a prince and his guard ; one-shot

[riots]

Title: A Prince and his Guard
Pairing: Kris/Kyungsoo
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~30k
Summary: Prince Kyungsoo is far more fond of his books and his garden than he is of people, and the last thing he needs is some new guard to babysit. Regency AU.
A/N: written for galbijiim!! this began as twitfic and got ridiculously out of hand and i'm sorry. a world of thank yous as always to s and b for letting me harass them daily, and k for final readthrough ♥

The announcement is not one that Kyungsoo greets with pleasure. “A what?” he asks. He presses a finger to his place in his book, fixing Joonmyun with an even stare.

Joonmyun rubs at his temples. “A gentleman-in-waiting,” he says patiently, folding his small hands neatly in front of himself again. His brother is ever put together, even when there is no court to see him. “Lord Wu has sent his second son to the court, and I have assigned him to your guard.”

Kyungsoo clicks his tongue. He has no need for another guard. He already has Sehun, and though he may not be very old or experienced, he was trained by the best, and he trusts him. Well. He glances at Sehun, long frame propped up against the wall and expression studiously casual like he is not listening to them speak. Kyungsoo trusts him to an extent. What need does he have for some upstart of a noble playing nursemaid? He raises an eyebrow at Joonmyun. “Do you suppose me unable to look after myself?” he asks.

“Of course not,” Joonmyun replies promptly, his lips tight with exasperation. He is neither a large nor imposing man, and Kyungsoo knows it bothers him, but he does strike quite a noble figure in his formal robes. He must have council soon, with their father. Not for the first time, Kyungsoo is grateful that Joonmyun had the misfortune of being born first. “But he has come a long way, and the Wus may not be powerful, but I would like to keep their goodwill. He needs a post, and it will be at your side.”

Kyungsoo could argue, but he knows that would be an exercise in futility. He might rid himself of a potential nuisance, certainly, but his brother has on his prince voice, which means he is trying very hard to be firm. Their father has most likely tasked him with finding a place for this boy, and Joonmyun is a dutiful son but not an intolerable brother. If he has posted Lord Wu's son with Kyungsoo, it is because it is the best possible solution. Unfortunately. “Is he trained, at least?”

“From all reports, he is very capable. He has been training with his father's guard since he was very young, and regularly takes part in their exercises.” Joonmyun catches the skeptical arch to his brow and shakes his head. “He will at least be of use should you be in need of an extra sword.”

Kyungsoo is twenty one, the second eldest son of the King, and he knows he is unimportant enough that this is a bit silly. He takes his guards everywhere, but the most use Sehun has ever been is for reaching books on high shelves. His brother is not the only one with an unfortunate lack of stature. “Alright,” he says finally. “If I must.”

“You must,” Joonmyun says cheerfully. He claps him on the shoulder. “Now that that is settled, find your formal robes, please.”

Kyungsoo loathes formal wear. It is stiff and uncomfortable, difficult to move in and impractical. “Why?” he asks, suspicious. He has no interest in council meetings. That is Joonmyun's realm, not his.

“Time to meet your new friend,” Joonmyun says. He smiles. “Young Lord Wu is due to arrive this afternoon. It would not be polite if his charge were not there to greet him.”

Kyungsoo straightens, brow furrowed. “I am not his charge,” he snaps, but Joonmyun is already sweeping out, his guard at his heels. The nerve of him. As though Kyungsoo were a boy who could not look after himself. At the door, Sehun has his lips pressed together tightly as he tries valiantly not to laugh. “You are pushing your luck,” Kyungsoo tells him darkly.

“Sir,” Sehun nods an apology, but he looks far too unrepentant. Kyungsoo thinks very seriously about having him reassigned to the stables.

In the end, he decides it would be far too much work and he waves Sehun off. He must change his robes for soon, it seems, he will have company. He spares his books a glance and he frowns. He was looking forward to a day with those instead of, well. People.

By the time Sehun knocks on his door again, Kyungsoo is dressed once more, sitting stiffly in his seat and trying to return to his reading. It seems entirely impossible with the distraction of the scratch of the material against his neck, unfortunately. He gives up with a sigh, and waves for Sehun to lead the way. Sehun escorts him to the Great Hall and Kyungsoo takes his place at his father's elbow, doing his best to smooth the grumpiness out of his expression. He hates these obligations, but he is a prince. He will be presentable, at least.

When the heralds announce Lord Wu's arrival, Kyungsoo squares his shoulders and raises his chin. The first thing he notices is that he's far older than Kyungsoo had assumed. He had expected some young stripling, sent to court to learn his graces and perhaps find a match by the time he is of marriageable age, but this is no lordling. Sehun is tall, but Lord Wu Yifan is taller, and broader too. He is a big man, solid even beneath his flowing robes, and it seems that perhaps he is as well trained as he has been described. He has long, thick hair, light and pulled away from his face, emphasizing the aristocratic angles of his profile. Handsome, too, and Kyungsoo wonders precisely why Lord Wu has deemed his son in need of court polish and favour. By all appearances, he has no need of those. Perhaps he is defective.

