Chapter Text
“Did you hear?”
“What?”
“It’s a new day again.”
AURELIA
ROYAL ANNOUNCEMENT
By the grace of the Crown and in honor of antediluvian custom, the Royal House proclaims with joy the commencement of The Tournament, held upon the coming of age of His Highness, the Crown Prince.
This honored tradition, a beacon of unity across realms, shall be convened within the Royal Grounds of the Capital on the first day of the Summer Solstice.
All who deem themselves worthy of standing beside the Crown Prince are hereby welcomed to present themselves. Be they of noble blood, of distant lands, of fae or lycan kin, of magic or mortal flesh, none are barred from trial. Each shall be granted an equal chance to prove their virtue.
The victor shall win not only the Crown Prince’s hand in marriage, but also the Crown, for it is courage, honor, and the strength of heart that the Crown esteems above all.
With pride and celebration, we invite challengers to this sacred rite, that the bonds of our kingdom may be strengthened, and that tradition may flourish for generations yet to come.
By order of the Crown.
May God’s grace watch over the realm, and may honor guide every hand.
The forest wasn’t as dark as he had feared.
But it was peculiar, empty, it had teeth.
Looking up through the canopy of trees, he sees the sun slowly bleeding out, scarlet in tone as the moon decides it’s time to hide. The little light shone out onto the forest floor, providing enough light to move forward without stepping into the awaiting mouth. He briefly entertained the thought of what it might be like on a night when there wasn’t a moon shining overhead.
Would he be eaten right away?
The shrubs brushed against his sides, flowers bent their heads towards him, watching, always watching. The thick smell of damp moss has buried itself in his nose. He was passing through a labyrinth of what looked like a small wildflower garden, but it was all an illusion. The plants had teeth, tongues out, waiting, salivating, observing.
Even though it was well into autumn, there were still some small yellow and claret chrysanthemums blooming. The thick, heavy treeline of the forest is rich in vibrancy, with deep tones in the bark of the trees and the rich pigment of greens in the leaves. Even the rocky terrain leading the forest lines is in the bright shades of graphite.
Shuddering, he tugs the front of his night robe tighter over his chest, the fabric doing little to guard him from the needles of cold pressing against his skin, his cheeks feeling like they’re being stabbed over and over with a thin blade of ice as the dusk breeze bites through the trees.
He knows he shouldn’t be here.
The Synthia Forest was dangerous at any hour, but it bleeds at dawn.
Night predators had not yet returned to their dens; wolves and shadowcats were still prowling the forest floors. Nocturnal spirits were often agitated by the coming sun, and their confusion was quick to transform into aggression at an unfamiliar presence.
But it wasn’t just the animals that made the forest frightening.
Sirens were said to sing the strongest in these hours, when the air was ghostly foggy and the world was quiet enough to carry their tune for miles. Even the plants were not harmless, certain roots could lick up the ankles, vines could tighten around limbs if disrupted, and pull and pull until they were one with the vermilion earth.
And he shouldn’t be here.
But he had to be here.
The spirits would only answer at dawn. Mischievous, cunning, but wise little things. That was what the old texts said, and what his mother used to whisper to him through her bedtime stories.
If ruler sought guidance, they must come at first light
When the world was fragile, and mayhem was quiet
To let the ancient ones eavesdrop
Between scrutiny and among wars
The forest was no longer bleeding.
The faint traces of something melodious, delicious on his ears was causing a sudden sharp pain to form behind his head, something slithering inside the crevices of his mind, beckoning him.
The moment he feels the call, his feet seem to detach from his body. They don’t listen. Honeyed voice tugs at him, and he grits his teeth against that pull that steadily but stubbornly signals him over.
“The verdicts to the Trial of Wisdom are here,” The herald stepped forward, unrolling a long strip of parchment. “Each participant was given the same case to judge: A soldier disobeys direct orders in battle to rescue a village of innocents. Should he be punished for treason, or pardoned for mercy?”
He feels his pulse sprinting like running a marathon in his veins, his mind threatening to split open from the pain of stopping himself enough to focus.
“A participant named Flame answers; There is no seat for disobedience in the military. A soldier who defies his commander endangers the kingdom in numerous ways. Hence, treason must be met with death.”
He turns around and walks. No destination in mind. He walks, as the foreign voice was commanding him to do so, stringing him along on its puppet strings.
There are voices in his head, several, engaged in some form of self-mutilation. One urges him to bash his head repeatedly against the tree trunk until a beautiful dark red stain appears in the wood, while the other encourages him to wrap a growing root around his neck and pull, choke until it leaves abrasions on his skin.
Breathing becomes hard, but he does neither.
He walks.
“Another participant, Thorn; The soldier’s intentions were noble. Mercy is the crown’s strength. He shall be stripped of rank but spared execution, to serve instead as protector of the very village he saved.”
A murmur rippled through the council; some nodded in agreement, while the others could not hide the disdain that carved their hoary features.
“Oh, how merciful,” one scoffed.
“But who would want to assassinate a village?” Another council member argued. “Is an ordinary village more important than protecting the Crown? This does not make any sense.”
The voice sucks the life out of the forest. It’s gnashing, it’s mourning, it’s beautiful. He looks down, towards the blood gushing out in torrents and spraying the forest floor, trails of dark red leaving behind him with each step.
No creature so angry, so beautiful, could sing so sorrowfully, could they?
Just as he takes another turn into the tangle of trees and dangling branches – now assured where the voices are pulling him – herein comes plunging wave of fog. It comes out of nowhere. So thick, he can’t see beyond his outstretched hand.
“The Raven; Law exists for a reason. Order and trust. It is the marrow of the realm. And to defy a command of the Crown is a wound to the Crown itself. The soldier should be executed publicly to restore order back.”
“Ah! Well spoken. This Raven.”
“I agree,” The Fae ambassador nods approvingly. “A sovereign cannot afford to second-guess its own military enforcement. The order lies in the certainty that the Crown’s word is final, and this young man is aware of that sentiment very well.”
“Indeed!” The wolf ambassador grins. “Exactly the kind of mind we need beside the Prince.”
Nausea rolls in his stomach as he speeds up. He ambushes his body into the growing patch of dry branches, and they snap against him, leaving him with a wince and a scratch along his arm. His hand flies to the torn sleeve of his robe as he surges on.
The cold of the fog licks his skin and forms thick condensation all around him. He can’t see what’s further.
There is a block, but he’s conscious enough to comprehend that he’s walking, one leg after another. There is white everywhere, and a dull pain in his arm, but it's manageable. Cold bites his skin still. And then there is a snap of a twig behind him, and he almost allows his instincts to take over but—
One leg after another.
—he can’t.
“But then again, we’re speaking of a life. If the soldier disobeyed, shouldn’t we consider why? Should not a ruler discern intent if the cause of rebuttal was noble?”
The chatter subsided, power-hungry eyes turning to fixate on him.
Councilor Kamal puts on a placating smile. “Noble, yes, but rulership isn’t built on such things, Your Highness. A kingdom cannot pause to ask a soldier’s reasoning when the chain of command is broken.”
“Certainly,” a stout, middle-aged man with what looks to be a permanent frown at his lips spoke. “It’s a long, tiring process. Nobody has time for all that.”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.
“And tell me, Councilor Sejun,” he loosens his fist to lace his hands together, gaze narrowing. “If we do not have time to differentiate between the constitutional rights from wrong, then shouldn’t we be worried —” what the fuck was the council even doing? “—that we are silencing our own people from their justice?”
Displeased tutting spreads inside the council room.
Rather discourteous in his opinion.
But no one bats an eye at it.
“The Prince has a kind heart, as is well-known,” Councilor Jongil began. “But the council must think of the realm first, as a whole. And for an effectual decision making, order must stand above individual grievances,” he condescends, punctuated by a patronizing incline of his head and a pitying smile gracing his mouth. “The prince is still young. With time, perhaps His Highness will see that clemency is not always the answer.”
Feeling the gazes burning holes in him, humiliation burns like hot coals inside him. He fights the urge to slouch in his seat.
The King gave a slow nod, and when he spoke next, he did it calmly. He didn’t look up to see if his father had noticed the storm building in his veins. Didn’t care if his restraint was meant to soothe.
He still abhorred the intrusion.
“Both arguments are noted. Proceed to the next verdict.”
Arrogance is a powerful tool, encroaching upon everything including the very logic it so loudly parades as wisdom. It feeds on man’s pride. A badge of honor. It takes away the present, the future, the good, and beckons the bearer backwards, towards decay, towards breaching evil, relentlessly pounding on them until they see nothing but the remains of their own ego with guilty eyes and hurting hearts if their senses have the luxury to feel remorse anymore.
His insides scream. The voices – no – the memories, flashbacks of last evening breaking through his chest. Even as his head throbs, the melody keeps wreaking its haunting havoc into his ears, depleting them of air, chipping away at his will.
The pain in his head increases as if someone is forcing their way through his skull, trying to break apart the barrier and take him as well, and he presses his mind to shut harder as he strides.
At last, the herald raised the parchment and his voice rose again above the din.
“The final verdict. From the competitor known as Obsidian. ‘A ruler’s duty is not only to enforce law, but to understand why laws exist. To punish the soldier is to punish the very compassion a nation should be built upon. I would grant him pardon, for he chose the Crown’s heart, its people, over the Crown’s command. And without it’s people, there is no Crown at all.’”
His skin burns.
It’s scalding, with a peculiar grittiness all over; his wound throbs, making the sensation worse. Fog wasn’t meant to feel that way. It’s not meant to feel like his lungs are alight and cracks are forming on the very surface of his ribcage.
He squints his eyes, unable to bear the blindness, the imprints cast red shadows behind the fog. The weight of the dagger around his waistbelt drags his feet more into the ground. Every breath aches and each lick of his lips only makes them drier. At this point though, everything is merely humming and background noise for him. All he can really hear is the blood rushing to his ears and the rapid beating of his heart.
It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad.
The screaming in his head becomes apparent. Screaming voices telling him to run, to go and find something – someone, to drop everything and run towards it.
There is a crunch behind him. And his head pounds, his eyes sting as they face the onslaught of chill, his insides sweltering with each passing moment.
Several voices overlapped, scolding, patronizing. Always patronizing. Like he was a child with puppet strings. They think they can control him — they can’t, but they do, and he had to sit and allow himself to be silenced over and over again.
“The prince speaks with a youth’s idealism—”
“It’s alright. Experience will temper such thoughts—”
“Indeed. He has us to guide him—”
“Mercy is a luxury for the weak—”
Out of nowhere, a hand clamps around his mouth and yanks him back. His back collides harshly against a hard surface, finally, finally, forcing his feet to a stop.
Taehyung’s eyes fly open as fear flares through him whilst the trance shatters. The honeyed voice breaks into a grating screech that rattles through the trees, chasing the birds away from their home and into the bleeding skyline, leaving it in the speckles of dirty oranges and mustard.
He gasps against the stranger’s palm, holding the tight grip, instinct kicking in to protect himself with a hissing cry of fright and panic, heart racing, and ears splitting.
“Shut up!”
A voice is hissed against his ear in a furious breath, and he feels every hair on his body stand up. It sounded fast in his ear, as if mid-pant, as if he’s going through the same trance Taehyung was in.
The beating of his heart bellows out of his chest. And all too quickly, Taehyung’s got a hot chest pressed up against his back and cold breath near his neck. He feels lips almost touching the shell of his ear. And when the man speaks next, his voice drops a few octaves causing Taehyung to stiffen.
“Your Highness has no sense,” the voice grits out. “wandering this far into the forest. Were you hoping to get eaten?”
There’s a lilt in his voice. Something that Taehyung can only describe as annoyance. The man sounds livid, but there is an edge to it.
His body tenses further into the unfamiliar hold. Alarm rings. He raises an arm to elbow the man in the ribs, but his breath knocks against the stranger’s palm as the arm across his chest simply tightens and he is jostled back, more firmly into the embrace.
Taehyung’s muffled protest gets ignored as the man holds him firm, walking him backwards step by step. Out of the shadows. The body behind him feels the same height but more solid, packed with muscle.
