Chapter Text
The king is sighing in boredom again. That worries Woorim. The last time the king got bored, Woorim had to carry him around the whole castle to see the servants work, which he found endlessly intriguing, promising each one a pay raise. Really, Woorim should have minded more than he did, but it’s difficult to be that upset with Mingyu’s slight frame against his and the honey and vanilla scent of his perfume in Woorim’s nose.
“Wooriiiiim,” the king, uhh, for the lack of a more regal word, whines. It pulls Woorim from his thoughts so he can turn to look as his king. He tries not to if he isn’t spoken to.
“Yes, my king?” Woorim lays eyes on Mingyu and tries to not gawk. It’s difficult not to when the king is draped in the silks and velvets he so loves. He is adorned in more golden jewellery than Woorim’s life is worth. Still, what’s most eye-catching about him is the man behind all of that finery.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but you wouldn't know that by looking at Mingyu. He’s delicate and soft in a way that would suggest he’s never seen hardship before, but Woorim knows that to not be true. He has personally heard the heaving sobs of his king from behind his door where Woorim sits guard, endlessly debating abandoning his professionalism to go comfort him. He never does.
“Entertain me,” Mingyu demands. It’s not the same tone he uses to give orders to others, one that is royal and leaves no room for argument. No, this is much more playful. He’s treating Woorim more like a friend than the humble bodyguard he is. It always wells up a sense of warmth and pride in his chest. The king doesn’t have to pay attention to him. He didn’t have to personally pick Woorim, and only Woorim, from all his guards to serve at his side as his knight. As a bodyguard. Still, he did, and Woorim is eternally grateful and more than ready to lay down his life in defence of his king.
“Perhaps I should call for some music?” Woorim suggests. The king has always had a fascination for music, sometimes bordering on obsession. The only times Woorim has really seen Mingyu’s hands at work has been when they’ve deftly danced on his instruments. Even his skill with said instruments is dwarfed by the way he works his voice. Privately, Woorim has always thought Mingyu would make the best bard he’s ever seen if he weren’t king.
Mingyu gasps in delight and claps his hands. “Brilliant idea, Woorim!” he exclaims. “You should sing! I do so love your voice.”
Woorim blushes. “My king, surely there’s better–”
“No,” Mingyu interrupts in a way that would be a little rude coming from anyone but the king. But Mingyu. “I want to hear you.”
Despite Woorim’s reluctance, he starts singing. Anything for his king. He sings a song he’s heard from Mingyu’s lips so many times he has it memorised by heart by now. It’s a sweet lullaby about a falling star finding a home on the ground where it can rest. He’s glad there’s not anyone else in the room to hear how his voice echoes on the stone walls.
Mingyu’s eyes are glued to him through the whole song, just silently watching. The attention burns through Woorim’s whole body. His insides turn molten anytime Mingyu looks at him for longer than a few moments. Confusingly, it sometimes seems like the king’s gaze is reflecting that same heat. It’s probably just the flickering candles playing tricks on Woorim’s eyes.
The king starts applauding the moment Woorim’s song ends. “Well done!”
Woorim feels his already warm skin further heating up. “Thank you, my king.”
The king pouts. “How many times have I told you to call me Mingyu when we’re alone?”
“I can’t–”
“You can,” the king says. “Can’t you? For me.”
There’s not a chance Woorim could say no to that. “Yes, Mingyu.”
Mingyu beams. It’s so beautiful and bright that Woorim feels like he should look away. “Thank you,” he says. “I never hear that name. Not without the title.”
“Oh.” Of course. Woorim can’t even comprehend how lonely Mingyu must be with no peers. All his family is dead and gone. There’s no one to even call him by his name. “I’m sorry, Mingyu,” Woorim says despite how unfamiliar the name feels in his mouth. It’s the least he can do.
With no warning, Mingyu closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around him in a fierce embrace. “Thank you.” His soft voice wavers a little.
