Chapter Text
Music I listened to while writing: The Arthdal Chronicles OST playlist (on Youtube)
‘The Mountain King’
Jimin’s knuckles are white as he grips the cushioned bench where he sits. He watches the lantern swing back and forth as it hangs from the ceiling of the cabin. His stomach lurches several times, but he fights to keep his supper down.
His furs slip down one shoulder, and he quickly snatches them to yank them back up and pull them close before finding his grasp on the wood again. The winter chill still gets in, though, and he shivers violently. He can hear the shouts of the men above deck, trying to control the ship as the storm tosses it this way and that upon the waves.
Jimin wonders if perhaps it would be best for the ship to sink, anyway. Or all three. His brothers and sisters are on the other ships, though, and he doesn’t hate them enough to wish death upon them, he supposes. Just this one, then.
He startles when the door to the cabin flies open, and his father steps inside. In with him comes a burst of wet snowflakes and the salty smell of the ocean. The roar of the waves magnifies for the brief moment the door is open, and then it is shut and locked.
His father does not greet him or even acknowledge him other than a small glance as he walks over to the chest strapped to the wall on the far side of the cabin. Jimin watches his father, taking in the way his blond hair is darkened with moisture, the last remaining clumps of snow melting quickly into the strands. The older man’s lips are pursed, his handsome but aged face set in a firm frown.
Despite his drenched appearance, however, the man still looks as regal as ever. Jimin wonders if he will ever be able to exude that kind of aura that the Great King of the Southern Isles does.
Jimin is the seventh and youngest son of the king. Including Jimin’s sisters, the king has fifteen children by his queen wife and two concubines. Jimin’s mother, the queen, died barely a year after his birth, and since then the king’s concubines have only birthed him daughters. But daughters by a concubine are not considered true heirs, and so Jimin is the youngest rightful heir.
The storm rages through the night. Jimin barely sleeps, holding tightly to the bed even in his half-conscious state. He dreams about giants throwing him back and forth between them, their deep voices rumbling and grating like the angry ocean. Jimin’s body is limp like a doll, completely malleable to their whims.
He wakes just as dawn breaks, the fiery sun punching a hole through the dark clouds.
Jimin dresses in front of the small window, staring through his reflection. He cards his fingers through his blond hair, loosening any tangles from his disturbed sleep. Through the glass, he can see the ocean has calmed considerably, but the ship still rocks strongly enough for him to need to steady himself against the window sill.
The door opens after two quick knocks.
“Your highness, your presence is required on deck.”
The man standing in the doorway is not familiar to Jimin, but that is no matter. He nods his acknowledgement of the broad chested man and then gathers his coat from the hook where it hangs. Jimin’s deft fingers fasten each of the clasps and then lift the collar to protect his neck. He is surprised to see the man still waiting for him, now a hand held out to assist him.
Jimin sucks in a breath of air through his nose and pinches his lips together before giving the man his hand.
They travel quickly through the ship, crossing the lowest deck and then climbing the narrow, steep stairs to the second deck. All the while Jimin’s face is peppered with the icy snow that continuously falls.
A loud bell rings high above the sails from the crow’s nest, and then several things happen at once.
The entire ship lurches dangerously to the side before jerking back—and then the bow tilts up, the continuous swaying suddenly stops, and the morning sun explodes through the dark storm clouds as the hull of the ship rises out of the water. Behind them, the other two ships follow suit, one after the other. Water streams from their hulls, falling back into the waves in sparkling showers.
“Gods,” Jimin gasps, unconsciously gripping the man’s hand far too tightly to be appropriate. He releases him and stumbles to the railing to look out at the sea as it gets farther and farther away. “What’s happening?” he wonders aloud.
“We’re being drawn in,” the man says. Jimin glances up at him. The snow continues to fly around them, biting at their cheeks and noses, catching in their eyelashes. “The mountain is pulling us to it.”
The words make no sense, but Jimin doesn’t respond. He can only stare out in awe at the way the clouds look like piles of fluffy wool around them, painted in dirty grays, persimmon, and rosy blush. The air grows colder the higher they rise. Soon, they are soaring through a smooth fog, and the vague outline of rocky coastline becomes visible below them. The land is dark and nondescript, and Jimin tries to quell the hopelessness that builds in him as the terrain turns mountainous and harsh. Snow and ice covers everything, and the prince has never seen so much snow in his entire life.
After some time, he begins to notice the form of winding roads and the occasional outpost. More and more buildings appear, each equally adorned in winter, until suddenly a great bridge bursts from the fog. At the other end of the bridge is—Jimin can’t quite believe what he is seeing. For there, in front of them, is a massive, three-peaked mountain floating in the sky, with what appears to be a small city nestled between a snow-covered forest. A sprawling castle is built into the mountain side in such a way that it looks like jewels glittering of fire adorning the vast snow-covered mountain.
The ships glide silently up to a long pier protruding out into nothingness upon which stand a row of uniformed men and women. Glowing lanterns border the pier, creating small golden halos in the snow flurries. As they get closer, the ship’s crew throw out heavy ropes. The people on the pier catch them and pull the ships until they are right abreast of the pier. Jimin watches as the ropes are tied securely around posts.
“There you are,” Jimin’s father’s voice speaks up from beside him with no warning. He just barely refrains from jumping in surprise. “Come. Put your hood up. No need to give them an eyeful before you are ready for the ceremony.”
Jimin keeps his mouth shut. It won’t do to anger his father at a time like this. He will be rid of him soon enough.
It is impossible to have a proper procession disembarking the ships, but the guards still walk in formation around the king. Jimin follows shortly behind, and then Jimin’s siblings trail after in a constant murmur of sound as the younger ones take in everything in awe.