“Quiet,” the voice demands. It hisses, agitated again. “Listen. Do you hear it?”
Slowly, the hand around his mouth turns his face to the left of the clearing, near a fallen tree. At first, Taehyung only sees the fog travelling between the tall grasses there.
But then his heart seizes with horror as the telltale melody dawns upon him. Dread amasses in the pit of his stomach then, as he comprehends the sound of the crashing water and carrying the screeching of the creature. The earlier feeling licks back at him, his brain whispering how close he’s been to being mauled to shreds by a siren.
“Do you?”
Taehyung nods, unable to stop a tiny whimper from escaping deep in his throat. If not for the man holding him back, the creature would have submerged him to his doom silently, might even invite its friends and host a feast.
“You’re lucky I was here, or you’d be nothing but bones by sunrise,” the man sighs, giving his stomach a warning pat. “If I take my hand away, do you promise not to scream?”
Taehyung nods again. And the gloved hand descends from his mouth.
“Or hex me? I rather like my face.”
Taehyung manages a weak grunt, throat still too sore to utter a word. He tries shoving the man back but it only ends up with his arms being pinned at his sides.
“Yeah. Not taking any chances.”
The stranger keeps him firmly in his hold, making them walk backwards as Taehyung struggles to get the bearings of his footing. He fights to control his breathing but the air around this area feels so potent, each inhale burns until he coughs it back out.
“Easy now,” the voice croons close to his ear. “Let’s get you to safety, hm?”
The siren’s call was still tugging at the edges of his consciousness but the warm presence behind him tethered that connection.
The moment they stepped back a certain invisible threshold in the tree line, only then did the stranger loosen his hold, though he did not let Taehyung go completely.
The air dips. The cold hits the front of his chest with an intensity so high he chokes at the brief pain. He grips the arm around his chest as if his life depends on it, and maybe it does, with the way he nearly bends down to his waist to take a few breaths in.
The wrapped arm around his middle tightens, pulling him up when he almost topples over. He assumes the other man is looking at him but he can’t turn his head to check.
His head spun dangerously. The man jostles him softly.
“Hey – focus on me, okay? You feel me? Right behind you? Great. Try taking deep breaths and keep your focus here, think about me, my voice. Don’t try to listen to anything else.”
Taehyung shakes his head. He raises his head to find the way they came from. He raises a finger in the direction where he can still feel the telltale sign of a melancholic symphony.
“There was—”
“No one.” The voice interrupts him, grabbing his hand, and turning him around so he’s facing the opposite direction. “There is no one.”
“I heard.”
“’Course you did.” The man scoffs like he’s dealing with a child. “But kindly, stop trying to look for it, because you might have a death wish, but I don’t. And if you drift off again, I’ll have to carry you out myself, and dare I say neither you nor my back is going to like that.”
Taehyung’s eyes narrow and he manages not to scowl at the trees in front of him.
The man gives him time to come down. And slowly, but surely, he relaxes. Oxygen settling deep into his lungs. He tries to look around him. The place is unfamiliar; he has indeed wandered too deep. He glances down at the unfamiliar arm, fingers casually drumming a relaxed beat on his torso. He feels the man’s breath falling far too close to his cheek.
Taehyung looks ahead and licks his lips.
He doesn’t want to, but gently, he leans back into the touch and uses whatever energy he has left to grab the arm resting over his belly button. With the small reserve of strength, Taehyung pushes off the body behind him and twists the arm and wrestles out of the hold, shoving the stranger hard.
“Wha—”
The man loses his balance and falls back, body colliding harshly with the tree and head smacking against the rough bark.
“Ow, what was that for?” The man whines, rubbing his aching head before glancing at Taehyung standing perched between his legs. He arches a brow. “Huh? Interesting. Is that how you like to play? I’m certainly not compl—”
A grunt falls from his lips just when the cold of the steel presses beneath his chin.
“Shut the fuck up.” His voice is low in resonance, deepened to the point that it’s a bit petrifying. He lifts a knee and presses it just above his groin. “Who are you? Say it before I slit your fucking throat open.”
The man stills.
Surprised honey-brown eyes meet his own dull brown ones. The majority of the man’s face is covered with a cloth mask, shoulders broad beneath the cloak. The only thing Taehyung could see was his eyes. Warm and dark, staring at Taehyung with genuine surprise as his chest rose and fell.
Then, slowly, the mouth curved beneath the mask, hiding the lower part of his face and he whistled. Taehyung can’t see his mouth but the corners of his eyes are crinkling.
“Didn’t know Princes were supposed to be so crude. Aren’t you a beacon of politeness or something?”
The man looked even younger than he sounded. His hair is also disgustingly disheveled, brown messy locks falling over his forehead and ears. The vines of the tree glowed a vibrant golden behind him before settling back into their natural color. Taehyung didn’t give it much thought. He presses closer, the pointed tip of the dagger digging further into the vulnerable line of his skin just below the chin.
“I would tuck this blade into your windpipe if you didn’t give me a name.”
The man clicks his tongue. He raises both hands and folds them behind his head, leaning on them. “Dunno any name, but I’m the man who saved your life. How about a thanks?”
Taehyung pushes his dagger enough to break the skin. A quick bead of crimson wells up and escapes the broken skin, sliding down as he watches the man gulp, his Adam’s apple bob, unknowingly thrusting the knife deeper. The drop of blood trickles down the hunter’s neck before disappearing into the satin of his shirt, tainting it red.
Taehyung leans closer, nose to nose. “A jester, aren’t you?”
“Not a jester, no.”
“A hunter, then?”
The stranger chuckles low in his throat. Despite the fact that his chin is tipped high, away from the knife, and his neck is bloody, his eyes hold nothing but mischief as he presses their noses even closer together. Taehyung is too stunned to even pull away.
“If I were hunting, Your Highness, it would not be you.” There is a graze of a finger at Taehyung’s waist, some of his restraint falters as the warmth reaches forward and two palms takes a hold of his waist. “Too pretty to waste on an arrow.”
Taehyung is glad for his robe, covering the slight shudders running through him at the way the man says his title. It’s strange, hearing the same title whispered back to him a hundred times in the palace, but never with such tenderness. Even if the other man’s teasing, it requires audacity.
Taehyung’s jaw clenches, a flash of irritation passing over him.
In a flash, he seizes the man’s arm, twisting it hard across his chest, and wrenches it upward forcing the stranger to choke himself with his own limb.
The hunter grunts, but it comes off as a laugh. “So ungrateful.”
“You could be executed for grazing my skin, hunter,” he warns. “I’ll ask again, who are you?”
Unimpressed, the hunter scoffs. “Do you realize just how stupid it would be of me to disclose anything remotely personal about myself when you threaten to hang me, after I clearly saved your life?”
“I beg to differ. What are you doing in Synthia?”
“I should be the one asking that. What are you doing in Synthia? Royals aren’t exactly the most welcomed guests here, you know that, right?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The hunter sighs exasperatedly. He tips his head back against the tree bark and studies Taehyung with a narrowed gaze.
“Are you usually this uptight?” he starts, but grunts as Taehyung presses the knife firmer against his throat. “—shit, okay. I take that as a yes. No need to kill me over my innocent curiosity.”
Taehyung scowls as he takes in the daft figure. “Do you have any knowledge who you’re speaking to?”
“Mm.” The stranger nods sadly. “Sure do. Now, do you mind removing the dagger? It’s beginning to hurt.”
Maybe it’s the disbelief and rage hot in his chest at the man’s voice that locks the conviction, makes him look up, chin ahead and shoulders thrown back. Maybe it’s the challenge of always being judged and not taken seriously that makes him do what he does next.
He raises a hand and punches him in the shoulder.
Hard.
The man lets out a howl of pain.
“Ow! You broke my smolder!”
“I’ll break a lot more if you don’t tell me who you are,” Taehyung warns as he ignores the offended look and gets a hold of the cloth covering his mouth. He is halfway to yanking it down when a gloved hand grabs his wrist.
“Uh–uh. Don’t do that.” The stranger tuts at him disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t unclothe a gentleman.”
Taehyung raises an unamused brow. “Want me to unclothe your throat instead?”
“Could you not do that either?”
“Just —” Taehyung bunches his shirt into his hands. “—take it off!”
The man scowls at him. He drags his gaze down towards Taehyung’s body then back at him.
“In the middle of the forest?” He pushes Taehyung’s hand back, scandalized. “Not very princely of you, I would say.”
Taehyung snaps his head up. His scorching eyes locked on the other. His fist tightens around the dagger. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I know! You have to be kidding. Do you know how cold—”
Without bothering to utter another word along with the befuddled rage dancing furiously in his chest, he goes to yank the mask down for the second time but the hunter catches it again, whining.
“Seriously, don’t.”
“Let go,” Taehyung cautions out venomously.
Suddenly, the lightness drains from the man’s bearing. The previous carefree stance evaporates from his form. Looking over at him, Taehyung gets a whiplash, taking in how sober he suddenly looks, tensed, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed into a thin line.
The other man doesn’t move. And Taehyung tightens his grip on the dagger still angled under the hunter’s chin, but the man is faster. In a matter of a second, his other hand clamps down on Taehyung’s knife hand, dragging the blade away from his throat.
“Stop.”
Fury propels him forward until he’s kneeing the man in the groin, which gets immediately blocked by the other’s hand. Seizing the opening, he twists his arm free and drives the blade towards the man’s shoulder – only to misjudge, and the dagger splinters against the tree as the man ducks.
They struggle, limbs twisting. The man hisses and snatches the knife from the bark, and with startling strength shoves Taehyung back, reversing their positions in an instant. And if Taehyung didn’t know better, he might think the man is being almost gentle with him in his defense, though he’s sure he’s just imagining it.
Taehyung slams back against the tree, wrists pinned beside his head, palms scraping against the rough bark as the hunter’s grip holds him firm. Their chests press together, rising and falling with every ragged breath.
Adrenaline lances through him as he pants, shock flooding his veins at the sudden loss of control.
The hunter lifts the dagger and tosses it out of reach. He leans too close, breaching Taehyung’s personal space, a warm breath grazing his chin. He goes cross-eyed to meet the furrowed brows and two beady black eyes reflecting a worried expression back at him.
“Calm the fuck down.”
The fight in his body doesn’t die down with his limbs constricted. Nor does he tire in his attempts to sock the stranger in the balls with his knee. He wriggles with his whole body against him, shouting profanities, trying to kick him off. The whole tree shakes with the rough movement.
The man grunts but keeps him pinned, steady, against the tree.
“Relax. You know very well that I would not dare lay a hand on you. I’m rather fond of having my gorgeous head attached to my even more gorgeous body,” he placates smoothly. “So kindly calm the fuck down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Taehyung breathes heavily, and the hand around his wrist loosens. Taehyung feels it trailing upwards, gently interlocking fingers with his own as if meant to soothe.
Suddenly, heat sears his vision. Firelight bursts behind his eyelids.
A storm of wings blotting out of the sky.
The air smells of iron.
Copper.
Blood.
A roar rises.
So immense it rattles through his bones, echoing from somewhere above him. He doesn’t understand. What is this place? Blurs of motion pass by him, the frantic beating of wings that never smack against his own skin. His face pulled down into a frown and furrowed brows. What is happening?
The thick forests threaten to swallow him whole. Lightning flashes in front of his eyes in quick succession. The light is too blinding. The colors are too disorienting. Mirages of images take him on a journey to a far land. A land he doesn’t understand, but the land that feels so familiar.
Black tainted nails.
A burning castle.
Red eyes.
Him.
Taehyung.
A man.
Taehyung with a man.
They wear grim faces. Forest moves around him. Ears buzzing with a static tone. Taehyung is with a man, the man has broad shoulders, and he is holding his hand. Who is this man? Why can’t Taehyung see his full face? Red eyes. The man has eyes, and they are red. Why does he have red eyes? Is he – is he – the image ends.
Scales.
There are scales and the castle is burning.
The castle that is Taehyung’s home. And it is burning? A hand. A bloody hand with a knife plunged into the bone. It’s gore. Blood everywhere. He feels bile rising in his stomach at the scene.
