Chapter Text
The throne room was empty save for the lone figure draped over the throne. The opulent chair encrusted with gems and gold detailing towered over him, yet it still lost to him in presence. The cold, dim light did nothing to hide or diminish his sharp features or the air of ruthlessness around him.
But contrary to his cutting demeanor, his eyes were dull and lifeless.
The scepter in his hand was far lighter than his sword, but it seemed to weigh heavier than shackles. The throne beneath him was acid that burned his skin.
If he had known the true price of these meaningless decorations…
But the man on the throne knew better than anyone how pointless regret was. What would he do? He clung to that question like it was a mantra of salvation, keeping him afloat through the endless audiences, trials, council meetings, the never-ending responsibilities of an emperor, the ever-present suffocation that these peaceful days brought him.
“—Your Majesty!” A guard burst through the doors, interrupting his thoughts. “Your Majesty, the royal mausoleum has been broken into! His Highness’ body is missing—!”
Yoo Joonghyuk stood up abruptly. The first reaction he had was searing, blinding rage. As the all-consuming fury subsided into something controllable, though, a faint but wild hope stirred in the ashes of his long-empty heart. He began to hope, carefully and desperately, because hoping felt like the only thing that could save him now.
Kim Dokja. You always were a slimy fool with all sorts of tricks up your sleeve.
Their first meeting had been five years ago, on a cold and starless night. The sky above was covered in storm clouds, but the glitter and opulence of the ballroom behind them more than made up for it in terms of luminescence. The lively drag of violin strings accompanied by faint laughter and the clink of wine glasses drifted out from the open windows, alongside the scent of freshly cut flowers, tainted by perfume.
Yoo Jyoonhyuk was sick of it all.
As the newly titled Archduke of Oneiros, the highest peerage in the land after the royal family itself, he knew that he was expected to step back in and play his part in this charade of a ball, but he was suddenly so tired of this game that seemed to have no end. He stepped out into the labyrinthine rose gardens to take a breath, but even here, the scent of ripe flowers was so strong as to choke him.
That was when he appeared.
Soft, measured footsteps that would have been imperceptible to the untrained ear. A deep breath, as if the speaker was steadying himself. And then—
“Good evening, Archduke.” A flat, emotionless voice yielding no hint of the speaker’s thoughts.
Yoo Joongyhyuk turned around.
The person who had approached him was a plain-looking young man at least a full head shorter than himself. The young man’s slender frame and smooth, unmarked hands were evidence that he was not a warrior or a knight, and his plain clothing and lack of adornments suggested that his social standing was not high. Of course, if he had been a warrior of note or a noble of any repute, Yoo Joonghyuk would have recognized him already.
“What do you want?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked tersely. He was not in the mood for social niceties.
He expected the young man to talk in circles for a few minutes, either ingratiatingly or with barely veiled threats, until he finally got to the point, which would be whatever it was that he wanted from Yoo Joonghyuk. Money, power, connections… That was how the language of nobility worked. When the young man opened his mouth, though, what came out was—
“I can make you emperor.”
Yoo Joonghyuk did not answer. A deathly silence stretched out between them.
The young man tipped his head up, his steady, calculating eyes directed straight at Yoo Joonghyuk’s, and for an absurd moment, it almost felt like the young man was peering into his mind.
“I can help you seize the throne,” the young man clarified, as if the problem was that he hadn’t been specific enough.
Such statements were tantamount to treason. The young man was basically ceding control of their conversation of his own volition. It was like he was sure that the bait he held was irresistible to Yoo Joonghyuk, and that notion maddened him more than anything else. Maybe that was what possessed him to rise to the bait.
“Let’s say that I did want to overthrow that old man,” Yoo Joonghyuk began. “My territory has the most powerful fighting force in the empire. What makes you think I need you?”
“You don’t need me to become emperor,” the young man agreed.
Yoo Joonghyuk raised an eyebrow.
“Like you said, you could seize the throne with pure force, execute all your dissenters, and rule by tyranny. You have no blood claim to the throne, so there will be many dissenters, you know this. Countless people will die. The empire, weakened by war and internal strife, will be unequipped to handle any disasters that come its way. You will be left with no confidants, so you will be forced to manage the whole country by yourself, fearful of betrayal at every step. So yes, without my help, you could make yourself emperor of a ruined land.” The young man paused. “I can make you the emperor of a thriving one.”
Yoo Joonghyuk let out a short laugh. “And how will you do that?”
“I can’t explain right now. I will prove it to you, but you’ll have to trust me.”
“And what do you want out of this?”
The young man bit his lip and hesitated, sounding uncertain for the first time that night. “After your coronation, I want you to promise to grant me a single request. It won’t be anything disadvantageous to you,” he added quickly. “And one other thing… an engagement.”
Yoo Joonghyuk leveled an unimpressed stare at him. “You want the title of consort?”
“No!” The denial came out in a rush. “Just a temporary engagement, a short one.” He began to count on his fingers, as if calculating something. “Sixteen months… No, a year. That will be enough time.”
