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Chapter Text

The light flashed off the blade, forcing an instinctive blink, but Sieun refused to lose even a moment. Both feet rooted firmly to the ground, he remained light, balanced, alive on the battlefield. The air trembled with the force of the swing. The blade moved as if it had a mind of its own; carved with the intent to kill, its soul so black it hid within the night.

That familiar curl of his lips formed. His body moved of its own accord, hysteria rushing through him as he waited for the blade to come close.

Close.
But not close enough.

A scratch burned across his cheek; painless, sharp, electric. The sensation only spurred him on. His grip tightened around the hilt until the weapon felt no longer separate from himself. The clash of blades sent a vibration through his body, and laughter tore from his throat.

His opponent stumbled back.

A grin spread across Sieun’s face. The scratch was forgotten; the warmth of blood was welcome. He charged. One plunge of his blade—so practiced it felt like memory—drove the man to the ground. Steel slipped from the dying hand with a clang that cut louder than the body falling. The cry of an orphaned weapon always seemed heavier than the silence of death.

Triumph sharpened Sieun’s grin, though a sliver of pity flickered through him, not for the man, but for the black blade sullied by unworthy hands.

“Dispose of the body,” Sieun ordered, dismissive. “And return the sword to my chambers.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

A chill rippled through him as he entered the armory.

Rows of weapons shimmered in the dim light, each one breathing like something alive. Only he and his father were permitted inside, but even the thought of another presence felt intrusive. This place belonged to him. To the steel.

He moved between the racks, slow and deliberate. Lifetimes of battle slept here: kings, generals, nameless soldiers, all reduced to the echo of their blades. The air was thick with oil and iron and something sweeter, the scent of memory itself.

His hand brushed a cold shield, then slid along the curve of a sword’s hilt. His pulse quickened at the contact. Every weapon seemed to hum faintly against his skin, as if recognizing him, responding.

Each piece was a story. Each, a victory. Each, a heartbeat that was not his but might as well have been.

To die was one fate. To have your weapon taken was worse.

Sieun smiled faintly. When his time came, his sword would fall with him, or not at all.

He lingered. The edges glimmered like wet lips, catching the light as he passed. The faint scent of sharpened steel stirred something low in his chest, a familiar thrill that felt part hunger, part worship.

He spent hours here each night, polishing, touching, listening. Some called it a hobby. Others, an obsession. They were right. For Sieun, this was not merely pride; it was communion.

A knock jarred him from his trance.

“Enter.”

A guard stepped in, saluting with eyes lowered.
“Your Highness, the king requests your presence in the hall.”

Sieun said nothing. He gave the armory one last look, pride swelling in his chest, before leaving.

Marble echoed beneath his slow stride through the palace. Heads bowed as he passed, but he ignored them. Every step confirmed his authority.

He knocked once on the heavy doors of the great hall and entered.

The hall was empty but for the throne. His father sat at its head, chalice in hand.

“Sieun.” The king’s voice carried, a command even in a single word.

“Father.” Sieun’s reply was steady, though disdain cut through it.

The king’s hand tightened around the chalice. “Your sword. Hand it over.”

Sieun laughed under his breath. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

His fingers curled around the hilt at his side. Rage pricked his vision. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Guards!”

Armored steps echoed from the shadows. Two men approached, awaiting orders.

“This is outrageous!” Sieun’s voice cracked like steel against stone. “What crime have I committed?”

The king didn’t flinch. “You betrayed my trust.”

Sieun’s lip curled. “And what grave sin is it this time?”

“You had no right being on that battlefield today.”

“That is my army.”

“No.” His father’s voice hardened. “Those are my men. My kingdom. And you, reckless enough to throw their lives away.”

“Reckless?” Sieun’s laugh burned. “I brought you victory. I buried their leader in the dirt. That is not recklessness. That is pride.”

The king’s voice shook the air. “Your duty is to protect your people, not play games of slaughter for your own pleasure!”

“You fail to act,” Sieun hissed, gripping his hilt instinctively. “I show the world we are not weak.”

His father slammed his chalice down. “No, you show the world a prince drunk on blood. I see the way you look when you kill. You are alive only with a weapon in your hand, whether it is your life or theirs at stake.”

Heat pounded in Sieun’s temples. His body screamed to draw his blade. How dare anyone, even his father, speak of him so. He was about to retort when the king’s voice softened, cutting him off.

“That man you killed…”

Sieun stilled. The sorrow in his father’s tone was foreign.

“He was not just a rebel leader,” the king said quietly. “He was part of the Kang group.”

Sieun frowned. “The Kang group?”

His father’s gaze hardened. “A faction with reach beyond our borders. Ruthless. Unified by blood and vengeance. They’ve already made their intentions known.”

“What intentions?” Sieun’s voice lowered, sharp as the edge of his sword.

“They have sworn revenge,” the king said. “They’ve declared it publicly. Every Kang loyalist across the eastern provinces now knows your name, and they will come for you.”

Sieun’s jaw tightened. “Then let them. I’ll cut them down as I did their leader.”

His father’s voice rose again, raw with anger. “You think this is a game! You’ve provoked a war you don’t understand. Their numbers could match our army, and their hatred burns hotter than your pride.”

“I can handle it.”

“No.” The king’s tone snapped like ice “You will remain out of sight.”

Sieun chuckled darkly. “I am a prince. Head of the army. How could I possibly—”

“You will not fight.”

Silence bit between them. Sieun’s laugh turned sharp, brittle. “My only purpose in this kingdom is to fight. You would strip that from me?”

“It is an order. Your sword will be under my care.”

The rage in him coiled tighter, boiling. His sword was not a weapon, it was his soul. To take it was to hollow him out.

“You dare take what is mine?”

“You dare raise your voice at me?” his father roared back. “I am your king! Bring me the sword.”

The world narrowed to silence. Sieun’s chest rose and fell, memories bleeding in: the training, the blood, the eyes of this same man burning down on him with shame, with impossible standards.

He took a breath, slow and jagged. Rage still thrummed, but he lowered his head and ascended the steps.

The room was quiet enough to hear their breathing. At the throne, he drew the blade slowly, watching its gleam one last time. Pride straightened his back.

“You will regret this,” he muttered, laying his soul on the table.

He turned and left, not sparing a glance.

“You will understand soon,” his father called after him. “Until then, a guard will remain at your side. We are not safe, even within these walls.”

Sieun pulled the doors wide, swallowing his fury though it burned his throat raw.

“I don’t need a bastard guard!” he spat, the words echoing as the door slammed behind him.

He marched down the corridor, body thrumming with rage. He would never sit and wait for an enemy to find him, nor would he hide in the shadows.
He would find the source of the problem and cut it loose before anyone caught its scent.

He entered his chamber, heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He stripped off his outer robes in a hurry and went straight to his bed. Lifting the mattress, he revealed a small bag. Then he moved to the bath, eyes narrowing at the loose tiles he pried free.

Behind the tiles lay a dagger—sharp enough to kill, small enough to keep hidden within his robes.

He shoved it into his belt, draped his royal robe over his shoulders, and hid the weapon. The bag hung at his waist beside it.

He gave his chamber one last look and stepped outside, ignoring the guards as he passed.

As he moved among the marble pillars, Sieun noticed fewer of his father’s men until he reached the passage he had been searching for.

This place had been designed for disaster.

If an enemy ever infiltrated, the royals were meant to flee through this passageway. In all his ancestral history, Sieun knew of not a single occasion when the Yeon stronghold had been compromised. Their army was strong; no one had ever breached their gates. Of all within the kingdom, only a handful knew of this escape route.

When he reached the empty room, the smell of damp hit him. He found the door to the stairs leading underground.

He grabbed the heavy metal doorknob but felt a hand at his back.

Sieun drew the dagger from his robes, spinning on his feet. His arm blocked the hand; it made sharp contact before he thrust the dagger forward.
A clang rang out as his blade met something equally strong, and his eyes finally focused on the face of a man he did not recognise.
The man’s eyes widened momentarily before he stepped back.

Sieun blinked.

The stranger raised his hands in surrender, head tilted slightly.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I did not intend to startle you.”

Sieun narrowed his eyes. The man wore Yeon robes—plain, commoner robes—but the sword he carried shone magnificently even in the dim room. The hilt looked perfectly crafted, gold molded around it in intricate patterns.

Sieun’s gaze lingered. His breath hitched before he realised it. There was something alive in that sword, something he could feel rather than see. The craftsmanship was perfect, but it was the aura that pulled at him. His fingers twitched, aching to touch it, to feel the steel vibrate under his hand the way the blades in his armory did.

His heart hammered. For a moment, the man holding the weapon vanished from his focus, replaced entirely by the gleam of the sword.

Sieun’s pulse hammered.

“How dare you raise your sword at the Prince,” he said.

The man slid his sword back into its sheath, hands still raised.
“It was not my intention, Your Highness. I hadn’t meant to startle you but had I not responded, your dagger would have been eight inches deep into my throat.”

Sieun arched a brow. “So? To die at the hands of royal blood is surely an honor?”

The man bowed his head. “Perhaps. Although to die before fulfilling my duty would be shameful.”

Sieun stepped closer, dagger raised to the man’s neck. “And what duty would that be?”

The man smiled, truly smiled.
“To protect His Highness, of course.”

Sieun barked out a laugh. The man didn’t flinch, even as the point of Sieun’s dagger pressed against his skin.

“What makes you think I need protection?”

The man’s gaze didn’t waver. “My thoughts in this regard are insignificant, Your Highness—”

“Your thoughts in all regards are insignificant,” Sieun spat.

“I am simply following orders from the King.”

Sieun’s jaw tightened. “I told him I don’t need a guard. Especially not one who follows me in secret. This place is forbidden to anyone but the higher-ups.”

The dagger pressed harder, drawing a thin line of blood. Still, the man didn’t move.

“I was instructed to follow you wherever you go.”

“Even if I were to leave the premises, would you follow?”

“Incorrect, Your Highness. I would be compelled to prevent that from happening.”

“Are you threatening me?” Sieun asked.

“No. I am simply answering your question. My apologies, Your Highness, but you are not to leave the Yeon residence.”

Sieun scoffed and withdrew his dagger, turning away. He had just reached for the door when a gust of wind brushed his neck.

He turned sharply, his instincts screaming, and blocked the guard’s strike.
Steel met steel. Sparks.

He planted his foot, rooted his stance, and pushed. The man pressed back with power that belied his calm face.

Sieun’s disadvantage in weapon length didn’t matter. He lived and breathed battle; the only moments he felt truly alive were when he stood firm with a weapon in hand.

He diverted the man’s sword, slipped aside, and lunged. The man dodged, light and precise, then swung again, using momentum to drive his strike.

Sieun grit his teeth, blocking the hit though his arms trembled with the effort. He ducked low, pivoted, lunged again.

He’d fought countless men, trained until his hands and feet bled, killed without hesitation.
Yet this man’s movements; swift, fluid, almost elegant - felt foreign.
He was tall but fought with grace. Strength disguised as control.

It was rare that Sieun struggled to keep up. But no matter the fight, he always found the opening.

And when he did, he took it.
One stride, one twist, and his blade pressed to the man’s neck. The man froze.

Sieun grinned and slammed his fist into the man’s wrist, knocking his sword to the floor.
“I only spared your life because you managed to keep up with me this long.”

The man smiled faintly. “Would you like me to thank you?”

Sieun glared. “What’s your name?”

“Ahn Suho.”

Sieun lowered his blade. “Ahn Suho, you are never to show your face in front of me again. If you do, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

Suho stared at him, blank-faced.

Sieun didn’t wait for an answer. He turned his back and strode toward the door.
He didn’t speak again as he pulled it open and descended the stairs to his escape.

He would end this before it got worse. Before anyone came for his life, he’d take theirs first. His father hated that side of him, the side that never waited for orders. But Sieun knew what had to be done, and he’d be damned if anyone stood in his way.

The night air was crisp when he emerged from the underground passage.

He walked for hours, unsure how far from the Yeon kingdom he’d gone. The trees rustled around him; unseen animals whispered in the dark.

It was in places like this that his senses sharpened—like a predator’s. Even the smallest change in the wind had Sieun moving with it.

Here, in the wild, he was in his element.
Unafraid. Unbound.
Free from the shackles of his father.

He navigated the forest as if it were his home. He knew which borders he needed to cross, and breaching them under cover of night seemed ideal.
The forest belonged to no one, though clans had tried to claim it for years. It was considered sacred land. Sieun neither knew nor cared why.

The scent of damp, rotting wood grew stronger as he walked. When he began to sense more than one presence nearby, he drew a slow breath and moved toward the nearest tree.
At least with his back to something solid, it would be harder for anyone to catch him off guard.

He advanced quietly, eyes scanning the dark. Then his back struck something not quite like bark.

A hand seized his wrist.

He had no time to react before a sharp movement rippled through the forest — something hunting. The killing intent in the air prickled against his skin.

He was about to break free when the grip on his wrist tightened, jerking him against the tree.

An instant later, an arrow cut through the air, slicing past him close enough to graze his sleeve.

A low voice breathed by his ear, quiet but commanding.

“If you wish to survive, don’t move.”

Suho.

As much as Sieun hated to comply, the air itself seemed to hum with danger. Goosebumps lifted along his arms.

“How dare you follow me,” he hissed, forcing his voice low. Suho’s proximity alone made irritation flare beneath his skin.

“If you touch anything here, you’ll trigger the traps. You’re welcome for saving you, by the way.”

The words brushed his ear, far too close.

“I think I can handle myself, you fool.”

Suho hummed softly. “You’ve never heard the tales, Your Highness?”

“I don’t believe in such nonsense. Stories made up so those animals can lay claim to this land.”

The man chuckled darkly beside him. “Every tale comes from some form of truth.”

“Nonsense,” Sieun snapped.

“It’s when people like you wander into these plains that chaos follows,” Suho replied, still gripping his wrist.

Sieun stiffened. “People like me?” He scoffed. “What the hell do you know about people like Silence. Suho’s focus seemed fixed on the air around them. Then he released Sieun’s wrist.
“This is our chance. Your Highness, you must return to your kingdom immediately.”

“I made it this far, and you think I’ll go back?” Sieun shoved him aside and resumed his path. He tried to ignore Suho’s footsteps behind him, knowing the man wouldn’t relent.

“Go home,” Sieun ordered once they reached a clearing. The sun was starting to rise, streaking pale light across the trees. They had walked for hours, yet Suho seemed untouched by fatigue, trailing a few paces behind with the same steady rhythm.

When the command went ignored, Sieun stopped and turned. “I am ordering you to go home!”

“Unfortunately, the King’s orders to remain by your side override yours.”

Sieun ground his teeth, then forced himself to breathe evenly. “So you pick and choose which orders to follow?”

“I follow your orders, Your Highness,” Suho said evenly. “All except one.”

Sieun smirked and closed the distance between them. “Hand me your sword.”

Without hesitation, Suho obeyed, bowing his head as he passed the weapon to him.

“Kneel,” Sieun commanded once he had finished examining the blade.

Suho did not look away as he slowly lowered himself to one knee. Sieun watched, half irritated and half amused, as the man obeyed in silence.

“Bow to me. A full bow.”

Suho obeyed, lowering his head until his forehead touched the earth.

For a moment, only the rustle of leaves filled the clearing.

Sieun stood over him, the sword heavy and alive in his hands. He expected to feel satisfaction at the sight, but instead something unfamiliar tightened in his chest.

Power always thrilled him, yet Suho’s submission felt different—too deliberate, too calm, as if the man were humouring him.

“Do you mock me?” Sieun asked quietly.

“No, Your Highness.” Suho’s voice came muffled against the ground. “You ordered me to bow.”

The simplicity of the answer struck Sieun like an insult. He took a step closer, letting the blade rest just above the back of Suho’s neck.

The pulse beneath the skin beat steady and slow. Suho didn’t flinch.

“Raise your head.”

Suho obeyed. His gaze met Sieun’s from where he knelt, unblinking, unreadable.

The dawn light caught on the strands of Suho’s hair and the faint sheen of sweat along his throat.
For an instant, Sieun felt the urge to press the blade forward, to see that composure break, to prove no man could remain that calm beneath him.
But he didn’t move.

When the man raised his head, his gaze locked with the prince’s, whose eyes swam with mirth. Sieun dropped the sword in front of its kneeling owner and smirked down at him.

“You duel with your right hand?”

Suho nodded once.

“You write with your right hand?”

Another nod.

“You bring pleasure to yourself with your right hand?”
This time, Suho’s jaw tightened before he gave a third nod.

“And you follow all my orders except one?” Sieun asked, voice edged with malice.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Then you shall use your sword to cut off your right hand. You’re a skilled man, it shouldn’t take long to build up your strength with the left.”

Sieun turned his back on the kneeling man.
If Suho had any sense, he would leave now. No sane man would carry out such an order. The least he could do was walk away in silence.

Sieun had barely taken three steps when a low, resolute voice answered behind him.
“Yes, Your Highness.”

He turned. Suho had already picked up the sword.
Without hesitation, the man tore a strip from his robe, clamped one end between his teeth, and bound it tightly around his forearm.

Sieun froze, confusion flickering through him as Suho raised the blade high, ready to bring it down on his wrist.

In the space of a heartbeat the sword fell,
and Sieun moved before thought could catch up.

One instant he was watching; the next, his dagger was in his hand, intercepting the strike.
Metal crashed against metal, the impact jolting through his arm.
The collision sent Suho sprawling onto the grass.

“Are you insane!?” Sieun shouted. The force in his voice almost startled him.

For the first time that night, Sieun saw a trace of surprise on Suho’s face.

“I am sane, Your Highness.”

Sieun laughed—too sharp, too wild. “What do you even want?”

Suho retrieved his sword and knelt again, head bowed.

“I wish to serve you, Your Highness.”

Chapter Text

Time passed on the road as it did within the kingdom, night following dawn, dawn bleeding into night.

The rhythm of travel settled into his bones: the crunch of dry earth underfoot, the hiss of wind through the trees, the faint rasp of steel whenever Suho adjusted his sword.

Sieun was used to long journeys, but not like this. He was used to command, to horses and servants, to nights spent in tents lined with fur. Now he walked through dirt and mist, with only one shadow trailing behind him.

He could not risk asking for transport; a single recognition and his father would send riders before the day was out.

Suho had proposed a shortcut to the Kang territory. Sieun had nothing to lose by trusting him, or perhaps he simply wanted to see if the man would ever falter.

Sometimes Sieun tested him, tossing out orders or questions like bait. Suho obeyed each one with infuriating precision.

No hesitation, no complaint. Just that same quiet, unbending resolve.

It made Sieun’s skin itch.

Two moments stood out during those silent days, small but impossible to forget.

The first had taken place the night before.

“Do you believe in fate?” Sieun asked suddenly as they walked.

Suho stopped mid-step, caught off guard by the question. The silence stretched long enough for Sieun to laugh under his breath.

“No need to look so alarmed. I won’t kill you for the wrong answer.”

After a pause, Suho said, “Yes. I believe everything comes back around, full circle, whether we want it to or not.”

Sieun hummed. “You know, you could be killed for that mindset,” he said. “Kings decide the fate of their kingdoms.”

Then he scoffed. “How did my father ever let you become my guard?”

Suho bowed slightly. “My apologies, Your Highness. He simply never asked me such a question.”

Sieun studied him, his mouth a thin line as he tried to understand Suho. The man could recite orders like prayer, yet questions seemed to disarm him. That small hesitation felt like victory.

“How about luck?” Sieun pressed. “Do you believe in that?”

Suho exhaled through his nose. “The correct answer is no.” Then he continued, “But as you have asked for my own thoughts, my answer is that some are born under good fortune, others under bad. But fortune can change, if one is willing to fight hard enough.”

Sieun hummed. “Four-leaf clovers are said to bring good fortune.”

He gestured towards a patch of green stretching across the field. “You see there?”

Suho followed his gaze. “I see.”

“Find me one.”

He expected refusal, or at least irritation. Instead, Suho simply nodded.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He moved into the grass, dropping to one knee, hands parting the blades with slow precision.

The sun was setting, throwing gold across the field. As Sieun drank from his flask, he watched the man comb through the growth like a scholar reading a text only he could understand.

By the time the last light bled from the sky, Suho was still searching.

The air cooled, carrying the scent of crushed clover. Sieun lay back on the damp ground, half amused, half irritated. The stars blurred above him, and with a faint smile at Suho’s stubbornness, he drifted into sleep.

At dawn, a single four-leaf clover rested on his folded robes.

Sieun said nothing about it. Neither did Suho.

But he felt the weight of the gesture for the rest of the day.

The second memory came not long after, when hunger, or boredom, pushed him to test the man again.

“I want to eat,” Sieun said. “There’s a river to the south. Catch me a fish.”

Suho turned, his expression unreadable. “Yes, Your Highness.”

The river was wider than Sieun expected, its water glass-clear and cold.

He sat on the bank while Suho shed his outer robe and laid it neatly beside his sword. He rolled his sleeves, stepped into the current, and stilled.

From where Sieun watched, Suho’s focus was absolute.

He tracked the flickers beneath the surface, every shift of light and ripple.

The prince had seen soldiers fight and horses charge, but this quiet readiness was different, measured, instinctive, graceful.

He thought to mock him for it, to call him a fool chasing fish with bare hands, yet the words caught in his throat.

The sun was low, a dull red spilling across the water.

Sieun remembered being a boy, sneaking to the palace river with Juntae to watch a fisherman draw trout from the shallows. They had tried for hours to copy him, their laughter echoing until the old man sent them home. He hadn’t touched a river since.

Now, as Suho crouched, he felt the same anticipation he had felt then, waiting for the impossible to happen.

And then it did.

Suho’s arms flashed through the water. A heartbeat later, he rose with a writhing fish caught between his hands.

No triumph touched his face. He simply stepped ashore and let the fish drop onto the grass before Sieun.

“Is this type suitable?” he asked.

Sieun blinked, forcing indifference into his tone.

“It’ll have to do.”

He didn’t look up as Suho began to clean the fish, but he found himself listening: to the quiet rhythm of the knife, to the murmur of the river, to the sound of another man who never once seemed to lose control.

“You said there were tales?”

The question hung between them as they walked, the air growing thicker with every step. They were nearing the borders of the Kang territory, but Suho’s words from the forest still lingered in Sieun’s mind.

He hadn’t wanted to dwell on them, yet the memory of that suffocating killing intent wouldn’t leave. He could almost feel it again, the pulse of danger, the breath of death too close to his skin.

“If I remember correctly, you don’t believe in such falsities,” Suho replied.

“If I remember correctly, you serve me,” Sieun shot back, pushing through the waist-high weeds. The ground beneath him was like wet sand.

Suho’s voice came steady from behind. “The forest has always belonged to the wilderness, hasn’t it?”

Sieun shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. “And your tales say otherwise?”

“The tale is of an ancient village,” Suho began, eyes fixed ahead. “A small population, but a thriving one. They hunted and cooked together, lived as a single pack. Their unity was their strength, their peace was their pride. Everything was decided with the interest of the whole in mind.”

He paused to pull a long blade of grass from the earth, twirling it between his fingers.

“The thing about such a small world,” he continued, “is that when you haven’t seen much of it, your perception is narrowed.”

Sieun scoffed. “So what? They couldn’t keep up with time and vanished?”

