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Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, Beomgyu," his mother says when she tells him. He can tell she means it; he can't find any traces of the sweetness or joy he used to be able to find on her face, just concern and a kind of heavy weariness that drags down the corners of her mouth and deepens the wrinkles at her eyes and her forehead.

Beomgyu understands. He feels the same exhaustion in his own body, months of fear and sadness and useless, impotent rage having taken their toll on him, too. It's been a long war, and a hard one.

"It's alright," he says, and musters up a smile for her. "It will be alright, you'll see. I promise."

The terms of the peace treaty are complicated. The negotiators spend weeks drafting the agreement, all sides working for as much of an advantage as they can wring out of the deal. And then, when it's all done and the ink is drying on the parchment, it's carefully explained to Beomgyu that he’s being sold.

"You're not being sold," his late father's chief advisor says when Beomgyu protests. He sounds like he believes it, too, but the treaty promises huge sums of money from Macai's coffers in return for Beomgyu's hand in marriage.

(Or rather, the treaty specifies the hand of the heir to the throne of Oscana; the fact that it's Beomgyu is incidental at best.)

It's too much money for a marriage, but Beomgyu is his parents' only child, and as an omega he cannot inherit directly. When his mother dies, the throne will pass to his husband, and their two nations will be united forever under one royal household.

Part of what Soobin is buying is peace, of course. A lasting alliance between their nations, which should end up strong enough to protect both of them against threats from any outside aggressors for generations to come.

"If I'm not being sold, can I stay here?" Beomgyu asks.

The advisor shakes his head. "No, Beomgyu, you know you can't."

"And can I choose not to marry him?"

"No."

"So if I can't stay here, and I'm going to be married no matter what, and you're getting money for me, how am I not being sold?" Beomgyu asks.

"It is an honour and a privilege to be able to serve your country in this way," the man says stiffly. "I'm surprised at you, Beomgyu. Your father would be so disappointed by your selfishness."

He says it with a patronising sigh and a roll of his eyes, as if he can't believe he’s reduced to this. As if explaining to Beomgyu that he’s not only about to be married off, but married off to a man he’s never met, a man whose reputation as a warrior is eclipsed only by terrifying tales of his height and his physical strength — as if all of that is beneath his dignity.

"You're right," Beomgyu says sullenly. "If it were a real sale, you'd have to offer him a refund when he works out I'm defective."

"Beomgyu!" his mother scolds, and the advisor shakes his head and tuts and mutters something about how if it had been a sale, they'd have had to lower the price for an omega who talks back the way this one does.

So that's how Beomgyu gets used to the idea of his upcoming marriage — cross, and with a belly full of shame that he’s not a good enough omega for his family to demand a higher price for his hand.

Soobin is handsome. It's the first thing Beomgyu notices about him, then he feels annoyed at himself for the thought, as though he’s betrayed himself by being facile enough to be so easily entranced. But Soobin is handsome — Beomgyu is standing on the mezzanine overlooking the palace's entrance hall, and even from such a height, and such an unflattering angle, he can see the alpha's beauty, clear as daylight.

Beomgyu is glad of his spying. He's tucked in behind a pillar so that he can see the foreign king's arrival without being spotted himself. He'll have to go down in a while, of course, for formal introductions, but he wants this for himself, wants his first glimpse to be on his own terms.

It helps, he thinks, the sneaking and the sense of control over his own actions. And then he sees Soobin, impossibly tall and devastatingly handsome in his uniform, navy jacket adorned with silver braid and so many medals that Beomgyu loses track when he tries to count them, and he realises doesn't help at all. He looks like he'll smell wonderful, too, Beomgyu thinks, and a little spike of something halfway between annoyance and jealousy pricks at his chest.

Beomgyu keeps a hand on the pillar at his side, the finely-carved stone cool to the touch, and lets it ground him while he tries to imagine marrying this man. It seems impossible, and yet it's only a few days away. The inevitability of it is claustrophobic, pressing down on Beomgyu's chest like a lead weight; he feels like he can't breathe, like no matter how hard he tries he can't suck in enough air to fill up his lungs.

It doesn't help that his future husband seems utterly unaffected. In the hall below, his betrothed is bowing politely to his mother, who's wearing a dress Beomgyu hasn't seen in years, not since before the war. It's reappearance makes everything seem more real, as if the last few years of war and famine were nothing but a bad dream, a nightmare dispelled by the handsome foreign king's arrival.

Soobin bends at the waist, deeper than mere civility demands. It's an elegant bow, the motion full of respect; he lowers his head and holds his subjugated position long enough to demonstrate how humble he can be. Whether it's true humility, or the ersatz kind some alphas like to play act when they're confident in their superiority, Beomgyu can't tell.

Either way, it makes Beomgyu's teeth itch.

He turns away, then, slips further behind his pillar and sinks to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. He can still hear the conversation from the entrance hall, the echoes of their voices bouncing loudly off the stone walls and up to his ears; he doesn't need to see them, too. Beomgyu fusses with the hem of his shirt until he finds a loose thread to fidget with, twisting and untwisting it around his fingers so that he only has to listen with half of his brain.

"We're so honoured you agreed to let us host the wedding here," his mother says. Beomgyu twists his hand so that the thread pulls tight around his little finger, the skin bulging out on either side of it. Unsightly, grotesque.

"The honour is all mine," a new voice says, and Beomgyu's spine stiffens with the realisation that this must be Soobin's voice. "I didn't want to break with tradition. I think an alpha should always fetch their omega from their family pack."

Beomgyu tugs his hand, then, and the thread around his finger snaps.

Formal introductions happen over a banquet, at which Beomgyu can't bear to eat. He disguises his lack of appetite as best he can, moving food around his plate while talking to the guests on either side of him. Neither of them are his intended; instead, Beomgyu is sat next to a official from the Macai court on one side, and a breathtakingly beautiful man called Yeonjun on the other, who introduces himself as a friend of Soobin's.

There's something guarded about the way he refuses to elaborate on his role in the foreign court, something that Beomgyu wants to pick at to see what's hiding underneath. But Yeonjun eyes him up, and seems to find him wanting, turning away to talk to Beomgyu's mother instead.

The official meeting doesn't happen until the end of the meal, when all the plates and dishes have been cleared away, and both their respective courts are left sitting with full bellies and only their wine glasses left. Beomgyu is walked up to one end of the banqueting hall, arm tucked neatly around his mother's, and then he’s left to sit in a chair that's been placed on the dais. It's not a throne — as an omega son, it wouldn't be appropriate for him to sit in his late father's throne — but the chair that's been picked out is suspiciously high-backed and elegantly carved. A fine display case for such expensive goods.

Beomgyu sits in the chair that's definitely not a throne, and casts his gaze downwards, in his best attempt at being demure. A moment later, the back of someone's neck appears in his eyeline as Soobin kneels at his feet. The gesture is a courtly one, meant to show the high esteem in which the alpha holds his betrothed, but it feels hollow to Beomgyu. They don’t know each other, so any regard Soobin might have for him is based on hearsay and assumptions, and Beomgyu knows it will dissolve like sugar in hot tea as soon as Soobin grows to know who he really is.

"Choi Beomgyu, prince of Oscana. It's an honour to meet you," Soobin says, and looks up to meet Beomgyu's gaze for the first time. He’s still handsome, unfairly so, with deep brown eyes and a soft mouth that parts to reveal beautifully even, white teeth.

"Choi Soobin, king of Macai. We are honoured by your presence in our court," Beomgyu says. The formality of the traditional address helps; he concentrates on the words and forms, and ignores the wriggling feeling in his stomach that threatens to make itself know as some errant behaviour or other.

His hands are folded in his lap, and he’s trying so hard to sit up straight and be good. He wonders if Soobin will notice that his usual scent of bluebell and honeysuckle is layered with notes of desperation, as he silently begs please, please, don’t reject me here, in front of everyone. Marry me first, so our countries' futures are secured; if you don’t want me after that, I'll go wherever you send me without any arguments, I promise.

Something close to a smile graces Soobin's face, then, the edges of his pretty Cupid's bow mouth curving up slightly, and he rises to his feet. Standing up, he’s unbelievably tall; the full reach of his height, and the understated threat of violence in his military uniform are at odds with the gentleness in his eyes and the hesitation with which he holds out a hand.

The juxtaposition confuses Beomgyu, and it takes him a second to remember the next part of tonight's ceremony; panic must shine clear on his face, for Soobin quickly takes pity on him and prompts him quietly.

"Would you grant me the honour of a dance, your grace?" Soobin asks. His tone is so formal, his posture impeccable. He is in every aspect the model of the perfect alpha, chivalrous and honourable.

Beomgyu stands up and puts his hand in Soobin's, stepping down delicately from the dais. His hand feels so small in Soobin's, so fragile and useless, that it's hard not to pull away and make his own way to the floor, but he’s good. He’s trying so hard to be good that when Soobin squeezes his hand it feels like a reward.

The dance isn't as horrible as Beomgyu had feared it would be. It's awkward, for a moment, and then his feet remember that he likes dancing. Soobin is a good dancer, too, leading him confidently around the floor with a gentle but confident hand. They don’t talk, and Beomgyu has to constantly tamp down the urge to fill up the space between them with chatter or nonsense — he wants to make silly jokes and tease Soobin, or break out of the prescribed steps to make him laugh — but he manages to behave himself, and it's fine. It's not fun, doesn't fill him with joy or light up his soul, but it's not awful.

It's not awful, he tells himself over and over again, as Soobin twirls him around the floor. It's not awful. It could be worse. You'll survive this.

It will be alright.

As the music sweeps to its final crescendo, Soobin draws him close, the hand resting at the small of Beomgyu's back pressing slightly to guide him in.

His other hand, wrapped around Beomgyu's and nearly enveloping it completely, is warm even through his cotton gloves. Stepping into the final turn, Soobin squeezes lightly; though his gesture is gentle, Beomgyu can't help yelping as if he'd crushed his hand terribly in his vice-like grip, the impulse to tease finally winning out over the desire to be well-behaved.

Soobin's head snaps up immediately, concern on his face. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, worry furrowing his brow and dragging down the sides of his mouth. He looks so distressed that Beomgyu instantly feels bad for teasing him.

"I don’t think it will be fatal," Beomgyu says. "But you need to be careful, your grace, you don’t know your own strength."

Soobin apologises so gallantly, then, and the musicians start up a new song, so Beomgyu tilts his head and asks to be led into another dance.

As they whirl past the banqueting tables, where half the evening's guests are still sitting and watching, Beomgyu catches a glimpse of Soobin's friend Yeonjun watching them, a glare as sharp as needles on his pretty face. The unexpected frown is enough to cause Beomgyu to stumble, his feet catching on nothing. His clumsiness sends him tumbling into Soobin's arms; the alpha catches him quickly and sets him upright again without missing a beat.