They are led in through the gates, up a cobblestone road, and finally into what Jimin believes is part of the castle. The doors are grand and tall, and clearly built to withstand any threat, be it weather or battle. Inside, Jimin notices how quiet it is. Not lacking in life, but contrasted with the sound of the rushing wind outside, inside it is muffled and warm.
He keeps his hood up, though.
They are greeted by one of the Mountain King’s men, who explains quickly to them how the week will play out. The wings where they will stay. And then Jimin is swept away just as word reaches them that the Mountain King himself is on his way to see them.
“Come, come; you must get ready,” the woman tells him, stepping hurriedly upon the smooth stone floor. “There is so much to be done, and you are already quite late.”
“There was a storm—”
“Hush,” she cuts him off sharply. “No one is to hear your voice before you are wed.”
Jimin’s mouth drops open in shock. What? What kind of rule is that?
She leads him down this corridor and that passageway, up these stairs and around those corners. Jimin has absolutely no idea where they are.
“Here we are,” she says abruptly, stopping at a set of double doors. They are black with silver and gold gilded designs. She pushes the doors open and ushers Jimin inside.
“You must quickly bathe and be dressed. There is already a bath readied for you.”
Jimin is speechless of his own accord as he is unceremoniously stripped naked and deposited into a steaming bath where two different servants—one male, one female—proceed to scrub his body and wash his hair until he is rosy-skinned and smelling of some kind of perfume. He doesn’t recognize the scent, but it is subtly sweet and a little spicy, tingling in his nose until he grows used to its strength.
The moment he is pulled from the bath, they dry him with the fluffiest of towels. Jimin is used to servants preparing his clothing for him, and helping him to dress, but this is on another level. He does nothing at all as they move his limbs this way and that, pulling on layers of clothing so quickly he doesn’t even have time to see what he is wearing until he is fully covered.
Staring into a mirror on one wall, he sees that the outermost robes are long and trailing in the back. They are a deep, indigo blue like the darkest point of night, with glittering black gemstones embroidered into the material of the lower fabric. The torso of the robes is tight around him, but is completely open all the way to below his belly button. Connected to each side and draped in perfectly spaced formation are glossy pearl strands. They are not white, but instead have a gold sheen to them. They are quite beautiful, if not inappropriately exposing. Jimin is thankful that his nipples are hidden, at least.
The robes are quite heavy already, but then another weight is placed upon him. A long, gold mantle is draped over his shoulders, the front falling all the way to his shins. He realizes it has the appearance of wings; as if he has folded them down over his body after flight.
His hair is brushed until it is silky, parted just to the side. The servant dealing with his hair makes a comment about how it is too short, and that he will need to grow it out properly. Jimin has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from retorting that he prefers his hair short.
“Don’t bite your lip like that,” the male servant in front of him scolds. He is holding up a tray of makeup, and a moment later Jimin has to close his eyes as his face is patted and wiped and drawn all over. Never before has he worn even a spec of makeup. Other than when he was allowed to play around during the autumn festivals, when they painted designs on their faces.
“There. Now he is a bit more presentable,” the man with the makeup says.
Jimin cautiously opens his eyes and stares at the stranger in the mirror. His eyes are sharp and shadowed, his cheeks filled with the kind of blush Jimin has seen on his elder sister’s cheeks after catching her with her lady servant’s hand up her skirts in a hidden alcove. (Needless to say, she had been reassigned to another wing—but that hadn’t stopped his sister from evading her new lady servant to meet up again.) Jimin’s lips have also been stained a darker pink to contrast with his skin.
He has to admit that it is a beautiful sight, although the feel of the makeup on his skin is somewhat uncomfortable. Like a mask glued right onto his face.
Jimin realizes as he is led back out into the corridors, that he has not been given shoes. He knows there is jewelry of some sort around his ankles, but his feet are completely bare upon the cool stone floor. Everyone else is wearing shoes. Why not him?
They stop outside a set of huge doors. Jimin can hear a murmur of voices on the other side, and he wonders again why he is not wearing shoes.
The longer they wait silently, the more Jimin realizes how much time has passed since their ships arrived at this bizarre and unnerving place. He is sure that it has been at least two hours, perhaps even more. His stomach twists uncomfortably, and he can’t tell if it is because it is now close to midday, and he has yet to have a single bite to eat, or if it is because of nerves.
He swallows and clenches his fists together as one—only to have his fingers pried open and given a small slap.
His eyes widen. How dare they. He is about to open his mouth to object to their disrespect when the doors sudden swing inward. He stiffens as the muffled murmur turns into a cacophony of excited chatter and music.
As if he is being pulled by strings, Jimin steps into the enormous hall. He walks steadily forward, seeing ahead where the Mountain King’s throne is against high glass windows overlooking the mountains beyond the bridge. When Jimin spots the unmistakable figure of the Mountain King standing upon the dais, all sound falls away.
Until now, the Mountain King has been naught but a name; a faceless man Jimin has been taught to understand will be his husband. The agreement has been in place for five years now, and yet this is the first time Jimin is meeting him.
Min Yoongi, the Mountain King of the Northern Ridge.
His future husband stands straight and broad, dressed all in black with fancy gold embroidery and jewelry. His hair is black and is bound up in a knot upon his head with a crown-like clasp holding it in place. He wears a long sword sheathed at one side and a dagger at the other.
He is wearing shoes. Boots; sturdy and clean, and unquestionably high-quality leather. Again, Jimin wonders why he, alone, does not wear shoes.