Another image, it’s him. He is laughing. There is genuine joy on his face. Then he is not. He is emotionless, blank. Another man is holding his face and Taehyung is not smiling. Who is this man? And why is he touching him? Most importantly, why is Taehyung allowing it?
Another, the castle is burning again. There is something in the sky this time. It’s dark and shadowy. It circles the castle. The image disappears before Taehyung can contemplate what it was.
Another comes, and it’s his own face again. It is twisted into one of pleasure. He is lying on his back and there is another figure on top of him. A duvet covering them but anyone with eyes could tell what’s conspiring underneath. What the fuck is he doing? He feels the heat in the low of his belly when he sees the figures moving on the bed that he recalls his own.
It’s an image from a second perspective. Like someone else is experiencing how Taehyung looks with his eyes closed and face twisted in pain and pleasure.
Then it’s gone.
The bloody hand stares back at him. A couple of emeralds glaring their shine. A knife is lodged in the middle of the back of the palm. Red eyes. Blood splattered down the table. The castle is burning. A dot in the sky. A hand on the handle of the dagger. A familiar hand. Red eyes turned into crescent, flickering to an orange before settling onto brown, smiling at him.
Taehyung manages to suck in a gulp of air, feels his chest pulse harder with urgency to escape from whatever madness he has found himself in, feels his skin prickle with the sudden warmth as if his flesh was put on a hot coil.
A hand tainted black, paint trailing off him and into the sink. The sink is black. It’s a familiar hand. It’s his own hand.
The image changes and it’s his hand again beside the bloodied palm. On the dagger. The image moves and it’s his own face that glares back at him.
He gasps. The rippling world around him shatters with dying sparks of white light.
The air turns silent after that, only the fast sounds of two panicking heartbeats are clearly heard.
Taehyung’s throat feels utterly destroyed, like a stone has lodged itself into the tight space and is callusing his insides. He wiggles his fingers around. Someone’s hand is around his. When he slowly opens his eyes – the eyes he doesn’t even remember closing – he comes eye to eye with the man who stares at him with the same unsettled masked face.
Eyes hard, fists white as bone where they hold Taehyung’s against his chest. Obviously struggling. Crimson eyes flicker into existence then die down, only to flare red again. On and off, and on and off they went.
“Holy fuck,” the man suddenly speaks, looking at him with wide eyes. They are back to brown, and Taehyung wonders if he hallucinated that too. Fuck. “Are you okay?”
There are tears gathering at the corner of his own eyes. His throat is so painfully tight he feels like he’s being choked to death. The urge to cry throttles him. The limited space to breathe doesn’t help. He feels so helpless. So tired.
“Let me go.”
“What?”
“Just – please. Let me go.”
Maybe it’s his voice. Broken and wobbly. Or maybe the man has the decency to obey his royal status, because it’s honestly impressive how fast his hands and body leave Taehyung’s form and stumble back, and how embarrassingly quick he feels the cold running up his own.
Taehyung rubs his wrist as he stares at the blood tainting the other man’s chest. He suddenly looks awkward and fidgety, nothing like the cocky man he had presented against the tree. He doesn’t look up to check his eyes though. He can’t. He stares at his bloody shirt, and the wound on his neck that Taehyung caused. He glances at his own chest to find his own robe having splotches of the stranger’s blood tainted on it too. He looks at it. The only thing he could bear to look at without running the risk of breaking out in a fit of uncontrollable tears. Tears of frustration and regret.
And he feels remorse.
Straightening up on his weak legs, he gathers his wits back together. He gives a lone glance to the hunter – the man – who is staring at him with so much intensity that Taehyung wants to squirm and shrink into himself, before spinning on his heel and getting the fuck out of here.
He’s not staying in this fucked up forest that doesn’t even know how to treat a guest, ruler’s spirit clarity be fucking damned, he is out of here. Taehyung grits his teeth against the pain in his head that refuses to shut the fuck up, and forces himself to walk.
He barely registers the rough hand on his wrist, tugging him in a different direction.
“You’re gonna get lost again. The castle is this way.”
The man speaks it softly like he is treating something delicate. Taehyung doesn’t appreciate it one bit.
“Who told you I’m going back to the castle?”
“You’re in your night robe,” the man turns around and makes a gesture of checking Taehyung out from head to toe. Then his eyes are grinning again. “Looks like you sneaked out of your chambers, Your Highness. You don’t want anyone to see you like this, do you?”
“I’m not sneaking out. I can go out whenever I want.”
“Of course you can.”
“And I don’t need your help.”
“Of course you don’t.”
The man stops in his tracks, waiting for Taehyung to catch up to him. And he does, coming toes to toes with him. Their chest almost bump and Taehyung almost lets out a hiss. The man merely chuckles.
“Now, shall we find your horse before you faint on me?”
The man guides him through the trees, and Taehyung lets him. He does not protest, because the man is right. His normal sense of direction is as jumbled as his head feels, unable to sense which part of the forest territory he could be in. His muscles wouldn’t obey him, and his throat still burned with the phantom of that cursed song.
He stares at their hands dangling between them. The man two steps ahead and drags Taehyung along with him. He is humming a song under his breath. So wild and carefree.
Taehyung looks down at their joined hands. It was warm, so warm compared to Taehyung’s own cold one. It has seeped all the way down to his bones, even though he didn’t want it. One part of his treacherous mind chuffs in content whilst another shivers helplessly to have a warm hand holding his. An actual hand. Not over gloves but his actual flesh.
Taehyung’s other hand lifts without his permission and grasps the other’s wrist, and before he knew it, he tugs his arm free from the hold.
If the man wanted to protest, he didn’t utter a word.
The forest parts for them until the dark shape of his horse loomed ahead. She was nosing at the ground, so patient and waiting like the beautiful, loyal friend she was. The stranger’s hand grasps his elbow again, and it makes Taehyung bristle, wanting to scream at him to stop touching him, but then again, he was unable to form a word in protest.
“Hello there, pretty thing.”
The man guides him towards the horse. Already befriending the animal with rubs on her sleek coat as Starlight stands still and sweet
However, Taehyung falters at the stirrup, looking at the height with nothing but dread. His shaky legs feel too spent to put his feet into the metal loop to mount the horse. He starts to hate himself for looking so frail, so enervated when there are eyes to gauge and judge.
Yet the man says nothing of the sort.
Taehyung watches with wide eyes as the other simply crouches on his knees, gently taking a hold of Taehyung’s ankle and steadying it into the footrest. He gets up, eyes finding Taehyung as he lightly grabs at his waist, counting to three lowly in his ears.
He stands at a respectful distance, close enough for Taehyung to keep looking at him, and other to roam his big, intense eyes all over his face, but far enough that Taehyung doesn’t feel cornered or suffocated. He thinks the others glance dips lower, down to linger on his lips before Taehyung finally snaps out of it and looks ahead once again.
The countdown ends at three. The hands tighten at his waist as the strong arms boost him up into the saddle. Clammy palms hold the pommel. The leather seat creaks under Taehyung’s nervously shifting weight.
The man pretends to wipe sweat from his clothed forehead. “Up you go. Comfy?”
Taehyung reluctantly nods.
“Great. Hold on tight, kay?” The man adjusts the bridle before taking the reins himself, leading his horse by hand. “If you have any plans to fall and split your head open, do not be my guest. Please. Kindly postpone it for another day.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes.
The man is a walking clown. He has established at least that in their brief encounter. He is not a hunter as Taehyung had presumed. There is no hunting gear on him. All he is carrying is a satchel dangling across his shoulder.
From this angle, he could glimpse the chain pendants peeking where they rest against his nape. The white linen shirt clinging loosely at his shoulders, sleeves rolled and fastened with dark buttons. A broad leather belt cuts across his waist, the brass buckle keeping it secured. A dark teal vest frames the narrow line of his torso. The edge of the patterned sash is tucked beneath the heavier leather. His trousers were practical. Tucked neatly into his boots, laced and buckled to his knees.
If anything lunged at him from the undergrowth, all his fine leather and shiny brass would do nothing but get him killed.
They move through the forest slowly. The green seems to shrink away from them, and the air grows lighter with every step towards the open ground. Neither of them speaks. However, the other man keeps humming a tune under his breath. Taehyung lets himself sway in the saddle. The horse’s hooves muffled in his ear and his head heavy. He focuses on keeping his feet in the stirrups as he watches the broad back guide him towards civilization.
At last, they break through the treeline and pad into the clearing. Taehyung takes a deep breath now that he can. His pulse relaxes under his skin. The air feels fresh and Taehyung feels like he could breathe easier after what felt like hours.
He comes back into his surroundings when he feels the reins being pressed back into his palms.
“Here. Safe enough from here on. Try not to lose yourself again, yeah?”
The man pats the Starlight’s neck in farewell as Taehyung dutifully adjusts his hold around the reins, holding them as loosely as he can. Any incorrect move might send his horse galloping off to the mountains.
“I’ll see you again soon, pretty thing.”
Starlight neighs a soft, whiny reply, bright eyes looking sad. And Taehyung’s right eye begins to twitch. She is never this affectionate with him. How did this man reduce her mighty horse to huffing and stamping her hooves?
Suddenly, the man looks up, catching the look on his face, he snorts. “Don’t be envious. I’ll see you again soon too if you so wish.”
Taehyung narrows his eyes and huffs. “Hope we never cross paths again actually.”
The man clicks his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest, feigning disappointment.
“So much for taking care of you in that deadly forest. The least you could do is swoon a little, and maybe thank me if His Highness is feeling generous.”
“I’m doing no such thing.”
The man huffs a short chuckle at his retort. Titling his head slightly as he looks up at him, causing his black wavy locks that have been tussled from his face to almost curtain down.
“You will,” he states softly, with a certain confidence that confuses Taehyung. “I’ll make sure you swoon, my Prince.”
Taehyung opens his mouth to respond but the words die on his tongue as something else ahead captures his interest.
The rattle of a cartwheel rolling over stones. Then a voice of a woman calling out to herd her chickens. Shit. The people are waking up. He looks up. Looming gloriously at the top of the hill, the Aurelian Royal Palace comes into view. The rising sun glinting on its massive windows reflected like red little rubies. He needs to leave. People in the palace might start looking for him any second now.
By the time Taehyung gathers the courage to finally relay his gratitude and maybe ask for an identity, it’s too late.
The spot where the man stood a minute ago is left empty.
The hunter is already gone.
“The Raven is from wolf lineage. I’m sure of it now.”
“Really?”
“Mhm. Park Jongil is supporting him a lot.”
“Park Jongil would support anyone who is an asshole, so consider me not surprised.”
Taehyung snorts from where he sits patiently on the velvet stool before the mirror, shoulders wrapped in a silk robe while his attendants talked in hushed whispers behind him. And though Taehyung wasn’t blessed with advanced hearing, it was easy to guess what they were arguing about.
It was a big day after all.
The entire palace is thrumming with anticipation of what today could bring.
He takes in the racks of clothing, rows of tailored jackets and pressed shirts in delicate to extravagant colors, silks, cotton, or a scattering of jewel tones in all options hang uncomfortably in his bedroom, waiting to be chosen. The alcoves behind them are full of jewelry. The rows of shoes ranging from flats to heels to lavishly jeweled boots that are nothing but uncomfortable showpieces rather than practical footwear.
Taehyung turns his body towards the couch, raising an eyebrow at the figure aggressively scrolling through the tablet. “Careful. He could be my husband in a few moon-circles.”
“Like I give a shit,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “He’s not even all that. He fancies himself a catch, but let me tell you, he’s not. I’ve heard whispers from the ladies at Auria Court; apparently, he was seen flirting with two of them just nights ago – so hardly a husband material, I’d say.”
Taehyung turns back around to gaze at his own reflection. He sees his brows contracting several times before smoothing out. He looks at himself, and he looks okay. Healthy. His cheeks are full, the blush dusted there makes him appear humble. He is glowing. He looks good, he thinks.
The corners of his eyes are droopy, down, and attempts at smiling don’t lift them either. He wonders if anyone else has noticed that his eyes haven’t been smiling for a while now.
