Chapter Text
Once upon a midnight hour, the scuffling of dirt clashing with gravel was louder than thunder in their sensitive ears. The tips of the man’s in front almost seemed to twitch as they rounded a corner, their sharper angle poised to catch even the slightest out of place sound. But he and the man running behind him were the only thing out of place that evening. Under the large rising moon that kept disappearing and revealing itself from flowing and fading clouds, they weaved through the streets they had grown up on.
Past the house of the treasurer who had captivated them so easily with but a simple coin trick, the shining silver rolling smoothly over his knuckles before vanishing only to reappear behind one of their ears as if it had been growing there overnight. If only money could grow on ears, it might have helped the two in their escape. But they raced by the fish stall, the bent old lady not tapping her cane yet. If she had been outside, they would have run faster, the whip of that switch burned into their memory and to their shins as they couldn’t help but carry on their game with her even after their skirts and hair grew long.
They slipped through the park they might have started to blush in if the circumstances were different. If the sun was out. If their hands weren’t already all but glued together and they were standing under the towering maple, the way its leaves danced against each other all the encouragement they needed to finally start doing the same.
Though he hadn’t really danced, no matter what stories the other told.
He would do anything to dance now. Just one time with the one who had become his other half. Anything to have one more night quiet in their bed. To run his finger down the slope of his lover’s nose, the tiniest thing that it was. To feel the softness of his cheek, like the round swell of a fresh dumpling. To pull teasingly at the end of his chestnut hair tied together behind his neck. There was sweat there now, surely, but he would touch that, too. He would do anything just to touch him again, and so he squeezed his hand and pulled him around another corner.
Panting, the body of the shorter man behind him crashing into him as he halted so suddenly, he realized there, as the tips of spears gleaned in the moon gracing them with her presence just one more time, that he would do anything for the one he loved.
Even die.
Tapping his foot excessively, as he couldn’t quite find the loose stone that would surely drive the patience of his brother to its limit, the second son of king Jeon Junghyun surely looked, to any observers, like one with ants running up and down his pants as he darted his foot around trying to find right sound. Unable to look down, he could probably still find the exact location of the wobbling stone if he started to count from the towering doors in front of him. Under a roof now, the foyer used to be a courtyard, and the stones here had been kept throughout history, their surfaces molding and warping over the years from constant use. But that stone—the prince could remember squatting down as a child and rocking it back and forth while imagining a ship clinging to crashing waves.
“If you’re looking,” his brother hissed beside him, the time it took him to say something quite short and therefore a bit disappointing, “for the stone. I am standing on it. So that you would not do exactly what you are trying to do right now.” With a quick glance at his older brother, the prince combined a grin and a wince. “And if you simply need to pee, you should have gone before.”
“Nope,” the prince said, smiling fully now even if the first crack of the doors opening straightened his lips back out just as quickly. “Though—maybe I need to now.”
“Don’t worry, little Jungkook,” his brother said, the pat on his back making Jungkook flinch habitually. His elbow even rose in order to defend himself, but his brother’s smile was genuine as he pulled his hand back behind his own back to meet its partner. Not sure if he should frown or stick his tongue out or smile back, Jungkook grumbled a little before his feet, which had been so eager early to move but now felt heavier than a fallen maple log, followed his brother into the great hall. The insulting and inaccurate adjective concerning his size went unchecked, but not unnoticed. Besides, as they passed the creaking doors, it felt like the perfect word. Jungkook also felt little in any room his father was in, and the throne room was the worst of all.
And yet, in all the castle, it was one of Jungkook’s favorite rooms.
The wooden pillars that seemed to measure his growth, as he could remember a time he still couldn’t fit his arms all the way around one. The effort to stretch to meet his own fingertips had worn away over the years, but the pillars stood as true as ever, unchanged despite people aging around them. The windows, replaced with glass during his grandfather’s reign, that let the sun make shadows dance on the floor even if no music was playing and let the moon slip inside so she wouldn’t be so lonely in the sky even if the room was empty. The banners that changed whenever his mother felt like decorating, the deep purples of their family always constant—a bright yellow often prevalent whenever she felt like the place needed cheering up. She never stopped with just the drapes of fabric, though, and Jungkook recalled event after dinner after ball of the room filled with decorations all to make the grand room homier and more welcoming.