The Mountain King does not smile. He watches Jimin with a penetrating stare as the prince approaches, heart beginning to beat far too quickly. Jimin wonders if the king is disappointed, or pleased. It is impossible to tell from his expressionless face.
Jimin tries to tell himself that at least the king is handsome. Even with the long scar running across his right eye, he is still handsome. He tells himself, at least he is not terribly old. Jimin knows already that he is barely a decade older than Jimin, which is really quite lucky. He could have been married off to a middle-aged ruler, as a second or third spouse. But no; he is lucky, for Jimin is the Mountain King’s first marriage, and he has heard that in the Mountain Kingdom they only marry once. He is lucky.
Beside the king stands someone Jimin can only assume is a priest of some sort. His robes look nothing like the ones of the holy people in the Southern Isles; his are fancier and adorned with jewels, whereas the holy people Jimin is used to would never touch a gemstone or piece of jewelry.
Jimin pauses at the foot of the dais, and looks up at his future husband. It is difficult to tell, because the king stands higher than he, is far broader, and is wearing boots, but Jimin thinks perhaps they are of similar heights. He feels a little more at ease knowing that he won’t be too small compared to his husband.
Jimin bows his head slightly, bends his knees momentarily, and then carefully steps up to be on the same level, across from the Mountain King. The other man’s eyes subtly travel down from Jimin’s face, over his torso, and then back up. Jimin’s never had anyone look at him like that before.
Jimin finds himself unable to comprehend the rest of the ceremony. It’s as if his awareness retreats into a small corner at the back of his mind. His body moves, his mouth opens and closes to repeat vows he will never remember, a ring is pushed onto his finger, and suddenly there is a firm mouth upon his, taking his first kiss. Jimin doesn’t kiss back; there is really no need, for the Mountain King is in control of the kiss and Jimin just lets it happen, mouth lax and open just enough for the king to take what he wants.
Jimin’s lips tingle as they separate, and all of the sound comes to him as if he is underwater. He turns to the gathering of people, and then is swept over to a seat at a table. Food is placed before him. Wine is poured into his glass. The Mountain King sits beside him.
They don’t speak together. Jimin feels nauseous, but he lifts his silverware to his lips and consumes the food he is given.
At some point during the feast, Jimin feels himself relaxing. He has attended many feasts like this one. There is nothing out of the ordinary, apart from the man at his side. The man who doesn’t speak with him, but instead with Jimin’s father, and with some other members of the court. They look as if they could be his advisors or other royals.
Jimin is admiring the glasswork on his goblet when he senses eyes on him, and he looks up. When his eyes meet those of the Mountain King, he sucks in a sharp breath and feels his face heat up. His glass wobbles as he sets it down suddenly and withdraws his hands to his lap.
“Prince Jimin,” the king’s deep voice speaks, and a shiver runs through him. “Is the feast not to your liking? You look…displeased.”
Jimin’s eyes widen. He’s never met someone to be so blunt right in the hearing range of the rest of the court. Shame curls in his chest; the day has not even ended and he has already given a bad impression.
“I am not displeased, your majesty. I—”
“Don’t mind him, King Yoongi,” Jimin’s father cuts him off. “He’s just being shy. I assure you that he will open up soon enough.”
The Mountain King lets out an amused laugh. “I’m sure he will open up, as you say.”
The heat in Jimin’s cheeks explodes tenfold. They are talking about him as if he is a common concubine. Jimin squeezes his fists against his robes under the table to contain his anger. He wets his lips before saying, “I am not being shy, your majesty. I was told no one was to hear my voice before…I was…wed.” He trails off, feeling even more embarrassed by the smirk King Yoongi is giving him.
“But you are wed now, are you not? Or do you not consider yourself to be wed until after…tonight?”
Jimin shivers and looks down at his food instead of answering. He puts a bite of fruit into his mouth as an excuse.
His father once again finds this hilarious. “We did promise you a pure prince, King Yoongi.”
“Indeed.” King Yoongi waves over a servant. “More wine for my husband,” he orders.
Jimin stares as his glass is refilled. Husband. His husband.
Throughout the feast, people from the court come up to give their congratulations. Jimin smiles and thanks them; the king only nods and waves them off one by one. This doesn’t seem to be a surprising thing; everyone leaves looking relieved to be done with speaking with the king. Jimin begins to worry about what kind of man the king really is.
The sun is moving across the wide expanse of windows as the afternoon passes, and Jimin notices sparkling throughout the entire hall. In the walls, on the pillars, even in the floor; gemstones large and small, of all colors. The ones in the floor have been smoothed until they blend into the floor’s surface. The most fascinating thing, though, is that the ones in the walls appear to not have been set there, but look as if they are growing right from the stone walls themselves. They are rough and uneven, although clearly polished to shine. They are also scattered throughout the stone in no particular order or pattern.
Something else catches his eye. Jimin stares down at the ring on his finger. It’s not necessarily heavy, or bulky, but he’s not used to wearing rings. There are tiny diamonds all along the twisting silver bands that form a spiral shape not unlike the swirling clusters of stars Jimin once saw through the telescope belonging to his father’s astronomer. A larger, milky colored gemstone sits in the center. Jimin isn’t sure what kind, for he has never seen a stone that changes color with the light. Sometimes pink, or gold, then blue and green. The ring is so eye-catching that he continues to find himself bringing his hand up to his face to stare at it again.
At one point during the festivities, Jimin is summoned by two servants. The same ones who had bathed and dressed him earlier. He isn’t sure what they want, but he follows, only startling slightly at the cheers that go up as he leaves the hall.
