Chapter Text
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Or in the case of one Han Jisung, a husband.
It was because of that truth that he found himself, ass numbed from days of long travel on an unforgiving carriage bench, cramped and sweating from the unrelenting sun that had begun to crest over the highest point in the sky, long lines of light illuminating the way through the low covering trees as they trundled their way through an unfamiliar landscape.
He’d never travelled anywhere for any extended period of time, being the second son of the Emperor of Hanseong saw him often pushed to the side in favour of his brother who had accompanied their father on Royal visits from a young age.
Having experienced the alternative for just this short period of time, Jisung found himself unwaveringly thankful that he’d been all but forgotten by his father until very recently. Even now at the ripe age of 20 he found himself barely able to sit still for so long, and he dreaded to think what the outcome would have been if he’d acted like that around his father or his subordinates.
His feet itched with the longing to simply move, palms sweating as he twisted twitching fingers together in an attempt to keep them somewhat occupied, and there was absolutely no holding back the scowl he aimed towards the man on the opposite bench. Sprawled out, artfully rumpled hair falling into his eyes as if he hadn’t a care in the world, Hwang Hyunjin stood (or rather in that moment, laid) in complete contrast to all the manners and rigidity enforced upon Jisung.
Relaxed and unbothered by the sweltering heat or the jerky carriage movements, Hyunjin merely looked as though he was having the time of his life, feasting on a stash of dried fruits he’d somehow swindled from one of Jisung’s footmen, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes and a careless grin pulling at his lips as he scratched at the ears of the small dog that perched on the seat next to him.
Having been attached at the hip since birth, it was unsurprising to most that Hyunjin had been granted permission to accompany Jisung on his current journey, even though he held no title or place in the royal court.
The privilege of holding favour with the Prince of the kingdom, Jisung supposed.
Bitter envy bubbled low in Jisung’s gut, a feeling that filled him with shame as he considered the freedoms afforded to his only friend, freedoms that he could only dream of. He pushed the feeling down low, smothering the flames until they were mere embers in the pit of his stomach, absently smoothing his hands down the front of his robe in an attempt to flatten the crease that had formed from hours of sitting. He was having an issue with a particularly troublesome fold along his waist when Hyunjin broke the silence, stretching out his long legs like a cat, upsetting Kkami the dog, who growled in response to the movement.
“Urgh,” he groaned dramatically, reclining somehow further into his seat with a yawn. “How much longer until we reach the Summer Palace?”
“We should arrive by nightfall.”
The reply came from the only other occupant of their carriage, a sensible and pragmatic bureaucrat from the Emperor’s court by the name of Seo Changbin, who eyed the Kkami, who was still grumbling, with clear distaste.
A shorter, well-built man with a round face and a glare severe enough to frighten the bravest of men, Seo Changbin was in fact not much older than the Prince himself unlike the other dignitaries the Emperor usually sent on missions across the border. But he had not let his inexperience and youth deter him, and had fought for his place on the trip, proving to the Emperor from the moment he entered his apprenticeship 6 years ago that his determination and dedication to His Majesty more than qualified him for the role of Chancellor, the youngest in their recorded history. And now at the age of just 24, Seo Changbin was the one placed in charge of securing a marriage contract for Jisung that would benefit the kingdom and reflect positively on the Emperor.
One thing Jisung was certain of, however, was that Changbin was Jisung’s ally. It had been ever since they had first been introduced, a fresh-faced bureaucrat and a barely teenage, impressionable Prince. And yet, he was always sure to treat Jisung as his own person as opposed to an asset like the rest of the court seemed to do.
It was a characteristic Jisung had always appreciated about Changbin; his ability to see people for their true potential and who they are as opposed to what they can offer him. Jisung couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence when the entirety of his future hung in the balance.
Eyes alight with a mischief that could only mean nothing but trouble for Jisung, Hyunjin pondered aloud, “and will he be there to greet us when we arrive?”
