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The courtyard is awfully quiet, Jeno thinks. Really nothing to bat an eye at over patrol, but the new, surrounding decay brings about deep-rooted worry, as if Death himself were to rise and groan from the barren earth.
She may be a little paranoid. After all, she had already circled the perimeter thrice on her lonesome. There are no visible threats to safety, and even if there were, assistance could come at a moment’s notice. As with all things in her life, such is routine. Despite tensions with the West, Jeno still attends the same courts, grooms the same stallions, and reports to the same people, each and every day without fail. At night, she would lay in bed, lists of upcoming duties armor-heavy until she breathes in, closes her eyes, and recites the one oath that gives her reprieve: she does what she does, so that others may also do.
Whether or not she dreads it is of no real importance. Faith in the throne, however shaky, must overcome all.
After other stretches of nothing, her head whips at the sound of steps on stone. They are softer and faster than her own, practically undetectable if they were made somewhere less lonely.
Her instincts take charge. Jeno looks down at her sword hand—slashed, scarring just barely healed—and surges forward with the other, wincing and gritting her teeth and holding her breath until—
A voice calls out, sweet and serene. “Hold your horses, soldier. It’s just me.”
The relief is instant. Jeno huffs and looks around again to confirm that the coast is truly clear. “Goodness. You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that, Renjun.”
“Is it so wrong to want to see you?” The lady in waiting is gorgeous under what’s left of dusk. Blue dusts her gown, and her hair is loosely tied in a wavy, brown plait. “What happened to your hand?”
Jeno blushes, both at Renjun’s observation and her own refusal to speak of today’s training. “You’ve seen me in worse shape,” she contends, using the most of her will not to peel the scab clean. “I'm okay. The infirmary sealed it with some salve.”
Renjun does not relent. “It’s ghastly, is what it is. And so are you. My heart cannot help but break.”
“Why, thanks, I've missed you, too,” Jeno jokes. “How was your day? Anything of note?”
Renjun brushes her fingers down Jeno’s cheek, and it makes them yearn for those years untouched by rage and political unrest. “Seemed better than yours, I fear,” she mourns, her touch still soft despite years of work for the crown. “Jaemin summons you, as well.”
Jeno presses her lips against her skin. One more gesture not so easily shared beyond closed doors, a prayer answering another. “She is?”
Renjun raises a brow, a grin slowly forming. “You didn’t think she would?”
“Given the back and forth she’s just endured, I figured she needed some time alone.”
“Quite the contrary. Bathing our princess after supper was a real pain, you know. Orders here, orders there. She even asked me to join her in front of my staff!”
“Did you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Renjun scoffs. “Only after the threat of drowning did she manage to back down. She’s lazing around in bed, scheming to her heart’s desire.”
Jeno snorts at that. “I won’t keep you long, then. Have you eaten, at least?”
“...A little, yes,” Renjun motions toward a door at the end of the hall, one they know all too well. “But listen: hold the fort for me, will you? I shall just fetch something and return.”
What could Jaemin possibly want at this hour? “Would you like me to escort you? You won’t see another guard until the next wing.”
“It’s quite alright. You’ve walked enough already.”
“Okay, but do hurry back. Before I arrange a search party.”
“I fear you like me too much,” Renjun snickers.
Jeno sneers, leaning in for a kiss. “Nonsense. Did the town crier tell you that?"
To her disappointment, she is met with Renjun’s hand again, now covering her mouth. “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t need to. You know better than to start now,” Renjun warns, pulling away. It isn’t the first time she’s said this.
“Okay. Fine.”
“‘Fine?’ How rude.”
“I'm great. Now go!” A laugh. “Before I change my mind.”
Rolling her eyes, Jeno smiles herself silly, watching her lover disappear into the dark.
Soon, she is greeted with another friendly face. “Did our dear Renjun have to fetch you?”
“No. I came for my shift, like usual.”
“Good.” There’s a bout of weighted, deliberate silence. “So. What do you think of the new man in the house?”
