Work Text:
Kim Dokja was never meant to be king. Born in the middle of an age-old conflict with the bordering kingdom, the land was fraught with uncertainty, betrayal, and bloodshed. In the middle of the chaos, the prince was hidden away, a shadowed secret of the kingdom.
Not many knew about the prince other than through rumors of his bewitching appearance, his ruby eyes the color of blood, and how—at the pinnacle of the war, the prince was born.
The prince was woven in darkness. He had a strange affinity for unconventional magic, black magic and curses. It was said that the twisting lilt of his voice was a siren call, drawing even the most tight-lipped of men to reveal their deepest secrets.
They called him the harbinger of death, a destructive omen who would bring nothing but calamity. He was a snake sent by the denizens of the underworld, cast to bring the kingdom to ruin.
Kim Dokja however, is none of these things.
He is intelligent, but only modestly so. The time he spends practicing the dark arts is nonexistent, and his appearance is rather plain. Dark, raven hair falls over his eyes and the candlelight highlights his slender features as he turns a single page in a tactical tome. His clothes are light, framing prominent collarbones and his thin physique.
When he was younger, he had blindly placed his trust in allies that eventually betrayed him. From poisonings, to underhanded schemes, to organized ambushes when the moon hung at the apex of the sky, Kim Dokja had endured them all. He had been naive then, to think that the kingdom cared for his survival.
The reality is much simpler than that—they all want him dead.
On his birthday, poison is slipped into his food. The poison is both odorless and tasteless to grant a merciless death, his favorite food served on a golden platter.
When the poison enters his bloodstream, Kim Dokja is, at first, oblivious.
His hands shake, and he wets his lips almost absentmindedly. The pain hits almost immediately after, a sharp ache in his chest that builds and builds until he can’t breathe against the intensity of the pain. Wheezing, he takes a single glance at his father who sits only a seat away.
Kim Dokja tries to scream, but the king's eyes pin him in place. The coldness of his gaze washes over Kim Dokja's skin just as the realization hits. He watches, wide-eyed at his father's apathy as he stares at him, waiting for him to die.
Miraculously, Kim Dokja survives, but the experience leaves him hollow like a candle burned out.
From then, each assassination attempt brutally carves out a piece of Kim Dokja, until he becomes smarter and ruthless, a sharpened blade ready to strike.
And so Kim Dokja minimizes his presence, preferring the vast and quiet solitude to the cutthroat politics of the courtroom. He spends less time in the war council, instead choosing to hide in the castle library or in his chambers.
His accommodations are bare, save for the scattered books that he entertains himself with. Books of tactical theory, manuals of elemental magic, a coded journal—all of his precious treasures are kept in carefully concealed corners, undetected by the untrained eye.
Kim Dokja lives peacefully this way, passing his days with the company of books, until the tides of war shift and he is granted an audience with the King.
When they send Kim Dokja to the neighboring kingdom, it isn't for marriage, or for peaceful negotiations. They send Kim Dokja as a sacrifice, willingly given, one life for another.
Though he is a prince in title, Kim Dokja knows his own worth to the kingdom. Whether he lived or died, no one would care. As an unloved, vilified prince, Kim Dokja was nothing to his kingdom.
The kingdom rejoices when he departs. Kim Dokja leaves with an empty heart, a broken blade, and a bloodthirsty promise.
Kim Dokja expects nothing from the neighbouring kingdom.
His arrival is met with sudden silence, the hushed murmurs fading immediately as he kneels at the foot of the throne. He bows deep, placing his hand over his heart, the common gesture of courtesy.
"Your Highness, Yoo Joonghyuk," Kim Dokja says gracefully. "I come as a peace offering."
The eyes that watch him are sharp and assessing, but Kim Dokja does not sense any killing intent, only a muted sense of curiosity.
The foreign prince is striking, one hand resting on his chin as he considers Kim Dokja's proposal. Light from above falls on the crown of his head, forming dazzling patches of gold on his hair.
"You speak of peace, yet your armies still plague our borders," Yoo Joonghyuk scoffs, narrowing his eyes. "Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you where you stand."
Kim Dokja reaches out, presenting the delicate emblem of a wings carved on a wax seal. Yoo Joonghyuk immediately straightens and gasps sound through the chamber.
Salvation, a famous tactician whose origins were unknown. They were an unknown informant who sent encoded plans and foreign intelligence through a trained messenger pigeon.
It was said that the messages were personally received by the crown prince Yoo Joonghyuk, and that the letters concealed a burgeoning romance between the fabled tactician and the prince.
"Salvation," Yoo Joonghyuk murmurs faintly. "You—"
Kim Dokja smiles, and he rises, approaching the head of the throne. His fingers skim the prince's cheek, the action featherlight, a lover's caress.
"Joonghyuk-ah, I promised that I would come find you." And then softer, a whisper in his ear, "I told you, didn't I? Help me destroy my kingdom, and I will give you the world."