And there laid the crux of the true intentions behind Jisung’s journey. A dryness clawed up Jisung’s throat at the mention of him. Jisung’s potential future husband. In truth, marriage had been something that had never held credence to Jisung before, having been far too invested in his lessons or exploring any creative outlet he discovered to consider the possibility of needing to wed.
It was something that had always hung in the periphery, a topic that had been mentioned to him once or twice in passing, but if he was being honest to himself he had never before seriously considered it of being any importance.
There had even been a time, when they were both young, that Hyunjin and himself had declared that when they were old enough they themselves would wed. They spent every minute of every day together, they were schooled together, they played together, and even slept in the same bed. The Palace officials had seen to putting an end to the practice when they turned 10, declaring it no longer appropriate. Little did they know their rulings would be swiftly ignored by Hyunjin, who always managed to find a way to sneak into Jisung’s room at all hours of the night.
It was only when a brief, innocent kiss between best friends at the nescient age of 13 nearly turned Jisung’s stomach, that Hyunjin declared they will simply remain the best of friends. Much to Jisung’s eternal mortification, Hyunjin had gone on to declare the sensation had been akin to kissing a brother, and that he would never be able to marry Jisung.
His mildly disturbing trip down memory lane was thankfully interrupted by Changbin, who was exceedingly informed on the itinerary of the trip, having taken it upon himself to act as liaison on Jisung’s behalf.
“If by he, you mean the Crown Prince then no, I can’t imagine he will.” Changbin predicted, rolling the scroll he was reading with a resigned sigh, ceding himself to being drawn into conversation. “Official introductions have not been made and the palace steps hardly seem like the location befitting the occasion.”
Popping a date in his mouth, Hyunjin hummed thoughtfully in agreement, chewing slowly as he contemplated. “I suppose that means Jisungie will have to wait yet another day in anticipation to gaze upon his majestic beauty.”
There was a teasing lilt in his tone that made Jisung’s scowl deepen further, his bottom lip protruding ever so slightly in what was sure to be the beginnings of one of his signature pouts.
In all honesty, it had all seemed a bit surreal. It all started with the announcement that had been sent far and wide that the Crown Prince of Selmyra was in search of a husband. It had seemed unlikely that the Emperor would even agree to the prospect, as it would mean sending Jisung far out of his control, but by some miracle he had accepted the request to send an envoy expressing interest on Jisung’s behalf.
It was pure divine providence when only a few days later, word returned that the King and Queen had requested Jisung travel to meet the Crown Prince with the sole intention of negotiating a marriage contract. An excuse for the visit would be fabricated, the celebration of the solstice was to play host to the introduction of the Princes.
The more Jisung thought about the whole thing, the more unbelievable it seemed, especially when the portrait of the Prince arrived, a thick woven canvas, heavy with oil paints and very unlike the more simplistic ink and parchment one of Jisung that had been initially sent with the first envoy.
If the painting were to be believed, the Crown Prince exuded an otherworldly beauty, one that would be easy to believe had been exaggerated by the artist in order to win favour with the Royal Family. Much to Jisung’s chagrin, it had become Hyunjin’s favourite topic of discussion for many of the days leading up to the onset of their journey across the southern border.
Jisung huffed childishly at Hyunjin’s taunt.
“Don’t start with that again,” he muttered lowly, face heating as he cast his gaze out of the carriage window, unable to meet Hyunjin’s eye he began to run the pads of his fingers over the elaborately carved mahogany frame. Unfortunately for him, the show of defeat only roused Hyunjin further, and like a shark smelling blood, he latched onto the discomfort, eyes glimmering mirthfully.
“But your Highness,” he purred, sitting up straight and leaning directly into Jisung’s space, “are you not excited to see how handsome your future husband is?”
Jisung’s chest puffed out in a silent response, lip already curling when a hand appeared between them, shoving Hyunjin gently in the chest so he slumped back into his seat, much to Jisung’s immediate relief. Dropping his hand back to his lap, Changbin’s eyes narrowed as his gaze flickered between them, sharp and assessing.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, the crease between his brows deepening.