“Quite the opposite,” Suho said. “A narrow world can be perfect until something foreign enters it. When an outsider found his way among the villagers, he saw opportunity. He had seen more, wanted more. And greed has a way of sounding like wisdom to those who’ve never known either.”

He dropped the grass, his tone low and even.

“Like a piper with a tune, he won their trust. Some followed. Others resisted. Those who disobeyed were cast out or silenced.

On the ninetieth day of his rule, he led the dissenters into the forest, men, women, children. They were left to fend for themselves against whatever lived there.

Three days later, a fire swept through the village, leaving nothing but ash. Since then, anyone who’s tried to claim the forest has perished.”

Sieun stopped walking and turned to him. Suho met his eyes, but said nothing more.

“And you believe all that?” Sieun asked.

Suho shrugged lightly. “I believe there’s truth within it. Why else would the land remain untouched?”

Sieun laughed, sharp and dismissive. “Because people are afraid of ghost stories.”

Suho’s gaze didn’t waver. “Including your father?”

Sieun scoffed. “You speak like that of the man who rules our kingdom. Do you have no respect?”

“You do not disagree with me, Your Highness.”

The words went unanswered. Sieun pushed on through the waist-high weeds. “You seem to know your history. Do you know anything about the Kang group?”

Suho looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift. Sieun did not slow; they had been walking for days and fatigue had settled into his bones.

“They’re powerful,” Suho said at last, low and even.

Sieun raised a brow. “That’s all you’ve got?”

When silence met him again, Sieun pressed on. “You tell me you know shortcuts to their territory but you’ve never walked this way before?”

Suho stopped. “If you imply I have done business with them, I—”

“You’ll what?” Sieun asked, raising a dagger towards Suho’s neck.

“You can kill me now, Your Highness,” Suho said calmly, “but if you think you’ll make it out alive trespassing alone, then you truly know nothing of the Kangs.”

Sieun narrowed his eyes. “Then tell me what you know so I can be prepared.”

“There is nothing to be prepared for, Your Highness.” Suho’s voice was flat. “The Kang group has no order. They follow one man’s lead, yet no one truly knows what they want. They began with a single goal: to overthrow the concept of monarchy. Royal blood, to them, should mean nothing.”

Sieun sheathed the dagger as he walked. “So they want me dead because I wear a crown, not because I killed one of their men a few days ago?”

“As I said, no one knows their true motive,” Suho replied. “They believe no one should claim superiority by birth. Power must be earned through strength and vision.”

Sieun tightened his grip on the dagger. “Why did you try to hide this from me?”

Suho sighed. “That was never my intention, Your Highness.”

“Tell me.”

“I do not wish to overstep.”

Sieun barked a mocking laugh that scraped in his chest. “You overstepped when you followed me here.” His gaze locked on Suho’s. For a moment it felt like a battle, words and looks trading blows.

“As I said before, you agree with them,” Suho said finally.

The air between them cooled. Sieun watched Suho’s face, searching for any crack. There was none. The man spoke with a certainty that suggested he could read the prince’s thoughts. A certainty that gnawed at Sieun.

It was infuriating. Everything about Suho set the prince on edge, and yet the truth in Suho’s words could not be dismissed.

“Like the Kangs, part of you believes the right to the throne is not given by blood alone; it requires strength and sacrifice,” Suho continued.

Sieun’s jaw worked beneath his skin.

“But you

are a pure-blood Yeon, next in line. What benefit would you have in destroying the monarchy?” Suho paused “It would make you a hypocrite, taking the privileges of a royal while knowing your people struggle.”

“You think you could do it better?” Sieun snapped, venom in his voice.

“I would never dream of such a thing, Your Highness.”

Sieun’s laugh was cold. “If you even considered dreaming it, I’d have your body hung from our walls for treason.”

The topic died there. The two men resumed their march in silence.

To Sieun it remained a mystery: how Suho could address him with such deference while speaking so openly against everything Sieun represented. In any other circumstance he would have slain a man for such insolence. The only reason Suho still trailed him was pragmatic: the guard could fight, and he had knowledge that might prove useful. Once this was over, Sieun promised himself he would use Suho’s own sword to end his life.

Eventually the faint outline of the Kang settlement shimmered beyond the fields.
Sieun adjusted his grip on the dagger at his side, ready to walk straight in, when Suho’s hand caught his sleeve.

“Your Highness, you can’t possibly think walking through there dressed like that is wise.”

Sieun glanced down at him, irritated. “I’m representing my kingdom.”

“Or painting a target on your back,” Suho said, stripping off his outer robe and tossing it behind a tree. “If you go in wearing Yeon colours, they’ll cut you down before you reach the gate.”

Sieun scoffed. “If they’re bold enough to try, they deserve to see what happens.”

“You call that pride. I call it impatience.”

Their eyes met, neither willing to look away.

Sieun broke it first, his tone curt. “They want me dead, but their leader will want to do it himself. I’ll use that chance to kill him.”

“And the guards?” Suho asked. “Even you can’t take an entire camp alone.”

“That’s why you’ll help me. Find their escape route. Get inside from there.”

“I’ve never heard of one.”

“Then start listening better.”

Suho’s expression didn’t change, but his voice lowered. “Your Highness, this is reckless.”

Sieun almost smiled at the predictability of it. “Do I need to remind you whose orders matter?”

“You shouldn’t mistake obedience for agreement,” Suho said evenly.

That tone again, calm and unshaken. It always made something bristle inside Sieun. Suho spoke like someone who already understood him, and Sieun hated how close he sometimes was to being right.

“Your job is to protect me,” Sieun snapped. “So protect me by doing as I say.”

Suho’s gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have. “Very well. But I have one request.”

Sieun rolled his eyes. “You’re full of them.”

“Don’t kill anyone until I arrive.” Suho’s voice was quiet, steady. “You’re not here to start a war.”

Sieun gave a short laugh, sharp and humourless. “You think I came all this way for diplomacy?”

“I think you came for answers,” Suho said. “And killing tends to bury them.”

For the smallest moment, Sieun hesitated. Suho was right, and that truth stung more than any insult.

He turned away, drawing his dagger. “Never give me orders again.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Sieun started walking, his pulse still uneven. The man was infuriating, a servant who argued, a soldier who didn’t flinch, and the only one whose words ever seemed to echo after he’d gone.

Once they separated, Sieun drew a steady breath. He glanced back, ensuring Suho wasn’t following.

He had no expectation the man would ever find a secret passage, if one even existed. He simply needed him gone.

He dealt with all things alone.

The village wasn’t what he expected. No shouts, no guards rushing to confront him. The people worked or traded calmly, unbothered by the stranger in royal robes.

The quiet unnerved him.

“Are you lost, young man?” an elderly voice asked as he passed.

He ignored it at first, until the tone registered. Young man.

Sieun turned, disgust curling his lip. “I am next in line for the Yeon throne. Do not address me so casually.”

The old man only shrugged. “Ah. Then are you lost?”

Sieun’s hands clenched. “I am here to kill your leader.”

The man blinked, then burst into laughter. He clapped Sieun on the shoulder before hefting his basket of goods. “Good luck with that, my friend. I needed a laugh.”

He walked away, leaving Sieun rooted in disbelief.
No fear. No outrage. Just amusement.

By the time Sieun reached the main hall, unease had settled deep in his stomach. A few guards lingered near the gates, but nothing resembling the Yeons’ palace patrols.
How did they survive with so little security?

“Can I help you?” one guard asked mildly as Sieun approached.

“I’ve come from the Yeon kingdom to see Kang,” Sieun said.

The guard regarded him. “You’ve trespassed.”

It wasn’t a threat, just fact. Yet when Sieun braced for the man to draw his weapon, he simply turned and gestured for Sieun to follow.

Cold sweat pricked at Sieun’s neck.
This wasn’t how such meetings went.
He should already be fighting for his life, blades clashing, blood spilling. Instead, he was being escorted.

Inside the hall, the guard bowed and left. 

A long table filled the room, and at its head sat a man with a cup of dark wine, smiling faintly.

“To what do the Kangs owe this pleasure, Prince Yeon?” the man called, voice rich with amusement.

Sieun scowled. “You know why I’m here.”

Kang rose, glass in hand. “I imagine you’re not here to drink, though it’s a shame. This bottle’s been ageing longer than you’ve been alive.”

He laughed, the sound too loud, too easy. “My villagers are preparing for a festival. You should join.”

“They’re out of their minds,” Sieun muttered.

“Perhaps,” Kang said, sipping again. “But tell me, aren’t we all?”

“I’m not here to talk riddles. You plan to raid the Yeon kingdom.”

A pause. Then Kang began to laugh, deep, roaring laughter that echoed off the walls until he spilled wine onto the floor.
When the sound faded, he sighed. “You made me waste a good drink.”

“You think this is funny?” Sieun snapped.

“Spilt wine never is,” Kang murmured, circling him slowly. “Do you know what makes good wine, little Yeon? Time. Patience. The finest ingredients, left to mature. Rush the process, and it turns sour.”

 He stopped behind Sieun. “You, I think, are a poor vintage, spoiled before your time.”

Sieun spun, drawing his dagger and levelling it at the man’s throat. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough,” Kang said, unbothered. “You’ve come here under someone else’s orders, haven’t you? Someone pulling your strings.”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m implying,” Kang said, tone suddenly sharp, “that the Yeons have broken our peace treaty. Tell your father he should’ve known better. Truth, like wine, spills easily once uncorked.”

Sieun blinked, the words slicing through his anger. “Peace treaty? I was never told of such a thing.”

Kang’s laughter rolled through the hall again, then stilled. “Ah. So the prince is ignorant of his own kingdom’s dealings.” His grin returned, sharper this time. “Are you and your father not on good terms?”

Sieun’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. “My father—”

“Keep your family matters within your own walls,” Kang said suddenly, voice dropping to a growl. His expression hardened, the playful tone gone.

“Tell him that the Kangs keep their word. We won’t break peace, but we’ll defend it.”

Without warning, Kang lunged.

Steel flashed. Sieun barely brought his dagger up in time to block the first strike.

He’d hoped to kill the man before a sword was drawn, but now he was outmatched, dagger against blade.

Kang pressed the attack with ferocious precision, driving him backward.

Sieun had fought countless men, but this was different. Every movement from Kang was measured, lethal. The reason his people didn’t fear attack became clear: they didn’t need walls or guards. They had him.

Suho’s earlier words echoed in his mind: They’re powerful.

Steel screamed.

Sieun barely met the first strike; his dagger deflected, but the force jarred his wrist. Kang’s sword was heavier, faster, each swing carried the weight of a man who had killed before and learned to make every blow look inevitable.

Sieun fought to breathe between the clashes. He’d been in countless battles, but this one was different. Kang’s movements were brutal and beautiful all at once, precise as if the air itself yielded to his will. The table behind Sieun splintered under a missed strike.

A final hit tore his dagger from his grasp. Pain burst across his arm as the blade grazed him, warm blood slicking his sleeve.

Then another sound tore through the air, a clean, defiant ring of steel meeting steel.

When he looked up, another figure stood before him, shoulders squared, blade locked against Kang’s.

Suho.

Chapter Text

Suho stepped between them in a blur, blade locked with Kang’s. His stance was solid, but his motion was foreign; less disciplined than the Yeon technique, more fluid, built from instinct rather than drill. It wasn’t defensive or royal; it was survival.

Kang’s eyes flicked downward, narrowing. For a moment, their blades slid apart, then met again with a shudder that sang through the hall.

“That form,” Kang muttered.

Suho didn’t answer. His expression remained still, calm as ice.

Kang’s strikes slowed. He began to test Suho’s movements, his curiosity outweighing his rage. “You’re no ordinary Yeon soldier.”

Suho parried another blow, turned the blade just so, and Kang froze mid-motion. Something like recognition flickered across his face.

“That stance…” His voice dropped lower. “That cut was from ‘those’ Lands.”

Sieun blinked, confusion sparking, but before he could speak, Kang took a deliberate step back. The sudden stillness was more dangerous than any sword.

“Ah,” Kang said softly, an edge of revelation in his tone. “Now we talk.”

He flicked his sword aside, the tip clanging against the floor, and pointed at Suho. “You. Step outside with me.”

Suho glanced back once at Sieun. There was no question, only the faintest flicker of something unreadable before he nodded. The confirmation was all Suho needed before he followed Kang out through the great doors.

They closed with a heavy thud that left the prince alone in the echoing silence.

Wind whispered through the eaves. Blood glistened dark against Suho’s sleeve as the lanterns swayed overhead.

Kang leaned a shoulder against the pillar, his sword dangling loosely from one hand. “You fight like a man who’s lost everything.”

Suho didn’t move. “You’re observant.”

“Then it’s true,” Kang said. “The Burned Lands. You’re one of them.”

The air thickened between them. Suho’s reply came low, measured. “The Yeons called it progress. My people called it slaughter. I carry what they could not keep.”

Kang’s grin faded. “You’ve hidden yourself well.”

“I had to,” Suho said. “To reach the one who ordered it. The Yeon king sits on graves that were not his. His son is the key that opens the door to him.”

Kang’s voice sharpened. “And yet you protect the son? You stood between us.”

“If he dies, I lose my way to his father.”

A long pause. Then Kang laughed once; quiet, humourless. “You’ve turned yourself into a blade disguised as loyalty.”

Suho’s jaw tightened. “If you kill him, everything I’ve done will be for nothing. Let him live and I’ll do what you couldn’t, I’ll get close enough to end the entire Yeon bloodline from within. This has been my life's mission.”

Kang studied him, eyes hard as flint. “You’re either mad or brilliant.”

“Does it matter?”

Kang tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps not. You’re already inside the beast’s belly. If you succeed, you end the line. If you fail, the Yeons will gut you themselves. Either way, I win.”

Suho didn’t respond.

“Take your prince,” Kang said at last. “Get him out of my sight. I’ll call this mercy only once.”

He leaned closer, his breath faintly metallic. “And remember, boy, if you falter, if you forget the ashes you came from, I’ll make sure you burn with them.”

Suho’s voice was steady. “Understood.”

When the doors opened again, Sieun straightened, his heart hammering.

Suho emerged first; pale, sleeve soaked in blood. He retrieved his sword from the floor without meeting Sieun’s eyes.

Kang followed a few steps behind, his presence filling the doorway like a shadow. “Prince Yeon,” he said, tone flat and final, “take your man and return to your father. Keep your family matters within your walls. Cross my border again, and I’ll use your blood for my wine.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and left, footsteps fading into the depth of the hall.

Sieun stood there for a heartbeat too long, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. He hadn’t won. He hadn’t been spared. He’d simply been dismissed.

As Suho passed him, Sieun caught a glimpse of his face—unreadable, cold, but behind his stillness something coiled, sharp and hidden.

They left the hall into the open air, the sunlight too bright after the dark of Kangs chamber.

Neither spoke. Suho walked ahead, his steps steady; Sieun followed, each stride heavy with pride split down the middle.

The streets were alive again—traders shouting, children darting between stalls, the clang of metal echoing from the smithy. Life in the Kang settlement carried on as if no blood had been spilled.

It made Sieun’s stomach twist.

Every passing face felt like mockery, every unbothered laugh a blade. He, the prince of the Yeon kingdom, had been spared out of pity, or worse, dismissed.

“You did not kill our leader,” a voice called.

Sieun turned. It was the same old vendor from earlier, tone almost playful.

“Perhaps next time, young man,” the villager added with a grin.

Then his hand caught Sieun’s shoulder.

Sieun spun before thought caught up, fist striking hard. The crack echoed sharp off stone—

but the man who stumbled back wasn’t the vendor.

Suho stood there, head turned from the blow, a thin cut blooming at the corner of his lip.

The vendor blinked, startled, rubbing his arm where Suho had pushed him aside. The guard had stepped in, intercepting the strike before Sieun could start another fight.

For a moment, everything stilled. The vendor muttered, “Touchy one,” and hurried off.

Suho straightened, calm despite the blood at his mouth. “We should leave,” he said quietly.

That calmness, so unwavering, so collected, made Sieun’s chest tighten. He turned without a word and started walking.

They didn’t speak again until they reached open fields beyond the village. The wind was cooler here. Only then did Sieun stop, kneel, and tear a strip from the sleeve of his robe.

He grabbed Suho’s arm, rolling up the sleeve to reveal the cut. Blood dripped down incessantly.

Suho frowned. “Your Highness, I can tend to it myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sieun’s voice was clipped, almost harsh. “You’ll make a mess of it.”

“It isn’t proper—”

“Neither is bleeding to death,” Sieun snapped, already reaching for his arm. “Hold still.”

Suho blinked, startled by the command, but obeyed. He held up his sleeve and Sieun pressed the torn silk over it, his hands firm but careful.

The proximity unsettled them both. Sieun could feel the warmth of Suho’s skin, the steady rhythm of his pulse beneath his fingers.

“You’ll stain the royal robe,” Suho murmured.

“I don’t care,” Sieun said, tying the knot tighter than necessary. “You bled. Be quiet.”

Suho bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

The Yeon silk was white and fine, now streaked with red. The blood soaked in like ink, a mark neither of them could look away from.

Suho’s gaze lingered on it. “You cut your robe,” he said softly. “That’s a bad omen. They call it an insult to one’s ancestors.”

“I can insult them if I please,” Sieun replied, jaw set. “They’re dead.”

“Still, royal silk isn’t meant to carry common blood.”

Sieun’s eyes lifted, sharp. “Then perhaps it’s time it did.”

For a while, only the wind answered them. Then Sieun asked, “What did you say to him?”

“Kang?” Suho’s voice was quiet, a little too measured.

“Yes. Why did he let us live?”

“I told him I would finish my duty to you,” Suho said evenly. “Then serve under him.”

Sieun turned sharply. “You what?”

“It was the only bargain he’d accept,” Suho replied. “He wanted assurance. So I offered myself, after your safety is secured, I will enter his ranks.”

His tone was calm, too calm, like a man rehearsing a line he’d told himself until it sounded true.

Sieun stared, the words hitting like stones. “That makes you a traitor.”

Suho nodded once. “It does.”

“And you expect me to keep that a secret from my father?”

“I expect nothing,” Suho said. His eyes didn’t flinch, but they were distant, focused on something Sieun couldn’t see. “Tell him if you must. When the time comes, I’ll face whatever judgment he gives.”

Sieun frowned. “You’d die for that?”

Suho met his gaze, calm as still water. “If that’s what it takes to keep you alive.”

Something about the steadiness of his voice chilled Sieun more than it comforted him. The explanation fit too perfectly—too cleanly. For a heartbeat, he thought to question it, but Suho’s composure pressed the doubt back down.

“You think my father will ever let a man like you walk free once he learns you plan to work for Kang?”

“I know he won’t.”

“Then why do it?”

Suho’s gaze drifted toward the horizon. “Because one life was enough payment to end a blood feud. I chose mine.”

The lie sounded noble. It shouldn’t have made sense, but it did. Sieun felt the truth of it even as some smaller, quieter part of him knew something didn't fit.

Kang’s voice echoed again - ‘those lands’

“He said something about some lands,” Sieun muttered. “What did he mean?”

At that, Suho’s hand faltered, barely a flicker, but enough to betray that he’d heard more than he wanted to say. “An old story the Kangs tell their children. Nothing more.”

“You knew it,” Sieun said.

“I’ve heard the story,” Suho replied. “That’s all.”

Sieun didn’t press further. He was too tired, too raw. The road stretched before them, long and gold beneath the sinking sun.

They walked in silence. Every step kicked up dust, and each glance Sieun stole toward the bloodstained silk made his chest ache.

The mark would dry brown by nightfall, but he knew he’d still see red.

It was defiance, guilt, and something dangerously close to trust—all bound together in one torn piece of cloth.

“What next?”

Sieun sighed. “We go home.”

“And tell your father of the altercation?”

Sieun scoffed. “Absolutely not. He’s hiding more from me. I’ll investigate without his knowledge.”

“What about when he asks where you’ve been—where we’ve been?”

“Training. We went to a distant ground. It’s not the first time I’ve done such a thing after a row with him.”

“I see.”

There was a beat of silence. The wind cut through the air, their robes whispering as the breeze caught the hems.

“So,” Sieun said finally, voice low and dangerous, “whose side are you on? Would you lie to the King for me?”

Suho’s eyes stayed steady when they met Sieun’s. “Is this another test?”

“I want to know where your loyalties lie.”

Suho bowed his head slightly. “They lie with the Yeons.”

“Me or my father?” Sieun quipped back.

Suho swallowed once. “Your Highness, my loyalties lie with you.”

For a moment, Sieun saw the fire in his eyes; quiet but fierce, unwavering enough to make him look away.

“Good,” he said, the word colder than he intended.

Suho inclined his head in silence. The movement was dutiful, but his hands, clasped behind his back, had tightened to white-knuckled fists.

As the wind stirred again, Sieun turned to walk ahead, missing the way Suho’s gaze lingered on the blood-stained silk trailing from his own arm, a mark that shouldn’t have existed, yet now seemed impossible to remove.

Returning home and pretending nothing peculiar had occurred was easier than Sieun had expected.

It was almost as though part of him wanted to will away the memories; pretend it had been a dream, and maybe it would become one.

But the truth gnawed at him like a splinter under skin. There was something in what he had seen—what he had begun to suspect—that inspired not curiosity but fear.

Maybe unearthing the truth would mean facing a monster with teeth bared. And though Sieun had never once shied from a fight, this one felt different. This one felt like it could devour him.

He and Suho had slipped back into the kingdom the same way they had left, but when they emerged from the shadowed passage, a line of soldiers was already waiting.

The prince didn’t even have time to speak before Suho was seized. The guard did not resist as rough hands forced him to the ground, his arms wrenched behind him and bound.

The sound of his body hitting the stone echoed through the courtyard. One of the soldiers pressed a knee into his back until his ribs strained.

Suho did not cry out. Not once.

He kept his head down, face calm, as though pain were an old friend he no longer acknowledged.

Sieun stood frozen, fury and dread tangled in his chest. He said nothing. Could do nothing.

Suho didn’t look at him. There was no expectation to be saved, and for a moment, Sieun was glad. His role was to find answers, not to interfere.

“The King will request your presence in the hall soon,” one of the soldiers said curtly before dragging Suho away.

Three days passed. Three days without a word from his father. Three days without a trace of Suho.

Sieun told himself he didn’t care.

But doubt grew like rot in his chest—had Suho kept their story straight? Or had he folded under his father’s hand?

He hated that he cared at all.

Hated that a part of him wanted to know if Suho was still alive.

So when the messenger came,

“The King requests your presence,”

Sieun was almost relieved. He rose without a word. His boots rang against the marble floors as he crossed the long corridor toward the hall. Every step was too loud, too deliberate.

The same familiar chill crept up his spine as the heavy doors opened.

Usually, his father awaited him alone.

Not today.

At the end of the hall, bound to the base of the throne’s great sculpture, knelt Suho.

“...You’re here?” The words slipped out before Sieun could stop them.

As he approached, the sight struck him cold.

Suho’s hands were tied behind his back, wrists raw where rope bit into skin. His hair hung disheveled over his brow, face pale and hollowed. Purple bruises painted his jaw and neck; blood had dried at the corner of his mouth.

But his eyes—his eyes were alive.

Defiant. Unbroken.

“What did he do to you?” Sieun murmured, voice tight.

He almost dropped to his knees to untie him, but a single cough cut through the silence.

“I did to him what I do to all men who forget their place.” The voice came from the throne. The King’s.