Despite growing up in the hall, Jungkook still felt like a stranger called before his father for the first time as he neared the throne. But there were yellow forsythia wrapped around the pillars that lined the walkway to the throne now, their buds seemingly fluttering in a breeze, and despite himself, Jungkook felt their warmth which each step. Even if she wasn’t present in the room, he could almost hear his mother whisper in his ear,
“Courage, darling,” and at her unspoken request for a smile, he swallowed but allowed one to grace his face.
It withered as soon as his brother stopped, the clicking of his heels making Jungkook stand up straight in order to bow properly. Once he lifted his eyes, he let them drift up to his father and to his throne.
Even if he would never sit in it for political purposes, Jungkook had often swung his legs from that seat or even stood upon it if no one was around. With his finger pointing out toward the room, he would bellow his little voice as loud as he could while playing pretend. He supposed it was the dream of any child, prince or not, to become a king. The excitement of wearing a crown and telling people what to do had faded with the years, though. As Jungkook aged and watched what his brother Seokjin had gone through in order to one day become king, he was grateful now more than ever that his childhood dream would never be fulfilled.
Some days—even now—Jungkook looked at the throne and couldn’t imagine himself filling it. He couldn’t imagine Seokjin, either, most days. No king had ever matched his father, and he believed no king ever would. The reason Jungkook stood nervously before him, then, wasn’t out of fear, but simple and complicated respect. Because his father had reprimanded him as he grew up just like he demanded his people to follow laws, but he had loved him, too. Forgiven him and spoiled him, even, as the king did for his subjects, too. Balls held that even the lowest fishmonger could attend if they were lucky enough to win the chance. Breaks on taxes when the economy prospered. Second chances for ones confused by anger or swayed by lies who thought they would do better without such a benevolent king.
His father had been gracious and yet firm with Jungkook as he grew, too, and as Jungkook watched his brother take the seat beside him, he didn’t need a smack to his head from Seokjin to remember how lucky he was to be the second son. Without the pressure of one day ruling, Jungkook had been allowed to pursue his own interests in terms of study and play. His father had never said no to him, but had given wise counsel on multiple options so Jungkook could make the best decision.
Jungkook supposed, as he clasped his hands behind his back and waited for the king to begin, he shouldn’t have been surprised when his father approached the situation of finding a marital match for Jungkook with the same strategy.
“Son,” he began, his voice never bellowing but quite soft. A voice not quite suitable for a king and yet perfect for a ruler. Beside him, Seokjin crossed his legs as he knew he wasn’t the one being addressed, and now, in his chair he had grown used to over the years, he was able to relax. He loved watching Jungkook squirm, so he was going to enjoy this meeting. Jungkook had an urge to find a stone, wobbly or not, to chunk at him.
“Thank you for coming.” Jungkook bowed, as if he would ever refuse a call from his father. “Come, come.” As the king signaled for someone to move a table in front of him, Jungkook took the stairs one at a time, even if he could leap up four at once if he wanted to. Seokjin had done the same but ended up wobbling that afternoon, so Jungkook had won. Positioned on the opposite side of his father with the table between them, Jungkook sucked in a quiet breath as he saw three portraits before him, each likeness surrounded by a painted frame of purple and gold.
“Your brother and I—” the king began as he rose and tapped the edge of the table. Jungkook avoided glaring at his brother, because the thought of Seokjin deciding who he would marry made Jungkook want to challenge him to a wrestling match like they used to when they needed to quickly declare who could decide a winner. But back then, getting to make the person do whatever you wanted if you won was childish—“Run naked into the river,” “Eat this worm,” “Say no to mother”—some were harmless, and some were given when they really did seem to hate each other. But getting married himself had changed Seokjin, even if he was still the same brother Jungkook loved and despised. He revealed nothing from his seat, however, so Jungkook didn’t glance his way.
“—have decided on three options to present to you. But ultimately, we would like the decision to be yours.”