“Hyunjin is convinced that the portrait the Crown Prince sent does not depict the truth.” Jisung sighed, folding his arms across his chest and hunching in on himself as much as the stiff material of his robe allowed. The last thing he wanted was to have this conversation again, but now Changbin had taken the bait, Jisung knew it was inevitable.
Changbin's nose scrunched, contorting his face into an even more confused expression. “In what way?”
“Well,” Hyunjin started enthusiastically, “don’t you think it’s odd how big of a deal was made in court about the fact that the King of Selmyra was searching internationally for marriage prospects for his son?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jisung saw the subtle bob of Changbin’s throat as Hyunjin continued.
“And that within a matter of hours of the announcement being made public the Emperor had already commissioned a portrait of dear Jisungie here to be sent in proposal and how it was barely two days after that word was sent that a meeting was to be arranged? Almost like it was being pushed to take place as quickly as possible.”
Changbin licked his lips before replying. “So? Perhaps his Majesty simply saw the value in the union and decided to act before it was too late-”
“Or maybe,” Hyunjin interrupted, “it’s actually the King of Selmyra who is desperate to marry his son off and sent a deceptive portrait to lure in unsuspecting prospects. Like, come on! No one can really look like that!”
“He is flawless,” Jisung replied quietly, absently picking at the skin around his thumbnail. “You’re right about that.”
“Exactly!” Hyunjin gesticulated wildly towards Jisung, overtaken with excitement. “So… What is he hiding? Some kind of physical deformity? A mysterious ailment? Perhaps he is a beast-man of legend who tears the skin from his flesh when the moon is full. Or maybe he has his first wife locked in the attic, and she creeps out at night to haunt the Palace like a ghost?”
A noise of long-suffering slipped from Changbin’s throat as he rubbed a hand over his face exhaustedly, elbows resting on his knees as his shoulders drooped. “You read too many fantastical books.”
“There has to be something wrong with him!” Hyunjin exclaimed, eyes bugging wide in exasperation.
The hot bubble of bile that had been rising in Jisung’s throat had swollen to bursting in his chest. “Well of course,” he snapped with such vehemence it caught both Hyunjin and Changbin off guard, the former recoiling further back into his seat. “There just has to be something wrong with him if he was so willing to agree to marry me.”
His tone was biting, and he knew, he knew, he was coming off like a petulant child, but he couldn’t bear to have this conversation, to hear how utterly ridiculous the idea of a Crown Prince being interested in him is one more time.
“No,” Hyunjin’s voice was soft and tender, a complete juxtaposition from the childlike excitement from before. “No, Sungie, you know that’s not what I meant-”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
His last words are punctuated with a shake of the head as he turns himself bodily away from his companions in an effort to hide his surging humiliation. To keep the shameful tears at bay, he fixed his gaze on the rolling verdant landscapes, the low, grassy hills and craggy riverbed so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
Having never visited the kingdom of Selmyra before, he didn’t know the names of the villages he could spot in the distance or the winding river that ran along side the dirt road that served as their guide, but they were still close enough to the border that he could see the snow capped mountains that ran along the territorial boundaries, separating the kingdoms in such a definitive way, neither kingdom had thought to dispute it.
It almost made him homesick, a thought that could have made him laugh aloud if he had been in a better mood. This trip was his chance to do something with his life, to prove to his father he wasn’t a failure, that he could be trusted. But there was also a small part of him that knew this was his one chance at relative freedom, to be out from underneath the burdensome weight of his father’s name, to have something that could truly be his own.
He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that it would all play out like the fairy tales of his childhood stories. There would be no love at first sight with the Crown Prince, no fairy godmother to make all his wishes come true, but he was determined enough to prove that he could be whomever the Prince needed him to be. He would mould himself into the perfect husband and would play the role for the end of his days if it meant he no longer had to live with the ever tightening noose of his father’s influence around his neck.
