?”

“I found the rigidity to be taxing. I could withstand the physical and mental demands it required, but not happily, and The King took note of that. I am lucky enough to have called him a friend through adolescence, and harbor his trust and goodwill. He arranged for me to be moved to a leadership role that would be more befitting to my tastes, and so now I oversee the care of his harem personally.”

Ah. So Hoseok must be an alpha, there’s no head of the King’s Guard who hasn’t been one, it’s an eternal prerequisite to the role, as far as Jeongguk is aware. 

“I…am protective,” Hoseok adds softly, his hands coming to Jeongguk’s neck and pushing soft rolls of his thumbs there. “Just not aggressive.”

An alpha without aggression. An alpha requesting to be placed in an unassertive role, better suited to the natural beta inclinations of caregiving. What an unusual creature Jung Hoseok is making himself out to be. 

“And you?” Hoseok rearranges the subject swiftly, dipping his hands into the water to rinse them, and returning to Jeongguk’s skin with a damp piece of cloth. “Are you pleased to be here?”

Pleased . Jeongguk nearly scoffs. Could anyone be pleased to be handed over to the submission of another, like a pathetic dog placed on a pedestal for purchase? There is no world in which Jeongguk would be pleased to be here. He has his wits about him, and he has the roots of a plan taking hold in his mind, but not with pleasure. His movements here will be born of raw determination and vindictiveness, nothing more. 

But those thoughts are not quite appropriate to share with someone who clearly lives in the King’s Pocket. Jeongguk pushes a dutiful smile onto his face, though he knows Hoseok cannot see it.

“I am, of course, honored and grateful to serve my King. I think I shall find a great deal of enjoyment here.”

Following the bath, Hoseok towels Jeongguk down thoroughly, oiling his skin, combing his hair, and fussing at his cuticles and the tips of his nails, which are sanded down to smooth arches with a roughened slip of sand on parchment. Jeongguk feels rather like a pig being buttered for roast, the proverbial lamb being buffed and primped before slaughter. But Hoseok is…gentle, and attentive. It doesn’t appear that he’s rushing his work with Jeongguk or trying to end the night early, he takes his time (too much of it, Jeongguk has begun to yawn) and sees to every fine detail until he seems satisfied by the scene in front of him and helps Jeongguk redress in loose linen, as soft, of not softer than anything he might have worn at home.

“These are only temporary,” he murmurs, fingertips working at the sash that ties at Jeongguk’s back, cinching the top shut. “Tomorrow you will be fitted and dressed properly in the robes for a King’s omega.”

Tomorrow. The first day of a strange new life. Jeongguk tries to repress the thought from his mind, lest he become overwhelmed by the permanency of his new position. 

“Should you need anything in the middle of the night,” Hoseok continues, guiding Jeongguk by his elbow through the high doorway and back into the bed chamber. “There is a cord beside the bed that you should pull, and it will alert the staff to come retrieve me. I bed on a separate wing, it would not be appropriate for me to sleep amongst the King’s Harem, but I can make my way here quickly.”

Ah. So Hoseok does have rules to abide by after all.

Jeongguk lifts his chin and places a hand on the bedpost. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Hoseok nods, offering Jeongguk the corner of a smile. “It is my hope that you will be, Jeon Jeongguk.”

He retreats to the door, bracing one hand on the wrought-iron handle and faltering in a moment of hesitation before opening it. He glances over his shoulder, face finding Jeongguk’s in the wavering light of the candles mounted on the walls. There’s a strange knowing contained in his expression, mingling with sympathy. 

“This is not a bad place to be, I do mean that. I’m sure there will be adjustments you’ll have to make, but you’ll do just fine once you become used to it.”

I will do more than fine , Jeongguk rehearses a vow in his head that goes unspoken. I will show you and everyone else stretching from the court, to my home, that I am meant for greater things than warming the bedsheets of The King.

“Goodnight,” he says out loud. “I’m sure I will see you in the morning.”

The door creaks open. Hoseok turns away. “I’m sure you will.”

He’s gone in the blink of an eye. Silhouetted against the dark hallway one moment, and vanishing into it the next. Jeongguk waits until the heavy, wooden door falls shut after him to lean over and extinguish the candle nearest to the bed, killing half the light into the room before he sinks into the blankets and lies back.

Tonight, he rests. Tomorrow, he will take in the new world around him and devise a plan. His future does not end here, in the confines of the palace with a collar of The King’s control placed upon his throat.

It has, in fact, only just begun.

Chapter Text

When Jeongguk wakes in the morning that follows, Jung Hoseok is already standing above him.

Embarrassing though it is to admit, Jeongguk will say he startled backward a disproportionate amount. Perhaps it was the newness of his face, one that Jeongguk only just saw for the first time yesterday and is not yet accustomed to, or the fact that at home, his maids never waiting in the room until he woke, they merely arrived when called for. At any rate, Hoseok does immediately look rather apologetic about the entire thing.

He takes a hurried step back from the edge of the bed, holding up his hands in a motion of surrender at the shaken expression that Jeongguk must be wearing on his face.

“My apologies,” he murmurs, lowering his head, regretful and demure. “I hadn’t planned to wake you, only to look in and see if you needed attending to, but you seemed to be…nightmaring.”

Christ. Speaking of devilish embarrassment, that one will do it. Jeongguk was a fitful and sleepless child, it was his overactive imagination and fear of the dark that kept him up. He thought he had outgrown once he reached young adulthood, the way he would kick and fight in his sleep, whipping around in his covers until he’d wake up, sweat-soaked and tangled in cotton. They only happen now after something acute happens, the last he can recall is the prior year when his grandmother passed suddenly, and the memory of her kept him tossing and turning all night, waking with a cry on the tip of his tongue.

He supposes, rather belatedly, that being uprooted from his home and shipped across the waters to be handed to a stranger like property, does count as something acute. He’s surprised his poor dreams didn’t wake him sooner, though he can no longer recall now what they were about at all. Being shackled against his will by a blond-haired figure, perhaps. That ought to fit.

“I am…fine,” Jeongguk tries valiantly, sitting up and adjusting the twisted waist of his robes. “Occasionally, I sleep fitfully.”

“Ah,” Hoseok replies, still looking slightly troubled. “I suppose there’s no use in asking you, then, how you found your first night here?”

“As good as I could have,” Jeongguk gives an unelaborative reply. It seems to him like he was unable to fall asleep until halfway through the night, kept up by the unfamiliar sounds of a castle that never really sleeps, and the lingering notion that there’s no one here, truly , that he knows or trusts. “At the very least, I’m prepared for the day ahead.”

Hoseok’s creased expression smooths out at that, and he spares a smile as he reaches to the side table and lifts a wide mug that expels spirals of wisp-like steam into the air between the two of them. “Wonderful. I’ve brought you a drink, it should settle your stomach if there is any lingering discomfort from yesterday’s travels. As soon as you drink it, I have been given proper robes to dress you in, and then I will take you to the dining area to eat a meal and meet the others, assuming you are feeling up to it.”

The others , Jeongguk thinks, almost sullen at the notion. How many are there, he wonders? His fated competition, the ones he will have to best in order to obtain the one real chance at success he has here. Jeongguk hopes they are ugly, or ill-behaved, or otherwise undesirable. It will make his job a much easier thing to do if they are, but given that they belong to the king, he highly doubts it. 

“I shall love to meet them,” he turns to Hoseok and speaks through carefully gritted teeth. “As soon as possible.”

The robes worn by a King’s omega are sorted in simple tones. White and silver for those without child, white and gold for those who are, or have already produced an heir. Pure gold for the ruling omega, the first to bear an heir, and therefore the only to ascend to any sort of authoritative status. Such has been law for as long as Jeongguk is aware of, and it is the very position he is after if he is to spend a lifetime inside these walls.

Not that Jeongguk considers himself to be someone who wants children, quite the opposite, but it is a necessary sacrifice he is willing to make in order to wear a crown, and it’s relatively simple in terms of a plan. All he needs to do, after all, is quietly ensure The King puts a child inside of him. Assuming, of course, that that has not yet been done to another one of his omegas.

There has been no official word or even rumor that The King has an heir on the way, but Jeongguk won’t know with surety until he meets the others and sees the color of their robes. If he is surrounded only by white and silver, then he is in luck. If he sees even the faintest flash of gold, he is utterly fucked, stands no chance in power, and will probably begin looking for balcony windows to try and hurl himself out of.

Unfortunately for him, he does mean that in the most serious sense. He cannot and will not resign himself to a life where his education, his birthright status and authority is overlooked in favor of being a glorified sex toy for a king looking to warm his knot. Come hell or high water, the privilege of the crown will be Jeongguk’s, for if there is one thing he is absolutely sure of, it’s that he was not meant to live and die as merely a concubine.

Hoseok dresses him with as much care as he had attended to Jeongguk with last night. He cinches the complicated lacings forming the back of the exorbitantly embroidered robes, tying the sash at Jeongguk’s waist and then, when a cluster of omegan maids bustle in with a collection of jewelry, Hoseok selects the silver bracelets that fit around Jeongguk’s wrist like cuffs, and fastens a choker that has a terribly collar-like quality to it around his throat.

Jeongguk feels like a dog. An expensive, overdressed dog at the mercy of a new master. The thought makes his stomach roll, in spite of the tea Hoseok watched him drink just this morning.

Finally, after what feels like hours being laced into fine clothing and adorned with silver, Hoseok makes a sweeping motion to the arched doorway. “Shall we?”

Jeongguk presses his mouth into a thin line and nods.

The castle is as one might expect it to be. Large, grand, populated by an ever-moving team of servants and guards and other lowly staff who bow their heads each time Hoseok and Jeongguk pass, though whether they are lowering themselves to Hoseok or himself, he isn’t yet sure. They stick to the one wing they’re in, taking the stone stairwell to the floor below rather than traversing hallways to go far across. Judging by the way of the morning sun, this wing is in the West. Official chambers where any business of planning or strategy, the throne room, and court gathering spaces are likely to be contained opposite in the East, and the King’s chambers, Jeongguk would surmise, are most probably somewhere between the two, centered in the heart of the castle like a closely-guarded fortress. These are not things he needs to know imminently, but he’s better off with at least a rough map of the place in his mind sooner rather than later.

Hoseok comes to an abrupt halt in the corridor ahead of him, placing one palm on a thick wooden door and glancing over his shoulder at Jeongguk. “Are you hungry?”

Somewhat to Jeongguk’s surprise, he nods. He wasn’t even aware of it until the idea of food was called into his head, but he hasn’t eaten since a while before he was sick in the room last night, his stomach has been running on empty for nearly a day straight now. It’s no wonder he suddenly feels near-dizzy at the idea of a fresh meal. He swallows, then nods. “Very.”

“Then come,” Hoseok smiles and pushes the door open, stepping back to allow Jeongguk first entry.

Unlike the other rooms he’s been in, this one is rather low-ceilinged, but the wide windows lining the lengthy far wall lend in an airiness that makes up for the unimpressive height. A dining table spans the space, at least twenty feet in length and with too many chairs pushed against it to count at a mere glance, but only two at the very end are taken, occupied by two tousle-haired heads, nearly pushed together, both engaged in lively conversation sprinkled with indulgent giggling. They push apart when the doors swing open, turning to cast curious glances at a newcomer in their midst. When they stand, Jeongguk is relieved to see their robes are woven only from white and silver. They, at least, are not with child.

“Jimin-ah, Taehyung-ah,” Hoseok announces, making a sweeping gesture toward Jeongguk. “This is Jeon Jeongguk, I’m sure you’ve heard his family name. He was sent by his parents to serve The King, and as of yesterday he has become one of your own. I trust you will welcome him in, won’t you?”

Jimin and Taehyung- Jeongguk isn’t sure who is who yet  -skirt around the table with easy grace, hurrying toward the doorway where Jeongguk is stock-still and trying valiantly to contain his air of awkwardness at being the obvious stranger in their midst, but if they’re displeased at the sight of him they do an impressive job of concealing it. The taller one, strong-jawed and with a pair of almost imperceptibly mismatched eyes, one mono-lidded, and the other double, yet somehow the discrepancy lends itself to the undeniable beauty his face is carved with.

He lowers into a bow at the waist, and the shorter one follows suit. 

“Jeon Jeongguk,” the taller one speaks first, his voice is surprisingly deep for an omega. “Welcome to the court.”

“You will love it here,” the shorter one lifts out of his bow first and takes Jeongguk by the upper arm, drawing him close as if they’ve been the closest of friends for ages and ages. He has the build of a particularly graceful swan, delicate and attractive to look at with his pink cheeks and bright eyes. “How old are you, Jeongguk?”

“Twenty, come September,” Jeongguk answers, leaning toward his next of age as he always does to lend himself the status of an extra several months. “And you?”

“Twenty-five come October,” the shorter one answers swiftly, then nudges the taller one. “And Taehyung will be twenty-five come December, I am older than him even if we are born in the same year, though he doesn’t treat me with any respect at all.”

The shorter one, Jimin, evidently, rolls his eyes following that statement, and Taehyung chortles at it as if it’s some sort of long-standing joke between the two of them.

“He’s fussy, Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung announces with a dismissive wave. “Don’t listen to him. Are you hungry? Food will be out soon, won’t it, hyung?”

Hoseok gives a nod, then looks toward the doorway in the wall at the end of the table, which leans into a short, domed corridor. “At any moment, I expect. Can I leave Jeongguk with you while I attend to other matters briefly?”

“Of course ,” Jimin hums, looping a friendly arm around Jeongguk’s neck and beginning to pull him steadily toward the corner of the table where he and Taehyung were sitting just moments ago. “He’ll be in the most excellent hands until you return.”

Jeongguk is utterly baffled as he allows himself to be led to sit by the two strangers tugging at his arms and robes, like playful children cajoling him to interact with them. Is this some sort of ploy? Are they going to turn on him like vultures the moment Hoseok leaves the room? And where are the rest of them?

Jeongguk is almost nervous as Hoseok strides back out the way he came, expecting for the two at his side to drop him and round on him with the all the viciousness of a pair of competitive strangers aware that they now must fight another for their King’s attention, but nothing of the sort happens. They guide him to take the chair nearest to theirs, patting it for him to sit, and when he does, they round on him with almost voracious interest and begin to ply him with a dozen questions all at once.

How are you finding the court so far? How was your sleep last night? Are your robes comfortable? Was your journey pleasant? Are you hungry? Are you excited to be here? Are you fond of the King?

That one nearly makes Jeongguk snort. Fond of the King ? Min Yoongi is a stranger, Jeongguk is no fonder of him than he is of the scullery maids who carried his bath water up last night. If anything, considerably less so. At least they, he assumes, are humble and fair. The same cannot be guessed for the King, for anyone who keeps omegas like livestock in his household.

Jeongguk knows it’s only tradition. That doesn’t make it fair.

He answers their barrage of inquiries noncommittally, holding his true cards close to his chest and choosing instead to try and root around for his own trove of information rather than reveal his thoughts and feelings, but he finds he has a hard time getting a word in edgewise over Jimin and Taehyung. They speak over one another good naturedly, teasing and poking fun in between their many questions directed at Jeongguk.

When a round-faced cook and her busy-bodied attendants clatter through the hallway after some time, setting down hot-pots of stew, egg porridge and fresh fruits in front of them, Jimin serves a plate that he and Taehyung pick off together without even speaking, as if it’s only second nature for them to share.

And Jeongguk, despite his great dismay at being here at all, cannot deny his pleasure at the elaborate spread laid in front of them. Fruits that he’s only dreamt of trying, some that he’s never even seen at all . Fresh produce doesn’t often travel well, and it costs an awful lot to come by, even Jeongguk’s household was rarely fortunate enough to get their hands on some, and never a batch this ripe, and varied.

It isn’t until he’s halfway through his second helping of some fantastic tiny, pink berries shaped like bubbled caps he could fit on his fingertips, and Jimin is spearing slices of melon on the tip of a single chopstick to feed to Taehyung that Jeongguk remembers, somewhat pressingly, that he’s meant to be collecting intel. He pushes his plate back and clears his throat.

“Where are the others?”

Following that particular question, both Jimin and Taehyung look over at him, bemused. “Others?” Jimin repeats, blinking once. “Which others?”

“The King’s harem,” Jeongguk gestures to enunciate the obvious. “Do they not all dine here?”

“Oh!” Jimin’s rosy cheeks lift with his smile, and he giggles, dropping sideways to lean on Taehyung’s shoulder. “Jeongguk-ah, there are no others. Just us. Did you imagine there would be a crowd?”

Jeongguk leans back in his seat, affronted by that news. No others? Min Yoongi’s harem is made only of three, and none of them yet showing signs of bearing a child? Yoongi didn’t even seem to want to take Jeongguk on, he had expected the palace to be oversaturated with competition he would have to fight to outshine, to find a leg up over in the confines of these walls. It’s commonplace for the highest royalty to hold ten or more concubines simply because they can , what sort of game is the King playing, taking on only three?

Taehyung reaches across the table and pats Jeongguk’s hand, unwithholdingly friendly. “The King is very busy, Jeongguk, he takes his position with the utmost sense of priority, he very rarely has time for things like romance and pleasure .”

“And, he’s…particular,” Jimin offers with a snicker that spreads to Taehyung, the comment passing between the two of them, again, like some personal joke, and Jeongguk finds himself trying to make sense of it.

“Particular?” he asks bluntly. If the King is difficult to seduce, these are things Jeongguk should be prepared for in advance. “How so?”

“Well, he…” Jimin trails off, casting a side-long glance to both doorways, as if to make sure there are no prying ears trying to drop in on the conversation, before leaning forward to engage Jeongguk with a conspiratory sense of confession. “Do you mind if I speak without manners, Jeongguk-ah?”

Jeongguk shakes his head.

“Well, Taehyung and I are sure he doesn’t enjoy fucking,” Jimin announces bluntly, still keeping his voice low enough that it cannot be overheard by anyone lingering away from the table, but he softens the clandestine nature of the remark by casually reaching for a particularly round grape and popping it into his mouth with a crunch. 