***
Woorim’s blood is rushing through his body. His breath is coming in bursts. The dull blade in his hand is heavy and familiar. There is no music floating through the air, but his movement feels like a dance. His opponent is his partner, and his audience is the king.
Mingyu often watches Woorim spar, and today is no different. His eyes are stuck on Woorim’s form even as he pops grapes into his mouth from where he is lounging on the balcony overlooking the training grounds.
It would be all too easy to pay just a little too much attention to his king, it is his purpose, after all. Only that would be dangerous. Woorim will get hit if he’s distracted. Woorim always paying too much attention to Mingyu would be dangerous for both of them. If Woorim gets hurt or incapacitated, he can’t protect Mingyu. He has had to learn to fight his urge to only see his king.
Towards the end of his sparring session, Mingyu disappears from his cushioned seat, letting Woorim fully focus on his training. He definitely doesn’t feel disappointed about it. Definitely not. It allows him to easily beat his partner and disarm him.
“Whoo!” Mingyu shouts from somewhere much closer than where he was moments ago. Woorim turns to see his king clapping, followed by a servant with a tray. “Are you thirsty?” he asks and gestures for the servant to offer them water.
There would be no saying no to the king, even if he weren’t parched. “Thank you, my king.”
He feels the whole courtyard’s eyes on him as he downs his glass. People are always endlessly fascinated by the way the king treats him, and Woorim can’t say he disagrees. There is no reason why the king should spend some of his precious time to come watch Woorim practice. No reason for him to be no doubt ignoring some important responsibilities to cheer on a bodyguard. Still, who is Woorim to question how the king wishes to spend his time?
What Mingyu wants, Mingyu gets. If for some reason it is to watch Woorim spar or listen to him sing, then that’s what he’ll get. It’s Woorim’s job to serve his king. No matter what, that’s what he’ll do.
***
Lord Jinyoung clears his throat, calling the room’s attention to him. Woorim sees the near imperceptible way the king rolls his eyes before turning to face him and gesturing for him to speak.
“As you know, your grace,” Jinyoung starts in his smarmy tone, “we are in dire need of allies. Diplomatic ties with the neighbouring kingdoms have tensed. At the moment, were they to declare war on us, we would lose. Crushingly.” He adjusts his garish necklace.
“What would you have me do about it, Lord Jinyoung?” The question and tone are both pleasant enough, but Woorim can sense the irritation behind it. He knows the only reason Mingyu allows for Jinyoung to be present in these meetings as an advisor is because of the power and pull that his family has.
“As I have said countless times, Your Grace, the only way to secure an alliance for good is by marriage. And since you have no children…”
“No,” Mingyu immediately says. “I won’t marry.”
“But, my king! We are in a precarious situation, and King Joowon’s only daughter has just lost her betrothed.”
It’s not a bad idea, Woorim thinks. King Joowon’s kingdom is near enough so if war were to break out, they would be able to help. Crucially, the size of their military equals the kingdom of Forestella’s, and they need the crops that Forestella provides. He’s no politician, but he’s attended enough of these meetings to know that as repulsive as Lord Jinyoung is, he is also right.
“I’m not marrying a grieving girl,” Mingyu says. “I’m not marrying anyone!” Woorim thinks it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary for a woman to get betrothed quickly after losing her first one. Not when princesses are concerned. Still, he has a feeling that that’s not the biggest concern the king has about the nuptials.
“But–”
“I said no!” Mingyu raises his voice almost to a shout. it shocks everyone in the room into sitting up straighter. The king is normally so soft spoken and polite, it’s a rarity to see him get even close to losing his temper. “I am the king, and my word is final. Now will someone please talk about something else?”
The rest of the meeting goes by tensely, but without further incident. There is some actual progress being made in policy and plans for better bridges in the countryside, but no talk of marriage.
