Chapter Text
On the night of the King’s thirtieth birthday, the entire Royal Family was brutally murdered and overthrown by the Jeons. It was only a matter of days until new laws were formed and the entirety of the Kingdom was placed in a state of hierarchy. Anyone from butchers to government officials who showed opposition to the new Royal Family were killed immediately, their wives raped, and children sold into slavery. Even noble families turned on one another, informing the King of the smallest of treacheries in order to gain his favour. It was only the beginning of a cruel reign.
Seventeen long years have passed since the mass assassination of the last Royal Family from the Kim dynasty and citizens no longer live in fear of the ruling monarchy–not through acceptance, but due to convenience. No one would bother them if they remained quiet and pliant to the King’s orders, after all, they knew what would happen to them if they didn’t. That was how the Kingdom flourished, through layers of falsehood.
Built within a dense and brilliantly cultivated forest of defence stood one of the Kingdom’s pride, the Royal Palace in all it’s spectacular opulence, surrounded by extravagant gardens which grew on for miles. It was the kind of beauty that was intimidating, yet you would still be lured in by the carvings of beautiful celestial beings reaching out from the exterior walls where they stood tall, calling you to venture inside. These statues were situated around the entire Palace, seven in total, and was said to guard the royal residence from the evil that wandered outside.
Large, sturdy stones were the body of the Palace: three main wings for the immediate Royal Family and several other smaller quarters for guests, and beyond that held further chambers for the butlers, maids, chefs, and all of the Royal staff. Within the walls of the Palace walked a tall man of undeniable affluence, his stride confident and status evident with the way he dressed and carried himself. His skin was tan and shoulders broad, and only the finest fabrics touched him. This important figure carried with him a staff of some sorts that stood just below his waist, the long body of it covered in a deep shade of red, leading to the gold intricacies that curled around the top where the man held it.
As he strode through the grandeur of the Palace hallways, he passes a particular large painting on his left, and only briefly does he stop to stare. Intelligent eyes scanned over the work of art that he was all too familiar with, taking into account every figure within the painting as if he were greeting them.
He tore his gaze away and continued on forwards till he stood in front of another set of impressive double doors, ones which were obnoxiously covered in golds of all grades. The two guards bowed at his presence and opened the heavy doors, revealing a very well lit throne room. The man stepped inside and headed straight towards the most important person in the room and bent down on one knee, head low in respect. “Your Majesty.”
Sat high and comfortable on his royal throne was King Jeon Joongki, a powerful and clever man with an immense presence who could orchestrate the most unimaginable of things from balls to battles. He built cities from dust, making the Kingdom ten times richer, and ten times more powerful than it had ever been. He was not a man to challenge. His voice was low and clear, his age adding onto the authoritative tone as he spoke, “Lord Namjoon, rise. What brings you here so early in the morning?” The Lord lifted himself up and gave a curt smile towards the King. “Good news, your Majesty,” he moved his staff behind his back. “The Crown Prince has succeeded in defeating the Lim revolters, and will be returning in a weeks time.”
Awaiting the King’s response, Namjoon looked at the monarch properly, seeing lines of wear starting to appear on his face. He was ageing, yet instead of strands of grey, his hair remained black under his crown. The Royal Family of Jeon were known for their pale skin and deep black hair that looked like it could drown out all the darkness in the world. Their distinct black hair was something that remained with them till even death, though no one knew the mystery behind it.
Sometimes, townsfolk would gossip. That the hair was an indication to the Jeon family’s relation to the Devil. Years ago, rumours spread about an ancestor of Jeon selling his soul to the devil in exchange for power and beauty, and that was how they acquired their jet black hair and eyes, pale skin, and tremendous fighting abilities. It was also said that once a Jeon passes away, the Devil himself comes and collects every strand of their hair to take back the blackness that was once his. That their hair was the source of their power.
Namjoon didn’t necessarily believe the chatter–it was rumours of course, yet he was aware of another higher power within every Jeon, he sensed it in every one he met.
A chuckle brings the Lord away from his thoughts and the King spoke, “Very well, Lord Namjoon.” He waves a heavy hand and turns to the head servant. “Tell the Palace to prepare for the Crown Prince’s arrival and alert the Kingdom of this news. The future King is returning victorious once again.” The Lord took this opportunity to look outside the ceiling high windows and through the rich green of the forest, soaking up the sunlight that intensified as time passed. It is a peaceful day, he thinks to himself, and he is dismissed.