He is led to a chamber to relieve himself, which is rather difficult with the layers upon layers of fabric, but he somehow manages to do it despite not being able to see anything below his waist with everything bundled around it in his arms. Once he is finished, the two servants proceed to freshen him up in that same room they had been in before.
“Why am I not wearing shoes?” he asks, now, finally allowed to speak.
The woman laughs and doesn’t answer as she removes the golden mantle from his shoulders. She straightens out the strings of pearls and then dabs his skin with a fragrant oil. Meanwhile, the man touches up Jimin’s makeup.
“My feet will be so dirty by the time I am to—” he breaks off, still feeling embarrassed about alluding to what will happen later.
“They won’t be.”
“What are your names?” Jimin asks, then. He is tired of not knowing anything.
The woman smiles at him. “I am Naeun, and this is—”
“Yejoon,” the man speaks up for himself.
“Are you two going to be assigned to me from now on?”
Naeun nods. “Yes, unless King Yoongi is displeased with our work.”
“But I am confident that he won’t be.”
Jimin watches as Yejoon picks up a strange looking instrument and a long strand of smoothly faceted red gemstone beads.
“Rubies,” the servant says when he notices Jimin’s gaze. “Now sit back and lift your robes.”
“What?”
There is a chair behind him that hadn’t been there before.
“Lift my—”
Jimin finds himself sitting despite his confusion, too intent on watching the way Yejoon feeds the strand of rubies into the instrument. It is a long, thin tube, with a sort of trigger switch on one end. It looks absolutely frightening.
The prince yelps when suddenly the hems of his robes are lifted entirely up to his hips, baring his legs and undergarments to the room. Of course, the two servants have already seen Jimin fully naked, but something about this seems different. He becomes aware for the first time that he is wearing the smallest of undergarments he has ever seen. They are made of pure white lace, and don’t do much at all to provide security or modesty. Certainly not right now.
“What are you—what are you going to do with that?”
“Hush,” Naeun scolds him. She bends his legs and spreads them apart as Yejoon approaches with the instrument loaded with the rubies.
“Pardon me, Prince Jimin,” Yejoon murmurs with purpose.
Jimin reflexively shuts his eyes and cries out when the instrument is pressed directly to his—his—there. It is cold, and unpleasant, and he squirms in fright that it will hurt him.
“S-stop, please, what are you doing?”
The instrument enters him just slightly, and then Yejoon pulls the trigger. Jimin gasps sharply as he feels the strand of rubies shoot out of the instrument into his body. He grabs frantically at the sides of the chair. He doesn’t understand, but he feels dizzy now.
“Why—?”
“Now stand, please.”
Naeun continues to hold Jimin’s robes up out of the way as Yejoon helps Jimin to his feet. The servant takes the protruding end of the strand and attaches it to the back of the lace undergarment.
“Perfect.” Yejoon steps back, Naeun drops the robes, and they both smile at him as if they hadn’t just done…that to him.
Jimin squirms and then immediately tries not to; with any movement, the rubies shift, rolling and sliding against his walls. Each time the end attached to the lace waistband catches between his cheeks, it tugs the strand a little inside. He doesn’t know whether to squeeze his thighs together or keep them apart.
“Now, let’s go to the wedding chamber.”
Jimin trembles as they walk through the castle, extremely conscious of the rubies inside him, lightheaded from his shallow breathing and all of the wine he had been consuming. They stop at a pair of double doors, knock twice slowly, and then pull the doors open. A swath of warm air rolls over them.
Jimin’s eyes widen, and he momentarily forgets his discomfort.
The Mountain King stands inside the room, between the door and a circular bed. The room has a high-vaulted ceiling, with crystalline lanterns hanging like falling stars in the sky. Tall, arched windows show the snow flying about, but not much more than that. The floor glitters as Jimin steps closer to the open doorway, but he isn’t paying much attention to that. His eyes are on the king.
His husband has opened the front of his robes to reveal his broad chest, his torso rippling with the kind of lean muscles Jimin has only seen on the greatest of warriors. His hair has also been let down from the top knot, and it brushes against his shoulders.
Jimin takes a step forward into the room—only to immediately cry out in pain and stumble back. He looks down to realize that the entire floor of the wedding chamber is nothing but small, sharp gems sticking out of the stone, which are not only painful on his bare feet, but also hot to the touch.
The king strides forward across the room in his sturdy boots and then with a small scoff of a laugh, scoops Jimin up into his arms. The doors swing shut with a loud thud.
Jimin’s eyes are wide as he breathes heavily, clutching the sides of his husband’s open robes. He is carried over to the bed and set down none too gently. The beads inside him shift, and Jimin grimaces. Jimin looks up at the other man, who bends down to remove his boots and then climbs onto the bed.
Jimin feels tiny, and his husband’s aura is overwhelmingly large in comparison. When his hands begin to remove each layer of Jimin’s clothing, moving the material aside, reaching inside slowly but impatiently, Jimin lets out a small sound. Not quite a squeak. Not quite a whimper. But the beads shift inside him, and a hiccup of a sound slips past his lips.
His husband’s lips quirk, and one of his hands is suddenly firm on the back of his waist, lifting him up, the other hand spreading his legs apart to reach between. When two fingers brush against the lace and then along the strand of beads, Jimin gasps, high and sudden. Two fingertips dip inside, and he lets out an “eep” of surprise, squirming and snapping his thighs together.
Or at least tries to. The hand between them gets in the way, and the fingers push in deeper. He squeezes his thighs one last time before spreading them and letting himself fall backwards from where he’d been sitting up slightly. Sounds he has never in his life made before leave his mouth, pushed up past his throat without his permission.