“Anyway, I like the Flame. He’s got such a fine build,” Jimin groans. “I’m guessing wolf lineage, which would make him all the more attractive, but if you believe that Raven might be, then you might be correct about that. I trust your judgment.”
Taehyung hums. He allows his hair to be coaxed into place with a narrow-toothed comb and a touch of styling cream, a few blonde strands falling over his forehead, which is smoothed down until they shine.
“I think he is a vampire.”
Taehyung frowns. “Who?”
“The Flame.”
The attendant steps back and Taehyung immediately faces the lounge area again. “Why?”
Jimin shrugs, attention glued to the tablet in front of him. “He has milky skin.”
He snorts, turning back towards the vanity. “I’m sure that is not how vampirism works, Jimin.”
“Why not? Vampires have sheet white skin, almost dull, like death. Which makes sense since they have no blood circulation.”
“I hope he doesn’t win.”
The words slip out before his brain has time to process them. He only realizes what he’s said when he sees Jimin turning towards him in the mirror, his brows contracting. “What? From what I’ve heard, he is very charming.”
He shouldn’t have said anything.
“It’s not that,” Taehyung picks at his own sleeve. How does he tell Jimin that he thinks the man is an entitled piece of shit without sounding supercilious?
When he feels Jimin’s gaze still burning a hole in his back, waiting for an answer, he lets out a long sigh.
“It’s just – I don’t think our views align very well. I really don’t see myself… with him – you know.”
“Oh,” Jimin breathes, putting his tablet to the side. “Is this about what happened at the council meeting last night? About the fifth round of the Tournament?”
Taehyung inhales nervously. He watches two attendants fuss over the silver trays lined with a variety of jewelry options from cufflinks shaped like knots to thin chain necklaces and ring set with sapphire and pearls, excitement rolling off them in waves.
“Kind of. His verdict unsettled me.”
“This is unfortunate,” Taehyung can’t see him but he hears the frown in his tone nevertheless. “Although I can’t see you devoting your life to a vampire either. You’d faint at the rehearsal dinner when you catch sight of blood in their wine glasses. Imagine explaining that to foreign dignitaries.”
Taehyung turns to look at the male, only to scoff at the enraptured look of dread on the other’s face.
“My detestation towards bloodshed won’t make me faint at the sight of blood. Stop saying that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jimin waves a hand dismissing him. He throws another chip into his mouth and wipes his hands on his trousers, going back to squinting at his screen. “The Public doesn’t like him all that much either, you know.”
“Yeah?”
Jimin hums. “Barely 12% voted for him.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“It’s not. Mister Think With His Dick sits at 32% of the vote. The wolves clearly hold the upper hand over the vampire clan in the race for the crown,” — the Crown. Not Taehyung. “I imagine those weekly dinners with Park Jongil and his treacherous faction were far less fruitful than they had hoped, especially given that the Hemus Pack already maintains an alliance with the Kuverial Empire.”
“Is he first?”
“Nope.”
Taehyung frowns.
“First position is actually at 46%,” Jimin grins.
“What?” Taehyung whips around on the stool, sliding rings on each finger as instructed. He doesn’t understand the requirements. They’re going to be hidden under his gloves anyway. “That’s half of the kingdom.”
“Right,” Jimin grins wider as he walks towards him. “Look at yourself.”
Taehyung gets a hold of the tablet. The first thing he sees is the gold embossed Royal Emblem printed at the top of the white colored website, beneath it, a scrolling announcement bar is displayed:
“The Trial of Devotion is underway. Voting remains open until midnight. The new Prince Consort will be announced tomorrow at noon.”
Below, the four final participants are listed in bold beside their uniform headshot-style photo wearing their enchanted mask concealing their species. Under each profile, there is a sleek Cast Your Vote button. Once clicked, the site requests you to log in with your citizen ID. Once voted, a confirmation screen shows your chosen candidate’s alias with a thank-you banner. A live updating bar with their percentage vote is displayed right beside their name to check the progress.
The Obsidian – 46% (Rank #1)
The Raven – 32% (Rank #2)
The Flame – 12% (Rank #3)
The Thorn – 10% (Rank #4)
Taehyung blinks at the first name. It doesn’t ring a bell, but nearly half the kingdom had voted for this man. An alleged human, if the comments are theorizing it correct, outpacing wolves and vampires alike.
The screen refreshes every few seconds. Numbers – unsteady – fluctuating up or down by decimals, but Obsidian stays stubbornly at the top of the list no matter the amount of time Taehyung refreshes the site. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he clicks on the top profile.
Alias: The Obsidian
Famous Quote: “Without the Crown’s heart, its people, there is no Crown at all.”
Performance Record:
Trial of Strength: 10th Place – Last Position. Barely passed. Struggled in combat against other contestants. Relied more on tactical maneuvering and adaptive strategies than raw physical power.
Trial of Intellect: 1st Place – Exhibited exceptional analytical, adaptation, and decisive capability under pressure. Delivered logically reasoned arguments.
Trial of Statecraft: 2nd Place – Proposed pragmatic solutions balancing diplomacy and political negotiation. Narrowly missed first position.
Trial of Endurance: 1st Place – Maintained exemplary composure during prolonged exposure to stress in the Hall of Ancestors.
Trial of Wisdom: 4th Place – Considered too idealistic in his judgments. Leading to the council marking him lowest in this round.
Trial of Devotion: Pending – To be revealed at the Offering Ball.
Overall Assessment:
The candidate demonstrates outstanding intellectual capacity and poise under pressure. While physical capabilities are below peer average, strategic acumen, critical reasoning, excellent composure, and mental endurance place the candidate as a strong contender for the Crown Consort designation. The final decision, however, rests with His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Aurelia.
Cast Your Vote:
[Vote for The Obsidian]
“It seems like the Obsidian has won over the hearts of the people. Can’t say I’m very surprised, though. I’ve been watching him.” Jimin comments as he peeks over his shoulder. “Almost died in the first round, you know? He really doesn’t have the brute strength for a tournament like this; going up against shapeshifters takes either real courage or plain stupidity. But he’s clever. The public is eating it up. They love the underdog story of a human clawing his way into the finals,” he pauses. Then, almost like an afterthought, he adds, “If he is human, that is.”
Taehyung gives him back the tablet. “Can you imagine the scandal if a human won the Tournament?”
“The council would lose their collective shit!” Jimin exclaims. “Which makes me almost want it to happen.”
Taehyung chooses to look away instead of addressing the obvious. He looks out of the window. It’s barely late afternoon, perhaps nearing evening, but already the sky is melting into bruise-purple with faint veins of gold. It was getting dark. The night was approaching faster than he could grasp.
“What do you think they will gift you?”
Taehyung turns back to Jimin who moves around the room to reach the clothing racks. He brushes a gentle finger on fancy dresses.
“I don’t know.”
The prospect of showing up at tonight’s Ball could not be any more dreadful.
Jimin picks up an outfit organized by the attendants and tuts at it, disapproving and tosses it aside. He picks another, and tosses that aside too. Taehyung doesn’t blame him. He was going to do the same, but maybe with a little more poise.
“The Queen of Liseria received a white tiger from her husband, and the Crown Prince of Quinton, an elephant. They say animals are lucky charms – whoever gifts them tends to have higher chances of winning. I think you’ll be receiving one as well – though I doubt it’ll be of your taste—”
Taehyung zones out. He takes in the rubies on his fingers and finds himself staring back at the glinting rubies glaring at him on the marred, bleeding hand, thinking back to the forest, to that hunter and his bloodstained chest, his playful eyes and the way the corner of his eyes would represent soft crowfeet when he smiled. The blood dripped down his throat but still no trickle of fear to be found in his gaze.
“—hyung?”
Taehyung blinks again and remembers where he is. He blinks a few times, trying to dispel the gore image blurring his vision. When his vision clears, he finds Jimin staring at him with soft eyes.
Taehyung swallows the lump in his throat.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I was just—” he shrugs his shoulders. “Do we still have hunters in the kingdom?”
Jimin makes a confused noise in his throat. “Hunters? I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
Taehyung watches as Jimin holds up the hanger that is literally a piece of translucent fabric. His gaze shifts to the lump on the bed, the extravagant attire now cleared away to make room for more plain outfits.
Though the new selections seem to follow a certain clear theme: diaphanous.
Jimin steps closer, holding a white sheer shirt with gold embroidery linings against his chest. Taehyung sighs.
“Can you stop trying to get me naked in front of the whole kingdom?”
Jimin clicks his tongue and Taehyung wordlessly accepts the hanger that is all but thrusted into his arms. “There is no shame in showing a little bit of skin, Tae. It’s meant to tease. They can see, but can’t touch. It adds to the overall allure. It’s sexy.”
“I’d rather not walk around with my balls out on display for the entire Aurelia to peek at,” Taehyung states as he throws the hanger of sheer material on the bed. “Can you get me something modest?”
“Just stand there for a sec, will you? I’m trying to help you get some dick.”
“If the world wanted me to get good dick, I would’ve gotten it already.”
“Not sure it works like that when you’ve been gatekeeping your virginity for your one true love.”
Taehyung’s ears burn as he hears the attendants burst into fits of giggles among themselves and their poor attempts at stifling them.
He was going to kill his best friend.
“Not for much longer though,” Jimin stupidly continues, fumbling with another piece of trousers with a split high, uncaring of the glare Taehyung fires his way. He holds it against Taehyung’s waist, looking up at him with a big grin. “You’re going to find him today – by flaunting some leg!”
Taehyung swats at him. “I’m not flaunting any leg. Stop trying to get me naked.”
“You know, princes and princesses in other kingdoms just fuck their suitors, pick the one who satisfies them best, and marry that one. Meanwhile, you have barely exchanged two words with yours.”
“The fuck—” Taehyung groans as a hefty curse leaves his mouth. “I didn’t need to know all that! Must every thought that crosses your mind immediately leave your mouth?”
Jimin just stares at him, unimpressed and deadpanned.
“What?”
“Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Now,” Jimin starts with his hands on each side of his waist. “Can you show at least a bit of excitement? There are four fine lords competing against each other to win your hand. Isn’t this least a bit exciting to you?”
“No.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Jimin groans in exasperation. But doesn’t say anything. He yanks another outfit out of the hanger and scrutinizes it with a narrowed gaze.
And Taehyung wonders, should he be excited?
Is it that obvious on his face how fearful he feels of this entire situation?
Marrying a nameless, faceless stranger in a matter of months. Why should he even go strike up a conversation when he can’t put an identity to their name, can’t put a face to their voice? How can he acquaint himself with someone who is clearly here for the crown and not for what Taehyung has to offer as a life partner? How is he supposed to appear excited at the prospect of marrying someone he doesn’t even know?
In retrospect, Taehyung shouldn’t be surprised; he had known this day was coming since he was a child. Back then, it had sounded much sweeter in his head - when his mind wasn’t weighted down by the accumulated stress and anxiety of the title, but of a sweet innocent fantasy that having suitors fight for his hand might be rather romantic.
And a part of him still has a weak spot for that kind of love. Tender attention and care fixed wholly on him. The kind he sees between his parents. The kind he catches in the gardener who always brings flowers for that one seamstress he adores. These ordinary things are reminders of what he longs for but has never been allowed to claim for himself. Because his life severely lacks it.
Sex is not something that bothers him. He just craves for someone who just craves for him, treats him with warm affection, holds his hand and loves him like Taehyung actually means something to them.
It took a few heartbreaks to realize that people wanted him less for him — for Kim Taehyung — and more for the jewel that decorated his head.
This is why Jimin will never really understand why Taehyung is so guarded when it comes to his love life.
He just can’t find someone who just wants to be with him for more than what his title has to offer.
“Alright, Your Highness, you better like this one, because if not, you’ll be strutting into that ball butt naked. We’re out of time here. It’s nearly seven.”
The costume Jimin has prepared for him is white with splashes of blue here and there. The tailored blazer was neck deep with a single button closure down the center at the waist. Blue details were embroidered along the lapels, while the back was open, revealing skin. It was worn along with a decorative chain that had pearls beaded into it draped asymmetrically across the waist. The white trousers also had a strip of pearls along the sides.