“Your majesty.” Young Lord Wu drops to his knee and bows his head. “I am most grateful to have been granted a position in your court.” His voice is low, Kyungsoo notes, his words slightly accented. “I promise to serve you well.”

The King favours him with a quick nod, waving a hand for him to straighten, and they exchange pleasantries about Lord Wu's father and their lands. Kyungsoo pays it all no mind. He has a finely honed ability to nod at the appropriate moments. After all, he is only the second son. His opinion means little.

Once the formalities have been exchanged, Kyungsoo's father takes his leave. He readies to take his own, shooting Sehun a look to follow, when one small hand is planted against his back and he is pushed forward. “Lord Wu,” Joonmyun says. His hand is unfortunately steely, pushing Kyungsoo forward inexorably. “This is my brother, Prince Kyungsoo. While you serve in the castle, you shall act as his guard.”

Kyungsoo does not like being this close to the young lord. He has to tilt his head up to meet his gaze. “It is my honour to serve you, your highness.” Lord Wu seems very good at saying all the right things and bowing at precisely the right angle. It is a bit boring. “I will do my utmost to protect you.”

Wonderful. Just what he has always needed. “I expect you will,” Kyungsoo says, smiling faintly. Lord Wu blinks at him beneath strong brows and Sehun finally steps forward, hovering at Kyungsoo's shoulder. “It would be rude of me not to allow you some time to adjust to your new quarters. You may report to me in a week.” He very firmly ignores the way that Joonmyun is eyeing him and he bows quickly before he makes his exit.

He has bought himself some time, at least, before he has a very large dog at his heels. He has had years to become accustomed to Sehun's presence, and he is not much of an intrusion anymore. Of course, this may have something to do with how Sehun spends less of his time at Kyungsoo's beck and call and more time either propped up by the door or more likely disappeared off somewhere with Joonmyun's guard. It is a very convenient situation for both of them. He glances up at Sehun who, instead of following at a respectable distance, is peering down at Kyungsoo, an interested look on his face. “What?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Does this mean I am free from serving you, sir?” Sehun asks hopefully. He is outgrowing his uniform, Kyungsoo sees. Still growing, and now Kyungsoo can see a glimpse of pale, thin wrists. He must send him to get fitted, and soon. This will not do.

“You are a guard, Sehun,” Kyungsoo points out. “Were you not serving me, you would be serving someone else.” Sehun wrinkles up his face like he had never considered this option and for the first time that day, Kyungsoo feels like laughing.







The week passes too quickly. On the eighth day, the instant Kyungsoo emerges from his quarters, he comes face to, well, chest, with Lord Wu. “Your highness.” He'd been intending to perhaps cajole the cook into giving him a breakfast that he might take with him into the garden, it looks to be a beautiful day. He had forgotten about Lord Wu. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” he asks, stepping away. Lord Wu, unfortunately, follows him, thick brows creased with confusion. Kyungsoo sighs. “Hello, Lord Wu. How very nice to see you this morning.”

Lord Wu bends neatly into a bow, and Kyungsoo waves a hand. “Are you going somewhere, your highness?”

God, but the man is already irritatingly formal. “You may call me sir, Lord Wu, there is no need to stand upon ceremony when the sun has not even properly risen.” Kyungsoo has never had much patience for this type of nonsense, least of all when his stomach is making its complaints heard. He has a fleeting urge to attempt to escape his new guard, but he seems to have very long legs. He has no trouble keeping up with Kyungsoo. Pity.

“Sir,” Lord Wu echoes obediently. He keeps the requisite two paces between them as they make their way down to the kitchen, each footstep even and measured. Kyungsoo does his best to pretend he does not even exist.

It becomes harder in the kitchen. Lord Wu must duck his head to follow Kyungsoo through the low doorway, and when the cook sees him, he lets out a startled squawk, eyes wide. He is just as slight as Kyungsoo and in the kitchen, Lord Wu takes up far too much space. “Ryeowook,” Kyungsoo says, and he gestures carelessly behind him, “This is my new guard, Lord Wu.”

“Yifan,” he says, and then he inclines his head. “You may call me Yifan, if you so choose.”

“Sir,” Ryeowook bows deeply, floury hands at his side. When he straightens he turns to Kyungsoo and raises his eyebrows, mouthing the word large. As though Kyungsoo had not noticed it. “Were you planning on spending the day in the garden, your highness? Beautiful day.”

Before Kyungsoo even has a chance to confirm it, Ryeowook is already pulling out a basket, smile bright. He has had a soft spot for Kyungsoo for a very long time, a fact that Kyungsoo finds very handy when he has no interest in listening to his father talk politics over a breakfast meal. “Thank you,” Kyungsoo says, favouring Ryeowook with a smile. “You always know just what I need.”