Sieun turned slowly, every muscle taut. “Suho did not disobey you,” he said, forcing each word. “He followed every order you gave.”

The King’s gaze was steady. “Where did you go?”

Sieun opened his mouth, but his father raised a hand, enough to silence him instantly.

“Before you think about lying,” the King said, voice cold and deliberate, “know that Suho has already told me everything.”

A chill washed through Sieun. His stomach lurched. His eyes darted to Suho, and for a long moment, they simply stared at one another.

Suho’s expression didn’t waver, but something fierce burned behind his exhaustion.

It wasn’t a plea, it was a command. A silent promise. He hadn’t betrayed him.

In that gaze, Sieun understood: Suho was holding the line.

“Of course he told you,” Sieun said finally, voice steadying. “It wasn’t a secret.”

He didn’t look away, and for the briefest moment, relief flickered across Suho’s face, a flash so quick no one but Sieun would have noticed.

The King exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “Then tell me yourself.”

Sieun’s lip curled. “I don’t understand where all this doubt has come from.”

“I trusted you with my army,” his father said, descending the steps of his throne. “With my men. With my legacy.”

“And then,” Sieun said, voice biting, “you stripped me of my weapons and denied me the right to lead them.”

“Because you broke that trust!” The King’s voice thundered, filling the hall. “You waged battles without my command. You murdered a man and I warned you to stay in hiding, and then you fled your post for days.”

“I did it for our people,” Sieun snapped. “Everything I’ve done, I did for this kingdom.”

He turned sharply, ready to leave, but his father’s voice caught him.

“You still haven’t told me,” the King said quietly, “where you went.”

Sieun turned back. His palms were slick. His pulse loud. He took a breath that trembled despite his will.

“I was angry,” he said finally. “At you. At everything. So I left. Suho followed me—against my orders. I went to train with him. No weapons. Combat practice.”

The King’s brows furrowed. “You were angry at him, yet you trained with him?”

“Training was an excuse,” Sieun said, eyes dropping to the floor. “I wanted to fight him. Beat him. That was all.”

The tension in the room shifted. The King’s shoulders loosened slightly; his voice lost its edge.

“Foolish,” he said. “But at least you admit it.”

Sieun kept his expression blank. Inside, his lungs burned from holding his breath.

“You are not to leave the kingdom again,” the King continued, “unless I order it.”

“Yes, Father.”

When Sieun finally looked back at Suho, the guard’s eyes were already lowered, but the faintest ghost of relief had settled there.

And for the first time in days, Sieun felt he could breathe again.

The King’s tone cut through the hall like a blade.

“Since you’re so fond of training,” the King said, his tone a quiet threat, “you’ll return to the grounds. Every day. At dawn. You’ll see the recruits can fight before they can walk.”

Sieun frowned. “Every day? I have other duties—”

“Not anymore.” The King’s gaze hardened. “You’ll train them until sunset. If they fail, you fail.”

The words sat heavy in the air. Sieun bowed his head just enough to hide the flicker of anger in his eyes. Then he turned to Suho.

The guard still knelt by the base of the throne, wrists bound and skin rubbed raw. His eyes, though dulled by exhaustion, burned faintly when they met Sieun’s.

“I’m taking him with me,” Sieun said.

The King’s head turned sharply. “We have no use for him. He’ll be discarded.”

Sieun didn’t hesitate. He crouched beside Suho and tore at the rope around his wrists. The coarse fibers burned his palms. “Can you stand?”

Suho blinked once, then nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

The King’s voice cut across the sound of fraying rope.

“When I give an order, you will listen.”

Sieun ignored him. The last knot came loose-Then the crack of a palm split the air.

Pain flared white across Sieun’s cheek; the world blurred for a second. The sound echoed through the marble hall, and with it came something older; the smell of wax and iron, the sound of a younger version of himself gasping for breath under the same hand.

It wasn’t the force that stunned him, but the memory. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be small again. To flinch before he could think.

“You dare defy me?” his father roared.

Sieun’s chest tightened. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Every muscle remembered the command to stand still.

The King’s arm rose again, familiar, practiced—

And before the next blow could land, Suho moved.

Still half-bound, he stepped forward, placing himself between them. The strike hit him square across the face. The sound was duller this time, flesh against flesh. He staggered but didn’t fall.

“Your Majesty, please,” Suho said, voice low but steady. “It is my duty to protect His Highness.”

The King froze for a moment, then his fury reignited. “Protect him? From me?”

He struck again, a backhand this time. Blood splattered across Suho’s chin.

“Enough!” Sieun’s voice tore through the hall, raw and unfamiliar in his throat.

The King’s breath came heavy before he finally straightened, regaining composure with visible effort. “So be it,” he said coldly. “Take your guard. Train him. Train them all. From dawn until dusk. Let this one teach you obedience.”

He turned away, dismissing them with a flick of his hand. “Now leave before I decide to finish the lesson.”

Sieun stood frozen for a heartbeat, the ache on his cheek still burning like fire. Then he turned to Suho, the guard’s lip was split, blood trailing down his jaw. His chest rose and fell with quiet restraint.

“Stand,” Sieun murmured.

Suho obeyed. He didn’t meet Sieun’s eyes.

Together they walked from the hall, neither spoke, but Sieun’s mind was loud with the echo of his father’s hand, the ghosts of his own younger cries, and the image of another man kneeling between him and that same blow.

Chapter Text

The walk to Sieun’s chambers was silent, the air between them thick with something unspoken.

Suho walked a pace behind, as protocol demanded, though he could still hear the uneven pull of the prince’s breath. Sieun’s steps were sharp, too fast, as though he could outrun the weight of what had happened in the hall.

At the door, Suho hesitated. “Your Highness, I can tend to myself.”

His voice was low, cautious. It was improper for a guard to enter a royal’s private chambers.

Sieun turned slightly, eyes darker than the corridor light could catch. “You’ll do as I say.”

He pushed the door open. “Inside.”

Suho obeyed.

The room was dim; late light filtered through the curtains in threads of muted gold.

He stood rigid near the doorway until Sieun gestured sharply to the chair. “Sit.”

When Suho did, Sieun stepped close, eyes scanning the wound.

His hand came up, rougher than intended, tilting Suho’s chin toward the light.

The split on Suho’s lip had darkened; dried blood trailed along the curve of his jaw.

Suho stiffened. “Your Highness, this is unnecessary—”

“I decide what’s necessary.”

Sieun pressed the damp cloth against the wound. The water was cool; Suho hissed through his teeth but didn’t pull away.

The room fell quiet except for the slow rhythm of cloth against skin, the scent of iron and soap suspended between them.

“You’ve done this before,” Sieun said, voice quieter now.

Suho’s eyes flicked to his. “What gave it away?”

“The way you don’t flinch.”

“I learned early that flinching makes it worse,” Suho replied evenly.

Sieun froze. Something old and sharp twisted in his chest — the echo of his own childhood lessons, of hands raised higher than reason.

He said nothing. He only dabbed the last trace of blood away and tossed the cloth into the basin, watching the water bloom red.

“Get some rest,” he said at last. “You’re expected at the grounds at sunrise.”

Suho stood, bowing slightly. “Yes, Your Highness.”

As he reached the door, Sieun spoke again, softer this time, almost as if the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“When he hit you… you didn’t even move.”

Suho paused, hand resting on the latch. His voice, when it came, was low but steady.

“I wasn’t sure which of us he meant to hurt more.”

Then he left, and the silence he left behind pressed heavier than the blow itself.

Sieun stood there for a long time after, staring at the basin, the faint stain of blood swirling in the candlelight, a muted red circle that refused to fade.

Outside, the corridor was dim and still. The torches along the wall flickered softly, their light tracing over the stone like restless shadows.

Suho leaned back against the prince’s door and let out a quiet breath. The ache in his arm pulsed beneath the fresh bandage, a dull reminder of his mistake.

He hadn’t meant to move. When the King’s hand had risen, his body had acted before his mind could recall the plan.

He was not meant to protect the heir, only to stay close enough to destroy him when the time came. And yet, when he’d seen Sieun falter, something inside him had betrayed its training.

He looked down at the sleeve tied around his arm, a strip of royal fabric, cut and stained with his blood. The sight should have disgusted him. Instead, it felt like a mark he couldn’t scrub away.

Suho exhaled, slow and controlled. The pain should have anchored him to his purpose, to revenge, but tonight it only confused him.

When he finally pushed himself off the door, he straightened his posture, mask settling back into place.

The prince’s scent of soap and steel still clung to his sleeve. He flexed his hand once, the fabric pulling tight.

He told himself it meant nothing. But as he walked down the empty corridor, the sound of his heartbeat refused to agree.

The sun had barely risen, the shadow of the night before still clinging to the air as they stood within the training grounds. Rows of Yeon recruits lined the field in perfect formation, the distance between them measured and exact. Each held their stance rigid, eyes forward, waiting to mirror the movements that would be shown.

Sieun was not only expected to oversee the drills but to design the regime himself, splitting the duties with the old master who had once taught him both sword and restraint.

From where he stood, Sieun could see the hunger in the recruits’ eyes, the same hunger that had once driven him. Maybe two weeks ago, he would have fed on their fire; now, it only twisted into knots in his stomach.

At the front of the formation stood the senior guards demonstrating technique, and among them was Suho. He looked more intense than ever; focused to the point of stillness. His movements were precise, graceful, every step a calculation. Watching him, Sieun felt that same quiet irritation he could never quite name. Only a handful of fighters in the Yeon ranks moved with such mastery, and Sieun hated to admit that the man at his side was one of them.

And like a ticking clock counting down to mischief, he decided it had been too long since he’d last tested Suho’s composure.

He began by walking the rows, his voice sharp but even as he called out the recruits’ mistakes, shoulders too high, stances too narrow, balance off-centre. Yet his gaze kept drifting toward Suho. The man’s posture was impeccable, his expression unreadable, his control infuriating.

When he finally approached, Sieun stopped behind him, close enough to catch the faint scent of sweat and steel. He rose onto the balls of his feet to whisper near Suho’s ear.

“Your right elbow should be higher.”

Suho didn’t startle. Without hesitation, he adjusted his stance exactly as ordered; even though both of them knew the correction was wrong.

Sieun’s mouth twitched. “Your hips are angled incorrectly. Shift to the right.”

Again, Suho complied. Silent, obedient, impossible to unsettle. But Sieun wasn’t done. He leaned in, the air between them thinning. “You’re too fast. Slow down.”

The whisper brushed the edge of Suho’s ear. For a heartbeat, his shoulders locked, his breath hitching so quietly it could have been imagined. Then, like a blade resetting in its sheath, his focus returned, sharper than before.

Sieun caught it, the brief, human flicker. The tiniest fracture in Suho’s perfect control.

When he stepped back, Suho’s stance was even more rigid than before, the muscle in his jaw tight as stone. Somehow, that only irritated Sieun further.

Training continued through the morning fog until the sun climbed high, burning mist into heat. Sieun alternated between instruction and observation, his voice cutting cleanly across the field. From time to time, he called on Suho to correct the recruits directly. The man’s tone was level, patient, commanding in a way that made even Sieun pause.

From a distance, the scene looked ordinary again: a prince, his soldiers, his loyal guard.

But under the brightness of the day, that fleeting moment of closeness still lingered like a pulse beneath the calm, unacknowledged, but alive.

When Sieun heard a muffled, “Your Highness?” his vision snapped back into focus.

The recruits were breaking formation.

He blinked, startled, and found Suho watching him from across the field.

“It’s time for a break,” Suho said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d heard the call."

Sieun forced a nod. “Follow me.”

He led them away from the others, to a quiet stretch beyond the walls where the air was still and the clang of weapons faded to memory. Only then did he let his shoulders drop, his composure slipping for the first time that morning.

He pressed his palms to his thighs, breath heavy, pulse drumming in his ears. The silence swelled until it felt like pressure in his chest. A low, bitter laugh escaped him. “Pathetic,” he muttered. “I used to command armies, fight until my hands bled… and now I can’t even focus on a simple drill.”

Suho said nothing. The quiet stretched between them, and somehow that silence felt like judgement.

“I need—” Sieun stopped himself. His throat tightened. “I need something.”

Suho’s voice was careful. “If there’s something I can assist with—”

“You can’t fix this.” The words broke on the edge of his mouth. He looked down at his hands; steady, restless, then at the sword leaning against the wall. His fingers flexed before he reached for it. The metal felt cool, grounding. Real.

“I just need to stop thinking,” he said, almost to himself. “And there’s only one way I know.” He looked up. “Fight me.”

Suho’s brows drew together. “Your Highness?”

“You heard me.” Sieun drew the blade; the clean sound cut through the fog in his head. “My true sword’s still confiscated, so I’m at a disadvantage.”

Suho’s stance shifted instinctively. “Should I take a handicap then?”

Sieun scoffed. “That’s unnecessary. Don’t hold back. That’s an order.”

For a heartbeat the air was charged—too still, too aware. Suho’s gaze was calm but edged, the kind of control that comes from knowing how to kill and choosing restraint. For Sieun, the sight lit something fierce. Fighting was the only language he trusted, the only rhythm that quieted the noise inside him.

He lunged. Steel sang.

Their first clash came fast, metal ringing sharp in the quiet. Suho met the strike, blades locked, breath close. For a second neither moved: two forms balanced on a knife-edge, waiting for the other to blink.

Sieun’s motion was beautiful and jagged: wild but precise, each swing driven by hunger rather than practice. He wasn’t testing skill. He was chasing release. Suho countered, measured and clean; the match should have been even, but the aim was different. When Suho disarmed him briefly, Sieun caught the hilt mid-fall; the metal’s echo became a pulse.

“Again,” Sieun ordered, voice low.

They circled. Sweat beaded on Sieun; his breathing grew ragged, eyes bright with a feverish thrill Suho had seen once before in other men, fighters who only felt peace when they were bleeding.

“You’re unfocused,” Suho said between blows.

“I’m alive,” Sieun panted.

A blade slid past a shoulder and grazed Suho’s arm. He spun, trapped Sieun’s wrist, forced the blade aside. The metal clattered. It should have ended there, but Sieun shoved forward and struck with his free hand. Suho’s grip tightened, not to punish, but to steady.

“Enough,” Suho said quietly.

Sieun froze; his chest heaved as if mid-battle. “You don’t get to command me,” he snapped.

“I’m not commanding you,” Suho answered. “I’m telling you that if you keep fighting like this, you’ll destroy yourself long before anyone else can.”

Silence. Sieun snatched his wrist free and turned away, shoulders heaving. The quiet that followed was heavier than their blades.

Suho stooped, picked up Sieun’s fallen sword, and placed it at the prince’s feet. When Sieun did not reach for it, Suho bowed once. “Your form is exceptional,” he said evenly, “but your intent is dangerous.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Sieun laughed thinly.

Suho didn’t answer. He watched the prince’s retreating form until the sound of steel faded into the trees. The echo of the spar lingered in his ears.

He stood at the edge of the field, grip on his hilt until the leather bit the palm. The image wouldn’t leave him: Sieun’s eyes alight in the fight, desperate, starving. It was the same hunger Suho had once seen in men clawing at survival. He should have only felt purpose; he was here to infiltrate, to gather proof, to make the Yeons pay. Instead, a smaller thought kept returning: how tightly the prince had held the sword, as if letting go meant unraveling.

The sun sank, the field warm in its last light. Suho sheathed his sword and began to walk toward the stables, the weight in his chest not yet named. He did not look back, but the prince’s breathless laugh; wild, alive, still echoed in his head.

Night had settled when the torches were guttering low and the training ground should have been empty. But there, under the torchlight, Sieun stood alone amid splintered dummies: a silhouette of raw motion. He swung until wood and leather exploded into shards, each strike harder than the one before.

Suho had stayed. He had told himself he would leave; duty kept him. Watching, it finally occurred to him that Sieun did not need protection from others. Sieun needed it from himself.

Another arc, another heavy strike. This time the prince faltered—foot slipping on churned earth. Without thinking, Suho closed the distance. His hand shot out and caught Sieun’s wrist mid-swing; the metal did not hit his palm, but the force jolted through his forearm. Sieun jerked against the hold.

“Let go,” Sieun growled, voice ragged.

“You're shaking,” Suho said, fingers iron on the prince’s wrist. He steadied the elbow with his other hand, lowering the blade between them so the tip pressed into the dirt.

Sieun tried to wrench himself free; his motion faltered when Suho’s grip tightened and did not relent. The proximity let Suho feel the quick pulse under Sieun’s skin; too human, too exposed.

“You’ll tear something,” Suho said finally, not as accusation but as fact. “This isn’t training anymore.”

Sieun’s face twisted, anger, and beneath it a flash of something raw. “You think you understand me now?” he spat.

“No,” Suho said. “I don’t have to. I can see it.”

That unnamed look cut deeper than any blade. Sieun wrenched his arm free and, with a sound that was half laugh, half sob, dropped the sword into the dirt. He turned away and, voice hard as stone, warned, “If you ever grab me again without order, I’ll have your hands cut off.”

Suho bowed slightly, the blood in his palm a small, hot bloom where leather had chafed. “Understood, Your Highness.”

When the prince’s steps faded, Suho finally glanced at his own hand; red marks and a faint tremor he couldn’t smooth away. He told himself he’d acted out of duty. The truth was simpler, and more dangerous: instinct had moved before plan. He should have felt only the cold clarity of his mission. Instead, the night left him with the echo of Sieun’s laughter in his ears and a new, terrible uncertainty in his chest.

As the days passed it became clear to the Prince what his father's intentions had been. To keep Sieun at the training grounds for as long as possible - stop him wandering off, distrusting him to not wreak havoc somewhere. 

And it worked. 

When Sieun wasn't on the training grounds, he was in his bedroom, at his desk, planning more training regimes. But away from all that, buried deep in his thoughts, memories from that day replayed in his mind.

Peace treaty.

Truth, like wine, spills easily.

The words echoed in his brain. The mention of Suho's fighting style. The knowledge that the affairs of the Kingdom were kept secret from him. 

The Yeons were powerful and feared, they didn't need a peace treaty in order to prevent fatalities. They ruled with royal blood, respect and fear. Not with peace treaties.

He was deep in thought when a knock at the door shook him out of his thoughts. 

“Enter.”

The door was pushed open and Suho stood on the other side. Eyes searing Sieun's face.

“You requested my presence, your highness.”

Sieun motioned for the guard to enter so Suho complied and closed the door behind him.

“I cannot do this.”

Suho paused, waiting for more.

“Between the training regimes and the actual training. I have no time. I need you to help me.”

Suho nodded “Yes, Your Highness. What do you need?”

“Regimes,” Sieun said, fingers tapping the desk as if keeping time with his pulse. “Rotation, drills, conditioning. Something that makes them good enough to be useful to me.”

“To the kingdom,” Suho said.

Sieun’s gaze cut up. “To me.”

Silence stretched. Suho inclined his head. “Then we begin with what you can’t delegate.”

He stepped to the desk. His left hand hovered over a blank sheet; his right stayed near the hilt at his hip, as if the ink might bite. “We split the recruits by stance. Half are wasting time relearning what doesn’t suit them.”

Sieun’s jaw worked. “You noticed that too?”

“I noticed you noticed,” Suho said evenly. “You keep correcting them into your shape. Some should never hold a blade the way you do.”

“And how should they hold it?”

“Like they intend to survive.”

Sieun’s mouth twitched. “Write.”

Suho didn’t sit. He stood and wrote, quick, spare strokes, no ornament, sketching rotations, partner pairings, weighted runs, sand-pit grapples, blindfold drills to teach listening under noise. When he finished the first page, he set it aside and began a second.

Sieun watched. The lines were clean. The plan was cruel. It was perfect.

“Good,” Sieun said at last, and hated the warmth that rose with the word. “Tomorrow we break them.”

Suho folded the pages once, crisp. “Tomorrow we teach them where they break.”

He laid the schedules down, then didn’t move away. “There’s more.”

Sieun leaned back. “Speak.”

“You want time,” Suho said. “You’ll never have it while your father believes you need leashing. So you’ll show him something he wants to see.”

“And what is that?”

“Obedience,” Suho said. “In public. Precision. No noise.”

Sieun scoffed. “You think that will loosen his grip?”

“I think it will make him blink. While he does, you’ll take what you’re owed.”

“My sword?”

“Not yet,” Suho said. “The truth.”

The word cooled the room. Sieun’s fingers stilled.

“Where?” he asked.

 Suho shrugged “There must be archives somewhere. A basement, a library, even your fathers study? ”

Sieun’s eyes narrowed. “You say that like you’ve seen it.”

Suho kept his gaze level. “I say it like men keep their sins in basements.”

Sieun paused, letting the words sink in “I mean there is the old library. It's off limits to all. I simply never ventured there as I had no need.”

Suho nodded “Well that sounds promising.”

A beat. Then Sieun stood. “We go now.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Chapter Text

They left by the service stairs, shadows walking past the kitchens, past the heat and steam and knives. Suho moved like he had been built for it. He kept two steps ahead, never once looking back, and never once losing the edge of where Sieun was, by breath or footfall.

The door was iron and old, set into stone that had sweated the same chill for a hundred years. A pair of guards drowsed on stools; Sieun turned to the latter.

“Wait here.”

Suho’s eyes narrowed, the faintest crease cutting between his brows. “Your Highness?”

“I’ll move faster alone,” Sieun said. “If they find you with me, they’ll ask questions neither of us can answer.”

Suho hesitated, gaze flicking toward the guards. “And if they ask questions about you?”

“They won’t,” Sieun murmured. “I’m their prince.”

He turned away before Suho could reply, stepping into the torchlight. The guards scrambled upright, fumbling for their spears.

“Your Highness,” one stammered, bowing hastily.

“Out,” Sieun said.

“Sir?”

“Out,” he repeated, voice sharper this time. “I want to be alone.”

Confusion flashed between them, but they obeyed, vanishing down the corridor in a flurry of metal and boots. The sound of their retreat faded into silence.

Sieun waited one breath, then said quietly, “Now.”

From the shadows, Suho appeared, silent, composed, but his hand hovered a moment too long over the hilt at his side before he dropped it.

“You enjoy scaring people,” he said under his breath.

“It saves me the trouble of explaining myself,” Sieun replied, pushing the heavy door open.

The hinges groaned like something ancient. Cold air met them; old stone and parchment, the scent of years unmoved.

They stepped inside together.

The archives were a tomb of forgotten words. Racks of scrolls and ledgers lined the walls, their edges yellowed and curling. Cobwebs stitched across iron candleholders.

Sieun lit a small flame, shielding it with his palm. “We’re looking for anything that predates the treaty,” he said softly. “Something that shouldn’t be here.”

Suho nodded once. His eyes scanned the shelves with the precision of a soldier sweeping a battlefield. He moved quietly, methodically, fingertips brushing along cracked spines until one stopped him.

A ledger, black leather, sealed with wax that had aged to rust.

“Here,” he said.

Sieun approached, taking the book. The clasp bore three sigils: Yeon, Kang, and one unfamiliar: a sun split by a vertical line, rays curling inward.

Suho’s breath caught. He masked it quickly, stepping back into shadow.

Sieun frowned. “You’ve seen this before?”

“No,” Suho said evenly. Too evenly. “It must be from one of the southern provinces.”

Sieun didn’t press. He cracked the seal open; the sound was small, but Suho flinched at it, just once, a reflex, almost invisible.

Inside: neat columns of script, ledgers of trade.