The highlight was the cape. The sheer white material covered with silver and navy embroidered motifs – a mix of small flowers and dot designs scattered throughout. Each shoulder was anchored with a large brooch. From shoulder to shoulder, three rows of silver-toned chains draped across the upper back. The cape falls in a deep V drape down the back, created by the tulle that is gathered at the shoulders. The extra fabric pooled slightly at the bottom to form a soft train that would most likely float behind him like a cape whenever he moved.
It’s not bad.
And it doesn’t take long for him to put it on. The attendants sat him down to fasten the waist chains and the cape behind him, doing the last-minute fussing before he had to leave.
“How do I look?” he turns towards Jimin who is fixing his own suit.
“Stunning.”
Taehyung is undeniably nervous when Jimin says it’s time to go.
The anxiety almost makes him want to bolt out of the palace altogether. This was not just another feast or a meeting with his court, not another foreign dignitary that he had to appease. In a few hours, he was supposed to share a dance and receive the Gifts of Devotion from the four final participants. Any one of them could be that someone who’d be standing at his side ruling Aurelia, standing at his side as his life partner.
But what did he want? Did he even know?
He stills when he feels arms around his shoulder and body locked in a hug as Jimin practically bends over to hold him. “Nervous?”
“Kind of.”
“According to my sources, the party is not really formal. We have nobles and ambassadors, but you won’t have to engage with them for more than just a greeting. If they try to strike a conversation, attempting to asslick for a favor, run. They can’t stop you. This evening is about you and the future of Aurelia.”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything.
“Do you see yourself falling for any of them?” Jimin suddenly asks in a low voice, lips close to Taehyung’s ear, making it clear that this conversation is meant just for the two of them.
Taehyung takes a shuddering breath and raises his head to look Jimin in the eyes. “I don’t really know them, Min.”
Jimin lifts a hand and tenderly brushes back the fine strands by his ear, smoothening the soft baby hair away from his face. “It’s okay. Maybe tonight will clear those doubts for you.”
Tonight.
The final round of the Tournament.
Taehyung loses eye contact, staring down at his hands as he twists them nervously. “What if I don’t like any of them?”
Jimin pauses. “Then gods help the realm, because I’ll be sneaking you out of your own wedding.”
The Aurelian Gazette
Special Edition in Today’s Gossip Session – The Tournament
The Tournament Reaches Its Grand Finale: Who Will Claim The Prince’s Hand?
The Tournament, one of the most anticipated events among common folks, first established more than two centuries ago, was once convened to strengthen alliances between kingdoms, lineages, and houses. Today, it has finally reached its final trial in dazzling fashion to determine the rightful partner for His Royal Highness, Kim Taehyung, the Crown Prince.
This evening, within the royal palace, the court will host The Offering Ball, where the four remaining finalists will present their Gifts of Devotion to the Crown Prince as a token of sincerity and promise.
At noon tomorrow, before the eyes of the nation (and yes, the ceremony will be broadcast across every major channel), His Royal Highness will announce his final choice. The winner of the Tournament will be crowned Prince Consort of Aurelia, bound to rule alongside him in the years to come!
And for those wondering what becomes of the unlucky three: fear not. The Palace has confirmed they will not depart empty-handed without honor. Each finalist will be granted the opportunity to serve within the royal council or to take up distinguished office within the court, should they wish it. Their names, win or lose, will be recorded in history as among the most esteemed participants of the Tournament.
But what actually is the Tournament? Worry not, viewers, we will cover that too. Of course, the contest is not merely about budding romance between our future King and his suitors, as many hope. The primary objective is to showcase the strengths of various supernatural races seeking an alliance with the Human Crown. Each clan sends forth its champion, and by winning, they do not simply earn the Prince’s hand, but prestige, royal status, protection, and recognition under Aurelia’s banner.
But the path to the Prince’s heart has been anything but simple. From the very beginning, participants were bound by enchantments. Their true names, faces, and races concealed behind filigree masks. This anonymity ensures no bias or prejudice, political or otherwise, can interfere with the efficient administration of the trials.
And what trials they were. Contestants dueled beasts in the Trial of Strength, reasoned through intricate dilemmas in the Trial of Intellect, and were thrust into diplomacy and negotiation during the Trial of Statecraft. The grueling Trial of Endurance, where candidates are placed in the isolation room in the Hall of Ancestors, where they remain seated and alert for an unknown period facing illusions, visions, or trickery from the spirits lingering in the Hall. In the Trial of Wisdom, they passed verdicts on cases both real and staged as though they were already on the throne. And now, the last and most intimate: The Trial of Devotion.
The four finalists have earned both respect and speculation across the realm. Known only by their aliases, they are: The Raven, The Thorn, The Flame, and The Obsidian.
Let it be known throughout the realm of Aurelia, that tomorrow, one of these names will vanish with the mask, revealing the face of Aurelia’s future King Consort.
Until then, the kingdom waits, wonders, and whispers: who will the Prince choose?
Taehyung is very, very itchy.
The necklace he is wearing, of chunky chains and diamond strands draped low and deep into his neckline, is digging into his skin uncomfortably, almost choking him. His underarms are no better, they feel wet and gross, they itch, and his nose is tingling from the onslaught of hyper-masculine perfume that is nauseating enough to send him careening into the nearest toilet. Overall, he is having an absolutely miserable time at the Offering Ball.
He takes in the hand embracing his own, diverting his focus onto anything but the other man’s overbearing spicy scent. It’s pale against the white velvet material of his gloves, and the nails are cleaned with slightly pointed tips and no calluses in sight. Taehyung could see the purplish hue beneath the skin, betraying the lack of blood flow.
He wonders how it would feel under his touch, but then he banishes that thought.
It would be cold.
Like any other vampire.
Taehyung looks up at the man, poised and confident in the way he moves. The song is a slow one where they don’t have to move much, just sway back and forth with the occasional twirl. Taehyung can’t see much of his eyes behind the emerald mask which obscures his upper half of his face, but he still can’t bring himself to look away from them. Black and arrogant.
Maybe Jimin was right.
The Flame is a vampire, and he does have milky skin.
Too bad, Taehyung isn’t fond of him.
He presented a grand oil portrait of Taehyung framed in heavy gilded wood as his courting gift. The painting was flawless, in fact, so flawless that Taehyung couldn’t even recognize the eyes staring back at him. Cold and unsmiling. Taehyung might not be the most jovial prince, but his eyes never gaze upon anyone with an unapproachable tendency. It’s daunting. It serves more to remind him how the vampire saw him as a prince, a ticket to royalty, rather than a person.
The man in the painting was dressed from head to toe in jewels, seated upon the gilded throne. Rigid. Jaw set. Lips pressed in a thin line. His royal poise was exaggerated.
Taehyung could instantly recognize that it wasn’t painted by the vampire himself, probably by his retainers or human artists enslaved or bound by contract under the vampire’s court. The vampire tried to pass it off as if it were a great act of devotion, but it was shallow — performative.
He bites back a sigh. There is still one more alleged arrogant suitor left to entertain before he could finally retire to his chambers for the night, done with his supposed duties, but then again, he doesn’t think that sleep would be an ally today.
Soon, the music slows to a stop, and they are separating. The vampire gives him a polished bow and bids him farewell, hoping to see him soon.
Taehyung thinks the fuck not.
He dodges people trying to engage him in conversation and moves past them into an open area. He knows he should be socializing. And he would, if he wasn’t dreading every single gesture he made tonight. There is a sort of uneasiness in his bones that’s worse than the itching.
Both stubborn as fuck, though.
The Ball and the infuriating eyes make him feel choked, or maybe that’s just his necklace slowly killing him, but either way, he needs air. So he slowly parts from the crowd and pushes open one of the ornate ballroom doors and sneaks out.
He finds himself on the balcony, in blissfully cool and clean air. Flower pots are tucked into the corners of the intricate wrought-iron railings, with roses climbing up trellises. It’s a miniature version of the flower garden below. All his mother’s doing.
He prefers the foliage of the flower garden illuminated only by moonlight over any blinding light and shining gold and jewels of the ballroom anyway. It’s far more humble in his opinion. He can breathe easier out here, and now that he is free from the crowd, his mind is at ease.
Truthfully speaking, he thinks he’s just tired. The last few hours have been too taxing on his mental health, and he feels a bit agitated, especially given the fact that his entire day has been total shit; he isn’t in a great mood, he is vexed and running on two flutes of wine, hence, starving all at once.
He leans his forearms against the railings and breathes. Stretching out from the palace gates is the great stone bridge, its archways striding across the river like a barrier between worlds. Beyond that bridge, Aurelia unfurls in a thousand shades of gold. The lamps along the avenues burn their wings like small fireflies, leading down into the crowded heart of the city. Noisy taverns, crowded markets, children chasing each other through alleyways. Taehyung wishes he could see them clearly. The colors of their clothes. The expressions on their faces. The small joys in small possessions.
Possession.
Taehyung’s hands curl into fists at his sides, nails dig into his palms. Inhaling sharply, he mutters an “asshole” under his breath.
“You look lovely tonight. Did I tell you that?”
Taehyung was craftily accustomed to this endless dance of ass-licking. The complexities of mastering the art of spotting bullshit from a mile away came so seamlessly to him now, he did it with his eyes close sometimes, trying to catch a few seconds of normalcy in his perfect indestructible life, while begging for an ounce of sagacious company to come to his aid.
“And you as well, Sir Raven,” Taehyung encapsulated all his irritation into a courteous greeting. “I’m hoping you’re enjoying the ball thoroughly.”
A grin tugged at Raven’s face but there was something odd about it. “Indeed. I am. This ball is exquisite. But please, call me hyung. Raven feels too impersonal.”
“Hyung, it is then,” Taehyung smiles tightly. “I’ll extend your compliment to the staff, hyung.”
Raven’s grip turned a little too strong around his waist. Fingers digging into his skin. He held back a wince. A growl. “I heard Your Highness personally oversaw the preparations— even down to the dishes on the table. Am I wrong?”
Taehyung glanced at his crammed hand in possession of another’s unyielding grip, then back at him. The fake smile remained on his face. “I may have made suggestions here and there. It wasn’t much.”
“Then allow me to give you advice for the future,” Raven grinned wildly. Taehyung stared at his blunt canines. A wolf. He wasn’t even hiding it anymore. They were dancing too close already, chests nearly touching, but then Raven leaned his face even closer to him. Taehyung held his breath. He smelled of whiskey and a cologne that filled Taehyung’s senses with burnt wood and pepper. “I’m not fond of saffron pheasant,” he whispered unpleasantly. “You’d do well to strike that from the menu. It’s too sickly sweet. Not fitting for our palate.”
The smile slipped, fell, and clattered on the floor with the rest of the fake formalities. Taehyung frowned. “I wasn’t aware you’d taken the liberty of knowing my palate, hyung.”
The Raven sighed like he was dealing with a child. “One learns these things about their future spouse, Your Highness. You would have known if you had spared some hours to spend them with me. You have been really hard to get a hold of.”
What the fuck.
“I’ve been busy.”
“It’s fine. Better late than never,” Raven said with a placating smile. “You should avoid serving it in the future.”
“Because you dislike it?”
“Naturally. You won’t want dishes at your table that displease me.”
Taehyung stared at him for a moment before darting over to the people around them. They were all staring so intently at them, gossiping, envious, completely unaware of what their piercing looks did to him. Discomfiture instantly emphasized his form. But his perfect mask gave nothing away.
“Of course,” Taehyung said smoothly, the smile returning in full force. “Do have your attendant relay this knowledge to our Head Cook. The Aurelian Royal Family prides itself on honoring a guest’s… particular tastes. It would grieve us terribly should your refined palate be unsettled on any future visit, Sir Raven.”
The effect was immediate. Raven leaned back to appraise him for a surprise second before his smirk grew as he chuckled darkly. “You carry yourself well, considering your age,” he mused, mocking, his gaze roaming all over Taehyung’s blank features before dropping down to his open chest where it lingered. “It must be exhausting, pretending to keep up with your council.”
