Chapter Text
There’s an offering on Hongjoong’s altar.
He was excited when he first sensed it – he likes receiving gifts. For all their faults, the mortals of his domain give generously. Colourful silk robes, fragrant incense and sparkling jewels, golden cakes dripping with honey.
This time, however, the offering on his altar is none of these things. This time, the offering is a human.
This wasn’t meant to happen.
And for the first time in many years, Hongjoong is at a loss for what to do.
***
To understand how things came to this point, despite this being the last thing Hongjoong wanted to happen, it is necessary to rewind about half a century.
There has been exactly one human sacrifice in the kingdom’s history before now, and the events which led to it were set in motion around a month before the fact, when Seonghwa, youngest prince of the ruling family, left his chambers in tears and fled to the hilltop overlooking the city.
“They’re going to marry me off.”
Seonghwa spoke the words into the empty air and waited, chest heaving as he caught his breath from the run. He looked around, but the rocky outcrop was still and silent, save for the wind.
“Did you hear me?” he asked, voice wavering. “Are you there? I said, they’re going to –”
“I heard you, my dear.”
Seonghwa spun around. On the small boulder behind him, which had most certainly been empty just moments ago, sat what appeared to be a young man, small in build, with bright, cat-like eyes and snow white hair. But Seonghwa knew better – this was no man.
“Hongjoong,” he whispered, knees turning weak with relief.
He sank to the ground in front of the boulder and flung his arms around the other’s waist, pressing his face against his stomach as he let out a sob he could no longer hold back. At once, Hongjoong’s hands were on him, one arm curling gently and protectively around Seonghwa’s head, the other smoothing down his back.
“My sweet prince,” said the god, “Tell me what’s happening.”
Through tears, Seonghwa told him.
His parents had decided to invite all the most important families in the kingdom to the capital, to a grand gathering where each son or daughter would have the chance to vie for Seonghwa’s hand in marriage. Potential suitors would compete in a tournament comprising sword fighting, archery and horse riding. Then their families would have to present all the ways they could help the kingdom and the benefits they could bring the royal family as in-laws, and finally each suitor would have a chance to dance with Seonghwa at the party afterwards, to give the illusion that the prince was at all involved in the decision process.
Seonghwa’s beauty was legendary, a fame cultivated largely by his parents. He was often referred to as the royal family’s brightest jewel, and this reputation along with his status as the youngest prince had always led to a steady stream of suitors begging for his hand. Now, three years after Seonghwa had come of age, there were enough of them amassed that his parents could corral them into a demeaning pageant, just for the honour of being considered for Seonghwa’s hand in marriage.
It might have been flattering if any of them actually cared about Seonghwa for more than his handsome face. But even Seonghwa’s own family didn’t have any true interest in Seonghwa, beyond the added power and favourable reputation which having a beautiful young son brought them.
They worried only for his physical safety, and for that reason, Seonghwa spent most of his days confined to his chambers, where he grew almost ill with misery and boredom. Eventually, he’d begun to sneak away wherever the opportunity presented itself, risking his parents’ scolding just for a brief taste of freedom.
He’d first come to the rocky outcrop above the city two years ago, not knowing it was a favourite haunt of Hongjoong, the god he and his family and kingdom prayed to. Gods were known to walk among humans and befriend them from time to time, but Seonghwa had never dreamed that he’d have such an encounter himself.
Like everyone else, Hongjoong had been struck by the prince’s beauty. Unlike everyone else, Hongjoong had wanted to learn more about Seonghwa. He was interested, he wanted to talk to him, he wanted to listen. Such a thing was almost as foreign to Seonghwa as being in a deity’s presence.
To Seonghwa’s shock, the god had become first his acquaintance, then his confidante, then his lover. They’d kept the relationship a secret, something just for the two of them, a refuge for Seonghwa from his family and his loneliness.
But now, all of that was going to change.
“I don’t want to be auctioned off in return for the most riches and greatest alliance,” he whispered now, still hugging Hongjoong’s waist. “I don’t want to be a prize in this awful competition. I only want to be with you.”
Hongjoong hummed thoughtfully.