He realizes the rubies are being drawn out of his body, bead by bead, excruciatingly slowly. When the last one finally slips out, he is panting. He watches in a daze as his husband wraps the beads around his own wrist time after time before finally looping and looping them until they are secure.
Jimin’s face heats up when he notices the faint sheen of something wet coating the rubies.
“Y-your majesty,” Jimin begins, only to be interrupted.
“You may call me ‘Yoongi’ in the privacy of the bedchamber. Otherwise you are to call me ‘My King.’”
Jimin swallows. “Yoongi,” he practically whispers, “Will you be gentle?”
Yoongi’s eyebrow rises. “Gentle? Frightened, are you?”
“N-no,” Jimin lies. “I just have never—”
“Of course you haven’t. You wouldn’t be here if you had,” he points out bluntly. He puts a large palm to Jimin’s jaw. “You’ll be fine.”
Then he leans down to kiss him.
This second kiss is nothing like their first. Granted, Jimin doesn’t really remember the first that well, but he knows there was no tongue involved. He makes a few embarrassing sounds through his nose and muffled against Yoongi’s mouth as he tries to keep up. He doesn’t think he’s very good at it, though, because soon his husband breaks the kiss to focus his attention on the rest of his body.
Yoongi unceremoniously removes his robes and his pants, dropping them onto the floor. Jimin’s eyes are immediately drawn down to the dark patch of hair and pale cock. The king is not hard, but he is still rather long. About twice the length of Jimin, although he’s heard that because his body is meant to bear children rather than seed them, it is expected for Jimin’s to be smaller than a non-childbearing man.
Seemingly unaffected by his own state of undress, the king leans over Jimin and removes the last of his clothing.
This time, as Yoongi kisses him, his cock hangs down between Jimin’s legs and brushes against his own. Jimin gasps against his mouth, jolting in surprise at the sharp tingle of sensation that the simple touch causes. He is not expecting it when a large hand lifts one of his thighs up to the side and then presses right against his entrance. It makes Jimin’s stomach clench in sudden nervousness, and he stops participating in the kiss as he concentrates on breathing heavily through his nose, fully tense.
“Relax,” comes Yoongi’s voice, deep and suddenly against his ear. Jimin squeezes his eyes shut and turns to the side, baring his neck with a pitiful whimper he knows he will be ashamed of later.
The king rubs his thumb around and over Jimin’s smooth but dry entrance—until Jimin feels a telltale twist in his groin, and the fingers begin to slip more easily over the silky, slippery skin.
“There we go,” Yoongi murmurs lowly, and why does that make Jimin’s entire body shudder?
Jimin’s other leg is pushed in the opposite direction, and then before he knows it, before he’s really ready, his husband pushes into him; thick, hard, and throbbing. Jimin doesn’t know when Yoongi became fully hard; he hasn’t been paying attention to that. But he tries to keep his mouth shut to avoid embarrassing himself. They have only just started, but he wants to cry, already overwhelmed.
Above him, Yoongi groans. And then he gives another shove, making Jimin realize that he hadn’t even been fully inside. Now he is, though. Jimin can feel him deep inside, squeezed tightly between his walls. He feels too hot all of a sudden, like he’s burning up right from where the king is connected to him so intimately.
He doesn’t have much time to consider this, though, because the next second Yoongi pulls out with a burning slide, and then plunges right back in to the base.
The moan that rips from Jimin’s throat is high and stuttered, and he tries to find something to hold onto. His legs are spread wide on either side of his husband’s waist, toes curling into the bedding around them. Jimin gasps as Yoongi begins moving with purpose, crying out with every powerful thrust into his body.
It feels almost never ending. Granted he has no experience, but his husband seems to have the longest stamina Jimin could ever imagine. Jimin’s small cock wastes almost no time to harden and then come, coating his own stomach with milky white, but Yoongi is as hard as ever, continuing to fuck into Jimin again and again, long after Jimin has come.
Yoongi pauses at one point and pulls out of him, before maneuvering Jimin over to kneel before the curved headboard with his back to him. He pulls Jimin’s hips out, pushes down the arch of his back, and then pushes into him again. He holds him even tighter than before, fucking into him so hard that Jimin can do nothing but wail with every punch into him. His cock dribbles a little more white.
Abruptly his husband ramps up his pace, shifts the angle a little, and Jimin’s body seizes up. He clenches so hard around his husband’s cock inside him that he hears a deep groan, and then at long last he feels a surge of semen spilling into him.
Yoongi holds himself there for several long moments, breathing heavily against his neck. Jimin tries not to think about how strange it feels to be filled in such a way, the king’s cock softening inside him but still large and tight inside.
He collapses to his side when Yoongi pulls out without further warning, a messy splash of semen running down Jimin’s thighs onto the bed.
Jimin lies there, limp and unable to find the energy to move. His entire body aches. He watches as his husband wipes himself off and dresses in fresh silks taken from a shelf table along the wall. Yoongi then turns to him just as there is a knock on the door.
“Enter,” the king calls, not taking his eyes off of Jimin’s naked form, sprawled with his legs partially pulled together for some semblance of dignity. As if he has any of that left.
The priest walks in, putting on a pair of white gloves as he approaches.
Jimin can’t help it when his breathing picks up, and he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.
“It is finished,” his husband says, voice even. Both men eye the splashes of semen across Jimin’s torso and between his legs.
“If you will, Sire, might you lift him from the bed so I can check more carefully?”
Yoongi reaches down and slips his palms under Jimin’s back and knees, lifting him with only a little struggle. He doesn’t hold him against himself; but hovering just over the bed as the priest pats around the mattress with his gloved hand until he finds what he’s been looking for.