The song ended and they parted. Taehyung shoved his hands into his pockets, adjusting well to close his suit a little, hoping the fabric would hide the tremors of anger. He remained rooted where he stood.
“It’s hectic, but I manage,” Taehyung replied carefully. He just wanted to go back to his chambers.
“It won’t be difficult to manage with me beside you.”
Taehyung smiled, and they could both tell how fake it was. “What a relief.”
Taehyung lowered his gaze from the view to be met with his tightly clenched fists bunching up the cream fabric of his breeches. The grip of his shaky fingers around the material is cruel. So cruel, in fact, Taehyung doubts he could flatten the creases by simply smoothing his palms over them.
He rolls his eyes.
“You can come out now. I know you’re standing there.”
Taehyung calls out, feeling his jaw clench with mild irritation. He had a trifling plan: to take a short breather in the peace of the garden before delving back into the ball before anybody could detect his truancy. However, that plan takes a backseat now. As if the idea of parading with creased breeches wasn’t spoiling his mood enough, now he had an unexpected company that wanted to make everything even more delightful.
“Sorry.” A voice like velvet, deep and eloquent, a little sheepish if Taehyung delves himself to care enough, breaks through the bubble that he didn’t realize he unconsciously created until it popped in his face. “I wasn’t planning to sneak up on you.”
The apology does nothing to lessen his annoyance that has threatened to overwhelm him. He debated whether to ignore the man altogether and leave the balcony, or simply crawl under the covers and wait for sleep to engulf him. The thought of dealing with the logistical fallout of snubbing a suitor felt far more bearable than the emotional drain his body was enduring as the price of entertaining one for even a few minutes.
Every time a suitor opened his mouth tonight, Taehyung either wanted to crouch in place with his head tucked between his knees and take deep breaths or listen to his intrusive thoughts and drive a knife straight into their thighs.
“It’s fine. I was wondering when you’d finally confront me,” Taehyung feigns disinterest as the other man joins him by the balcony.
After a few seconds of nothing but silence greeting him in return, he glances over.
A sharp side profile greets him. Or mainly a sharp jaw. The suitor was a man with dark hair and an even darker suit, broad shoulders, and bulky muscles. He was wearing a familiar but distinct mask that Taehyung has come to associate with nothing but greed.
The other man has pressed himself closer to the barrier, placing himself a few distances away from Taehyung and leaning forward, dropping his head back and letting the moonlight cool his skin. He could see the frosty breath fanning out into the cool air, eyes shut behind the mask as if the other had approached the balcony for the comfort of the fresh air rather than cornering Taehyung where he couldn’t escape.
He mentally scoffs. The balcony had no other exit but the door behind them and the drop from the fourth story would be nothing short of agonizing if not deadly. There was no escape – no matter how long the other male stalled.
Against the shadows, Taehyung squints a little; he can see glinting piercings adorning the man’s ears, and for a brief moment, he is surprised. The mold about royal image is that it’s built upon conservatism, continuity, and symbolism – so having one of the finalists abstaining from that order and boasting his stacked lobe piercing in an official Ball has Taehyung pausing in his reverie.
He considers asking if he can touch them, but the stranger was still many paces behind within his circle of approval, so he doesn’t. However, he smooths over the nonconformist behavior, tries to lessen his annoyance. There’s no point in being difficult. He should just get the formalities done with.
“Sorry,” the man suddenly spoke, startling him out of his musing. His voice is low and rough, like wispy air brushing in carrying along a gentle tone that helps lighten up the ruggedness a degree. He tugs at the collar of his suit, lightly flapping the lapels as if trying to air out his chest. “I’ve sweated a river under these damn sleeves like a pig, it took me half the night to actually work up the courage to approach you, and now I’m scared I probably smell like it too.”
Any semblance of a retort dies in Taehyung’s throat. His jaw drops open. “What?”
“Sorry,” he utters for the third time. Looking fucking miserable as he utters it. “This stupid suit is killing me. Give me a minute, will you? I’m nervous as hell.”
Taehyung struggles to pick his jaw up again.
Give me a minute, will you?
Taehyung has been addressed as ‘your royal highness’ since he was three.
As someone accustomed to deference at every waking moment, being spoken to so casually hit him sideways.
He blinks slowly, not even making an effort to articulate a proper refutable sentence in definite words. All he could muster was a weak nod, unconsciously leaning his face further against the man’s direction to sniff the air.
He didn’t smell bad at all.
Taehyung straightens up immediately.
“Take your time,” he manages to cough out, looking away and desperately trying to ignore the heat rising in the high of his cheeks.
After a minute, Taehyung chews on his lower lip, torn in a way he’s not used to feeling. Then, making sure his checking out wasn’t as obvious, he turns his head, the other still has his eyes closed, facing upwards, and Taehyung drags his gaze to the length of him.
The chosen attire by the other man was rather simple. But Taehyung reckoned that it looked extremely elegant because of the way it was carried. The gold accents on the edges of the fine black material on the sturdy shoulders. It did look good on him. More than that, it served its purpose, a reason for every passerby to take a second glance, to see a man who could very well be a prince, a future king’s consort – someone deserving of respect without ever having to speak a word.
Taehyung couldn’t decide whether he admired that quality or detested it.
He draws his gaze away from the man and mirrors his stance. The night sky was clear, though empty, no cluster of twinkling stars, just two or three who had been granted the privilege to burn brighter than the rest. And Taehyung had a hard time trying to see the moon, swallowed by the slow tide of dark clouds rolling across the air.
“The stars are nowhere in sight.”
He speaks more to himself, so he’s pleasantly surprised when he hears a response.
“There aren’t,” The Obsidian replies softly, looking up at the sky with his eyes open this time. “Maybe they are more visible from a height. The sky is cleaner up there.”
Taehyung glanced sideways at him, but hummed.
“Maybe if we travel through an airship at night,” he suggests flippantly, then he sighs and his shoulders slump. “Too bad I can’t exactly summon one every time I want to stargaze.”
Taehyung feels the other’s stare burn against the side of his face but he doesn’t turn to check. “True,” the man slowly nods. “You’re into astronomy?”
He shakes his head, still looking away. The suitor was attempting a harmless conversation and Taehyung found himself not minding the advancement. “I like to stargaze on quiet nights, though it’s rare I get to see them clearly. If I had the time, I’d like to read more about astronomy instead of just staring.”
“You don’t need to read books to know the stars,” the man unexpectedly answers, looking in the distance at the skyline littered with nothing but the pitch-dark sky. “Half of them burned out centuries ago, and we’re only seeing their ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
The Obsidian nods. He pushes his hair up but it falls back on his forehead in a cluster, having run out of styling gel. Taehyung stares around the suitor’s face as he talks, noticing the small mole below his lips, the sharp jawline cutting around his otherwise round-looking face. His jaw works, muscle shifting and chin tilt upwards, exposing the line of his throat as he keeps his eyes on the sky. His forehead was covered partly by the lengthy, wavy hair and partly by the gold-plated mask.
“Light travels slowly. By the time its rays reach us, the stars may already be gone. What you see is only a memory.”
Intrigued, Taehyung fully turns towards him. “You know a lot about it.”
“Not really,” Obsidian chuckles. “I’m a traveler. I hear things, pick them like loose coins.”
If Taehyung were a dog, his ears would be perked up right now. He subtly shuffles a little closer, controlling his voice not to be overly excited as he asks. “You’re a traveler? What’s the most interesting thing you’ve heard in your travels?”
The other man takes a quick glance at him, then back at the open sky. However, if it was unconscious or not, he opens his body more towards facing him, eyes still gazing up.
“Most interesting?”
Taehyung briskly nods.
“Mhm,” Obsidian pretended to think and Taehyung’s attention was drawn straight to the dark onyx eyes under the mask that were spinning with childish excitement.
He leans forward towards him on the railing, gesturing for him to come closer and, against his better judgment, Taehyung does just that, tightly holding his suit together and shuffling a little closer towards him until there is no space left between them. He blinks up at him through his lashes, and the other’s lips lift up to an unexpected smile.
“Okay, so – listen closely. I once heard this a long time ago, through a pirate,” Taehyung’s soft gasp is too loud for them to miss it. “Not just any pirate. This one was half-mad. A total nutcase. Insisted he had sailed to the edge of the map and lived to tell the tale. He told me—” his tone suddenly drops an octave. He meets Taehyung’s wide eyes and leans in slightly to make sure that he is being listened to properly. “—that there are truths the sea whispers only to those who dare to live with it. That if two people wish on the same star at the very same moment,” he pauses, leaning even closer into Taehyung’s personal space and whispering, “they’re bound together. Forever.”
Taehyung has barely blinked throughout the whole speech, eyes wide and clearly a little dazed from their proximity. Obsidian coolly leans back, the side of his mouth quirking upwards slightly as he watches him.
Taehyung’s brows knit in skepticism.
It takes two seconds too long for the words to properly register in his head, but when it does, Taehyung sends the obsidian the dirtiest look he could muster up.
“Fuck off.”
Obsidian bursts out laughing, amusement dancing in his eyes as Taehyung shoves at his shoulder, cursing under his breath as he glares at the suitor.
“I thought you were going to tell me something cool.”
“C’mon, it was a little cool,” he says with a grin, and Taehyung instantly wishes he’d stop doing that.
He rolls his eyes and draws it away from the other’s attractive toothy smile. “Of course. I’m sure it’s not one of your courting tricks to lure me in.”
“Of course not,” he denies immediately, but then a second later, he adds. “Okay – maybe. But wouldn’t you be curious to test it?”
Would he?
Maybe.
They bicker long enough before finally settling on a single star that was burning bright and stubborn against the sprawl of dark clouds. Taehyung lets his eyes close shut. The glittering point of light burned into the darkness behind his lids as he thought of a wish. It felt foolish. Yet, he doesn’t dare to form the wish in words. He thinks about it. The impression of it. The shape. And throws it in the direction of the star in the form of a longing wish.
When he opens his eyes, the star still burns in place. It was when he heard the Obsidian move in his peripheral vision that he removed his gaze from the sky. The man had both his elbows on the railing, one cupping his head in his palms, and he was watching him.
“Guess you’re stuck with me now.”
An instant blush rose on his cheeks, and Taehyung quickly looked away to fake a sigh. “Guess I am.”
He slowly straightens from the barrier, hands poised over the cement for balance as he leans back, and finally musters up the nerve to look the other in the eye.
“Well,” Taehyung starts with mixed emotions swarming inside his chest. “What did you wish for?”
Obsidian lets out a small chuckle, the sound deep in his throat, rough and sparking, small butterflies alive in Taehyung’s stomach.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
“My wish?”
“Mhm.”
“That you get to stargaze whenever you desire.”
Taehyung is rendered stunned. Somewhere inside him, something melts. Well, it is most probably his treacherous heart. And Taehyung feels his throat clog up with an emotion too clear but fuzzy, and he doesn’t want a verbal answer to this feeling; he knows. It’s a hushed conversation occurring between his heart and the membrane protecting it.
It’s kind of like a greeting. Their version of a hello, we’re beating too fast again, oh, it’s the human again, look at him being a fool again.
It makes him feel sheepish.
“You were not supposed to tell me your wish.”
Obsidian cocks his head. “No?”
“No,” Taehyung chuckles nervously. “You don’t tell others what you wish about, it won’t come true now.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. It will come true.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it doesn’t work like that.”
“It does.”
“Because you say so?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. How?” Taehyung asks with a challenging gaze. He lifts a gloved finger and carefully pokes at the other’s bicep. “Are you going to take me to see the stars yourself?
For the first time since they started speaking, he thinks he sees a flicker of uncertainty in those brown orbs, but it’s gone before he can contemplate what it was. Obsidian stares. His smile fell into something more serious. Something Taehyung still couldn’t figure out. And he fearsomely wonders if it was because he didn’t appreciate Taehyung’s playful tease.
Suddenly, Obsidian’s chest puffs up.
“Yes,” he answers, radiating confidence and assurance that severely puzzles Taehyung as much as it amuses him. “I will take you to see the stars. Anytime you want.”