“Well, there is a simple solution for that,” he said. “Something I have already been considering, in fact.”
When Seonghwa looked up inquisitively, Hongjoong was smiling down at him.
“How would you like to leave your family for good?” he asked. “How would you like to live with me in the immortal realm, as my consort?”
Seonghwa gasped. He could still barely believe he’d been deemed worthy of being a god’s lover, but a god’s consort? It was an honour Seonghwa had never even dreamed of. He would become something else entirely, elevated almost to Hongjoong’s own level. He’d be a minor deity in his own right, an immortal. His head spun just at the suggestion.
“You would truly want me as your consort?” he asked, dazed. “You would want me by your side forever?”
“I would like nothing more, my dearest Seonghwa,” replied Hongjoong.
There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his tone. He looked down at Seonghwa with such fondness in his eyes that, despite his own insecurity, Seonghwa could truly believe that Hongjoong meant what he said, that he loved Seonghwa just as much as Seonghwa loved him.
“Well then, what now? Perhaps I should join this tourney myself?” asked Hongjoong, giggling. “Should I approach them to ask for your hand? Surely they would not say no to their god.”
Seonghwa scoffed, drawing back.
“I’m sure nothing would please them more,” he said bitterly. “To have a god beg for the privilege of their son’s hand in marriage would be the crowning glory of their reign. My mother would probably faint from joy.”
“That would make you unhappy though,” Hongjoong observed.
The prince sighed quietly, looking away.
“I just… I don’t want our love to be something else for them to brag about.” He lowered his head to rest on Hongjoong’s knee. “Perhaps that is selfish of me.”
“Not at all, my dear,” said Hongjoong, and although Seonghwa couldn’t see his face from this angle, he could hear the mischievous smile in the god’s voice. “In fact, I have an even better idea.”
“A better idea?” Seonghwa echoed curiously, looking up once more.
Hongjoong was smiling down at him, and he brushed a stray lock of dark hair behind Seonghwa’s ear gently, and cupped his cheek.
“They’re wrong to call you their jewel,” he said. “You are not some trinket to be kept in a box and sold to the highest bidder. You are a star. You shine brightly all on your own, and you can’t be owned or locked away, valued only out of greed and not love. You should always be free.”
Love welled up in Seonghwa’s heart, and he felt tears forming in his eyes again.
“That’s all I want,” he whispered. “To be free, and to be with you.”
“And you will be,” said Hongjoong firmly. “Now, listen carefully. This is what we’ll do…”
***
It was traditional for the royal family to help usher in the season of rain by making a special trip to the city’s main temple and helping the priests prepare a large offering for Hongjoong’s altar, to ask the god’s favour during this vital time for the crops they all relied on.
This year was no different, and Seonghwa was roused early by the servants and dressed and groomed before being sent to join his family for their outing across the city.
Usually Seonghwa did his best to be attentive and well-behaved on such occasions, hoping that for once someone would comment on something favourable other than his face or his clothes, but this time he took special care to seem distant and distracted.
It seemed to work, because as soon as the royal family had finished laying the offerings on the altar in the inner sanctum and were making their way back to the temple’s entrance, his siblings began to drop their well-behaved facades to glare impatiently at him.
Eventually, his oldest brother clicked his fingers in front of Seonghwa’s face, and Seonghwa pretended to startle.
“What is the matter with you today?” his brother demanded. “You act as if you’re not here with us.”
“I apologise,” Seonghwa murmured, bowing his head. “I just… I had the strangest dream last night.”
He glanced around to check that his parents and the head priest were both within earshot, then forged on before his brother could tell him no one cared and change the subject.
“I dreamed I was lying on the altar, instead of the offerings,” he said. “I was bound hand and foot, and I’d been left there alone. And Hongjoong himself appeared and stood over me, although his face was hidden in shadow, so I couldn’t see him clearly. And then thunder boomed overhead, and it started to rain.”
He shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself.
“It was so very strange,” he said.
Internally, he braced himself for the dismissals he knew would follow. Sure enough, his sister was already rolling her eyes.
“You are so very strange,” she said. “Must you always say such inane things? No one cares to hear of your nonsense nightmares.”