Jeongguk looks between the two of them, deeply affronted by the remark. Doesn’t enjoy fucking ? What sort of an alpha doesn’t seek that primal release? Are they trying to tell Jeongguk that the King is-

“Impotent?” Jeongguk inquires with the edge of a gasp that catches in his throat, then clears his to reframe his question more intelligibly. “Is he not able to-?”

“No,” Taehyung shakes his head emphatically. “We wondered if perhaps he wasn’t, both of us were here for months before he even touched us, but then he did take us both to bed, in our separate times, but only after his advisors had practically instructed him to do so. And he was fine, he didn’t knot either of us then, but then a time or two later he did, everything seemed perfectly… functional ,” Taehyung informs delicately, gesturing around with long-fingered hands as he speaks. “But I swear, he’s begrudging about it. Only fucks us when the court starts whispering that he’s late on producing an heir, and it makes his mood so terribly sour.”

“We’ve decided maybe he’s just frigid,” Jimin offers with a shrug. “Maybe he doesn’t feel for people in the normal ways, do you understand?”

Jeongguk nods, but beneath the surface, already, his heart is sinking far and fast. Whatever fleeting hope had blossomed with the knowledge that it was only himself, Taehyung, and Jimin in competition for the King’s firstborn is quickly diminished by the insinuation that the King’s affection is, well, hideously difficult to come by.

“Ah, but Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung interjects again, tapping well-groomed fingernails on the polished tabletop. “Hoseok-hyung doesn’t like us to speak of these things. He overheard Jimin and I, just once, discussing the matter, and it was the only time he’s ever become disgruntled with us. He’s patient like a saint, never tries to limit what we can talk of, he’s always been generous in allowing us to speak our minds freely, but he only just happened to hear me whisper something to Jimin about the King being too cold to take a lover, and told me I should better consider the words that leave my mouth.”

“Actually, what he said was ‘ The King allows you to grace his court, he sees to it that you are cared for bountifully day in and day out, do not make the mistake of defiling his name without thinking twice about your words, Kim Taehyung’ ,” Jimin recites, in a tone that would suggest perfect verbatim, and Taehyung rolls his eyes and pokes at Jimin’s rib cage, a familiar expression of annoyance.

“The only reason you memorized it was because you thought it funny I got myself into trouble with him.”

Jimin snickers. “Can you blame me? We almost never have theatrics here. See, that’s the downfall of this castle, Jeongguk. Our days tend to be the same, when there is gossip we try to catch it, just to have something new to dissect.”

Dreadful , Jeongguk almost groans. There are the unrestful makings of a war brewing in borderlands, fights breaking out, money and land being traded under the table like betting coins in a game of poker, and these two King’s whores are content to sit at a table growing spoiled with fruit, and exchanging gossip like lonely housewives. Do they not care at all for the fate of their country, for the ever shifting web of political power opening its ugly maw with the threat to consume looming in the distance, or are they too coddled to notice that it’s happening at all?

“There are some people who are better suited to whisper to,” Taehyung offers matter-of-factly. “And some who will be less forgiving. Hoseok-hyung, for instance, will never speak of the King, but he does occasionally bring us something interesting about a nobleman or castle visitor. The upstairs staff do not tend to speak of each other, but sometimes they will exchange remarks about the King. Do you see? You will learn in time who to go for for what.”

Well, Jeongguk knows he will not be content in the slightest trading idle chatter behind the unsuspecting backs of others, but if Jimin and Taehyung know where to find eyes and ears everywhere, then it’s likely to be his best option to try and befriend them– or, at the very least, to lead them to think he cares to befriend them. That way, his mission to usurp the status of carrying the King’s firstborn will remain under wraps, and unsuspecting, until it is beyond their power to change it.

The competition may not be intimidating in numbers, but Jimin and Taehyung are certainly more knowledgeable, and experienced in the works of the court, and it does nothing to aid Jeongguk either that both of them are as beautiful as anyone could be. If the King is turning his nose up at omegas this fine, and so readily available, there must truly be something wrong with him.

Exactly as Jeongguk feared. His plan is not going to be so simple to accomplish.

Following breakfast and its various events, Hoseok returns to the dining area to escort Jeongguk and the other two out to a lush garden, concealed within the fortified castle walls. Jeongguk didn’t expect it to be here, like a hidden gem among rough stone, squirreled away from the eyes of the city. Part of him loathes the notion that their most elite of the country, the rulers, sit in beauty and excess while outskirt villages and entire towns fight skirmishes and make bread from near nothing just to feed their young. And part of him, so terribly selfishly, rejoices that they are allowed to step out into such an environment, to breath crisp air and trail their fingers across the delicate petals of a flower, the new green of a budding leaf. 

Jimin and Taehyung entertain themselves by darting between trees and vines, playing some sort of elaborate game of chase that they seem well-versed in the rules of, giggling and shrieking with delight when they near the risk of being caught by the other. They look like doll-faced children, tumbling about in the grass and dirtying their robes. It’s distinctly unrefined, but Hoseok, who stands at the head of the garden with his hands folded behind his back as he looks over them, doesn’t seem to mind it. If anything, he seems quietly amused by their antics. Jeongguk finds himself lingering closer to Hoseok’s side rather than to join the other two in their activities, and after some time, Hoseok seems to take note of this.

He strides to Jeongguk, stopping at the smooth stone bench he’s tucked himself on, and cocks his head. “Are you finding you’re getting along well with Jimin and Taehyung?”

“Well?” Jeongguk looks up, startled by Hoseok’s appearance pulling him out of his brooding thoughts. He hopes he wasn’t wearing his contemplation on his face, but Jeongguk finds he does a poor job of concealing his emotion from view at times. He straightens his back to look up at Hoseok with poise, squinting at the sun bathing the alpha from behind. “Yes, they’re very pleasant, I enjoyed our meal this morning.”

“I’m glad,” Hoseok replies with a smile that feels warm when it washes over Jeongguk. His sweet scent mingles with the earthen smell of soil being carried by a midday breeze, not altogether unpleasant to breathe in, so Jeongguk finds himself inhaling it. “They’re very sweet. Antagonistic at times, but they always mean well. Though they’re very, very close, perhaps uncommonly so. I had always wondered what the shift would be like if the King were to take on a third. By all means, Jeongguk, please do inform me if you ever feel as if they’re leaving you out.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “They’ve been perfectly hospitable,” he maintains, offering Hoseok a smile of his own. And to Taehyung’s and Jimin’s credits, that much is true. Even just over breakfast, they spoke to him like a friend, and confidant, rather than the sidelined newcomer in among their ranks. “I look forward to getting to know them.”

I look forward to getting to know what they know, more like , Jeongguk ruminates unspoken. The other two will make perfectly useful allies, as long as Jeongguk keeps up the simple facade of friendship, and as long as they don’t try to play his cutthroat game of winning the first heir. Though, in speaking to them, Jeongguk has the oddest feeling they aren’t as concerned with carrying for the King as he might have expected them to be. They shuffled around their secrets and dealt them like cards to Jeongguk, the competition, instead of keeping their knowledge hugged to their chests and allowing him to figure out the strange workings of the castle and its many inhabitants on his own.

They’re kind, just as Hoseok has been kind. Generous, giving, so easily it almost, almost trips a new level of concern in Jeongguk.

So much kindness, and to what end? What can they seek from him in return? People always have motives. And someone, wearing a smile that conceals all, must be hiding something.

For the second night in a row, Hoseok sees to it that the newest omega finds his way to bed, washed and dressed for a night’s rest by his own hand. He’s a sweet young thing, obedient, bright, if not slightly withdrawn. Hoseok will keep an eye on him, he can imagine how isolating it might feel to be dragged from one’s homeland and re-rooted in a new place, surrounded by strangers and new faces left and right. Jimin and Taehyung are kind, Hoseok knows this by heart, he’s watched over them for years, so he also knows they share an unusual depth of connection. Perhaps it’s their similar ages, or the identical lots in life that they’ve been dealt that knit them together like the cross stitches on a seam. Hoseok isn’t sure, and he doesn’t pry around to find out. As long as they are safe, and looked after, that is his objective. Those are his orders to follow, and follow them he has. And he will do the same for Jeongguk.

Hoseok’s chambers are on the floor above the concubines quarters, and he takes the staircase at a slow pace, one hand braced on his lower back to knead out the tightness held there. He should really consult Namjoon for the aches and pains he has. He’ll blame it on one too many years serving unhappily in the King’s Guard, his body bearing the brunt of his knocks and tumbles despite his long-removal from that position. Thank god for Seokjin, he’s much better suited to filling the role than Hoseok ever was.

His personal room is silent when he arrives, as it always is. The night maids have come in already, he can tell by the candlewicks flicker with new flame, eating away at the wax that rolls in fat droplets as it melts. He undoes the midsection on his robes as he walks, a lazy shuffle toward the bucket of water sitting on the stone shelf in the bathroom, warmed and waiting for him. He loosens is collar, and leans over the bucket, splashing a good amount of it onto his face and letting a day’s events fall in rivulets off of him, hitting the surface of the water once more.

“Hoseok-ssi?”

Speak of the devil. It’s Seokjin’s voice who calls for him, a familiar in its tones, and Hoseok heeds it, as he’s prone to do with the elder one. He turns and exits the bathroom the way he came, grabbing for a linen towel to dab the water from his face.

“Hyung,” he murmurs, rounding on the doorway where Seokjin is stood, tall and proud, shoulders drawn back as they always are. From time to time, Hoseok wonders if he slouches even when he’s alone in his room with no prying eyes to catch sight of it. “Is there something that needs my attention?”

“The King,” Seokjin speaks, quiet and firm. The corridor is deserted, save for the two of them, but Seokjin doesn’t retain a booming manner of speaking. Most of the time he’s on the innermost patrol of the castle, walking the hallways attached most closely to Yoongi’s chambers, the paths that call to be most closely protected, especially in these times of unrest.

Yoongi’s safety is paramount. There is nothing, past or present, that has ever been more important, or more necessary to preserve.

“He calls for you,” Seokjin adds, nodding down the corridor. “Urgently.”

“Of course,” Hoseok nods, gathering the sash at his midriff and retying it, adjusting his appearance to something presentable. “I’ll go to him now.”

Assuming a brisk pace is kept, the walk from Hoseok’s chambers to Yoongi’s isn’t a long or arduous one, and he arrives before the heavy door in a no more than a minute or two, raising one fist, to knock as he always does. Thrice is customary for regular visitors, but Hoseok knocks only once, a single, sharp rap against wood, and Yoongi's voice replies in an instant. Small languages like this, the secret ways in which they communicate must be kept as such. 

“Enter.”

Hoseok obeys dutifully. He pushes the door and steps inside, taking the precaution to ensure it’s locked behind him before he turns to find Yoongi silhouetted against the arched windows that overlook his expansive land. 

“My King,” he murmurs, announcing his arrival in hushed tones. 

Yoongi turns. His blond hair, silken from root to tip has been let down from its usual knot, half gathered at the top of his head with a collection of gold and jewels, but it hangs loose and unadorned now, as unfastened and relaxed as his simple clothing, the chamber wear of someone very much preparing to retire to bed, not host additional visitors. He flicks his eyes, so dark and calculating, over Hoseok’s form as if he’s assessing what the day has done to him, and Hoseok stands, chin lifted, and allows himself to be looked upon, taken in in his entirety. After a brief pause, Yoongi’s head cocks to the side, the corner of his pink mouth lifts. 

“Are you not going to kneel and greet your king?”

Hoseok swallows his smile as he lowers himself to the ground, head bowed until Yoongi inevitably motions for him to raise it. It’s the same charade every time, formality until one of them breaks. Sometimes they draw it out as long as possible, a game of pretend where the winner is the one who can compose themselves the longest, but today Yoongi seems to seek something else, because hardly a moment passes before he too drops to his knees, right before Hoseok and takes him by the neck gently, fingertips playing against his nape. 

“So obedient,” he murmurs, amusement seeping into his voice as he caresses down Hoseok’s skin, from his nape, down to his throat, settling on the delicate curve of his collarbones. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company and good behavior?”

At this, Hoseok really does smile. “Have I ever disobeyed my King?”

Yoongi’s subsequent eye roll is heavy on the helping of melodrama he adds to it, and he gets to his feet, dusting off the lower portion of his robes. Hoseok has always been better at acting this number than Yoongi.

“Enough,” he sighs, waving a dismissive hand that moves to the shoulder of Hoseok’s clothing, tugging him upward with an endearing touch of neediness. Hoseok knows Yoongi’s days leave him tired, in search of comfort and release, it’s not unusual for him to be this way by evening, but it delights Hoseok all the same, for he will be the one to tend to him, the one who holds the privilege of seeing to it that Yoongi's frustrations are undone and mended over. 

As soon as Hoseok is upright, Yoongi takes him by the chin and pulls him close to meet him with an open-mouthed kiss, dripping in the citrus glimmer of his scent, and Hoseok returns it with matched enthusiasm, hands finding Yoongi’s waist and drawing him close, bodies flush against one another but continuing to seek the other out with tongue and teeth and the hunger of another day spent apart, pretending like this isn’t all they think of from the moment the sun rises until it sets again, and finally they are allowed the night in each other’s presence. 

“No more games,” he murmurs against Hoseok’s mouth, the corner of his teeth biting into Hoseok’s blushed bottom lip. “Come. I want to take my alpha to bed.”

Chapter Text

Min Yoongi certainly knows better than to commit himself to a forbidden relationship. He’s a king, for fuck’s sake, he has every single thing under the sun to lose, his dignity, his respect, his future, and Hoseok. 

Hoseok. Hoseok who is the only real thing he could lose, the only one who matters.

Yoongi isn’t naive. Of course he knows better, he just simply chooses to ignore it .

It’s hardly his fault. He was practically set up to fall for Hoseok, they grew up together, they were best friends long before they knew about rules, and restrictions, the viciousness of the world outside of their bubble. And then, when they became teenagers the noose began to tighten around their necks, as pressure folded inward and collapse onto them. By then, they knew full well that to fool around together behind double-locked doors was a liability to the most severe extent, and that soon, they would be required to stop before they got too caught up in it.

Only, already, they were caught inside of something unstoppable. They were enamored long before either one of them had the gumption to say it. After all, it was taboo, every text and every scholar they had ever had, had made sure to drill them with a lecture on how unnatural it was for an alpha to take another alpha as his partner. It was weak, inbred, and indicative of having no will, no pride. It was wrong . And so, if that was all true, how come it came to the two of them as easily as breathing?

Yoongi was only sixteen, far too young, and far too inexperienced when his father passed in a sudden, violent manner. It was a planned attack, the court tried to cover that up in order to assure the villages and townships that all was well, peace had been brokered and was being kept as such, but it wasn’t true. Yoongi ascended to the throne, and with that he inherited a kingdom’s worth of problems, and a world of eyes watching his every move.

We need to end it now , he remembers telling Hoseok one silvery night, face to face in his chamber after he had finished bawling over how unwilling he was to stand and rule, how unfit he felt for the title. I’m King now, Hoseok. If we get caught, it will fall on your neck .

He had expected Hoseok to nod, and agree it was better for them to part amicably, although Yoongi wasn’t sure how amicable it would be when he knew he wouldn’t be able to look at Hoseok without wanting to cry for months, years, possibly an entire lifetime. It was a reasonable expectation, he couldn’t imagine Hoseok would be willing to put his life on the line to be Yoongi’s lover, but…he was. He’d refused to leave, to put even an inch of distance between the two of them.

You need me now, more than ever , he whispered in Yoongi’s ear that night, caressing his skin and holding him close with that warmth that only he can provide. We’ve kept our secrets for this long, we can do it a lifetime longer if we must.

A lifetime is a very long fucking time. To this day, Yoongi doesn’t know with certainty how long something as unstable as the two of them can, or will last, but he knows that for now they are alive, and they are together, and the latter of those things is one of precious few reasons why the drudgery of Yoongi’s life remains worth living.

In the present moment, sleep has entrenched Hoseok in its embrace. He usually sleeps before Yoongi, and wakes before him as well, a pattern in which Yoongi has long since grown accustomed to. He shuts his eyes with Hoseok by his side, and wakes in a bed alone, but in this case he doesn’t mind the odd deviation from this pattern. 

Yoongi rolls onto his side and drapes an arm over Hoseok’s waist, drawing his slumbering form closer and taking in a breath that reaches the deepest point of his lungs, filling him with the familiar sweet tones of Hoseok’s scent. Warm, and sugared, like something freshly baked and waiting to be sunk into. He cracks an eye and glances toward the wide windows at the head of the room. It’s near full daylight already, soon there will be people coming calling to Yoongi’s door, vying for his time and attention with their ceaseless demands. Everyone wants something from him. Everyone has some idea they think they should shout in his direction, an urgent action he must take, and Yoongi gets sick of the noise. The only real quiet Yoongi gets is here, in these moments, by Hoseok’s peaceful side.

He tips his chin up and presses a kiss to Hoseok’s jaw, making him rustle in his sleep-dredged state. Soon, this silence will be broken, but not now.

For now, they are together. For now, Yoongi will savor this for every second that it lasts.

One week. One stifling week inside these castle walls, and Jeongguk is no closer to his aims than when he first set foot on the cold flagstone flooring seven days ago. Perhaps he was naive in his projections for how often he would have the chance to even interact with the King, much less sustain opportunities to seduce him into giving Jeongguk a child to bear. In fact, the amount of times he’s so much as seen a glimpse of the King’s silvery-blond hair in his time here thus far amounts to exactly twice . Once upon meeting him, and once, yesterday, when they were all called to gather in formal dress inside of one of the expansive court rooms to watch the medaling of one of the military commanders pulled back from his service the eastern borders with badges of honor, but he didn’t even turn a glance in Jeongguk’s direction, where he was sitting stiff-backed between Jimin and Taehyung.

For fuck’s sake, if Jeongguk had known it would be so devilishly difficult to get a moment in his presence, Jeongguk thinks he might have stripped there in that holding room when the King first gave him his approval and asked to be bedded right then and there, forget mannerisms, forget delicacies, as long as it would increase his chances of falling pregnant, Jeongguk would have done it, Hoseok watching be damned. He doesn’t need to be coddled through his first time, Jeongguk couldn't care less, he wants that goddamn crown at whatever cost applies to him.