The answer pleases Taehyung immensely. He didn’t feel as brave as before but the answer gave him reassurance to stare back, losing himself in the suitor’s warm hug of a gaze.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
Taehyung offers him a small smile after that, a small real smile. Even though the promise is a lie, it feels too good in the moment for him to mind it. It feels good to have Obsidian’s honest eyes on him too, speaking to him in soft whispers and gentle words.
“Oh, I almost forgot.”
The other man’s hand goes inside his suit jacket, patting the material for something, then his hand emerges from his pocket, holding out a small black box.
“What—”
“The gift.” He clarifies, clearing his throat and Taehyung watches as he fiddles with the box. A second later, the box is gently pressed into Taehyung’s closed fist, coaxing him to take it with a soft whisper. “This is for you. I hope you accept it.”
A little surprised, Taehyung slowly closes his fingers around the box, accepting the gift with a small “thank you.”
For the second time, he was pulled back into the world of crowns and suitors devoid of his acquiescence. Though this time, he found himself resenting the ordeal less this time around.
He brings the gift closer to inspect. Under the watchful eyes of the suitor, he unhooks the box and pulls it open.
He inhales sharply when the palace light shines on the small object inside.
Nestled inside the white satin was a solid gold pendant. It was a delicate piece of jewelry. A thin chain attached to a circle of vines that is in the shape of a snake head coiling protectively around a shimmering royal blue stone.
“It’s enchanted,” the man says softly. “It’ll warm against your skin when danger’s near.”
“This… this is beautiful.”
The gift wasn’t the most extravagant thing he had gotten that could be compared to the wall-sized oil painting, or the dagger that drank magic or the deed to a sacred fae glade, but it was so thoughtful and caring that Taehyung couldn’t help but melt. Unlike armor or crowns, this was meant for Taehyung alone. It was something for him.
“You’re already wearing so much jewellery. Do you have any space for my small gift?”
“Of course I do.”
The answers slip out far too easily, too eagerly. He finds the question inane. But he doesn’t feel in himself to be embarrassed about it. He admires the pendant before placing the box on the barrier and sliding the pendant over his neck on top of the other necklace.
The clasp wouldn’t budge.
“May I?”
Taehyung gives the other a dubious look. The clasp seems to be more complicated than he had thought, and he had to accept that it’s going to be difficult for him to close it on his own. Suppressing a sigh, he nods and hands the pendant over, turning around to give the man better access to his neck.
He tenses when he feels the other move behind him. Taehyung holds his breath as the chain circles his neck once again, feeling Obsidian’s warm breath hit too close to his nape, disturbing the small hairs present there as fingers working deftly on the clasp.
The suitor was standing dangerously close.
It felt so intimate. The moment felt so sweet. Something he genuinely never even dreamed about happening to him in this lifetime. It was a strange day. Too many things leaving Taehyung disoriented. The gesture made his heart entirely skip a beat and his fingers tingled in wonder.
“Stupid clasp— it won’t—” He heard something clink together. But then a cute groan at the missed attempt.
Taehyung couldn’t help the stupid smile as he looked down at the elegant carvings that rested close to his heart and opened his mouth before he could stop the overflowing curiosity that was muddying his brain.
“Did you carve this by yourself?”
He couldn’t see him but he guessed the other man nodded. “Every line of it. Obsidian is a very brittle stone; one firm move and the glass shatters. I could not trust anyone else with the task.”
“This is obsidian?”
“Enchanted obsidian. I reforged it until the stone yielded to the desired shape I wanted, then bound it with gold veins. The frame itself is gold.”
Taehyung is in awe. He gently holds the pieces up. “Where did you even get this?”
A pause.
Then a soft huff of laughter so close to the shell of his ear as he feels the other peer at the jewelry over Taehyung’s shoulder before getting back to work.
“Let’s just say they don’t come from any mine you’ll find on a map. However, I had to cross a few borders for your sapphire. It symbolizes protection – and uh – loyalty. I thought it was fitting.”
“So, you’re offering me protection and loyalty in return for the Crown.”
“Not the Crown,” Obsidian states definitively, his fingers accidentally brushing against the skin of his nape when he successfully clasps the pendant together, and then softly breathes out a relieved, “Just you.”
The suitor steps back.
Taehyung feels more than a little dazed as he twists his torso, then the rest of his body to face the other man once again, who is now leaning against the barrier with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What?”
“I’m offering my protection and loyalty to you as your potential future spouse. The Crown is just an addition.”
Taehyung stares at him, eyes disbelieving, and the suitor stares back. Not for the first time Taehyung wished to see his face, to gauge what was on his face, what expression he was making, what he was thinking when he decides to say things that remove the ground from beneath Taehyung’s feet and replace it with gallons of water that promise nothing but drowning.
Taehyung’s next breath comes out a little shaky as he looks down and gently lowers the pendant piece. “You’re saying all the right things.”
“What was that?
“Nothing,” he murmurs mellifluously in the air. “It sounds like a lot of effort.”
“It wasn’t any extra effort.”
“It was a lot of effort for someone you don’t even know.”
“I want to though.”
“Want to?”
“Know you.”
Taehyung is startled once again.
He’s so blunt.
He’s so blunt that it almost makes Taehyung blush.
The suitor steps close to him again, eyes lowered to Taehyung’s open suit. “It looks really nice against your skin.”
The thin chain frames Taehyung’s neck tastefully, resting right in the dip between his collarbones.
“It’s very pretty.”
“Don’t take it off. Even if you don’t choose me, consider it a gift from a friend. It will keep you protected.”
“That’s… unexpectedly kind of you.” Taehyung is surprised. “You don’t believe you can win against your competitors?”
A cocky twinkle rises in the other’s eyes and he bends forward to peer straight into Taehyung’s soul. “There is no competition when it comes to you, Your Highness. No one could hold a candle to your wit, to your kind heart, not to forget the whole dazzling face thing you’ve got going on. We can just try and hope you consider one of us worth your time.”
Taehyung pauses, noticeably stunned. He stands still as a rock in his spot. The words. They sound too familiar. “Have we… met before?”
The words were out of the confines of his throat before his brain could comprehend where he was going with those syllables. The Obsidian seems equally stunned. His dark onyx eyes are wide as ever as he incredulously stares at Taehyung.
“No.” The other denies immediately as if the idea was absurd. Taehyung allows his tense shoulder to relax when Obsidian continues. “I’m afraid not. But now that we have met, I only hope it won’t be the last, and we keep meeting again, preferably first thing in the morning for the rest of our lives if I’m lucky.”
Taehyung looks at him with wide eyes. “Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”
The suitor only looks smug as he extends a hand forward. “Just confident. Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”
“There is no music.”
“We can just sway.”
The night took a turn, a weird one, but Taehyung found himself surprised by how little he minded. For one, there was a warmth emitting from Obsidian’s hand at his waist, grounding. And he strangely wonders how it might feel if that same hand brushes against his bare palm without the gloves hindering the contact.
His stomach is rolling and reeling, his chest is tight, even though it’s not as uncomfortable as the one Taehyung has been feeling all day. It’s fuzzy and warm and giddy, and it’s confusing.
Taehyung’s gaze drops to their clasped hands. As he had expected, numerous heavy rings adorned Obsidian’s thick fingers, his hands calloused and rough, probably evidence of the swordplay practice every tournament finalist was required to participate in.
He feels the thumb move to draw circles at the back of his hand, the fingers slightly tightening into a gentle squeeze before loosening again.
Taehyung had noticed that the other man had the tendency to absentmindedly squeeze his hand ever so often. A small gesture that may or may not be sending an inexplicable jolt of hyper electricity rushing through Taehyung’s spine each time he did it. However, the hand on the side of his waist remains unmoving. It did not wander. Did not press, squeeze. It simply just rested there in a respectful state.
The Obsidian was, for lack of a better term – a gentleman.
“We should return to the Ball soon.”
Obsidian grins. Two teeth peeking out and winking at Taehyung mischievously. “Nah. I think this is cool. It feels very Romeo and Juliet, don’t you think?”
Taehyung giggles as he shifts his hand from the suitor’s waist to his shoulder. “People might already be looking for us.”
Obsidian removes his hand from his waist to lift Taehyung’s hand from his shoulder, guiding it higher until it rests at the nape of his neck. Taehyung tenses, his pulse spiking as he feels the entire arm slip back around his waist and hesitatingly pulling him close. His fingers curl tighter at Obsidian’s nape and he shifts a step closer.
“I saw your father – uh, I mean, the King – His Majesty – sorry, leaving earlier with a few other men. They mentioned wine cellars and reminiscing old memories.”
“Oh.” So, the party was nearly over then. “In that case, guess we can sway a little bit more.”
“We can leave if you’re tired. I’m sure you had a long day.”
“I did. I woke up early.”
“I know.”
Taehyung arches his brow. “You know?”
Obsidian’s hands clutched ever so firmly around him before relaxing again. “I heard you took part in the preparation. I imagine you woke up early. The preparations must have been hectic.”
“I hardly did much. Who’s even spreading all these rumors?”
The suitor does something then.
And he does it slowly. Taehyung notices him watching their linked hands. And as slowly as he possibly could, he shifts the clutch of their hands, their fingers loosen. The suitor turns their palms until they press directly against one another. His digits slide between Taehyung’s, changing the grip of their hands and curling inwards until their fingers are fully intertwined with each other.
Taehyung is already watching him when the other turns to meet his eyes.
Taehyung can’t see the shape of his eyes but they seem to be engaged in a conversation with his own.
hello, how are you? it was so refreshing to meet you. do you want to sneak out again? preferably with me? just how are you already in my head?
“I thought that would be romantic but now I’m afraid your rings are drilling holes in my fingers.”
Taehyung bursts into surprised laughter.
“Let’s just,” the other man struggles, looking pained as he twists their fingers until they are back to just holding hands. “hold each other like this. This is comfortable. Are you comfortable?”
“I’m comfortable.” Taehyung bites his lips into a smile. “Do you want me to take off my rings?”
The suggestion must take the other man off guard, as his eyes go round, his mouth parts.
“You would do that?”
Taehyung shrugs. And for a while, the faint music of the orchestra is the only sound between them. It grows quiet. They sway in circles, slow and languid.
But then the grip around his waist loosens.
He isn’t given a chance to react before the man takes a subtle step backwards. Taehyung’s brow furrows in confusion as their interlocked hands are lifted into the air, and out of nowhere, Taehyung is spun with a flying speed. Taehyung gasps, caught off guard, nearly tripping over his own feet. A hand catches him – circling firmly around his body – before pulling him back, steadying him by the hold around his waist and putting him back on his feet.
He gapes at the suitor. A sudden rush of warmth surges through him from every direction. He feels shocked but also so ecstatic at the sudden twirl. His one hand is still in the man’s hold while the other has taken refuge on his chest.
Unknowingly, he fists the suit material in his hand.
“I would say yes,” The Obsidian whispers. And Taehyung feels the warmth of his breath on his nose, his chin, on his lips. “But I really don’t want to let go of your hand.”
It’s the wine, Taehyung thinks as he feels the fervent blood now rushing up to his face, vehemently heating up his cheeks and coloring them an unnaturally bright crimson right in front of the perpetrator and he doesn’t even try to hide it.
It’s the wine, when they separate and the obsidian offers to escort Taehyung to his chambers for the night and Taehyung was left unable even to form a single coherent thought to articulate why that wasn’t the wisest idea.
It’s the wine, when the man carefully steps closer towards Taehyung and offers his elbow to take, with a soft, encouraging smile on the corners of his pretty lips. And Taehyung hesitantly weaves his palm over the inner elbow, and they walk like that all the way to his chamber doors.
And it’s certainly wine, when the other man bends down to drop a kiss on his gloved knuckles. And Taehyung doesn’t move from the spot even after the Obsidian was long gone.
Taking himself but leaving his warm presence to have him floating instead of drowning.
It’s the wine, Taehyung thinks.
It has to be the wine.
“So,” Jimin begins, and the tone is enough to have Taehyung straighten his back. “I may or may not have noticed your absence from the Ball – and I may or may not have gone looking for you, only to find you on the eastern balcony, keeping company with the stars… and a certain someone.”
