Chapter Text
The winter felt harsh against his skin.
Dokja couldn’t quite bring himself to miss the sting of it, even though the North was his home—and now, he would be very far from it.
He was leaving. For a long time.
And while the thought didn’t exactly hurt, it didn’t comfort him either. Still, the way his family looked at him—those glances heavy with meaning—spoke louder than any goodbye ever could.
What a joke.
Who had he pissed off in a past life to deserve this?
The sky was beginning to lighten in dull gray, but the morning wind didn’t ease up. His ears were numb, and he could barely feel his toes.
His family had at least bought him a proper outfit—warmer than the last pitiful excuse they’d thrown his way. And yet, it still felt cold.
Hopefully the East is warmer. Hopefully, there, the seasons actually change.
He bent to pick up his bag, lifting it into the carriage before casting one final glance toward his sister, “I suppose this is where we say goodbye. I hope you stay well while I’m gone.”
She stared at him, half-hidden behind a fan—her new obsession, ever since her friends had made it fashionable—before scoffing, “I’ll do much better without you around, if that’s what you’re asking. The family hopes you don’t embarrass us.”
With one final, sharp look, Dokja answered with a thin smile, “Then give them my goodbyes. Since they couldn’t make the time to say it in person.”
Ah, subtle insults. The family specialty. Just pointed enough to sting, never enough to spark a scandal.
She smiled—a brittle, artificial thing, faker than anything in her wardrobe, “They just couldn't see you, you know how mother’s too heartbroken to watch her only son married off like cattle, and Father is—quite generously—handling the wedding arrangements himself. You should be grateful they work so hard for you.”
Dokja’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but it was still enough.
He didn’t wave as he climbed into the carriage.
The seat was velvet, plush enough to soften the cold, but he still felt the chill deep in his bones.
A servant followed him in, settling in across from him with eyes like a hawk’s—no doubt a loyal spy sent by the family to ensure he didn’t cause trouble in the Empire.
Out the window, he watched the snow-draped forest blur past. Hardly any animals stirred. The few that did could’ve been tricks of the eye or one's not as cleverly hidden.
He pulled a book from the folds of his warmer coat. Just something he’d grabbed—nothing special—but it gave him something to focus on. Something besides the biting silence.
He finished the last few pages, then flipped back to the beginning. Maybe this time re-reading it the betrayal from the Woman in White would make more sense.
“I assume you’ll report the moment we arrive. Let the Earl know I’ve been successfully disposed of.” Dokja didn’t even look up as he spoke.
The man remained quiet. Odd. Curious. But Dokja wasn’t finished with the book, so he kept reading.
The betrayal in the story still came from nowhere. Frustrating. He should’ve picked a different book.
At this rate, the man across from him was more interesting.
Finally, the servant spoke. His voice was loud, proud, and sharp, “You assume correctly. But not fully. I’m here to ensure you don’t cause a scene at the palace.”
Dokja only skimmed the pages now—just enough to remember the plot.
He couldn’t let this man know he was steering the conversation. He needed to play smart. Like chess.
And chess? Was never about just your own moves.
The man—white-haired, crimson-eyed—might seem like a mere pawn. But Dokja had seen knights in disguise before.
He finally glanced up, then back down at his book, finishing the chapter—one where the Woman in White discarded the girl without a second thought.
Fitting.
“I don’t know the whole truth,” Dokja mused aloud. “But perhaps you don’t either. They already know I’d behave. Even if I were to be vexing, the palace would ignore it. No... you’re not here to watch me. You’re here because they want to get rid of you, too.”
A flinch. Subtle. Barely there. But Dokja saw it.
He closed the book, now fully facing the boy. Yes, boy, because that’s what he was.
The servant’s hand curled around the fabric of his sleeve. “N-no… I just came because I was needed.” Clearing his throat, he added, “If anything, you should worry more. You’re the one being married off.”
Dokja crossed his arms, feigning boredom, and looked out the window again. The snow was lighter now. Branches peeked through.
Then, casually, he waved a hand toward the boy. “You say that, but there’s only enough food here for a one-way trip East. Barely enough for one person to come back. Tell me—how do you plan to survive?”
A shot in the dark. But the boy’s silence said Dokja was right.
The boy straightened, trying to mask his discomfort. “You know nothing of what I’d do to survive. If fate took the driver and left him to the wolves… well. That would be his fault, not mine.”
Dokja squinted, trying to read truth in those red eyes.
The boy leaned forward, smug. “Ha! You think I’ve lived this long without making sacrifices? You’re nothing but an insect beneath you father's foot!”
Ah. So that’s how it was.
“If anyone knows that feeling well, it’s you, boy. You serve a poor noble in a failing house. I may be disgraced—but I’m still a noble.” Dokja smirked. “No second name, right? You’ve been thrown away.”
“You—You only throw insults!” the boy snapped. “At least I know my place! Do you? You’re marrying the worst person in the empire. You’ll be dead before the vows are done!”
Dokja leaned in, close. “Then how will you survive? In the cold, frozen and forgotten? Or in the capital, with me?”
The boy looked away. “And how do you suppose you’d help me? Worry about yourself first!”
“I’ve survived in that house for this long. Do you think I’m foolish?” Dokja raised an eyebrow. “And clearly, you’re not, either. You’ve survived just as well in that house.”
“…IF you were to help me,” the boy muttered, “what would it cost?”
Dokja rested his chin on his hand. “IF you agree to work with me, I’ll make sure you don’t just survive—you’ll live. A life without fear. A life you’ve always wanted.”
“And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?”
“I have my ways. Besides—what do you have to lose? You’re already at rock bottom. The only way left, is up.”
“Tch. You don’t have the power to offer that. Making a deal with you would bury me deeper than the dirt.”
“Then maybe I should let the driver know you’re planning his murder.”
A knife flashed. Cold steel at Dokja’s throat.
“You say that again, and it’ll be the last thing you ever say.”
But Dokja only smiled, eyes slanting like a cat’s. “Go ahead. Kill me. If I die, the alliance dies with me. And then? War. And you? You won’t last a day.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“You don’t have to believe me. You’ll find out soon enough.”
The boy pulled the knife away, laughing manically. “Ha! You’re insane. Name’s Namwoon.”
Dokja pulled off one glove and extended his hand. “You already know mine. But what about a last name?”
Namwoon's gaze on his hand is clear, "...why'd you take off your glove? Don't you fear the dirt on my hand?"
"I hold no hate to servants, and you are clearly one that is smart considering you gave yourself a name, how about you take my surname?"
"Yes, but i'm still a servant and you're still a noble even as a disgraced one."
"Nonsense! You know how to read, if you know I'm being disgraced. The only way to know is to see the documents of the marriage, and also considering you know how to write, it the name on the blade is anything to stand by. 'Kim Namwoon' does have a nice ring to it."
"Okay- and what did you say?"
"Kim Namwoon."
"You are giving your surname to me?"
"You really can't focus on two things at once, huh?"
"No i can!"
"Anyways, continuing on you can help me better if you hold a surname, and considering 'Kim' is fairly common most would assume you a noble with the proper attire."
Giving dokja a questing look, with a hint of judgment, he sighs and continues to rethink if he should have just killed him.
The rest of there ride consisted of the two discussing what their deal should look like.