The words still stung a little, even though Seonghwa was expecting them. Still, he did not reply, merely bowed his head again in apology and hurried dutifully after the others as they made their way home.
All the pieces of the plan were in place. Now, he had only to wait.
***
As it turned out, he did not have to wait long. The sun had barely broken over the horizon before the whole palace was roused in a panic. The priests from the temple had sent word that the royal family’s presence was required, urgently.
Within half an hour, Seonghwa’s parents and all their children were back at the temple, being urged inside by the worried priests.
Walking behind the others, Seonghwa saw his parents and siblings jerking to a halt in front of the altar, heard their cries of shock before he could see the scene for himself.
The offerings had been refused. The flowers had withered and died, the food was rotten and blackened, the gems were dulled and cracked. Even the gold plates and vases had become tarnished and dark. Nothing could survive the rejection of a deity.
Seonghwa had known in theory what happened to offerings laid on the altar if they were not accepted by their intended god, but he’d never seen in happen in person. The power – and the contempt – which hung in the air was chilling.
And above the altar, splashed across the white marble wall in huge, furious letters, was a message.
Your offerings are not enough to appease me. If you would have the rains return to your kingdom, you must give me the life of your fairest.
Seonghwa gasped, hands flying to cover his mouth, and those around him didn’t need to know that his reaction was delight and excitement, not fear.
The words were untidy, as though written in anger, but still clearly legible. The paint was black, but shone like an oil slick with a shifting rainbow of colour where it caught the light.
It was beautiful, and it was terrifying. There was no way anyone could write this off as a hoax – no one but a god could have written such words.
Seonghwa watched with bated breath as one by one, his parents and siblings turned to look at him, eyes wide and apprehensive. He stared back, looking just as shocked.
The life of your fairest.
Hongjoong was so clever. He could have demanded the youngest prince, or asked for Seonghwa by name, but this – oh, this was delicious.
Because now, if his parents hadn’t placed so much emphasis on Seonghwa’s beauty while ignoring everything else about him, if their pride hadn’t led them to brag far and wide that their youngest son was the most beautiful person in all the kingdom and no one else compared, then they wouldn’t have been in this mess. But as it was, they were trapped.
Seonghwa had to contain himself from laughing in delight.
Instead, however, he kept his face blank and clueless, letting horror dawn slowly over his features.
“He… he doesn’t mean…” he whispered, looking around at the others, “…Me?”
The silence that followed was deafening, as the horror of the situation settled over his family like a fog.
“There will be something else we can do,” said the king with his usual confidence, despite the tremor in his voice. “It won’t come to that, son. We’ll find some other way.”
No you won’t, thought Seonghwa in satisfaction, as he let his mother take his arm in a painfully tight grip.
“Come, Seonghwa,” she whispered in an attempt at a comforting tone, even as she wobbled like she might collapse. “Let’s get you back to your chambers.”
Seonghwa obediently let himself be ushered home again, pressed between his family members who suddenly seemed to need to stay as close as possible to him. A complete about-face from the way he was usually ignored, now he found himself with a sibling taking each hand, his father’s hand on his shoulder and his mother reaching back to touch his hair every few steps.
The same comforting, empty murmurs again and again, there now, it’s alright, don’t think about it, leave it to us, we’ll take care of it, precious, don’t you worry.
Seonghwa wasn’t worried, precisely because he knew that they would not in fact ‘take care of it’, that they couldn’t. But he stayed silent until he’d been escorted back to his rooms, until the door had been closed and locked behind him, and he was finally alone again.
Letting out a long breath, he looked around the chambers which felt more and more like a gilded prison every day, then moved to gaze out of the window. He could just make out the rocky outcrop where he met with Hongjoong, and he gazed at it, full of longing.
Soon, my darling.
The words were carried on the breeze, a faint but unmistakable whisper.
Hongjoong wouldn’t appear in Seonghwa’s chambers, not because he couldn’t, but because he wouldn’t want to spoil their little show. If they were spotted together, the royal family might realise that Seonghwa had nothing to fear from their god.
It was alright, though, because Seonghwa could still feel Hongjoong’s presence, even with all the distance between them, sending him love and courage.