The ease with which Soobin picks him up, catching him in strong arms and spinning him through the air a second later, as if he weighed nothing at all, leaves a fluttering feeling in Beomgyu's chest. He can feel his cheeks flushing; he scurries to get his feet underneath himself and slot neatly back into the dance's quick steps before he gets even more flustered.

In the confusion, he almost forgets the look on Yeonjun's face.

Almost.

Chapter Text

That night, Beomgyu finds out why Yeonjun was glaring daggers at him; he finds out both quickly and by mistake, neither of which help him understand his discovery. He has the idea that he should go and see Soobin after the banquet, to talk to him without an audience, without the gaze of so many strangers settling on them and making them nervous. It's not allowed, of course — they're not to be alone together until after the wedding — but Beomgyu thinks it might be worth breaking the rules, just this once.

(This, too, is tradition, and this, too, Beomgyu hates. Before Soobin's arrival, he had complained about it so much that one of the palace advisors was dispatched to deal with him, explaining that it was meant to enhance the sanctity of the wedding ceremony.

Beomgyu heard him out, and understood that he was to remain a virgin until the ceremony was complete. There could be no risk of his fiancé despoiling him and then changing his mind, casting him aside as used rather than taking him home. He understood, and he hated it, and there was nothing he could do about that hatred except let it fester inside him like a poisoned wound, yellow-green and full of pus, unless he let go of it altogether.)

So Beomgyu knows he’s not supposed to be here, in the corridor of the East Wing where the guest bedrooms are, in the middle of the night. He knows that if he were discovered, there would be consequences, for himself personally and possibly for the peace treaty itself. He knows that, he’s not stupid, he wasn't born yesterday.

But he also knows himself, and he knows that once an idea has occurred to him, no matter how silly or even terrible it is, he won't be happy until he’s tried it out. And so he creeps out of bed in the middle of the night, and makes his way through the palace towards Soobin's room, treading carefully in his stocking-feet so as not to wake anyone up.

Beomgyu isn't sure, at first, which bedroom is Soobin's. And then he’s suddenly very sure, because as he rounds the corner of the corridor, a door opens and Yeonjun steps backwards out of the room, followed by Soobin. They're wrapped around each other, Yeonjun's slender, elegant arms looped up around Soobin's neck while Soobin's are lower, curled around Yeonjun's back, hands twisted up in the loose linen of his shirt.

It's a shockingly intimate scene, with their two bodies leaning in towards one another, foreheads nearly touching. Soobin is looking down, of course, while Yeonjun has his head tilted back to look up at him, and yet Beomgyu understands that Soobin is the one asking for something, the one stretching out to reach the other man. There's a desperation in his posture, knuckles white from gripping on so tightly to his shirt, eyes half-closed as if Yeonjun is the sun and it would hurt too much to look directly at him.

They're friends, Beomgyu thinks. That's what Yeonjun said, at dinner. Friends.

And then they kiss, and Beomgyu has had enough friends in his life to know you don’t often kiss them like this. You don’t kiss a friend as though not kissing them might be the thing that ends you. You don't kiss a friend while moaning softly and pushing them back against a door jamb, working a knee in between their legs so they have something to rut against like a teenage pup with no self-control. You don’t run your hands through a friend's hair and cradle their face in your hands, and then let them rest their forehead on your shoulder, so they have a place to hide eyes that are suspiciously shiny with tears they're trying hopelessly to hold back.

Beomgyu ducks back around the corner and goes back to bed, feeling so many things that he can't possibly keep them all inside his body. He feels like his belly is full of boiling water, roiling frantically inside him, the pressure building up with nowhere to escape; he wants to cry, or laugh, or scream and scream and scream until there's no air left in his lungs, until he’s dried up and wrung out and empty, until his throat is red raw and weeping and no more sound will ever come out.

He’s not even sure why he feels so strongly, so many emotions at all. It's not like it was a love match. No one had offered him any kind of guarantee that his husband would love only him, would come to their marriage without any prior claim on his heart. Perhaps it's the fact that Soobin couldn't manage one night on his own, or that he had the audacity to behave like that in Beomgyu's home.

Maybe it's just the look on Soobin's face, wrecked and desperate, as he clung on to Yeonjun.

As the betrothed pair aren't permitted to be alone, but it is acknowledged that they ought to have some chances to get to know each other's character before the wedding, they are allowed to have tea together, a poor consolation prize. The arrangements are made without consulting Beomgyu, and he doesn't bother trying to protest them. Tables and chairs are set up on the lawn, a long, sweeping strip of land that curves down behind the palace, running alongside a narrow decorative lake. A single table, and two chairs, are set apart from the rest, closer to the water's edge. Far enough away that they can converse without being overheard, but not so far away that keen eyes wouldn't spot a hand venturing to places it shouldn't, or a foot trying to creep up an unwitting ankle.

Still determined to be the most perfectly polite alpha, Soobin pulls out a chair for Beomgyu; it makes him want to roll his eyes, or maybe just walk away and jump dramatically into the lake. But his mother's entreaties, when she came to fetch him for the walk down to the lake, are still ringing in his ears, cautionary and urgent. Please behave well, Beomgyu, we need this. We need him to take you. We need him to want to take you. You remember how bad it was, don’t you. Please, Beomgyu. Please.

Beomgyu does remember, of course. He remembers all of it. It started with whispers, a horrible atmosphere of anxiousness and sideways glances, no one willing to say anything out loud in case voicing their darkest thoughts would somehow be all it took to make them a reality.

Later, they'd find that it didn't matter if those thoughts were spoken or not; all manner of terrible things came to pass anyway, and their world was fire and bloodshed, hurt and hunger, fear and uncertainty and the constant, gnawing pain of knowing this wasn't the way the world should be.

It's better now, has been since they allied themselves with neighbouring nations. Together, they're strong enough to stand unmenaced.

And that's worth more than money. It's worth more than his freedom, or his pride. Even knowing what he knows now, of Soobin and Yeonjun, he can't pretend he doesn't think that they're right, all of them. The negotiators, the court advisors, his mother, all of them wanting the same thing and wanting him to okay his part, and it's not fun, but he understands. If it were his own decision to make, he'd make it the same way.

So Beomgyu doesn't run away to jump in the lake when his fiancé pulls out a chair for him, and instead sits down demurely and crosses his hands on his lap like a good omega, eyes cast downwards, a pleasant but bland expression on his face.

He does picture Soobin's reaction if he had jumped in the lake, but he doesn't let the joy that brings him show in his face. He just sits there quietly and imagines Soobin's disgust as Beomgyu walked back to the table, dripping dirty lake water in his wake, hair plastered to his forehead and pondweed hanging off his ears.

"Tea?" Soobin asks politely, holding out a tiny porcelain cup that looks ridiculous in his huge hand. Beomgyu smiles and nods and says thank you instead of laughing his head off.

"Tell me about yourself," Soobin asks, once the cups of tea in front of them have stopped giving off wisps of steam, and neither of them can pretend to be occupied blowing on the hot liquid to cool it down. "What sort of things do you like?"

It's so stilted and awkward that Beomgyu has to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh in the alpha's face. He sounds like he’s memorised a list of Interesting Questions to Ask a Potential Mate — and perhaps he has, perhaps he scrawled them on a scrap of parchment during the journey from his homeland, writing them down furiously and reading them over and over. Perhaps it's important to him that he’s able to get to know Beomgyu, to try to be a good husband. If it hadn't been for the things he saw last night, Beomgyu might think he’s genuinely interested in trying to build something real between them.

"I like dancing. And … oh, and art," Beomgyu says, wracking his brains for an answer that won't make this polite, traditional alpha loathe him immediately. So many of his hobbies are unsuitable for omegas; sword fighting, archery, callisthenics. He can't even say running around and teasing the palace staff, or climbing trees and jumping out of them. But art is safe, he thinks, art is not controversial or un-omegalike behaviour. "I like to sketch, and paint sometimes."

"Oh. I'm terrible at that sort of thing," Soobin says, with a rueful expression. "What do you sketch?"

Beomgyu looks down at the table, tracing a pattern with his fingertip over the cotton tablecloth, so that he won't accidentally meet Soobin's eyes and snigger; the last thing he'd drawn had been a series of anatomically-unlikely sketches of knights in full suits of armour getting seduced by amorous dragons. He'd made himself laugh so hard he'd nearly choked, and his art instructor had confiscated them immediately, throwing them into the fireplace and lecturing Beomgyu while they burned away to ashes.

"Scenes from history," he murmurs, eyes down, keeping his voice calm and quiet with a monumental effort.

Soobin hums quietly, and then to Beomgyu's immense relief, doesn't ask any further questions about that.

They make small talk for a while after that, Soobin working through his questions and Beomgyu trying to thread the needle of answering truthfully, without accidentally revealing any of his true character. Over Soobin's shoulder, he can see his mother and her courtiers, along with Soobin's entourage, all looking at them; all of a sudden their gaze, and the need that sits behind it, lands on his chest like a weight, pressing down on him until it feels like he can hardly breathe.

Beomgyu grips the lip of the table, his hands out of sight, and hopes that Soobin thinks the shortness of his answers is due to a good omega's natural reticence, and not simply panic.

"Tell me about your pack?" Beomgyu asks suddenly. It's rude of him, he knows, rude of any omega to interrupt an alpha and even ruder when that alpha is a king and a guest in his home. But he hopes it's not unforgivably rude, because he needs to know the answer to his question, whether it's rude to ask or not.

Although he’s clearly startled by the question, Soobin doesn't seem to mind. He says 'oh!' quickly, his sweet mouth forming the cutest o around the word, and then he smiles, his cheeks creasing into cute dimples. It's not until he sees this smile that Beomgyu realises how many different smiles Soobin has; all the ones he’s seen before have been polite, almost professional. Not fake, exactly, but borne out of a need to be civil rather than any true happiness on Soobin's part. Now, he sees what it looks like when the alpha smiles with joy in his heart, and it's very endearing.

"Oh! I have three pack members," Soobin says warmly. "Yeonjun, who you've met, and Taehyun and Kai. You'll meet them soon, I hope — I don't know what else they have planned for us, before the wedding. But they're both excited to meet you."

"They didn't tell you either?" Beomgyu asks, surprised. He’d thought the only reason he was being kept in the dark about so many things was because he was an omega, but perhaps not.

"They haven't told me anything," Soobin says. "Only that the alliance is important and that I should try and be good to you. I mean, I would have tried to do that anyway, but I'm trying even more." The alpha looks away despondently and despite himself, Beomgyu feels a little sorry for him.