It’s the eight day that finds Jeongguk cross-legged in the grass of the gardens, almost knee to knee with his fellow concubines. He’s well aware that the whites of his robes will be stained bright green from sitting amongst the leaves, but he’s coming to learn that resources are seemingly endless when it comes to the care and upkeep of the King’s harem, a privilege which Jeongguk is coming to appreciate very much. If there’s a consolation prize to the fact that his interactions with the King have been virtually nonexistent, it’s the fact that the living conditions here aren’t anything to turn his nose up at. It’s a quality of life at least matched to his former one in terms of comfort, but the unforgivable cost of his freedom, his voice is one that Jeongguk can’t get over.

Still. He tries not to spend his days wallowing in unproductive misery, not when it brings nothing of value to him. He’s grown comfortable enough sitting in on Jimin and Taehyung’s conversations, dropping in his own nonchalant questions when they land upon something he wants to know more about.

“And then ,” Jimin is spilling a hearty dose of gossip to Jeongguk and Taehyung both, as if he’s holding his own personal court between the two of them. Taehyung is leant almost against his chest while Jimin weaves grass blades and tiny, pucker-bloom flowers into Taehyung’s dark locks, his short, pink-tipped fingers surprisingly nimble in their work. He’s sharing a recount of a conversation he overheard between one of the scullery maids and the visiting lord that Jimin believes she's sharing clandestine relations with, despite the fact that she’s mated to one of the stable boys. “She told him that ' if he kept up like this, he could bet that was the last time he would rut with her' . Rut with her, Jeongguk-ah!”

Jimin reaches out his free hand to deliver a boyish slap to Jeongguk’s arm, as if to ensure he’s listening as raptly as he should be, and Jeongguk sits up at attention.

“Yes, that’s- well, it can only mean one thing, can’t it?”

“Yes, it means they’re clearly secretly fucking in back rooms and behind closed doors. Christ, do you imagine her mate knows about it?”

“Maybe they have some sort of arrangement,” Taehyung suggests, settling more comfortably against Jimin’s chest and tipping his chin upward to receive some of the sun rays dappling down through the treetops onto them. “My complexion is going to suffer a terrible amount from this, you know. I’m going to be tanned from my head to my toes,” he sighs, long and bothered, but he doesn’t look terribly displeased over the whole thing. “Dare I say our King will never want to have a thing to do with me until winter comes again and washes me out once more.”

Jimin makes a humming sound in the back of his throat. “Taehyungie and his pretty, golden skin, the King should be so lucky to have you.” He pauses, then giggles, evidently unable to stifle the joke that’s popped into his head. “Awful shame that he doesn’t want you either way, though.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung reaches back to knock against Jimin blindly, jostling them both. His full lips dip into a pout, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “You laugh, but your heat is due before mine, you’ll be the one suffering for his lack of affection, Park Jimin.”

“Actually,” Jimin pops forward matter of factly, hugging his arms around Taehyung’s shoulders like he’s a particularly favored childhood toy. “If you recall, our King spent my last heat in my company, as he was duly advised to.”

At this, Jeongguk finds his attention stirring once more, piqued by the topic suddenly at hand. He rolls his neck, trying to find a way to slip back into the conversation nonchalantly, and settles for “ah, is it commonplace for the King to heat and rut with either of you?”

“Yes, but note Jimin’s word choice of ' as he was duly advised to' ,” Taehyung snickers at the expense of the other omega, who scolds him with a slap to his chest.

“The court is-,” Jimin breaks, glancing a furtive glance left right to check for eavesdroppers as he’s prone to doing. It’s their luck that Hoseok is several paces away, in discussion with a broad-shouldered member of the King’s Guard, and a highranking one at that if the badges and signets adorning his chest are anything to go by. At any rate, neither of them are within hearing-distance, and Jimin seems to come to the same conclusion when he rounds back to Jeongguk and Taehyung. 

“The court is pressuring him to provide an heir,” he announces in a low tone, paired with Taehyung’s nodding. This, of course, will not be news to him, nor does it come altogether as a shock to Jeongguk, who has read the breadcrumb trail of hints and formed a notion in his head over what they may mean.

Min Yoongi entered the cusp of his thirties last year, it’s late to be childless and unmated. Especially with the political unrest brewing between opposing territories, life becomes…more threatening, for a king. Best to secure the continuation of the bloodline sooner, as opposed to later, and ensure that a thread of heirs will prevail, come what may.

“And we,” Jimin gestures between the three of them. “Are commanded to accommodate, it’s practically become rule over the last several months that we spend our cycles with one another, but there’s no…well, I don’t believe a child happens by chance.”

“By chance?” Jeongguk repeats. “In what way do you mean?”

Jimin tips his head to the side and summons a smile. “Call me a poetic romantic, Jeon Jeongguk-ah, but I think children are born from love, not pressure, and the King and us...it isn’t like that.”

We don’t love him , to twist Jimin’s words into something less delicate. And he doesn’t love us .

The bright news for Jeongguk is that he does not believe in the folly of romance. Children are created through nature, not emotion. It’s the cycle, the body that decides, not the mind. All Jeongguk needs is a solid chance, a few nights, a well-timed the only remaining question is when that will happen, and who, if any, is due before him.

“Your last heats,” Jeongguk shifts, tilting under the shade of the tree behind him to escape the warming sun. “When were they?”

“Two moons ago,” Taehyung sighs, as if the memory isn’t altogether pleasant. “But mine are odd, they only come twice in a year.”

“Well, mine come often,” Jimin informs them both with a decisive air. “At the next full moon, I expect I’ll fall into heat again.”

The next full moon . As in Jeongguk’s next full moon, when he is due to reach his cycle’s peak and go into heat. The coincidental timing leaves a bitter taste on his tongue that he swallows with some difficulty. 

If what Jimin says is true, certain adjustments will have to be made on Jeongguk’s behalf. A race is exactly what he didn’t wish for, but the merciless clock has begun its countdown in spite of him either way. But he is younger, fresher. More fertile, a better candidate to fall pregnant with little trial, should he be so fortunate as to play his cards right. Or rather, if nature is graceful enough to deal him the correct cards.

But luckily for Jeongguk, nature can oftentimes be persuaded. 

Jeongguk is well aware that he’s pushing the reasonable expectations of what he may or may not be allowed to do as a newcomer here. He’s also well aware that it was for good reason that he has already begun to memorize a fill-in-the-blank map of the castle fortress and its many inhabitants, who will be where, and at what time.

After their evening meal, which is eaten in the shared dining room under Hoseok’s ever-present and watchful eye, a door to an adjoining common area is opened, and they are allowed to mill between the two, to lounge and occupy themselves with books or conversation in the sitting room, or to dwell in the dining hall and pick at a handful of post-meal sweets and fruit left out for them to eat to their heart’s content. Jimin and Taehyung are not often interested in dessert, they switch to one of the many plush couches and curl up into one another until Hoseok fetches the three of them to be shepherded to their bed champers for the evening. Jeongguk usually finds himself accompanying them, for lack of any better use of his time than to sit and listen to them fraternize, but tonight he finds himself occupied with alternate plans. Hoseok has left them momentarily to go attend to other manners, leaving the field wide open for Jeongguk to make his pass, and so he does, raising from his seat in a soft, low backed chair, and standing under the pretense of a nonchalant stretch.

Jimin and Taehyung look up, moving in tandem like twin extensions of the same body. “Are you leaving us?”

“Only hungry again,” Jeongguk lies with a smile. “Aren’t you?”

The other two shake their heads. Jimin reclines further back into his seat, resting comfortably against Taehyung’s shoulder. “I feel as if I’ve eaten an entire cow,” he groans with a smile. “How can you possibly have an appetite so soon?”

Jeongguk contains the widening of his smile. It’s the exact question he had hoped one of them would feed him, so he could respond in a way that sets up the validity of his plan further down the line. He lifts one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “That time in my cycle perhaps,” he replies, again lying between his pearly teeth, and he settles a believably instinctive hand low on his stomach to lend credibility. 

“Go on, then,” Taehyung waves him off, laughing. “Don’t let us come between you and a second dinner.”

Jeongguk doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the narrowed passageway forming a short walkway between that room and the dining hall, though in truth the dining hall isn’t his intended destination in the slightest, but rather a step further, down the arched corridor that leads down to the kitchen. But before the kitchen comes a stairwell, and in the stairwell, a preserving pantry, and it’s there where Jeongguk seeks to be. He’s seen the kitchen staff duck into here to collect herbs for the tea they’re serving at morningtime, just as he suspected, there’s an entire collection here, near an apothecary’s worth.

Unlike an apothecary of course, there isn’t anything that could be considered harmful when mixed improperly, or combined with the wrong pairing, just medicinal or flavoring herbs here, but it’s more than enough for that Jeongguk is after. All at once, he’s thanking whatever higher powers that be for his period studying herbology under the guidance of his tutor, and thus he knows exactly what to look for on the many shelves laid out before him.

Liquorice root, black cohosh, maca. Fertility aids, each more likely than the last to nudge forward a stubborn heat, and settle the womb into carrying. None of them will taste particularly pleasant when consumed alone but Jeongguk has high hopes that they’ll serve their purpose. If he can collect enough of a stash to slip into his drink first thing before each meal, and with a dash of luck, he expects he could be in preheat within a matter of days. 

He takes a couple of the small pouches hung on pegs on the opposite wall and begins to stuff leaves into them. Once filled, he slips them individually into the deep pockets his robes, ensuring that they don’t stick out among the many creases and folds of the material, and swallows a smug smile when he sees that they’re easily concealed. 

That’s a point to Jeongguk, then. Round one, settled in his favor.

He turns quickly, straightening his robes and righting himself to cross through the dining hall to the sitting room once more, confident in his ability to have pulled this off without hitch, when-

“Jeongguk-ah?”

Jeongguk all but jumps out of his skin. He nearly trips backward in surprise, catching himself with a palm against the roughened stone wall. Hoseok is standing shadowed in the doorway, his hands folded in their neat little manner behind his back, and his darkened face creased with both concern and confusion. 

“What are you doing all the way over here?”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk murmurs, making a valiant effort to quell his racing heartbeat. “You frightened me, I didn’t hear you coming.”

A careful avoidance. Jeongguk needs but five seconds more to pull a miraculous lie from thin air.

Hoseok tips his head. “I returned to the sitting area, Jimin and Taehyung said you were in the dining room, but I didn’t see you when I passed through, I was worried something had happened. You’ve yet to tell me why you’re here.”

“I-,” Jeongguk falters, swallowing. What was he doing here that won’t get him caught-red handed? Hoseok has a soft heart, he’s surely bound to pity Jeongguk before growing irate at him. Jeongguk lifts his chin and faces the alpha, rearranging his expression into something more bashful. “I was feeling poorly, hyung.”

“Poorly?” Hoseok’s expression shifts at once, just as Jeongguk expected it to. Skeptical to worried in the blink of an eye, and he steps forward to guide Jeongguk nearer with one hand, giving him a once over, the way a finicky mother would. “In what way? And for how long?”

“I think,” Jeongguk hesitates again, gifting Hoseok a convincing performance of doubt, almost bashful in nature. “My-my heat may be due soon, it’s earlier than expected, and I didn’t know how I should…” he trails off, his sentence dangling ashamed and unfinished in the air, and Hoseok seems to soften even further, though his voice remains serious.

“Omega, if you are struggling with anything, you know my role here is to aid you with it, do you understand?”

“Of course.”

“Then why hide?”

“Because I-,” Jeongguk stammers, eyes shifting side to side. Oh, this is a performance worthy of the wooden stage in the town square of his village, Hoseok is swallowing his every word in abject belief. How easy it is to play the role of the pathetic, blushing concubine, helpless, confused and shy. “I have never heated with a partner before, hyung,” he breathes, hardly above a whisper. “I’m unsure about it, and…a little afraid.”

“Ah,” Hoseok’s hand deepens in its rest on Jeongguk’s shoulder. His thumb begins to move slow circles, comforting in nature, the way one would console a small child. “I see.”

Take the bait , Jeongguk thinks fervently. Be as accommodating as I think you are .

“In that case, Jeongguk-ah,” Hoseok tells him evenly. “I can speak to the King on your behalf, and request that you are able to spend time with one another before your heat takes you. I understand completely, for your first time to be in the bed of a stranger would be…daunting, to say the least.”

Oh, Hoseok. Kind, empathetic Hoseok. He’s so gentle with his mannerisms that Jeongguk almost feels guilty for using that fact to his advantage. His one consolation is that Hoseok, truly, in no way will be harmed by Jeongguk’s great plan, he’s merely a collateral spectator, an unwitting aid to the play at hand.

“I would like that, hyung,” Jeongguk tells him, keeping a careful maintenance of his subservient tone. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“It won’t be,” Hoseok tells him quickly, drawing Jeongguk under his arm and folding him there and he guides them both toward the doorway. “The King can be persuaded into being fairly lenient, I will bring your concerns to him personally.”

“I appreciate that,” Jeongguk replies softly, and that, for once, doesn’t have to be feigned. The King was right to shift Hoseok from his guard to caretaking, Jeongguk can’t imagine him being better suited to anything other than this. 

“Think nothing of it,” Hoseok brushes away his apology with an airy hand, as if it’s a non-concern. “It’s my job to ensure your good health and comfort. Now come, I’ll see you to an early bed for the night.”

“You really should consider it, you know.”

“Hoseok, enough, ” Yoongi groans, throwing down his quill pen and sending a jet black smudge of ink staining across the paper he’s meant to be annotating. He leans back in his seat, brushing his hair off of his face with what he’s sure are ink-printed fingertips, but he can’t find it in himself to be bothered. It’s too late now to be working on official documents, as proven by his ruining blot over the surface of the nearest one, but thus is the enviable life of a king. 

Hoseok is on the bed. He looks like nothing less than a mouthwatering mirage from Yoongi’s most desiring dreams, cotton pants and robes, undone in the front, so his chest is on display. All golden, unblemished skin and the pinkened buds of his nipples, so carelessly exposed for Yoongi’s viewing. There’s little shyness between the two of them, as childhood friends, their wholehearted comfort in the presence of the other long predates their romance, they’re like extensions of each other, Yoongi knows Hoseok’s body nearly as well as he knows his own, and vice versa. But that doesn’t mean annoyance never passes between them.

“I hardly want to entertain another omega,” he huffs. “I never would have said yes to him if it weren’t for you asking.”

The boy from the Jeon family, Jeongguk, the newest member of Yoongi’s court. When they had received news that he was to be sent to them in offering, Yoongi had every intention of casting him away, but Hoseok, his soft-hearted Hoseok had quietly made his plea to Yoongi that the omega was better off accepted. 

“It will strengthen the loyalty ties with the Jeon family,” he had wheedled with Yoongi in private. “And to send him back would be humiliating for the boy, take him in and I’ll see to it that he doesn’t bother you.”

Well, Yoongi had, and not even two weeks has passed and yet here he is, being bothered . He repeats this much to Hoseok, who draws his long legs up to his chest and rests his chin upon his knees. 

“He’s at your mercy, hyung. You know that you’ll have to bed him at some point, why not ensure that he’s comfortable before his heat strips him down to something senseless and desperate?”

“I don’t ever remember agreeing to spend his heat with him,” Yoongi replies tersely. He pushes his seat back and gets to his feet, the first edges of genuine agitation bleeding into his mood.

Hoseok’s expression is demure, eyes cast down to the expansive mattress beneath him. “I think you and I both know it’s better if you do.”

“You are so eager to have me fuck an omega cunt,” Yoongi almost snaps, sweeping into the attached bathroom, just out of sight so he can begin the complicated lacings of disrobing. “A strange trait for my own partner.”

Hoseok’s response is long delayed. Yoongi can’t see him, but he can just imagine that melancholy contemplation on his shockingly beautiful features, and he shuts his eyes, allowing Hoseok’s pretty visage to rest in his mind's eye while he waits for him to speak again.

“Your partner,” Hoseok agrees finally. The words sound as if they’re paired with a nod. “Between the two of us, of course, but in reality, in action I know you are not mine, Yoongi. Forgive me for the fact that I have long since trained myself to be at peace with the fact that your body will be shared with others until you can provide at least a single heir.”

“And if I don’t want an heir?” Yoongi shoots right back, knowing very well that they’ve had this discussion countless times before and it’s gotten them nowhere.

“Yoongi-,”

“I mean it. To bring a child into this mess? What sort of a father would?”

“ This mess is why you need one, your bloodline-,”

“Will end with me if it has to,” Yoongi snaps. His fingers catch on the twisted lacing he’s trying fruitlessly to untangle, cinching into a knot at his back that he can’t see. He’s never wanted children, not as he is. Maybe in a different life, one where he would have the time and capacity to be present, but as King, he surely isn’t afforded that privilege. God knows Yoongi wasn’t raised by his own father, and then the man went and died and left Yoongi his whole convoluted legacy, for fuck’s sake, Yoongi was just a boy himself. How is he meant to stomach fatherhood knowing he runs passing that very risk onto his own, unsuspecting child?

Something shifts behind Yoongi, the sound of fabric rustling, and Hoseok appears at his shoulder with a softened expression. He hates when they disagree. Yoongi shares the same sentiment.

Without being asked, Hoseok reaches for the tangled laces at the small of Yoongi’s back, wiggling his nimble fingertips among the knots and prying them free. His robes fall loose, open, and Hoseok guides Yoongi by the shoulder to face him. 

“I know you don’t mean that,” he says quietly. “This kingdom is everything to you.”

He speaks with the frayed edges of sadness creeping into his words, perhaps resignment over the fate they both know they’re tied to. There’s no world where he can take Hoseok as a lover with the approval of the court, no loophole that would allow for him to be anything but a companion, a servant. Hoseok would be the most fit of anyone to rule beside Yoongi, he’s fair and just, and unendingly kind, and Yoongi knows this best of all, but it’s a childish dream. Eventually, a long-distant day that seems as if it’s careening toward him faster than he can keep up, Yoongi will have to pup one of his concubines and raise them to the throne at his side, and Hoseok will be further sidelined, a court attendant of little importance, but the one thing Yoongi loves most in all the world. 