Ryeowook wishes them a pleasant day and it takes Kyungsoo a few seconds of watching Yifan with an expectant expression before he catches on and scoops up the basket. Perhaps he can be trained yet, Kyungsoo thinks.

Book in hand, Kyungsoo leads them through the maze of the castle garden. The grounds are always impeccably well kept, but what Kyungsoo has always enjoyed about the gardens are the nooks and corners he can bury himself in. He likes to make it difficult for anyone who has been sent to fetch him to find him. This time, he settles in a favoured spot, a place between two roots underneath a broad tree. It has the perfect amount of shade and it has been worn smooth with use, making it comfortable and just right.

Yifan sets up post nearby, frowning and shifting in the sun. He could sit, of course, Kyungsoo would not object. That was what Sehun used to do. He would nap in the sun or pluck a flower's petals off, one by one. Yifan does not seem the type. His uniform is pristine, and Kyungsoo doubts that he would deign to sit on the ground and muss it up. He wonders how long that Yifan will stand it.

He is just settling into the story, reaching for an apple, when he notices Yifan jump into motion again. Starved for any kind of occupation, Kyungsoo supposes. “I am sorry,” he hears Yifan say. “The prince is not to be disturbed.”

Now that is more than Sehun ever managed. Kyungsoo bites into his apple, begrudgingly assigning Yifan a point for his consideration. “It is alright, Yifan,” he calls, “they are friends, unfortunately.”

“You should be honoured by our presence,” Jongdae declares, pushing bodily past Yifan, not acknowledging him in the slightest. Chanyeol and Baekhyun follow, Chanyeol throwing his lanky body down next to Kyungsoo while Baekhyun folds his robes fussily underneath himself and settles on a root. “We are the most charming company in court.”

“I think you mean the noisiest,” Kyungsoo snorts. Noisy though they are, these three are the closest friends that Kyungsoo has, apart from his brother. It is hard to make friends when you are royalty, even if you are not the one to become King. So much bowing and fawning. It is why Kyungsoo so values these three. Chanyeol is the son of his father's chief advisor, Kyungsoo's companion since the two of them were old enough to walk. Jongdae came from the edges of kingdom, the youngest son of a Lord with no hope of becoming a knight. He serves well under the tutelage of a diplomat now. Baekhyun was the last, his father a Duke who had sent his son to court in search of a suitable match a bare two years past.

Perhaps that was not the wisest choice, considering the meandering direction of Baekhyun's eye. “Is it just me,” Baekhyun asks, “Or has Sehun gotten far more handsome lately?” He appraises Yifan with a steady eye, hungrily enough that Yifan clears his throat and flushes, turning away.

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Hardly. He has gotten far more scarce, though. This is Lord Wu Yifan, because I was apparently in need of a new guard.”

“At least he seems to actually do his job,” Chanyeol points out. He lets out a highly undignified noise as Jongdae shoves him unceremoniously out of the way of his seat at Kyungsoo's side. For such a small man, Jongdae is irrepressibly pushy.

“Yes,” Kyungsoo shrugs, “and I am ecstatic.”

“It figures we would find you sitting in the dirt,” Baekhyun says. “You are not very good at being a prince.” He flicks a leaf in Kyungsoo's direction. Not wise, not when Kyungsoo is away from his father's watchful eye and has no qualms about punching him, and hard. Behind them, he sees Yifan start, and his surprise soften into a smile, one that vanishes as quickly as it came.

Jongdae beams as Baekhyun whines, rubbing a hand over his injury. “We have so missed you,” Jongdae tells him.

Despite himself, Kyungsoo smiles. While he prefers to spend his days alone with his studies, that does not mean he lives like a monk. “I missed you as well,” Kyungsoo admits, and when Chanyeol reaches for his hand, he allows it. “Who gave you permission to go off to the islands without me?”

Jongdae pats Kyungsoo's shoulder. “It is one of the joys of being only a minor noble,” he tells him. “It is far less lucrative to kidnap one of us.” He favours Kyungsoo with one of his sharp smiles.

“They would not be able to kidnap me,” Chanyeol scoffs. “I am not so small.” Kyungsoo knows he regrets speaking the instant that Baekhyun lands a well-placed heel in a very unfortunate spot.

Chanyeol doubles over, gasping for breath, and Baekhyun regards him thoughtfully. “You fold up rather neatly,” he remarks. Chanyeol glowers at him. Kyungsoo only spares a second to feel sorry for Chanyeol, but he is, after all, freakishly tall and not a little smug. If he did not deserve it now, he will most likely deserve it in the future.

“Next time, you must insist you come with us,” Jongdae says as Chanyeol struggles to steady his breathing. “Do not let Baekhyun be the only pasty one who burns in the sun.”