When news had spread that the Crown Prince, Jeon Jeongguk, came out victorious in yet another battle against a smaller neighbouring country, every living soul within the Kingdom celebrated, proud of their future King. The capital city of the Kingdom was engulfed in excitement and the streets were livelier than before. Unlike his father, Prince Jeongguk was more amiable and thus the citizens all favoured him. Tall, handsome, intelligent, and an excellent warrior–within the Crown Prince there was no fault, and he himself did not allow room for any either.
If perfection lived, it lived through Jeongguk, his whole being unattainable to all those who flocked towards him, drawn by the character he displayed, the character that he was through and through.
Under the scorching heat of a summer’s sun was none other than the charming Crown Prince, riding tall on his equally stunning stallion, the black horse gleaming under the direct sunlight. The Prince sat handsomely under a large black cape that covered the heavy armour underneath, and through a small slit shone a gold so brilliant.
From a distance you could mistake him for a being from Hell maybe even a warrior demon sent by the Devil who rose from Hell to complete a quest. His hair was long and fell just over his eyes, black locks parted heavily towards one side than the other and it framed his strong face well. That was one way of describing him: strong.
In every angle he had this way of intimidating you. You could do no wrong to him yet still you would fear him, respect him, and feel the need to surrender yourself to him. Perhaps it was from all the years he grew up within the Palace, an impressive work of architecture that he knew like the back of his hand.
The Royal Palace accepted Jeongguk within the walls, and so, he accepted the Palace within himself.
“Your Highness, there seems to be trouble ahead.” Spoke a man from a behind him on his left, dressed in a deep blue cape, also wearing decorated armour under it, but not as impressive as the Prince’s. The Crown Prince heard his tone well and so nodded without a glance, “Go forth, Jimin.”
In a sudden change of speed, dazzling blonde hair passed the Prince and rode onwards to the commotion that the Prince himself began to notice. Large eyes narrowed ahead, trying to see the past a crowd of people blocking the main road. They seemed to have been surrounding something, watching with eagerness, shouting in a manner that didn’t sit well with the Prince. Call it a Royal’s intuition.
When Jimin arrived at the scene, the crowd parted in confusion and surprise, wondering what a Royal Knight was doing wandering in the outskirts of a struggling city. Jimin swiftly slid off his horse and entered the ring of boisterous looking, rough men, and then, he noticed a hooded figure held against the floor by a heavy man who wore obnoxious gold rings of a law grade. “What is the matter here, gentlemen?” He questioned, eyeing the limp body on the floor.
A thick knee was dug into the back of the figure, and upon Jimin’s question it was pressed deeper. “Oh, nothin’ of ya worry good sir. Just a runaway slave!” The same heavy man answered, finishing in a gruff laughter that was accompanied by snickers from the crowd around him.
Slave? Slaves weren’t prevalent in bigger cities, and definitely not in the Capital. They became prohibited a few years ago however it was still common in areas like this. Poorer cities like this weren’t under proper supervision and there, anything and everything happened under the sun. “Very well.” Just as the Knight turned on his heels came out a hoarse plea from the floor, and Jimin glanced back down to the floor. The runaway slave had outstretched his arm towards him, head barely lifted off the dusty ground.
“Please... help me.” The voice was desperate, and from it the Knight immediately realised that the slave was young. Jimin suppressed a sigh. He didn’t need to become involved in this. It was not a business he wanted to meddle in. So, without a word he turned away once again in a silent apology when he noticed the Prince approaching with his horse, this time wearing a hood to hide most of his face. “A matter of a runaway slave, your Highness, none of our concerns.” Jimin told him in a quick and hushed voice, climbing back onto his brown horse.
It wasn’t that the Prince pitied slaves or anything of the sort, but from knowing the Prince for so many years, he knew that it was a topic he didn’t like to talk or think about. The Crown Prince didn’t answer and simply walked his horse around the crowd, keeping to himself. Jimin followed behind him, watching the scene unfold within the ring when in a split second the hooded figure suddenly escaped from his restraints, running out.
The crowd roared. “Get back ‘ere ya scoundrel!” Bellowed the heavy man. The ring broke once again, and the same hooded figure from before leapt in front of the Prince’s horse, startling them and forcing the Prince to forcefully manoeuvre his horse to avoid stepping over the the body as he grunted. Pushing past the crowd emerged the ringed man, storming over to the body lying weakly on the ground.
Aggressively, he pulled the figure off of the ground, attempting to drag him back but despite his weak appearing stature, the slave put up quite the resistance. “Please, save me!” He begged in the Prince’s direction, but the Prince did not look his way. “Terribly sorry about that! Get over here ya scum.” The man spat, trying to pull the slave away. Then, the slave grabbed onto the Prince’s ankle, almost dragging him down and in that motion the Prince’s hood fell, startling him again as he clutched onto his horse to steady himself.