"Thank you," he murmurs, in his best good-little-omega voice, then looks up as the other thing Soobin said filters through. "Oh, they're excited to meet me?"

"Yes! They all are. Well, Yeonjun-hyung has already met you, but he said you were — uh…" Soobin pauses, a gentle dusting of pink appearing on the apples of his cheeks. "He said you were very pretty."

The alpha's awkwardness, the length of the pause he left hanging in the air, makes it clear that that's not all Yeonjun said, if he even did say it in the first place.

And really, Beomgyu can't be surprised. He thinks if he were Yeonjun, he might have a lot to say about Soobin's fiancée, too.

"And the others?" Beomgyu asks, eager to get away from the subject of Soobin's… whatever Yeonjun is to him. Friend, of course. Lover, almost certainly. Mate, perhaps, although he hopes not, though he barely understands why.

"Kai is excited — oh, he’s adorable, he’s excited about everything, but he’s so happy to have someone new in the pack. And Taehyun…" Another pause, and Beomgyu steels himself for another delicately worded lie, but it doesn't come. "He’s more cautious than any of us, so it might take you a moment longer to win him around. But once you do, and I'm sure you will, you'll have his loyalty for life."

It's more honesty than he'd expected; Beomgyu is surprised, and grateful. "How did you meet?"

"We met during the war." A flash of something dark and miserable crosses over Soobin's face, casting his handsome features in a sorrowful expression. "Well, no, I knew Taehyun before, he worked as an archivist in the palace, but we weren't close, then. But Yeonjun-hyung was in my regiment. We fought side by side for months… I thought he hated me, in truth, and then he saved my life. And so I saved his, and he saved mine again, and then when the war ended I found I couldn't bear not to have him by my side."

"Oh," Beomgyu whispers, not that Soobin hears. It's worse than he could ever have imagined; a bond forged in war and smoke, the clash of steel binding them together tighter than any marriage vows. "And Kai? Did he fight with you too?"

Soobin shakes his head, snapping out of whatever memories of Yeonjun had clouded his mind. "No, he was… ah. He and Taehayun, their stories are different, and I think they'd both rather tell you themselves. But I know that when they do, you'll hear them out well."

Beomgyu has no idea what that means, and before he can ask, someone else decides they've had enough tea and it's time for croquet.

Beomgyu sneaks back to the corridor outside Soobin's room again that night, hiding himself where he can peek at the door without being spotted himself. He’s a little earlier tonight, which at first seems a mistake, as he waits for ages. He’s there so long he’s almost completely decided to give up, when he spies them again.

This time, he sees Yeonjun approaching the room; he doesn't knock, but rather looks around himself shiftily and then slips through into Soobin's bedroom without announcing himself. The surety with which he carries himself speaks to a confidence that worries Beomgyu like a terrier at his heels; he was nervous about being caught, clearly, but not nervous about what he was doing.

Beomgyu toys with the idea of waiting for him to reappear. He'd like another glimpse of the two of them together, he thinks; perhaps the idea ought to upset him, make him jealous or cross, but that's not what he feels. Although he'd been upset when first he saw them together, he’s had time to think about it since then, and it no longer seems quite as shocking.

In fact, when he thinks about the emotions in his heart, the only one of which he can be sure is a kind of fascination for the kinship that exists between the two men. While he’s had friends before, Beomgyu has never experienced a connection that strong, has never felt so drawn to anyone as Soobin and Yeonjun seem to be to each other.

And Soobin had seemed so certain that his pack would accept Beomgyu, enveloping him easily and bringing him into the fold. Remembering the look on Yeonjun's face at the banquet, dark and intense, Beomgyu isn't quite as certain as Soobin that the change will be an entirely welcome one, but it doesn't seem completely impossible.

Chapter Text

It's no easy thing, finding a moment to speak to Soobin alone, but Beomgyu is determined, and he has the advantage of knowing the palace and its inhabitants, so when he hears that Soobin's pack are being taken out on the estate for archery while Soobin is fitted for his wedding suit, he snatches the chance to corner him alone.

It does occur to him, as he hides behind a tapestry in the corridor outside the room set aside for the royal tailor to take Soobin's measurements, that this is precisely the sort of behaviour that his mother and the advisors had meant, when they warned him not to act like himself. The revelation is not enough to stop him, though, and he bides his time as patiently as he can, until the tailor excuses herself to fetch some fabric (a ruse arranged earlier, and Beomgyu now owes her a favour of her choosing; it's a high price but he thinks it will be worth paying), at which point he slips into the room and closes the door softly behind him.

"That was quick — oh," Soobin says softly. "Beomgyu, I didn't… what are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, your grace, I didn't mean to startle you," Beomgyu says. He tries to keep his voice quiet, fighting his every natural tendency towards chaos. "I just wanted to talk to you, for a few minutes. Alone, you know."

"Oh," Soobin says. He looks at Beomgyu with a strange look in his eyes, a curiosity that Beomgyu understands and something else that he doesn't. "Yes, that's a good idea, very clever of you. Well done, Beomgyu."

The alpha's praise surprises Beomgyu, sending a jolt of something warm and pleasant down his spine. "Thank you. I, um. I wanted to ask you… well. You know. If you're happy, I suppose."

"With this?" Soobin asks. He splays his hands wide and waves them in a sweeping gesture that encompasses not just the room they're in, but their entire situation.

Beomgyu shrugs. "Yes. Or… I don’t know, maybe happy is the wrong word. Content? Are you contented, your grace?"

Soobin hums thoughtfully. "I am. This alliance is advantageous to both our nations."

"That's a good answer for Macai," Beomgyu says. "But what of Choi Soobin?"

"Well. I never expected anything other than this," Soobin tells him gently. "And I — well, I'm as happy as I could ever be. I think we could make each other happy, don’t you?"

"I hope so." Beomgyu smiles at him, and he finds to his surprise that it's genuine; he’s still not sure where they stand, he and Soobin, but perhaps it's not on such rocky ground as he thought.

"Good, I'm glad." Beomgyu is treated to another of Soobin's genuine smiles. There's a tiredness to it, today, a weariness that underscores all the alpha's expressions, one that Beomgyu finds himself unexpectedly keen to soothe, if he can.

"May I ask," Beomgyu starts, and then has to pause, because he’s not sure how to ask his next question without seeming even less like a good omega than he already does. "Your pack, are you… do you… how close are you, with them?"

"You mean do I take them to bed?" Soobin asks, unexpectedly blunt.

Beomgyu admires his directness, even if it startles him at first. He tries to match that tone in his reply. "Yes, that."

"I — we don’t all have the same relationships, the same connections, but yes. I do share my bed with all of them, yes. Is that… difficult, for you?" Soobin asks.

Beomgyu looks at his hands, knuckles pale where he’s curled them into fists, and the set of his face. Desperation is clear in its every line; his mouth is parted, his brow wrinkled in the middle, his eyes dark with worry.

Beomgyu scratches his head while he mulls it over. It's a little unusual, perhaps, for a pack alpha to sleep with all of his pack-mates, but it's not absolutely unheard of, and in any case he can't imagine anyone telling a king how he can and cannot arrange his royal pack. And moreover, the fact that he’s never heard anyone mention even a hint of rumours about Soobin or the Macavian court speaks to a level of loyalty and discretion on the part of the pack, for which Beomgyu is very grateful. "No," Beomgyu says eventually. "No, I didn't expect you to be… unencumbered. It's not difficult."

"Ah." Soobin nods slowly, and his hands uncurl at last. "Oh, do you — is there someone who you, um. Someone who…"

"No, no," Beomgyu says quickly, shaking his head like a dog fresh out of a pond. "No, I've never been with anyone. Don’t worry, your grace, you're getting exactly what you've paid for."

Soobin frowns, but doesn't contradict Beomgyu, and a gentle knock on the door distracts them both.

"That's the tailor, I should go," Beomgyu says reluctantly. "But it was good to talk to you, your grace."

"It was." Soobin nods at him politely, dignified even in his inside-out suit draped over half his chest, with its pins and chalk lines.

Beomgyu is nodding back, about to take his leave, when Soobin rests a gentle hand on his wrist. "Wait, just one moment. Are you asking because you're unhappy, Beomgyu?"

Beomgyu is many things. He’s confused, a little bit grumpy, excited, anxious, hopeful, nervous… but he doesn't think he’s unhappy, per se.

"I'm content," he says eventually, the closest thing to the truth he can manage.

Soobin holds his gaze for a moment, eyes brimming with feeling. He’s searching for something, but what it might be, Beomgyu doesn't know; when he nods again, it feels like a promise.

"I'll do my best to improve on that, then," Soobin says as he lets go of his wrist. "Goodbye, Beomgyu."

The wedding is a simple affair, despite the importance of the alliance between two royal houses. All of Beomgyu's court attends, and all Soobin's entourage, but he travelled modestly for a king and is attended only by his pack and a few members of his wider household.

Despite the pageantry, the music and colourful flags fluttering on every possible surface, the bright clothing and smiles on faces, Beomgyu can't help feeling strangely insignificant. His life's purpose is about to be realised, he thinks. He'll be married off, albeit to the finest alpha for a thousand miles, and then… then he'll have nothing to do except bear pups and wait to die.

So he’s in a strange sort of mood for his wedding.

Beomgyu holds himself stiller than he ever has before as their hands are tied together. Soobin has no family to tie the ribbons, so Yeonjun stands up with Beomgyu's mother and they pass it back and forth between them as the betrothed pair recite their vows. When they're done, the couple's hands are bound palm to palm, from their fingertips nearly to the elbows, by a ruby-red ribbon that stands out like blood against their white wedding coats.

"This is your alpha, mind his words and keep him well," the master of ceremonies says, and Beomgyu promises he will, in front of all his family and friends; the last promise he'll ever make in the land of his birth.

"This is your omega, care for him and protect him always," he continues. Soobin nods solemnly and says he will. Within the confines of their ribbon, Beomgyu feels his hand flex, and somehow he knows that whatever else may come his way, his alpha will keep this promise at least.

The wedding feast goes well, the traditional fifteen courses served up without incident, and the atmosphere in the banqueting hall is cheerful if not raucous. Soobin's pack-mate Taehyun gives a wonderful speech, as do some of the Oscanian court. Beomgyu doesn't listen much, just lets the words wash over him and hopes he’s smiling at the right moments.

The last tradition comes at the end of the night; the assembled guests start whooping and cheering, hands drumming on tabletops and feet stamping madly on the floor, as Soobin scoops Beomgyu up in his arms. The alpha is strong, despite his lean frame; though Beomgyu feels safe in his embrace, he can't relax into it, can't make himself think of anything but what's to come.

