Chapter Text
Inheritance laws were ridiculous, Yoongi thought to himself, staring at the sheaf of parchment laid out before him. The lawyer, Taemin, watched him closely, an apologetic smile on his face. Yes, very remorseful, so sorry your father died, let me completely uproot your life with this. Yoongi pushed his hair back from his face in irritation, his shoulder twinging.
“If I don’t do this, it’ll leave Jihoon completely destitute?” he repeated, staring at the one sentence that threatened to destroy everything he’d spent a lifetime running from.
“Ah, yes,” Taemin said, apologetic. “Also, homeless.”
Yoongi pushed back from his seat, glaring at the offensive sheaf of parchment papers laid out before him. Everything he’d worked to avoid. A decade of promises he’d sworn to himself, sworn to his father, ripped apart in seconds.
“Even though my father formally recognized him as his heir?” Yoongi gritted out, somewhat desperately.
Taemin nodded apologetically. “While your father recognized him, I’m afraid the current laws do not.” He shrugged again. “He cannot legally inherit, as he is not the legal heir. As the eldest, and the only child not born out of wedlock, that leaves… you, sir.”
Great. Yoongi flipped through the will to the primary condition listed. The audacity of that man; if he could have, he would bring him back from the dead just to send him there again. Yoongi was entitled to all the power, riches, and authority of the estate for the next twelve months, provided that by the end of the year, he was married, with a child on the way. Additionally, provided only if his spouse received Jihoon and Taemin’s approval. Not just a spouse then, but someone who would improve the estate, someone whose name would shine. If not, the estate would be transferred back to the Crown and distributed as the kings saw fit. Which would leave Jihoon homeless and destitute. Yoongi had enough income from the army to survive, but his lifestyle wasn’t very comfortable and certainly not enough to support two people.
His stomach twisted at the conditions, the blood draining from his face. His father had never cared about the affairs of the heart, and Yoongi’s continued refusal to bow to his demands had led to more than one fight. In a nutshell, Yoongi was well aware that his father found him to be a thorn in his side. Yoongi had felt the same, until he’d walked away from everything –well, until he’d tried to walk away. He’d just wanted to be done with it all, the conditions, the fine print, and having the rug swept out from underneath him time and time again. And now he had no choice but to capitulate to his father’s stipulations. Not unless he wanted to kick his brother out on the street, leaving him penniless and his education cut short. But he wasn’t willing to abandon the only family member he still had, even if it came at great personal cost. Which this would. This was going to cost him everything –mind, heart, and even soul.
His father had never cared about the affairs of the heart and had willingly sacrificed Yoongi’s. Get married, have a child on the way, and become soul-bonded with his spouse. Soul-bonded. Yoongi exhaled sharply.
“I’m sorry,” Taemin said, fidgeting, his eyes trained on the page. “He was very adamant on that point.”
He was expected to tie his soul to a stranger’s in less than a year. The sooner the better. He had no way of supporting Jihoon; the will outlined the conditions on how he could use the money, and leaving anything to his half-brother was explicitly out of bounds. At some point, someone must have told his father that Jihoon couldn’t inherit the estate. He glanced at Taemin, the lawyer’s big brown eyes on the legal forms spread out between them.
Soul-bonding was rare. Usually, if it happened, it was accidental and happened during the heat of the moment. Granted, there were some of the more traditional families that exclusively married and soul-bonded their spouses, believing it created a stronger lineage. Yoongi’s father had not believed anything of the kind. No, but he’d clearly remembered their last argument when Yoongi promised he’d rather die than marry a stranger, shortly before he’d joined the army, the disgraced son of a duke. The only mercy –if it could be called that –was that there was no specified deadline that he had to be soul-bonded by. It wouldn’t have to be a requirement of his marriage, though it would have to happen within a year.
His father hadn’t always been such a miserable bastard, but he had certainly embraced behaving like one as soon as his wife had passed. They weren’t soulmates, they weren’t even soul-bound, but they had loved each other. His father had been kinder, he remembered, though even those memories were few and far between. After his mother had died, within a year, his father had turned up bearing a toddler with no explanation. Unless Yoongi was willing to count “this is Jihoon, he’s your brother now” as the boy had been ushered towards him before their father vanished into his study, unreachable and unreadable. Which he wasn’t willing to call an explanation.
“As of today, the ninth of June, this will take effect. You have one year to marry, have a child, and –and soul-bond with your spouse.” Taemin’s voice wavered at the end, discomfort plain on his delicate features.