“Please.”
At this plea, the Prince finally looked down at the slave, and his breath hitched.
Green.
Two dazzling green eyes stared back at him from under his hood with such intensity that it triggered a memory within the Prince from several years ago.
“Will I ever get to see such a sight?” A younger, much more innocent looking Prince asked. In front of him stood his personal History teacher; an elderly man, the best in his field for years, and the little Prince’s favourite. His teacher smiled a little sadly, closing the book in his hands. “They don’t exist anymore, your Highness. Green eyes are now nothing but a mere myth.” The Prince’s shoulders deflated. “Oh,” He pondered for a while, staring at his desk before returning his gaze towards his teacher. “But, it must’ve been extraordinary to witness them, right?” He asked, this time to no one, black eyes full of interest.
The young Prince had never seen anyone with green eyes before. Though he was only twelve, he had encountered upon thousands of people and most of them had brown eyes. He was aware of the Park family and their blue eyes but that was a common sight to see as they served the Royal Family in abundance, and he was recently acquainted with Jimin, a son of the Family who was one year above him. “I do not like my black eyes, they are dull and uninteresting.” He confessed in his Teacher’s silence. His Teacher chuckled.
”Your Highness, your eyes are the eighth wonder of this world. You will learn to love them one day.” But Jeongguk shook his head adamantly, looking outside the large window of his study room, a dreamy expression on his face. “No, they are not.” He looked out across the green gardens glowing rich under the spring sun. “I won’t love them, not when there is a person out there with eyes the colour of life itself.” His Teacher remained quiet, choosing to stop himself from reminding the young Prince of the extinction of the unique eyes. Instead, he agreed knowingly in silence.
The Prince couldn’t have been more correct. Extraordinary beyond belief, they were indeed the colour of life.
Amidst the loud jeers that now seemed to ring in the distance, The Crown Prince’s eyes widened ever so slightly, body still frozen at the sight before him. Green eyes! Green eyes were locking onto his black ones and he shivered, feeling like he discovered the most priceless treasure in the world. His teacher had been wrong the entire time, beholders of the green eyes were very much alive and his proof stood right before him. Green eyes glistened wet, and it was the tear that fell down from a rough pull which brought the Prince out of his daze, his deep and commanding voice cutting through the noise like a sword. “Let him go at once!”
Jimin shot his gaze towards the Prince, taken aback from how he had raised his voice. It wasn’t like him to do such a thing outside of battle, the Prince did not like small talk let alone shout at a group of people.
But, then again, did he really know the Prince? Public appearances, training, and battles aside, what exactly did the Crown Prince do in the little amount of privacy and free time that he had? More importantly, why was he now holding onto a mere slave’s arm with such urgency? Jimin had dismounted his horse the moment the slave tried to pull Prince, and now he was stood in close range, blue eyes alert with a prepared hand resting at the handle of his sword.
The man stared at the Prince in shock, in disbelief that someone else was telling him to let go of his own slave, but he couldn’t help but cower a little under the gaze of the visibly powerful man before him. Gruff laughter erupted from the man as he clenched his hand tighter around the slave’s arm and the slave visibly winced.
The heavy man stepped forward towards the Prince, talking in a slow and condescending tone. “Listen here sir. I know ya two Knights of the Palace but things work differently down ‘ere,” He jabbed a fat finger into the slave’s chest repeatedly, as if to make a point. “This right ‘ere? It’s mine. It’s my property, I paid pretty penny for this one.”
The Prince, unfazed, instead said, “Then I will purchase him from you.” A couple of curious men with hands stuffed into their pockets began to walk towards the four of them as the rest of the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves, stopping right behind the slaveowner. Jimin glanced impatiently at the Prince, simply waiting for any sign that would let him take action, but it never came.
The slaveowner smirked and pushed his chest out, standing proud all of a sudden. “Not even a bloody Knight like ya could afford this!” He snickered to himself and grabbed the slave’s chin, harshly turning his head from left to right.
The Prince simply watched him with no expression whatsoever. He had encountered many men like this throughout his journeys, and knew what made them tick. “Then state the price and let us end this pointless conversation.”
The slaveowner growled at the Prince’s words before composing himself, a little unnerved by the power he and authority held in his voice, and exclaimed the price of the slave with all his chest for everyone within earshot to hear. “Twelve hundred gold coins! I bet ya about to pee ya pants good sir, so well, be on ya way–” But the Prince cut him off, muttering only one word, taking the man by surprise. “What?”
”I said I will pay you double. So let go of him.”