That is, until Lord Jinyoung pulls Woorim aside after the meeting when the king is busy talking to another one of his advisors. “Ser Woorim,” he says as a greeting, like the pressuring hand on Woorim’s back wasn’t indication enough that they are about to have a conversation.
“Lord Jinyoung,” Woorim says flatly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I think you and I both know that the king must marry for the good of the kingdom.”
Woorim shrugs noncommittally. Of course he knows, but he won’t publically go against his king. “I think the king has made his position clear.”
“Yes,” Jinyoung says. “I need you to convince him otherwise.”
Woorim looks at the man like he’s just told him to slay a dragon. “Why would I do that? And much more importantly, why do you think the king would listen to what I have to say?”
Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me, Woorim.” He drops all pretence of politeness by dropping his title. “Everyone in court knows about you two.”
Woorim doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t even know what exactly Jinyoung is referring to. He doesn’t have time to further inspect it, because Jinyoung keeps talking.
“And as for why you would do that, well. You love the king, don’t you? It’s your job to protect him, even from himself. Do you know what our enemies would do to him if they had the chance? Well, right now, they have the chance. There is no one to help us.” Despite his flippant tone, the lord’s words make sense. “I trust I can count on you?”
Woorim nods in defeat. “I shall see what I can do, but the king has no reason to listen to me.”
***
The king is sitting alone in his chambers with Woorim standing guard at his side. Mingyu had decided he didn’t want to eat his supper with anyone, so Woorim had the maids bring it to his private chambers.
“What did lord Jinyoung want with you today?” the king asks, slipping a cheese covered cracker into his mouth.
Of course Mingyu had noticed. He always does. Woorim clears his throat awkwardly. “He… he very much wants you to marry that girl.”
Mingyu groans. “When will that old fool leave it alone? You agree with me that he is being unreasonable, don’t you?”
“Umm…”
The king gasps. “You don’t!”
“I don’t,” Woorim says. “I think the kingdom needs allies, and King Joowon would make a mighty one.”
“I don’t want to marry,” Mingyu says softly, as if confessing to something horrible. “I don’t want to disappoint a woman, or have sex with one, or to hold one in bed.”
“Oh.” Woorim understands now. “From what I understand, royal marriages are often little more than politics,” he says. “Having a wife doesn’t necessarily mean that you couldn’t… indulge elsewhere. As long as you would treat your wife well and allow her the same liberties, I see no reason that wouldn’t work.”
Mingyu looks at Woorim like he’s just grown another head. “Do you think so?” he asks. It’s almost hopeful.
“I don’t see why not,” Woorim says. “You are the king. You can do what you want.”
***
“Fine,” Mingyu sighs. “Tell me about Joowon’s daughter.” He’s watching Lord Jinyoung with a frustrated frown.
“Certainly, my king!” Wooorim has never heard Jinyoung this chipper. “Princess Bora is known to be charming both of body and soul. Fair of visage and temperament.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Mingyu says, seemingly already bored. “Give me something more. Something that isn’t straight out of her father’s mouth.”
Lord Jinyoung doesn’t seem at all deterred. “She is known to be skilled on the dance floor, and a lively conversationalist.”
Mingyu hums like he is no longer even paying attention. Of course, Woorim knows better. He sees the way the king’s mind is at work even while feigning disinterest.
“She is also known for her proficiency with music, especially as a singer.”
Now that does seem to interest Mingyu. He sits up a little higher. “And you’re sure I must marry?”
“Yes, your grace,” Jinyoung says, hiding his smugness poorly.
Mingyu turns to Woorim. “And you agree?”
It’s unexpected. Woorim holds no power or authority here. Everyone else outranks him. Yet, Mingyu turns to him. Along with his, Woorim now feels every set of eyes in the room on him. Woorim clears his throat and refuses to succumb to his instinct of hiding away from all the attention. “Yes, my king,” he says, and doesn’t understand why there’s a pit in his stomach.
“Then, so be it.”