Yoo Joonghyuk scrutinized the young man. His chin was raised stubbornly, and his eyes held no trace of fear, but the tension in the young man’s fingers as they curled and uncurled at the hem of his clothing betrayed his apprehension. Yoo Joonghyuk himself wasn’t sure what came over him at that moment, why he didn’t dismiss the young man’s words as nonsense as he had with so many others.
“I’ll consider it,” he said, like a man possessed. “If you’ll give me the honor of this next dance.”
And with that, he stretched out his hand.
The young man’s eyes flew to his hand, then back to his face, the cogs in his brain practically whirring audibly. Calculating. Finally, the young man reached for his outstretched hand, and the faint tremor of his bare fingers seemed to shake with the force of an earthquake against Yoo Joonghyuk’s own gloved ones.
“It would be my honor,” the young man answered.
Yoo Joonghyuk led the young man back into the glittering cavern of laughter and perfume, the music a roar against his skin as it swallowed them both up. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement from two corners of the mezzanine balcony.
As he placed his free hand on the young man’s waist, Yoo Joonghyuk felt him stiffen in response. Slowly, like coaxing a bristling cat, he pulled them through the steps of the dance. One, two, three. One, two, three. His peripheral vision never strayed from the balcony.
As the violins reached a frantic crescendo, he suddenly jerked the young man into a wild spin. To his surprise, the young man didn’t seem to be too caught off-guard by the thin black daggers flying straight at him from the direction of the mezzanine balcony.
“Crazy bastard,” was all the young man said under his breath, along with a pointed glare at Yoo Joonghyuk. In that same breath, he’d already grabbed hold of the ornate brooch pinned to Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt and ripped it off, threads of silk still dangling from the golden pin. In a movement so fluid it was like he’d done it a hundred times in his sleep, the young man activated the barrier magic on the brooch, deflecting the thin daggers with a soft ping .
“Assassins!” Someone screamed. “Assassins in the royal palace!”
All of a sudden, the laughter and music transformed into a cacophony of screams as people ran every which way, upending furniture and trampling fellow guests in their frenzy. The thumping of boots followed as the royal guard swarmed in, securing all the exits under the guise of peacekeeping.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood, unmoving, amidst the chaos. His eyes turned toward the imperial throne, where a single, towering figure sat, unperturbed. Watching it all like a circus show.
Without warning, Yoo Joonghyuk stepped backwards, pushing aside the young man beside him. Two more daggers whizzed past their ears, burying themselves in a pillar nearby.
Almost at the same time, a young woman’s voice shouted, “Got ‘em, Master!”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s people, disguised as servants and ball-goers, had flooded the venue as well. In their midst were two figures clothed in black, currently pinned down by his elite fighters. The young woman who’d shouted appeared to be leading the group, confidently giving out commands to sweep the balcony. Nearly half of the ballroom’s original attendants had fled by now, but with both the royal guards and Yoo Joonghyuk’s forces in the room, the remaining guests seemed to have been instilled with a sense of security.
“It’s not over yet, you damn bastard,” the young man suddenly muttered, tackling Yoo Joonghyuk to the ground. A steel blade sliced through the air above them, the air crackling as the metal encountered the barrier field of the brooch. The magic soon flickered and died, but it was enough time for Yoo Joonghyuk to recover from the surprise attack and knock the assassin off their feet, then render them unconscious with a heavy blow.
After scanning their surroundings and double, triple-checking that all threats were gone, he finally allowed his attention to return to the young man who’d pushed him aside. The young man was kneeling on the ground, panting heavily, bangs damp and stuck to the sides of his face. Clearly, the physical nature of the dance and the subsequent attack had been more strenuous than he was accustomed to. He had a gash on his left arm from reactivating the brooch a second too late, and his other hand was pressed against the wound, as if that could stop the bleeding.
Yoo Joonghyuk bent down, looking every bit the concerned archduke consoling his injured dance partner.
“You knew about the attack. And you knew how to activate the brooch,” he murmured, low enough that only the two of them could hear.
“That’s not all I know, bastard,” the young man breathed out with some difficulty.
“Not pretending to be polite anymore?”
The young man gritted his teeth. “You used me as a human shield. What do you think?”
Yoo Joonghyuk shrugged. “You survived.”
“Whatever. So, do you accept the terms of the deal?” The young man held out his hand, the one still stained with blood from his wound.
Yoo Joonghyuk gazed at the outstretched hand for a moment in contemplation. Finally, he reached down and picked up his brooch, now lying discarded on the ground. With a single smooth stroke, he dragged the sharp end of the pin through his own palm, letting his own blood flow, and grabbed the young man’s outstretched hand.
“What’s the name of my partner-in-crime?” Yoo Joonghyuk murmured.
His partner looked at their adjoined hands, expression unreadable. “Kim Dokja.”
A searing heat seemed to bubble out from where their blood connected, engulfing both of them in an invisible blaze. A blood pact.
“Alright, then, Kim Dokja. Make me emperor.”