“I have skin like porcelain, thank you very much,” Baekhyun snaps, and Kyungsoo laughs. The months without them were long, and he has missed them so. While his life here at the castle is not difficult by any means, he does wish that sometimes his father would worry less about his safety. He remembers childhood summers spent in summer estates, but one too many assassination attempts had been enough for his father to refuse to let either him or his brother out of his sight, at least without a full complement of guards. He is not sure that counts as a vacation, really.

They stay for a while, picking through Kyungsoo's basket and telling him all about their adventures by the sea. Before they leave, Chanyeol presses a seashell into his hand. It is a conch shell the size of his palm, smooth under his thumb, nearly flawless and a golden colour. “Of course, the others got you souvenirs too,” he says, “but I wanted to bring the sea to you.”

It is a sentimental gift, but it makes Kyungsoo smile all the same. “Thank you, Chanyeol.” Chanyeol stands for a moment, even as Baekhyun and Jongdae head back to the castle, skinny shoulders curled in, and Kyungsoo rewards him with a quick hug. As always, a little affection makes Chanyeol light up like a sunbeam, and then he waves, scrambling off behind Baekhyun and Jongdae.

Kyungsoo sits for a little while longer, book forgotten, turning the shell over in his hands. “My apologies, your highness.” Kyungsoo blinks up, surprised, and Yifan ducks his head. “I did not know – ”

His height is even worse from this angle, and Kyungsoo raises a hand, beckoning Yifan down. He drops to a squat in front of Kyungsoo, awkwardly balanced on the balls of his feet. “There was no harm done,” he tells Yifan. It is far easier for him to feel charitable, now. “Besides, Jongdae needs to hear 'no' every once in a while.”

It takes a beat, but then the corners of Yifan's mouth twitch up hesitantly. “Should I make him work for it, then, sir?” he suggests.

A sense of humour. It is a miracle. “Be careful,” Kyungsoo cautions. He holds out a hand and Yifan straightens, assisting Kyungsoo with a firm grip. “You do not want to be on his bad side. He kicks with no compunction.”

Yifan gathers the basket into his hands, and tucks the book in too. He glances at Kyungsoo's fingers, still curled around the shell, but Kyungsoo decides to drop it into his pocket instead. “Even princes?”

“Even princes,” Kyungsoo sighs. He glances at Yifan, and he thinks it is a little funny. For a man who can look so cold and aristocratic, there is something very soft about him. So far, he is already far more obedient than Sehun ever was. Perhaps this arrangement will not be so bad.







It is over dinner one evening, early in the summer, that their father tells them his final decision. “After much contemplation, it has been decided that Joonmyun is to marry Princess Sunyoung from the North, in the autumn.”

Kyungsoo's brother has spent much time in court, and though his face does not much betray him, Kyungsoo can read his relief in the way his shoulders relax and the slight smile that pulls at his lips. There have been many, many match-making dinners over the past few years. Joonmyun is of marriageable age, and his parents believe it is high time that he produced an heir. “Thank you, father,” Joonmyun says, inclining his head in as much of a bow as he can while sitting. It is an answer he would have given no matter what decision had been passed down, but Kyungsoo thinks this one is genuine.

The rest of the dinner is spent discussing plans and the newly assured peace between their two kingdoms, and Kyungsoo does not bother to listen. All this wedding means is more formal robes for him, really.

He excuses himself after dessert, bowing deeply to his parents before he slips out of the room, Yifan following. They do not make it more than a few feet down the hallway before Kyungsoo catches the curious light in Yifan's eyes and he sighs. “Speak, Yifan,” he says. “You do not need to ask for permission.”

“Are you not pleased with the match, sir?” Yifan asks.

Pleased. Kyungsoo considers it. “No, I am,” he says. “It will be a good union, not just politically, but the two of them as well.” He smiles a little. “Joonmyun sat through many of those meetings, but I am certain he liked her best. And for that, I am pleased.” A prince does not often get to marry someone he likes, but Kyungsoo could not mistake the spark in Joonmyun when she visited. Joonmyun would have obeyed no matter what their father had decided, but Kyungsoo is decidedly glad that it is Sunyoung, out of all of them.

He glances once more at Yifan, still waiting expectantly. “Alright,” he says, “I am pleased for my brother, but...” He shakes his head. “Now that his match has been made, I worry my parents will turn their eye to me. An unmarried prince is a valuable political commodity.” Kyungsoo does not fear marriage, of course, that would be silly, and Joonmyun is not the only one who has had to sit through dinners with the children of foreign kings. He has had long years to prepare himself for this eventuality, but that does not mean he is any more excited for it.