Soobin carries him away from the hall, up the grand stairs and down corridors until the cacophony of the wedding breakfast is a distant hum. As the noise fades, Beomgyu's heart rate rises, his body trembling with a kind of all-consuming anticipation. He wants to climb down, to walk to his future on his own legs, to face this choice like he had a hand in making it. But though their fates have been sewn together, now, he still can't risk upsetting Soobin. The ink is hardly dry on their marriage contract, and for all he knows there's a clause about bad behaviour that would see him sent home in disgrace if Soobin isn't pleased with him.

Opening the door to his bedroom proves tricky with an armful of omega, so Beomgyu reaches down and opens it for them, and then they're in the room and the wedding suddenly feels real in a way that it hadn't in all the time that's passed since his mother took his hand and told him they'd accepted Soobin's offer. The marriage is real, Soobin is real. They're both really here, and alone, and there's nowhere left to hide; Beomgyu can't help but face his future, now.

He’s set down on the bed, as gently as if he were made of china, as if he’s as fragile and dainty as he's been pretending to be. Something flutters in his chest at the careful handling. In part it's because it means his hoax is working, perhaps, and that's a relief, but the fluttering is not caused by that alone. The other cause is Soobin's long, strong arms, which are still wrapped around him, and he’s looking at Beomgyu with eyes as deep as the ocean, brimming with kindness and soft emotion, and his mouth has opened ever so slightly, as if he wants to taste him, and…

Beomgyu wants to let him. Or rather, he wants to want to let him, wants to want him freely, without his desires hidden behind a mask of his own devising.

The revelation is a surprise, but it makes sense. The twinge of jealousy he'd felt when first he saw Soobin with Yeonjun, the warmth he'd felt in his cheeks whenever the alpha had praised him, the urgency he'd felt around ascertaining Soobin's feelings on their marriage; all these are things he'd not quite understood, things that now reveal themselves as clues in the wider mystery of his heart, connected and sustaining. He wants Soobin, in ways that have nothing to do with his duties to his country and his throne.

"So, here we are," Beomgyu says quietly. Tonight, it's easy to play the omega that's expected of him, coy and modest. His usual tendencies towards chaos are subsumed below the new, unexpected desire that's sparked inside him.

"Here we are." Soobin's gaze is a question that Beomgyu doesn't quite understand, though he feels it keenly. He wants to answer it, but he’s not sure how forward he can be without destroying his carefully-crafted illusion.

"Are you…" Beomgyu asks the question quietly, voice low and husky, and keeps his gaze averted as a good omega should.

"Tired? Yes, we should sleep," Soobin says, and his arms slip away, leaving Beomgyu alone and disappointed on the bed while his husband leaves to get undressed.

It's alright, it will be fine, Beomgyu tells himself as he does the same, stripping off his wedding finery and letting it fall to the floor, no longer needed for any particular purpose. He'll want you another day, this doesn't mean you've failed.

He tells himself the same thing as Soobin comes back to bed and crawls in beside him, and as he blows out the candles and rolls over so that Beomgyu can only see the plane of his back, wide and unimpregnable, and as they both pretend to be asleep, bathed in the weak light flickering from the dying fire.

Chapter Text

Soobin doesn't mind travelling, but he prefers coming home. Being far from Macai and the palace for too long always makes him feel itchy, reminds him of the war and those days and nights when he was certain that he'd never see his home again. To this day, coming home again still feels like a victory, like the realisation of a promise he hadn't known he was making. And today in particular, standing at the edge of his home with his new husband and his pack at his back, something restless inside him is quieter than it's been for years.

At the top of the staircase that leads up to the front door of the palace, Soobin pauses and stops Beomgyu's progress with a pair of fingers held against his wrist. As expected, his husband stops instantly, coming to a halt at his side, half a pace behind him, the perfect omega.

"Welcome to your new home," Soobin says. His husband smiles faintly at him before dropping his eyes, head bowed demurely. Then he looks up at the huge doors, ornately carved ebony that looms oppressively over their party, and his mood changes. The apprehension in his gaze is almost a physical thing, radiating off him waves, and his scent has a sour edge to it that sets Soobin's teeth on edge. Beomgyu isn't his mate, yet, isn't even pack really, but no alpha worth the name would take any pleasure in an omega's distress. Soobin wracks his brain for ways to try and soothe him. "Let me carry you?"

Beomgyu hesitates, and then nods, shuffling closer to his husband. Soobin pushes out the tiniest burst of alpha pheromones to soothe him before he picks him up. He doesn't like to use them much, especially with an omega as fragile and timid as Beomgyu — it would be so easy to misjudge his strength and overpower him — but it's preferable to having him scared and feeling like his alpha isn't doing anything to take care of him.

Scooping him up is so easy; he’s as light as air, bird-boned and delicate. Soobin is used to his height and his size making him feel ungainly and awkward, but Beomgyu says 'oh!' softly when he’s picked up, and then settles sweetly in his embrace, slinging his arms around Soobin's neck and snuggling into his chest. He carries him over the threshold, past Yeonjun and Kai holding open the double doors and into his new home, and Taehyun just inside, casting a wary eye over their progress, and feels the solemnity and significance of the step.

Soobin sets him down immediately, though he keeps a gentle hand on his back until he’s certain that his omega is steady on his own feet. Beomgyu doesn't startle, nor does he move closer; since they met, he’s been so still, so static, that Soobin is half out of his mind with worry, fretting about being overbearing or heavy-handed with him. He’s so biddable, so innocent and easily-led, that it would dangerously easy to influence him too severely, and yet he seems so unwilling to go where he’s not led, to make his own decisions… Soobin hardly knows how to manage such an omega. Such a husband.

"Kai will show you to your rooms," Soobin tells him. He waits to see if there will be any discernible emotional reaction, but Beomgyu simply nods meekly and looks to Kai, waiting once again to be led away.

"I'll go too," Taehyun chimes in, half his attention already on Kai though he’s not yet out of eyesight. "The servants will need to know where to put their bags."

"And what about you, hyung?" Soobin asks Yeonjun, as the rest of their pack files out. "Not getting settled in?"

Yeonjun shakes his head, lip curling up a little at the thought.

"I need to wash the ride off me. Three days is too long when we're not at war." He stretches his arms, reaching them high up above his head, rising up on his tiptoes and arching his back, then he tilts his head and looks up at Soobin through his eyelashes, face coy, as though the thought has just occurred to him. "You could join me."

Soobin could. Oh, he could; he's also sweaty from the long journey to bring Beomgyu home. His muscles are also sore, his limbs also weary. His overworked mind would love to sink into a tub of steaming hot bath-water, scented and milky, and soak until he's as wrinkly as a prune and his worries melted away.

But if he bathes with Yeonjun, he'll fuck him, because he’s always been too weak in that direction, and he doesn't want to do that until he’s talked to Beomgyu again. He just needs to find the words, first.

"Bathe without me," Soobin says ruefully, and then pulls him in close as Yeonjun starts to take his leave. He runs a thumb over his lover's lower lip. "Bathe alone, but kiss me first."

Yeonjun's lips are chapped from days without care, riding fast and rough across the countryside to Oscana to fetch Beomgyu, and then choosing to stay on horseback for their far more sedate journey back. (He'd claimed it was to help protect the travelling party, though Soobin knew full well it was done so he could avoid spending three days trapped in a carriage with Beomgyu. Yeonjun has accepted the fact of the marriage, more willingly than Soobin had anticipated if he’s honest, but there are limits, and the scent of the omega, newly-minted as pack and with Soobin's scent layered with his own… Soobin can't blame Yeonjun for choosing to stay in the open air.)

Soobin can't help smiling into the kiss, knowing how cross Yeonjun would be if he knew how rough they felt against his own lips. He teases them apart, sliding his tongue between them and tasting his prize.

"Are you really going to kiss me like that and then send me off on my own? How cruel," Yeonjun murmurs. At odds with his words, his hands slide up underneath Soobin's jacket, fingers warm in his skin through his linen shirt; his touch, as always, thrills Soobin to his core, its effect far greater than the simple press of fingertips should possibly be.

"I'll be better later," Soobin promises. "And you can be mean to me, as revenge. You know you'll enjoy that."

A sly look crosses Yeonjun's face; he's mollified, despite himself. "I will. You will, too."

Soobin kisses him one last time, then regretfully draws away. "Go, bathe and think of me. We'll be together soon."

For all that he’s resisting bathing with Yeonjun, Soobin can't deny he would also like to be clean. Heading to his chambers, he rings for a bath to be drawn, then starts to undress while he waits, kicking off his boots and tugging the knot of his cravat loose with a sigh of relief.

A strange noise intrigues him while he's peeling his shirt off, and he finds himself following it, tiptoeing across the room in stocking-feet to press his ear against a door set into his bedroom wall. It leads through into the the neighbouring chambers, which have always been empty, and so he's never had any reason to pay attention to it. It's covered in jacquard wallpaper and it blends seamlessly into its surroundings; while he’s always known it was there, not once has he paid it any mind. But then again, not once has he heard a sound from behind it…

The noise happens again, louder this time — or perhaps it's identical, and only seems louder because he’s pressed an ear against the door and the noise is so close. In any case, the sound is loud enough that Soobin is startled, tripping back and falling over with a soft thump.

There's an awful pause, during which Soobin realises that if he can hear Beomgyu giggling on the other side of the door — for that is undoubtedly what the mysterious noise was, he’s certain of that — then it follows that Beomgyu must have heard him falling over like a clumsy oaf. And as he's trying to decide what to do about that, the door in his bedroom wall — the covered-over, half-secret door — swings open just as he'd feared and there stands Kai, looking down at him, his face a blend of amusement and pity.

"Are you alright, hyung?" he asks, and then offers a hand to help him up without waiting for an answer. Beyond him, Soobin can see his spouse's rooms, decorated as luxuriously as his own, though without any of the personal touches that show off the character of its occupant. (He makes a note to tell Beomgyu that he can make whatever changes he might like to the space; not only will that satisfy the omega's need to nest, but the chance to decorate as he pleases may make him feel more at home, Soobin thinks.)

On the bed, Beomgyu's luggage has been fetched from the carriage and lies open on the bed. The omega's meagre trousseau barely fills the case, and Soobin recalls the flicker of shame that had passed over his husband's face when they were loading the carriage and Taehyun asked after the rest of his luggage, only to be told there was just the one case. It had been the first unguarded emotion he’d seen on Beomgyu at all, and it hurt to see it for all that Soobin knew well its causes. The war had been hard on Oscana in many ways, leaving it not just in mourning and in need of rebuilding, but impoverished as well.