What was he supposed to say to that? Yoongi got to his feet, pulling his hat on. He bowed courteously to the lawyer and left to begin making arrangements. Thank you didn’t seem appropriate. Not when the lawyer, on his father’s bidding, had shown up to ruin his life. He handed his notice in, packing his meagre belongings up –a handful of books, and a few changes of clothes before he began the long journey back home. It would take him nearly two weeks to reach the family estate –his estate. The piano at the estate was of a far superior quality than the one he’d spent months saving up for. He brought his notebooks with him and a few changes of clothes, knowing that he’d have to order an entirely new wardrobe if he wanted to be presentable. But the problem was, he didn’t want any of this. Adjusting to a normal lifestyle had been challenging, but he’d been living without his father’s support for the better part of five years.
Going home was strange. The estate was exactly the same, but the servants bowed to him and addressed him as duke. It was supposed to have been Jihoon; he’d long since made peace with the fact, acknowledging that Jihoon was better suited for the role anyway. Jihoon liked taking charge, whereas Yoongi preferred to stay out of the spotlight. A fact their father had never quite warmed up to, having spent most of Yoongi’s teenaged years forcing him into any spotlight he could create.
Worse of all, Yoongi arrived back in time for his father’s funeral. Their father wasn’t a particularly friendly man, or even loved, by any means. Yoongi had forever been the disappointment, and Jihoon the son with promise. But not even Jihoon held much love for their father. They buried him in the church, as he would have wanted, beside Yoongi’s mother. The funeral was short, brief, and only his immediate family and his closest servants showed up –much to Yoongi’s relief. He wasn’t sure how he would have handled it if he had been expected to stand there, grief-stricken, shaking hand after hand of stranger to welcome them and accept their embraces and empty words of condolences. Grant –his father’s long-serving manservant –squeezed his forearm in silent apology, head bobbing before he moved on. Others offered him hugs, either brief or painfully long. Most knew how he felt about his father; it hadn’t been a secret, everyone knew they hadn’t been on speaking terms. But they felt obligated to assure him, to assume his own feelings, and his tongue felt thick and stuck to the roof of his mouth.
If he could have, Yoongi would have skipped the funeral altogether. But it was expected. And if he hadn’t, people would have been talking more than they already did about him, and if he was to have any hope of securing a successful marriage, he couldn’t afford more rumors.
That night, he and Jihoon sat down for dinner. Chef had prepared Yoongi’s favorite, but not even kimchi stew could shake off the depressing aura that hung over their heads.
“What’s your plan?” Jihoon asked, poking at his kimchi half-heartedly. His dark eyes landed on Yoongi’s worriedly. His entire future depended on him, much to Yoongi’s resentment. Likely to Jihoon’s resentment as well. Jihoon could wear a mask of indifference well, but he bloomed when he was around his friends, opening up and revealing his extroverted side comfortably, in a way Yoongi couldn’t.
If he had to rely on himself to get married, knowing the alternative would be being left homeless and destitute, he would have been pissed, too.
“I hadn’t planned that far ahead,” he admitted.
Jihoon glared at him. “You need a plan.”
Yoongi leaned back. “What would you like me to do?” he asked tiredly. “I’m not going to court some omega into this –this mess. That wouldn’t be fair to them.”
“No one sane is going to accept your offer, either. You do realize that.”
Yoongi rubbed at his temples. “I’m well aware.”
He was also aware of his many shortcomings. He wasn’t a fountain of exuberance and optimism like Hoseok, and he didn’t have Jin’s charisma. The first ‘mart that his father had sent him to, he’d spent it avoiding everyone who wasn’t an alpha. Alphas were easy, straightforward. No strings attached. His father wanted him to settle down, put down roots, do the proper thing, and he’d spent that summer avoiding every wretched meeting and dreading every ball. In the four years since, he hadn’t attended a single outing where he wasn’t the one providing the entertainment on the piano. It wasn’t very alpha of him, but his hosts hadn’t minded once they heard him play.
“Taemin’s also not going to accept just anyone. Dad’ll have left him strict instructions on who he imagines as worthy.”
Yoongi dropped his spoon with a clatter. “You could try and be helpful instead of pointing out the numerous issues ahead of me.”
Jihoon worried his lip, nodding grimly. “Right. Sorry, sorry.”
“I’ve heard Hoseok is hosting a ball tomorrow night. I thought I would start there. Even if I don’t meet anyone, I’m sure Hoseok will have some connections, some ideas.” He might know an omega desperate enough to get married, maybe to settle their father’s gambling debts, but Yoongi didn’t think he’d end up that lucky. Good breeding would only get him so far when it came to whatever stipulations his father had left behind.