“And you’ll be grateful for it,” Seokjin said as he tapped on the arm of his chair, “as I certainly had no luxury.”
“Yeonhwa is an excellent match—” his father began, but Seokjin’s muttering cut him off.
“With a lifeless personality. ‘Yes, husband,’ ‘Right away, husband,’ ‘I am at your bidding, husband,’” Seokjin mimicked, his voice high and annoyed as he sighed into his palm.
“I would think that sounds perfect for you, brother,” Jungkook couldn’t help but say. “You love when people do what you say.”
“Yes, well, not without a little fight. A little—” Seokjin squeezed his bent fingers in the air, the way they had been mangled as a child luckily not leading him to be crippled in any way, “—life! God, how can I love someone with no life?”
“By choosing to,” his father said before tapping the table again. “As that’s what love is. Now, Jungkook, we, your mother and I, do not expect you to love your match in the beginning, but I have hope for you, my son. Unlike Seokjin, you have always been so full of love.”
“Absolutely uncalled for,” Seokjin huffed to himself. “I am full of love. So full. Even when I’m starving, I’m full. I’d love to—expel my love onto another.” His hand reached up his throat and then shot forth from his mouth, his tongue sticking out as he pretended to retch before he sat up straight and smiled when his father stared at him.
“You are welcome to ask any questions,” his father continued after Seokjin was well again.
“When must I decide?” Jungkook said, his finger touching just the edge of the table as he bit his lip.
“I have promised the fathers they shall receive word in two weeks’ time. Those we did not consider an option, I have already informed.”
“Who wasn’t considered?”
“Pyo Junghee,” his father said, and as Jungkook couldn’t even picture the girl, he supposed she was from a much smaller region, “and Ahn Jaehyo.” Sucking in a noticeable breath, Jungkook did look at his brother squarely then.
“I didn’t know he had—offered.”
“I informed father about what really happened.” Unable to stop himself from touching the thin but noticeable scar on his cheek, Jungkook grit his teeth as Seokjin added, “And assured him it was not just an inconsequential fight between boys. The man is an ass, plain and simple, and the next time he dares to show his face, I will finally give him what’s owed.”
“Did you mention that? In your letter?” Jungkook asked slowly, smiling a little when Seokjin huffed.
“I didn’t write him at all. He should simply know. A real man is prepared for a fight at all times.”
“And you just said he is an ass.”
“And an ass is whipped when it refuses to obey.”
“But if he doesn’t know what the rule of engagement is—”
“The rule is, only I’m allowed to beat up my brother,” Seokjin said as he crossed his arms before waving his fingers at the table. “He’s not an option. Aren’t you glad?”
“Yes, thank you,” Jungkook had to confess. Admitting his brother was right sometimes felt like pulling a rotted tooth out, a pain Jungkook had only experienced once as a child and learnt his lesson from, but today it came as more of a contented sigh.
“Which left us with the following three. Seokjin wanted to only show you two, but I think Choi Dongyul must at least be considered.”
“She is the dullest girl I have ever met,” Seokjin sighed as if he had been personally affronted by the girl on more than one occasion. Knowing his brother acted this way over the most minor of annoyances, Jungkook only smiled a little. “All she talks about is fish.”
“Fish are important, and considering trade in the east—” their father began, and only Seokjin would dare cut off the king.
“We have fish here! She should marry a fish if she loves them so much. Please don’t marry Dongyul, brother,” Seokjin pleaded. “I’ll disown you.”
“Only father can do that,” Jungkook grinned fully now. But the artist should be commended. He had somehow captured the dullness in the girl’s eyes. He had met her several times, as their father was right. Fish were important, and keeping up trade with the east was essential. But he had only had the fortune—or misfortune—of sitting beside her once. And they had the misfortune of dining on fish that evening. The girl had prattled on quite extensively, and while Jungkook hadn’t minded—it meant he didn’t have to come up with conversation—he couldn’t imagine discussing the intricate way an Acipenser sinensis spine seemed to grow out of its very back every night for the rest of his life. He imagined she would miss the coast too much, as well, and he would hate to make anyone unhappy. He knew being matched to the second son, even the second son of the king, wasn’t anyone’s first pick.