Jeno dreads the change of topic. The floorboards wince as loudly as she does. “What do you mean, my lady?”
Jaemin tuts. She really does seem to be in a pleasant mood tonight. Golden candlelight softens her sharp features, her teeth especially aglow. “Don’t play coy.”
Surely, coy is a grave trivialization. If Jeno were next in line to rule, they would avoid this line of questioning entirely.
Still, she does as she’s told, thinking thoroughly.
Prince Donghyuck of the South is, for a lack of a better word, unprecedented. A sword-trained eldest of four, he makes a fine, dependable caretaker, yet possesses no strong will to uphold tradition or mitigate dispute. As this morning’s pleasantries came to a close, Jeno had spotted him past the palace gates unattended, dawdling about with children and sparing stray animals food. Despite a distaste for kingship, he stood with a chivalry not unlike his forefathers’, golden like the sun-begotten sigil they share.
“He certainly is more dashing than most,” Jeno declares with utmost honesty. It is her tone, however, that makes her sound like a doubtful strategist. “Funnier, too. But I do not think union is in the picture just yet.”
“I see. Dongyoung from the North courting me was too stiff, and now Donghyuck from the South is too lax.”
“‘Lax’ is hardly the word I’d use. His charm is undeniable, yes, but the same cannot be said about his manners. He barely bowed before you or Queen Mother. I am sure Lady Renjun would agree.”
Jaemin shrugs, not as agreeable as once thought. “She thought it made for a pretty interesting show.”
Jeno narrows her eyes. “You two aren’t serious about him, are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean? The answer is no, clearly.”
“I ought to weigh my options out more carefully. Especially now. You of all people should know how scarce they are these days.”
Unfortunately, Jeno does. She is probably the last of her long, long lineage of women who swore to serve the realm of the East, a handful of which having retired or died in combat. Now, even with a war threatening Sojourner’s Strait, her knighthood is constantly put into question, with male troops assigning her petty work and relatives arranging meetings with some mid-ranking lord—two fates that dwindle to the same hell, if you ask her.
It is why she cannot stand the idea of Jaemin being subjected to the same torment. Jaemin’s parents are good people who know better than to parade their daughter around to throngs of advisors and crown princes. Some selfish, unknightly part of Jeno wishes they could not be so servile for once. That they could put a halt to the dense flattery when there are more important matters to attend to, such as soldiers to aid or townsfolk to feed.
“With all due respect, my lady,” Jeno reasons, “You two could not bear to stay in the same room, let alone agree on which wine to drink over luncheon. I am aware you like your suitors a little… rough around the edges, but even then, I do not think he is worth the effort.”
“Alright, then. I cannot say your thoughts are completely baseless.” Jaemin offers a smile, though the twinkle in her eye suggests crueler intentions. “So, who do you think is?”
The thing about Jaemin’s words is that they are always laid plain—not in the sense that they are careless, but because she simply does not have the time nor patience to skirt around edges. However far apart they are in status, she and Jeno were girls together. That in itself forged them an unbreakable trust. Before Renjun, it was them against everyone else. Why lie to each other when so much could betray them day by day?
Still, Jeno feels the truth often shackles as much as it frees. Constantly, she is faced with things she cannot change, people she cannot have.“...You’re teasing me.”
“I’m lifting your spirits,” Jaemin corrects. “Though I do mean it when I say I’m being pushed to my limits here. My parents can only handle so much excuses. We’ve barely made a dent in the West’s numbers, and ours might take a bigger one if we don’t gather enough allies by the time they recover. If I don’t eventually—” she cringes at the next words, “...give in, who knows what might happen to our kingdom? To our future?”
“At the rate we’re going, there is no future to speak of,” Jeno counters, unsure if she means the East’s future or hers and her lovers’. They’ve had this conversation dozens of times with neither of them reigning triumphant. Renjun, bless her kind eyes and kinder soul, is there to mediate conflict when she can. “Why speak so lightly of this? I swear it to you, playing matchmaker here will prove fruitless.”