“That’s a good start,” Jihoon said quietly.
Silence, awkward and heavy, settled over them. Yoongi glanced at the end of the table, where his father used to sit. He was entitled to sit at the head of the table, but it felt wrong. He still didn’t feel like the duke.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t you.”
Jihoon’s lips quirked into a sad, miserable smile. “I’m sorry it wasn’t me. I know you didn’t want this.”
The plan had always been that after their father died, Yoongi would return to the estate after Jihoon had been named as the successor. Jihoon was a capable alpha, with a head for numbers and a passion for the vineyards that Yoongi did not share. He never expected an inheritance from his father, or even his brother, though he had promised to arrange one. Yoongi had run away from home at twenty-one, joined the army, taken his lumps, and settled down on the coast as a nameless piano teacher. Free to pursue his passions, even if he was limited by finances, he had spent the last two years making the best of his freedom. Only to have it ripped away in one fell swoop.
“He was a real bastard.” If not for Taemin’s explanation, he would have thought his father had done it deliberately. Pretending to leave the estate to Jihoon before changing his will, making sure Yoongi had no choice but to show up and take responsibility. The will had been clear, however, that if it was legally possible, Jihoon was to inherit, and if the laws had not yet changed, Yoongi would inherit, provided he followed all those clauses and stipulations.
Provided he was married, provided he was having a child, provided he soul-bonded some omega. He didn’t want to know what conditions his father had outlined for what entailed a proper omega. They would have to be someone with a title, of noble pedigree, and who conformed to his father’s expectations. At least the bastard was dead. He could work with that. Jihoon would approve anyone he brought back, and while Taemin would have to follow his father’s will, Yoongi hadn’t seen a list of what qualifications were required of his spouse, but he was sure they were lengthy. Particular. Or, he mused, maybe the requirements were minimal and the point was that Yoongi would be tied for the rest of his life to whoever he picked. And he would have to choose fast.
“I took the liberty of ordering you a new wardrobe,” Jihoon said. “Something less outdated, so you don’t have to worry about that. You can see Earl Hoseok, and I’m sure he’ll have some good ideas on what to do. Maybe even a few suggestions.”
He could only hope.
“Someone out there will have to love me, right?” Yoongi joked.
Jihoon shot him an annoyed glance. “The better question is, is there someone you’re willing to let get that close to you?”
Yoongi smiled wryly. They both knew the answer to that question.
“That’s what I thought.”
The last time he’d spoken to his father had been about an impending arranged marriage to a stranger. Yoongi left in the middle of the night, enlisted in the army, and never went home. His father had sent him two letters; the first, a warning that if he didn’t return, he would be disowned, and a second, informing him he’d been disowned. And while their father was petty, he wasn’t petty enough to let the estate fall into the hands of the crown. Daechwita had been in Min hands for the last three hundred years, and his father wasn’t so prideful to throw it all away. Because while the former Duke of Daechwita had been a prideful bastard, he knew where to hit to make it hurt. Yoongi couldn’t fail. His father had spent most of his life failing Jihoon; Yoongi would be damned if he followed in his footsteps.
They ate in troubled, anxious silence. Yoongi went to bed early, leaving his bowl clean. He couldn’t bear to leave his plate unfinished, not after the last four years of struggling. Of days where he sometimes went without, his stomach aching. Despite his lack of appetite. Everywhere he walked in the manor, he could feel the ghost of his father lingering. Not in a literal sense, but in the echo of memories that remained. The last time he’d been home, his father had been here, and being home without him was strange. He almost couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t dissimilar to adjusting to life without his mother, and the ghost of her memory that lingered in his. But a room was just a room.
Nonetheless, he stayed in his old bedroom that night, with plans to have his father’s things moved elsewhere. He could go through them later. He doubted there would be anything of importance to find, anyway. Sleep didn’t come easily, but it did eventually come. If he dreamt, he had no memory of them, and he woke late in the day, exhaustion weighing his limbs down. He changed and practiced his best gummy smile with his reflection, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Either way, he was the loser. Having to sacrifice his principles and his freedom was a special kind of hell. He’d sworn that he would only marry for love and vowed that he would never fall in love. How was he supposed to share half his soul? He’d be inflicting that agony onto some innocent omega who deserved better than him. His only consolation was that he didn’t have to lie about it. Though if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure who would foolishly agree to marry him in the first place.