Chapter Text
The King is dead.
The King is dead, and Jeongin is watching silently from the parapet as a crowd of mourners gather systematically around the casket, placed outside the castle’s walls. The wind ruffles gently through his blonde locks, almost as though it is wishing him well, and the sun smiles upon him, warming his shoulders and lighting up the ground around him - a natural spotlight made just for him.
Like everything in his life, every lesson he has ever taken, every confrontation he’s ever been in, every situation he has faced, his day has gone ordinarily well. A stately funeral without sly machinations in the shadows, an amicable retirement of the King’s political advisors, and the nobility’s peaceable agreement to Jeongin’s ascent to the throne - everything has gone according to plan.
This is unsurprising, of course. The people had rejoiced at the prospect of his leadership, whispering King Jeongin, with reverence even as the old King still lived. Words that had been egged on, in fact, by the King himself - who had taken immense pride at the brilliance of his offspring, boasting to everyone within hearing distance about Jeongin’s strategic mind and natural talent with the sword. Their allies in neighbouring countries were delighted at the prospect of Jeongin’s kingship; and even their enemies had settled upon hearing the news; knowing that with the new King, there may be hope for peace. His Kingship had never been in question.
And so, soon, very soon, Jeongin will be the King. At the same time, at his coronation ceremony, the moment the heavy crown is placed upon his head, he will be married to the love of his life - his best friend, his confidante, his everything - a lover made perfectly for him.
The perfect heir stepping into the seat of an imperfect King, a gentle King’s Consort with diplomatic skills to match - it is the template set-up for a successful reign.
It is a hopeful situation for a small country such as theirs - an already well-to-do country gearing up to become even more prosperous. Jeongin knows this well - he’s heard it all before.
Yet, despite it all, Jeongin shivers from where he is standing upon the parapet - cold under the sun’s welcoming embrace.
There is a nagging feeling in his chest that has not subsided since dawn - soft and barely noticeable, nothing but a pea under the mattress. But it is present, and Jeongin presses shaking hands above it once again in a futile attempt to quell what he doesn’t understand.
Jeongin can hear Chan’s voice already in his head, indulgent and fond. “Again, Jeonginnie?” Chan would say in his kindly demeanour “ It’s just the nerves. Honestly, I’d be shocked if you weren’t - it’s a big change.” His advisor has always been practical, ready with answers and a comforting hug for every issue Jeongin has ever raised, even when Jeongin had been 9 and Chan a mere 13, and Jeongin’s greatest problem was a nightmare about dragons burning the world down. More importantly, his advisor has always been right, and so, at 21 and better armed with experience, Jeongin now fights against his irrational feelings.
And they are irrational. Things have always gone well, and there is no rhyme, reason or pattern that would suggest anything otherwise. A perfect world laid before his feet, ready for him to conquer - and Jeongin has always been ready to succeed. He is stubborn and dedicated, and eager to begin making his ideals reality - to make things better. Better. Always better.
To scrape their influence off every wall, every corner, every street! He seethes. He raged.
It is a perfect world where he is in power, his citizens love him, and where everyone is well-fed and happy.
But unlike the other times, when he is with his advisors, his friends, his lovers - he fails to win - and the odd feeling doesn’t go away.
So lost in his own heart, Jeongin doesn’t feel the slim arms that slip around him and hug him backwards into a firm chest until an airy voice hums softly against his ear.
“Penny for your thoughts?” The voice says, audibly smiling.
Jeongin startles, and sighs. He leans his head backwards, tucking himself into the nook of a long neck.
Everything about his lovely fiance is elegant and long, and this means there is more room for him to nuzzle against rose scented skin. He has spent many nights indulging himself with his fiance’s warm skin and infectious giggles, and today is no different. Today, tomorrow, and forever will be their day, after all.
“Mmrph,” Jeongin mutters into his fiance’s neck. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”
“What is, my liege?” Hyunjin laughs, unable to stifle his urge to tease the younger man. Jeongin may be Regent, and his Lord Husband-to-be but Hyunjin is older, and his ability to affectionately hassle Jeongin is therefore, immutable. Jeongin sighs again, fondly.
“Don’t call me that. I hate that. But, you know. That, Hyung.” Jeongin points downwards at the gathered crowds. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Tradition dictates that the mourners should be gathered around the deceased’s casket, heads bowed down in deference and respect to the deceased. The mourners should walk a circle around the casket, say their blessings, and return home for a day of silence - in remembrance of those who had been lost. And it is only after that when the days can go back to normal - another day upon another day.