Ironstone shipments.

Grain to Hwaryeon.

Exchange approved by Yeon and Kang representatives.

The name hit the page like an echo.

Hwaryeon.

Suho’s jaw clenched. He bent slightly, pretending to read, but his eyes didn’t move. The faint pulse in his temple betrayed him. His hand hovered near the edge of the table, still, then tightening slowly into a fist.

Sieun kept turning pages.

“Ashstone,” he murmured. “Silvergrain. Trade routes between Yeon, Kang, and… Hwaryeon.”

He looked up. “Why haven’t I heard of them?”

Suho’s answer came slow, each word balanced on control.

“Because someone wanted it that way.”

Sieun hummed. “That someone being my father, no doubt.”

He flipped another page and paused. The handwriting shifted, hurried, uneven. The last entry trailed off into a charred line.

Delivery denied. Reason: Inadequate

The ink bled into the page like ash.

Sieun stared. “inadequate,” he said quietly. “That’s it?”

Suho exhaled, a sound too sharp, too bitter. He caught himself, bowed his head slightly. “Perhaps it refers to a destroyed shipment.”

Sieun frowned at him. “You sound certain.”

“I sound cautious,” Suho said. “You should try it.”

The retort came clipped, almost out of character. Sieun’s brows drew together; he opened his mouth to respond, but Suho was already turning away, closing the ledger a little too firmly.

He didn’t meet Sieun’s eyes when he said, “We should leave. The guards will return soon.”

Sieun hesitated. There was something off, the tension in Suho’s shoulders, the careful way he avoided touching the book again. But curiosity won out over suspicion. He tucked the ledger under his arm.

“Fine,” he said. “If anyone asks, we were never here.”

Suho nodded once. His voice was steady, but his hands were not.

“Understood, Your Highness.”

As they slipped back through the door, the torchlight caught on the faint tremor in Suho’s fingers, gone in an instant, as if he’d crushed it back into stillness.

They walked in silence, the footsteps echoing in through the halls. Sieun's mind raced with all possibilities of their discovery while Suho walked ahead - deep in thought. His shoulders strung high, almost as if forgetting Sieun followed behind him. 

They walked back to Sieun's chambers, the air around them stifling. 

Once they were inside, Siuen sighed, taking a seat at his desk, his hands rubbing his face as if trying to rearrange his thoughts. 

“Am I still of assistance?”

Sieun paused, looking up slowly.

“Are you asking to be dismissed?”

Suho looked down, realising his mistake immediately. 

“Apologies, Your Highness. That wasn't my intention.”

Sieun huffed “It sure sounded like your intention.”

He stood up from his desk, giving Suho a once over “You're uneasy."

He stepped closer, taking in the furrow in Suho's brow, the tension in his form. Sieun had spent weeks trying to cause a splinter in the guards demeanour and now it was here, subtle but undeniable. 

“I-” Suho started but Sieun cut him off with a palm up. 

He took hold of his chin, turning it to one side. Suho's jaw clenched in his grasp, muscles twitching under Sieun’s thumb.

“You flinch like a man with something to hide,” Sieun murmured.

“I’ve nothing worth hiding,” Suho replied, steady, but his voice carried a rough edge he hadn’t meant to show.

Sieun’s eyes narrowed. “Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

The silence stretched, taut. Suho’s pulse thrummed in the air between them. He lowered his gaze. “Because some ghosts don’t stay buried, Your Highness.”

Sieun let go. “Cryptic as ever.” He turned away, pacing toward the window, the faint light from the corridor spilling across his desk. “A third seal. A name erased. If my father knows of this, he’s kept it buried for a reason.”

Suho said nothing. The candlelight caught his profile, too still, too careful.

Sieun glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you know it? The mark?”

Suho hesitated, just long enough for Sieun to notice. “No,” he said.

It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t truth either.

Sieun studied him for a long moment before sighing. “You’ll say nothing of tonight.”

“As you wish.”

But when Sieun turned away, Suho’s eyes lingered on the closed book still lying on the desk, its seal burned into his mind; the split sun, the curling flame.

He had trained his whole life not to react. Yet seeing it again, after years of pretending felt like heat crawling under his skin.

He bowed once, sharp and formal. “Rest well, Your Highness.

When the door closed behind him, Sieun exhaled, unaware that the guard’s hands were still trembling in the hallway.

The following day brought with it the weight of their discovery.

Sieun was on his way to the training grounds when he was summoned to the great hall. He knew what this was about — knew the King must have caught on to their presence in the library the night before, and to the missing book he’d hidden behind the wall in his bathroom.

A heaviness settled over him, the same that clung to him whenever he was without his sword. He wondered where it was now. His venture with Suho had left his thoughts scattered. What if he stepped out tonight and took back what belonged to him?

His fingers twitched, pulse quickening at the memory of the hilt sliding into his palm, the weight settling against his skin. The thought alone made his breath hitch. Without it he felt hollow, untethered; with it, the noise inside him stilled. He needed that edge, the only release that ever took.

“Your Highness?”

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Suho stood outside the great hall, pausing when their eyes met.

“You’ve been summoned too?” Sieun asked, a flicker of unease tightening his throat.

It would make sense if his father’s guards had reported his visit to the library. But if Suho had been spotted, he could be executed.

Suho only nodded, pushed the doors open, and stepped inside first.

The great hall breathed cold and gold. Sunlight bled through the tall windows, striking off the wine in the King’s goblet. He sat on the dais like a man who’d grown bored of his own power — slouched, ringed fingers drumming against the armrest in lazy rhythm.

Sieun followed, his boots echoing through the hollow space.

“You— I commend you.”

The King’s voice boomed, filling the hall. He pointed at Suho, a glint of amusement catching in his eyes.

Suho bowed his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sieun’s jaw tighten, hands curling into fists.

“No one has ever survived beside the Prince as long as you have.” The King turned toward Sieun with a scoff. “Have you promised him fortune for his progeny?”

Sieun rolled his eyes. “Was this not what you requested? A guard for me?”

“I dismissed him the last time he disobeyed me. Yet you keep him.”

Sieun’s gaze sharpened. “Father, this is unimportant. Why have you requested our presence?"

The King smiled thinly. “Always so impatient.” He cleared his throat. “I have a task for you in one of our settlements.”

Sieun’s brows rose. “You trust me?”

“Of course not. Only a fool would trust a man as hot-headed as you.” He took a slow drink of wine. “But you shall earn forgiveness.”

Sieun stayed silent.

“Our trade has come to a halt there,” the King continued. “Our goods are not reaching them, and I need you to find out why.”

Sieun scoffed. “Then send your men to investigate. This isn’t my duty.”

“You are one of my men. And you will investigate.”

“This is absurd! The settlements lie days from the kingdom, weeks, even.”

His father’s voice dropped, deliberate and smooth. “And do you have a more pressing matter to attend to here?”

Sieun froze.

He did. Of course he did, and his father knew.

He exhaled. “No. But it’s fool’s work.”

“Then you’ll have no trouble completing it.” The King leaned back with a sigh. “And take that one with you. I’ve no use for him here.” He gestured lazily toward Suho.

The King dismissed them with a lazy wave, wine swirling in his goblet.

Sieun bowed sharply and turned to leave, Suho following a step behind. They had almost reached the end of the hall when his father’s voice called out again.

“Sieun.”

He stopped, spine straightening. “Yes, Father?”

The King descended the dais with unhurried steps, his goblet still in hand. “I heard someone was seen near the royal library last night,” he said lightly, almost amused. “An odd hour for study, isn’t it?”

Sieun’s expression didn’t waver. “Perhaps. But I wasn’t studying.”

“Oh?” The King’s smile deepened, though his eyes didn’t. “Then what were you doing, if I may ask?”

“Looking,” Sieun said. “Nothing more.”

“For what?”

Sieun met his gaze evenly. “I’ll tell you when I find it.”

That earned a quiet laugh, low and deliberate. “Ever the dramatist. You should have been a poet, not a prince.”

He took a slow sip of wine. “Do try to focus on your new assignment instead. The settlements will be... educational.”

“I assume this means I’m forgiven?” Sieun asked.

“Forgiven?” His father’s tone turned silky. “You’ve not yet earned that. But you will.”

Sieun inclined his head, the gesture sharp. “Then I’ll make preparations.”

“Do,” the King said, turning back toward the throne. “And, Sieun —”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Try not to meddle in other's business.”

Sieun’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t answer. He simply bowed once more and walked out, Suho following soundlessly.

Dawn came veiled in mist, the courtyard slick with dew. Two horses stood saddled by the gate, their breath rising pale in the cold.

Sieun adjusted his cloak, eyes distant. The words from last night still echoed in his mind — not the accusation, but the amusement. His father had always enjoyed pulling threads just to see what unraveled.

Suho approached from the bottom of the watchtower, movements precise and quiet. He bowed. “Your Highness.”

“You’re early,” Sieun said.

“I was told punctuality is a virtue.”

Sieun’s mouth twitched faintly. “And yet you still find ways to irritate me.”

Suho didn’t reply, only adjusted the strap of his sword. Sieun’s gaze followed the motion, the familiar curve of the hilt, the ease in his grip. His own sword was still locked away in the King’s chamber. Without it, he felt hollow, like breath caught in his lungs with nowhere to go. He carried a regular Yeon sword with him, nothing like the beauty of his own.

“Mount up,” he said finally. “Before someone changes his mind about sending us.”

They rode out as the horizon lightened, hooves striking damp stone. The air smelled of pine and cold iron.

For a while, neither spoke. The rhythm of their horses filled the silence until Sieun broke it.

“He meant this as punishment,” he said. “Sending us away.”

Suho didn’t look over. “Then we’re fortunate he prefers distance to confinement.”

“Fortunate,” Sieun echoed. “He’s keeping me occupied, that’s all. A distraction until he decides what to do with me next.”

“Or until you stop looking,” Suho said.

Sieun turned his head slightly. “You think he knows what I was looking for?”

“I think he always knows more than he says,” Suho replied. “That’s what makes him… careful.”

Sieun’s brows knit, a hint of surprise in his tone. “Careful? That’s a generous word.”

Suho hesitated, then said quietly, “Dangerous, then.”

Sieun blinked, studying him. “You speak of him as though you’ve seen it firsthand.”

“I’ve served long enough to know when a man’s silence hides something sharper than words.”

The forest swallowed the road ahead, thick and pale with morning fog. For a long moment, Sieun didn’t answer. Then, with a slow breath, he said, “Maybe that’s the only thing we have in common.”

Suho glanced toward him, but Sieun was already urging his horse forward, the mist closing around them as they rode into the waking hills.

They rode from morning until dusk, the horizon bleeding into shades of orange and pink. They had stopped only briefly, a few stolen moments to eat and stretch after hours in the saddle.

“Your Highness, the light will soon be gone,” Suho said. “We should find a place to rest.”

Sieun hummed dismissively, eyes on the road ahead. “We can continue until nightfall.”

Suho glanced at him, brows drawn in quiet concern. “These lands are not safe to wander after dark.”

Sieun huffed but said nothing, turning his horse down a dirt path. Suho followed, silently relieved that the prince had chosen rest after all.

They rode on until faint lamps appeared ahead, flickering in the mist. There was a small roadside village, half-asleep beneath the rising moon. A few inns stood scattered along the path, their wooden signs swaying in the breeze, most doors already shuttered for the night.

They guided their horses into the yard of the largest inn, where the last of the lamplight spilled across the steps. The building leaned with age, the timbers darkened by years of smoke and rain, but warm air drifted from the open door and the smell of soy and broth made the exhaustion in Sieun’s shoulders heavier.

Inside, the hearth burned low, throwing shadows over the lacquered tables. An older woman straightened from behind the counter, her eyes widening as she took in their clothes; the royal seal stitched faintly into Sieun’s cloak, the soldier’s posture in Suho’s stance.

“Your Highness,” she breathed, bowing so low her hair brushed the floorboards. “Forgive me, I did not expect you—please, you honour this poor house.”

Sieun lifted a hand. “We need only a meal and a place to sleep.”

“Of course, of course,” the innkeeper said quickly, flustered hands smoothing her apron. “I’ll prepare something at once.” She hesitated, glancing toward the narrow staircase. “I fear we have only one room left. One bed but large enough, I hope.”

Sieun’s mouth twitched, the faintest hint of dry amusement. “That will do.”

The innkeeper hurried off, calling orders to a boy in the kitchen. The smell of sizzling meat soon filled the air, followed by the soft clatter of bowls and cups being set on the table. When she returned, she laid out a spread of soup, rice, pickled greens, sliced pork—and a small jar of clear liquor, followed by another.

“It’s a cold night,” she said brightly. “You’ll need something to warm you.”

Sieun’s gaze lingered on the bottles. “You’re generous.”

“For His Majesty’s son? Generous is duty.” She bowed again and retreated, leaving them in the quiet flicker of the fire.

Sieun reached for the jar, the liquid catching the light as he poured. “Seems she’s intent on making sure we’re comfortable,” he murmured, a trace of weariness in his voice. He slid one cup toward Suho, then raised his own. “To comfort, then.”

Suho inclined his head, his gaze shifting to the food before them. “I shall keep watch.”

Sieun had already begun assessing the alcohol, sniffing it, anticipation curling through him.

“Keep watch for what?” he scoffed.

Suho shrugged lightly. “Whatever lurks.”

“Just eat,” Sieun said, filling his plate.

“It is improper to dine beside his Highness. I shall eat once you’ve finished.”

Sieun paused mid-bite and looked over, brows raised. “You seem to pick and choose when to respect my status.”

Suho bowed his head. “It was never my intention to disrespect you, Your Highness.”

“Intention and action are different,” Sieun replied. “You may mean well, but if you act otherwise, intention is meaningless.”

“I—”

“I’m ordering you to eat.” Sieun’s tone left no room for argument.

A pause. Then, quietly, “As you wish, Your Highness.” Suho reached forward and began to fill his plate.

Sieun raised the cup to his lips. The first swallow burned. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time since leaving the palace. Outside, the wind pressed against the shutters, and upstairs, a door creaked open to the room waiting for them.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed after that. Only that Suho ate as if he hadn’t eaten in years, eyes bright as he shovelled rice and meat into his mouth. His focus stayed fixed on the dishes before him, his posture softening, an almost innocent curiosity slipping through the calm.

It was strangely fascinating. The usually precise, measured man reduced to clumsy grabs for more food and hurried mouthfuls that left Sieun staring, half perplexed, half amused.

When the table was finally cleared, they rose and made their way upstairs. Sieun stumbled once, the world tipping slightly as the liquor warmed his blood. He steadied himself with a laugh, clutching the remaining jar of alcohol as they disappeared into the dim corridor toward their room.

Suho entered first. He moved through the small room in silence, eyes scanning every corner, every shadow beneath the bed, the latch on the window, the line of the ceiling beams. Only when he was certain there was nothing amiss did he call back, “It’s clear, Your Highness.”

No answer at first—only the faint sound of liquid pouring into a cup. When Sieun finally stepped inside, the air carried the sharp scent of alcohol and dust.

Suho watched him for a moment, uneasy, but said nothing. He crossed to the cupboard, pulled out a folded blanket, and spread it on the floor for himself.

By the time he turned, Sieun had collapsed onto the bed, boots still on, limbs flung wide across the coverlet.

“Yah,” Sieun muttered, voice thick with drink, “what a wonderful bed.”

He tipped his cup back, swallowed, then wiped the stray line of liquor from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Suho kept his gaze on the floor until the sound of movement made him look up again.

Sieun had stripped off his outer robe and was wandering the room, unsteady, the cup swinging loosely from his fingers. He caught his foot on a chair leg and stumbled. Suho moved without thinking, catching him by the elbows.

“Careful, Your Highness.”

Sieun laughed, breathless, waving him off. “I’m fine. Leave me be.”

Then he turned toward him with a crooked grin that made Suho’s hands falter mid-air.

“You don’t drink?”

“Not on duty,” Suho replied.

“Shame. Feels good.”

He tipped the cup again, missed his mouth, and half the liquor ran down his chin. Suho hesitated, then stepped forward, steadying him with a hand. His fingers brushed warm fabric, then heat beneath it.

“Your Highness,” he said quietly, “perhaps you should rest.”

Sieun laughed again, softer now. “This is rest.”

Suho could hear his own pulse. He’d been trained to fight, to hide, to kill—but not for this: the weight of another body leaning into him, the smell of wine on the prince’s breath, the warmth bleeding through their clothes.

Then Sieun sagged forward, his head dropping against Suho’s shoulder.

“Your Highness—?”

A muffled sound, half sigh, half laugh.

“I want more. Bring me the jar.”

“You’ve had enough.”

Sieun lifted his head, eyes glassy, mouth curved in a stubborn pout. “Can’t tell me what to do. I want more—”

Suho swallowed hard, fetched the jar, and held it out.

Sieun didn’t take it. He only looked at Suho, lips parted slightly, a gleam of something unreadable in his eyes. Then, with a languid tilt of his head, he leaned back—silent invitation.

Suho froze. His thoughts tangled, scattered. Surely not…

The jar suddenly felt too heavy in his hand. “Your Highness?” The words came out rough, unsteady.

No answer—only the faint lift of Sieun’s brow, a challenge shimmering just beneath his calm.

Suho’s pulse jumped. Heat crept up his neck. The space between them pulsed, alive with something he couldn’t name. His chest ached with every breath.

He stepped forward despite himself—slow, reluctant, drawn by some pull he didn’t understand.

When his hand rose, it shook. His fingers found Sieun’s jaw, hesitating there. Warmth seeped into his palm, skin smooth beneath his touch. Sieun didn’t move away. He only looked at him through half-lidded eyes, lips parting further, the faintest breath ghosting across Suho’s wrist.

Suho’s resolve thinned to nothing. He tilted the jar, and a slender ribbon of liquor slipped past Sieun’s lips. The prince swallowed, throat working, gaze still locked on him. A single drop escaped, sliding down the curve of his chin to the hollow of his throat.

Before he realised what he was doing, Suho’s thumb followed it, catching it, tracing along soft skin until it grazed the curve of Sieun’s lower lip. His breath hitched. The world narrowed to the space between them.

Sieun’s hand came up, fingers curling around Suho’s wrist, light but unyielding. “Mine,” he whispered, voice a silken drag. Then his tongue brushed over Suho’s thumb—slow, deliberate—tasting the last drop.

The air shattered into heat. Suho’s pulse stuttered wildly; he drew his hand back as though the touch had scorched him, voice barely steady.

“Enough, Your Highness. You should rest.”

Sieun blinked, his smile softening into something almost innocent. “You’re no fun,” he mumbled, already fading.

Suho guided him back toward the bed, easing him down until his head met the pillow. Sieun’s eyes fluttered half-open, tried to focus, then slid closed again.

Suho stood beside the bed for a long time, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. The room smelled of wine and lamp smoke. Outside, wind worried the shutters.

Finally he exhaled, turned away, and lay down on the floor beside the faint light of the dying lamp.

He closed his eyes, but the image of Sieun’s tilted head lingered—eyes almost pleading, warm skin, laughter caught against his chest.

Sleep did not come. 

Chapter Text

The journey continued with few breaks and little conversation.

Sieun had woken that morning with his head thrumming in pain, unable to piece together the fragments of the night before.

He remembered eating until his stomach was full, and then nothing. He had woken with a splitting headache, his outer robes gone and his boots set neatly beside the bed.

Suho was nowhere in sight, but a cup of water waited at his bedside. Sieun dragged himself upright, took a sip, and felt the ache in his head dull minimally into a manageable throb. By the time he had washed and stepped outside the inn, Suho was tending to their horses.

The guard turned at the sound of the door and bowed slightly. “Your Highness.”

Sieun gave a brief nod before mounting his horse, and soon they were back on the road.

The sun climbed high, heat pressing down on them without mercy. Suho rode ahead, quiet as ever, not a single complaint leaving his lips.

Each village they passed blurred into the next; some they stopped at for brief rests, others they rode through without pause. Dust clung to their clothes, the air thick and dry.

As they travelled farther, the villages grew poorer. Sieun watched the people: hollow-eyed, rising early to fetch water, their few livestock thin and sickly. Many of the settlements bore Yeon banners, and Sieun’s throat tightened at the sight. His family’s crest hung over homes where children wore rags.

Suho seemed unshaken, his face unreadable, as though scenes like this were nothing new to him.

Sieun studied him for a moment, the rigid posture, the steady gaze, and felt an uncomfortable flicker of recognition. Unbidden, came flashes from the night before: Suho’s hand on his face. The drag of a thumb across his mouth. A face much too close.

Sieun’s throat tightened, heat crawling up his neck that had nothing to do with the sun. He shifted in his saddle, trying to shake the images free.

As if sensing his unease, Suho glanced back. Sieun’s gaze darted away, his face burning.

“Your Highness?”

“Hm?” Sieun’s tone was tight.

“Is everything all right? You seem… distracted.”

“I am well,” Sieun said, a little too sharply.

“Very well.” Suho turned forward again. “We’ve arrived at the settlement.”

Sieun let out a slow breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Good. We’ll go straight to where the goods were reported missing.”

Suho nodded.

The air grew heavier as they entered the settlement. Villagers turned to stare, their expressions caught somewhere between curiosity and disdain. Sieun’s silk robes trailed behind him, a stark contrast to the torn, sun-bleached fabric of the locals.

Children with dirt-smudged faces watched silently as the prince and his guard passed through.

At a crossroads, Suho halted, dismounted, and tied the reins to the broken post of an old shed. Sieun followed, scanning the area.

“The goods were reported missing here,” Sieun said. “At least, that’s what my father claims.”

Suho crouched, eyes narrowing as he studied the ground. “Things don’t simply vanish, Your Highness. You believe someone or something took them?”

“Someone,” Sieun replied. “Animals would have left a trace. This was deliberate.”

Suho hummed in agreement, kicking lightly at the dirt before rising to his feet. “Then we should go on foot. There’s no way a whole cart disappeared without a trail.”

Sieun nodded. “If they moved it, the villagers would have seen. They must have hidden it somewhere nearby.”

They left the path, walking through uneven terrain where the sun fell low and their shadows stretched long behind them. Sweat gathered at Sieun’s brow, the air thick with the smell of dust and dry grass.

When Suho’s boot slipped briefly against a rock, Sieun reacted without thinking; his hand shot out, gripping the guard’s arm to steady him.

Suho had already caught his balance, but the prince’s touch lingered, firm against the muscle of his bicep. Suho felt the warmth of it and the flush that followed.

“Ah—thank you, Your Highness,” he said quietly.

Sieun let go at once, eyes flicking away. “Of course.”

The silence that followed was brief but heavy, settling between them like the dust that clung to their clothes.

The place was smaller than Sieun expected, a few narrow streets, a scattering of stone huts, and a storehouse leaning into its own shadow. No guards. No bustle. Just the dull rhythm of a village too tired to care.

Suho glanced around, eyes tracing the empty yards, the broken fence, the pale smudge of wheel ruts fading into the dirt road. “When were they taken?”

“Two weeks ago.”

He crouched, studying the ground. “Then the trail’s gone cold.”

Sieun clicked his tongue and started toward the nearest storehouse. Inside, the air was stale and damp, thick with the smell of grain. Crates stood in uneven stacks, some smashed open, others gathering dust. He pried one lid loose and found nothing but straw.

“They’ve already been cleared out,” he muttered.