“Tell me, Jen. What are men if not catalysts for suffering?” Jaemin counters, unnervingly calm. “Do you think I like serving them our wine? Letting them believe that if they fuck me, they get to rule the world? Because I can never. Seven hells, even Mother and Father could tell you that. What this is is duty, sacrifice ; the very same kind you make when you wake up every day and face the possibility of coming home in a casket.”
Then, she solemnly adds, “...Renjun understands this, and is even willing to help me maintain appearances. I do hope you do, too. Please. You know I do not ask you of much. Think of Donghyuck as an investment of sorts.”
Jaemin has made numerous outrageous claims throughout her term, but that just about takes the crown. Why him? “I should have gotten us horseback when we had the chance,” Jeno seethes. She walks in circles, arms crossed tighter than chainmail. “We could help people with our own hands, on our own accord.”
Jaemin just flattens the sheets. Part of her smock droops off of one shoulder. Upon a closer look, her waves are looser and matted with some sweat—Renjun’s doing, Jeno is sure. “I hate to say it, but your naivety is disappointing. Are you sure you aren’t just jealous?”
Jeno grits her teeth. “I know what you are doing. Stop.”
“I only speak in jest.”
“Well, I only aim to act in my lady’s best interests. And you cannot possibly be interested in Donghyuck. Not really.”
“…Spoken like a true knight. Or a complete child.”
“One you’ve kept around for, say, I don’t know… fifteen years? This is your fault as much as it is mine.”
Jaemin just pats on her sheets again. “Come here? You’re too far away.”
Annoyed, Jeno moves a mere three paces forward.
Jaemin pouts. “Hey. That’s no way to attend to your heir apparent. Closer, Jeno.”
Jeno moves again, only slower. She is just within reach, standing by the foot of the bed.
“What did you do today?” Jaemin asks, tracing the ridges of Jeno’s gauntlets with her finger. They soon travel to the big, red gash on her knight’s palm, the blood dried and grainy like clay. “Besides stare at Renjun and I from the end of the hall, of course.”
Jeno smiles weakly, keening again even under a layer of metal. “Cleaned some stables. Fetched medicine for the injured, cleaned again. A new recruit sliced me open.”
Jaemin frowns. “Oh.”
“Wounds heal. What hurts me is that he did not look a day over twelve.”
“They just get younger and younger, do they? I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is, by extension. Which is why I need to end this treachery once and for all.” Jaemin laments, her thumbs drawing circles on the tender skin of Jeno’s wrists. A pulse runs there like a hound would throughout the wetlands, sharp and eager. Its slow, steady decline is calming to them both. “But enough of that. Let us relax, shall we?”
However foolish it sounds, Jeno entertains the idea. Really sits with it. She already knows she will dread the wedding she and Renjun wouldn’t dream of attending, much less clean up after; surely there is no need to get ahead of themselves.
For now, she yields, head hanging low. “Please.”
“How polite,” Jaemin drawls. Her grip tightens. “Now kneel. I know you know how.”
Jeno obeys without a word, the arousal in her gut so hot it melds her to the ground. Chin cupped in Jaemin’s hand, she catches a whiff of lavender so sweet that her eyes threaten to flood with tears. It does not matter that her knees already hurt. What’s important is that she is at Jaemin’s mercy, oh so willing to give and ask for nothing in return.
Jaemin is definitely appeasing her, however. There is a prod to Jeno’s bottom lip, requesting entry into the pretty pink of her mouth. She gets bold, delving deep until she reaches the back of Jeno’s throat. “You love this, don’t you?” she swoons, her voice the closest thing to what angels probably sound like. Her thumb is replaced with a finger, briefly followed by two more. “You always do.”
Nodding, Jeno welcomes her with ease, sucking on Jaemin’s digits until spit drips down her chin. She could do this forever if she could, and it certainly does feel like so until Jaemin practically shakes her to stop. They kiss with an offensive lack of decorum, giggling as pieces of Jeno’s armor clink down the floor.