He could do it, and he would use every tool in his arsenal to achieve it.
It wasn’t long before the suffocating humidity began to abate, and the sweat that had collected upon his stiff collar began to cool, causing a shiver to run down Jisung’s spine like the gentle caress of a hand.
In a few more hours, Jisung would set eyes upon the place that would serve as backdrop for either his greatest achievement or his most spectacular failure, and at that moment in time, he could only pray for the former.
The Château de Solis was a hive of activity, servants and officials all but climbing over each other like worker bees as an excitable buzzing became the soundtrack while the staff prepared for what was sure to be a busy week.
All manner of enticing scents wafted from below, where in the kitchens the chefs preprepared the food, spices from various smoked meats mingling, creating an unavoidable mouth watering outcome to anyone who walked past. Maids, old and young alike, worked with back breaking intensity as they scrubbed and polished every floorboard and flagstone, dusted every piece of antiquity and hand-shined the silver.
The groundskeepers had been making tracks in and out all day, dropping off deliveries of freshly cut flowers ready to be arranged and displayed, raking the gravel of the Palace approach and trimming the hedges until there was not a single leaf out of place.
Voices of scorned maids, cursing dirty footprints echoed through the halls, blending with the indulgent chatter from the footmen spilled through the heavy doors, propped wide open, and filling the vaulted ceiling of the office with a cacophony of jovial anticipation.
And at the centre of it all, stationed in the middle of the office, was the master of puppets, Christopher Chahn Bahng.
He took it all in his stride, never wavering with his back straight and not a hair out of place as he was confronted with a never ending parade of workers needing his attention, whether it be to confirm dinner menus or sign off on room allocations, he was the one who was to give the final approval on every decision made as they ironed out the final details.
It had been that way for as long as he could remember, whenever someone needed something they came to find Chan, approachable and welcoming through all the chaos, and yet Felix Lee found himself at the eye of the storm simply observing, lying prone on the opulent chaise, embroidered silk no doubt leaving indents on his cheek as he pouted and sulked as the world continued on around him.
“Chan,” Felix complained, voice whiney but muffled by the firm pillow he’d buried his head into, “I’m bored.”
Chan scoffed a laugh, shoulders shaking as he kept his gaze downcast, unwilling to lift his eyes from the parchment that had just been offered to him. “You know, your Highness, you would probably be less bored if you took a more proactive role in the everyday runnings of your household.”
“But that’s your job.” The retort was quick, accompanied by a narrowing of eyes at the moniker Felix so despised coming from Chan’s mouth.
“Actually,” Chan corrected, eyebrows raised as he attempted to keep his concentration on the task at hand, “it is not my job.”
“No, I suppose not.” Rolling onto his back, Felix sighed deeply, arms and legs splayed across the furniture in a manner that would have had his mother rolling her eyes at him. “But that’s why you have Haeun for. Tell her to do it so you can entertain me.”
Dimples carved into Chan’s cheeks as he finally looked over to where Felix had draped himself dramatically, a tenderness in his eyes that always made Felix feel warm in his chest.
“Believe it or not, I actually enjoy what I do,” Chan gasped with mock incredulity, hand pressed to his chest.
“Well you shouldn’t.” Felix pouted, arms folding across his chest. “Not when it cuts into your very important time with me.”
“All of my time with you is important.” Chan countered nonchalantly, as if his words didn’t have the effect of burrowing deep within Felix’s chest and making him preen. “And plus, some things Haeun doesn’t have the authority to sanction.”
With another melodramatic exhale, Felix mentally conceded that Chan was right, though he’d never say such words aloud, lest Chan grow an ego about it. Even a broken clock was right twice a day.
Sim Haeun, while more than capable of taking charge of all the decision making, was the head of the household staff at the summer Palace. When the Prince and his courtiers were not in residence, she was in charge of the day to day running of the house, of maintaining the high standards expected of a Palace as well regarded as the Château de Solis. There was no one Felix trusted more to take care of his favourite home.