“Don Daewon is the most sensible match, then, if you want to have a family,” his father carried on so Seokjin would stop complaining. He touched the top of the girl’s picture softly, and Jungkook almost did the same, though he put his twitching fingers on the side of the table instead. Even a drawing of her had Jungkook swallowing.
“We didn’t pick her just because of her looks,” Seokjin smirked a little as he leaned in. “But she’s far prettier than you.”
“Gumi’s military expertise is vital in keeping Deungu and our surrounding areas safe,” Jungkook said, his tutor’s words easily recited. No one patted him on the back or the top of his head for getting the answer right, so he put his hands behind his back and tilted his head a little as he cleared his throat. “She is very pretty.”
“Look at him,” Seokjin teased. “All grown up and gushing over girls.”
“She would make a fine match,” their father nodded seriously.
“You’d have pretty babies,” Seokjin translated for them. “Which would make mother very happy.”
“Mother would be happy with any babies, even if they turn out ugly. Which is why she’ll be excited about your first child.”
“Are you calling my wife ugly?” Seokjin gasped and actually looked affronted. Jungkook was doing nothing of the sort, as Yeonhwa was actually quite beautiful. And Seokjin knew it.
“Just you. All her looks won’t save your baby.”
“If we have any,” Seokjin started, but whatever he mumbled trailed off as his father glared at them. “When we do! They will be the talk of all the land! And I will whisk them away from my lovely wife as soon as possible so their first word isn’t ‘husband’!”
“You know,” the king tapped the table again, “that your mother and I do not expect any children from you, Jungkook, which is why we have left Kim Namjoon on the list.”
“Ah,” Jungkook said softly, his fingers curling around each other behind his back as he nodded a little.
“You don’t have to pretend on our part,” Seokjin almost laughed. “I told father we knew you would pick him.”
“I don’t—” Jungkook stuttered. “It’s not that I—while I—”
“You have liked him since you were ten,” Seokjin said, a softness in his voice making Jungkook’s whole body tighten, an urge to deny him so strong it spun Jungkook’s stomach as he felt the prickles of blush springing up across his face. “Listen, brother,” Seokjin stood to take his place beside Jungkook, a place he had taken all his life, a place he would hold until their father was gone, his hand warm on Jungkook’s shoulder as he squeezed Jungkook’s muscles just a little. “You are in the unique and fortunate position of being the second son. Without a need to have children, you are free to marry whomever you wish! Marry for love, then, or like, or marry for beauty, or—” With a wave at Dongyul, Seokjin grimaced. “—peculiar interests in aquatic friends. But whatever you do, marry for yourself. Not who I or father want you to marry.”
“Who do you want me to marry?” Jungkook blinked up at his brother and then his father.
“As I said,” their father answered calmly, “each offers a benefit to our kingdom.”
“The fish in the east,” Seokjin pointed to Dongyul.
“The military in the north,” their father pointed to Daewon.
“And the love or your life in the south—” Seokjin lost his words and left his place quickly as Jungkook smacked his hand flat against his brother’s stomach.
“Sorry, father,” he bowed as Seokjin gaped.
“Don’t apologize to him! Apologize to me!”
“Milsan provides the majority of the capital’s wheat and rice,” Jungkook started to quote, though as his brother and father obviously were aware, he let his voice die away. Most notably, besides its agriculture, Milsan had the greatest academies in the entire south. While some viewed this as the capital’s failing, the king had always been proud to work closely with Milsan, and most of the palace’s officials had trained in the city to the south. Every year, scientists and scholars from Milsan came to the palace to pitch ideas and inventions to the king. Those picked were not only awarded with the king’s approval, but also given a place of residency and funding for a year in the capital to work on their ideas. That wasn’t the first place Jungkook had met Namjoon, though he had seen him there every year.
No, his brother was, unfortunately, once again, correct.
Not reaching out to touch the swirls of green around Kim Namjoon’s portrait, Jungkook felt the ribbons streaming from the top of one of his favorite pillars in his memory so strongly he might as well have been holding onto them in front of his father and brother. The pillar was his favorite because he could see the entire dance floor from behind it, and yet no one would see him. Palms on the wood smoothed over time, Jungkook pressed his cheek against it, too, to get a better view, his small mouth opening in awe as everyone swirled and twirled around the dance floor.