She’s stripped down to her gambeson when Jaemin beckons her to crawl onto the mattress, the princess’ legs loosely wrapped around the small of her back. Jeno cherishes the weight on her; likes that Jaemin’s hands—which have never carried a thing for as long as they’ve both lived—reaches for hers with a surge of strength, demanding that her tits be groped just the way she likes.
Her dress is already unfathomably sheer, so her nipples pebble all the more. Jeno gives them a firm rub as she makes work of her lover’s neck, the fervent prayers there bordering on nonsense. “How do you want me?” she whispers, soft and at Jaemin’s preferred level of pathetic.
“Hm,” Jaemin muses, breath fanning against the shell of her ear. “Let’s do what you want.”
“What I want is what you want,” Jeno counters.
“Aw. Has Renjunnie already forced you into submission? I figured you’d grab my thigh to try and come on it like last time.”
Jeno grunts. She would rather they discuss her bratty tendencies some other day.
Jaemin understands completely, undoing more of Jeno’s garments with the same care Renjun would so graciously extend. There are too many layers to bother with, but for them they are usually a worthwhile challenge. “Okay. If you insist, go lie on your stomach.”
Back against the headpost, Jaemin smirks as Jeno awaits further instruction. She lifts the hem of her smock, the hint of skin a blessing in and of itself. “Now spread my legs. Slowly.”
Jeno’s breath hitches, almost gravely scared to look down at the heat she feels is radiating in waves. As promised, she spreads her lady apart at an unhurried speed and places her knees on either side of her head. This way, Jaemin’s cunt is laid out like a feast, ripe and impossibly glistening.
“May I—”
“No. You’ll eat when I tell you to.”
To spare herself the pain of stillness, Jeno litters Jaemin’s thighs in kisses, her sweet spots already mapped out with lavender bundles of bruises, little and tastefully adorned. She presses on them with her tongue and Jaemin gasps so loud her body quivers. While Renjun and the princess butt heads everywhere else, sex is their sweet, occasionally twisted truce. A delight to witness, even indirectly.
Jeno breathes in and continues marking Jaemin’s skin, the scent of their combined musk too strong to ignore. “Princess,” she says on a sharp exhale, “How long must you make me wait?”
“As long as I want. That’s what you want, correct?”
“Please. Use me.”
Jaemin hisses, the airiness of which tickles the knight’s ears. “Poor, dumb girl, refusing control too soon.” She grabs the short hairs on Jeno’s nape, yanking all the way down. “You're lucky I’m feeling generous.”
Oh, what relief this brings; to sink into her lady’s wetness, Jeno thinks, is a blessing wanted by many and granted for very, very few. She wastes no second licking big, broad strokes up Jaemin’s clit and then down around her lips, the interval of which elicits twin moans. It is so tempting to grind her own pussy against something—anything, really, just to take the damn edge off—but then that would mean she’d no longer be of service. Her lovers’ pleasure must come first, sometimes even at the expense of her own.
Letting Jaemin grind into her mouth requires so much focus that she doesn’t feel the door swing open. Again, there is the sound of steps, only now they're louder, more self-assured.
“Seems I’ve come back just in time,” Renjun says distantly. With half-lidded eyes, Jeno turns to see that she is carrying a vial of oil.
“Lord, of course you two ran out,” Jeno rasps. She doesn’t think her cunt has been this wet before. She may just cry. “Jun—Come, fuck–”
“Seems you’re on the verge of that yourself, darling. Do you really need my help?”
“Trust me, she needs you,” Jaemin calls out, high on her power. Her smock has also slipped down her chest entirely. “Her pussy must be weeping under all that fabric.”
“Is that so, my lady?” A chuckle, loud and incredibly comforting. Jeno feels Renjun’s small palms roam the expanse of her ass, reaching places that reduce her to a stupid, crying mess. “Let’s see.”
Jeno’s undergarments meet the floor, and she shivers from the embarrassment of being the only one stripped bare. “Oh, please,” Jeno begs. For what, she does not know. Where Jaemin is direct, Renjun likes to leave Jeno guessing, teasing and withholding relief until she’s just about to burst.