“Wonderful,” he says in a low voice. “You may set him down.” After Jimin is back down on the bed, but before Yoongi’s hands have left his shoulders, the priest reaches for Jimin’s knees. “If I may,” is all the warning Jimin gets before his knees are pushed apart and there is a hand prodding at his sensitive entrance.
He gasps and reflexively seizes his husband’s wrist in a clamp-like grip, squeezing even tighter when the gloved fingers press deep into him.
“P-please, I don’t, don’t want—”
“I think that’s enough,” the king snaps, placing a firm hand on the priest’s shoulder. The fingers disappear, and Jimin relaxes.
“This marriage has been officially consummated,” the priest declares, voice loud enough to carry out into the hallway, where there are likely more people waiting.
Jimin tries to not think about whether they were all listening to them consummate their union.
*
The days following the wedding pass in a busy blur. It feels like endless feasts, endless parties, and endless walks around the castle and village. Jimin bundles in even more layers than Naeun gives him whenever he leaves the insulating walls of the castle. Each night, Jimin is brought to the wedding chamber where the Mountain King beds him until he is sore and tears stream down his cheeks.
On the sixth day, Jimin follows his husband down to a large platform overlooking what he learns they call ‘the east harbor,’ despite there being no water around the piers and the ships berthed. Jimin watches as the ships sway slightly in the breeze as the people of the Southern Isles return to them. There had been no tears, and Jimin feels no sadness watching them leave, however, he does feel a sort of emptiness; he has been left completely alone in this strange, cold kingdom, with not one familiar face.
The moment the ships dip down through the clouds, the Mountain King turns abruptly and strides away. Jimin hesitates, unsure if he should follow. He decides that he should after a brief moment of indecision, and fisting his hands into his long cloak to lift it higher off the ground, Jimin hurries after the king.
King Yoongi is speaking with one of his guards.
“—ready? We have lost so much time with these ridiculous festivities.”
“They are, Sire.”
“Have they been giving their handlers much trouble in my absence?”
There is a small cough, or clearing throat. “Ah, just a bit, Sire.”
The king snorts. Jimin is so very confused, but he listens carefully as he tries to figure out what they are speaking about.
“I’d be surprised if they haven’t. Any fingers lost?”
“No, but there were several close calls.”
“Good.”
They are silent for a moment before the king seems to notice Jimin’s presence. He waves over another guard.
“Bring him back inside. Let Jesuin decide what to do with him.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Jimin is led in a different direction, back up to the castle. He is startled to see a flurry of activity inside its walls; servants and head servants shouting out orders. The joyousness from the entire week is gone, and in its stead is now nothing but a serious bustle as they clean the castle of all evidence of celebration.
“Follow me, your highness,” the guard says unnecessarily, but Jimin quickens his pace anyway to keep up with the man’s long strides.
They stop at a set of doors that are already open, servants scurrying in and out. Many carry large barrels and heavy sacks.
“Jesuin!” the guard calls into the room, which Jimin realizes is part of the kitchens.
A moment later a man with a slender figure but sharp posture approaches. He has long black hair speckled with gray tied back simply, and he has a sharp jaw. He wears higher quality clothing than most of the servants surrounding him, but not so fancy that Jimin would mistake him for an advisor or other court member.
“Ah, yes. The prince. Come, come; I’ll take it from here,” he says without preamble, and the guard bows once before departing. He raises an eyebrow at Jimin. “My name is Jesuin. I’m the Head of the House.” At Jimin’s confused frown, he elaborates. “I’m not sure what kind of life you were used to in your own kingdom, Prince Jimin, but I must warn you that we do things a little differently around here.”
“Differently how?”
“I am in charge of all matters of running the inside of this castle. Be it the kitchens or linens, greenhouses or stables…all matters come through me. I’m sure you expected this to be your responsibility as the husband of the king, but that is not so.”
Jimin isn’t sure what he had expected, but that does sound like something someone of his station would do.
“Your sole responsibility,” Jesuin continues as they walk along the corridor, Jimin loosening the collar of his cloak as he warms up, “is to provide the king with heirs to his throne. This is a serious responsibility, of course, so during the time that you are not being bedded by the king, your job is to stay safe, healthy, and beautiful.”
Jimin feels the bubble of anger rise within him. “You speak as if I am nothing but a common concubine. If the king wanted nothing more than a vessel to pour forth his offspring, he could just hold a collection of concubines.”
He hears Jesuin chuckle. “So he does have a mind of his own,” he murmurs to himself, although Jimin hears every word. The next sentence is louder, clearly meant for his ears. “King Yoongi does, of course, have concubines at his disposal. However, they are not of royal blood. Of course, their sons may become heirs, but at a significant blow to the king’s—”
But Jimin has stopped walking. “What do you mean, he has concubines?”
Jesuin stops as well and turns toward him.
“I was told that the Mountain King only marries once.”
“And indeed he does.” Jesuin smiles at him, clearly amused. “But the king does not marry his concubines, my dear prince.” He gestures for Jimin to keep walking. “Come.”
“But—” Jimin breaks off.
“One little husband is not nearly enough to satisfy the Mountain King’s appetite,” Jesuin laughs. “And he certainly has not been saving himself all these years!”
It makes sense, but Jimin can’t help the disappointment that cools his body. “How…many…?”
“Ah. If I am to count his favorites, there are three or four ladies he brings to his bed. But there have been a dozen or two over the last decade. Before that…well, I’m sure his majesty had a good romp here and there before he took the throne.”
“Ladies?”