It isn’t fair. It never has been.

He lifts a hand to Hoseok’s fragile cheek, ghosting over the delicately carved slope of bone, and leans forward to rest their foreheads together. “Not everything,” he whispers against Hoseok’s lips. “There is one thing I care for even more.”

Hoseok’s expression wilts like a blossom under summer’s cruelest heat, though he tries for what appears to be the consoling corner of a smile for Yoongi, and turns to kiss his thumb. “I do not value myself above your kingdom, my love,” he says quietly. 

I wish you did, Yoongi wants to beg. I wish you hated this life, I wish you would beg me to go away with you, because I could be convinced in a heartbeat. 

But Jung Hoseok would never do such a thing. A flaw, as it seems, of being loyal and just is that this land, his homeland, would never be abandoned by him even for his own good. He dreams for its success perhaps more than Yoongi does, and so any wild, fleeting dreams of slipping out in the night and creating a new reality, a better one for the two of them, are exactly that. Fleeting and impossible, like the magical stories passed down from ajummas on street corners selling charms and talismans. 

“You’re a good king, Min Yoongi.” Hoseok’s head  moves downward, coming to rest on Yoongi’s shoulder although it’s Hoseok who’s an inch or two taller than Yoongi himself, he has the uncanny ability to make himself small in Yoongi’s arms. “And you will be a great if you can accept that this is your path. Give an heir and pick someone to take the throne with you, I swear I will remain by your side in every way I can, it will be easier , in fact, to continue as we are without the suspicion of your advisors. I heard them talking the other day, hyung, the regent suggested that you might be impotent, do you know what he said?”

Yoongi represses the urge to roll his eyes. Whatever it is that old man said, he’s sure he doesn’t want to know, but Hoseok is forging onward regardless. 

“He said, if the king cannot prove his knot’s worth by providing an heir soon, I suspect one of us shall have to stand in whilst he takes one of his omegas and determine with our own eyes if he is virile after all.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Yoongi spins around in earnest now, pulling away from Hoseok and yanking his robes off with an air of considerable annoyance. “No one is sitting in the viewing wings to watch while I breed a concubine like a farmer’s prized cattle, that’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t say it was ideal,” Hoseok points out as he folds his arms over his chest, leaning back against the stone wall to survey Yoongi with an even expression. “I’m just reporting to you the fact that these are the conversations being had around to it.”

“Well, tell them to stop having them,” Yoongi snaps. He grabs a loose, cotton tunic, folded on the bath side and shakes it out. 

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “You want me, the lowly caretaker of your harem, to command your regent?”

That gives Yoongi a falter. The regent is an old-fashioned man, hailing from generations of power. Yoongi suspects the best two years of his life were the ones falling between Yoongi’s father’s untimely death, and Yoongi’s own coming of age, when the regent stood in as his right hand man, co-signing every measure and decision made under Yoongi’s new jurisdiction. He’s not cruel, but he is power hungry and calculated, and Yoongi can imagine easily a reality in which he casts enough doubt upon Yoongi’s name, his ability to rule and provide a bloodline, that it creates…unwanted consequences 

He huffs a sigh and rounds on Hoseok. “When is the omega’s heat?”

Jeongguk must have the loveliest good fortune in the fact that Hoseok is appointed the care and looking-after of the harem. Had he been anyone colder or less considerate, Jeongguk suspects he would have had his ears boxed and found himself put on chamber-arrest for sneaking off ungoverned the way he did, but because it was Hoseok who found him…soft, yielding Hoseok, Jeongguk finds this might be his most ideal stroke of luck yet.

It was Hoseok’s request that Jeongguk and the King spend time with one another before Jeongguk’s heat hit, in a capacity far away from the bed, just to familiarize with one another. Jeongguk was at first dismayed by this idea - why waste time over the pleasantries of tea when he could be rolling up his sleeves and getting into the most important part? But after a day’s reflection, Jeongguk came to the conclusion that an hour with the King would give him the advantage of assessing him before they roll into the sheets with one another. And it is always better to appraise one’s opponent before challenging them, Jeongguk is a firm believer in this. 

Jeongguk isn’t sure what strings Hoseok pulled to make this happen, but he looks somewhat harried over it as he dresses Hoseok in finer clothing than usual to be paraded before his alpha.

His alpha . The words shudder through Jeongguk’s mind, making his stomach turn with bittered anger.  His owner one might as well say. His master . The man whose whims Jeongguk now lives by. What if Jeongguk had planned to join Jimin and Taehyung on their guarded excursion into the forest trails today? What if he had been looking forward to that particular outing? It would be of no matter, because the King was available only this one afternoon to meet with him, and so Jeongguk is expected to be there no matter the personal sacrifice. 

Of course, in actuality he doesn’t have anywhere better to be but Min Yoongi doesn’t know that. 

“The King doesn’t have long,” Hoseok informs Jeongguk, weaving a tiny strand of silver into the braided strands he has done on either side of his head, and tucking it into place with the tiniest of pins. “Please use your time with one another wisely and…understand that he has many things on his mind. He isn’t at his most generous right now, Jeongguk-ah, but he will be fair if you are.”

Again, with the warnings. Jeongguk is beginning to believe the King eternally exists in a foul mood and Hoseok is the hired help brought on to make his excuses for him.

“Don’t waste your breath worrying about me, Hoseok-hyung,” Jeongguk replies in a light tone. “I will be perfectly pleasant to him.”

If he’s pleasant to be in return , Jeongguk an unspoken promise in the quiet of his mind.

Hoseok doesn’t take him to the King’s personal chambers, nor did Jeongguk expect him to. He’s directed instead to a room similar to the very first one he was placed in upon his arrival here. More barren than a normal lounging room, but not altogether unfurnished. A rug, wide windows allowing in dappled sunlight, a low table in the center set with tea and lined with cushions for sitting. Despite the broad daylight, the iron torches attached to the wall are lit, warming the space with their blazes. None of this comes as a surprise to Jeongguk. The only real thing that comes close to catching him unawares is the fact that Min Yoongi is already standing before the table waiting for him.

He had expected to be kept for awhile, counting down the long minutes until the oh-so-busy King found a leisurely moment to make an appearance, but here he is, done up with a regality that surpasses Jeongguk’s own, and greeting him with a stone face.

Hoseok is the first to bow, then presses a discreet nudge to Jeongguk’s lower back, urging him to do the same, which Jeongguk dips into obediently.

When Hoseok straightens up, he nods once, simple and curt. “I’ll remain nearby if I am needed, my King.” Then, he turns to Jeongguk with a hint of something in his dark eyes that Jeongguk cannot place. Wistfulness? Or…sadness?

“It is my hope that the two of you will get along,” he adds, his final parting words before he turns with a pleasant swishing sound of his robes and shows himself out the way they entered. 

As soon as he’s gone, the air takes a somewhat bittered tone that settles unpleasantly in Jeongguk’s chest like a stone. He isn’t sure where to step now, in light of the King’s scrutinizing gaze watching his every move. He stands stock-still, waiting for the further directions that he fully expects to come, and sure enough a moment later Yoongi makes a brief gesturing motion, directing Jeongguk toward the floor. 

“Come to kneel before me,” he instructs. His voice isn’t loud, but it’s authoritative, and in an otherwise-silent room, it carries with a stern volume. He steps to the edge of the rug, leaving it so that when Jeongguk kneels, he’s forced to rest his knees upon stone rather than cloth. 

He keeps his head bowed, his eyeline fixed on the gold-laced hem of Yoongi’s robes

Soon, Jeongguk thinks, I, too, will be clad in gold. 

He stays knelt, prostrated before the King in a position of abject reverence, but the only thoughts running through his head are those of dislike and ambitious goals he’s yet to achieve. After a long moment, in which Jeongguk assumes Yoongi is surveying him with the type of condescension that can only be held by royalty, he speaks again. 

“Rise, and take a seat.”

“Yes, my King,” Jeongguk makes his voice small and demure as he moves to one of the low seats on either side of the table and arranges himself neatly to sit in it. His robes trail along the floor, rich in their delicate weavings but not nearly as opulent as Yoongi’s gold-leafed dressings. Again, Jeongguk holds his tongue from speaking. Better to wait to be addressed, to be viewed as obedient and soft-spoken, than to talk out of turn and be labeled as brash and unmanageable. But Yoongi’s prompt is slow to arrive, and Jeongguk finds the silence stifling after a moment or two, the unbroken sound of flaming torches closing around him with the same force as gentle suffocation. Finally, finally, Yoongi breaks it. 

“Look up, and let me view you.”

Jeongguk tips his chin as promptly as if someone were physically guiding him to do so. He lifts to face frontward, allowing Yoongi to look over him without ever actually meeting the King’s eyes. Under his scrutiny, Jeongguk feels much like a seller’s wares in a market stall, like a finely woven piece of cloth, or a prime cut of meat being dangled before the eyes of potential purchasers. Only, Jeongguk never gets a real impression that Yoongi is interested in buying. Why allow Jeongguk in, then, if he’s so cold and sterile? What does he possibly gain from harboring a third omega in a harem that he has no real desire for?

“Your caretaker, Hoseok, tells me that you’re afraid of being bed.”

Jeongguk isn’t proud of the way he reacts to this, inadvertently allowing himself to be caught off guard for a second or two. He flicks his eyes to Yoongi’s colder ones, which are boring a hole into his skin from the power of looking alone. 

“I-,” he opens his mouth to begin, though he’s yet to be sure of which direction he should head with his reply. 

There’s no point to deciding, as is demonstrated when the King cuts over him with a tone like a finely-honed blade, frequently used and every bit as lethal for it. “I find myself needing to ask, omega, what service you are to me if you fear warming my sheets. After all, there’s no other purpose to you being here.”

Rich words from a man who won’t fuck his concubines, Jeongguk thinks bitterly. Yoongi must not know that Jimin and Taehyung speak openly behind his back. The thought fills him with a vindictive little joy. 

“It’s not that I’m afraid, my King,” Jeongguk starts again, keeping his tone measured and even. “It is merely that I’m inexperienced. I have been kept pure my whole life, in the hopes that I…” he trails off, fingernails biting against the soft flesh of his palm hidden inside the wide sleeve of his robe, as he steels himself to say what he knows he must say next to feed the King’s well-groomed ego. “In the hopes that I would achieve the honor and pleasure of serving in your court. My family always wished for me to take a place here.”

One of Yoongi’s thin brows arches. “And you? Did you want this lot in life for yourself too, Jeon Jeongguk?” 

That question requires Jeongguk to dig his the crescents of his nails even deeper into his skin, deep enough that he’s sure there will be-half moon marks raw and ready to bleed by the time he stands and exits this room. “Of course, my King,” he lies between his teeth. “It is my honor even more than it is my family’s.”

“Really?” Yoongi’s brow flicks even higher, almost smug. He looks as if he’s straddling the line of challenging Jeongguk with his words. “You would think it would be a disruption.”

“How so?”

“Well, an influential family, a rigorous education,” Yoongi raises a hand and makes a vague gesture with it to nothing in particular. “There was never a sign that your family intended to gift you to me, until your father refused to sell me a considerable portion of his land. It was a hard and fast no, but suddenly his youngest child turns up on my doorstep, wrapped up as a present for my taking.”

Jeongguk’s throat has gone dry. His cheeks burn with shame poorly repressed.

“You were not groomed for this,” Yoongi pushes onward, eyes glittering with the satisfaction of putting Jeongguk on the spot, picking him apart as if his life is a puzzle for Yoongi’s entertainment. “You were a gambling chip, a panicked attempt at avoiding retribution. Your father wants to cling to his land, and my good graces. His solution? Ship you off to be housed and bred by me like prize cow. So tell me, Jeongguk,” Yoongi leans forward, fixing Jeongguk with a look that he can’t dodge. His eyes are black as midnight, and every bit as chilled. “Was that a disruption for you?”

Every inch of Jeongguk is filled with a fire that floods his veins and lights his nerves. He wants to flip the immacutely-polished table right into the King’s face, to shout curses at him, and Jeongguk’s father both. Fuck them, fuck them and their conniving plans, for trading Jeongguk like an object, worth less than even a piece of land. Fuck their self-absorbed lives and their greedy hands and unfeeling personalities, fuck them both . 

But if Jeongguk did that, he would be condemning himself, without  doubt. No risk to the King can be retained in the castle, he would be hung, or sold to a much lower lot in life, and the only person he would be screwing over in that scenario is himself. Jeongguk’s obedience is for his own good, his silence is held for a greater purpose, one that will benefit him in the slow game of chess he’s marching through. Should he move his pieces right, he can obtain more influence here than he would have had even at home, and then he’ll show his father. He’ll prove what a gross misjudgment it was on his behalf to underestimate Jeongguk so severely.

“No, my King,” he breathes through a jaw that’s working frantically not to clench up and betray his anger. “I was happy to serve you, the news came as a pleasant surprise to me.”

Yoongi’s eyes stay trained on him for a long moment in calculating silence after that. He has the icy gaze of an overly-intelligent predator, or perhaps a mindreader who can smell the lies radiating off of Jeongguk’s skin. Jeongguk almost expects to be called out for his statements, but instead of placing him on the spot for a second time, Yoongi merely brushes onward with a look of distrust. 

“Hoseok says you’re well-behaved,” he observes in a tone that gives no indication of where he plans to head with that remark. 

“I do my best,” Jeongguk agrees with a nod. “Hoseok-hyung is kind, he makes my life here pleasant.”

That much is the closest to speaking the truth that Jeongguk has come to in this room. Hoseok is kind, and his attempts to make Jeongguk comfortable do seem wholly genuine in their earnesty. All things considered, Jeongguk would be much worse off in terms of caretakers. Hoseok doesn’t demand much of the omegas in his charge, nor does he keep them on a considerably short leash.  To Jeongguk’s surprise, Yoongi’s chilled expression seems to defrost ever so slightly at the mention of Hoseok’s name, the smallest of creases unkitting itself in his brow, a human-like light returning faintly to his dark eyes. 

“He is kind,” Yoongi agrees, adjusting the golden cuffs of his sleeves as if he were plucking at a speck of dust. “Should I find that you’re making his work difficult, there will be swift repercussions.”

Just as Jeongguk suspected. Hoseok and Yoongi must be considerably close friends, close enough for Hoseok to coast on the privilege of being under Yoongi’s authoritative protection. Lucky him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jeongguk answers honestly. There’s no real opportunity to be harvested from antagonizing Hoseok, it would be nothing more than a waste of Jeongguk’s time, quite frankly. “I prefer to keep to myself,” he adds, reserving a smile to be paired with the statement in hopes that he’ll win Yoongi over with his considerable obedience, but he has no such luck.

Yoongi does nothing more than flick an appraising gaze up and down Jeongguk, as if he’s weighing the pros and cons of keeping him around. He tips his chin up, those violating eyes scraping up and down Jeongguk’s body. 

“And, Hoseok tells me you’re due for an early heat.”

God willing , Jeongguk thinks quietly. I need an edge in over Jimin and Taehyung somehow. He’s been sneaking himself bitter herbs between meals in the hopes that it will prematurely induce the peak of cycle for near a weak now, already he can feel the edges of preheat symptoms beginning to edge in. Either that, or wishful thinking is playing clever tricks on his mind.

“It has taken me by surprise,” Jeongguk agrees, smiling through his blatant lie.  “But I’m fortunate enough to be able to spend it here comfortably, aren't I, my King?” 

It’s a subtle nudge in the right direction, a push toward the promise of being bedded. Yoongi doesn’t look so inclined to agree in a hurry. Instead, his face remains impassive and he draws up to his feet as if he’s planning on leaving. 

“There are many things that require my time and attention these days, omega,” he tells Jeongguk, stone faced and stern. “At Hoseok’s request, I will carve out a night to claim you soon, but I make no promises to share your heat. It’s not often that a king can take off days at a time to roll in bedsheets, I’m sure you understand.”

Jeongguk’s heart sinks like a boulder in water, plunging fast and hard. No, he needs the chance to heat with Yoongi, that’s the entire point of all this. Pregnancies outside of heats are uncommon, and Jeongguk doubts he should be so lucky on his first attempt. And after that, Jimin and Taehyung will have their cycles, and by the preference of familiarity alone, Jeongguk is sure Yoongi will be more inclined to spend it with them, and then—

His chances are dashed. Not impossible, but so narrow that the idea of them feels as if it’s slipping between Jeongguk’s fingers and disappearing into an unknown shadow. 

“My King,” Jeongguk stands quickly, nearly knocking into the low table in his haste to do so. He despises the desperation seeping into his tone. “Please, if you would be willing to reconsider, I think it would be best to—,”

“Jeongguk,” Yoongi turns, glancing over his shoulder on his way to the door. His eyes are nothing short of icy, fixing Jeongguk with a stare that could bury him if he were any less hearty. “Do not beg.  It’s shameless, and a poor look on you.”

Jeongguk has to physically bite into his tongue to hold back the ‘ but- ‘ that wants to be let out. He sinks down to the floor again, dropping his head in scorned silence.  

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth is raised in sickening satisfaction. “Stay exactly as you are. I’ll send Hoseok in to collect you.”

Without another word, Yoongi sweeps toward the exit and leaves Jeongguk alone to do nothing but swallow the bittered dregs of failing plans. 

Chapter Text

“He’s going to take me tonight.”

The words leave Jeongguk’s mouth before he can entirely consider their merit, but it’s too late to draw them back because Jimin and Taehyung are already turning to him, open-mouthed, both as surprised as they are enthralled by the remark.

“Take you, as in–?”

“Fuck me,” Jeongguk amends, swallowing over the lump in his throat that seems to be slowly forming at the notion. “The King is going to fuck me tonight.”

He can feel heat threatening to rise on his cheeks at the admittance, and he has to fight to keep them from flushing crimson. Jeongguk doesn’t balk at the idea of sex, he isn’t a prude, it’s just that he– well, he has no practice, and if there’s one thing Jeongguk values, it’s being the very best at something. He doesn’t like attempting things for the first time. He doesn’t like the foreign, fumbling feeling of newness that comes along with being a beginner, the shameful first attempts that make his eyes water and his face burn.