When Renjun looks down at her, it’s with complete and utter filth. “Funny,” she notes, clear slick webbing between her fingers. She plants them on the inside of Jeno’s thighs, rubbing there in infuriatingly teasing lines. “I don’t recall either of us telling you to stop.”
With a moan, Jeno gets back to work, her mouth not unlike cotton at this point. The minute she shoves her tongue inside Jaemin’s walls is also the same minute where Jaemin claws at her arms and Renjun runs fingers so dangerously close to her entrance. The sensation makes for a heady blend of pain and pleasure; arousal inebriating, sparks of anticipation so potent they could overthrow kings and launch cannons from a thousand sailing ships.
And then, just like that, the feeling spreads, becomes all there is and all that will ever be when Renjun finally, finally slides in. Her soft hold, as Jeno is so often reminded, firms up when it needs to. Adding another finger is laughably easy.
It’s when Renjun starts drawing circles in Jeno’s core that the younger begins to shake. “More,” Jeno pleads, not even trying to hide the fact she’s drooling all over Jaemin now. The splotches of come on her cheeks certainly don’t help, either. “More, please. Harder.”
“Such a whore tonight, aren’t you,” Renjun taunts, third finger making for a snug, simmering fit. The notion of a fourth isn’t too far off.
Jeno could practically hear Jaemin’s grin from above. “Really? Just tonight?”
Perhaps that much is true. Jeno can count on one hand the few times she can indulge indulgence; having her cunt played with just happens to be the best of them. When her partners tend to her with such deep devotion, it makes her wonder why she ever lives life sidelined. Right now, the attention feels good, deserved. How grateful she is to be so weak, yet feel this strong.
Jaemin lures her back into focus, her ooh s and ah s a lovely, wispy hymn. She lifts her hips for better access to Jeno’s mouth. “Close. Almost there. Come on, Jen.”
“Already?” Renjun fucks Jeno faster, placing another hand on her stomach to keep them steady. She treats the hard, scar-torn muscle there like sheep’s wool. “You heard her, dear. Keep going.”
Jeno mewls from the tenderness, wanting so desperately to crumple into herself and feel that hand forever. “Okay,” she says, more to herself than to them. Renjun’s sage-like scent becomes another means to stay grounded.
“Perhaps then, you can come, too,” Jaemin instructs, her breath hitching higher and higher. She lolls her head back, the bowed line of her neck a wonder to behold. “Ah, right there…”
Pressure builds in Jeno’s core, lording over her every thought and movement. She endures the exhaustion of fucking and being fucked, her brow inevitably beading with sweat. “Yes. Yes.” And once again, she is hard at work.
It seems Jeno’s fingers do the trick; just their barest touch, prodding and curling up. They meet at where her tongue is splitting Jaemin open, the walls there throbbing and tight. When the princess climaxes, it’s with a strained grunt. Renjun reaches out and accompanies the aftershocks with kisses, rough and persistent from where Jeno is looking up with big, glassy eyes.
Distantly, as she devours Jaemin to the edge of oversensitivity, Jeno thinks of Donghyuck. It is a little blasphemous, to say the least, but her heart cannot but help swell at the fact that he can never, ever have this. Poor bastard.
“Oh, fuck. Amazing, my loves, thank you,” Jaemin pants, smiling to the ceiling as her thighs make tiny beautiful tremors. “Gods. I thought I’d last longer.”
Renjun is diligent in making sure the princess looks her best. Still burying herself into Jeno, she fixes Jaemin’s hair with her other hand. “Well, some time has passed since you’ve been on your back like this. It’s just as much a gift for you as it is for our girl here.”
Sitting up, Jaemin stares at both of them with intent. “Speaking of… you think she’s ready to go?”
Renjun giggles, immensely fond. She fucks into Jeno’s walls with one hard thrust. “Almost there, I’d say. She’s so cute I could spank her.”