They spent the next hours combing through the settlement. Every villager they questioned gave the same answer, they’d seen nothing. No soldiers, no carts, no noise in the night. The same blank stares, the same murmured excuses.

At one point, Sieun stopped in the middle of the narrow street, breathing hard. “They’re lying.”

Suho shaded his eyes against the sun. “Maybe. Or maybe they’ve learned not to notice what isn’t meant to be noticed.”

Sieun simply turned away.

They searched another warehouse. Suho found a half-torn ledger on the floor, its ink smeared and pages missing. Sieun scanned the remaining lines, but most of the entries were months old. Nothing matched the missing shipment.

As the day wore on, the settlement emptied. Only children lingered at the edges of the road, watching in silence as the prince and his guard passed by.

By dusk, they’d found nothing. No tracks, no proof, not even the faint smell of what should have been transported.

They stopped outside the final shed, the light bruising purple around them.

“This makes no sense,” Sieun said. “An entire cart doesn’t just disappear. Even if bandits took it, there’d be signs, tracks, fragments, anything.”

Suho brushed dust from his hands. “Perhaps it was moved by river?”

“There’s no river for miles.”

“Then perhaps—” He stopped, frowning. His gaze had drifted toward the horizon, where the faint outline of the palace banners could still be seen in the distance.

Sieun noticed. “What is it?”

Suho hesitated, then said simply, “We might be looking for something that was never here.”

Sieun blinked. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing certain,” Suho replied, voice even. “Only that if there was a theft, it left no trace. Which is… unusual.”

He looked at Sieun then, steady, unreadable, and the prince understood without needing to ask more.

They stood in silence as the last light bled from the sky, the settlement swallowed by dusk.

Sieun exhaled, his jaw tightening. “Then we search again in the morning.”

Suho inclined his head. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

They were ready to turn back when a voice called from behind them.

“Your Highness.”

A man stood at the edge of the street, hands wringing the brim of his hat. His clothes were patched and sun-bleached, his face lined deep from years in the fields.

Sieun turned, straightening. “Yes?”

The man bowed quickly. “Forgive me for speaking out of place. I heard you asking about the missing carts.”

Sieun’s eyes narrowed. “You know something?”

The man hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to appear. Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “There are no missing carts, Your Highness.”

Sieun frowned. “What are you saying?”

“We’ve never received any shipments,” the man said, each word slower than the last. “Not for a long time. Maybe five, six years. Nothing from the Yeon stores. We trade among ourselves or go hungry.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, almost physical. Even the evening air seemed to still.

Sieun’s voice hardened. “Why didn’t any of the others say this when we asked?”

The man swallowed. “Because it’s safer not to. The last time someone complained, soldiers came. Took him for lying.”

Sieun’s jaw set. “Lying about hunger?”

The man’s gaze dropped to the ground. “Lying about the King.”

Suho stepped forward slightly, his voice low and controlled.

“Who promised you the shipments?”

The villager blinked. “We were told the crown did.”

Suho’s gaze didn’t waver. “By whom? Did anyone show the royal seal, an envoy, a steward, a prefect?”

The man shook his head quickly. “No, sir. Only notices at the storehouse, stamped with ink, but no seal I recognised. And the soldiers who came wore Yeon colours when they took the man.”

Suho’s jaw tightened. “Whose men?”

“Couldn’t say. The prefect changes every year. We never see his face, only his guards.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

Finally, Sieun exhaled, realisation sinking in. “So there was never a theft,” he said quietly.

Suho didn’t answer right away. The villagers’ words still echoed in his mind, every fragment fitting too neatly into what he’d begun to suspect.

No theft. No stolen shipments. No famine born of accident, only neglect.

And the King, who had sent them here with solemn vows of justice, had known all along.

This was proof, or close enough to it. The rot wasn’t rumour; it was rooted deep in the throne itself.

He should have felt vindicated. Months of cautious probing, of false loyalty and careful silence, all leading here. A lead that would open the cracks wider. Progress.

But then he looked at Sieun.

The prince’s expression was still and pale, his eyes on the ledger in his hands, but Suho saw the tremor in his grip; the faint, almost imperceptible flinch that betrayed how deeply the discovery struck him.

Something twisted in Suho’s chest.

He had waited years to watch a Yeon bleed truth, to see the mask of their divinity crumble, but not this one.

Not the man standing beside him, who still believed justice could be clean.

He forced the thought away, tightening his hold on the reins as they turned back toward an inn.

One step closer, he told himself. One step closer to the reckoning they deserved.

And if Sieun was caught in its path…

Suho shut his eyes briefly, letting the reins bite into his palms.

He would deal with that when the time came.

The candlelight barely held the dark at bay. Its wavering glow threw shifting patterns across the walls, distorting the rough boards and shadowing the edges of the room. The air inside was thin with cold; every breath came out as a faint mist.

There were no comforts here; no warmth of wine, no laughter from passing travellers, no hearth. Only a space just large enough for the two of them, the flicker of a single flame, and a square of coarse cloth laid across the dirt as a makeshift bed.

Sieun sat cross-legged beside the candle, his cloak still draped around his shoulders. His gaze was fixed on the flame, as if the tiny light could hold answers the world refused to give. For a long while, neither man spoke.

Outside, a dog barked somewhere in the distance, and the wind pressed against the shutters, whispering through the cracks.

Sieun’s fingers inched toward the flame. He felt the warmth intensify the closer he got, prickling at his skin until it stung. But he didn’t draw back.

“Your Highness—”

The voice came softly, but it carried a weight that cut through the quiet.

Sieun froze.

Suho sat across from him, one knee drawn up, his expression barely visible in the candlelight. Even in the half-dark, Sieun could see the concern shaping his face.

“Forgive me,” Suho said carefully, “but burning yourself will not bring clarity.”

Sieun’s eyes flicked to him, distant, unreadable. He drew his hand back slowly. Red welts were beginning to show across his fingertips.

“I thought perhaps pain would make sense of things,” Sieun said quietly.

Suho studied him for a long moment. “Does it?”

Sieun’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “No. It never does.”

Silence settled again. The candle guttered as a draft slipped through the cracks.

“So many lies,” Sieun murmured, almost to himself.

Suho straightened slightly. “Is it your father that troubles you?”

“No.”

The quickness of the answer surprised them both.

“Then what is it?” Suho asked, his voice lower now, careful not to sound like an accusation.

Sieun reached for the candle, lifting it by its iron holder until the light caught his face. The glow etched deep shadows under his eyes.

“These settlements,” he began, “they are inhumanly deprived.” His voice trembled with restrained fury. “I did not know. I thought they were living well, that the reports were true. That our rule had brought stability.”

He looked up, and for a moment Suho saw the boy beneath the title; angry, bewildered, ashamed.

“They are still my people,” Sieun said. “And they have been left to rot. All those years… all the banners, all the words about mercy and order—lies.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I believed them. I believed him.”

Suho didn’t move. His training told him to stay silent, to be still, but something about the quiet confession pulled at him.

“Your Highness,” he said finally, “few men see beyond the words they are raised with. Fewer still are willing to doubt them.”

Sieun gave a bitter laugh. “And you? Do you doubt them?”

Suho hesitated. “I have learned that truth changes depending on who speaks it.”

“Then what is yours?”

The question hung between them, fragile as the flame.

Suho met his gaze for the briefest moment before looking away. “Mine is to serve. That is truth enough.”

Sieun stared at him, the candle trembling slightly in his hand. “Service without question is blindness.”

“Perhaps,” Suho said quietly. “But sight is not without its pain.”

The words lingered. The candle sputtered, casting a small arc of wax across Sieun’s hand. He didn’t flinch.

Suho’s eyes followed the drop of wax cooling against his skin. The prince’s knuckles were white around the holder, the muscles of his jaw tight with something that looked very much like grief.

“This wasn’t meant to trouble you,” Suho said after a while. “You were meant to look, report, and return. Nothing more.”

“Then I am troubled,” Sieun replied, almost defiantly. “And I would rather that than ignorance.”

Suho felt the words settle deep in his chest. For the first time in years, he couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

He watched the prince’s face illuminated in the flickering light, saw the reflection of the flame swimming in his eyes, saw the conviction forming there.

This was not a man driven by greed or hunger for power.

 This was a man shaped — like himself — to serve, to fight, to obey. A man who had been taught the right words until he forgot to ask what they meant.

And now, perhaps for the first time, he was asking.

Suho leaned back slightly, his voice a murmur. “Rest, Your Highness. Tomorrow will not be kind.”

Sieun set the candle back between them. “It seems no day in this kingdom is.”

The flame bent under another draft. Neither of them moved to shield it.

For a long time neither of them spoke. The candle burned lower, its flame trembling each time the wind pressed at the shutters.

Suho noticed the red marks still blooming across the prince’s fingertips. He hesitated before speaking.

“Your hand—may I?”

Sieun blinked, then wordlessly extended it. His palm was unsteady, the skin along his fingers reddened from the heat.

Suho took a strip of clean cloth and dampened it with the little water left in his cup. He wrapped the fingers carefully, his movements precise but slow, as though the smallest pressure might break something unseen.

Sieun watched him in silence. “You do not need to—”

“I know,” Suho said quietly. “But it should not scar.”

Their eyes met briefly, the candlelight flickering between them. Then Suho drew back and sat against the wall, the distance restored.

Outside, the wind settled.

Sieun flexed his bandaged hand, then lay down on the cloth spread across the floor. “Get some rest,” he murmured. “That’s an order.”

Suho allowed the faintest curve of a smile. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He leaned his head back against the wall. For a moment he thought Sieun had already fallen asleep, but the prince’s voice came softly through the dark.

“Suho.”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Thank you.”

Suho didn’t answer. The candle sputtered once and went out, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the slow drift of night around them.

Morning crept in pale and cold. The wind from the hills carried a bite that slipped through the gaps in the walls.

Sieun woke to the sound of hooves in the distance, the muffled rhythm of carts starting their day. The air smelled of smoke and grain. Across the room, Suho was already awake, fastening the clasp of his cloak.

“You don’t sleep much,” Sieun murmured.

“Not when I’m on duty,” Suho replied. He handed the prince his outer robes. “We should look through the records again before we leave.”

Sieun sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “There’s no point. We know now there were no shipments.”

“Perhaps,” Suho said, adjusting the strap of his sword, “but the King will expect a report. And we cannot tell him we found nothing.”

“But he set us up to find nothing.”

Suho shrugged “So?”

Sieun looked at him then let his mind wander; returning with nothing would invite questions of their competence and discovery.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“We search, but not for the goods,” Suho said. “For the proof of their absence.”

Sieun stood, pulling on his gloves. “Proof of nothing. That’s fitting.”

Suho glanced up, a faint glint of dry amusement in his eyes. “Sometimes nothing tells the truest story.”

They stepped out into the morning light. The sky was a washed-out grey, the settlement already stirring. Women carried water in cracked jars; children gathered firewood. No one looked at them directly.

As they crossed the square toward the storehouse, Sieun’s voice broke the silence.

“When we return, I’ll ask my father why these people were forgotten.”

Suho’s gaze stayed forward. “Will you expect him to answer?”

Sieun hesitated, then shook his head. “No. But he’ll know that I asked.”

Sieun stood, stretching his shoulders. The ache in his body felt older than he was. “We’ll leave soon.”

Suho hesitated. “Before we go, Your Highness… there’s one thing I’d like to look at again.”

Sieun frowned. “What thing?”

“The storehouse. The ledgers.”

Sieun almost refused. The idea of returning to that hollow place seemed unbearable. But then he saw the calm steadiness in Suho’s expression; the certainty that there was something still to be found, and he nodded.

“Very well.”

The storehouse was colder in the morning light. Dust hung in thin shafts of gold where the sunlight slipped through the gaps in the boards. Everything smelled faintly of grain and old wood.

Suho crossed to the far table where the records were stacked. The books were brittle with age, their leather bindings flaking at the edges. He brushed the dust away and opened one.

Sieun joined him, stepping in close enough that Suho caught the faint scent of his cloak; smoke, ink, and travel. The prince leaned over his shoulder, one hand braced on the table beside his arm.

For a moment, Suho forgot the page. His breath stalled, pulse beating quick and sharp. He could feel the warmth of Sieun’s sleeve brushing against his own, the barely-there shift of fabric as the prince leaned closer to read.

He forced himself to turn a page, movements measured, controlled.

The records began decades ago; neat columns of numbers and names, settlements listed, goods dispatched and received. The writing was tidy, the ink long faded. Then, halfway through the volume, the entries simply stopped.

The next page was blank. And the one after. And the one after that.

Dozens of untouched pages stretched on; yellowed, dry, marked only by faint grooves, as if the words had once existed and been scraped clean.

Sieun’s brow furrowed. “Why would they leave so much space empty?”

Suho tilted the ledger under the light. “They didn’t.” His voice was quiet, deliberate. “Someone removed it. Look here.” He traced a finger along the spine, where newer thread cut through older stitching. “The binding was repaired. The pages were scraped and rebound.”

“They erased them,” Sieun said.

“Or replaced them,” Suho answered. “Either way, they meant to hide what was written.”

He closed the book gently. The sound echoed against the walls like a dull report.

Sieun stared at it, at the blankness where truth should have been, and felt his throat tighten. “Proof of nothing,” he murmured.

“Sometimes nothing is the loudest proof of all,” Suho said.

Dust drifted in the still air, catching the light like slow-falling ash.

Sieun rested a hand on the ledger’s cover. “They’ve been lying,” he said softly. “Not only to the people - to us.”

Suho said nothing. His silence was confirmation enough.

They left the storehouse in silence.

Outside, the air was heavy, dust rising in pale swirls under their boots. Villagers had begun to gather again, voices low, glancing between the two men as though afraid to speak.

Sieun mounted his horse but didn’t move. His hands rested on the reins, knuckles pale. Suho stood beside him, waiting. The road back to the capital stretched long and unbroken before them, yet neither gave the signal to depart.

The sky was overcast, a thin film of cloud dulling the light. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.

Sieun’s jaw tightened. “He’ll want a written report.”

Suho looked up at him. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“What should I tell him?”

Suho’s voice stayed steady. “Tell him what you found.”

Sieun glanced down at the blank ledger in his satchel, the edges damp with dust. “And what did I find?”

Suho hesitated before answering. “That what he claims exists, doesn’t.”

A faint sound left Sieun, almost a laugh, but it carried no humour. “You think he’ll care to hear it?”

Suho met his gaze. “No. But he’ll know that you asked.”

His words echoed the prince’s own from earlier, and for a brief moment, Sieun’s expression softened, a bitter smile ghosting over his face.

They stood there for a long while; Sieun mounted while Suho stayed on the ground beside him, the wind tugging faintly at their cloaks.

From a distance, the settlement looked almost peaceful. The same calm that hid its hunger, the same silence that had fooled the capital into forgetting it existed.

Suho’s eyes swept over it once, then back to the prince.

Every discovery brought him closer, closer to proof, closer to the truth he’d been sent to uncover. The King’s mask was cracking, just as his orders had promised it would.

He should have felt triumph.

Instead, his chest tightened as he looked at Sieun: straight-backed, proud, still believing that truth could be spoken and justice answered. The faint relief that Sieun was safe sat uneasily beside the quiet reminder of what Suho had come here to do, and the kingdom he was meant to ruin.

He tightened his gloved hand around the reins of Sieun’s horse, steadying the restless creature. “We should rest a few hours before we ride,” he said quietly.

Sieun nodded once, gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Just a few,” he murmured.

Suho bowed his head and stepped back.

Progress, he told himself. Nothing more.

Chapter Text

They left the settlement before noon, the road bending through hills scorched brown by drought.

 The ride was silent; only the sound of hooves and the creak of saddle leather filled the air. Sieun rode ahead, jaw set, his mind circling the empty pages of the ledger. Suho followed close behind, scanning the horizon with the habit of a man who never stopped calculating threat.

By mid-afternoon the land grew harsher. The path narrowed to a strip of packed earth, bordered by scrub and long grass. That was when Suho saw them; shapes moving low and fast through the brush.

He reined his horse sharply. “Your Highness.”

Before Sieun could answer, a rock struck the dirt beside them. Another followed. Then six, maybe seven men stepped from the weeds, lean and wild-eyed, armed with makeshift blades and farming tools turned into weapons.

“Keep riding,” Suho said quietly.

Sieun’s eyes flicked over the men. “They’re villagers.”

“They’re desperate.” Suho’s hand went to his sword. “Please.”

One of the men shouted, voice cracking from thirst. “The King’s lapdogs! You pass through here and don’t even look at us!”

“We mean you no harm,” Sieun called back, but his voice carried the ring of command, not comfort. “We can speak—”

“Speak?” the leader barked a laugh. “We’ve spoken for years. No one listens!”

He rushed forward.

Suho moved first. Steel flashed; the man’s crude weapon hit the ground. Another charged. Suho pivoted, parried, drove a boot into his chest. The motion was clean, rehearsed, automatic, until he realised Sieun had dismounted.

“Your Highness—”

But Sieun was already at his side, drawing his own sword in one smooth pull. “I will not watch while you fight for me,” he said, eyes locked on the men advancing through the dust.

“Get back—”

“I’m not at your command.”

The next rush came from both sides. Suho caught one blow; Sieun blocked the other, his footing uneven on the dirt. The sound of clashing blades filled the road, raw and close. One of the attackers swung at Suho’s flank; Sieun turned and deflected it, the jolt running up his arm.

Suho’s training took over; slash, duck, recover, but even as his body moved, his mind was fracturing.

This isn’t what you’re here for.

 He’d spent half a lifetime preparing to destroy what the Yeons had built, to stand at the prince’s side until the moment came to cut the bloodline clean. Yet when Sieun stumbled, his only thought was to reach him.

You’re supposed to let him fall.

 Another strike. He parried. The man screamed.

You’re supposed to let him die.

Instead, he stepped in front of him.

Steel scraped against his armguard. Pain followed a heartbeat later, hot and sharp. Sieun shouted his name; concern laced with each syllable and turned his blade on the man who had struck him. The attacker fell back, clutching his side, and the others faltered, uncertain.

“Enough!” Sieun’s voice cut through the dust and the panting. “Do you think killing us will fill your stomachs?”

The men froze. For a moment it seemed they might answer, but hunger had made them cowards as much as it had made them brave. One dropped his weapon. The rest backed away, then broke into a run, disappearing into the hills.

The silence that followed was ragged. Suho lowered his sword, breathing hard, blood soaking through the sleeve of his uniform. Sieun turned to him, face flushed, eyes still bright from the fight.

“You’re injured.”

“It’s nothing.”

Sieun grabbed his arm anyway. “It’s not nothing.”

Suho looked down at the hand gripping his sleeve. The prince’s palm was slick with sweat and dust, trembling slightly. Too close. Too human. He pulled back gently.

“You shouldn’t have come off the horse,” he said, but his voice lacked its usual edge.

“And let you die?” Sieun snapped. “That’s not who I am.”

“No,” Suho murmured, almost to himself. “It isn’t.”

He bound the wound quickly, his thoughts still spinning. The fight had lasted minutes, but something inside him felt irrevocably altered. The careful balance between duty and deception had shifted. He had protected the enemy as if he were his own.

When they finally remounted, the road stretched before them, long and empty. The wind carried the faint smell of iron and grass.

Sieun spoke first, quieter now. “They were starving.”

“I know.”

“I can’t blame them.”

“Nor can I.”

They rode on. Suho’s arm throbbed beneath the bandage, but it wasn’t the pain that troubled him. It was the question that would not leave his mind:

 When did it all change?

Sieun had anticipated a volatile exchange with his father the moment he returned to the kingdom.

He imagined raised voices, accusations, perhaps even the faint hope of being heard.

The reality was quieter and crueller.

Each time he tried to request an audience, he was dismissed. 'His Majesty is occupied. His Majesty will read your report in due time.'

Days passed, and the chance never came.

The King no longer wanted a verbal account, only a written log of events, to be filed away among a thousand other unread records.

Sieun complied, though each word he wrote felt like ash beneath his pen. The knowledge of what he’d seen; the hollow storehouses, the blank pages of the ledger - gnawed at him. But his words were swallowed into silence, as if they too had been erased.

He felt disposable. It wasn’t a new sensation, but this time it settled deeper, heavier, until it filled the spaces where anger should have been. And as if to strip him further of time to think, his duties at the training grounds multiplied tenfold.

He spent his days drilling the palace guards, inspecting weapon racks, revising tactics until ink blurred on the page. Nights were worse, endless drafts of regime schedules, progress logs, and now, the formal report of his “findings.”

He'd write and then scrap it, write and then rewrite. Nothing fitting for the desperation and despair he'd witnessed outside the palace walls.

Suho delivered the schedules, trained beside him, and said little. Their exchanges had grown professional again, curt nods, brief instructions, the quiet understanding of men who no longer had time to breathe.

By the third week, Sieun had forgotten what it felt like to sleep before dawn. His room smelled of ink and exhaustion, parchment stacked in neat, accusing piles.

Still, he kept writing.

The air grew stale with neglect. The faint scent of earth clung to him, dirt from the training grounds, sweat dried into his sleeves. He no longer had the time, or perhaps the will, to wash it away. His movements had slowed; even reaching for the quill felt like wading through water.

Every muscle ached from overuse, every breath drew the sting of fatigue. And in the hours before dawn, when silence pressed hardest, his thoughts turned inward; circling, dark, and poisonous.

The night stretched thin again.

The ink had long dried, but Sieun kept the quill moving, dragging it over empty parchment as if the motion itself could summon meaning. His hand cramped; he flexed it, then pressed his thumb hard into the palm until a sharp ache bloomed. The pain cleared the fog for a breath, and he let it linger.

When the candle guttered low, he caught the flame between two fingers, holding it just close enough to feel the sting. The heat made him flinch, but he didn’t pull away until the wax ran down to his knuckle. Only then did he snuff it out and sit back, breathing through the tremor in his hand.

The door slid open.

“Your Highness?”

Suho stood in the threshold, half-armoured from patrol. His eyes flicked to the desk, to the faint mark reddening Sieun’s fingers. “You haven’t rested.”

“I’m busy.”

“It’s past the third watch.”

Sieun dipped the quill again, ignoring him. “Then you’re dismissed.”

Suho stepped inside anyway, the door closing behind him with a dull click. “You’re injuring yourself.”

Sieun’s laugh was dry. “You make it sound deliberate.”

“It looks deliberate.”

Silence. The only sound was the slow scrape of pen on paper.

Finally, Sieun set the quill down. “If I can’t command my father’s court, then at least I can command my own body. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Suho’s expression barely shifted, but his jaw tightened. “No. I wanted to hear that you still value it.”

Sieun turned away, the faintest waver in his breath. “Leave, Suho.”

He did, but the image stayed with him; the reddened hand, the calm in the prince’s voice that sounded too much like surrender.

The sun had barely risen when Sieun found Suho in the courtyard, already sharpening his blade.

For a long moment he simply watched, the precision of Suho’s movements, the quiet rhythm of steel against whetstone. It was different from the palace guards: less rehearsed, more instinctive. As if his body remembered a language no one else spoke.

“Your fighting style,” Sieun said finally.

Suho paused mid-motion, glancing up. “Your Highness?”

“It’s not like ours,” Sieun continued, stepping closer. “The instructors here fight as if they’re dancing. You fight like you’re listening to something invisible. I want to learn that.”

Suho straightened, wiping the blade clean. “You want me to teach you?”