“Oh, yes. The king usually picks the female concubines. He may have had a few male lovers in the past, but they are not commonly known.”
Why did he pick a man to wed, then, Jimin wonders. He remains silent until they reach a wide wooden door carved with an intricate design of three wolves curling around each other in the belly of a mountain. It takes Jimin a moment to realize the mountain is floating, and the next to make the connection to the triple-peaked mountain that is the very mountain they stand upon.
The eyes of the wolves have been set with glossy black stones that give the appearance of life within, sending shivers through Jimin.
Jesuin does not knock on the door. He pushes it open to reveal an enormous bedroom.
This room is starkly different to the much smaller wedding chamber where Jimin has spent the last six nights. The vast floor is carved from stone, and upon it are rugs laid out to cover most of its area. Some of the rugs are woven, but others are fur pelts which look soft to the touch.
The large square bed against one wall is covered in blankets upon blankets, with the softest white and gray furs. The entire room overlooks a breathtaking view of the mountains. Jimin can see they are at the highest peak, looking down, with clouds and more mountain peaks below them; frigid and blurred with blowing snow.
In a raised basin at the center of the room are several large, glowing gems. They are tinted black with the most magnificent red and gold hues swirling and flickering inside. Jimin can feel the heat from them as he steps by, and he sees the vague outline of black flames.
There are more doorways and rooms connected; a marbled washroom with numerous glass vials of what Jimin can only assume are meant for cleansing the body. A large bath, which seems more like the hot springs Jimin is familiar with on the largest volcanic island of the Southern Isles, which borders the window looking out over the mountains, so its bathers can enjoy the view. An entire room full of clothing, accessories, footwear, and an arrangement of perfumes.
Although the rooms have the appearance of being recently cleaned, they do not feel new; for some reason, Jimin gets the sense that they are very much lived in. He does not ask, though. He wonders who has been displaced so that the king’s husband has a place to sleep.
Jimin takes the opportunity to shed his heavy cloak and wraps a lighter shawl around himself, allowing Jesuin to pull it tightly around his torso before pinning it in a manner the older man sees fit. Once he is finished, it falls in beautiful folds about his shoulders, acting more as an accent than any manner of warmth.
“You are not to be sloppy with your appearance, your highness.” Jesuin snatches up one of the perfume vials and spritzes it at Jimin’s exposed skin. He can’t help the sneeze, and receives an unamused eyebrow raise. “Your beauty will be told all throughout the kingdom. The Mountain King deserves nothing less than the most magnificent of beauties, and you must remember that.”
Jimin feels like a child scolded for slouching at teatime.
*
For the first time in days, Yoongi feels himself invigorated. It’s been frustrating putting on such a show for the king of the Southern Isles, making the man feel confident and satisfied in the union between their kingdoms. Yoongi had thought about letting the father of his new husband see the truth in their lands, but then again…it wouldn’t due to frighten him, and there is no need to be giving away all of their secrets. Should the marriage fail, should the prince not give him any sons, the Mountain King wants to have that unexpected leverage.
After all; while the king of the Southern Isles has a significant army and a legion of ships, he is no match for the powers Yoongi holds as the Mountain King.
Rageunstom, Silenze, and Beoraus had snarled at Yoongi in displeasure when he had arrived to their temporary keep earlier; they are not used to being locked away like common animals. But they would never harm him, so he had walked right up to Rageunstom’s great shoulder and slapped him hard. He only got a bit of spittle from between the great wolf’s fangs, and then the wolf lowered himself to allow Yoongi to climb upon him.
Now, as he leans low over the stormy black fur, icy breeze whipping in his face, Yoongi feels alive again. Silenze, with her pure white coat on his left, and Beoraus with his ashy white on Yoongi’s right, Yoongi feels he can forget useless politics and enjoy the hunt.
There are few mountain wolves these days. They frighten people too much, with their enormous bodies that stand as tall as horses’ backs. Their pelts are highly valuable, as well, so the hunters have nearly wiped them out. Yoongi, however, prefers to take advantage of their usefulness.
Mountain wolves are nearly silent when they move, no matter how fast they are going. They can turn sharply at a moment’s notice, their hearing and sense of smell is superb, and of course the most important part: they are deadly. Yoongi has won many a battle with them at his side. And, while they do not obey anyone but the Mountain King, they do tolerate Yoongi’s most trusted guard, Geumjae.
It is just as Yoongi spots their prey at the base of a hill when he spots new targets. He pulls his crossbow from his back. Rageunstom slows and lowers on his haunches, stalking carefully through the snow.
By the time the trespassers notice their presence, it is too late. The first arrow finds its mark with barely a sound, but as the other hunters realize what is going on, the king draws his sword. It takes only a few minutes for the hunting party to be painted across the snow. Yoongi wipes the blade of his sword clean before returning it to its sheath, and watches as Geumjae checks the bodies.
Hunting on royal lands without permission is punishable by death. Without trial.
“Just the five of them, Sire,” Geumjae says as he straightens up. He uses the toe of his boot to flip one of the bodies over.
Beoraus and Rageunstom sprint off without warning, and a moment later Yoongi can hear loud squealing before it cuts off, echoing between the still trees. When the wolves return, they are dragging a boar half their size between them. Yoongi laughs and pats each of them on the muzzle.
“Good boys,” he says approvingly. “The hunt wasn’t a complete waste.”
“We should check to see if they have a camp set up, Sire. There could be more.”
They hear hoofbeats, and glance up at the familiar sight of his hunting guard bringing the travois for carting back their game. They don’t wait for instruction; they know to gather the dead game quickly.