Smaller than the other Royal dwellings, it had been a tradition for the Lee children to spend the summer season away from the watchful eyes of the capitol, to allow them to wile away their childhoods as children should, with joy and freedom and friendship.
As the daughter of a stable groom and a scullery maid, Haeun was often found roaming the Palace. Being of similar age to Felix’s elder sister, she was quickly taken in by the siblings and thus spent most of her days with them, playing games when poor weather kept them locked inside and splashing in the brook that wound through the woodlands that surrounded the sprawling lawns when the sun hung high in the sky.
The summer would end with scraped knees and sun-darkened skin, and though, as the years went on, the children grew and their visits became less and less frequent, their bond never waivered, and soon Haeun was appointed her own position within the household staff.
It was only natural that once Felix had debuted and fully stepped into his role as Crown Prince, he requested the Château as his own private residence and set about making his stamp on the place.
First up was his appointment of Chan as his Royal Advisor, the only person he would consider allowing to take up such an influential position. They had met at a prodigious private school for the children of the elite, and though Chan was six years his elder, his influence had stuck with Felix until they had met again, Chan freshly graduated from university and Felix beginning to find his place in his fathers court. Their friendship had blossomed over those few short years together and so it was only natural that Chan take pride of place in Felix’s court along with Haeun after her promotion to the head of household staff.
The instating of the head of Felix’s Royal Guard came as a surprise to nobody, having been all but groomed for the role from a young age, and having followed the Prince around, acting as his protector for years before any kind of formal training.
The man in question could be found, predictably, standing guard at the edge of the room as Felix continued his compassioned display of displeased boredom. Stoic and quiet, Lee Minho was an enigma to most people. His blank face and dry wit had the effect of putting most people off, but it only served to make Felix more determined and increasingly thrilled every time he succeeded in making him break the cool façade.
Winning a smile from Lee Minho was like finding a spring bloom in the middle of a frost, unexpected and rare, shy and genuine with the ability to make all others around him rejoice in his joy.
“Speak the truth about what is truly bothering you, Felix,” Chan teased, pulling Felix back into the present, “I imagine it is the same thing that has been plaguing you this past week.”
Heaving a sigh, Felix pulled himself to his feet, back twinging in protest at the abrupt change in positions.
“Tell me again. The reports,” a wave of the hand to urge Chan to speak, “what do they say.”
Pursing his lips, Chan placed the parchment on the table, knowing eyes watchful as Felix began to pace.
“The reports have all been overwhelmingly positive. The Prince is said to be of a gentle disposition, quiet and mild mannered.”
Felix scoffed. “That is just a polite way of saying he is boring. Don’t you agree, Minho?”
Turning abruptly on his heels, he fixed his questioning gaze upon his disinterested guard who remained indifferent at being addressed.
“Surely I am not in the position to offer an opinion on such matters, your Highness.” His tone was dry, posture rigid as he held firm in his vigil.
Letting a disgruntled groan loosen from his chest, Felix strode across the hard wood floors, footsteps noiseless despite their hurriedness as he closed the distance between them, his hands reaching forward and gripping the lapels of the guard’s black jacket as he clung to him beseechingly.
“Just this once, my dear Minho, indulge me!” Felix pouted prettily, eyes widening imploringly, eyelashes fluttering in a way that usually got Felix exactly what he wanted.
Without even a glimmer of emotion, Minho was quick with his reply, voice low and sardonic. “I believe I indulge you plenty, your Highness.”
A stifled snort sounded from the middle of the room just as Felix’s mouth dropped open in mock affront, mouth agape with an indignant yelp, as the hands released their relenting grip on Minho’s jacket, landing to rest on Felix’s hips.
Strong arms wound around him, warm and safe, encircling Felix from behind as Chan leaned in, resting his chin on the disgruntled Prince’s shoulder.