Jeno is now on her hands and knees, probably nodding too fast for what is deemed appropriate in this situation. Her breasts—a known hassle from the stables to the battlefield—are fondled here in bed with care, courtesy of Jaemin’s years-long practice. Her nipples are getting harder by the second. Renjun picks up the pace from there. It drives them all to madness.
The juices squelching from Jeno’s pussy are overwhelming. She can’t put up much of a fight anymore, nor does she want to pretend she still could. Another glob or two of oil is jammed into her, Jeno isn’t so sure, but she does feel Renjun’s thumb pressing into the soft, spongy skin between her two holes. The sensation is delicious. If Death were to take her, now would be the perfect opportunity.
And take her, he does truly try. Jaemin seems to be his living, breathing vessel as she tugs Jeno by the neck and licks by the shell of her ear and asserts, pleading, almost: “Good pup. You can let go. It’s alright.”
“Shit. Gonna come,” Jeno completely sobs, vision now a blur. “Nnh, gonna come, please—!”
“You can do it, Jen. We love you so much,” Renjun adds, her merciless pace not quite matching her words.
Jaemin huffs out, laughing as she drinks in the sight of them. “That’s right. We do.”
Just as Renjun rams a fourth finger in, Jeno comes with a cry, her release so strong she collapses into her lovers’ arms. Riding her release out, she squeezes her eyes shut and catches her breath, unaware that she dozes off for quite a bit.
When she wakes, Renjun is wiping her down with a damp washcloth. Jaemin is at her side, having spooned her throughout the blackout. “There she is. Jeno? How are you feeling?”
With the last of her vigor, Jeno merely flips the lady in waiting on her back and strips her, greedy for a taste of her, as well.
“Sweetheart,” Renjun gasps suddenly, twisting away from Jeno. Her lovely lithe frame quivers in a red flush. “There’s no need. You must be exhau—oh. Jeno, my dress!”
Again, Jeno speaks no words, only serves in silence. Renjun's as tasty as Jaemin is: salty, a bit bitter, and without a doubt soaked, put on this earth to be savored and worshipped. Respectfully, Jeno spits on it and makes sure her face is smothered, exerting all she can for one final act of sacrifice.
“Jen,” Jaemin calls out in a whisper, crawling toward her. After no response, she taps her on the shoulder. “Jen.”
With a flicker of contempt, Jeno pushes her away. “‘M busy.”
“I can be busy, too. Let me help.”
With a low groan, Jeno lets up. Renjun looks at them both with blown pupils.
“Keep going.” Jaemin lies on her stomach and seals her instruction with a kiss to Jeno’s cheek. Her words are sharp like an arrow's, ready to aim. “Just make room.”
When Jeno goes down to continue, Jaemin joins her with lips just as wet (a marvel, genuinely, the way her mind works). Somehow they manage to fuck Renjun like this together, building a steady, alternating rhythm.
“Oh, gods,” Renjun, now fully naked, moans at a volume of formidable concern. She cries so sweetly as she grabs for their hair. Jeno is also sure there are claw marks around her shoulders somewhere. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to die here and you two will be tried in court for it. B-burned at the stake, if it were up to me.”
“As long as it’s you who lights the flame, my love,” Jaemin quips before licking Renjun clean. She makes a real show of it—her signature move when she wants to piss people off. “Jen. Hold Renjunnie down for me, will you? Put those muscles to work.”
Being bossed around boosts Jeno’s morale by an unfathomable degree. When she does as she’s told, the tip of Jaemin’s tongue meets hers, unbelievably pointed and lewd. They kiss for a while, happily trading spit and Renjun’s come. Pulling apart, they are heated and panting.
“So pretty,” Renjun notes in a slur. Considering that she’s cupping her small, perky tits, she is just as aflame as they are. “Can't take it anymore. End me. Be done with it, please. I’m begging you.”
Taking her to the edge should be no problem, Jeno surmises. If she hadn’t come with Jaemin earlier, that means Renjun has been gripping onto the last shreds of her sanity for the good part of an hour.