“Perhaps you must find a princess who is as fond of reading as you are, sir,” Yifan suggests, and he offers Kyungsoo a hopeful smile. It is admirable, his ability to search for the silver lining. Were he to discuss this with Sehun, he would have gotten a shrug, more likely than not, and perhaps a suggestion that he join a monastery. He prefers the way Yifan thinks.

“Or a prince,” Kyungsoo shrugs. “After all, I do not bear the burden of producing the royal heir.” He is not a fussy man. A taste for fine food and beautiful flowers is more important to him than what lays between his spouse's thighs.

When Yifan says nothing, Kyungsoo turns to look at him again. He has broken his habit of walking behind Kyungsoo, instead falling into step next to him. It makes conversation far easier. Now, however, he does not look at Kyungsoo. Instead he chooses to look straight ahead, chin pushed out, the obedient guard once more. The expression on his face is unreadable.

Kyungsoo finds this odd. He has spent many weeks now with Yifan, and he is beginning to learn his habits, but he has never yet seen him hide this way behind his role as guard. For a second, he considers pursuing it, but instead decides to let it go. A man is entitled to his secrets, after all. Especially from someone he spends most of his waking life with.

Still, Yifan is quiet all evening, stiff and straight by the door, and Kyungsoo finds it irritatingly distracting. He dismisses him early, knowing full well that Yifan will simply place himself outside of Kyungsoo's door until he sees his lights go out, and he does his best to shake off the unsettled feeling that lingers until he climbs into bed.







The late summer heat is making the bee lazy, but it is nothing if not persistent. It buzzes around his face in wobbly loops, bumping into his ears and making him duck and frown, swatting at the air. It is very hard to get any study done. For all its laziness, it is remarkably good at dodging his hands and eventually Kyungsoo exhales in a burst, frowning as it swoops into his nose and then makes its humming way away again.

Once it has meandered off once more, Kyungsoo does his best to focus once more on his reading. It does not last long, though. Before he has even managed to turn the page, he hears the hum of its wings as it heads back in return. It is doubly annoying, because it was just last week that Kyungsoo had coaxed Yifan into moving a bench to this precise spot. It seems that was a mistake. He is not particularly coordinated, but his book is heavy, and the bee is slow. He is certain that this time, he can get it.

He never gets the chance to test his bee-killing prowess. As soon as the insect flies within range, one enormous hand swings out in front of his face. Yifan catches the bee between his hands, palms carefully curled around the insect. Kyungsoo watches as Yifan walks off to set it free once more, far away, where it will no longer bother him.

It takes him far longer than Kyungsoo had expected to return once more. His buzzing companion was no longer with him, but he seems to have traded it for a flower. He holds it out for Kyungsoo to take. Kyungsoo accepts it, puzzled. It is a white pansy, and a particularly nice one. He wonders idly if this is the price of his peace while reading, the life of a flower. “Thank you,” he says after a second. A prince does not forget his manners.

“I had thought – ” Yifan stumbles over his words, must pause and rearrange them. Kyungsoo thinks it is funny that this man, so imposing and by all accounts a skilled swordsman, would be the sort of man to refuse to kill pests and pluck flowers for a prince. “The colour matches your robes today, your highness.”

Kyungsoo lets his hands fall to his lap and the white petals do indeed match the silver and white embroidery of his deep blue robes. Most days, he prefers his flowers still attached to his roots, but the thought is nice. “Thank you, Yifan,” he says again, a bit more warmly, and Yifan ducks his head in acknowledgement.

He takes up his post once more, back straight as he looks out into the garden, and though Kyungsoo could return to his reading in peace, he regards Yifan thoughtfully instead. As the second son of a lord, he could be doing far more interesting things than guard duty for an unimportant prince. Especially one so highly trained as Joonmyun had insisted. “I never took you for a flower aficionado,” he says. Yifan startles, twisting back to look at him with a sharp, ungraceful motion. “Is that why your father sent you to court?” Kyungsoo asks. “You do not seem the type, you know. The royal army could always use good men like you, and officers are richly rewarded.” It is not like an officer could not easily find a high-born woman to marry, too.

Yifan hesitates. He looks around for a second, like there could possibly be anyone hidden away in the trees, listening to them speak of flowers and watching Kyungsoo fight with insects. “My older brother married for love,” he says quietly. It takes him a few seconds before he finally turns to face Kyungsoo. He does not sit, and Kyungsoo does not ask him to. “He is happy, and I could never resent him for that, but – ” His tight smile speaks volumes. “We are not a wealthy family. My father has decided that it is my turn to serve. It is his wish that I do my part.”

Kyungsoo nods. “By finding a nice rich lady with a penchant for large men?”

An array of emotions flutter across Yifan's face before finally settling on faint affront. “I am not large, your highness,” he says. “But tall.”