Silence fell between them and the whispering behind them halted, everyone apart from Jimin staring in incredulity. Several seconds passed before the slaveowner’s expression darkened, barking at the Prince in anger, hands shaking and clenched into a fist. “Think ya funny do ya? Ya dare insult me like this? I’ll ‘ave ya beaten to the floor!” The Prince met eyes with the slave yet again, and in the next moment pulled the him to his side, still expressionless he spoke. “Twenty four hundred gold will be yours. Would you like to come collect it at the Capital or prefer it to be delivered?”
Burning with anger, the heavy man lurched forwards with a yell and the slave hid into the Prince’s chest in fear, but before he even knew it, he felt something cold and sharp prick his skin. When his eyes dropped down, he saw a brilliant work of craftsmanship held against his neck, the long silver blade managing to graze his skin deep enough to draw blood. Jimin spoke low and quick.
“Fool. Lay your hands on his Highness and you will die from this very blade.” The crowd gasped simultaneously.
Sweat rolled down the slaveowner’s face as his eyes landed on the emblem on the saddle of his opposer’s horse and it finally clicked. Hair as black as night and a companion with eyes that captured the sky.
“Y-Yer Royal Highness!” Jimin retracted his sword as the heavy man fell to his knees, sweating profusely onto the ground, begging for his life. “I deserve p-punishment but I beg ya not to end my life!” The man continued on, stumbling over his words as he pleaded, and the crowd began to chatter at the growing revelation. They were in the presence of a Royal! However, despite the chaos the Prince’s focus was on someone else entirely.
Attached to his chest shaking in fear was the boy with green eyes, dirtied hands grasping at his cape. Using little of his strength, he pried the boy away, whispering to him. “I will not harm you, you are safe with me. Understood?” The boy gave a weak nod. “What is your name?” But he remained quiet, unwilling or unable to answer as his head rolled forwards, his knees failing him.
Before the boy could fall onto the ground, Jeongguk caught him by the arms, looking down at the hooded boy whose head rested against his golden armour.
“Jimin,” The Knight slid his sword back into its case and stepped towards the Prince. “Aid me in putting him onto my horse.” Jimin held onto the slave as the Prince mounted his tall stallion, adjusting the saddle before outstretching his arms, nodding at the boy.
Without a word, the Knight lifted the slave off of the ground and the Prince hauled him onto the horse, making him sit with both legs hanging off on one side and body against leaning his own. Jeongguk slipped an arm around the boy’s waist and held him close, making sure he would not fall.
His Knight watched the interaction as he returned to his own horse, throwing a leg over it and settling down himself. The Prince turned his gaze to crowd of onlookers who stared at him with wide eyes of amazement, and then to the slaveowner still on the floor, begging.
“Twenty four hundred gold will be sent to you without punishment and that, I promise. I am a man of my words. In return...” The man shot his head up, desperate to please the Prince.
“You will not speak of this boy’s existence, nor will you chase after him any further.” Nodding like a mad man, the large man bowed to the ground in front of the Prince. “Yes, yer Royal Highness, anything! I will neva speak or even think of the boy! Neva!” The Prince removed his gaze from the sweating slaveowner and looked at the endless road ahead, the sun beginning to sink from the sky.
To the onlookers, it seemed like the Prince briefly hesitated; contemplating on the verdict he gave the man who was now wallowing in his tears. But he was a man of his words, and left.
With that, the crowd watched on as the Prince departed. A black figure riding off into the distance and behind him, his living shadow. Aching from the hours of daylight, the sun cast a warm orange glow across the city, signalling the nearing of its rest. The hue hit the face of the Prince in full force and he lowered his gaze, avoiding the sun and eyes fell onto the figure he held close to him. From under the dirty rags of the mystery boy revealed tanned skin that glowed golden under the light, and it reminded the Prince of someone he knew back at the Palace.
A low breeze passed by, and the slave shivered. Unconsciously, the Prince held the slave a little closer, and the slave nestled his head into the base of his neck, breathing in the faint mixture of amber, woody ciste resin and dark vanilla, lulling him into a deep sleep.
Far away within the Capital in a grand tower stood a tall figure by the window, covered in exquisite white cloth, the fabric draping across the pale stone floor. A soft gust of wind flew in through the open window and into the room, and the figure exhaled deeply, rising a bejewelled hand to rest against the cool glass. Within the expanse of the lowly lit room was dozens upon dozens of clocks of all variations, scattered across all the walls yet none of them worked. Every clock within the room was still, all frozen in time at the ninth hour and twelfth minute. In an indecipherable language, the figure spoke, his words seamlessly flowing out, enchanting to the ear:
“*** **** *** **** *******, *** *** **** **********.”