Soobin doesn't have much time to dwell on the state of his husband's nation's finances, however, as he’s distracted by the large copper bathing tub that's been pulled up in front of the fireplace. It's been lined with linens and filled with steaming hot water, and soaking in the tub is his husband.

Beomgyu is sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, slender arms wrapped around them as if he’s scared they'll slip away from him otherwise. Droplets of water cling to the skin showing above the edge of the tub, sparkling in the flickering light from the fire and giving him the appearance of some enchanted creature from a fairytale. The effect of fae otherworldliness isn't lessened by the look on his face, wide-eyed and open, mouth set in a cheeky grin as if he’s been caught in the middle of some naughtiness far worse than giggling in a bathtub, and yet is utterly unrepentant. Glittering and bathed in firelight, he’s one of the most beautiful men Soobin has ever seen. He is suddenly wracked with longing to know what amused him enough to wring peals of laughter out of the quiet, placid omega, so unexpected and uncharacteristic as they are.

As he watches, Beomgyu's face loses its expression of naughtiness, falling back into the more demure, omegalike set with which Soobin is so familiar. He looks up at Soobin, eyes dark and shiny under lashes adorned with drops of water, and crosses his arms across his chest to cover his nipples.

Soobin is suddenly and violently aware of the fact that he also has no shirt on.

"Were you waiting for the tub, hyung?" Kai asks, shattering Soobin's reverie as completely as a plate dashed against marble. It take him a few seconds to remember that Kai is there at all, and a few more to make sense of the words he’s saying.

"Ah, no, not waiting — I just, I thought I… heard giggling." Even as he says it, Soobin can hear how strange and awkward it must sound. "I mean, that's fine. It's not — bad, it's fine to giggle. I just wasn't expecting it."

"Ah, that was my fault," Kai says cheerfully. "I was telling Beomgyu about the time that you discovered how quickly you can devour a slice of watermelon."

Kai keeps talking; Soobin doesn't hear a word of it, because a hint of Kai's scent has just reached him, and now he can't concentrate on anything besides the fact that there's another alpha in the room with his omega. His naked, vulnerable omega.

And, oh, he knows it's only Kai, knows Kai would rather chew his own foot off rather than hurt Beomgyu, knows Kai is the safest person in the world besides Soobin himself. Soobin would trust Kai with his life, without question, without a moment's hesitation, but it doesn't matter. Soobin has been working hard to get his brain to recognise Beomgyu as his omega, especially in the absence of a proper mating, and only now does he realise how successful he’s been.

"Huening Kai," Soobin growls in warning. He's breathing in through his teeth and out through his nose, nostrils flaring as he tries to get his instincts in check, but he can tell scent is billowing off him in thick waves, an overpowering eau de parfum with notes of anger and possession.

Kai's eyes widen, and thankfully, mercifully, he understands immediately, backing away until he’s behind Soobin instead of standing between him and his omega.

"Where's Taehyun?" Soobin asks, fighting to speak normally, to keep the edge of furious alpha at bay.

"He’s — he went to sort out our cases, I'll fetch him," Kai says. Soobin senses him, rather than sees him, running out of the room.

Beomgyu makes a noise, then, a quiet choked-off thing, nothing like the carefree giggling that had caught Soobin's attention. Breathing in deeply, he catches the omega's scent and has to take a step back at the note of fear it carries. That, far more than the absence of Kai, or his own self-control, brings him back to himself. Of course he’s scared, Soobin thinks, taking another step back. Of course Beomgyu — gentle, quiet, peaceful Beomgyu — is scared.

"Are you alright, hyung?" a voice asks from behind him. Taehyun, calm and alert; Soobin nearly sobs with relief at the omega's arrival.

"Fine. I'm going to — I'm going." Soobin leaves, then, not looking at Beomgyu, pushing past Taehyun in his haste to escape, to get back through the damned door and slam it closed behind him.

In his room Soobin finally breathes again, gulping down huge lungfuls of air until his head no longer feels like it's full of cotton wool and the world around him isn't hazy and indistinct, and he can't work out why he doesn't feel even the slightest bit better.

Chapter Text

"I scared him," Soobin says miserably.

Taehyun doesn't sigh or scoff, which is kind of him seeing as Soobin has been saying some variation on the the same theme for a quarter of an hour and he would be well within his rights to tell him to shut up any moment now. But instead, he’s still listening, calmly and carefully and with still-untapped depths of patience.

"Perhaps you scared him a little, but this is a strange time for him, hyung," Taehyun tells him. "He’s got a whole new life to learn how to live. I'm sure, once he’s settled in, he won't be so easily upset."

It's a perfectly reasonable response; Soobin hates it. "What if he doesn't? What if I've terrified him so much he never recovers? What if I'm the reason he never settles in here?"

"Hyung…"

"What if he hates me?" Soobin asks plaintively. Distantly, he’s aware that's he’s being dramatic, but it's not often he’s able to lower his guard and expose his vulnerabilities; time alone with Taehyun is rare and precious.

"He doesn't hate you." Taehyun pats Soobin's hair softly. "He might be a little upset right now, but he won't hate you over it. And he’s probably already feeling better. You did the right thing, hyung, you left as soon as you could."

This, too, Taehyun has said over and over again. Soobin sighs and finally, finally nods, albeit reluctantly.

"You're right," he says. "I know you're right," I just…"

"You're disappointed in yourself." Soobin lets Taehyun draw him closer, until he’s resting his head on his shoulder. He switches from stroking to scratching his head, long fingernails sinking into his hair and raking over his scalp; Soobin shivers with delicious satisfaction. "But you can't be the perfect king, the perfect husband, the perfect pack leader and the perfect alpha all the time."

"I ought to be," Soobin mutters; Taehyun swats the back of his head lightly, then resumes scratching him. "Alright, fine. I'm allowed to make a mistake."

"More than one, even." Taehyun leans in to kiss his forehead, a soft balm for Soobin's troubled soul. "You'll be alright, hyung. Both of you."

"There's an atelier," Soobin says awkwardly. He doesn't mention that there wasn't an atelier until recently. There was only an attic, unused and completely forgotten by most of the palace's inhabitants. He doesn't mention that the contents of the atelier had been ordered only days before, materials of the highest quality sought from vendors all over the city by servants who had impressed upon them the urgency, and the importance, of their quest.

"Oh?" Beomgyu's face is a picture of confusion, eyes wide, and mouth a perfect circle, open around nothing. "An atelier?"

"For — you know, painting. Or drawing." Soobin swallows and looks away, focusing on the wall over Beomgyu's shoulder. "You said you liked art."

"Oh? Oh!" Beomgyu brightens up, understanding lifting the corners of his mouth and turning it into a tiny, adorable vee. "Oh, I did. I do! But you didn't have to…"

"We all have somewhere," Soobin says quickly. "Yeonjun has a room to dance in, and Kai has his studio, although more often than not he plays for Yeonjun anyway."

"And Taehyun?" Beomgyu asks. Soobin ignores the pang of jealousy that flares inside him at the eager way he asks after the other omega, interest piqued in a way Soobin hasn't yet managed for himself.

"Ah, he doesn't have a particular room, but he'd know if you misplaced anything in the library," Soobin tells him. He attempts a smile, but it feels uneasy on his face.

"I'll be careful there, then," Beomgyu says. Of course he must care for Taehyun's good opinion, thinks Soobin. Taehyun is kind and unthreatening, Taehyun can soothe him when he’s upset. Oh, Taehyun simply wouldn't upset him in the first place.

Beomgyu opens his mouth to say something more, and then closes it again without speaking, a conflicted look on his face. Soobin wants to ask what's wrong, but he’s suddenly gripped with fear that in fact he is the problem. "It's upstairs," he says instead, desperate to wrest the conversation back to safer ground. "The atelier, I mean. It's up in the attic. Kai can show you where, or Taehyun."

"Oh, I thought you might show me?" Beomgyu asks. His voice is bland, his face too composed and neutral to be anything but a carefully constructed mask, Soobin thinks.

"I have… other demands on my time, I'm sorry." Soobin isn't lying; he’s already late for his first appointment of the day, and things will only spiral from there. "Meetings and hearings and matters of state, you know."

"I do. I remember how busy my father was, all the time," Beomgyu says. "He was always tired, too. If there's anything I can do, you know, to help, you can let me know."

Soobin would rather chew off his own arm than ask this fragile omega for any assistance, but the offer is a sweet one, and heartfelt. "I will," he says, and while he knows full well it's a lie, it doesn't feel wrong to say it, and it would have felt far worse to tell his husband he'd never ask for his help.

His lie earns him another one of Beomgyu's tiny beak-like smiles, anyway, which Soobin's wretched heart can't help but flutter over. He excuses himself quickly after that, unable to bear more smiles he doesn't deserve.

Soobin would never be so churlish as to spurn his privilege, but the business of being head of state is one he accepts as a duty rather than cherishes as a prize; he strives to be a good king and just, because his nation deserves no less, but in the deepest recesses of his heart, and in the privacy of his mind, he has to admit that there are tasks that his station brings him which he does not love.

War councils are chief among those tasks, and he likes them even less when they last for hours without respite when the country isn't even at war. Apart from anything else, Soobin isn't sure that he has the skills necessary to be a good military strategist. Oh, he was a fair soldier, when that was what his country required of him, but that was largely a matter of chance — he’s strong and tall and a decent leader, able to encourage others and set a fine example. It was rewarding work, too. For all that he didn't enjoy the actual battles themselves, he always felt such relief and satisfaction at bringing his troops home again at the end of a campaign.

None of that translates easily into becoming the kind of strategist Macai needs to keep her safe in the future, though. That work is more cerebral, more demanding than looking imposing atop a horse while wielding a sword and screaming, and Soobin… Soobin is worried he won't ever find it as easy, as much a part of his nature, as the more violent acts with which he’s more familiar.

So it's only natural that after a long day leading the military council, his head feels like it's being pinched in a vice; the tiniest additional pressure and it might burst like an overripe grape. He trudges back to his chambers, lost in thoughts of shucking his formal outfit and tumbling into bed; he's looking forward to it so much that he’s untied his cravat and is loosening the ties on his shirt before even opening his bedroom door.

Soobin's stumbles to a halt as soon as he’s inside, however, because on his bed is Beomgyu.

His husband is lying on the end of his bed, curled up like a woodlouse, fast asleep. His hands are tucked neatly between his thighs, and he's snoring gently, hair curling over his forehead. All Soobin can think about is the long sweep of his eyelashes, fanning out delicately against his cheeks, so beautiful it makes Soobin's breath catch in his throat.