“Awh, Minho don’t tease him, he’s just sensitive, isn’t that right?” He crooned, voice gentle and only slightly jeering. “I know it feels like a lot of pressure,” he continued, words so soft they were almost whispered in Felix’s ear as Chan began to sway them slightly in a rocking motion as if to sooth. Felix couldn’t help reaching to wrap his fingers around his friend’s forearms. “But you know there is no pressure for you to go through with anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“I know, but-”
“His Majesty has already given his support should you choose to refuse the union.”
“Yes, okay, but-”
“So, let yourself enjoy it. Let go and allow yourself to go into it all with a positive attitude.”
“Chan, you’re not list-”
“And plus,” Chan barrelled on, interrupting Felix yet again but finally releasing his hold to spin Felix to face him. “Han Jisung is widely rumoured to be the prettiest Prince to have ever been born to the Han Dynasty, so it’s not like you won't enjoy looking at him.”
Though he didn’t want to admit it, if the Prince was anything like his portrait suggested, Felix couldn’t help but admit that was true. As if to check that the contents hadn’t changed, Felix pulled out of Chan’s hold and crossed to the heavy, wooden desk that sat by the window to retrieve the picture in question.
It was only partially buried under the parchments that littered the desk, easily accessible enough for Felix to keep revisiting it and looking over it once more.
Though the art style was more minimal than what he was used to, Felix knew that whoever painted it was incredibly skilled. Using only ink and parchment, the artist captured a face that, if true to likeness, depicted the Prince as nothing short of cherubic.
Wide innocent eyes and rounded cheeks certainly leant into the descriptor, even the small mouth was balanced out by the rest of his features. Hair so dark it could be black framed his face in elegant swoops, standing out in stark contrast to a fair complexion.
Though his expression was sombre, Felix found himself wondering what Han Jisung would look like when he smiled, not a polite, gracious curve of his lips, but a full on grin. Would his eyes crinkle? Would he keep his lips together or show the slightest hint of teeth?
If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming longing to make the sad looking boy in the painting laugh.
“I suppose you are right.” Felix mused, brushing his fingertips over the coarse paper. “Though he is surely far too youthful to look so despondent, don’t you agree?”
“Perhaps it is simply the artist’s style.” Chan glanced over the painting in Felix’s hands. “Surely he will be more animated in person.”
“Maybe,” Felix chewed the inside of his lip, gaze lifting to Minho once more. “What do you think, Minho?”
Returning once again to Minho’s side, Felix held the portrait aloft in front of the guard, awaiting his opinion.
Minho's face remained impassive, eyebrow tilted, unimpressed at being drawn into the conversation once more.
“Stop teasing the poor man, Felix.” Chan derided, shaking his head.
“Shh!” Felix waved his hand dismissively at Chan, pushing the portrait into the guard’s hands as he studied Minho’s face attentively for the slightest change in his features, a quirk of the lip, a furrow in the brow, anything to give away his thoughts. “Go on Minho, take a look. There’s a virtuousness about him that doesn’t match his doleful expression, right?”
A moment's silence followed as Minho did as instructed and studied the painting with that penetrating intensity of his. Felix watched with building interest as Minho’s gaze lingered longer than he’d ever expected it to, eyes blinking as they roved slowly over the piece, always returning to the same spot. If Felix had to guess, it was to the unmoving eyes, expressive yet somehow still lacking any sign of life.
“Alright, Felix, leave him alone,” Chan interrupted, taking the art from Minho’s hands and replacing it quickly to its spot on Felix’s desk. Felix continued to watch as Minho’s gaze stayed locked on the painting as it was taken from him, following its path across the room to where it settled on the desk. Only then did he tear his eyes away from it.
Interesting.
There wasn’t a single time that Felix could recall where Minho had focused on anything with such severity. The only thing that came remotely close were times when Felix’s own safety had been called into question, and that was something Minho notoriously took especially seriously.
Perhaps Felix could find it within himself to give Han Jisung a chance.