Hyunjin peers downwards obligingly. “Do you see something that’s odd, Innie?” He says, confused. “If there’s something wrong, we should probably tell Changbin so he can gather more guards.”
Perhaps Hyunjin is right to be confused. The crowd is moving as they should be, after all - each person bowing in deference before the casket, and then following the line around it, making their way back towards the towns.
“They’re staring up at us as they leave, Hyunjin.” Jeongin says.
Hyunjin looks at him as though he’s crazy. Maybe he is.
“You’re going to be the new King, Jeongin. Wouldn’t it be weirder if they didn’t?”
Yes! No! Jeongin’s mind stutters. There is nothing odd about that after all. Hyunjin is right.
“Shouldn’t…shouldn’t they be sadder?” Jeongin argues, weakly. “The King is dead.”
He feels Hyunjin stiffen, and turns his head briefly to look at his fiance’s face. Normally expressive and reactive, his fiance’s beautiful face is still. Jeongin feels a jolt in his bones, and adrenaline courses abruptly in his veins. He doesn’t understand it.
“Why should they be?” Hyunjin tilts his head downwards to meet Jeongin’s eyes. He smiles. “You’re going to be the new King.”
Jeongin doesn’t understand.
“Was Father a bad King?” Jeongin asked, perturbed. “Has he not always been fair and kind to all his people? Has our country done badly throughout the years?” He feels, he feels something. Frustration. Irritation. No. More like bewilderment. “Why are they more excited about my Kingship than sorry for the loss of a good King?”
“It is as though he meant nothing to them.”
Hyunjin is as beautiful as the summer’s day, warm and passionate, the breeze fluttering beautiful blonde locks. Long eyelashes dance across his cheeks as he blinks slowly.
“What does that matter,” Hyunjin repeats, “when you will be King?” His right hand reaches out gently to cup Jeongin’s cheek. “Baby, I don’t understand.”
His brows are furrowed with worry. “Should I call the healer?” Hyunjin nibbled at his plush bottom lip.
Jeongin aches just watching Hyunjin. He would never want Hyunjin to suffer for him, to worry for him so. Especially when he can barely understand it himself.
“No need.” He leans into Hyunjin’s hand, and turns towards the crowd again. He meets the mourners in the eyes, as each and every one of them stare straight at him as they murmur wishes into the casket; as each and every townsperson meets his gaze on their path home. The world is silent but for the whispers of the townsfolk - and not even a speck of the hustle and bustle of the towns that would have ordinarily permeated the castle’s air did so today.
It is extraordinary - but today is not an ordinary day, Jeongin reasons.
His sights narrow in on a solitary figure by the woods, unbeholden to the crowd nor the line. The figure is well-covered by a hood hanging low on his head, and partially by large Oaks - but Jeongin’s eyesight has always been impeccable, and the sun is just strong enough just to bring to light soft black hair and the tips of a regal nose. Jeongin hums and narrows his eyes.
The head raises, almost in response, and Jeongin is met with soft cheeks and dark, round eyes that startle upon meeting his gaze. The figure visibly jolts, and scuttles backwards, almost clumsily, as the man hurries to turn his back on Jeongin and make for the woods. He is almost familiar, and Jeongin is anguished by his own lack of understanding. By how little he can trust his instincts. Jeongin grits his teeth.
The day is still perfect.
The feeling is stronger.
“Maybe I’m just nervous,” Jeongin murmurs. He doesn’t understand why that encounter should matter - and yet it does, all the same, without his biddance.
Hyunjin sweeps Jeongin into a front-facing hug and kisses Jeongin’s forehead softly. Fondly. “You’re so cute,” he whispers. “It’ll be alright. I’ll be with you, by your side, always.”
Hyunjin has always been his utopia.
Jeongin looks into Hyunjin’s dark eyes and brings Hyunjin down towards him in a rough kiss. Hyunjin moans softly in response, and his mouth opens obligingly for Jeongin, even as he is backed slowly into the castle walls.
For now, Jeongin will only know what he knows.
–
In the shadows, Jisung scrambles backwards, his breaths huffing out in shock. He left fast enough, Jisung thought desperately. Enough not to have mattered.
A large dragon raises his head from where it had been resting, curled up in a large clearing.
“Sweetheart,” the dragon murmurs. Jisung turns his head towards him, large eyes welling up. He bites his lip.
“Shall we go home?” The dragon whispers.