“Soon,” he agreed aloud, trusting that wherever Hongjoong was at that moment, he would hear.
***
The royal family stalled for as long as they could, longer than Hongjoong and Seonghwa had expected, to give them credit where it was due, but eventually even the king was forced to admit defeat. The first month of the season of rain had passed, and not so much as a single cloud had passed across the kingdom’s sky. It was clear the god meant to make good on his threat if his demands were not met.
So, with heavy hearts, it was decided that the youngest prince would be surrendered to the temple priests.
It must be said that any remorse Seonghwa may have felt for causing his family such distress was tempered by the fact that throughout the entire process of decision-making, not one person asked him for any input.
The choice to try and find another way around the god’s demand, the search for other solutions, and the final decision to give in all played out in its entirety without any acknowledgement of Seonghwa’s thoughts or feelings on the matter. It was as if it didn’t occur to them that the prince whose life hung in the balance might have an opinion, or should be consulted.
He bore the news of the decision stoically when it came, his parents retreating behind cold formality as his siblings shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot behind them, afraid to look Seonghwa in the eye.
He bade them an equally cold farewell – what was the point of pretending he would miss them, now of all times? – and went quietly and willingly with the priests who had come to take him away.
He was surprised by the amount of subjects who had come out to line their route to the temple, shouting tearful thanks and blessings to the prince who they thought was giving their life for them. Seonghwa was touched – he hadn’t expected the general population to care.
Not that they knew anything about him other than he was young, royal and beautiful – his parents had put paid to that – but at least they seemed to actually understand that he was about to die, and weren’t afraid to appear upset about it.
He felt a little guilty receiving admiration and thanks for a sacrifice he wasn’t truly making – they had never been in any real danger of starvation, as Hongjoong would never have allowed his kingdom to suffer for such pettiness, and their crops would all recover fully in the coming weeks. Nonetheless, it warmed his heart.
He was especially grateful for the brief show of affection once the temple doors had closed behind him and he was yet again surrounded in the clinical detachment of the priests. The old men and women had never dealt with a human sacrifice in their entire lifetimes, and it was clear they didn’t know how to act around him now.
In an apparent attempt to preserve some normalcy for themselves, they had decided to follow as much of their usual routine for offerings as possible, and that apparently included acting as though Seonghwa was an inanimate object.
“Does he want us to take the prince’s life ourselves, with the ceremonial knife?” asked one hesitantly, studiously avoiding looking Seonghwa in the face as he stood motionless before them. “I believe that is the practice in many of the southern kingdoms whose gods demand human offerings.”
“I think not,” said the head priest. “There are other gods who apparently prefer a living sacrifice, and we must remember the prince’s own premonition. He dreamed of himself bound on the altar, waiting for Hongjoong’s approach.”
Seonghwa nodded to himself in satisfaction. That had been the main purpose of his ‘dream’, after all – to avoid this decision going the wrong way. Not that Hongjoong would have allowed it to go ahead if they’d decided to slit Seonghwa’s throat on the altar instead, but it was easier to maintain the illusion this way, and keep the kingdom ignorant of Hongjoong’s true intentions for their prince.
They stayed mostly silent as they prepared Seonghwa for the altar.
A search back through their library of sacred texts had revealed a long-buried chapter on the correct process of human sacrifices, which Seonghwa suspected to have been added by the god himself sometime over the last couple of weeks. A few times the priests asked, politely and impersonally, whether Seonghwa had any insight from his dreams that would aid them, but for the most part, he was merely a doll for them to dress and prepare as they followed their old records.
He was prompted to strip himself of his clothes and don a ceremonial robe, black and gold, stitched with Hongjoong’s name in red on the back, which tied loosely at the waist and showed more of his body than he was used to.
From there, barefoot and trying not to shiver in the coolness of the dark temple, he was led to sit upon the altar. Two priests had produced a pot of dye and a paintbrush, and began writing Hongjoong’s name onto Seonghwa’s skin, over his heart, on the inside of his forearms, around his neck again and again like a necklace.