Realising he's still untying his shirt, Soobin jerks his hands away from his chest as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. There's something about Beomgyu's innocence, his sweet and delicate nature, that always makes the most innocuous behaviour feel like it's absolutely wicked.

"Beomgyu, wake up," he says, tapping his shoulder gently. "What are you doing here?"

"Mmhmph," Beomgyu mumbles. He half-wakes, and then realises where he is, eyes going impossibly wide as he looks around himself. "Oh! Hyung, I'm sorry!"

Sitting up, he quickly arranges himself, legs crossed and hands folded daintily in his lap.

"I brought you dinner." Beomgyu nods his chin towards a card-table that has been set up with a white linen cloth and a single plate, covered by a silver dome. Soobin had been so distracted he hadn't noticed it. "Taehyun said you wouldn't have eaten yet."

"He’s right." Soobin hasn't eaten anything since breakfast; he hadn't noticed how hungry he was, but now that Beomgyu's mentioned it, his stomach starts rumbling something fierce. "Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you."

"Ah, well. I wanted to say thank you. For the atelier, I mean. That was… it's wonderful. I've been up there all day."

Soobin can't help smiling at that. He’s been at a loss as to how he can help Beomgyu, and he wasn't sure that shutting him up in the attic, so far removed from the rest of his new pack, would help him integrate (as Soobin dearly hopes he will). But perhaps giving him a space of his own, somewhere he can retreat if needed… perhaps that will prove to be a good thing.

"I'm glad." Soobin would like to say more, to impress upon him how entirely he hopes for Beomgyu to be happy in this and in all things, but it's so much, and even now he's worried he'll startle the omega.

Beomgyu yawns and covers his mouth daintily. "Dn' f'get t'eat y'sup," he says sleepily, and then blushes before trying again. "Don’t forget to eat your soup."

"I will, I promise." Soobin starts to cross the room, to the armchair by the window. "Let me take my boots off."

"No, now!" Beomgyu says, and pats the bed next to him. Despite his tiredness, there's a spark in his eyes that Soobin's not seen before, an insistence that's somehow winning out over his sleepiness.

Soobin raises an eyebrow, surprised at the vehemence of Beomgyu's request. "Alright, it's okay," he says gently. "I'll eat it now."

"Good! It's going to go cold, and Taehyun said you never eat when you have council." Beomgyu frowns at him, his round little face creased up adorably in a pout. "Aren't you hungry, hyung?"

Soobin is hungry. He often doesn't eat in council because it seems wrong, somehow, to take a break from such serious matters for something as frivolous as food; he wants to be a good leader, and he worries that excusing himself for things he can manage without is a sign of weakness. And really, he can push through without much food. He used to go for weeks without eating proper meals, during the war, those long campaigns where they survived on the most meagre of rations. He doesn't need to eat much.

But he is hungry.

Soobin sits next to his husband, and pulls the card table closer, careful not to jostle it too much and spill Beomgyu's precious soup everywhere. He lifts the dome off the dish and breathes in as as a cloud of steam escapes, filling the air with the scent of pickled ginger and carrot. It smells divine, but he doesn't dare to take too long appreciating it; next to him, Beomgyu is watching him with narrowed eyes, and when he doesn't immediately lift the spoon to take a bite, pokes him in the ribs with a bony finger.

"Hurry up, hyung, you said you'd eat it," Beomgyu says. His usual meek and mousy demeanour is truly nowhere to be seen, tonight; instead, he’s unexpectedly bossy and urgent.

Soobin looks down at the bowl of soup and tries, utterly unsuccessfully, to tamp down the wide grin that bubbles up out of him at his gentle mistreatment. He happily endures further bullying as he eats, Beomgyu alternately poking and pinching him every time he slows down — and if he purposely slows down even more, to get an extra pinch or two, he doesn't see that it harms anyone.

His husband's fingers slow down before he’s finished eating. Their sharp teasing is replaced by a slight pressure against him; it takes him a second to realise that Beomgyu has fallen fast asleep again, slumped against Soobin's side. He lowers his spoon and watches for a few moments, mesmerised by the steady rise and fall of his chest, the tiny smacking of his lips as he settles and resettles in his sleep. One of his hands is still resting near Soobin's hip, clutching the hem of his untucked shirt, a casual intimacy that tugs at Soobin's heart like a fishhook.

"Beomgyu," Soobin whispers, but even as he says it, he knows it's too quiet to wake him, and he’s glad of it, too. He doesn't have the heart to disturb him twice in one night. Kicking the table away, Soobin scoops up his husband and carries him carefully down the corridor to his own bed.

Chapter Text

When Soobin sees Beomgyu the next day, there's no sign of the fire that had burned within him when he was tired. Well-rested, he’s once again meek and demure, deferring to Soobin, reluctant to proffer his own opinions. It's as though Sleepy Beomgyu was a different omega altogether, and one who has been banished for good.

Soobin misses him.

It's strange, perhaps, to miss him. He only had him for one night, and yet he made such a strong impression on Soobin that the lack of him already hurts, a dull but noticeable ache at the back of Soobin's mind. A young terrier nipping at his heels rather than a fully-grown Doberman of pain.

"How do I make him sleepy again?" Soobin asks Taehyun and Kai. They're in Yeonjun's dancing-salon, a long and well-lit room off the portrait gallery, waiting for Yeonjun to finish stretching, and the sight of him flexing his well-toned limbs has Soobin's thoughts turning to less wholesome activities.

"Well, there is one method I could suggest, that ought to tire him out," Kai teases, " but I assume that's not on the table."

Soobin swats his shoulder. "Don’t joke about it, he’s not ready for that."

"Are you sure, hyung?" Taehyun asks gently, rubbing Kai's shoulder where Soobin had glanced it. "That's not the impression of him that I've made. I think you might be surprised."

"I'm more than sure." Soobin thinks of Beomgyu on their wedding night, so scared he couldn't even meet Soobin's gaze, trembling with fear. Of the way his scent had soured, that first night in his new home, when the mere presence of Soobin had terrified him where he sat. Even when he’s not actively afraid of Soobin, he’s still shy, reluctant to speak freely, hesitant to engage with Soobin.

"Alright." Taehyun doesn't push him, and Yeonjun joins them soon after; by unspoken agreement, the conversation turns to different matters, away from Beomgyu.

The next weeks bring a few little changes; the wedding, and the days following it, have shaken up their little pack, but gradually they settle back into a quiet sort of rhythm.

Taehyun splits his time between the library, where he researches a seemingly endless variety of subjects that no one else understands, and his husband's music room, where they play and sing together for their own amusement. On occasion, they venture to the practice room next door when Yeonjun wants accompaniment, and when he doesn't, but doesn't want to be alone, he hunts out Soobin and they go down to the archery targets or take a pair of horses out and ride until its dark and the palace is naught but a dark silhouette, low and hulking against the horizon.

"Will you ever fuck me again?" Yeonjun asks one evening, as the light is fading and the air grows colder around them. They're at the far edge of the palace grounds, by one of the towers that dots the walls encircling the estate. During the war they'd been manned by guards, but now a tenuous peace has been brokered they largely sit empty. Like Soobin, they don’t quite know what to do with themselves in peacetime.

"You know I will." Soobin brings his mount to a halt and reaches over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Yeonjun's ear. "I can't resist you, you know that. If I could live without you, I'd have let you go free after the war."

It's a poor joke, and a tired one, one they've batted back and forth between themselves for years. Tonight, though, Yeonjun isn't playing their old game. "You're not keeping me here against my will, Soobin," he says. It's too dark to read his expression properly; Soobin is glad he can read his scent as well as he can, although the waves of dissatisfaction rolling off him as clearly as if he were shouting are a worry all of their own.

"I know. And you know I wouldn't keep you here, if you wanted to go." There's an unspoken question in Soobin's words; he should be brave and ask it, but he can't quite make himself say the words out loud.

"I know." Yeonjun sighs, and reaches up to cup Soobin's hand with his own, pressing it against his cheek. "I know. I know you, Choi Soobin, I know you and I chose you. I do choose you, every day."

"Darling…" Soobin murmurs, letting Yeonjun nuzzle into his hand. His scent is thick and strong, tonight, filling the air with rich aromas ripe with spice and heat. "Oh, you are desperate. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I can wait," Yeonjun says, but he’s already tilting precariously in his saddle, leaning towards Soobin, mouth angled up for a kiss.

Soobin thinks, briefly, that he might drag Yeonjun into the abandoned guard-tower, but in the end neither of them can last that long. He gives in almost before they've dismounted, turning his omega around and pushing him up against the wall. Their hands meet at Yeonjun's waist as they both try to unbutton his trousers; Soobin wins the fight and shoves them down around Yeonjun's thighs before dropping to his knees behind him.

"Fuck," Yeonjun hisses at the first touch of Soobin's tongue; it's been too long, and he wants it too much to be dainty. He laps eagerly, long, sloppy strokes that dance over his slit with more enthusiasm than skill. "Greedy alpha, fuck, so needy, hmm? Can you taste it, how bad it is, how badly I need you. How slick I am, that's you, that's your fault."

He can't taste it, but he can smell it; Yeonjun's usual scent has been tinged with a kind of sad resignation for days, weeks perhaps. It permeates the air around him, fills up Soobin's nostrils, tinges the taste of his slick. It does nothing to render it less delicious, however, and Soobin can do nothing that might lessen the allegations of his greed. He is greedy, greedy for the taste of Yeonjun, sweet like honey on his tongue; greedy for the noises he makes as Soobin licks into him, driving him away from rational thought to that place where pleasure is his only master; greedy for shaking thighs under his hands and the way his cunt quivers before releasing a rush of slick that gushes out of him as he comes, dripping down Soobin's chin and neck.

"Ah, fuck, Soobin," Yeonjun whines, as he trembles, back arching, cunt pushing back as he seeks even more pressure. His hand tangles itself up in Soobin's hair, holding him in place, pushing him in deeper. "Fuck me, fuck me now, need your knot."

Soobin doesn't need telling twice; he’s already so hard it feels painful, tight trousers holding his swelling cock uncomfortably still. When he unbuttons his flies, the relief is palpable. He sinks inside his omega, the blunt head of his cock finding the way along a path it knows so well.

"I missed you, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," Soobin murmurs as he pushes into him, his mouth now free to talk. And, oh, he has missed this, Yeonjun's back pressed to his chest, the overwhelming heat of him, the sheath that envelops him so completely, deliciously tight despite the slick dripping out of him. The lack of it has plagued him, a phantom pain itching away at the back of his mind, so that now, even with the bare stone wall cold and rough under his hands, it's the best he’s felt in weeks.