Sieun tilted his head. “I asked, didn’t I?”

“It’s… unorthodox.”

“So am I.”

A pause hung between them. Then Suho rose, sheathing the blade. “Very well. But you’ll find it unpleasant.”

“I’m already unpleasant to train with. I’ll survive.”

The corner of Suho's mouth curved, the barest hint of amusement present, then he inclined his head. “Very well. But it will bruise more than your pride.”

“Good,” Sieun replied, mouth curving faintly. “At least I’ll feel something.”

The first lesson began in silence.

Suho guided him through stances; weight distribution, footwork, the small adjustments that mattered more than the sword itself. Sieun’s movements were sharp but mechanical, too formal for Suho’s liking.

“You’re thinking too much,” Suho said, circling behind him. “This isn’t about memorising forms. It’s about knowing where your body wants to go.”

Sieun scowled. “My body?” He paused in thought, “My body wants to win.”

“Then stop fighting it.”

When he stepped closer, Sieun didn’t move. Suho’s hand came to rest lightly at his waist, fingers adjusting his stance; the warmth of his palm bled through fabric.

“Lower,” Suho murmured, pressing at the curve of his spine. “Breathe.”

Sieun exhaled slowly, the air trembling between them. “You could have just said so,” he muttered.

“You weren’t listening.”

The lesson stretched on. Every time Sieun faltered, Suho’s hands found him again; at his wrists, his shoulders, the inside of his elbow where the pulse beat quickly and shallow. What began as correction started to feel like something else entirely; the pauses lingered too long, the space between them too small.

When Suho finally stepped back, Sieun felt the absence like cold air on skin.

“You rely on power,” Suho said quietly. “But power without balance is just noise.”

Sieun turned toward him, breath uneven. “Then teach me until it isn’t.”

Suho hesitated, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes, then inclined his head. “Tomorrow, then.”

Tomorrow became every day.

By the second week, Sieun trained until his palms blistered and his grip bled. By the third, he no longer waited for Suho’s instruction; he arrived before dawn, already swinging, already drenched in sweat.

Suho watched from the sidelines at first, silent. Then the strikes became sloppy, desperate. The movements he’d once corrected with a touch now carried the edge of punishment.

When Sieun stumbled, Suho crossed the yard. “Your Highness.”

Sieun didn’t stop. “You’re late.”

“I was not summoned.”

“Then consider this an order.”

Suho stepped closer. The air smelled of damp grass and iron “You should stop.”

Sieun’s blade came down hard, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Suho caught the sword mid-swing, the hilt biting into his glove. “Then I’m giving it anyway.”

They froze, faces inches apart, breaths uneven. The tension that had been building for weeks coiled tight between them, thrumming like a drawn bowstring.

“Let go,” Sieun said, voice low.

“Not until you do.”

For a moment, neither moved. The space between them burned.

“You think I’m weak,” Sieun whispered. “That I can’t handle what’s asked of me.”

“I think you’re bleeding in front of your men,” Suho said. “And none of them are brave enough to tell you to stop.”

He released the blade and stepped back, eyes sharp. “You’re not a weapon, Your Highness. Stop trying to be one.”

Sieun’s lips twitched, somewhere between anger and exhaustion. “Easy for you to say. You were made to fight. I was made to fail.”

Suho’s composure slipped. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“Don’t I?” Sieun’s tone cracked, frustration spilling out. “I’ve been humiliated, ignored, lied to. If I can’t be heard, I’ll make them see me bleed.”

“By breaking yourself?”

“By proving I can endure.”

Suho took another step forward. “Enduring isn’t the same as living.”

The sword slipped from Sieun’s grip, hitting the dirt with a dull thud. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes glinting with something raw.

Suho caught his arm, fingers circling the reddened skin just below the burn marks. “You’ll tear yourself apart,” he said, voice rough.

Sieun met his gaze, defiant but trembling. “Then let me.”

Suho’s grip tightened. “No.”

The word landed like a strike.

For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the space between them—heat, breath, silence.

Then Sieun jerked free, his pulse wild. “Don’t presume to command me.”

“I’m not commanding,” Suho said softly. “I’m asking.”

The tension broke. Sieun turned away, shoulders rigid. “Leave me, Suho.”

He did, though the scent of sweat and dust and heat clung to him long after he’d gone 

The next evening, Suho found Sieun still at his desk. The same ink-stained sleeve, the same untouched bowl of rice gone cold beside the papers. He had not changed since dawn.

“Your Highness,” Suho said quietly.

Sieun didn’t look up. “If this is about the training schedule, leave it. I’ll finish it tonight.”

“You said that last night.”

“And yet here I am, still working.”

Suho stepped closer. The air was stale, heavy with sweat and wax. Sieun’s hair clung to his temples; he held the quill like it weighed more than steel.

“Forgive me,” Suho murmured, “but this is not sustainable.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion.”

“You don’t have to.” Suho moved around the desk, stopping just short of touch. “You haven’t eaten. You haven’t slept. You haven’t bathed. The attendants say you dismiss them before they can light the fires.”

Sieun’s quill froze mid-stroke. “…Since when do you interrogate my attendants?”

“Since you stopped speaking to anyone else.”

The silence that followed felt like a blade drawn half out of its sheath. Sieun’s jaw clenched; he dipped his quill again with defiant precision.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Leave.”

“You’re trembling,” Suho replied.

Sieun’s hand stilled. He didn’t look at him, didn’t breathe for a beat too long. “It’s nothing.”

“It never is, until it is.” Suho softened his voice. “Let me bring water. Wash. Just wash. Ten minutes.”

“No.”

“You’ll rest better.”

“I am resting,” Sieun snapped, though his voice was hoarse, frayed, a paper-thin thing ready to tear.

“You’re unraveling,” Suho answered.

Sieun shoved back his chair. The legs scraped against the stone, sharp enough to make Suho flinch. “I am the crown prince. I do not ‘unravel’ because a guard frets over my bathwater.”

“It isn’t the water I’m worried about.”

Sieun glared, breath quick and shallow. For a moment, pride warred with exhaustion in his eyes, bright steel dulling under strain. He reached for the quill again, but his fingers shook too visibly to hide it.

“You’ll fall ill,” Suho said gently. “And then the kingdom will worry. That’s an order, if you need one.”

Sieun barked a hollow laugh. “You don’t get to order me.”

“Then allow me to beg,” Suho whispered. “Please.”

The word cracked the room open. Something in Sieun’s expression buckled, just slightly, just enough. His shoulders sagged under a burden suddenly too visible to deny.

“If you’re so determined to mother me,” he muttered, voice thin, “use my bathhouse. I won’t walk across the palace for yours.”

Suho bowed his head. “That will do.”

“Don’t look so triumphant,” Sieun grumbled, already dragging himself to his feet with the weary reluctance of someone who has lost a private battle. “The water had better be hot.”

The bathhouse adjoined Sieun’s quarters, a small room of stone and cedar. When Suho lit the brazier, the scent of smoke and pine rose through the air. He filled the basin himself, hauling the buckets, waiting as steam began to blur the edges of the room.

Sieun stood at the threshold, arms crossed, watching with faint irritation that had more weariness than bite.

“Are you content to glare at the water, Your Highness, or will you use it?”

Sieun exhaled through his nose. “You really won’t leave?”

“Not until you’ve washed.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

He turned away to give Sieun privacy, listening to the soft sound of fabric being untied, the quiet splash of water. When Sieun finally lowered himself into the bath, the sound was a low sigh, half relief, half disbelief that warmth could still feel good.

After a while Suho said, “You should soak longer. It will draw the ache out of your muscles.”

“Since when did you become an expert in baths?”

“Since I started guarding someone who refuses to take them.”

That earned the faintest, reluctant smile.

When Suho moved to the side of the pool to check the temperature, Sieun reached for the bucket himself, tried to pour water over his shoulders, and winced at the strain. Suho took it from him without a word.

“Allow me,” he said.

Sieun didn’t answer. He only sat still as Suho poured the warm water slowly down his back, watching the rivulets run across pale skin marked by old bruises. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable; it hummed with the sound of dripping water and the distant crackle of the brazier.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sieun murmured.

“I know.”

Suho set the bucket aside and sat at the edge, steam curled between them. “But you won’t look after yourself if I don’t.”

Sieun tilted his head, eyes half-lidded, exhaustion softening every edge of him. “Is that an order or pity?”

“Neither.”

For a moment, their gazes met through the steam; steady, unreadable, something almost gentle passing between them. Then Suho looked away first, dipping his hands into the water to rinse the cloth.

“Stay until the water cools,” he said quietly. “I’ll stand guard outside.”

Sieun didn’t stop him this time. He sank lower into the water, watching Suho’s silhouette disappear through the mist, the sound of his footsteps fading into the corridor.

For the first time in weeks, Sieun let the warmth take him whole.

The sound of water echoed softly against the walls. Suho waited by the door, eyes lowered, until Sieun’s voice cut through the steam.

“If you mean to hover there all night,” he said, “you might as well make yourself useful.”

Suho turned. “Your Highness?”

Sieun shifted, the water lapping at his shoulders. “You wanted me to rest. Make sure I don’t fall asleep and drown.”

It was said with dry humour, but the weariness beneath it left little room for argument. Suho stepped closer.

He was about to kneel by the edge again when he noticed the marks along Sieun’s back; darkened bruises, faint burns where his skin had rubbed raw beneath armour and cloth. They stood out sharply against the pale skin now slick with heat.

“Your Highness,” Suho murmured, “your back…”

“What about it?”

“You’re injured.”

“Training.”

“It’s more than that.”

Suho hesitated only a heartbeat, then set his gloves aside and began unfastening his outer tunic.

Sieun turned, brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

“You won’t let the attendants in. You won’t let me send for a physician. This is the only compromise I can offer.”

Before Sieun could reply, Suho stepped into the bath. The water surged around him, scenting the air. He sat opposite Sieun, the distance between them shrinking until steam blurred their outlines.

From a small pouch, he poured oil into his palm, warming it between his hands before reaching forward. “May I?”

Sieun stared at him for a long moment, at the calm in his face, at the steadiness of his eyes, and then turned his back.

The first touch was careful, almost hesitant. Suho’s hands moved in slow, firm circles over bruised muscle, the oil gliding beneath his fingers. The silence filled with the sound of water and breath.

Steam thickened the air until the walls themselves seemed to breathe.

Suho’s hands moved with measured precision, broad strokes along Sieun’s shoulders, tracing the lines of strain down to his arms. He’d done this before, countless times on injured soldiers, but never like this.

The difference was unbearable.

Under his palms, Sieun was warm, too warm. The bruises had softened beneath the oil, his muscles yielding little by little to Suho’s care. Every time he shifted, the water rippled against Suho’s skin, the sound shallow and rhythmic, a heartbeat rendered in motion.

He told himself to focus on the technique; pressure, rhythm, breath, but the longer he worked, the less his body obeyed. His palms lingered too long, his breath matched the slow rise and fall of Sieun’s back. The heat of the bath blurred into the heat beneath his ribs.

You’re here to help, not to feel.

He repeated it like a prayer, but his discipline had never been tested like this. He’d endured years of silence, of hiding behind oaths and purpose, and all of it wavered now under the soft weight of the prince’s trust.

When Sieun let out a low sigh, something in Suho’s chest tightened almost painfully. His hands stilled, hovering above the prince’s skin.

“Too much?” Suho asked quietly.

“No,” Sieun murmured, his voice rough with fatigue. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He tilted his head slightly, looking back over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded through the veil of steam. “You’re… good at this.”

Suho swallowed, words catching on the edge of his breath. “It’s practice. We treat each other in the field.”

A small hum of acknowledgment. Sieun turned his gaze forward again, letting the warmth pull at his body until it sagged slightly toward Suho’s touch. The silence stretched, broken only by the drip of water from the rim of the bath.

Suho continued, slower now, his movements deliberate, reverent. Each pass of his hand felt like tracing something he was not meant to have, and the knowing of that made his restraint all the sharper. He told himself he could stop at any time. He didn’t.

When he finally withdrew, Sieun’s shoulders were gleaming with oil, the tension eased from his form. The prince’s head had dipped forward, chin brushing the surface of the water. For the first time in weeks, his expression was calm.

Suho reached out before he could stop himself, steadying him with a hand at his arm. “Your Highness,” he said softly.

No answer.

He shifted closer. “you're Highness,” he tried again.

Still nothing, only the even rhythm of breathing, the quiet surrender of sleep. He should have left then. Every rule of conduct demanded it.

Instead, Suho stayed. He remained seated, one hand resting lightly above the water, close enough to catch the first sign of a tremor, far enough not to disturb.

The steam rose around them, softening the world to silence.

When Sieun’s breathing deepened, Suho let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

He would tell himself later that he stayed to keep watch. But in truth, he stayed because, for the first time, the prince didn’t look like a man breaking, and Suho couldn’t bear to take that peace away.

Chapter Text

When Sieun woke, it wasn’t to the press of anxiety or the call of duty, but to warmth, and the slow, rising panic that came from feeling unusually well-rested.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes and found himself in his bed, chest bare, a folded set of clean robes waiting beside him.

Suho.

The night before flickered through his mind: Suho’s hands working the tension from his shoulders and back, the heat of his touch sinking beneath his skin, the nearness of another body in the haze of steam—

Sieun bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron. The sting helped clear the memory.

He had barely gathered himself when a quick knock sounded at the door and Suho stepped inside.

“Ah—my apologies, I thought you might still be asleep.”

“Did I fall asleep at the bathhouse?” Sieun asked. His voice was low, rough at the edges.

“Yes,” Suho said, careful to keep his tone level, formal. “You were exhausted.”

Sieun blinked slowly. “You stayed, and brought me back here?”

“It was safer,” Suho replied. “You might have slipped under.”

Sieun’s lips curved faintly. “Ever the dutiful guard.”

Suho inclined his head, saying nothing. His mind was a tangle of unspoken things, the feel of Sieun’s pulse beneath his palm, the sound of his breathing easing into sleep, the knowledge that he’d let the line blur and hadn’t regretted it until now.

Sieun sat up, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t remember the last time I slept without dreaming,” he murmured. “Or the last time I woke without pain.”

Suho’s throat tightened. “I’m glad, then.”

The prince studied him. The air between them grew heavy, not with tension, but with something quieter, denser. A recognition neither dared name.

“You look worse than I do,” Sieun said at last, half to break the silence.

“I’ll live.”

“Do you ever rest?”

“When duty allows.”

Sieun let out a tired breath that passed for a laugh. “You and I both know it never does.”

Suho’s gaze dropped to the floor. After a pause he bowed slightly. “You should eat something. I’ll have it brought to your chambers.”

“Suho,” Sieun said, stopping him.

The guard turned, expectant.

“Thank you.”

Something in Suho’s chest tightened. “This is the second time you’ve thanked me.”

“So?”

“There’s no need. It is my duty.”

Sieun looked down at his hands resting on the covers, breath catching just once. “Duty? No guard has such a duty.”

Suho swallowed. “Your Highness, I—”

“Start training the new wave of recruits,” Sieun interrupted.

Suho let out a quiet breath of relief. “Yes, Your Highness.”

For the first time in weeks, Sieun kept to his chambers past sunrise.

The food Suho had sent sat half-eaten at the table, steam long faded. He dressed slowly, moving through the motions of the day as if he had borrowed someone else’s rhythm. His body felt lighter; his mind, heavier.

The bath had left him too clear-headed. Every thought that should have been buried surfaced again; the silence of the settlements, the missing ledgers, the ache behind his father’s commands.

By midmorning he forced himself back to the training yard. The new recruits were waiting, raw and clumsy. Suho was already there, issuing quiet instructions that carried farther than any shout. He remembered Kang’s words about Suho’s fighting style, recalled their training, and wondered what kind of violence forged a soldier like him. What had Suho seen, endured, survived? The man was always cryptic, said little, but his eyes and movements spoke volumes, unable to contain the pain that had welded the parts of him together.

In moments like that, Sieun saw himself reflected in that pain, recognised his own fractures mirrored back at him. And he wondered when he had gone from despising Suho to understanding him.

He shook off the thought before it could root too deep. Turning away before Suho could notice, he left the field and followed the long corridor toward the archives.

The palace air shifted there, colder, stiller. Light spilled in thin ribbons through the high windows, dust drifting lazily in its path. Rows of shelves loomed ahead, bowed under the weight of age and neglect.

Only the scent of old paper kept him company as he moved through the aisles, fingers grazing spines worn smooth by generations. Dust hung thick in the air, stirred by his every breath.

He told himself he was looking for an old ledger to complete his latest report, but his hands wandered without purpose, drawn more by instinct than reason. He had already read the ledgers, all of them; page after page of meaningless figures, shipments, names of men long dead. They said nothing and yet he kept coming back, as though the walls themselves were daring him to look closer.

A draft brushed his neck, faint, unfamiliar. He paused, listening. The archives were buried deep within the palace, quiet enough to hear the echo of his own heartbeat. But the air here was colder, and when he followed it, it led him to a shelf recessed deeper into the stone.

His hand traced the wood until his fingertips met a groove.

A false seam.

He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. No sound, no footsteps, no voices. Only the low hum of silence.

He pressed his palm against the seam. The wood shifted slightly, resisting at first as if reluctant to reveal what it hid. He pushed harder, the sharp creak of age breaking the stillness.

Behind the panel, the smell changed, less of paper and ink, more of damp and something faintly metallic. A hidden compartment, narrow enough to escape notice.

Inside lay scattered remnants: scraps of parchment so faded they could have been dust, a seal half-broken, the faint glint of wax melted long ago. Sieun reached in cautiously, fingertips brushing what felt like the corner of something solid.

He pulled, slowly, carefully, until a thin sheet of parchment slid free and fluttered to the floor.

He stared at it for a long moment, pulse drumming in his ears.

It didn’t look like much, aged, brittle, the writing barely visible. But something about it felt different. Older, perhaps. Or heavier.

When he bent to pick it up, he noticed the edge of another sheet wedged deeper inside. His hand trembled slightly as he drew it out. Both were sealed once, by the look of the wax stains; one bearing the faintest trace of that crest he didn’t recognise.

Sieun’s breath caught. It wasn’t Yeon, nor Kang. The pattern was worn, half-eaten by time, but it carried the faint echo of another symbol, one he’d seen once before, buried among the records.

He held the pages to the light, the script faint but legible in places. His eyes darted over the lines, heart pounding harder with each word. Not numbers, not trade entries; a message. A voice.

He straightened slowly, parchment trembling in his grasp.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t supposed to be found. The first line stopped him cold: 

To whoever still remembers.

He stared, the words pressing against his chest like a held breath.

Then, with a deliberate care, he slipped the parchment between the pages of a blank ledger, closed it, and held it under his arm. Whatever it was, he would not read it here, not surrounded by ears and eyes he could not see.

Night fell before he opened it.

Suho had just finished with the recruits and returned to Sieun’s quarters to deliver the day’s schedule. He found the prince seated at his desk, the candlelight catching on the sharp angles of his face.

“You’re working again,” Suho said softly.

Sieun didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the folded sheet before him. “I found this in the archives.”

Suho stepped closer, sensing the gravity in his tone. “What is it?”

“I don’t know yet.” He unfolded the paper with care. “But I think it was meant to be hidden.”

The parchment crackled like old fire as he smoothed it flat. The handwriting bled faintly in the light, the words almost whispering as he read them under his breath.

To whoever finds these words,

I do not know which truth will reach you.

They say the Yeons were chosen by the heavens, and perhaps they were. Yet the heavens were silent when the soil darkened with the fallen.

Some called it conquest. Others, cleansing. In time, even the names blurred.

I remember only that what once stood apart was folded beneath the same banner, and those who objected were taught to forget.

If this is found, let it stand only as a question: What vanished to make room for peace?

—A witness, or a fool who remembers too much

When he finished reading, neither spoke. The candle sputtered once, as though the flame itself faltered under the weight of the words.

Sieun’s pulse roared in his ears. He looked up, eyes wide with the dawning horror, and confusion, of what he’d just read.

And Suho, standing in the half-light, felt every line of the letter like an old wound reopening.

Sieun stood abruptly, hand gripping the desk until his knuckles blanched.

“Your Highness?”

Sieun barely heard him over the rush in his head. He stumbled back; Suho reached to steady him.

“What does it mean?” Sieun’s voice trembled. He brushed Suho’s hand away, knocking the candle and wax across the desk.

“It’s vague” Suho said, forcing calm. “It's an accusation of-” Suho paused “silence?”

Sieun shook his head. “No. My father’s been hiding something, this explains why.”

“It could also be invention,” Suho replied, a shade too quickly. “Tales grow teeth with time.”

Sieun let out a disbelieving laugh. “Wasn’t it you who told me every tale begins in truth?”

Suho bowed his head. “And ends in ruin when spoken too soon.”

Sieun pushed past him, trembling with anger and the need to act. “Then I’ll take it to him myself.”

“Your Highness!” Suho caught up, voice breaking. “What are you going to do?”

“I will confront him with this.”

“And if he refuses to see you?”

“Then I’ll send it to the neighbouring courts. Let them read what their so-called ally buried.”

For a second Suho forgot how to breathe.

If the king saw that letter now, if word spread, everything Suho had built in secret would crumble. Years of quiet planning, every life depending on him, gone in a heartbeat.

But it wasn’t just that.

Sieun stood before him, fire bright in his eyes, ready to burn down a kingdom with the truth in his hand, a truth Suho knew would get him killed.

“You can’t,” Suho said, sharper than he meant. “If word spreads before real evidence, they will silence you." 

“Silence me? My own father?” His jaw clenched. “You’re wrong.”

But the flicker in his eyes betrayed him, doubt, sharp as glass.

“Do you think he’ll let this survive?” Suho said, stepping in front of him. “You show him that letter, it’ll burn before the ink cools, like the ledgers, like everything else.”

Sieun paced, voice rising. “Then what do you expect of me, Suho? To sit idle? Pretend I saw nothing?”

“No,” Suho said, and his voice sharpened. “I expect you to think. To live long enough to finish what this started. Do you believe your father will tell you the truth just because you demand it?”

“I won’t know unless I try!”

Sieun yanked the door open. Suho moved without thinking, catching his wrist.

They froze.

Sieun turned slowly, eyes burning with unshed tears. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Please,” Suho said. “Just stop. Give yourself time to breathe before you ruin everything you’ve built.”

“You call me impulsive?” Sieun’s voice cracked. "You think I act without thought?”

For the first time, Suho heard hurt under the anger. The sound went through him like a blade.

“No,” he said softly, stepping closer. “That’s not what I meant. You’re angry because you care, you should. But this–”

Sieun stiffened. “You think you know me?”

Suho reached out again; Sieun slapped his hand away and shoved past.

“How dare you! I command you to move!”

When Suho didn’t, Sieun struck at his chest. Suho caught the blow and forced him back, the wall meeting Sieun’s shoulders with a dull thud.

“Ahn Suho, you have overstepped!”

Sieun raised his hand, ready to strike him again, but Suho caught his wrist.

“Don’t,” Suho breathed. “Please.”

Sieun fought him, pounding at his chest with the other fist until Suho caught that too, pinning both wrists to the wall.

“Let go!”

“I can’t,” Suho said. “If I do, you’ll walk straight into your father’s fire and call it justice.”

“Let me go,” Sieun said, quieter this time, breath shaking.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

The word trembled, not pleading, but dangerous.