Seonghwa sat obediently still, moving only his eyes to watch the other priests setting out the usual array of candles and incense to burn throughout the temple’s inner sanctum. This was standard practice for any offering, as were the ribbons and flowers wreathing the base of the altar. It was almost fascinating to pick out the familiar rituals amongst all that was new.
The name-writing was most certainly Hongjoong’s own choice just for Seonghwa. For all that he believed the prince should be free in his own right, he did have a possessive streak when it came to small, cosmetic touches like that. He’d never tell Seonghwa what to do in life or how to act, but he enjoyed it immensely when Seonghwa let the god make little braids in his hair, or wrap him in Hongjoong’s own robes after they’d lain together. The idea of having his lover ceremoniously gifted to him, even if the whole thing was nothing more than an exaggerated piece of theatre, was almost certainly something Hongjoong was taking great delight in.
The ropes, meanwhile, were Seonghwa’s suggestion. He hadn’t mentioned the idea at all to Hongjoong before adding the detail to his supposed prophetic dream, but fooling around with restraint was nothing new to the pair. Making himself helpless before the god he willingly placed so much trust in was Seonghwa’s own private delight.
The ropes the priests had chosen were mercifully soft – nothing but the best silk for their prince, for their god – and the bonds were not uncomfortably tight either. Seonghwa allowed himself to relax against the cold stone, breathing evenly, as he was bound, his arms fixed to the metal ring at one end of the altar and his ankles to the other.
Finally, everything was ready. The priests gathered in front of the altar one last time and bowed to Seonghwa as one, deeply and silently, before hurrying from the room without another word.
Cowards, thought Seonghwa dispassionately as the doors closed with a solid, very final thud. Would it be such a hardship for them to at least say goodbye?
With the priests gone, the room was completely silent.
Seonghwa let out a long, slow breath and shifted slightly in his bonds. The candles were emitting a gentle warmth now, so he was no longer cold, and the incense filled the air with its pleasant, almost hypnotic scent. If it weren’t for the unforgiving hardness of the polished stone altar, Seonghwa could almost fall asleep.
He wondered how long it would take for Hongjoong to arrive. It could be a while yet, if the priests decided to linger outside.
Seonghwa sighed, and turned his eyes to the ceiling above. It was intricately carved, with many patterned lines drawing the eye upwards to a central dome. Seonghwa wondered idly how many little lines made up the dome’s ribbed interior.
…16…17…18…
“Well, well. What have we here?”
Despite expecting it, Seonghwa still startled at Hongjoong’s voice.
He craned his neck up and looked around the dimly lit room, but there was no trace of the god, save for the sudden flickering of the candles.
“I asked for the fairest in the kingdom,” continued the voice, and despite coming from everywhere at once, it seemed somehow closer this time. “It appears my subjects have surpassed themselves. This must be the fairest face in all the world. What a splendid gift.”
Seonghwa tried to sit up, automatically wanting to find the source of the voice, and a little thrill ran through him as he remembered that he couldn’t, that he was still tied up. He opened his mouth to say something, but his heart was caught in his throat, and he couldn’t find the words.
Thankfully, Hongjoong didn’t make Seonghwa wait too long, and faded into view a short distance from the altar, pacing around it slowly, circling. His triumphant smile appeared to flicker in the golden candlelight.
“And it’s all for me,” he said softly. “Aren’t I lucky?”
He paused by Seonghwa’s head, stepping closer to the altar to gaze down at him hungrily. He seemed almost larger than usual – which was entirely possible, given how the god’s human form was his own creation and could be changed at his will – but it could just as easily have been Seonghwa’s mind playing tricks.
Either way, the god seemed to loom over Seonghwa now. Seonghwa held his breath as Hongjoong’s hand hovered beside his face, the tension drawing out until he could hardly stand it any longer. Then the hand was caressing his cheek, slowly, gently, and Seonghwa let out the air he was holding in his lungs and let his eyes flutter shut.
He stayed still while Hongjoong traced along his cheekbones and down the line of his nose, as if examining him for the first time. A thumb pressed briefly at his lips, but was gone again as soon as they parted eagerly.
Seonghwa’s eyes cracked open again as the warm hand trailed smoothly down the column of his throat, pausing carefully so as not to smudge the characters written around the base, and then slid lower, lower, before lingering at the first dip in his chest.