“Oh, Jeonggukie,” Jimin’s crooning voice fills the summer air, matching the dulcet tones of the birds chirping overhead. His hands come to weave through Jeongguk’s hair, the affection little strokes that would come from a fussy aunt, or a particularly doting grandmother. “Keep your chin up, little omega, there isn’t anything to be afraid of, alright?”

Afraid ? No, Jeongguk isn’t afraid, he’s just– no, scratch that. There’s no harm in letting the other two omegas think he’s expressing his nerves over their afternoon jaunt outdoors. They’ve already labeled him as the newbie and the underdog, no doubt. Where’s the evil in letting them believe that awhile longer? If nothing else, they might point him in the right direction with a few experienced tips.

“I know,” he nods, adopting a slightly meeker expression. Over the tops of Jimin and Taehyung’s ruffled heads, he can see Hoseok on the bench across the open grassy courtyard, paging through a thick book and paying them no worry. “But it’s my first time, and I’m worried I may not do it right.”

“Silly, there is no right or wrong when it comes to being bedded,” Taehyung announces, wiggling closer so they’re all knee-to-knee with one another, heads bent together like children trading secrets in clandestine whispers. “There’s only one person, and another person, and a lot of touching, and then it gets all wet, and you’ll feel good, and then it’s all over after a bit.”

Jeongguk busies his hands with the thin blades of grass he’s plucked up, weaving them into the willowy braids that Jimin taught him to make. “And does it…hurt?”

“Not like any pain you’ve ever felt before,” Jimin tells him, and Jeongguk looks up quickly, paling at the idea.

“ Worse ?”

“No,” Jimin laughs, tipping his fawn-like head back as he does so. Jeongguk feels his shoulders relax again. “Not worse, just…different. It isn’t pain , your body is meant to do this, but like any first time, you have to adjust.”

“Do you know that feeling,” Taehyung begins, reaching over to crown Jeongguk with tiny, pink-tipped flower buds that he plucks from the grass, lining them throw his hair as he speaks. “When you’re scratching an itch in just the right way, and it hurts for a moment, but your skull is also tingling from how good it is? That’s how it feels.”

Well, that, at least, seems manageable. Jeongguk prefers to imagine he can bear anything for a few minutes, but what Jimin and Taehyung are describing isn’t exactly hellish. 

“And the King?” he prompts, keeping his voice lower than low, so it doesn’t carry across the open courtyard to Hoseok, who is glancing now over the pages of his book to train a half-watchful eye onto their trio. “Is he…kind?”

Perhaps kind is asking too much. What Jeongguk thinks he’s really trying to ask is is he cruel ?

“He’s fair,” Jimin informs him placatingly. “And he won’t bring violence, or mistreatment into the room, but Jeongguk-ah, you do have to ready yourself for the fact that it’s a loveless affair. If you dream of romance, you will be disappointed. The King doesn’t feel for us that way, and I don’t believe there is anything that can be done about that, but the trade-off is that you won’t be mishandled.”

The knot of worry that’s been sitting heavy in Jeongguk’s chest since Hoseok informed him Yoongi had set aside a night to take him is slowly loosening. Loveless and fair is about the most ideal situation Jeongguk could have hoped for. To be wine-fed, romanced and seduced would be to waste his time. To be bred and abused like an animal would be a blow to his spirit and his pride. Jeongguk is content to settle somewhere in the middle, the gray area between love and loathing. What would it be called? Indifference.

“And you don’t need to worry about anything after, Hoseok-hyung will wash you and groom you and ready you for bed, he’s very good at it,” Taehyung offers, running his fingertips across Jeongguk’s brow bone with easy affection.

“ And ,” Jimin interjects again, sparing Jeongguk one of his sweet smiles. “You don’t have to worry about being pupped if you aren’t ready to carry,” he pets Jeongguk’s shoulder. “I mean, Taehyung and I have been here for years and never had it take, so don’t work yourself up, alright?”

Jeongguk tries not to curl away from that notion. He isn’t superstitious, but Jimin’s words before Jeongguk steps into the single chance he has on the horizon to fall pregnant do seem to carry the weight of bad luck inside of them.

He musters a smile, drawing his shoulders back to raise himself to his full height while still remaining seated. “It would be an honor for me to carry for our King,” he replies. “Whatever should happen tonight, I will be glad for the experience.”

Jeongguk’s words from earlier ring in his ears as Hoseok dresses him hours later. The moon has risen high, visible as a shimmering orb outside of his grated windows. Hoseok is carefully lacing him into robes of pure white, having finished adjusting the waist and neckline to settle perfectly on his body. It seems an awful lot of work for the fact that all of this is only going to be torn off again momentarily. At the very least, they’re forgoing jewelry and other unnecessary bodily decoration, with the knowledge that it will only get in the way later. 

Hoseok took his time washing Jeongguk tonight, scrubbing him from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes and rubbing him with sweetly scented oils to soften his skin and highlight the scent that Jeongguk knows is supposed to hunger the King. The alpha, his alpha. It doesn’t seem right to call Yoongi by that title when they’ve rarely spoken, not even yet consummated their distant relationship. And King only mates his first carrying concubine, the ruling omega, Jeongguk belongs to no one, yet. 

“You’re not afraid are you, Jeongguk-ah?” Hoseok’s voice makes itself a soft inquiry, filling the torch-lit air with his question.

Jeongguk lifts his chin, refusing to cave to his hesitations where anyone can see him. “I am not afraid, hyung.”

Hoseok is quiet for a moment. Jeongguk watches him from the corner of his eyes, his angled features changing shape with the wavering shadows cast by the fire. He sighs, barely audible, and runs a twisted braid of Jeongguk’s hair back to be secured behind his ear.

“Your scent smells doubtful.”

Jeongguk’s heart sinks. Curse his scent . Jeongguk wishes it were something like a facial expression that he could control or rearrange to his liking, but as usual it remains the dead-giveaway for his true feelings. “Perhaps it’s the smell of the perfume, hyung,” he murmurs, trying valiantly to make his suggestion convincing. 

Hoseok’s head tips. He comes around to stand in front of Jeongguk, his dark eyes made warm by the low light, and he smiles a little ruefully. “How many weeks have I been with you now, Jeongguk-ah? At least give hyung credit for having memorized the variations of your scent.”

Jeongguk lowers his head and says nothing. There’s something equally endearing and dangerous about being known so intimately. On the one hand, he wants to relent knowing Hoseok only means well, but on the other, Jeongguk’s promise to himself to hold his cards close and trust no one is still his surest plan of action if he wants to succeed without collateral damage. 

“It’s alright,” Hoseok takes another lock of hair and begins weaving it into a tiny braid with his nimble fingertips, the way Jeongguk learned to do from Jimin with the courtyard grass. “You don’t have to say anything, I remember I was unsure before my first time too.”

“Your first time?” Jeongguk flicks his gaze up to Hoseok in slight surprise. “Is it the same for alphas? The…discomfort?”

Hoseok parts his lips, taking in a breath that sounds like it carries vestiges of hesitation. After a moment, he seems to change his mind about something and smiles, shaking his head at Jeongguk. “I suppose it’s something of a similar experience for everyone, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Jeongguk agrees in a murmur. He pinches the silken material of his robes between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it back and forth with no real intention. “Jimin and Taehyung…told me it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Hoseok says with such surety that something settles in Jeongguk’s chest the moment he hears it. 

“The King will make sure that you are not hurt, Jeongguk,” Hoseok continues, brushing through Jeongguk’s hair and tucking stray tendrils neatly out of his face. “Trust me when I promise you that.”

Jeongguk pulls away. He doesn’t have any reason to trust Hoseok, but his tone is so quietly confident in its words, that Jeongguk finds himself believing in them, if only for a moment. 

The moon is high, almost peaking in the sky, Yoongi is meant to bed his newest omega any moment now and yet all he feels is apathy. His body wants it more than his mind does, he despises the way he’ll respond instinctively once he has Jeongguk beneath him, reacting to his scent, his slick as if he were possessed. 

In Yoongi’s head, in his heart , he thinks of no one but Hoseok. As he sits on the edge of his plush bed, for the millionth time over, Yoongi wishes for a day where he could claim Hoseok as his own and have it be accepted by the court. But god knows if he were to attempt anything that insane, his regent would have him dethroned. It is a crime, after all, what the two of them do. 

How love could be a crime, Yoongi isn’t sure. And as the ruler of the land he dwells in, he feels a certain moral obligation to try and change that, but it’s not so simple as drawing up a law and signing it into action. The advising committee would never be persuaded to agree to it, more than anything Yoongi is sure all it would do is bring attention to him, and more crucially, to Hoseok. 

Yoongi could stomach losing the throne, that’s a gentle punishment compared to some, but Hoseok? He would be hanged, ruthlessly and swiftly slaughtered for his actions. The forgiveness for royals isn’t the same as it is for those of common blood. If they were caught the blame would be placed on Hoseok . There would be words of his deliberate corruption of their king, as if Yoongi wasn’t a participant of equal enthusiasm. 

It isn’t fair. But then, nothing about court politics seems to be. 

A soft knock on his chamber door startles Yoongi out of his thoughts, and he looks up sharply. 

“Enter.”

There’s a momentary pause, in which Yoongi stands quickly and adjusts himself to look presentable, poised, then the heavy wooden door swings open, and Jeongguk appears alone. He isn’t guided by Hoseok today, he’s meant to enter on his own, just as he enters a new bloom of adulthood by being claimed by his alpha. 

The notion makes him shudder. His alpha. Yoongi doesn’t belong to anyone but Hoseok, and in turn, no one else belongs to him.

“My King,” Jeongguk nods with a bowed head before Yoongi can greet him, lowering himself gracefully to his knees and staying that way, prostrated before Yoongi until approval is given. 

Yoongi draws out the moment, not to punish Jeongguk because despite what Hoseok may think, Yoongi doesn’t have any real ill will toward him. He’s young, sheltered and bound to be naive, Yoongi’s real problems lie with Jeongguk’s father, but he won’t place the sins of the family on the son. No, Yoongi draws it out simply to delay the inevitable a little longer while he still can. 

Finally, he strides over, extending the three middle fingers of his right hand and touching them to the crown of Jeongguk’s head, brushing onto his carefully braided hair. Hoseok’s work, no doubt. No one else would be allowed to prepare concubine before such a significant night.

“Rise,” he commands in a low tone. 

Jeongguk is quick to obey. Everything about him begs for Yoongi’s approval, his assurance, which serves as yet another reminder of how inexperienced he is, and Yoongi finds that makes his stomach twist with a strange guilt. 

Despite any misgivings of fear, Jeongguk’s scent is sweet, if not slightly overpowered by the floral bath oils he’s sure to have been rubbed with. Beneath that, he smells like cotton and rosewood, clean and rich. Yoongi isn’t opposed to it, but Jeongguk is no Hoseok. Yoongi’s mind possesses discernment and preferences that his body seems to lack.

Yoongi moves his hand down to the omega’s chin and tips it upward, forcing their eyes to meet. “What do you want from me?”

Jeongguk’s round eyes gaze at him, glossy and tremulous. “I want you to bed me,” he replies in a low voice, breathy, as if he isn’t yet convinced that is what he wants. “I want you to claim me, alpha. Please.”

Yoongi says nothing immediately. He moves around Jeongguk, taking him in from every angle. The simplicity of his robes, but ornately groomed and readied, so well-cared for he almost seems to glow for it. Though his dressings are plain, his hair is done ornately, traditional in its symbolic value. A proper consummation will see the hair undone, the braided designs are intended to be pulled loose and tangled against the pillows, pushed and tugged by Yoongi’s hands. Even if Yoongi didn’t know for a fact that it was Hoseok who prepared Jeongguk today, he’d be able to tell it from his handiwork. Jeongguk has fine hair, it comes down to his shoulders in loose waves when not pulled up, and Hoseok has done some of his best efforts on it tonight. 

It feels like a strange gift to Yoongi, an unspoken message woven into the meticulous attention put into Jeongguk. It cannot be me with you tonight, so I have sent my love along the only way I can.

It very nearly makes Yoongi loathe to pull Jeongguk apart and dishevel him, but some things need to be done. Much to his annoyance. 

“To the bed,” he instructs, pushing a hand between Jeongguk’s shoulder blades to propel him in the right direction. He startles under Yoongi’s touch as if he wasn’t expecting it, or perhaps he isn’t used to the sensation at all. Why would he be? He’s young, unmmated, Jeongguk has no reason to be accustomed to the sensation of an alpha commanding him in bed chambers. 

“Yes, alpha,” he bows his head as he speaks, lifting the long, white hem of his robes and stepping forward. He comes to a stop at the mahogany bedframe, visibly unsure if he should sit, or lie, or remain standing.

“Lay,” Yoongi directs further, gesturing to the expanse of cushions and silk throws waiting to be disturbed by bodies intertwining. 

Jeongguk does so with obedience, and grace, but his body holds little calm. He’s tensed like a coiled spring, tightened muscle rippling beneath his flowing robes. “How do you want me, my King?”

“Your back.” Yoongi will have him roll onto his stomach later, it’s more impersonal that way, but for now he will see Jeongguk undress facing him, as he’s intended. To view his body, appraise his ability to carry for Yoongi. As if Yoongi plans to delegate him to that task any time soon. When he’s ready to produce an heir, Jimin or Taehyung would do perfectly fine, having a third omega is practically for show. The only real reason Jeongguk is here at all, remains solely due to Yoongi wishing to placate Hoseok. 

Yoongi sweeps around the side of the bed, coming to a stop not on it, but standing near the bedpost at Jeongguk’s head. He looks fine against the pale silk of the pillows, golden skin making for an appealing visual contrast. He has Hoseok’s complexion.

Stop this , Yoongi chides himself. Hoseok isn’t here tonight, this is a business arrangement, you must play with your head in the game. 

“Unlace the front of your robes,” he orders Jeongguk. “Use your right hand, slowly. Can you do that?”

“Yes, alpha,” Jeongguk nods again, lifting his nimble fingers to the intricate lacings and beginning neat work with them. He’s rather adept at it for an aristocrat who has likely spent his life being dressed and undressed by servants. Hoseok must have instructed him in preparation for tonight. Of course he would ready Jeongguk in every way imaginable, he wants the young omega to make a good impression perhaps nearly as much as Jeongguk himself does. 

Despite Jeongguk’s careful work, his hands have a tremor to them that isn’t stilled by having something to do, and Yoongi finds himself reaching out to catch his wrist. Jeongguk flinches, freezing immediately and looking up at Yoongi, unable to conceal his abject surprise. 

Yoongi looks right back at him, unblinking. “Are you afraid, omega?”

“No, my King,” Jeongguk replies quickly. Too quickly. A rehearsed, reflexive reply. “I’m…ready.”

“Ready?” Yoongi lifts an eyebrow.

“Comfortable,” Jeongguk gulps in reply, not looking it. 

“Are you sure of that?”

“Very,” Jeongguk nods. “My King,” he tacks on the honorific nervously at the end, as if Yoongi is going to bite him for neglecting it. 

“Very well,” Yoongi dismisses the conversation with a wave of his hand. He doesn’t have time to play nurse to an omega who won’t admit his apprehension even to himself. “Continue undressing.”

Jeongguk resumes his work at his lacings with even more tension in his nimble hands. Yoongi very nearly regrets putting him on the spot. Perhaps,  being called out has only worsened his nerves.

As expected, the omega wears no garments beneath his robes, and as he nears the end of the lacings, the top part is beginning to slip open, revealing strips of golden skin and shadowed muscle. It stirs something primal in Yoongi, a deeply-instilled reaction that he doesn’t like being reminded of. He does this out of duty, not wanting. If only his body and his mind could be spurned to be on the same page about that. 

“Open,” Yoongi instructs, gesturing vaguely to Jeongguk’s clothing. “Show yourself to me.”

Jeongguk seems to hesitate for the briefest of moments. If doubt didn’t flash in his eyes, a barely there glimmer, Yoongi may never have noticed at all. He takes each edge of his now unlaced robe and draws them open slowly, revealing his state of undress to Yoongi. 

He looks healthy, Yoongi will give him that. He certainly has the body and complexion of someone who grew up in the embrace of generational comfort. Well-fed, well-exercised and well groomed, though the latter would of course be largely due to Hoseok’s doing these days. Though his skin is golden, there’s a shy, pink blush on his cheeks, his neck, the rosy buds of his nipples and down, down further to where his little cock sits flushed and filling out already above the sweet folds of his cunt. 

Yoongi finds himself almost disappointed at the sight. He had half-hoped that when all was said and done, and on display, there would be something objectively wrong with the omega, and Yoongi could cast him aside, one less task to juggle. But no, for all superficial reasons, Jeongguk is perfectly acceptable, from the tips of his dark hair to the ends of his toes, and that conclusion burns misplaced annoyance in Yoongi’s chest.

He supposes he really will have to make at least a half-hearted attempt to breed him one day. Not tonight , a knot is an omega’s privilege that must be earned. This night is for the purpose of becoming acquainted with one another, it’s the first dip of the foot into the bath water to test the temperature. Yoongi will know Jeongguk, and Jeongguk will know Yoongi, and any further relations can be postponed and dealt with at a later date whenever it rises up and becomes applicable. 

Yoongi has no plans to spend the omega’s heat with him, he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t have the time. 

Jeongguk’s eyes are widened, filled with new apprehension as he awaits Yoongi’s appraisal, while clearly trying to appear as if he’s not anxious awaiting it. Yoongi recalls Hoseok’s fondness for the omega and decides to pity him for the duration of their night together. He gains more from getting this over with politely than he does from throwing a tantrum about it. 

“Touch yourself,” Yoongi instructs, trying half-heartedly to soften the edges of his voice without relaxing his demeanor too severely. He reaches out, placing his open hand over the sweetly-scented heat radiating from between Jeongguk’s legs, hovering there without ever actually touching. “Here. Slowly.”