“Because you’ll walk away, and I—” Suho swallowed hard. “And I can’t just watch you destroy yourself.”

Sieun laughed; brittle, furious. “Listen to you. Acting like you’re the only one who understands consequence.”

“That’s not what I—”

“You think I don’t know what I’m risking? You think I’m a child with a temper?” Sieun spat. “You think you’re the only one who’s bled for this kingdom?”

“I’m trying to keep you alive!” Suho shouted, voice cracking. “Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“Because you don’t trust me!” Sieun shoved at his chest even with his wrists pinned. “You think you know better-”

“I’m not—” Suho grit his teeth. “I’m trying to save you.”

“By stopping me.” Sieun’s breath hit his cheek, ragged. “Just like him.”

The words landed like a blade. Suho stilled, breath faltering. For a heartbeat, he simply stared, as if the accusation hollowed him clean.

Then, quietly, dangerous: “Do not compare me to your father.”

“Why? Truth hurts?” The prince leaned forward, voice trembling with fury and something raw beneath it. “You hold me back the same way.”

Another hit. Suho’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking, but he didn’t look away.

“I am nothing like him,” he said, low, shaking.

“You chain me with your protection.” Sieun’s breath struck his cheek. “And call it loyalty.”

“Enough.”

The prince’s eyes burned. “Maybe you were loyal to him first.”

A crack in Suho’s composure. “I said enough.”

“Then release me.”

“No.”

A heartbeat.

A dare.

“Coward.”

Suho’s grip tightened. “Do not call me—”

“Coward,” Sieun repeated, softer now, lethal. “Still kneeling. Still afraid.”

Silence tightened like a drawstring.

“Say it again,” Suho whispered.

The prince’s gaze didn’t waver. “Cow—”

The rest never formed.

Suho’s mouth crashed into his.

It wasn’t soft, it was breaking. Heat and fury and terror colliding at once. The prince’s breath caught on a sharp inhale, his body gone rigid in shock, not resisting, not yielding, suspended in the impossible moment.

Heat rushed between them, wild and shaking. Suho pressed in, not gentle, not careful, driven by something too fierce and terrified to name. His hand slid instinctively to the back of the prince’s neck, holding him as though something inside him had broken open and poured forward, unable to be called back.

The prince’s chest rose sharply against his, breath trembling between their mouths. His lips parted on instinct, just enough for the kiss to deepen, just enough for Suho’s breath to falter with the ache of it. The taste of the moment was all fire and ruin and need, a terrible longing that neither of them had allowed to breathe until now.

Then the prince’s breath hitched, a rough, startled sound, and he tore himself back with a hard push. He turned away as though burned, chest heaving, the air between them shaking.

The silence grew then cracked like glass shattering.

Suho froze, horror dawning in his eyes. “What have I—”

“How dare you.” The prince’s voice didn’t shout, it shook. Wounded, shaken, burning. “You're dismissed.”

Suho bowed, too deep, too fast, like a man collapsing inside himself. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He fled before he broke again, the door closing soft as a wound sealing wrong.

Suho didn’t remember leaving the room, only the corridor swallowing him whole. His hands still shook, phantom warmth lingering against his palms.

He had kissed a prince. He had kissed the man he was meant to destroy.

By the time he reached the barracks, his composure had rebuilt itself by sheer force of habit.

He scrubbed his hands in the basin until the skin reddened, as if he could wash away the treason clinging to him.

Sleep, when it came, was thin and filled with the memory of a heartbeat that wasn’t his.

In Sieun’s chambers, the candle had burned to a nub. He stood where Suho had left him, the silence around him too loud. His lips still tingled, his pulse still refused to slow. Every time he blinked, he saw Suho’s face, too close, too raw, too real.

He pressed a hand to his mouth as if to erase the feeling, but the echo remained.

He wanted to be angry, should have been, but what rose instead was confusion, a strange ache lodged somewhere between guilt and longing.

By dawn, he was already at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pretending to work.

The ink blurred where his hand trembled.

Outside, the training bells rang.

For the first time in months, Sieun did not rise to meet them.

Sieun didn’t see the guard for the days that followed.

Only then did he realise how much of his life had begun to shape itself around Suho’s quiet presence; how the man’s shadow had moved in step with his own.

Now that it was gone, Sieun felt the absence like an ache, a silence that refused to be filled.

The letter remained hidden, its words pressed against his thoughts like a bruise he kept prodding. Every day that passed without Suho’s voice made the weight of it heavier.

But there was another path to answers.

His mind returned to the document from the library, the three seals inked at the bottom: Yeon, Kang, and the third he didn’t recognise.

If his father would not give him truth, he would find it elsewhere.

Even if it meant seeking Kang himself.

Kang had been “unavailable” for five days.

Every morning, the same message: The general is in council, Your Highness. Perhaps tomorrow.

Tomorrow never came.

By the sixth day, Sieun stopped asking. It was useless anyway. His father had seen to that.

The King had tripled his duties since his return from the settlements, new schedules, new inspections, new reports that demanded his presence from dawn until the lamps burned out. Every time he tried to leave the palace grounds, another summons arrived.

He was beginning to suspect it wasn't a coincidence.

If he wasn’t at the training grounds, he was in council. If not there, buried under parchment. His life had been reduced to duty, and duty had become a leash.

And all the while, Suho was nowhere to be found.

At first, the guard’s absence unsettled him. The palace corridors felt too open, too hollow.

He had not known how much he leaned into Suho’s quiet nearness, the sound of him moving through the palace, the certainty that he was always a step behind, until that comfort vanished.

Now, there was only the echo.

By the twelfth night, the unease curdled into irritation.

When he thought of the kiss, it wasn’t the heat that came first, it was anger. The audacity of it. The audacity of him.

How dare Suho disappear, avoid him, pretend nothing had happened, as though he were the one wronged.

The memory played in fragments: the suddenness, the warmth, the shock.

Every time Sieun tried to push it away, it only came back sharper; the press of a hand, the breath between them, the way his heart had stuttered in his chest.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

He told himself he was angry because of the impropriety, not because of the absence that followed.

He told himself a hundred lies, and believed none of them.

The days blurred.

He buried himself in council meetings and military reports, but his focus scattered like sand through a sieve. Every knock on the door made his pulse jump. Every unfamiliar footstep down the hall made him look up. And every time it wasn’t Suho, something in him tightened further.

He caught himself once in the courtyard, staring too long at another guard’s back, mistaking the broad shoulders for his. The flush of embarrassment that followed burned for hours.

Later in the week, even the servants had started tiptoeing around him. They whispered of his temper, the shortness of his tone, the sleepless nights that kept his candles burning long after the palace dimmed.

When he did sleep, it was restless—dreams of hands on his throat, of letters burning, of Suho standing in the shadows, always just out of reach.

He woke sweating, furious with himself for dreaming of a man who had abandoned him.

Each day, the weight of the letter and the thought of Kang pulled at him, but his father’s orders piled higher.

He knew if he left without permission, it would be seen as rebellion, and yet the urge was growing harder to resist.

The walls of the palace seemed to press closer, the corridors narrowing, the air thick with things left unsaid.

After a slow fortnight, restlessness had curdled into something rawer. He wanted answers; from Kang, from his father, from Suho.

But most of all, he wanted Suho to stop running. And if he wouldn’t come back willingly, Sieun was beginning to wonder what might happen if he made him.

Chapter Text

Morning came grey and heavy, the kind of light that made the world feel half-asleep. Sieun hadn’t closed his eyes once.

He’d spent the night pacing, across his chambers, through the corridors, down to the courtyard, chasing the same thought until it became a pulse in his skull: he’s avoiding me.

Fifteen nights. Fifteen.

 And not once had Suho crossed his path.

Every time Sieun had passed a patrol or seen a guard bow, he had half-expected it to be him. It never was.

 The absence had become personal now, like a wound prodded too often.

By dawn, restraint felt pointless.

 If Suho intended to hide behind duty, Sieun would tear the veil himself.

He left before the servants woke, robes half fastened, the morning air sharp against his throat. The garden was quiet at that hour, the trees whispering, the ponds glazed with mist.

He stopped beneath the pines, the cold seeping through the thin soles of his shoes. He could almost hear Suho’s voice in the stillness, that steady calm, that infuriating composure.

It was the one place Suho always came at first light.

Of course Sieun knew that.

So he waited. And when the first sound of approaching boots echoed through the fog, he didn’t turn at once. He only stood straighter, drawing a long breath through his teeth.

“Your Highness?”

That voice.

Quiet, familiar, and far too controlled. The voice came before the man. Suho stepped from between the hedges and bowed deeply, his body bent in perfect form, waiting for permission to rise.

Sieun gave none. He only watched as the guard stayed fixed in place.

The breeze tugged at his robes, carrying that faint, woody scent that always lingered around Suho.

Seconds passed, long enough for the silence to turn sharp.

“What have I done to deserve such a show of respect?” Sieun asked at last, his tone edged with dry amusement.

Suho straightened slowly. “You are the prince, Your Highness.”

Sieun scoffed. “You seem to forget my title when it suits you.”

A flicker of colour crossed Suho’s face. “Please forgive me.”

“For what?” Sieun pressed.

“For behaving improperly.”

Sieun tilted his head, irritation flaring. “What was improper?”

“Disobeying your command.”

He took a step closer. “What else?”

Suho’s breath caught. “Touching Your Highness without leave.”

Another step. “What else?”

Suho hesitated, eyes flicking to the ground. “Kissing you.”

The words landed heavy between them.

Sieun’s throat tightened. “What else?” he asked again, but softer this time, as though daring him to say more.

Suho searched his face. “Nothing else would change what I’ve done.”

Sieun looked away, jaw tight. “You call that kiss improper,” he said quietly. “But so was stopping me from taking that letter to my father.”

Suho’s gaze flickered. “If that was an error,” he said slowly, “then it’s one I would repeat.”

He met Sieun’s eyes, voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. “If it kept you safe, Your Highness, I would commit a thousand improprieties.”

The words hung between them, heavier than confession.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of rain through the garden.

Sieun swallowed, unable to hold his gaze for long. “You think that’s loyalty?”

Suho’s expression didn’t change. “I think it’s survival.”

“Perhaps the problem,” Sieun said finally, his voice tight, “is that you believe you know what’s best for me.”

He turned away, the edge in his tone barely masking the tremor beneath it. “From this day, you are relieved of your duties.”

The words hung between them, clean and cruel.

Suho stood frozen, the wind moving through the branches above them, scattering light across the stones.

“Your Highness—”

“That is an order.”

Something inside Suho broke.

He didn’t move to argue. Instead, he sank down onto one knee, armour scraping against the gravel. The sound was soft, but it carried.

When he spoke, his voice was low, not the voice of a soldier or a servant, but of a man stripped bare.

“If dismissal is what you command, then I will accept it,” he said. “But before I leave, I would have you know what you’re dismissing.”

Sieun’s head turned slightly, though he didn’t face him.

“I was trained to live without choice,” Suho continued. “To bury what I thought, what I felt. To wear loyalty like a chain until I forgot it was meant to protect, not bind.”

He raised his eyes then, the movement small but deliberate.

“But standing here, I find there is still one thing I can give by my own will. My life.”

The words were quiet, but they carried through the garden like a vow.

“If keeping you alive means defying orders, then I will disobey. If it means being branded a traitor, then so be it. If it means dying by your hand, I’ll kneel for that too. You can strip me of title, of name, but not of this purpose. Not while there is breath in me to serve it.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Sieun turned fully now, every trace of authority faltering as he looked down at the man before him; bent, unmoving, light falling across his shoulders.

“Why?” Sieun’s voice broke on the single word. “Why would you do this?”

Suho’s answer came soft but steady.

“Because you are the only truth I’ve found in a world full of lies,” he said. “And because I would rather be ruined for protecting you than live to see you destroyed.”

Sieun’s breath caught, the words cutting deeper than he expected. For a long moment he said nothing, the ache in his chest warring with the anger still clinging to his voice.

Finally, he exhaled, the sound shaky. “Then you will remain,” he said quietly. “But only until the truth is found.”

Suho bowed his head, the gesture slow, reverent.

“As you command, Your Highness.”

He didn’t rise. He stayed kneeling even after Sieun turned away, eyes fixed on the ground, the oath still burning through him. The weight of it was something he would carry until it either saved or destroyed them both.

He had made a promise he was never meant to make.

He was still a son of the Burned Lands, still sworn to see the Yeon line fall. That vow hadn’t died; it had only shifted, taken on a face he could no longer ignore.

He would see their empire crumble, every lie exposed, but not at the cost of the one man within it who still bled for its people.

Yeon Sieun, who carried the suffering of strangers like it was his own, who cursed the world and still fought to mend it.

If Sieun despised him for it later, so be it.

If Sieun raised a blade against him when the truth came out, he would accept it.

He had already offered his life.

The rest was only waiting for the right moment to spend it.

The morning after, Suho was already back at his post.

He stood beside the prince’s chambers as though nothing had changed, perfectly still, perfectly silent, the picture of obedience.

When Sieun passed him on his way to council, he didn’t look twice. Not because he hadn’t noticed, but because he had.

And so it went for days.

Suho moved like clockwork: shadowing Sieun through the halls, standing guard during meetings, waiting outside until long after the candles were extinguished. He spoke only when addressed, his tone as precise and measured as it had ever been.

If the kneeling in the garden had cracked something open in him, he had sealed it shut again, tighter than before.

Sieun felt the change like a splinter under his skin.

It wasn’t Suho’s silence, he had always been quiet, it was the way he wore it now, as armour. The man who had once defied orders to keep him safe now bowed perfectly, answered curtly, and kept his gaze lowered.

It was unbearable.

At first, Sieun ignored it, convincing himself he preferred it that way. But each time Suho turned from him with that expressionless calm, something in him twisted.

Soon, the prince found himself lingering longer at the training grounds, speaking just to hear Suho respond; testing the shape of the man’s composure.

Suho never faltered.

And that made it worse.

“I wish to continue our training,” Sieun said at last.

Suho bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

They began as before; stance, posture, breath, except Sieun’s movements were always a fraction wrong. A shoulder raised too high, a step too narrow.

Mistakes big enough that Suho had to correct them.

“Lift your arm. Relax your shoulder.”

Sieun lifted it too high instead. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Suho exhaled through his nose. “Lower. You’re too tense.”

Sieun turned just as Suho stepped closer, and their faces nearly brushed. For a heartbeat, neither moved.

He could feel the ghost of Suho’s breath against his lips, saw the faint pulse beneath his throat.

Success.

Sieun's gaze flicked down, then up again, deliberate.

Suho started to pull back, but Sieun’s voice stopped him.

“Go on then,” he murmured. “Show me.”

Suho hesitated. “Do I have permission to touch?”

Sieun’s tone softened into mockery. “Since when do you ask first?”

Something in Suho faltered. He stepped in close.

“Understood, Your Highness.”

His hand came to rest on Sieun’s arm, adjusting the angle, heat radiating through the thin silk.

“Breathe in,” he said quietly.

Sieun obeyed. The air caught halfway in his chest.

Suho’s hand moved lower, following the line of his spine before sliding around to his front.

His palm pressed lightly against Sieun’s abdomen, guiding the rhythm of his breathing.

“Inhale,” he murmured again. “Deeper.”

Sieun’s breath stuttered as he obeyed.

“Good. Now exhale. Keep your core engaged.”

He breathed out slowly, every muscle alive under Suho’s touch. Their gazes met and held, neither daring to break it.

“Again,” Suho said. His voice was different now—steady but low, as though the air itself had thickened between them.

They moved together: inhale, adjust, exhale.

Each repetition slower, closer.

Suho’s palm lifted and pressed, reading the tension of Sieun’s body, commanding its release.

Sieun obeyed every instruction, though his heart raced at every word.

“Your form is improving,” Suho murmured, voice rougher than intended.

“Is that praise?” Sieun asked, breathless.

“If you wish to call it that.”

Sieun smirked faintly, refusing to look away. “Then tell me what to do next.”

Suho’s throat bobbed. “Step forward,” he said quietly.

Sieun did, and Suho instinctively stepped back, keeping the distance exact, precise. Their rhythm broke, just for a moment, and the loss of it sent a strange ache through them both.

Suho cleared his throat, retreating another pace. “Again, from the top,” he said, tone clipped back into formality.

Sieun’s lips parted as if to argue, but he complied, moving back into position.

This time, when Suho adjusted his stance, the prince’s breath caught less from surprise and more from memory.

They trained until the light dimmed and shadows stretched long across the floor.

Neither spoke of what passed between the movements, the heat, the proximity, the unbroken gaze that turned each command into something neither dared name.

When Suho left the training hall, he bowed as he always did, voice level, movements precise.

Nothing in his bearing hinted that anything had been different about the lesson, and yet the moment he was gone, the air felt stripped bare.

Sieun stood alone, pulse still hammering, the echo of his own breathing loud in the silence.

He stared at the spot where Suho had been standing and tried to tell himself it was just training.

It wasn’t.

Every word, every order, every breath that brushed against his skin played on repeat until his thoughts tangled with the sound of them.

He hated it, hated that a single command could make his body remember.

He hated more that Suho could walk away and act as though none of it mattered.

By the time night fell, that hatred had turned inward.

He drank.

At first, just to quiet the noise. Then because it didn’t work.

The burn of the liquor was easier to control than the ache sitting beneath his ribs.

He told himself it wasn’t about Suho.

He told himself it was because he was stuck, trapped within the palace walls, buried under reports and endless inspections, forbidden from seeing Kang.

He had questions rotting inside him, and his father’s orders kept him from finding answers.

He couldn’t move forward, couldn’t confront, couldn’t do.

So he drank instead; slowly, deliberately, as if it were a kind of rebellion.

Each night the sound of laughter drifted from the servants’ quarters, and Sieun began inviting company to drown it out.

A pair of attendants at first, then courtiers eager to please, then nameless maidens with soft hands and hollow eyes.

They talked and smiled and pretended they didn’t see the exhaustion behind his smile.

When the palace whispered about the prince’s new habits, Sieun only laughed louder, poured another drink, and called for music.

If his father wanted obedience, he would give him spectacle instead.

And still, through it all, Suho remained a silent presence at the edge of every room, watching, never speaking, a shadow that saw too much and said nothing.

It was that silence that drove Sieun mad the most.

One evening, Sieun decided he’d had enough.

Enough of waiting.

Enough of silence.

Enough of pretending that the ache in his chest could be silenced with duty.

He knew of a young maiden whose eyes always found him when she passed through the court corridors; bright, eager, foolishly tender. She bowed too deeply, smiled too quickly, and looked at him as though he were something more than what he was. Perhaps that was why he summoned her. Perhaps he only wanted to be looked at that way again.

When she arrived, she carried a small tray of bottles, her hands trembling slightly as she set them down.

“Your Highness,” she murmured, bowing low.

The words felt distant to him, half-swallowed by the echo of his own thoughts.

He waved her closer, dismissing formality with a tilt of his head. “Sit.”

The chamber was dim, lit by only a few candles that threw the light unevenly across the floor. Shadows clung to the corners. The air was thick with the scent of wax, rice wine, and the faint perfume she wore.

The first cup went down too fast. The second slower. By the third, the warmth began to crawl under his skin, blurring edges, loosening the careful walls he kept around himself.

She laughed at something he said, he couldn’t remember what. Her laugh was too high, too eager. But he let it fill the space. It was better than silence.

“Your Highness drinks quickly,” she said, reaching for the bottle again.

He watched the line of her throat as she poured. “I needed something warm.”

Her smile faltered for a heartbeat, the kind of hesitation that came when she wasn’t sure if she was being tested. Then she stepped closer. Her hand brushed his sleeve as she offered him the cup again.

When he didn’t take it, she sank to her knees beside him, the soft rustle of silk filling the air. Her fingers hesitated on the stem of the cup before she placed it aside.

“Your Highness?” she whispered, her voice trembling at the edge of something else.

He didn’t answer. His gaze had gone distant, somewhere far beyond the room.

She leaned in, and when her lips brushed his jaw, he didn’t stop her.

Her scent was sweet, too sweet. Her skin was soft, too soft. Her breath shallow and human and wrong.

He let her pull at the ties of his robe anyway.

He let her mistake his stillness for permission.

By the time she climbed into his lap, he was somewhere else entirely.

It was easier not to think. Easier to let the world shrink to warmth and touch and motion.

But then, just as her breath caught against his throat, another name bloomed unbidden behind his eyes.

A face, dark and solemn and unbearably near.

A voice; low, careful, steady.

Suho.

The sound of it echoed in his mind like a prayer and a curse all at once. He closed his eyes and didn’t fight it.

So he let himself imagine.

That it was Suho’s hands on him, Suho’s voice murmuring his name, Suho’s breath ghosting down his neck.

He let himself drown in the illusion until shame twisted it into something almost pleasurable.

The wine blurred everything after that, the movement, the sighs, the heat. He wasn’t sure if he finished the bottle or if it finished him.

When he woke, the air was cold.

The candles had guttered low. The maiden was curled beside him, her face buried in the sheets, her breathing soft and even.

Then came the sound, the faint scrape of a boot against the floor.

Sieun’s eyes cracked open. His vision adjusted slowly to the darkness until it found a familiar silhouette standing just inside the doorway.

Suho.

For a moment, Sieun thought he was still dreaming. But the stillness in the man’s posture was too real, too rigid. The air itself seemed to draw tight around him.

The maiden stirred, then gasped, a sharp, startled sound that shattered the silence. She clutched at the covers, shrinking into them, her eyes wide with mortification.

Sieun didn’t move. He sat up slowly, the sheet falling from his bare chest, and looked at the guard standing before him.

Their eyes met, sharp, unyielding.

Suho’s expression was unreadable, but his jaw had gone tight, a muscle ticking there like something barely contained. The firelight caught the edge of his gaze and made it gleam.

Sieun didn’t flinch. He didn’t cover himself.

The wine still hummed through his veins, and with it came a slow, vicious clarity; the understanding that this was what he had wanted all along. To be seen. To be found.

He held Suho’s gaze, unblinking, daring him to react.

And Suho, standing in the doorway with his shadow stretching long across the floor, did not look away.

The maiden’s shriek broke first. She stumbled to the floor, grabbing for her robe, words tumbling from her mouth.

“Forgive me, Your Highness— I didn’t know—”

“Go,” Sieun said without sparing her a glance. His voice was almost gentle, even for the chaos in the room.

She fled, the door closing behind her in a hush that made the silence ring louder.

Suho stood in that silence. He didn’t speak, didn’t move; the light from the candle turned his armour into dull gold and shadow.

Sieun sat back against the headboard, half-covered, half-defiant. The wine still burned behind his eyes, but he spoke with icy clarity.

“Well. Should I be punished for impropriety?”

Suho’s voice came low. “You should not have called for her.”

Sieun raised a brow “Pardon?”

Suho's jaw clenched “I said, you should not have called for her.”

Sieun glared “Should I have called for you instead?”

The words struck. Suho’s shoulders stiffened; his jaw locked.

“I serve you, Your Highness,” he said, too quietly. “Not entertain you.”

Sieun rose from the bed, the sheet dragging across the floor. “You’re very certain of the difference.”

“It is my duty to be.”

“Duty,” Sieun repeated, almost laughing. “Is that what this is? You kneel before me, vow yourself to me, and now hide behind duty as if it excuses everything.”

“I vowed to protect you.”

“And yet you disappear. You only come when I’ve fallen low enough to make you pity me.”