Dark eyes met Seonghwa’s questioningly, and Seonghwa gave a little nod. Hongjoong’s smile widened in return, and he moved both hands down to grasp the sash holding the ceremonial robe closed. He swiftly undid the knot and cast the two sides of the robe back, baring Seonghwa’s body to the open air.
“Oh, my star,” he whispered, “They were right about one thing only – none could ever compare to you.”
Had Seonghwa had more of his wits about him, he might have replied that the mortals only thought such a thing because they’d never been fortunate enough to lay eyes on their god. At it was, his head was merely filled with awe at the sight of his lover, the heady smell of incense, and the thud of his own heartbeat.
“Hongjoong,” he sighed, straining forward against his bonds, trying to shift closer, wanting to kiss, to touch.
“Shh…” Hongjoong hushed him fondly, eyes glinting. “I know, my love. I know.”
His hand trailed lower, between Seonghwa’s legs, where his arousal was clearly visible. Hongjoong didn’t hesitate before wrapping a hand around him and beginning to stroke.
They had been intimate many times before, but here, now, stretched out on Hongjoong’s altar in the flickering light of the candles, Seonghwa felt like he was being touched for the first time. His head dropped back and he let out a strangled moan, hips rising instinctually.
He felt completely helpless as his body responded on its own, begging for more, while he was unable to move away and could do nothing but accept whatever Hongjoong gave him.
Even though Seonghwa knew from experience that Hongjoong would stop the second he asked, he let himself drift, believing just in this moment that he truly was nothing more a gift offered to the powerful god above him, to do with whatever he wanted. He basked in the fantasy, in how deliciously forbidden it all felt.
And they were in the temple, the place Seonghwa had been taught from birth was to be treated only with the utmost respect. They were in the inner sanctum, they were on the altar – and yet, who was there to offend, when it was the god himself committing the sacrilege?
Perhaps the priests were still outside the door. What would they think, if they saw what was occurring in their most sacred space? Seonghwa almost laughed deliriously at the thought.
He heard Hongjoong give a quiet, pleased groan and, with monumental effort, raised his head once more. The god’s other hand was in his own robes now, and he was stroking them in tandem, eyes half-lidded but still fixed darkly on Seonghwa.
“So lovely,” he whispered hoarsely.
Another wave of pleasure washed over Seonghwa.
“Hongjoong,” he called again, louder this time, “Hongjoong, my god, my love…”
This was a ritual all of its own now. There was power in the air – Seonghwa could practically taste it.
Abandoning all pretence of distance or dignity, Hongjoong threw open his own robes and climbed almost frantically onto the alter, swinging a leg over to straddle Seonghwa and take both their cocks together in his hands.
He leaned forward and crashed his lips against Seonghwa’s, licking desperately into his mouth. It was so much, it was so good, Seonghwa knew he couldn’t last much longer.
With a sudden burst of pleasure, like a great ocean wave smashing against a rock, his orgasm crashed over him. He could tell dimly from the way Hongjoong stilled above him, mouth going slack against his, that the god had reached his own peak at the same moment.
It seemed to last forever, the most intense Seonghwa had ever felt, and when the tide finally withdrew, he was left exhausted and breathless, shivering as the pleasure dispersed from his body.
Floating in the aftermath, he barely noticed as gentle hands untied his wrists and ankles, and pushed the silk robe from his shoulders, leaving it to pool on the stone altar with the discarded ropes as he sat up.
He blinked back to reality at last when Hongjoong finally spoke.
“Come, my darling,” said the god softly. “Let us leave this place.”
When Hongjoong held out his hand, Seonghwa took it without hesitation and let the god guide him to his feet. He felt lighter, brighter, almost as if he were glowing.
And when he looked down at himself, he realised in shock that he was. His skin was emitting a soft glow of silver light, similar to the way he’d sometimes seen Hongjoong shine gold at sunrise.
He looked back up at Hongjoong, mouth falling open in an incredulous smile. Hongjoong was already smiling back, eyes overflowing with love.
“Welcome to your new life, my beautiful star.”