It takes Yifan a few seconds, but the realization of what he has said sinks in, and his mouth falls open, his eyes widening. “You know,” Kyungsoo says, the side of his mouth curving up irrepressibly, “that is the first time you have ever spoken against me.” Carefully, without much watching what he is doing, Kyungsoo tucks the pansy between the pages of his book and closes the cover.

“Your highness,” Yifan says, and though Kyungsoo waits, he does not have any words to follow. He looks almost frightened, all over a simple correction. Kyungsoo smiles.

“Do not look so terrified,” he says. He gets to his feet and holds out his book, and Yifan scrambles to take it. “For someone so tall, you seem remarkably void of spine.”

Yifan seems to be warring with himself, and for a brief moment, Kyungsoo wonders if he will simply fold and bob his head in agreement. Pleasingly, he does not. He settles for silence, and for watching Kyungsoo warily as they pick their way along the green paths back to the castle.

Yifan is easy to train, yet not a doormat. Yes, Kyungsoo much prefers him to Sehun. He thinks about his poor brother, now saddled with Sehun on his guard. Kyungsoo is lucky he requires so little supervision. He laughs a little to himself and only laughs harder when Yifan frowns, puzzled. It is decided. He likes Yifan.







This is silly, Kyungsoo thinks as the royal tailor clucks his tongue once more and tells him to stand straight. The man is taking his measurements once more, as though Kyungsoo had not ceased growing long ago. He supposes, though, accuracy is important. He is to be at his brother's side when he weds his new bride, and the marriage of a King-to-be is no small event. Still, this is tedious. Over the tailor's head, Kyungsoo throws Yifan a quick, hopeless look, and he gets a pin to his waist for his troubles. “Stop squirming, your highness,” Yixing chides again, and Yifan presses his lips together to suppress his smile. “I will have to start all over again.”

Kyungsoo rubs his hand over his wound and looks darkly at him. “Which would delight you,” he points out. Yixing smiles at him, serene.

He has to admit, the robes themselves are nice. The deep green fabric that Yixing has chosen is soft and light, a small mercy. Once fitted, they will be taken to be embroidered, and then they will be too heavy and scratchy once more, but right now, he does not mind these. “I have a deep love for my craft, your highness,” Yixing tells him around the pins between his lips. His fingers are nimble as he works, sure as he fixes the seams together. “This green suits you well. Does it not, Lord Yifan?”

Behind Yixing, Yifan shifts his feet, and his eyes on Kyungsoo are oddly weighted. “It does,” he agrees, his voice strange. Kyungsoo tips his head and regards Yifan for a second. He feels as though he is on the verge of understanding something, but he lets it slide away.

“Do not think that a bit of flattery will let you escape this,” he warns Yifan. “Where I go, you go, and you must not embarrass me.” Not that that will be likely, of course, not with Yifan's build and face, and how well he wears his clothing.

“Of course, sir,” Yifan agrees, folding his hands behind his back.

Yixing stands, admiring his handiwork. “Gold, white, and silver for the embroidery, I think,” he says absently. He gestures for Kyungsoo to spin and he does, slowly. Yixing's work is impeccable as always, and though the cloth has not yet even been stitched together, it skims the ground but does not touch it. “Lord Yifan in a black with green accents, yes?” Kyungsoo finishes his rotation and raises his eyebrows at Yixing. “Your highness.”

“Better,” Kyungsoo says, and Yixing bows deeply in apology, a smile playing on his lips. For all of his skill with needle and thread, Yixing is a forgetful man and Kyungsoo knows that his informality stems from that, unlike Sehun.

Ah, speaking of. “Lovely choice, Yixing,” Joonmyun says. His smile is genuine, but there is a tiredness to his eyes that is a bit worrisome. A wedding is supposed to be a joyous time, but Kyungsoo knows that their father will not accept anything but the best from Joonmyun. A married Joonmyun, a crown prince with a wife and a son, well. That is a Joonmyun who can take the throne. “You will do my brother justice, I think.”

Yixing colours under the praise, and he refuses to meet anyone's eye. A sweet man, Zhang Yixing. “I just do my best, your highness.”

“Are you next?” Kyungsoo asks. He waits for Yixing's nod before he steps down and makes his way behind the screen to change once more. “Surely it must soon be time for the groom's turn.” It takes him a bit of fiddling, but eventually he manages to figure out how to extricate himself from Yixing's creation without ruining it all.

“Ah, no, that was yesterday.” Joonmyun's voice carries clearly through the screen. “I will be lucky if I am even able to move on my own, I am afraid. Yixing has truly outdone himself.”

Sliding his arms into his sleeves, Kyungsoo pulls on his casual robes and emerges once more. “What good is being a prince if you must walk for yourself?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips, and next to the door Sehun barks out a laugh. He composes himself quickly enough under Kyungsoo's hard eyes, though.