Suho’s composure faltered, a single breath shuddering through him. “I keep my distance because it is the only way left to protect you; from your father, from the court, from what they would make of this—”

“From yourself,” Sieun snapped.

Suho’s eyes lifted sharply to his. For a moment the calm fractured; something fierce and human bled through.

“You think this is easy?” Suho said, his voice breaking around the words. “To serve a man who would rather wound himself than ask for mercy? You work until you bleed, drink until you forget, throw yourself at anything that hurts less than the truth.”

Sieun’s breath hitched, but he forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You make me sound tragic, Ahn Suho. Perhaps I should thank you for your concern.”

“I’m not concerned,” Suho said, though his tone betrayed him. “I am… afraid. For you.”

The words hung there, heavy as the wine in Sieun’s veins. He stepped closer, close enough that their breaths tangled.

“Afraid,” Sieun echoed softly. “Then tell me, when you made your vow, was it to the crown, or to me?”

Suho’s answer came like a confession he’d tried not to speak. “One of them will destroy the other.”

Sieun’s eyes flicked down, then up again. “And which do you protect now?”

Suho didn’t answer.

Sieun’s voice dropped to a whisper, raw and deliberate. “Tell me, then. When I should need comfort again—should I summon her, or you?”

The air cracked.

Suho stepped forward before he could think, his hand half-raised, then curling tight to stop himself.

“If you keep asking me questions like that, Your Highness,” he said, barely more than a breath, “I will forget who I am meant to be.”

They stared at each other, neither retreating, neither yielding.

When Suho finally bowed, the movement was low and deliberate, almost painful.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “For failing my duty.”

He left before Sieun could answer.

The door closed, and Sieun sank back onto the bed, trembling, not from the cold, but from everything he hadn’t said.

Chapter Text

The distance stretched, days blurring into something dull and shapeless. Sieun’s resolve crumbled.

He forgot what it felt like to hold anything but a bottle. His duties piled higher; petitions, reports, endless seals, but his care for them emptied like sand through a sieve.

He drank until dawn. Some mornings he appeared on the training grounds with eyes red and throat raw, pretending the sun itself wasn’t an accusation. None of it mattered. He was sick of caring, sick of chasing truths buried so deep he might as well bury himself alongside them.

At first, the liquor dulled his thoughts. Later, it only magnified them, turning his mind into a mirror he couldn’t bear to face.

He thought of his father’s contempt, the hidden letter, and Suho's distance. He thought of all the things he wanted to say and could not.

When the king struck him one night for insolence, Sieun saw the bruises the next morning, violet blooming along his jaw like quiet defiance.

He remembered the night clearly, no matter how much he wished he did not.

The king had stood waiting, rigid as carved stone, hands clasped behind his back.

“Stand,” he said.

Sieun stood.

The king studied him for a long moment before speaking. “The palace is buzzing,” he said. “Again.”

Sieun’s stomach tightened. “Rumors mean nothing.”

“They mean everything,” the king corrected. “They shape how this family is seen. And this morning they say that the Crown Prince spends his nights bedding maidens as if he were a lowborn rake.”

Sieun’s jaw flexed. “She came willingly.”

“That is not the point,” the king snapped. “You do not behave like a prince. You behave like a man trying very hard to be seen.”

Sieun’s breath hitched, but he stayed silent.

“You may drink yourself numb every night if that is what you wish,” the king continued. His voice softened, but only with disdain. “If you want to slowly poison what little sense you have, do it behind closed doors.”

Sieun blinked once, throat tightening.

The king went on, voice cutting. “Drink. Break furniture. Tear your room apart if it amuses you. Destroy yourself in a way no one has to witness. But you will not drag your debauchery through my palace for the servants to whisper about.”

A hollow ache opened under Sieun’s ribs. “I have not–”

“You have.”

 The king stepped closer. His breath smelled faintly of bitter herbs.

 “And you will stop.”

Sieun clenched his jaw. “I am no child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“I have done nothing to threaten the kingdom.”

“Your reputation is part of the kingdom,” the king said. “And you are tarnishing it with every scandal you leave in your wake.”

“I don’t-”

“You do,” the king said sharply. “Your mother behaved better while dying.”

The words hit harder than any blow.

But a blow still followed.

The crack of his father’s hand rang through the chamber, sharp and final. Sieun’s head snapped to the side, heat flaring across his cheek. He breathed slowly, staring at the floor until the ringing in his skull dimmed.

“You will present yourself at council tomorrow,” the king said. “With composure, and dignity, and a clear head. And you will stay out of sight today. I will not have the palace inspecting you like you are a curiosity on parade.”

Sieun swallowed the taste of blood. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good.”

 A pause.

 “And wash your face. It looks pitiful.”

The king left without another word.

Silence bled back into the hall. It settled into him, heavy and familiar.

Days folded into one another until even pain became familiar. And then, one afternoon, the prince staggered onto the training field with a bottle in hand.

The recruits stared, half curious, half frightened, as he swayed in the dirt. Sieun laughed, a sound too bright, too sharp.

“My Yeon soldiers!” he shouted, voice cracking at the end. “You are the future of this kingdom!”

He paused, squinting at them like they were ghosts.

“Do you even know what that means?” he went on. “To be a Yeon soldier? To die for a name you’ll never wear? To serve a king who has forgotten your faces?”

He stumbled a step closer, bottle sloshing in his hand. “They tell you it’s honor, loyalty, but what you’ll carry is blood. Ours, yours, doesn’t matter. The banners are always clean.”

A nervous murmur spread through the recruits. One boy lowered his gaze, gripping the hilt of his practice sword too tightly.

Sieun’s laugh broke again, ragged now. “You’ll kneel when they tell you, kill when they tell you, and call it glory. That’s the legacy you inherit!”

He threw his arms out, the bottle tipping and spilling across the dirt. “Isn’t that right?!”

The recruits only stared.

From the watchtower, Suho heard the commotion before he saw it. He didn’t need to look twice.

Even at a distance, the voice was unmistakable.

He was moving before he thought. Shock and dread tangled beneath his ribs as he pushed through the forming crowd.

“Your Highness!” he barked.

Sieun turned toward him, blinking like he couldn’t place the sound. Then, recognition, and a cruel, tired smile.

“You,” he slurred. “You show your face to me?”

Suho stopped a few paces away, his voice low but firm. “Your Highness, please, let’s go inside. The recruits–”

“The recruits?” Sieun barked a laugh that broke halfway through. “They should hear this. Maybe they’ll learn what sort of kingdom they’re dying for.”

He gestured to the onlookers. “Look at them, Suho. Look at their faces. They still think loyalty will save them.”

Suho’s jaw tightened. “Enough.”

Sieun stepped closer, eyes glassy but burning. “Tell me, Ahn Suho, do you believe in this legacy?”

Suho hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I believe in serving what is right.”

“Then you serve no one,” Sieun snapped. “Because right and royal have never meant the same thing.”

The recruits shifted, uneasy. Suho’s patience snapped; he turned on them sharply. “Training is over. You’re dismissed.”

When no one moved, his tone cut like a blade. “Now!”

The men flinched, scattering at once.

When the field was empty again, Sieun dropped the bottle. It struck the ground and rolled, leaking what was left of its contents. He stooped to grab a training plank, swinging it lazily like a sword. “Over so soon?”

Suho’s voice dropped, quiet and steady. “Your Highness… please. Let’s go.”

Sieun blinked at him, unfocused but amused, wine-dazed and dangerous all at once. “I wasn’t finished.”

He stumbled forward; Suho moved automatically, catching him at the waist. The prince leaned fully into him, breath warm on Suho’s throat, fingers curling in the front of his uniform as though holding himself upright.

“Where are you taking me?” Sieun murmured.

“Your chambers,” Suho said. He tried to step back; Sieun followed instead, swaying into his space.

Sieun’s mouth brushed the edge of Suho’s jaw as he looked up. “And what exactly do you plan to do with me there? Something improper…?”

Suho swallowed, pulse jumping. “Your Highness—”

“Because you seem very good,” Sieun whispered, his voice almost playful, almost wounded, “at pretending nothing happened.”

Suho froze.

Sieun’s fingers fisted in his collar. “You kissed me,” he said, slurring the edges of his words but not their meaning. “And then you avoided me. Like a coward.”

A muscle in Suho’s jaw twitched. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm.” Sieun leaned in closer, lips grazing Suho’s cheek in a clumsy, thoughtless pass. “Drunk… but not blind.”

“Your Highness, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” Sieun breathed. “Don’t mention the things you refuse to?”

Suho closed his eyes for a moment too long. “Please,” he whispered, “don’t push me.”

Sieun laughed softly, warm against his skin. “If I asked you to kiss me again, would you?”

Suho’s hands tightened, just barely. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“But you heard me,” Sieun murmured.

Something in Suho snapped; pure, fraying restraint trying desperately not to break.

He caught Sieun around the middle and lifted him up with swift, practiced force. The prince yelped as Suho hauled him over his shoulder, his breath jolting out of him.

“Ahn Suho! Put me down—”

“It’s not discipline,” Suho bit out, breath shaking. “It’s not punishment.”

He adjusted his hold, one hand gripping Sieun’s leg to steady him.

“It’s the only way,” he said quietly, voice raw, “to get you somewhere safe before either of us says something we cannot take back.”

Sieun stilled at that, the fight leaving him in a slow exhale. His fingers curled lightly into the back of Suho’s uniform, clinging without realising it.

The corridors swallowed his footsteps as Suho carried him through the palace. Sieun had gone slack against his shoulder, mumbling incoherently, fragments of orders, prayers, curses. His breath was hot against Suho’s neck, heavy with wine.

By the time they reached the prince’s chambers, Suho’s arms ached, but he didn’t put him down until the door was closed. He laid him carefully on the bed, straightened the disheveled sheets, then reached for the jug of water on the table.

“Your Highness.” His voice was soft but carried the sharpness of command. “You need to drink water.”

Sieun groaned, rolling away from him. “You’re not my keeper.”

“I’m whatever you’ve made me today,” Suho said quietly.

That earned a slurred laugh, low and bitter. “And what have I made you?”

Suho didn’t answer. He poured water into a cup, pressing it to Sieun’s lips until the prince finally relented and drank.

For a long moment, they sat in silence. Sieun’s breathing steadied, but his eyes remained open, glassy, and haunted. The faint lamplight carved hollows into his face. He looked younger like this, and far more dangerous.

Suho wrung a cloth and pressed it to Sieun’s temple. The prince flinched.

“Your Highness… has this been happening for a long time?” Suho asked suddenly. His voice was low, but there was something raw beneath it. “The drinking. The bruises.”

Sieun gave a short, sharp laugh. “What’s it to you?”

“You don’t strike me as a man who breaks easily.”

“I don’t,” Sieun muttered. His head tipped back against the wall, eyes half-lidded but sharp underneath. “But being broken… isn’t the same as breaking.”

Suho motioned to the bruise. “Who did this to you?”

Sieun snorted, a bitter little sound. “Who else? The man who made me. My father likes his lessons… memorable.”

Suho’s jaw tightened. “You survived them though.”

Sieun huffed a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Survival’s easy. They teach it young. You stand straight. You obey. You swallow whatever hurts.”

His gaze drifted, unfocused. “He used to—”

He stopped, jaw clenching.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Suho waited.

Sieun scowled at the quiet. Then his voice dipped, thick with wine and old bitterness.

“You learn fast when crying earns you another reason to cry.”

Suho froze.

Sieun looked down at his own hands, as if surprised to see them. “Everything was a test. How long I could kneel. How long I could hold a sword. How long I could pretend it didn’t hurt.”

A humorless smile ghosted his mouth. “I got good at pretending.”

The next words slipped out before he could stop them: “He said a ruler is forged.”

Suho’s throat worked. “Forged?”

“Beaten into shape,” Sieun muttered. “Metal doesn’t complain, right?”

He blinked slowly, the alcohol dragging at his edges. “You stop feeling it after a while. Or you pretend you do. Same thing.”

Silence swelled.

Then Sieun turned, eyes glassy but suddenly sharp. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you pity me.” His voice cracked on the word. “I don’t need that.”

“I don’t pity you,” Suho said softly.

Sieun stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in the depths of his expression.

Then, barely audible: “…Do you hate me?”

Suho blinked. “Why would I?”

“Because you should,” Sieun murmured. “Everyone does. It’s the only thing that keeps me honest.”

Suho leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His voice came out low. “No, Your Highness. Hate is easy." Suhk breathed out shakily "This—” He gestured between them. “This is not easy.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed. The candle flickered, light catching the bruise along Sieun’s jaw. Suho’s gaze followed it.

“Your Highness,” Suho’s voice dropped as he wiped Sieun’s temple, quieter than before.

“I’ve seen what happens to men who let themselves fall apart,” he said. “There’s nothing left for anyone to follow. Only ruin.”

Sieun’s eyelids fluttered, unfocused but sharp beneath the haze.

“You talk like someone who knows what it is to fall apart.”

Suho didn’t answer. His jaw tightened; the cloth stilled in his hand.

Sieun studied him, gaze drifting over the lines of Suho’s face, as though the truth might be carved there. His voice softened, strange and raw.

“The way you carry yourself …” Sieun murmured. “…it's like someone who’s lost everything.”

That landed.

Something shuttered in Suho’s expression.

For a heartbeat, he looked almost… exposed.

“Not everything,” he said quietly.

For a moment neither spoke. Sieun’s gaze lingered, unsteady, searching, as if he could see the truth of it and didn’t quite believe it. The room felt smaller, the air filled with something unsaid. Suho’s hand twitched, a reflex he didn’t allow to finish.

“Then hold on to it,” Sieun murmured at last. His eyes closed, lashes brushing his cheeks. “Before the world takes it too.”

The silence that followed was thick, alive. Suho sat there long after Sieun’s breathing evened out, his hand still hovering over the prince’s brow, unsure whether to protect him or to let him fall apart.

He thought of all the years he’d spent learning how to bury emotion under steel. And now here he was, watching a man born into gold do the same.

Two halves of the same wound, both pretending it didn’t bleed.

When Sieun woke, it was to stillness.

For once, the pounding in his skull wasn’t from fear or anger, only the dull ache of wine and words he shouldn’t have spoken.

The room smelled faintly of smoke and water, and the basin by his bedside had cooled overnight.

He blinked, the details of the night before flickering through his mind in shards: Suho’s voice low, steady; the cool touch of a cloth; his own confession, tumbling out like blood from a wound.

He pressed a palm to his eyes and exhaled slowly. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself.

When he sat up, his robes had been changed. Someone had loosened the collar of his undershirt; his boots were neatly set by the bed.

Of course they were.

Suho always made sure things were in order.

A soft knock broke the silence.

“Enter,” Sieun said, his voice rough from sleep.

Suho stepped in quietly, already in uniform. The sunlight caught the edge of his armour, drawing sharp lines across his face. He bowed.

“Your Highness. Breakfast will be brought shortly. I’ve also arranged the morning schedule as requested.”

He spoke like nothing had happened, as if the night before had been routine, as if Sieun hadn’t all but unravelled in his arms.

Sieun stared at him for a beat too long. “You were here last night.”

Suho didn’t flinch. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“And you… stayed.”

“I did. You were unwell.”

Sieun’s throat tightened, though he masked it with a scoff. “I must have made a spectacle of myself.”

Suho hesitated, then said simply, “You were tired.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Tired. As though exhaustion could encompass everything that had been laid bare; the father, the bruises, the child who had never been allowed to fail.

Sieun looked away, reaching for his cup of water. His fingers trembled slightly, but he covered it by sipping. “And what else did I say?”

Suho’s jaw worked once before he replied. “Nothing of consequence.”

A lie.

Sieun could see it in the way the guard’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor, in the rigid set of his shoulders.

He wanted to press; to ask if Suho pitied him now, if he’d seen something he shouldn’t, but the air between them felt too thin, too fragile to survive another truth.

Instead, Sieun nodded. “Very well. We resume training at midday.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Suho turned to leave. His hand paused on the doorframe, the faintest hesitation. Then he straightened, every inch the soldier again.

“If I overstepped yesterday, I ask forgiveness.”

Sieun’s pulse stuttered. He wanted to say you didn’t. He wanted to say you couldn’t.

But the words caught somewhere behind his teeth.

“You are my guard,” he said instead. “You did your duty.”

Suho bowed. “As always.”

When the door closed behind him, Sieun stared at the empty space he’d left, the echo of that final word lingering in the air,

'duty.'

It felt like a wall between them now, higher than ever.

He set the cup down and let his gaze drift toward the window. The light was sharp, merciless.

The day passed like a blur of repetition; reports, drills, polite nods that meant nothing.

Sieun moved through it all in silence, his thoughts snagging on the smallest things: the faint trace of Suho’s voice giving orders at the training grounds, the sound of boots pacing outside his chambers.

He told himself he was only listening to be sure the guard was still there. That was all.

By dusk, when the palace torches had been lit, a knock came again, firmer this time.

“Enter,” Sieun called.

It was not Suho who stepped inside, but one of the royal attendants, her face tight with unease.

“Your Highness, His Majesty has issued a command. The royal guard Ahn Suho is to depart for the western border immediately. A convoy leaves at dawn.”

Sieun stilled.

He set down his brush too hard, ink spilling across the page. “For what purpose?”

“I was not told, Your Highness. The order came directly from the council chambers.”

He dismissed her with a wave, though his chest felt hollow, soundless.

When the door shut again, he stood there a long while, ink drying on his fingers, the words ‘depart’ echoing like a bell toll.

By the time Sieun reached the barracks, the torches along the outer wall had burned low.

Inside, Suho was buckling the final strap of his armour. His movements were precise, efficient, too composed. The stillness of it made Sieun’s chest tighten.

“Your Highness,” Suho greeted, bowing, though his voice betrayed a faint strain.

“Why wasn’t I told?” Sieun demanded, sharper than he meant to. “You’re mi—” he caught himself, jaw clenching, “my guard. My father doesn’t decide where you go without my knowing.”

Suho’s hands paused briefly on the clasp before he spoke. “It was His Majesty’s order. I depart at dawn.”

Sieun stepped closer until the smell of oil and leather filled the space between them. “And you didn’t think to question it?”

A muscle in Suho’s jaw jumped. “Questioning orders isn’t a guard’s privilege.”

“It is when your duty is to protect me.”

That made him look up. Their eyes met, a collision more than a glance. For a heartbeat, Suho’s mask wavered; regret flickered sharp and unguarded before he straightened again, a shade too quickly, as if afraid of what else might slip through.

“I would stay if I could,” he admitted quietly. “But if I refused, it would draw suspicion.”

“Suspicion of what?”

He hesitated, his gaze lowering. “Of disobedience.”

Sieun folded his arms, exhaling. “My father leaves for the southern border soon. You know this, don’t you?”

Suho nodded once. “I do.”

“Then you also know this is perfect timing, he sends you away the moment his back will be turned.”

Suho’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. “Which is exactly why I’m asking you not to do anything reckless while I’m gone.”

“Reckless?” Sieun’s tone sharpened. “You mean…”

“I mean the Kangs,” Suho said before he could finish. The quiet certainty in his voice made Sieun’s breath catch.

“How do you know about–”

“People whisper, Your Highness. The servants talk. You’ve been asking when the general is available for counsel. You plan to go to him once His Majesty departs.”

Sieun’s heartbeat quickened. “You presume much.”

“I presume you,” Suho replied, the smallest hint of warmth cutting through his restraint.

Sieun’s breath hitched, barely, but he masked it with a glare, though his chest tightened at the faint smile ghosting Suho’s lips.

“And if I have?”

“Then wait,” Suho said, voice dropping low, almost pleading now. “Please. Until I return. If you go without me, there’ll be no one to keep watch, no one to—”

He cut himself short, swallowing the rest.

Sieun tilted his head. “To what? Protect me?”

Suho’s jaw tightened. “To make sure you come back alive.”

The words hung there, simple, but heavy enough to make Sieun’s pulse stutter.

“Your faith in me is lacking,” Sieun said lightly, trying to regain footing.

“My faith in you is the reason I’m asking,” Suho countered softly. “You care too much. It’ll be the thing that kills you if you’re not careful.”

Something flickered in Sieun’s expression; recognition, denial, something dangerously close to understanding.

Their gazes locked again, a tether neither of them seemed able to break.

“Do you always speak to your prince this way?” Sieun asked, voice low.

“Only when he listens,” Suho murmured.

The silence that followed pulsed with something fragile and hot.

Suho cleared his throat and adjusted his belt, stepping back into safer ground.

“I’ll return as soon as I can. Until then-” He hesitated, lips quirking faintly. “Keep your blade close. And your temper closer.”

Sieun’s mouth curved despite himself. “Are you giving me orders now?”

“Advice,” Suho said, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “From a man who’s already broken enough of them.”

Sieun let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Then let me give you some in return.”

Suho blinked, caught off guard. “Your Highness?”

“Don’t die,” Sieun said lightly. “It would be… inconvenient.”

Suho’s smile faltered into something gentler, painfully unguarded for a heartbeat. “Inconvenient?”

“For me,” Sieun added, turning away so Suho wouldn’t see the flicker of warmth in his expression. “I’d have to find another guard, and I doubt they’d be as tolerable.”

The silence that followed was soft, the kind that lingered between people who’d already said too much.

Suho bowed his head. “Then I’ll do my best not to inconvenience you, Your Highness.”

Sieun didn’t answer. He only looked at him for a long, heavy moment, one that felt like both a dismissal and a plea.

When Suho left, Sieun stood in the dim light, the echo of his footsteps fading into the stone.

It wasn’t until much later, when the silence stretched too long, that Sieun realised his hand was still resting on the place where Suho’s shoulder had brushed his as he’d passed.

The dawn came muted, wrapped in a pale mist that softened the edges of the palace walls.

From his balcony, Sieun watched the courtyard below stir awake. Servants moved like ghosts through the fog, leading horses to their lines, fastening satchels, checking blades.

He knew the sound of Suho’s armour before he saw him, the muted rhythm of metal plates shifting with each movement, the soft clink that had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Suho stood at the head of the convoy, helm tucked beneath his arm, the grey light catching the curve of his jaw. He looked calm, of course he did, but there was something in the way his hand lingered on the reins, a hesitation so brief anyone else would have missed it.

Sieun didn’t call out.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly, as though the sound might shatter the stillness between them.

From this height, Suho couldn’t possibly see him, but as the convoy began to move, his head turned, just slightly, toward the upper balconies, toward him, as though he felt Sieun’s gaze like a touch.

It wasn’t much. Barely a glance.

But Sieun felt it, that small, invisible thread between them pulled taut again, enough to make his chest ache.

For a heartbeat, Sieun let himself imagine calling out, ordering him to stay, to disobey just once.

But the words never left his mouth.

He gripped the cold stone railing instead, fingers white against the frost.

His hand fell from it slowly, as though letting go cost him something.

“Idiot,” he murmured, not sure whether he meant Suho or himself.

Down below, Suho mounted his horse. The morning light spilled over him, pale and fleeting.

When he set his helm on, the world took him back; the soldier replacing the man, the duty swallowing what little softness had lingered.

The gates opened.

The sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard, steady and unbroken.

Sieun stood there long after the convoy had vanished into the fog, his breath visible in the cold air.

When at last he turned to leave, the light had shifted, gold bleeding slowly into grey.

“Return safely,” he whispered under his breath. “That’s an order, Ahn Suho.”