Taehyung tenses up.
“What about it?”
“Nothing. ‘m just curious,” Jimin chirps, smiling innocently that it makes Taehyung’s gaze narrow in suspicion as he angles his body away from the man. “I didn’t know you had an interest.”
Taehyung whirls around to throw a glare at the male. “I don’t have an interest.”
That does nothing to deter the wicked grin on Jimin’s face. If anything, it gets more even sly and wolfish.
“No need to lie to me, Your Highness. I saw you perfectly well – slow dancing with him and sharing laughs. You looked rather cozy.” He teases. “I’m merely curious about my best friend’s future husband.”
“He’s not my future husband,” Taehyung grumbles out as he plops down onto the couch beside Jimin. He draws his knees up to his chest, perching his chin on the joints. He smooths out the wrinkles on his soft pajamas – anything to distract himself from the flustered blush he feels rising up his neck. “And what are you doing here? Don’t you have duties that demand your attention?”
“They can wait. I’ve far more important matters at my disposal right here.” Jimin gazes him up and down with an evil twinkle and Taehyung makes sure his glare is noticed. “I’m sure His Highness can spare me a few minutes, can’t he?”
Asking him again and again isn’t making it easier to lie.
The older knows him all too well.
Taehyung huffs, turning to face the man. “What do you want?”
“I want you to admit you’re thinking about your suitors.” Jimin sits up. “Admit that one of them has enchanted your body and soul.”
Taehyung wrinkles his nose in disgust. “You must have hit your head somewhere really hard if you think I’ll admit to any of that.”
The wolf grin falls. Jimin sends him a flat look. “You lie so much and then wonder why I don’t believe a shit you say. Have you seen your face, Taehyung? You’re flushing. You look like a fucking tomato.”
Taehyung smacks a hand to his face.
“Fuck off.”
“What happened to telling each other everything through thick and thin?” Jimin whines as he lands a smack against Taehyung’s arm, making him yelp. “You sneaked out of the Ball with this guy and you came back all happy and blushing. Fuck me if I’m nosy as hell right now.”
“I did not sneak out with him. He followed me. And we just talked. That’s it.”
Jimin deflates.
“You just talked? That’s it?”
“I know it’s really hard for you to believe but not everyone fucks around on the first meeting.”
“Clearly,” Jimin instantly retorts. “Your lack of sex life tells me everything I need to know.”
Taehyung shoves him off the couch.
“But c’mon,” Jimin whines from the floor, sprawled out like a starfish across the carpet. “He is the only participant I’ve failed to dig up dirt on. That man’s one secretive little shit. Give me something, at least. I need to know what I’m dealing with here.”
Taehyung’s cheek burns as he looks away to glance up at the ceiling. His fingers shift to play with the pendant resting peacefully against his clavicle, chest warming as the pleasing memories of the evening rush back to the forefront of his mind.
“Well, um.” Taehyung shifts shyly on the couch. And when he speaks, it’s clear it’s affecting his voice too, making it mushy and nervous in a sweet mummer. “He was… really nice.”
“Wow. That’s so descriptive. I have a fully formed image of his niceness in my head right now.”
“Oh, shut it. I don’t know how to explain it — he’s just… he’s very handsome? I only saw the lower half of his face but he has dimples, and a mole right here,” he taps at his own chin. “He had an accent, so I’m guessing he’s not from Aurelia. He spoke so softly, and everything about him felt so respectful. And then we — gods, it sounds so stupid — Jimin, but we wished upon a star. Absurd, isn’t it? We were swaying together with no music, and he was saying all the right things, being so sweet. And I felt like — I felt like I was actually being courted properly for the first time in my life. I — I was having fun, Min.”
Jimin’s eyes go wide. “Oh. That’s—” he winces, a nervous exhale emitting from his nose.
Taehyung glances down at his lap – at his isolated hands. Empty and cold. Denied the luxury of a touch by a loved one. No semblance of warmth could be enough to soothe the starvation that gnaws at him for the simple comfort of skin against skin.
“I don’t even remember the last time I had so much fun.” His voice drops to a whisper, and he sighs. “I would’ve loved to get to know him better.”
“You still can.”
Taehyung shakes his head, surfacing back to reality. “The Tournament ends within hours, Jimin. The council will decide who rules beside me on that throne. By tomorrow noon, Aurelia will meet its only Prince Consort. I — ” his voice shrinks into something small. “I do not have the liberty or measures to pursue someone else. Ever. It’s over.”
The hand on his shoulder pulls him so he is prompted to look over at the other man. Jimin’s shoulder has lost its usual ease, now drooped, skin turned dull and voice upset.
“I don’t want to give you false hope,” the older starts carefully. “But what if he wins?”
Taehyung falls silent. The council will never permit a human to succeed. They want an alliance out of this. Military forces from the wolves. Wealth from the vampires. Probably more control, a tighter hold on the Evelen kingdom from the faes that they already partake enough through his mother’s ties.
So, unless the human is a prince – worse, a prince from a kingdom of considerable standing, there is no agenda for the council to pursue a human for the Crown.
Taehyung exhales in resignation, lungs expanding with yearning but the shackles of bitter hopelessness pull at his anguish bones rendering him wordless.
“He won’t. The council would never nominate a human.”
“I fucking hate this,” Jimin curses suddenly as he stands up, kicking the cushion on the carpet in anger. Taehyung doesn’t move until the other is plopping down beside him with a heated huff. “You should be allowed to choose! What is the purpose of this fucking farce Tournament when they are just going to force your hand to whoever brings more to the table anyway? Power-hungry bastards. I fucking hate how they treat you.”
Me too, Taehyung thinks as he nestles his head on the older’s shoulder. A grunt of heartache on the tip of his tongue. Me too.
“It’s okay. Don’t be mad. How bad can it be?”
Worse.
It could get so much worse. If his chosen husband proved even half as cruel as the Council members, Taehyung feared he would be stripped of his agency and reduced to nothing more than a broken figurehead for the rest of his life.
He would sit on the throne, yet his words would never be taken seriously, ripped to shreds, and swept under the rug at every different approach. Sooner or later, his mouth would speak someone else’s voice, his lungs breathing someone else’s breath, his words conveying someone else’s thoughts. He would lose his individuality to the nasty politics he never wanted to be a part of in the first place.
Jimin reaches over and combs his careful fingers through his hair, mindful not to touch his skin. The cautious gesture makes Taehyung squeeze his eyes shut in agony, blinking away the burn in his eyes.
“You are allowed to be mad, Tae,” Jimin says carefully, “You don’t have to accept things as they are. You are allowed to be angry, show that you’re angry. You are just human after all.”
Taehyung nods in quick succession, not trusting his tongue enough to speak. He snuggles further into Jimin’s side to fend off the cold. He is only human, after all. But is he even allowed to act like one?
“Sometimes I wish you were rebellious. A little selfish,” Jimin continues. “I wish you’d just stand up one day and say fuck it all. Fuck the council. Fuck all these customs, fuck the purity culture. Fuck those people who sit on their high-backed chairs and think they can dictate what you do with your life. Honestly, you should just go for it. What worse could they do to you than what they’re already doing?”
Taehyung snorts as he shoves the older away. But his smile falters when their eyes meet and there isn’t any amusement glimmering back at him. Taehyung’s eyes go wide as Jimin’s voice cracks when he speaks next, angry façade quickly slipping into something much more upset than infuriated.
“Do you know how it feels?” Jimin trembles. “Even after all these years, thinking back to the day I was ordered that I’m no longer allowed to touch my best friend – lest I somehow taint him – still brings me nothing but immeasurable pain.”
“Jim –”
“We were five,” Jimin whispers, and Taehyung’s heart drops to his stomach. Jimin’s voice is hoarse, barely a croak as if he were holding back tears. “It’s been twenty years.”
“Don’t cry, Min.” Taehyung shakes his arm, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Please, don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying!” Jimin snaps. “I’m livid. It kills me to see you like this. And I can’t stand it, Tae. I can’t stand watching you pretend you’re okay when you’re clearly not. I wish you’d rebel. I wish you’d throw it all back in their faces. They don’t deserve your obedience. I wish you’d marry the person who makes you laugh, who makes you feel like yourself again. Hell, marry for love, marry for spite – I don’t care, as long as it’s your choice. At least then, you’d be truly happy. And it enrages me that you’re letting them take that choice from you.”
It wasn’t only his choice that was being taken away from him. It was everything he kept close to keep his heart intact. And in the process, Taehyung has grown to be despondent.
“Don’t be.” Taehyung soothes him with a small smile, but it’s more of a wince like he’s soothing himself with false words. “It’s only a matter of months. Once I’m married, you can touch me anytime you want. We can hug, cuddle – and I won’t have to wear gloves to hold your hand ever again.”
“That’s right.” Jimin scoffs, the distaste lining his lips. “I’m going to burn every one of your stupid gloves. And if your husband dares denies me the privilege, I’m not kidding, Tae. I’ll stage his coup and kill him.”
That makes him smile sadly, love for his best friend shining through. “Wish I could just marry you.”
“Your Obsidian sounds pleasant enough.” Jimin teases as his eyes shift to Taehyung’s chest. “Did he give you that?”
Taehyung feels the flutter in his stomach. “Yes.”
“Is that a snake?”
“Ah— I’m not certain. It seems to be some kind of reptile.”
“Mhm. It has scales. Do you think he’s a shapeshifter?
“No.” Taehyung frowns. “All the finalists revealed some glimpse of their origin to me tonight, but he gave none. He only mentioned that he was a traveler.”
“Huh.” Jimin cocks his head, eyes intently staring at the jewel. “Definitely not a vampire or a wolf then. Could be a hybrid. Or a witch.”
“Witches don’t entangle themselves with royalty, you know that. They are content with their stations. And if he were a hybrid, don’t you think his restraints would have already faltered by now? There are always signs.”
“You’re right.” Jimin looks to be in deep thought. His expression drawn tight.
Taehyung narrows his eyes in confusion. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” Jimin’s hands pause in his hair, and when he speaks next, he does it slowly, cautiously. “Do you… like this guy?”
Taehyung sputters. “What?”
“Do you want him to win?”
Taehyung looks away, throat bobbing as he swallows. He sits up again, shoulders tense and hands tucked under his flexed legs. He shifts his gaze to train them on the Gifts of Devotion scattered around the table.
Does he?
Taehyung’s lungs shrink aginst each other, with a lack of breath, or a lack of space with rocks creating a refugee there, he doesn’t know. He looks out the window. There is barely any light – just the moonlight peeking through the wide windows. It casts shadows into the room and creates patterns on the windowsill on the marble floor.
He reaches for his neck to play with the pendant. He brushes the vines with a tenderness that is contrasting with the ominous-looking snake glaring at him. Yet Taehyung feels nothing but safe as the cold of the obsidian seeps into his skin.
“I don’t know.”
Taehyung knew himself.
He argued with himself inside, justifying the pathetic response for being too scared to throw the words into existence and solidify the statement. Explaining would lead to admissions that he isn’t ready to make, and truths that he knows he shouldn’t dwell on, and won’t ever be, ready to hear.
Jimin rises from his place.
“The final decision is yours,” he says, and Taehyung stares at him – a look of hopefulness with questions. Jimin just sadly smiles at him. “Be careful. The announcement is going to be telecast live. Once you call out a name, no matter what, you can’t take it back. Nobody can.”
Jimin soon leaves for his post.
Taehyung dwells on that for a long time. All night. As he had presumed, the sleep was not an ally tonight.
How could it be, when every time Taehyung closes his eyes, all he sees are his own wrists bleeding and straining against the burning knots – the binds biting into his veins, mauling his veins?
Taehyung said he doesn’t know.
Yet, each atom of air inside him yells at him the answer. The obvious.
Yes.
You want him to win for you.
“…the Council has reached its decision. The Raven is declared the victor of the Tournament and shall henceforth bear the title of Prince Consort of Aurelia, to stand beside His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince. Upon His Highness’s ascension, he shall be crowned King Consort of Aurelia.”