Jeongguk moves his hand cautiously, as if it’s a game and he’s afraid of making a faux pas that will get him sidelined. His nimble fingers press downward, settling against his already glistening folds. Clearly, some part of him wants this given that his body is already preparing for it despite the fact that they’ve hardly begun. Yoongi draws his own hand back, and Jeongguk’s hips seem to twitch upward at the motion, as if they planned on following him.

“Have you ever felt yourself there?” Yoongi questions. If Jeongguk is new, too new to this, it will be uncomfortable for him, and then everything will only take longer. 

Jeongguk blinks those gamine eyes, wide and starry like the heavens, and shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “I’m not allowed to, alpha.”

“I didn’t ask if you were allowed you,” Yoongi lifts an eyebrow that he hopes will have the omega caving to his will. “I know you aren’t allowed to, I asked if you have. ”

Jeongguk’s silence wavers. He looks like he’s struggling against himself, teetering on the question of whether to speak or keep his silence. Finally, his body giving way in visible relent, he nods once. 

“Sometimes,” he says softly, flicking an almost fearful look in Yoongi’s direction. “Only ever by myself, I would never, ever—,”

“I know,” Yoongi cuts over him, lifting a hand to request his silence. “I would be able to smell it on you if you had.”

Not exactly true, physicians say you can only smell that much on a bonded mate, but Yoongi enjoys the fear factor of telling his concubines as much. It keeps them in line, keeps them in check even when Yoongi can’t be there to do so personally. Although, with Hoseok being as attentive as he is, Yoongi suspects it’s virtually impossible to misbehave under his watch. 

Jeongguk’s eyes widen still further. “Okay,” he murmurs, nodding again. His fingers are twitching, clear in their want to reach toward his heated center again, and Yoongi takes pity on him, reaching forward and pushing the omega’s wrist down, so the pads of his fingertips dip into his glistening folds once again, and Jeongguk’s breath hitches. 

“You’re fine,” Yoongi informs him, speaking slowly, measured. Jeongguk still looks a little tense. Perhaps trying to intimidate him wasn't in Yoongi’s present best interests after all. This will be easier, and much faster, if he’s relaxed. “Touch yourself the way you would if I wasn’t watching.”

“But, I-,”

“Touch yourself,” Yoongi repeats slowly, sliding his gaze up and down Jeongguk’s body as if he were appraising his value. “The way you would if you were alone. Be good. You listen to orders, don’t you?”

“Of course, alpha,” Jeongguk seems to steel himself. His Adam’s apple bobs, and with a last guarded flick of his eyes toward Yoongi, something melts, and his thin, nimble fingers begin their slow disappearance into the pink folds of his waiting cunt. 

And even Yoongi can’t deny the primal arousal that tears its head at that sight. He takes himself, his own fingers, so easily, no resistance in those fluttering, velvet walls. Clearly he’s done this more than once, he knows how to seek out the right places inside of him, judging by the immediate flush of full, soft pleasure that washes over his features. The tension unhitches itself from his shoulders the deeper he takes his hand, he wants this. The fact that Yoongi is right beside him isn’t a deterrent, he’s enjoying the notion of being watched. 

And to think, he was playing the coy role of an innocent little lamb. Jeon Jeongguk has more experience, at least in ideation, than he lets on, clearly. 

His fingers pick up their pace once the initial stretch fades, pumping deeper until his back arches into a perfect curve and his lips part. There’s something that harks Yoongi’s mind to Hoseok in the way Jeongguk moves, his easy dexterity, like God-given grace. 

“A-alpha,” Jeongguk pants. 

Yoongi looks up, startling to find that he had fallen into some sort of fleeting stupor of thought and missed the way Jeongguk’s midnight eyes have latched onto him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be touching me too?”

It’s a prompt. A request disguised as subtle wanting. Jeongguk must think he can pull strings if he plays his cards just right, and the thought annoys Yoongi very slightly in the same way intrigues him. He’s never had an omega who talked back beneath him, and Yoongi isn’t sure if he wants or despises it.

Hoseok wants this for him . He has the levelheadedness that Yoongi lacks to see that keeping his head down and walking in the path laid out for him will serve them both better in the long run than trying to rock the boat ever would. 

Play the part, Yoongi , he chides himself, fingers going rigid at his side with their stubborn annoyance. Be the good king, the good heir, the good alpha .

“If you’re ready for me,” he says after a stiff pause, in which he convinces himself to obey what the situation at hand calls for.

“I am,” Jeongguk replies, so quickly and assuredly that for a moment, the look of an entirely new person flashes through his darkened eyes, making him look hungrier and much less sane for the briefest of seconds, until that starvation disappears and is replaced with the same shy, coy boy from a minute ago. “ Alpha, ” he adds, as if to drive the point home entirely. 

Without word, Yoongi takes Jeongguk by the shoulder, lifting him up and away from the pillows and tugging on his loosened robe to slip it off of him completely. It puddles, silken and soft behind his back, beneath his body, and Yoongi takes the precaution to pull it out from under him and set it aside so the omega will have something clean to redress in when he leaves the room, newly flushed, his virginity claimed, and his body no longer belonging entirely to himself, but rather to the monarchy that would have him fat with pups within a matter of months, if it were left up to them.

The least Yoongi can do is see to it that he has clothing to shuffle out of the room in that isn’t stained with bodily fluids. It’s what Hoseok would want him to do, anyway. He’s always telling Yoongi to be softer to his concubines. As if they matter to him.

“Turn, and present for me,” he directs Jeongguk as he edges one of his own knees onto the bed and undoes the front of his own robes. Despite his distaste for being aroused by the omega, it’s no matter of concern for his cock, which has a mind of its own– or perhaps, a lack of one. Anything warm, and wet, and sweet-smelling is quite enough to wake it up, whether Yoongi agrees to it or not. 

Jeongguk rolls obediently, getting first to his hands and knees, then seemingly deciding to commit entirely and allowing his arms to fold so his face and chest rest directly among the sheets, and his cunt is perched spread for Yoongi’s taking. He has very little shame, Yoongi thinks, for someone so new to this. 

“I am not going to hurt you on purpose,” Yoongi informs him in an even tone, “but when I enter you it may not be comfortable at first. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, alpha,” Jeongguk replies automatically, his voice muffled slightly by the way he’s arranged himself to be pressed into the bed. “I won’t mind it,” he adds. “I can take it.”

Confident words for a virgin. 

Yoongi draws his robes back, unbothered to undress entirely. This won’t be terribly involved on his behalf, he doesn’t even care to finish tonight. It’s about deflowering Jeongguk more than it is chasing the means to an end for Yoongi. If he finds himself very desperate, for whatever reason, he can always call on Hoseok later this evening. He wraps his fingers around his cock, stroking himself once or twice experimentally before reaching for the un-perfumed bottle of oil on the beside table to drip onto himself. Jeongguk looks…perfectly acceptably lubricated, but for this first time it certainly won’t hurt for Yoongi to try and make things smoother for him. 

“Alpha?” Jeongguk speaks after hardly a moment of pause, shifting so he can turn his head to halfway look at Yoongi.

“Yes?”

“I’m…ready. Waiting, even.”

Yoongi frowns. “You’re impatient , is what you are. A good omega takes what he is given. You may feel free to keep your thoughts to yourself.”

A brief silence. Jeongguk squirms. “And may I feel free to speak my mind?”

Christ, was this boy taught no manners? Disappointing, really, what an aristocratic upbringing gets you these days. A King’s omega who cannot even hold his tongue when asked. Yoongi shuffles onto the bed, taking Jeongguk’s hip with one hand an bringing him closer. “ No , you may not. Unless I am hurting you, in which case you may say as much, and I will slow down.”

Jeongguk says nothing in response to that, but he does nod once before stilling. Good . He’s getting the hang of this already.

Yoongi sees no reason for build-up or romantic preamble. They are here for a single, very distinct purpose, and there’s no reason to pretend otherwise. The sooner they begin, the sooner it will end, and each of them will have their bodies back to themselves. Yoongi takes his cock, now slick with precum and glossy oil, and nudges it against the soft, dewy folds of Jeongguk’s entrance. 

Jeongguk gives a bodily jerk, as if even knowing it would happen failed to prepare him for the actual sensation. Yoongi gives him a breath’s moment of time before pushing forward, beginning that slow, steady stretch into being swallowed by his heat. He tries to separate himself from the feeling, because he isn’t particularly attached to immersing himself in it. Jeongguk on the other hand seems to be lingering somewhere on the opposite end of the spectrum, allowing himself to become all but overwhelmed by it. His pink lips part, his eyes screwing shut. His fingers wind into the silken sheets that slip against his palms, providing little purchase to cling to, and his cunt spasms around Yoongi, restricting, then relaxing, and repeating the pattern over again as his body acclimates. 

“Fine?” Yoongi prompts without elaboration. Not good , not comfortable , because he doesn’t need all that from Jeongguk, he just needs him to be fine. Acceptable. Willing to endure. 

“F-fine,” Jeongguk chokes back between gritted teeth. Braced with pleasure, or pain, Yoongi isn’t sure. All he can hope is that Jeongguk would express as much if it were the latter. If he wants to keep his feelings to himself, there’s little Yoongi can do to help him. Then, as if sensing Yoongi’s doubts, he adds: “you can move more, alpha. I can take it.”

I can take it. That’s the second time he’s spoken those very words tonight, isn’t it? He seems very confident in himself, perhaps over- confident for one so young and otherwise woefully inexperienced. Nevertheless, Yoongi picks the pace up to something more substantial, something enough to rock Jeongguk’s body a bit where he lies, and to his credit he doesn’t balk at it. 

Perhaps he is sturdier than Yoongi has initially assumed. 

The whole ordeal is, by some standards, slightly awkward. Yoongi doesn’t have much to say, pleasure makes him hazy, and the idea that he’s even slightly enjoying this on a bodily level annoys him a good deal, which makes for an unpleasant combination of disorientation mingling with frustration. Jeongguk, for his part, seems rather too enthralled with the idea that he’s getting fucked to say much of anything at all, and thus the room is devoid of conversation, and filled instead with not much more than the sound of skin on skin, and increasingly frenetic breathing. 

“Will you,” Jeongguk manages, rolling his head to the side and angling himself so that once again he can half-face Yoongi, “knot me, alpha?”

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to reply. Best to let him down quickly and get it out of the way. “No.”

Jeongguk reacts immediately, his body tensing at the answer, and his voice going up a disturbed octave. “Why not?

He seems to realize, a moment too late, that such a blunt question would be seen as both insolent, and inappproprate, and drops his voice back down to an even tone. Or, as even as one can be while being fucked. “But it would–it would be my honor. To have a chance to c-carry for you, My King.”

“I know it would,” Yoongi tells him swiftly. Despite his annoyance, the tells that Jeongguk is nearing his finish are clear: his breath comes in stabs, his cheeks are rosy, his pretty hair sweaty, and slipping from it’s careful braids. “It is an honor, and one that you have yet to earn. Do not forget your place as the newest, and therefore the lowest in my court, Jeon Jeongguk. Honor must be earned.”

Jeongguk emits a choked-out cry which carries more frustration than it does ecstasy, but he reaches his climax alongside it nevertheless. His body coils, tightening like a rope being pulled taught and then snapping just the same, the tension draining out of him in a single breath that sees him dropping, boneless, to the mattress. Not even his arms are able to support him any longer, so tumbles face first and lands amongst the pillows, panting for air. Yoongi, somewhat unkindly, doesn’t wait to pull out of him. He meant what he said, he isn’t going to be spurned into changing his mind, but Jeongguk lets out a keening sound at the clearly unwelcome sensation of going from stretched full to abruptly empty once again.

He draws his legs up to his chest, curling into the infantile position of a child while fighting to catch his breath. Yoongi tucks himself back into his robes, already losing interest in the situation at hand. He’s no good with comfort, nor coddling unless the subject of his efforts is Hoseok.

Hoseok. Speaking of…

Yoongi slips off the bed, adjusting himself to return to full dress as if nothing had happened between them at all. He reaches to the variety of ropes on the wall and tugs the one that will command the maids to summon Hoseok to his chamber.

“Hoseok will arrive outside of the door to collect you momentarily,” Yoongi informs the shuddering pile of omega strewn in his bedsheets, turning away even while he speaks. “You will go to him once you are able to stand, he’ll see to it that you’re cleaned and redressed to sleep.”

Then, out of something that could be compared to pity, Yoongi adds “you’ll feel…more like yourself again in the morning.”

With those parting words, Yoongi sweeps around the corner into his bathroom to wait out the time until Jeongguk leaves him. Perhaps, he’ll call for a bath of his own. 

In hindsight, Jeongguk will admit there were ways he might have handled that better. He isn’t sure who he’s angriest at — Yoongi, for being so prideful, so self-absorbed as to think carrying for him is a gift. As if he could ever fathom it, holding a child for long months, giving your body over to grow it, and the birth — Christ, don’t get Jeongguk started on the birth. How dare he speak of it like it’s something Jeongguk should be falling over himself to do? Being with child is a punishment, but one that Jeongguk is willing to endure for the reward he would reap at the end.

But no, no, this was his chance, and he all but squandered it. He should have prepared himself further for how debilitating it would be, being taken by an alpha for the first time, but how could he? He had no idea what to expect, save for the whispers Jimin and Taehyung had passed along to him this morning. Jeongguk is writhing with annoyance that he enjoyed it, that has to be the worst part of all. How badly he wanted to rise above the supposedly-necessary act of sex, and keep a clear head over it. But his body betrayed him, to the point that for a moment, Jeongguk didn’t want to be knotted for any higher plan, he wanted to be knotted because— because he needed it.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

Hoseok’s hum of a voice catches in Jeongguk’s thoughts, pulling him out of his own head and into the present, to the soapy bath water swirling around his shoulders, and Hoseok’s nimble hands undoing the knotted braids tangling Jeongguk’s hair. They had been so beautiful earlier, and now they’re nothing more than snagging strands pulling on Jeongguk’s scalp.

“You’re so sullen,” Hoseok continues, leaning forwards over the stone edge of the tub to peek at Jeongguk’s stoic profile. “What bothers you?”

“Nothing,” Jeongguk replies without pause, lying between his teeth. Nothing Hoseok can be any help with, at least. “I’m…content.”

Hoseok is quiet for a moment, then he shakes his head. “ I was assigned to your care, Jeon Jeongguk-ah, the first thing I did was familiarize myself with the way you smell.”

His words, perhaps unintentionally, strike Jeongguk as something almost intimate. The idea that, from his very first moments here, Hoseok sought to know and look after him. Not even begrudgingly, but earnestly. In a genuine way, he seems to enjoy what he does, and certainly he’s skilled at it, but it Jeongguk remains unable to shake how very uncommon it is for him, an alpha, to hold this position. 

Here Hoseok is, tending to Jeongguk after the consumption of his relationship to the king. An alpha, trusted to be alone with a royal concubine during such a vulnerable time, it’s very nearly unheard of, it’s too precarious, too much risk involved. What if Hoseok were to snap? To want Jeongguk, or Jimin, or Taehyung to himself? He would have ample opportunity to take them, whether they wanted to or not. 

But he doesn’t. And Yoongi trusts he never will.

How can that sort of trust come to be? The only way to ensure it would be to know for a fact its impossibility, which would leave the barest of unlikely options left to choose from. Jeongguk supposes Hoseok could be… ill-suited to taking omegas. It’s rare, but it happens. People who don’t present when they come of age, or those born without the body of a man, nor a woman, but something in between. Jeongguk has never known one personally, but he assumes that sort of thing would be kept well-hidden, due to the way it’s whispered about, as if it’s something sinister. As if it’s something that can be helped. 

But no, Hoseok seems exceedingly confident in his identification as an alpha. If he were without a subgender, and he was forced to pick one and assume its identity to hide under, wouldn’t it make more sense to pick omega, given his mild personality and given job? And besides, he used to be in the King’s guard. No false alpha would be admitted into their ranks, which means Hoseok must be genuine and true in his status, but then how ? How would Min Yoongi know he could trust his coveted, protected concubines in the care of another alpha? How could he be sure, unless he also happened to know that omegas aren’t likely to strike Hoseok’s intrigue?

That, perhaps, it isn’t omegas he wants at all. 

Speak of taboo . 

Jeongguk almost shudders in his bathwater at the abrupt enormity of his realization, garnering him a look from Hoseok that has him snapping back to what he hopes is a stoic expression once again.

Now that would be a courtside scandal, Jeongguk thinks. One of the King’s own men afflicted with perverse desire. Jeongguk knows, logically speaking, that similar to being born man, or woman, that wanting for someone is not the sort of thing that can be helped, but still , an alpha wanting an alpha? It goes against nature’s intention for life, and procreation. It goes against life’s cycles and patterns. Alphas are supposed to be at odds, to want to best one another in various ways, not to share a bed.

And how would Yoongi know if Hoseok were that way? How could he be so sure, if Hoseok didn’t share it himself? Then, of course, Hoseok could have shared it himself. Foolish, it would be at the risk of punishment, and Yoongi’s punishment’s are unlikely to be gentle. Unless, of course, Hoseok was absolutely positive that it would remain in confidentiality between the two of them. A bribe, a blackmail, or–

Oh . 

Mutually-assured destruction. 

Hadn’t Hoseok said they were friends? Picture it, two young boys coming to know they have the same urges, testing the waters on one another, coming to hold secrets for one another at the risk of their reputations. 

No. It can’t be. It’s too far a leap, but then–

Isn’t it a perfect explanation too?

“ Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk starts, blinking back to himself sharply. Hoseok is waving a hand in front of his nose, his face furrowed with intense concern. 

“Are you alright? You look like a ghost.”

“I was thinking,” Jeongguk replies hurriedly. Not so much  a lie, but best if Hoseok doesn’t know what exactly he was thinking about. Jeongguk stands from the water, letting it roll of of him in rivuets. He wants to be alone. He wants to examine this new angle more in private, to roll it in his head and sand down the edges and make sense of it.

“I’m sorry, I’m ready for bed now. A towel please, I’m tired, and I want to be left for the night.”

“Of course,” Hoseok murmurs, already reaching for one and passing it to Jeongguk, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced that he’s feeling well. “As you wish, Jeongguk. Shall I leave you?.”