His mother, as his father would boast proudly once dinner started later, had “outdone herself again.” The autumn ball as the seasons changed was always filled with delicious wines, at least, at the tiny age of ten, was what Jungkook had heard. He watched the adults sip purple from their glasses all night while he stood under the purple ribbons and watched purple fabric in an ocean before him. Knowing he would drown if he sat foot in it, his current dance instructor quite exasperated by his lack of progress, Jungkook merely watched. As the prince, he was one of the only children allowed to attend the ball in the first place.
There was his brother, of course, but he had made fun of Jungkook’s sash earlier, and Jungkook had been sneaking around trying to slip things into Seokjin’s drink to make him regret it. There were a few girls there, too, of course. They were always standing in groups, their short hair covering their faces when they leaned in to whisper with each other. They were always clumped together whispering, and whenever Jungkook tried to give them eye contact to be polite or indicate he was ready to converse, the glimpses of brown vanished again behind black hair. Jungkook was almost relieved, since he had never met a girl he could talk to.
But there was a boy.
He wasn’t standing with the group of girls, thankfully, and he wasn’t seeking out Seokjin’s attention. But he was standing on the other side of the dancers next to one of the tallest men Jungkook had ever seen. He looked quite serious, and possibly older than Jungkook. He was certainly taller. His sash was a dark green, and standing next to a pillar, Jungkook couldn’t help but think the boy looked like the bough of a tree. He was just thinking of the last tree he had climbed—and how he had gone higher than Seokjin, who had whined about ripping a hole in his pants and insisted they had to stop so it wasn’t fair that Jungkook won in the first place—when the boy looked his way. Between a couple and then two, arms raised and dresses swirling and backs dipping, he stared at Jungkook. And Jungkook, his cheek still against the thick wooden pillar, gasped. When the boy smiled and waved, Jungkook spun around to hide behind the pillar as if he had been caught in a game of hide-and-seek, his chest heaving as if he had just raced Seokjin back from their master’s school.
With the music pouring past the pillar to engulf him, Jungkook wasn’t quite sure how long he stood there trying to hide. All he knew is he gasped again when a head appeared around his trusted pillar. Up close, the boy’s cheeks seemed huge and like they were too heavy for his face. But he was tall and lean, and his smile was lopsided as he stood up straight.
“I found you!”
“H-hi,” Jungkook said, finally standing up to bow as he remembered his manners. “I am prince Jungkook.”
“Oh, wow, I am honored to meet you,” the boy put a hand to his heart over his green and bowed formally, and Jungkook suppressed a giggle. Some days he felt like such events were just playing pretend. He wasn’t really sure he belonged in such a grand hall. “I am Kim Namjoon, of Milsan.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Jungkook said.
“You, too!” With the formalities over, Namjoon looked around before whispering. “What are you doing over here?”
“Oh, I’m—” Hesitating, Jungkook looked around himself before leaning in, his hair not blocking his eyes like the girls’ did but the comparison not lost on him. “Watching.”
“Watching what?”
“Everyone dance.”
“Oh,” Namjoon looked out to the dance floor, the pace of the new song slower than the last. “Do you like to dance?”
“I’m not very good at it,” Jungkook admitted.
“I am terrible,” Namjoon laughed before seeming to realize confessing such a flaw would be frowned upon. “But I do try my best. Do you want to see?”
“See?”
“Me dance? As I said, I’m not very good.”
“But you have no partner.”
“I don’t at my lessons, either,” Namjoon said as he raised his arms, his face ramrod straight and looking so serious that Jungkook suppressed a giggle. Jungkook knew the dance the boy started, so he mimicked his stance and began as well, their arms not even touching as they clunked one foot after the other. Jungkook’s smile rose, and he couldn’t help but burst into laughter when Namjoon tripped, the boy looking sheepish as he put his hands behind his back.
“As I said, I’m not very good.”
“I think I’m better than you,” Jungkook boasted a little as he kept going.