Luckily, Jeno knows just the trick to help her unravel. Whining against her folds, she draws her lips upward and sucks Renjun’s clit until it hurts. It’s a shocking, lightheaded hurt; the kind one craves after a dull, seemingly endless day. Compared to Jaemin’s love for facesitting and Jeno’s penchant for penetration, she’s always liked stimulation down there most, so it is no surprise she starts writhing and arching her back.
Having read Jeno’s mind, Jaemin shifts in for her and follows suit, rubbing Renjun in quick, tight circles with her fingers when she starts getting fatigued. Keeping Renjun down, she watches with amazement the way the two look together, moving in perfect sync as Renjun lights up for them. She comes and keeps on coming; the longest out of all of them, leaving her hoarse and blissed beyond belief.
Without hesitation, Jeno and Jaemin make sure to pamper Renjun with tender touches. They plant a kiss on either side of her face, whispering to her plentitudes of nothings and never, not once, letting go.
When all has been said and done, Jeno and Renjun lie facing each other, a sweaty Jaemin sleeping soundly between them.
Renjun gently breaks the silence, humming. The slightest sliver of sun hits her face as she presses a kiss to Jeno’s injured palm. “Hello again.”
Jeno flushes, wanting to hide beneath the covers. “Hello,” she squeaks back.
“That was nice, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed, it was. Think I need a trip to the baths, though,” replies Jeno. She feels good; so good, in fact, that the perpetual lump in her throat dissipates like pollen in spring. It makes room for her next words: “Also, just so we are all well-informed… I heard about your little coup.”
“Ah.” Renjun is visibly displeased, though not with her. “Jaemin and those loose lips of hers. We were going to tell you about that eventually.”
“Why Donghyuck, of all people?” Jeno asks, perhaps curt instead of courteous. “Jaemin has rejected many a prince before. What changed?”
There’s this shift to them, pulling them apart by a hair. "It’s more complicated than you think, Jen. Or simpler. Regardless of which, Donghyuck is not the two-faced tyrant you so badly wish to deem a threat.”
Though admittedly not by much, the statement makes Jeno question her judgement. Renjun has never spoken this highly of a man before. “But must Jaemin and him actually wed? Tell me now so I may shed tears while I can.”
“Pff. You’re as dramatic as Our Royal Highness is,” Renjun scoffs. “If you must know now, I think one crucial detail the princess glossed over is that Donghyuck is one of us. In public, he is every woman’s dream. In private…” She pauses, letting an air of mystery waft over them. “Well, let us just say it is not women’s dreams that are of interest to him. Not in the slightest, really. Such is instrumental to our plan.”
“Oh.” Perhaps the prince of the South is more interesting than Jeno thought. She also would have liked it if she were made aware of his… proclivities, for a lack of a better word, beforehand. “What plan? And are you sure that isn’t just hearsay? ”
“His staff told me themselves,” answers Renjun, steadfast. “About the plan: nothing is fleshed out just yet, but we will be in contact with him, keep tabs on his activity if we need to. You’ve just been so tired lately, you know? Different. There’s this... grief to you that we have trouble shaking off, which we're not sure you want us to shake off. Alas, we figured it would be best to handle logistics while you recover.”
The answer is not nearly as satisfying as Jeno hoped, but ultimately she is compelled to comply. For a seasoned servant, the art of politics is often lost on her. Condescension be damned, she knows Renjun and Jaemin are, in essence, keeping her guard. Protecting her and the kingdom as she does them. Asking for anything else just seems selfish. “Okay.”
“Okay. I truly apologize for not telling you any sooner,” Renjun mourns, never one to say what she doesn’t mean. “You’re with us?”
“‘Til the end, unfortunately,” Jeno slowly assures her, yawn comically loud. Soon, she’ll get lost in her thoughts while making rounds again, but she'll allow herself some respite one last time. “I’ll have the energy to be mad at you two later.”
That pulls a laugh out of them both. They embrace Jaemin, letting their bodies surrender to sleep.