Joonmyun throws one long look at Sehun before he raises his eyebrows at Kyungsoo. “I changed my mind,” he says. “You may have Sehun back. I will take on Lord Wu.” It is an empty threat, of course, Joonmyun has been indulging Sehun for years and there looks to be no end in sight. Sehun still wrinkles his nose, until Joonmyun's other guard, Jongin jostles him with an elbow.

“Keep him,” Kyungsoo says. He tips his head, glancing at Yifan for a moment. “I much prefer Yifan.” After all, Yifan is quiet and polite and much less likely to spontaneously go missing when most needed.

Joonmyun sighs. “I suppose I must keep him, then.” Sehun is facing forward once more, his face a displeased parody of a guard's emotionless stoicism, but then Joonmyun smiles at him, and it softens. Kyungsoo snorts. He is not certain that Sehun will ever be a particularly useful guard, but he is certain that working for Joonmyun is a far better fit.

“You must,” Kyungsoo agrees.

Yixing reaches out to straighten his robes, pausing first to wait for a nod from Kyungsoo. “Just as you must come to dinner tonight,” Joonmyun says over Yixing's shoulder. He fidgets with his cuffs, a sure sign that he knows what he will say will displease Kyungsoo. “We have guests.”

Kyungsoo does his best to keep his face neutral, even as he feels the dread sets in in his gut. “I heard,” he says evenly. “Lord Jung and his daughters arrived this morning, did they not?” Yixing bows his head, slipping away to busy himself with Kyungsoo's robes for the wedding.

“They did,” Joonmyun nods. “Our father thinks it very important that you be present to greet them for dinner, since you made yourself scarce at their arrival.” He hesitates. “After all, someone must entertain Lady Soojung.”

Kyungsoo grits his teeth. Of course. Lord Jung is a very, very wealthy man, and his daughters are, he supposes, nice enough. It has been less than a week since Baekhyun had mentioned the news that the oldest daughter, Sooyeon, was engaged to marry a prince in the west, and he should not be surprised that their parents were already making matches. “And I am so very entertaining.”

“Far more so than me,” Joonmyun agrees. “I am not the one who can sing like you do.”

His brother may mean well but Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Am I to serenade her at the table, then?” he asks. He has met Soojung a handful of times, mostly at official functions. She is tall, with long glossy hair and a bright smile, and not particularly friendly. The dowry she would bring, as well as the ties to her family – Kyungsoo knows that his father would be pleased.

But Kyungsoo is fairly convinced that he would not be.

“I am sure it would impress,” Joonmyun says. To his credit, he says nothing further, his point made. He stands once more. “Do wear something nice, please.”

Kyungsoo frowns down at his robes. They are, admittedly, a bit dusty from a morning spent in the depths of the castle library, but he thinks they are perfectly functional. “When do I not?” he asks, but Joonmyun just favours him with a laugh and heads out once more. A busy man, his brother, especially now with the wedding approaching. He appreciates, though, that he does his best to see him whenever he can.

With a final few adjustments, Yixing dismisses him. Yifan's sizing will happen later, with the rest of the guard, so they are both free for the afternoon. Yifan is in a bit of a good mood, at least. “Do you really sing, sir?” he asks.

His tone is light, but while Kyungsoo expects teasing, all he sees in Yifan's expression is genuine curiosity. It makes his words catch behind his tongue. “My mother taught me,” he admits, “when I was young.” He sniffs. “Not that you shall ever hear it.” His singing is not something he is shy about, really, nor is it something that he shows off. Especially not to his guard.

“Never, sir?” Yifan asks, and Kyungsoo just fixes him with a steady stare. He ducks his head in apology, but he does not say he is sorry, and Kyungsoo is oddly pleased.







It is odd, spending the day without Yifan's large shape by the doorway. It had taken much persuasion, but he had finally agreed to take the day off, disappearing somewhere towards his private quarters. It is raining today, and Kyungsoo has taken up a seat in the furthest corner of the library to watch the water run down the windowpanes as he reads. It is dark outside, dark enough to require candlelight to see by, but Kyungsoo is finding it hard to focus on the book in his lap.

The dinner with Lord Jung and his daughters had gone tolerably well. He had been seated next to Soojung, just as he had known he would be, though luckily, he was not expected to sing upon command. It was a pleasant enough dinner, though their conversation never strayed far beyond the bounds of their siblings' upcoming weddings and the unseasonably long summer. He is certain that, were they to marry, it would be a very casual and distant affair. At the end of the meal, Joonmyun had looked across the table at him, eyebrows raised, and Kyungsoo had responded with a shake of his head. She is not a match.

Kyungsoo has known for a very long time now that his role in this castle is mostly ornamental. His parents love him, that much is certain, but he is the second son. He is merely a tool to be used to cement political unions, and of course, should anything happen to Joonmyun, God forbid, he would step in. He has sat through myriad political functions, greeted the children of lords and ladies from around the realm, and he has known since he was small that someday, his father would insist that he should be married.