“That isn’t very hard. Though I’m sure I’d beat you at reading.”
“Why do you think that?” Jungkook stopped, his hands on his hips, not because he particularly liked reading at all, but because he was used to meeting challenges head on.
“Because I’m the best in my whole city, and my father already knows I’ll be a court official one day.”
“Here, in the palace?”
“Yes, that is my dream,” Namjoon said.
“Why would you want to live here?” Jungkook blinked. He had answers of his own—his favorite tree to climb and the majestic horses in their stables and the way his bed fit just right in his room’s corner and the way the kitchen staff always let him have snacks and never told his mother—but Namjoon wouldn’t know about any of what made the palace so special.
“I would like to serve the king by offering my skills.”
“Your skill of reading? What good is that?” Jungkook cocked his head curiously, and to his credit, Namjoon didn’t look offended. He merely smiled, his hands still behind his back, and bowed a little.
“Perhaps one day the prince will understand.”
Perhaps he would, though as Namjoon walked back to his father, Jungkook was left with something else he didn’t understand. That would take longer to understand. Each year, he would press his cheek against his favorite pillar and watch Namjoon stand by his father. He grew with each year until he finally stopped, a tree reaching toward the heavens. His cheeks narrowed, and his shoulders broadened, and his skin darkened, and his smile disappeared. Each year, Jungkook waited to gasp, to hide behind his pillar, to smile as Namjoon found him again. But the boy came and went until he was a man himself, and each year Jungkook understood a little more of what he still didn’t quite know.
“Seokjin is right,” Jungkook said with a deep breath as he touched just the edge of Namjoon’s portrait, right on the green where everything still felt like lying in the safety of fresh grass under his favorite tree’s shadow.
“I’m ri—of course I’m right. Scribe! Scribe, write down what my brother just said!” Seokjin started to cry.
“I do—” Swallowing, he gathered enough courage to look up at his father. “I would like to marry Kim Namjoon.”
“That didn’t take as long as I thought,” Seokjin mumbled.
“But I do not know if wants to marry me.”
“No father would offer their child if they didn’t wish to have your hand,” their father assured him.
“Father, we know that isn’t true,” Seokjin frowned. “What we know is rarely would a child refuse their father. So those offered are merely sheep obeying the whim of their master. Puppies, following after a hound. Followers, blinded by a cultist’s promises. Ones who—”
“You’re speaking of yourself, brother,” Jungkook reminded him.
“I am a loyal and obedient son. It isn’t the same at all.”
“I am loyal and obedient, too,” Jungkook said. “And I don’t doubt that Namjoon is the same. But my statement still stands. Perhaps he—desires a wife. A family of his own. I hear he is well educated and h—” here Jungkook stuttered again. “Handsome. I’m sure he has had many offers.”
“But none from a princess. Or prince,” Seokjin leaned in.
“Anyone may refuse your offer,” the king said. “I can write to Namwook and see what he thinks. If he believes his son would refuse, we won’t make an official offer.”
“It would still be a rejection. It would break little Jungkook’s heart,” Seokjin teased, but Jungkook didn’t even push him away. Letting go of Namjoon’s picture, he stood up straight and took a deep breath.
“I want what is best for the kingdom, father, but also for myself. I believe Kim Namjoon is the best match in both ways. If he will have me, I will do everything I can to make him comfortable and happy here in the palace.”
“My son,” the king said, his palm warm on Jungkook’s face but startling, nonetheless. Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he had been held in such a tender way. And his gaze—Jungkook had known what type of man his father had been for years. He would do anything for his people, and even more so for his family. “He would be a fool to refuse you. And from what I hear, Kim Namjoon is the furthest from a fool than the north is from the south. I shall write a letter today. Let us not tell your mother until we hear back.”
“Only good news,” Jungkook nodded, his head thudding as his father slipped away. As he glanced at Seokjin, who started to try to pinch at his cheeks and make such noises he might as well join the carrier pigeons, he understood that he wanted a relationship like his parents had. One where he would do anything for his partner. He could only pray, as the days passed while they waited for a reply, that Namjoon felt the same.