“Please,” Jeongguk nods. “I’ll dress myself. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Hoseok hums, still troubled. “Do be sure to let me know if you need anything before you sleep.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Jeongguk replies firmly. All he needs is the dark, and space to himself to lay out and think. Then, he adds, to mollify Hoseok enough that he’ll leave. “But I will call you here if I do.”

Looking marginally satisfied with that, Hoseok turns with a twirl of his robes, pausing to bow his farewell to Jeongguk, and disappearing without further word. 

Hoseok finds Yoongi in the bath, to little surprise on his behalf. Yoongi has always been enamored by a long soak, as hot as the skin can stand. 

Having locked the chamber door behind himself upon entering, Hoseok has no qualms about shedding the top layer of his robes and dropping them outside the bathroom door. 

He greets Yoongi with a bowed nod, muscle memory kicking in on instinct rather than intention, and it earns him a snort.

“Formal,” Yoongi remarks in good humor. “You walk into my bathroom unannounced, and half-undressed, but bow as you do so.”

Hoseok smiles sheepishly. “I’m a proponent of balance, personally. All things in moderation.” He moves to kneel at the edge of the tub, and lifts a hand to card through Yoongi’s silken, damp hair. “How was your time with Jeongguk?”

Immediately, Yoongi’s scent bitters around the edges, an involuntary reaction to an unwelcome topic. Hoseok knows Yoongi loathes to discuss these things, but for Hoseok’s part, it helps him…cope, in a way. To discuss it in the open, rather than to have secrets about these things. It’s difficult enough, as is, sharing Yoongi. It’s worse to share it and not be able to speak of it. Besides, Jeongguk had seemed so…rattled earlier, almost shaken. Hoseok worries the whole ordeal might have been an overwhelming surprise to him, as it reasonably could be to someone so woefully inexperienced. There’s a reason Hoseok wanted to introduce him to these things before his heat strikes and renders every sensation, every urge to be ten times more overpowering

“It was fine,” Yoongi sighs, sliding deeper into the water so that the frothing bubbles cover his shoulders and kiss up to his throat. “It was as to be expected.”

“Was he…comfortable?”

“He finished, if that’s what you mean.”

Hoseok isn’t sure if what’s what he meant. He isn’t exactly sure what it is that he does mean, only that Jeongguk’s glum mood flagged something in Hoseok’s head as wrong, and as much as he loves Yoongi and wants him to be happy, and pleased, Hoseok does have a duty to the omegas in his care, and he’ll see to it that they’re as well-tended to as they possibly can be. Even if that does mean annoying Yoongi just a little bit. 

“Did he seem like he enjoyed it?” Hoseok asks, swiping a delicate strand of hair from Yoongi’s brow even as it knits beneath his fingertips. 

A hefty sigh. Yoongi tips his head back. “He wanted me to knot him.”

“And did you?”

“Of course not. He isn’t ready.”

“Ready as in…?”

“ Trusted ,” Yoongi huffs, the animalistic hint of a growl slipping into his voice and betraying his discontentment. He’s so gentle to Hoseok, sometimes Hoseok forgets Yoongi’s authority. An alpha, a king . His King. 

Yoongi turns to Hoseok, and the tension fades from his expression as quickly as it bloomed there. “You can’t have intended for me to breed him tonight. Even my child-pushing advisors surely couldn’t recommend such a thing. He’s barely spent time here, he’s nothing but a stranger, too young and too new to bear heirs.”

“Yoongi,” Hoseok says softly. He leans in, bridging the gap between them and placing his forehead on Yoongi’s damp one, skin slick and heated by the steam. “I intended nothing for you tonight other than to acquaint him to this new chapter in his life. He knows you’re busy, I’m sure he understands the logistics of being able to heat with you are complicated and unlikely. And,” Hoseok lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I doubt he wants to carry so soon.”

Jeongguk, for as quiet and well-behaved as he seems, has a wily streak to him that’s impossible to conceal. He strikes Hoseok as someone who has much living left to do, and would prefer to do it on his own terms. A difficult thing to achieve when loaning your body to child rearing for long months at a time. 

“He does want it,” Yoongi grumbles. “That seems to be the problem. He said it would be his honor.”

Hoseok suppresses a smile, and leans away from Yoongi. This is the thing about Kings– sometimes they are too sure, and perhaps too troubled by their own misconstrued sense of importance. “Yoongi, my love,” Hoseok murmurs. “It is a possibility he just said that to appease you while in your bed.”

Yoongi frowns, as if he had never even considered that to be even the slightest of possibilities. “Do you…think so?”

“He wants to be good for you, I’m sure,” Hoseok tells Yoongi, trying his best to conceal his endeared amusement at Yoongi’s confusion. “Don’t you think that might come with a measured dose of, well, sweet-talking?”

“Maybe,” Yoongu murmurs. He doesn’t look very pleased by the thought, but then, nothing much about his concubines seems to please him.

Hoseok stands and moves his hands to the lacings on his undergarments, the much thinner and more plain dressings he wears beneath his robes day in and day out. “You like it when I sweet talk you though, right alpha?”

Yoongi tips his head to the side, interest sparking in both his eyes and his scent when he sees Hoseok shedding the rest of his clothing and hanging it neatly on one of the many iron hooks near the door. 

“Depends,” he replies, his gaze raking over Hoseok’s body like it’s a banquet meal, and he hasn’t eaten in days. “Do you really mean it, or are you just trying to please me?”

Hoseok doesn’t bite back his smile this time. He takes a delicate step over the side of the tub, sinking into the hot water and lowering himself to Yoongi’s side. “Why can’t it be both, my love?”

Hoseok filling the space next to him seems to uncoil something in Yoongi, and he relaxes like hair being let down from taut braids after a long day. He lifts his arm and brings it around Hoseok’s shoulders, drawing him still closer, despite the ample room in the water. Hoseok swears, the tub here was built to fit a king, and evidently half his court too.

Yoongi sighs again, but this time it carries less annoyance and more exhaustion. He sounds as if it’s well past his bedtime, and he’s more than aware of it. He rolls his shoulders, and leans so he can rest against the side of Hoseok’s body. “Do you think he’s trustworthy?”

“Jeongguk? I don’t see why he wouldn’t be. His family have always been loyalists to the crown, I’m sure he was raised with the same teachings. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi shrugs the question off, but remains looking somehow troubled by it. “There’s something about him that’s too…sharp. Smart.”

“He’s well-educated.”

“I don’t mean in the way of books, Hoseok. I mean that he’s intelligent. Almost conniving.”

“Conniving?” Hoseok can’t hold back his snort of laughter at that remark. Jeongguk? Jeon Jeongguk with the wide-eyed gaze, who showed up here white as a sheet and ill from his journey? Jeongguk who was sick in a chamber pot the night he arrived from how nervous and disoriented he was? Sure, he may have grown a more adventurous streak since he’s settled in more, but he’s still the same person he was on that first night.  A sweet, of not slightly sensitive boy. Hoseok can’t imagine him being the cunning, eagle-eyed character Yoongi seems to see. 

He shakes his head and swipes slick strands of hair from Yoongi’s brooding gaze. “You’re too untrusting, Min Yoongi. Not everyone in your world is out to get you.”

“Aren’t they, though?” Yoongi grumbles, looking distinctly unpleased. “Doesn’t that come with the territory as King?”

“Yes,” Hoseok agrees with a nod that concedes to Yoongi’s point without negating his own. “But you’re not merely a king to him now, you must remember that much. His life belongs to you and your court, you are his King, and his future, and his lover. He’s young, and shy, and I’m sure all he wants is to please and impress you. Be… gentle with him. At least give him a chance.”

“I am giving him a chance,” Yoongi replies, not sounding entirely pleased about the fact. He turns to Hoseok and fixes him with a long glance before speaking again, this time in a softer tone. “You’re wrong on one account, though, Hoseok-ah. I am no one’s lover but yours.”

Chapter Text

A week has passed now since Jeongguk’s silent epiphany, and for all his trials and tribulations, he has yet to unearth anything that might be called damning evidence of what he has begun to suspect. 

Three days into his covert inquiry, he discovered that he’s small and lithe enough to slip through the laundry vent in his bathroom, a high, thin slot in the wall covered by a hinged wooden door that leads to a wide servant passageway. Jeongguk knows this because he memorized their schedule. A servant with a laundry cart arrives daily at high noon, then again at eight hours later to collect any discarded sheets, robes, and bath towels from the remainder of the day. Once they’re gone, that particular corridor remains vacated, and Jeongguk is free to wiggle through the hatch door and land lightly on the other side without creating a disturbance or informing Hoseok of his leaving his chambers. 

Which is, of course, of utmost priority given that it’s Hoseok himself who Jeongguk is attempting to capture information on. 

The first day he ventures in through the laundry hatch, Jeongguk goes no further than exploring the complicated maze of corridors leading from the servant quarters and mapping a way to discreetly make his path to either the floor where Hoseok sleeps, or the one where Min Yoongi does. The second night, he goes further. All the way to the hallway with Hoseok’s door, and though he lingers in the shadows for a while avoiding the sleepy eyes of any night servants moving about, he sees nothing of interest. Either Hoseok had not yet arrived at his chambers, or he’d already locked himself inside for the night. Whatever the truth, once Jeongguk’s eyes began growing heavy, he didn’t dare linger any longer for risk of falling asleep at his secret post and being discovered later. 

The third night, the same. 

Tonight, the fourth night, Jeongguk is determined to stay wide-eyed and awake as long as it takes to follow any thread Hoseok leaves loose and tug on it accordingly. 

At first meal he snuck away a good deal of strong brewed black coffee in a flask and tucked it in his hanbok hidden amongst the many folds of fine material. Not even thirty minutes ago, in the privacy of his chambers, he chugged the whole thing in one go before pacing awhile, then slipping into the hatch that will lead him to the servant corridor. 

As of now he’s stationed behind the enormous bust statue of the former King tucked conveniently into an alcove and creating a wash of shadows that well conceals Jeongguk from any attendants milling around at this hour. There isn’t much to do besides sit and count the beats of his heart as he waits for the minutes to tick away. One hundred beats. Five hundred. A thousand. In spite of the coffee, Jeongguk’s eyes slowly begin to grow dull with sleep setting in, and he has to remind himself to blink every minute or so to ensure they don’t fall closed and stay that way. 

The shadows around him have grown long. He’s just begun to consider the merits of abandoning tonight’s venture and returning to his chambers when he hears a light scuffle of footsteps from down the corridor and jolts wide awake. A guard? No, they’re much calmer, their footfalls measured and exact. This is hurried and discreet, the soft steps of someone who doesn’t wish to be seen nor heard. The mannerisms of–

Hoseok . 

He rounds the corner with his head turned, glancing left, then right to ensure his privacy as he approaches the door. The King’s door . It must be well after midnight now, there’s no reason, not one that a court member, no matter how high in status, should be paying visits to the King’s private chambers at such an hour.

Jeongguk’s heart is thudding voraciously with excitement. He was right, wasn’t he? His deductions were sturdy and true. Even as he thinks, the sound of the door unlatching from the inside disturbs the silence of the hall, and a moment later the King’s shadowed figure appears in the gap. He’s undone as Jeongguk has never seen him, hair loose and long, dressed in the most minimal of garments. If one were to try to pass this off as some sort of clandestine strategic meeting, they no longer could with Yoongi dressed like that. Those are the clothes of someone going to bed, or being taken to bed. 

Hoseok says something that Jeongguk cannot hear, and Yoongi smiles. A real smile, one that reaches his eyes and defrosts his features. It makes him look years younger, and shades prettier. He reaches out an arm, taking Hoseok by his delicate waist, and pulls him into the room without a moment of hesitation. The door shuts again, the bolt sliding back into its place, and the two of them disappear from view. 

Jung Hoseok, keeper of the King’s harem, taken in as his lover. Jung Hoseok, an alpha , warming the King’s bed as an omega would. And Jeongguk has seen it with his own two eyes. 

It’s damning. It’s perfect. 

There’s a shiny, superb leverage piece in Jeongguk’s pocket now, and if he plays his cards right, he can use it to pry the crown right into his waiting hands. 

Jeongguk doesn’t dare wait to make his penultimate move. The game field is moving much too fast, and too precariously for him to hem and haw over his options, or his plan. Already, news of battlefronts shifting on both borders of the kingdom are ringing through the surrounding villages, threatening unrest from civilians and courtsmen alike.

Taehyung and Jimin could have their heats at any time, and Jeongguk can’t risk relinquishing the chance to be the first to carry. If the King won’t acquiesce and give him what he so desires, Jeongguk will have no choice but to take what is meant to be his. 

He waits not even an entire day’s length to march onward with his ploy. During breakfast, their time outdoors to roam, lunch, reading, and dinner, Jeongguk keeps his head bowed and plays along. He talks with Taehyung and Jimin of useless things, new robes, the decline in fresh food as what is sure to be a harsh winter approaches, and whether or not the scullery maid is fucking the stable boy. Jeongguk couldn’t care less if she is or isn’t with child. How could he, when he’s too preoccupied with his scheme to ensure that he is growing ripe and round with a pup in the coming months?

Following their evening meal, they’re escorted back to their rooms, each of them visited by Hoseok in turns. They have handmaids come to disrobe and bathe them, but Hoseok makes a point and purpose to stop by before the three of them retire and put the finishing touches on them personally. Oiling and filing their fingernails, combing their hair, the likes. Hoseok is good, and kind, and there’s an undeniable earnesty about him that promises the fact that he truly cares for his job, each concubine, and every duty that comes with tending to them. It’s for that reason alone that Jeongguk is stained by the slightest guilt over what he’s going to have to do. 

He hopes he can convey to Hoseok somehow that it isn’t personal, it’s merely the way a game of royalty must be played. Jeongguk bears no ill will toward the alpha, but hell would freeze over before he valued the needs of a man he’s only known for weeks above the weight of his own future. Jeongguk promised himself he would do what it takes, and he intends to keep his word to himself, even if it does come at the cost of underhanded bribery.

It’s not as if Hoseok is so innocent, at any rate. He chooses to lie in the King’s bed, knowing full well it’s a cardinal crime. A King must only fuck and knot his concubines, it’s a rule as old as time. Hoseok has gone and disrupted the natural order, and now he and the King both will pay the price.

On this night, Jeongguk is last in line to be seen by Hoseok. He makes himself quiet and pliable to the handmaids that undress and wash him, scrubbing his skin like fine dishware and polishing it up again with whipped oils, soft as butter and scented like rose and almond. They re-gown him in plain robes, tucking him in an extra layer to keep the chill away from him. The cold front threatening to roll in at any moment has left the walls of the castle drafty and called for the constant stoking of fires, and additional wool blankets, thick and heavy, to be layered onto every bed. In this weather, a war will be much more difficult and taxing to fend off. Yet another reason why Jeongguk is compelled to work as quickly as possible. If the frontlines become any more unstable, there’s a high chance the King will be called to oversee them personally, and Jeongguk’s likelihood to become with child dwindles away into nothing with him gone.

When the handmaids leave, Jeongguk takes a seat on the edge of his sprawling bed allows stillness to engulf him as he waits for Hoseok’s impending arrival. A minute. Three. Five. At long last, the metallic click of a key inserted breaks the quiet, and the sturdy wooden door leading into the room swings open, admitting Hoseok. He looks in good spirits, but weary as he does most evenings. Jeongguk supposes that looking after them around the clock can’t be a particularly restful job. Or perhaps, Hoseok lacks sleep because he spends he’s night buried in the King, or vice versa.

“Hello, hyung,” Jeongguk greets him as he always does, nodding his head in a bow that Hoseok returns.

“Hello, Jeongguk-ah. Please excuse my delay, the staff were having a hard time heating enough water for Taehyungie’s bath. It’s been rather grueling, all the work they’ve been doing to prep us for this frigid weather. I suppose there are a few things running slower than usual that we must forgive.”

“Indeed,” Jeongguk murmurs, and watches Hoseok stride to the chest of drawers across the room and begin to rifle through it for the perfumed oil he’ll rub into the beds of Jeongguk’s nails to keep them lush and smooth. There are no thoughts of small talk in his mind, only that of what he’ll plan to say. Jeongguk sees no point in beating around the bush with it. Once he says what he must say, all pretenses will be dropped and there will be no further use for formalities and mild manners. It stings only just slightly. Perhaps, if Hoseok is truly kind, he will see why Jeongguk has no choice but to do this. An omega is not seen in this world the way an alpha is. One must fight dirty to achieve half the standing any alpha is entitled to by birthright alone. It is not Jeongguk who constructed this game, he’s mere the pawn forced to play it. 

Hoseok approaches Jeongguk and stops at his side, uncorking the small, emerald bottle in hand and blotting out some of the contents onto his slender fingers. “You’ve seemed vexed for days, Jeongguk-ah,” he murmurs as he takes Jeongguk’s hand in his own and begins working his glossy nails. “Is there anything you wish to discuss with me?”

And there it lies. A perfectly placed lead-in, without even batting an eye. Jeongguk could not have fathomed a more ideal opener if he had drawn and selected one personally. It seems almost too easy, like approaching a trapped animal with a knife knowing full well it has no means to run nor hide.

Jeongguk keeps his eyes fixed steadily on the gold belt strung around Hoseok’s waist, a marking of a senior member of the court signifying his good standing with the King. Good standing. That certainly is one way to put it. 

“There is one thing, hyung,” he replies, flat and neutral in every way he can manage. “I’ve been wondering about it for some time now.”

“If you should like to speak it, you know you have my ear, Jeongguk-ah,” Hoseok murmurs, his nimble fingers working the oil into Jeongguk’s skin and softening his flesh like the proverbial pig being buttered and massaged to tenderness for roasting. Much akin to an animal, an omega within the court is nothing more than a centerpiece to be torn into after one is finished looking at it. 

Jeongguk’s fingers tighten. 

“How long, I wonder, have you been fucking my King?”

If Jeongguk had lifted his hand and delivered an open-palmed slap to the side of Hoseok’s face, he might have received less of a reaction than the one he gets to his words. Though spoken quietly, they ring in the room, brash and sharp, and so much filthier than anything Hoseok must rightfully expect Jeongguk to say to him. 