"You should be," Yeonjun gasps, bracing himself against the stone wall so he can be better fucked into. "Fuck, Soobin, how could you leave me for so long? I can feel how hard you are, how badly you need this, hmm?"

"Ah, yes, yes, I did, I do," Soobin groans, hands scrabbling at Yeonjun's hips, holding on tight, too tight, it's too much and he’s knows that, and not one single thing on this green earth or the heavens above it could persuade him to loosen his grip or slow down.

"You have to — to listen to me, I know best, you know that," Yeonjun tells him, the words tumbling out between his moans. "Silly alpha, thinking you don’t need this, don’t need me."

"I do, I do need you, I know, I know," Soobin groans, losing himself in the slick slide of Yeonjun, the perfect contrast to the sharpness of his words, barbed and delicious.

"You do, you need me, you need to — ah, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, just like that, come on!" Yeonjun's sharp tongue doesn't let up, ordering Soobin right to the precipice of his pleasure and over it, words spilling out of him even as Soobin spills inside him, panting and groaning and dropping sloppy kisses to the back of his neck.

"Thank you, darling, thank you," Soobin sighs breathlessly. His knot swells, firm, impossibly big, shutting up Yeonjun's cunt so that he’s full, so perfectly, messily full of Soobin and his spend, claimed as Soobin's own. A marque as clear as a brand for anyone with a nose that this omega is taken, he’s used, he is owned.

A warm, soft haze envelops Soobin, cocooning him away from his troubles, dragging his attention away from his troubles and worries. He sinks into it, dropping his forehead to Yeonjun's shoulder while the fog of knotting washes over him. He thinks of it as hazy, but there's an odd kind of clarity to it, too, as if the haze hides everything that isn't immediately important to him, rendering his minor worries distant and insignificant.

"S'good? Was good?" he murmurs, lips barely moving, too tired to move his face. He can feel the linen of Yeonjun's shirt, dry and unpleasant against his lips, but doesn't bother to move.

"It was good, well done, best alpha," Yeonjun reassures him. "We should lie down, though, I don't want to stand here until your knot goes down."

"Hrrngh." Soobin agrees, but he doesn't have to enjoy it. He shifts, lifting his lover; he's paying as much mind as he can to the place where they're joined, but all the care in the world wouldn't be enough not to jostle him a little, so he has to kiss his neck once he’s got them settled on the ground. "I'm sorry, hyung, did I hurt you?"

"Mm. Not in any way I didn't like," Yeonjun reassures him.

Soobin strokes his hair and hums gently for him, a sweet folk song he knows Yeonjun likes, while they wait for his knot to settle. He should feel worse, perhaps, for having broken the promise he made to himself, but while he’s sorry he hasn't yet made more progress with Beomgyu, Yeonjun is his first love and a true one. He’s his pack, he’s his family, and he’s his omega; his claim on Soobin's heart is a tree with deep roots.

"I really am sorry," Soobin murmurs, as he folds Yeonjun into his embrace. "I was trying so hard to be a good alpha to Beomgyu, that I became a terrible one to you."

"Not terrible," Yeonjun tells him, reaching up to squeeze his hands where they're crossed over his chest, a protective cage. "A little neglectful. And I forgive you."

"Thank you." Soobin kisses his neck again, lips trailing over the faintly sweaty skin there. "Remember that when you're not full of my knot, please."

"I will." There's a layer of tiredness to his voice, a hard-won fatigue, that suggests he won't remember this conversation beyond the next two minutes, let alone half an hour, but Soobin appreciates the sentiment.

Chapter Text

Taehyun tells Beomgyu about his past on a unseasonally rainy summer afternoon, a day when none of the fires in the palace burn warm enough to drive the chill from their bones and most people want nothing more than to curl up under a blanket and pretend the outside world doesn't exist.

Taehyun, unable to spend the day in bed, retreats to the library, where he drags his desk closer to the fireplace and tries to focus on the work before him. Soobin, while a strong and benevolent leader (and one who is, in Taehyun's view, far more competent than he believes himself to be), doesn't have the same aptitude for researching, and so he likes to prepare reports for him, on topics about which he thinks the nation's king should be educated.

Today with the rain pouring down outside, a miserable torrent and a loud one, he’s writing a précis of weather patterns over the Eastern plains, the likelihood of tornadoes, and the impact of those upon the region's farmland. It's interesting to a mind like Taehyun's, which latches itself onto any new source of information and holds it up for inspection, turning it this way and that until he has exhausted it completely, but he’s aware that Soobin doesn't find the work as fascinating, and so he likes to challenge himself to make even the driest and dustiest of subjects engaging for him.

Beomgyu joins him mid-afternoon, when Taehyun's satisfaction at doing a thing he enjoys, and doing it well, is waning in the face of the continued downpour outside. His concentration is starting to fade, too, overwhelmed by the noise of the rain and the loud crackling of the fire, the scratching of his pen unable to drown them both out.

"Hyung, so kind," Taehyun tells him, picking up the custard tart Beomgyu has placed on his desk. "Will you join me for a little while?"

"Won't I be in your way?"

"Not at all, I was about to take a break." Beomgyu shrugs and wanders off to curl up in one of the high-backed armchairs in front of the fire, grabbing a cushion and holding in front of his belly, arms wrapped tightly around it. Taehyun sets his pen down and rises to sit opposite him. "Will you tell me what's brought you here?"

Beomgyu plays with the fringe on the cushion, idly drawing the silken strands through his fingers. "I was just bored, that's all, didn't want to spend another day alone in the attic."

"Ah, I'm sorry, hyung." Taehyun nibbles the crust of his tart delicately, checking the flavour. "You do know Soobin arranged that for you as a treat, not a punishment? You're not expected to confine yourself away up there. You can do whatever you want."

"Mmm." Beomgyu looks down at his hands. "How did you come to marry Kai? Was it… I mean, did you choose each other? Or was your marriage arranged for you?"

Taehyun is so surprised he nearly spits out a mouthful of perfectly acceptable custard tart. "Soobin-hyung didn't tell you?"

"About you and Kai?" Beomgyu shakes his head, finally looking up from his cushion. "No, he said, um… I don't quite remember, but it was something like, you'd tell me yourself if you wanted me to know? Which means I probably shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry."

"Please, don't apologise." Taehyun tilts his head, considers Beomgyu carefully. He likes the little omega, nearly as much as Soobin does, and he wants to see him happier, more settled in his new life. "Ah, Beomgyu-hyung, have we left you alone too much? I wanted to give you time to get to know your husband, so I asked Kai and Yeonjun not to crowd you, but perhaps you needed a crowd."

Beomgyu's mouth scrunches up, small and pointy. Taehyun can't read him that well, not yet, but he thinks it might be very, very unhappy. "I'm alright," he says eventually. His voice is quiet and uneven.

"Hmm." Taehyun turns a little in his chair, facing the fire, letting the heat wash over him. "Kai isn't from Macai, did you know?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Beomgyu move, leaning forwards in his chair. "No, I didn't know that. Soobin didn't mention it."

"Mm. Well, he’s not. He’s from Daressila." Taehyun turns back, then, needs to see Beomgyu's reaction before he tells him anything more. The omega looks shocked, of course; he had known he would be. He doesn't mind that, but he needs to know what else he thinks about this.

"I met him there, a year before the war. Kai was a captain in the royal guard, and I was staying at the palace to teach music and dancing to the royal family's children. He was… well, you know him. I was in love with him before I even thought to worry about whether he might love me back. And he did love me, which felt — still does feel — miraculous. And… ah, it doesn't matter. This part doesn't matter, it's just… I can't think of any marriage I've seen that was more of a love match than ours."

"Oh, I see. Um. I'm pleased for you," Beomgyu says. He doesn't sound particularly pleased.

"Thank you," Taehyun says despite Beomgyu's tone, because politeness was taught to him before almost anything else, and early lessons are harder to shake. "I was pleased, too. But I was an alpha, and so was Kai, and we were still in Daressila, so…"

"It was forbidden." Beomgyu sounds a little shocked, but he’s fighting it valiantly, hiding his surprise under a veneer of nonchalance.

"It was forbidden," Taehyun confirms. He feels something on his arm; Beomgyu's hand curls around his wrist, not gripping tightly but resting there. Comforting, Taehyun thinks, he’s trying to comfort me. Despite the pain he’s carrying right now, he’s trying to comfort me.

"I didn't realise you're an alpha," Beomgyu says. "I'm sorry, I just assumed… I don't know any alphas who, um. You know."

"I'm not."

"Oh. I thought you said…?"

"I said I was," Taehyun agrees. "And now I'm not."

"How?" Beomgyu looks fascinated and appalled, but not truly disgusted.

Taehyun gives him a smile, bittersweet, wry maybe, but not mocking. "I was arrested, when Kai's guards found out about me. I was — they forced a change and then sent me home. I won't go into it, it was very unpleasant and not done very well. It took ages to heal, and now… I'm an omega, or closer to that than anything else."

"I'm sorry," Beomgyu says, and Taehyun is comforted more by the truth in his voice than anything. Beomgyu is sorry for them, still cares for them, isn't repulsed by them.

"Thank you." Taehyun could say more, could tell him how long it took to heal, and then how much longer than that it had taken to make his peace with the changes, but he doesn't want to dwell on it today.

"Kai had it worse than I did. He was thrown in prison, and he'd still be there now if it weren't for Soobin. Or he'd have been executed, I suppose." Taehyun sighs, remembering the day Soobin had returned to the palace, Kai in tow. "Kai would follow him to the ends of the earth now. So would I, if it came to that."

"Oh my god." Beomgyu is staring at him, eyes wide and mouth open, in a manner that Taehyun is certain princes are meant to avoid. He doesn't bring it up, though, and Beomgyu seems to remember his manners on his own, shutting his mouth and averting his staring eyes.

They sit quietly then, letting the hypnotic sound of the rain lull them into a deeper sense of peace than their conversation might otherwise have allowed.

The revelations about Taehyun and Kai surprise Beomgyu, but they don’t shake him to the degree he might have anticipated. Perhaps it's the fact that he knows them, now, has seen them and their marriage, the bonds between the pair of them and the rest of the pack. They've suffered unimaginably, and all he can find in his heart is gladness that they're suffering no longer and have instead found some measure of happiness again.

Or perhaps he's just reached his limit, when it comes to being shocked, and he doesn't have it in him anymore. He can feel the weight of the last few weeks, bearing down on him like stones sinking to the bottom of a pond.

It's with a heavy heart, then, that Beomgyu finds himself wandering around the palace on a rainy afternoon, with nothing to do but dwell on his conversation with Taehyun and wonder what it means that Soobin can take him and Kai, and Yeonjun, but won't fuck Beomgyu, won't even look at him.