Meanwhile, Yoongi notices Silenze’s ears twitching, and her nostrils widening as she breathes in. A low, almost silent growl rumbles in her chest, and then with no further warning she bounds through the trees. This time, it is nearly a minute before he hears anything. Only this time, the screams are those of humans.
“It sounds like women,” Geumjae points out, and Yoongi nods. He whistles at Rageunstom, and leaps onto his back. Geumjae does the same with Beoraus.
The camp is chaos. Silenze has ripped tents to shreds, revealing not only spoils from hunts, but also three women and a young man. They are dressed in a manner not usual for people of the mountain kingdom; they look almost like travelers, with their now broken two-wheeled wagon cart, and their dirty appearances.
The women shriek and huddle together as they sob uncontrollably, probably terrified not only by the size of the white wolf, but most likely from the blood dripping from the other two wolves’ mouths. When the oldest of the women, perhaps in her third or forth decade of life, sees Yoongi’s face, he sees the color run from her skin.
“Please! Great Mountain King, we beg you to spare us!” The others quickly catch on and join her, although they are more distraught and their words sound more like nonsense to Yoongi’s ears.
He scoffs and spits at the ground in front of them.
“Your men are now dead, punished for trespassing and stealing from my lands. I might even feed them to my wolves as a nice snack, if I’m feeling generous.” It wouldn’t be the first time. “What use do I have for foreign leeches like yourselves?”
“Please,” the youngest of the women now pleads. “Please, I beg of you, your—your—majesty! I am w-with child!”
Yoongi draws his sword, and the others gasp as he uses it to lift the woman’s chin. She stares at him with tears streaming down her face, blatant fear in her eyes. He traces the sword down the front of her body, finding the small bulge of her belly. It is not a lie, then. He taps her belly once with the flat side of the sword and then brings the blade back up to her chin.
“What is a pregnant woman doing in a hunting party?”
She swallows. “My husband…” her face screws up as she attempts to keep from crying further. Her voice is barely a whisper. “He—” she breaks off and then gasps out her next words. “I will give you my child!”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “What use is your child to me?”
“You—you can—they can be your servant!”
“I have enough servants.”
“Please, your majesty,” the young man finally speaks, having been otherwise quiet and sticking close to the women, “we were only following along with our husbands; we did not know this land belongs to you. We never would have—had we known—”
Yoongi’s sword moves from the pregnant woman’s chin to pointing at the man’s face. “Are you saying it’s my fault? It’s my fault your husbands brought you onto royal lands, poached my game? And now you want me to spare you—for what!”
“Ple—”
Yoongi swings his sword in a sharp arch, silencing the third woman who dared speak without permission. The others scream their throats raw as her blood splatters the snow and she falls to the side. Once again, he has to wipe his sword clean.
“Tie them up. They’ll follow behind the boar. And gather up the game they’ve stolen, as well.”
Yoongi’s blood is pounding. He mounts Rageunstom, and with a swift kick, they turn, flying through the forest, back to the castle.
The blood on his hands disappears into Rageunstom’s dark fur. High above them, storm clouds build and darken the sky as the wind picks up. A blizzard is coming.
Inside the castle corridors, Yoongi happens upon his new husband. He takes one look at the terrified expression on Jimin’s face and brushes past him. It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to find Hayoon. He pulls her away from where she is threading beads from a large metal bowl, not paying any mind to the beads that scatter across the floor.
“Sire! Your hands—!” is all she can get out before he pushes her against the nearest wall and lifts her skirts. There is a flurry of movement as the others in the room quickly vacate. Hayoon moans loudly as Yoongi squeezes her breast tightly with one hand and tears at her undergarments with the other. She helps him free himself from his pants with practiced fingers, and doesn’t even try to muffle the ragged cry when he pushes into her immediately.
By the time he is done with her, panting roughly and tasting blood on his tongue, Hayoon’s clothes are completely ruined as they hang precariously off of her body. She is flushed all over, cum leaking from her cunt, and covered in bruises from his hands. She stares at him for a brief, breathless second before giggling slightly.
“Oh, how I have missed this, Yoongi,” she says. “I was worried you would forget about me after marrying that pretty little thing.”
Yoongi scoffs. “He doesn’t know how to get my blood pumping yet.”
She raises an eyebrow, and taps him on the chest. “Yet.”
*
Jimin watches as his husband, covered in blood, storms down the corridor. It is the first time he has seen him all day since they separated at morning. Jimin eventually had learned that the king was out hunting, but the expression of barely suppressed rage Jimin can see in his eyes is terrifying, and the prince can only stand in shocked silence as the king disappears into the castle.
Barely a moment later, he slaps his hands over his mouth to muffle a scream when the largest wolf he has ever seen saunters in through the main entrance of the castle. It glances at him, white specs of snow melting into its black fur, and Jimin sees blood drip onto the floor from its mouth.
He thinks he might hyperventilate when two more wolves enter right after. These ones pure white and white mixed with pale gray. The pure white one is the only one without blood on its muzzle.
Despite there being plenty of other people out and about, not one person seems to care that three giant wolves are inside the castle. Jimin shakes and then moans slightly in horror as all three wolves approach him. They surround him, sniff him, smear blood on him—and then walk past him, silent as they came.
When, a handful of minutes later, Jimin hears screaming and begging coming from a side passageway he knows leads outside, his legs give out.
Naeun finds him and brings him to be bathed and changed, and then for the first night since arriving to the Mountain Kingdom, Jimin sleeps alone. Buried in the blankets and furs, he stares at the shadows flickering in the room from the heating gems and wonders what other horrors will befall him in his new life.
*