He flinches backward, sending Jeongguk a Freudian slip of a look with eyes so stricken that for one moment, Jeongguk’s remorse for having said anything at all steals his breath away, until he swallows and inhales again, and Hoseok’s expression rearranges itself to something deliberately empty.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says in a vacant tone, but his hands have gone stiff and still where they’re holding Jeongguk’s. “I have utmost respect and admiration for the King, but I’m afraid I don’t know him in… that capacity.”

Jeongguk extracts himself from Hoseok’s hold, reaching for the cloth draped over his shoulder and toweling the sheen of oil from his knuckles. “Don’t attempt to deny my question, Hoseok-hyung,” he says quietly. “It’s futile. I already know. I’ve seen your forays into his chambers long after working hours with my own eyes. I want the truth, and only the truth.”

Hoseok’s gaze lifts upward, meeting Jeongguk’s, and this time there’s a thinly veiled terror there. He looks ill, ashen, as if all the blood has been drained from his face in the last minute, and he’s left with nothing to sustain himself. His lips part, almost soundless. “How could you claim to discover such a thing ?”

“Because I’m much cleverer than anyone in this castle would think to gave me credit for,” Jeongguk states simply, returning Hoseok’s look with unflinching stoniness. “And much more motivated. It’s a difficult thing to stop someone in possession of both of those traits, especially when you never would have suspected me of them.”

The flickering light of the candles cast shadows of anguish across Hoseok’s face, usually so soft in its good patience and kindness. The glimmer in his eyes has been extinguished in a blink, replaced with a glassy, sickened void. “What do you want?” he whispers, searching Jeongguk’s face frantically as if he no longer recognizes the person sitting in front of him.

“Nothing unreasonable,” Jeongguk replies, and he knows this to be true. He isn’t asking for anything the King can’t give him, nor is he doing anything as sinister as plotting against his kingdom or playing treason. Jeongguk is a self-serving agent and nothing more. If he gets what he wants, each of them can carry on unscathed. Perhaps, Hoseok and Yoongi will see this plea bargain could be mutually beneficial. “Nothing cruel.”

“Tell me.”

“I will make my requests to the King personally,” Jeongguk tells him without hesitation. He will not sit back and allow his terms to become secondhand folly passed back and forth, a trickle down word of mouth request cheapened by distance. “You will arrange an audience with him immediately.”

Hoseok’s eyes wide, the whites flashing in the low light. “Jeongguk-ah, it’s far past a reasonable time to make—“

“ Immediately, ” Jeongguk repeats, allowing no trace of relenting into his voice. “It won’t be the first time you’ve spent time with the King at such an hour, now will it?”

Hoseok dips his head. He looks wrung-out with shame and horror, a heavy-hanging sense of dejection rolling off of him in the sour waves of his scent. Usually so sweet, and now - polluted.

“Let me speak to him first,” Hoseok exhales, the sound barely able to be picked up even though the space between them is next to nothing. “Please. I swear I will see to it that you exchange words with him, but first, allow me this. Minutes, that’s all I’m asking for, and then I will come to collect you.”

Jeongguk falters for only a moment. On one hand, he’s better off dealing with this as swiftly as he can possibly manage before anything could hope to go awry. But on the other…Hoseok looks so thoroughly shaken and dread-sick that Jeongguk can’t help the sting of remorse pricking at his skin. Surely minutes won’t make a great difference, when all is said and done. 

“Very well,” Jeongguk sits back into the several gold-threaded pillows stacked on the bed behind him. “Do not get any ideas of trying to undermine me. I’ve thought this through more thoroughly than to allow you to get away with that. Underestimating me twice would be to your great detriment, Hoseok-hyung.”

“I understand,” Hoseok nods, his head still remaining bowed to the floor. He looks small and subservient. He looks like an omega . No power, following orders as they’re given to him. The realization strikes Jeongguk hard enough to make him drunk on authority and sickened by it too.

“I’ll make my return. With haste ,” Hoseok adds, getting to his feet and striding to the door without any other departing words. 

He never lifts his head to look Jeongguk in the eyes. 

Yoongi often enjoys solitude. He does his best thinking when left to his own devices, quiet, isolated away preferably in his chambers or an echoing and empty gathering room. He isn’t frightened, nor bored by being alone. 

But tonight, it irks him. He doesn’t consider himself a superstitious person, but there’s something hanging heavy in the air apart from the bellowing cold front on this pitch dark night. Even the moon seems to be hung at a strange angle in the ink blot sky behind a thick veil of clouds when Yoongi passes by the wide window in front of his desk and peers out. 

Something, in some deep pit of this castle, has gone awry. It’s only a matter of time before Yoongi whittles down what, and where exactly it is.

He sinks down onto the edge of his grand bed, the linen of his bed clothes creasing and folding around him like a cocoon. He’s wearing his summer pieces still, thinner, breathable material better suited to the hotter months. He’s due to have the servants track down his warmer things, but what they don’t know is that, at Hoseok’s side, Yoongi rarely gets cold. Hoseok sleeps like a furnace, always has. Ever since they were pups napping in the grass together, snoozing in stables after a strenuous horse ride through the forested trails. For as long as Yoongi has known him, he has been able to lean the soft flesh of his cheek onto Hoseok’s shoulder and absorb the heat of his body, as if he were sinking onto a small piece of the sun and claiming it as his own. 

Sweet Hoseok. He should be appearing soon, wrapping up his night duties with the omegas, waiting for that safe barrier of time to pass, for the night guards to drift by, for prying eyes to retreat to their own beds, before he makes his way to Yoongi in careful silence. If the moon were visible now, instead of shrouded behind fat, gloomy clouds, Yoongi could make a decent guess at the time. Instead, he goes off of pure instinct and predicts another twenty minutes, maybe thirty before he can expect Hoseok’s gentle knock on his door. 

In the meantime–

Thud, thud, thud .

Yoongi sits up. 

That’s…early. Hoseok, early? It isn’t often that that happens. But Yoongi is too chilled by the night, too eager to embrace his ray of sun and settle in to bed to wait any longer. He slips off the bed and rights himself, pacing to the door and unbolting it. Before he can make his usually play of swinging it open slowly, feeding Hoseok some coy line before allowing him inside, Hoseok’s hands appear and push . 

He stumbles inside, spinning on the heel of his shoe which squeaks on the stone floor, and snatching the door from Yoongi, knocking it shut again and bolting it behind him.

Yoongi looks around, half-expecting to see a fire. “My love,” he reaches out, aiming a hand to brush away the hair that’s fallen lank and unkempt into Hoseok’s face. “Why the–”

“Hyung, we have to talk,” Hoseok straightens up and pushes Yoongi’s hand away. His eyes are bright, flashing in the low light of the several candles smoldered away in their stone alcoves. He looks wild, and frightened. 

Yoongi’s heart plummets with all the force of a stone sinking in the sea. “What’s happened? Are you alright?”

“No,” Hoseok shakes his head, resolute and trembling. His hands are held taut, each finger rigid, clutching around something that doesn’t exist. “Jeongguk,” he whispers, tipping forward, facing the floor rather than looking at Yoongi, as if he can’t bear to see him. “ Jeongguk .”

“What about him?” Yoongi asks, a sharp edge hitting his voice. The Jeon family is very influential, and very wealthy. If something were to happen to their son within the walls of Yoongi’s fortress, there would be hell to pay. He doesn’t doubt that for a moment.

Hoseok reaches out and takes Yoongi by either one of his shoulders, holding him firm, thumbs biting into skin. It’s rougher, more pleading than Yoongi has ever known him to be. “He knows ,” Hoseok says tremulously, each wavering note in his tone a threat of tears. “He knows, hyung, about us. He found out, somehow. He knows all of it, everything.”

Yoongi’s heart free falls through the web of bone and muscle in his chest, plummeting and surely hitting the ground with a splattering of blood. “He cannot . What do you mean? How ?”

“I don’t know,” Hoseok shakes his head, trembling in his distress. “I couldn’t possibly know. He didn’t say, I only just found out–”

“He told you? He told you that he knows?”

“Yes,” Hoseok nods. It looks like he’s struggling for each breath, all of them coming to him either too deep or too shallow. He lifts his chin again, meeting Yoongi’s gaze and holding him prisoner there. “He wants to see you. He’s making demands. Bribery, in exchange for silence.”

“I won’t allow it,” Yoongi snaps. Who does this little aristocratic teenager think he is? A formidable opponent to a King? He picked the wrong chess board to lay out his pieces. And yet–

If he knows, if he truly knows, a snide voice whispers in the back of Yoongi’s mind, what power do you have to stop him from spreading the truth besides heeding his orders ?

“Yoongi, please,” Hoseok breathes, ragged. His eyes flash with desperation, the cornered fear of a caged animal. “Please, listen to him. Go gently, no one needs to come by harm for this.”

“Harm?” Yoongi almost growls, pushing Hoseok’s hands off of him and beginning to pace the length of the stone floors. “He threatens us , and you want me to skirt around violence?”

“His parents,” Hoseok gulps. He doesn’t have to say more. Yoongi has thought this already, he knows the severity of the matter. A Jeon, dying in Yoongi’s hands. Even if he played it off as a convincing accident, he would be scorched into the earth for allowing it to happen in the first place. At any rate, there’s no guarantee the secret Jeongguk holds would die with him. If he were truly smart, he would have laid it somewhere, or with someone else to be spread like a plague in the case of his demise. 

“They wouldn’t stand for his loss,” Hoseok adds, still shaky, but this time pleading. “They’re a power you can’t afford to lose, not in this way. Not under these conditions.”

That too is much truer than Yoongi wants it to be. With tensities between nearby settlements and kingdoms, Yoongi can’t gamble the loyalty of one of the longest running, wealthiest bloodlines. This winter is shaping up to hold war, Yoongi needs to pin his allies close to his chest, not cast them aside with bloodshed. If the Jeons were to uproot and leave, more would follow, and if Yoongi loses his people, he looses his kingdom. A king without subjects is nothing more than a man playing make-believe. 

Hoseok is correct, in all senses. 

And Jeon Jeongguk…Well, he’s making himself out to be a little fucking snake of a creature hiding behind the face of a doll, isn’t he?

“I’ll speak to him,” Yoongi hisses after a long, wavering pause. “But I make no promises for the outcome.”

Yoongi wishes he could say with conviction that he would pick his throne over all else, but when he comes down to it, he fears he would rather see Jeongguk dangling from a noose and pay the greatest price for it, than to see Hoseok hang in his stead. 

Jeongguk is led through the darkened hallways by Hoseok in silence. Hoseok keeps his mouth shut and his head bowed, treading beside Jeongguk as if he might be cut at any moment. Jeongguk has half a will to raise his hands and demonstrate that they hold no blade, but he thinks better of it. If he’s going to play this cold role, he must step into it fully, he cannot let his conscience get the best of him now. His orders are being obeyed, he must be doing something correctly. 

They stop at the arched door that Jeongguk has come to know as Yoongi’s. There isn’t a guard in sight, and Jeongguk can only wonder if some strings were pulled behind the scenes in order to get them to clear the area, to let whatever transpires tonight happen in silence, no witnesses beyond the three of them. A contained coup, a muffled threat.

Hoseok knocks thrice. Hardly a breath passes before the sound of a thick bolt can be hold sliding undoing, metal grating against metal, followed by the door swinging open. 

Jeongguk cannot say in all surety what he expected of Yoongi at this late hour. Something more regal, he supposes. A crown. Robes of gold and jewel. But instead, he looks exactly as he is: a man interrupted before retiring for the evening. Plain clothing, the blond waterfall of his hair loose and unadored, cascading down past his shoulders. Feline eyes narrowed, regarding Jeongguk with an almost venomous curl.

But he steps back and allows him and Hoseok both inside.

A king following orders from his concubine. Imagine that . 

Bolstered by ego, yet shaky with recklessness, Jeongguk steps inside and waits for Hoseok to follow in his footsteps, then the resounding sound of the deadbolt sliding back into place after the resealing of the door. A moment of silence. He trains his eyes on the window many paces away, overlooking a sleeping kingdom, and waits for Yoongi to speak first. They all know why they’re gathered here, after all. No need for formalities. Certainly no need to play nice.

After a pause that contains a level of tension that would require a knife to saw through, Yoongi breaks the quiet. 

“You’re here, omega,” he says, voice rigid with barely suppressed anger. “Make your demands.”

Jeongguk turns and rounds on the two of them. Hoseok is positioned just a step behind Yoongi, almost cowering behind the frame of his body. He looks riddled with all shades of shame and fear, deflated beneath the threats made to him tonight. Jeongguk wishes he could break the facade long enough to tell him there isn’t anything personal to it. Just life, and death. Business and power, and everything that comes in between. It is not Hoseok’s fault that Jeongguk’s born designation has regaled him somewhere on the bottom of the feeding chain, nor is it his fault that Jeongguk has chosen not to settle for that lot in life. Hoseok is simply the lamb caught in the maw of the wolf, but if he can behave, there’s no need for him to be bitten. 

“I will have you know,” Jeongguk begins, placid-faced, working to keep his tone steady. Any sign of weakness, and he may as well bleed himself. He’ll lose credibility. “I have sent word beyond the walls of this castle with what I know. Failure to comply with my requests, harming me in any way, will result in the spreading of the news that the King takes an alpha from his court to bed, rather than his own concubines.”

This is not true, of course. Jeongguk has told no one, largely because he is in possession of no one to tell. It does not have to be a provable fact, however. He need only cast enough doubt that Yoongi and Hoseok suspect it to be true, and therefore cannot afford to risk it being so.

“I assumed as much,” Yoongi replies, cold as he is bittered. “But perhaps you overestimate how much this compels me to care. One word against the word of another. Where is your evidence? What stops me from denying all accusations and carrying on with my reign?”

“I would hazard a guest that your advisors are looking for reasons to suspect you of deviance,” Jeongguk says softly. If Jimin and Taehyung have noticed these strange patterns from Yoongi, the infrequency in which he mates them, his frigid attitude, his failure to produce an heir in his 30th years already, surely the men stationed in positions of overseeing his every move have begun to make note of his oddities too. “Do you really want to give them a reason to pry into your life further?”

This must strike a nerve within Yoongi. His jaw clamps tighter, eyes flashing in the candlelight. “As I said before,” he breathes. It’s almost a hiss. “You’re here, so make your demands.”

Jeongguk lifts his chin, pride returning, flushing him warm just beneath his skin. Absurd demands, and yet, they are his to make in this room, on this night. He fixes Yoongi with what he hopes is an unflinching look, able to hold him captive without lifting a finger. “You are to give me a child.”

Behind Yoongi’s shoulders, Hoseok’s eyes widen, mirroring the look of disbelief that briefly flickers onto Yoongi’s face, then disappears again with the movement of the candles surrounding them. 

“A child,” he repeats blankly. “You’re in want of an infant so badly, when you’ve barely left adolescence yourself?”

“I am in want of a title,” Jeongguk replies, ignoring the slight at his age. If Yoongi cannot see now that he is grown, there is nothing that will convince him of it. “You will make me this court’s omega, the consort on the throne beside you. You will put a child in me, and you will dress me in gold.”

Yoongi makes a scathing sound in the back of his throat. He looks wholly disgusted, so much so that Jeongguk cannot help but feel the insult of his distaste. “Your greed is despicable.”

“An easy thing for you to say, My King,” Jeongguk whispers, sarcasm heavy on his tongue when he calls Yoongi by title. “An alpha, born in gold. I was educated, you know, I was schooled very, very well, in business, politics, war, same as you. I had my family’s name, our money, our influence, and all of it ceased to be mine the moment I presented as an omega. A disappointment to my parents, no doubt. Suddenly, it was more important that I learned how to stoke a hearth, to prepare my body to carry another life. And, as if that weren’t hard enough, I was taken from my home without warning, moved to this castle like a pawn. No one asked me if I wanted to be here, did you know that?”

Yoongi’s dark eyes flash in the glow of the flames licking their wax pillars. Behind him, Hoseok looks stricken, lips pressed together, utterly silent. “I treat my concubines well,” Yoongi says, jaw twitching as he speaks. “Surely you cannot have been so much better off in your home that you would long to go back. I make sure you all know peace here.”

“I don’t long to go back,” Jeongguk replies. The faintest of smiles, the fruit of his labors, is pushing at his lips. “For this pawn has taken control of the board, and I know now what I am called to do. Your kingdom will become ours.”

“If I refuse, and you see me dethroned by tarnishing my reputation, you gain nothing,” Yoongi says quietly. “Your blackmail only carries you so far.”

“It will carry me far enough,” Jeongguk tells him steadily. “Why would you choose the path that harms us all, when you could just as easily walk the one that serves us? I am not violent, Min Yoongi, I don’t want to see anyone bleed. I’m offering you a gift, if you would open your eyes to see it. Your advisors will stop whispering once you provide an heir. You will have met their standards, satiated their curiosity by proving you can. You play your role, and I play mine. We put on a charade of romance where we are seen, and I ask for nothing when the doors are closed. Continue to allow Hoseok to lie in your bed, I could not care less. I’ll protect your secret if you give me what I want, I swear to you that. I will not breathe a word of it for as long as I remain in this court.”

For a draw-out moment, the only breathing to speak of comes from Yoongi, ragged. Livid . Jeongguk can see his anger burning in the centers of his dark eyes, rage against the corner he’s been pushed into. Hard-won checkmate, inescapable noose. 

Hoseok’s hand creeps around Yoongi’s arm, barely visible, fingertips pressed hard into the material of Yoongi’s sleeve. A warning, or a plea, Jeongguk cannot be sure. The effect is the same either way. Yoongi’s shoulders do not become less rigid, but even so, an air of defeat takes root in his posture. 

“You could have anything,” Yoongi says softly. The quietest utterance he’s made all night. “Money. Gold. Peace and comfort. Yet this is the request you make.”

Jeongguk folds his hands together, fingers knitting, hidden in the folds of his robes. His demeanor is controlled, but his heart is pounding, adrenaline on the precipice of success. “Yoongi,” he says, equally soft. There is no yelling to be done now, not when the battle is already won. “I want power.”