Usually he'd take himself up to his atelier at this time of the day, and it seems a fitting place to tuck himself away and mope while the torrential rain carries on outside, but he recalls Taehyun's promise that he isn't expected to lock himself away like a child in his garret. He is, apparently, allowed the run of the palace, and maybe even the gardens too, although he might save exploring those for a day with finer weather.

Today, he doesn't feel much like exploring anyway, but he does think he might like to spend the rest of the day in bed, curled up under blankets, not thinking about anything in particular. It's a shame, then, that his plan to nap is foiled by the sounds of someone groaning next door.

Beomgyu pads across the room in bare feet, heart in his throat; the noises are coming Soobin's room, muffled by the door between them, but clear enough that he can make out two distinct voices and the unmistakable sound of someone in pain.

His hand is on the doorknob before he realises what the sounds must be — perhaps they're not so unmistakable as all that — but that doesn't quite explain why he opens the door anyway. After all, he has plenty of time to withdraw, to let go of the doorknob, to walk away and pretend he hadn't heard a thing, to try and forget the precise pitch of the scream he'd heard. He doesn't have to turn the doorknob.

Beomgyu turns the doorknob.

The metal cool to the touch; he grips it tightly, far more tightly than is necessary simply so there's no risk of it slipping in his grasp. He doesn't want it to turn too loudly, wants to crack the door ajar just the tiniest fraction and perhaps catch a glimpse of the room beyond.

The sight that greets him is somehow worse than he'd imagined, and yet better, too. Yeonjun is bent over the side of the bed, arms stretched out in front of him, bracing himself against the onslaught from Soobin. His fingers, Beomgyu notices, are bent like a cat flexing its claws, knuckles white, the heels of his palms pushing down into the covers. The arch of his back is a thing of beauty, a long sensuous curve that ends in the swell of his hips, currently being gripped by Soobin as he thrusts into Yeonjun, fast and brutal.

It's not something he sees that affects Beomgyu the most, however shocking a sight it is. Rather, it's the sounds that cut through him like a knife. Yeonjun, despite the violence of Soobin's attack, is somehow taunting the alpha, teasing him through it.

"Fuck," Yeonjun says, as Beomgyu watches secretly through the cracked door, "is that the best you can do? Call yourself — ahh! — call yourself an alpha? I can barely feel that, can't you give your omega something worth taking, hmm? Make it worth my while, Choi Soobin!"

His outpouring of debasement is punctuated by loud moans and groans, his and Soobin's both mingling together in the air to create an aria that reverberates through Beomgyu's chest, shaking its way into his bones.

Beomgyu's hand is frozen, gripping the doorknob so tightly he thinks he might squeeze it out of shape, the brass crumpling in on itself under his touch. He should shut the door. He shouldn't have opened the door, but now that he has, he should close it again. He should close it, and walk away, and pretend he hasn't seen that.

He knows what he should do, and then Yeonjun looks up, and it's far too late.

The last thing he sees, as he shuts the door, is Yeonjun smiling at him, lips curling up at the corner and not a single trace of mirth to be found anywhere on his face.

Chapter Text

Beomgyu finds Yeonjun in his room on the second floor — up the grand staircase, left at the mezzanine landing, and down the corridor past the portrait gallery. He’s dancing in front of a mirrored wall when Beomgyu slips into the studio, lost in thought, beautiful in motion. He doesn't stop immediately when he catches sight of Beomgyu's reflection, but rather his steps slow down, until they've gone from light and airy to dragging unevenly over the parquet floor before he finally stutters to a halt.

"Can I help you, Choi Beomgyu?" Yeonjun asks, so polite it circles back around to being rude. "Are you lost?"

"No. I know exactly where I am," Beomgyu says. "So that's good. And I've found you here, which is even better."

"Is it now." Yeonjun's voice is a knife, sliding across Beomgyu's throat and threatening to draw blood.

"It is." Beomgyu crosses the room to be nearer to him. It's the perfect reflection of his marriage, he thinks, hanging back, off to the side, playing second-best to Yeonjun.

Yeonjun stops dancing at last, slowing to a stop with an exaggerated sigh. Beomgyu watches them both in the mirror and can't help but think he's also solved the mystery of his husband's lack of interest in him. Yeonjun is so striking, his eyes sharp and nose pointed, with the fullest mouth Beomgyu has ever seen; it's obscene, really, the kind of mouth that's begging to be wrapped around a cock until it's pink and plump and shiny with spit. "I want to talk to you."

"Mmm." Yeonjun's murmur isn't a word, isn't quite a hum. "Congratulations, you've achieved your goal."

Beomgyu rolls his eyes and takes a step forwards, until they're on an equal standing. "Show me the steps," he asks, working to make his tone quiet, undemanding. He's still trying, so hard, to be the omega Soobin wants, the one he’s brought and paid for, but it's not easy.

"The — steps?" Yeonjun asks, and finally turns to face Beomgyu, to look at him face to face instead of talking to his reflection.

"The steps." Beomgyu lifts his arms, echoing the position he'd seen Yeonjun holding when he entered the room. "It's ballet, yes?"

"… Yes."

"Then show me the steps."

There's a heavy reluctance in Yeonjun's limbs that seems to slow him down for a moment, and then he shakes it off like a dog shakes off water and starts dancing again. Beomgyu watches carefully as Yeonjun demonstrates the dance he'd been practicing; he goes fast, working through the steps far too quickly for either of them to pretend he’s not challenging Beomgyu to keep up.

But Beomgyu has always been a quick student when it comes to dancing, and he’s particularly motivated to learn this dance, here, today; the whirlwind of emotions that fly across Yeonjun's face when Beomgyu, having seen it performed only one time, dances his way perfectly adequately through the steps, is a thing of beauty. Shock shows up first, then disbelief, and finally a quiet annoyance that he unsuccessfully tries to hide behind gritted teeth.

"Yes, I can see why you're working on this dance," Beomgyu says when they're done, holding his final position gracefully. "It's delightful."

"It is." Yeonjun's saccharine voice is at odds with his scent, bitter and cloying, rolling off him in thick, sticky waves. "What do you really want, Choi Beomgyu?"

"I want to know how to — to be good. To do my duty. To please my husband." Beomgyu lowers his arms at last, resisting the urge to rub the strain out of his muscles. "I'm not — I don’t want to take your place. What he has with you is special, I can see that, and I don’t want to intrude. But we're pack, now, and I have a husband, and I don’t want to be miserable forever. I don’t want him to be miserable forever. I don't even want you to be miserable forever."

"And if I said the best way you could please him would be to leave?" Yeonjun asks.

"Is it?"

Yeonjun cocks his hip, resting a hand on it and eyeing Beomgyu up and down. His gaze feels like a dry sponge on Beomgyu's skin, scratchy and awful, but he holds his ground, and feels vindicated when the fight goes out of Yeonjun all at once.

"No, probably not. He’s a good enough man that he'd be devasted to think he failed as your husband and your alpha. He wants you to be happy, truly."

"Good!" Beomgyu scratches his nose, taken aback by Yeonjun's unadorned answer. "What does he want from me? What kind of husband does he want, because I'm trying so hard to be good, and it isn't helping, and I don’t know what else to do."

"No, you can't ask me that," Yeonjun says quietly. "We may be pack-mates, but we're not friends yet, and it still hurts too much. We can share him, but you can't ask me to give up the parts of him that I discovered for myself. If you truly want him, earn him."

Beomgyu tilts his head, brows furrowed while he works through this pronouncement. Beside him, Yeonjun is already moving away; Beomgyu stops him, wrapping a hand around a bicep.

"Wait. What does that mean, what's pack to you? What does pack mean?"

Yeonjun prises the hand off his arm, grabbing his wrist in a grip far tighter than it needs to be and using it to reel Beomgyu in close. "Pack means we have your back. Pack means we'll look after you even if we don’t like you. Pack means we'll fight to defend you. Pack means you're safe." Yeonjun pauses and then his vulpine eyes narrow. "As long as you don’t betray us, of course."

"Hey!" Beomgyu tugs his wrist free with a sharp yank. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Yeonjun shrugs. "You tell me. Or don't. Just don't be… don't be a problem for me to fix."

"Wait —" Beomgyu opens his mouth to protest, but he has reached the exact end of Yeonjun's patience; he pushes past him, knocking him out of the way with his shoulder as he goes, and leaving Beomgyu cross and confused in his wake.

After his fight with Yeonjun — or no, not quite a fight, but something close, something that raised his heckles and set his teeth on edge, the taste of iron and copper lingering just out of reach until he half-wishes it had been a fight, if only so they could have ended it cleanly — after that, Beomgyu retreats to his atelier to lick his lack of wounds.

How dare Yeonjun refuse to help me, he thinks as he climbs the stairs. How infuriating! How rude! Although, he thinks as he reaches the first floor landing, there's a chance I'd be just as obstinate and difficult if I were in Yeonjun's shoes. In fact,he has to admit, by the third landing, I'd probably be even worse if I'd been Soobin's lover and he went off and married someone else. More stubborn, definitely, and maybe stroppier too.

By the time he’s stepping through the door of his atelier, Beomgyu almost feels sorry for Yeonjun. It's hardly his fault he’s not carrying royal blood, after all, and while it's not his fault that Soobin can't marry him, that fact probably doesn't make the pain of it sting any the less.

And maybe he was also rude, Beomgyu thinks, maybe it was near unforgivable to have asked for the key to Soobin's heart, when — if he has to be honest with himself — he hasn't done all he could to win it for himself. Maybe, despite his protestations, he hasn't tried that hard to be a good husband. What has he done, really, beyond feeding him a little soup one night, and he'd only done that because he wanted to say thank you.

Could he do that again? When Taehyun had mentioned how stubborn Soobin could be, when gripped by the need to appear invulnerable, and that he would invariably end his day hungry and miserable, it had been easy to bring him some dinner. And Soobin had enjoyed it, or had seemed to enjoy it, at least. But then Beomgyu had fallen asleep, and woken up in his bed, alone and confused, and sad for reasons he couldn't quite place.

Maybe he ought to try a second attempt, when he’s less tired. He can be calmer, then, less recalcitrant and cross with Soobin.

It seems a shame that it took climbing all the way up to the attic to have such a profound revelation, but perhaps that was an integral part of it; Beomgyu is hardly an expert on them. Perhaps they always require you to be as high up as possible, or perhaps it was using his legs a lot that shook some ideas loose in his brain. In any case, now he’s had his epiphany, he needs to go back downstairs and see if he can convince one of the chefs to sneak away something delicious to tempt his husband.