He has a small amount of choice in the matter, his father is no tyrant, but in the end, his spouse must provide something for their family and their kingdom. It is not so bad, really. Kyungsoo has never put much stock in true love conquering all, really, and he is practical enough that he knows that it is not the sole key to a happy marriage. His parents are proof enough of that. All he requires is someone he enjoys spending time with. That would be enough.

Still, he had not known that his time would come so quickly. His brother has not yet even wed his bride, and his father has turned his gaze upon Kyungsoo. A few weeks since that dinner, and there is already another lined up. A foreign prince this time, a man Kyungsoo has never met, but presumably with wealth and power. Nice enough, most likely.

But Kyungsoo is not sure he is ready for this. He does not want to marry, he wants to spend his days with his books and his garden and not with – he thinks about the smile Soojung had given him as they had left, perfectly nice and perfectly distant. That is not what he wants.

He sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck, and he closes his book with a snap. He has not been reading for well over an hour. It is time to abandon this attempt and go find something else to occupy his time. He carefully shelves his novel once more and picks up his candle, leaving the library behind.

The rain makes this end of the castle feel damp, almost oppressive. By all accounts, he should see more people than he has, everyone driven inside by the torrential downpour, but this wing has always been rather empty. He prefers it that way, though. Walking alone down the corridors, candle in hand, he almost feels as though he is not a prince. As though he is a person who has the freedom to do whatever he chooses, and go wherever he pleases. It is a pleasant feeling.

He wanders through the halls, his feet taking him away from any area his father and brother might frequent, and he ends up down near the stables, where the hunting hounds are kept. Kyungsoo has no particular affinity for the animals, though he likes them well enough. What surprises him is the sight of Yifan down here.

He is not in uniform, dressed instead in a loose jacket and pants Kyungsoo has never seen before. It is a much less severe Yifan than Kyungsoo is used to seeing, soft bangs hanging in his face, unlaced shirt revealing a stretch of pale chest. It is odd, having to reconcile this Yifan with the one he sees daily, laced up tightly, never a hair out of place.

One of the hounds had a litter several months back, four pups with giant paws and floppy ears. Yifan is sitting on the floor, long legs folded up under himself, laughing as they jump upon him. Kyungsoo has never see him anything less than spotless, but he seems to pay no mind to the muddy footprints they leave behind on his thighs. It is rather sweet, the way that Yifan wrestles with them, letting a puppy close its sharp teeth on his fingers and shake, and Kyungsoo almost laughs out loud when Yifan growls back at them in return.

The smile Yifan wears is unfamiliar too. It is not as though Kyungsoo believes him unhappy, but he has never seen this bright, uninhibited smile. It pulls at Yifan's lips, reveals too much gum to be truly handsome, but it is genuine in a way that Kyungsoo marvels at. He turns away quietly, and slips back down the corridor. He does not want to disturb Yifan.

It is funny, he thinks. Happiness is a look that suits Yifan well.







If he must be up so early and on horseback, Kyungsoo is at least glad that it is such a lovely day. Most of the castle seems to have been mobilized, but then, it is a grand occasion. They are on the way to Sunyoung's kingdom, and a celebration awaits them. The union of two great kingdoms is no small thing after all. While Kyungsoo is most assuredly looking forward to his brother's marriage, he is mostly just pleased that for once, he has been allowed to escape the carriage his family rides in, instead getting to ride with his friends. It has been so long since he has ridden, and his father had been appeased by Yifan's presence at his side. He is a good horseman, Kyungsoo notes, and rides with the ease of much experience. Very responsible.

Chanyeol seems to be enjoying the weather as well. “What a glorious day,” he declares. He inhales exaggeratedly and then sighs, content. “Do you not think?”

“You are far too cheery,” Jongdae tells him. He pulls off his hat and reaches out to whack Chanyeol over the head with it. “The sunshine is cheerful enough, without your help.”

They are trailed by their guards, which is most likely a good thing, considering the way that Baekhyun is letting his horse meander all over the road and Jongdae has tipped perilously sideways in his attempt to assault Chanyeol. “Stop squabbling, children,” Kyungsoo says. “Today is a joyous occasion.”

“Yes,” Baekhyun agrees, “and hopefully one with plenty of wine.” He favours Kyungsoo with a serene smile. “Bless your tiny brother for getting married in such a nice country.”

Kyungsoo would speak up in defense of his brother, but his horse stumbles, and his friends are already moving on. Chanyeol scoffs that the rest of them are far too small for their horses, even, and in return, Baekhyun accuses him of being freakishly long. Kyungsoo tunes them out as his horse stumbles once more. He is favouring his front left hoof. Kyungsoo frowns.

“Kyungsoo,” Jongdae calls. Kyungsoo looks up at them again, startled. He had not realized he was falling behind. “Has it been so long since you were on a horse that you have forgotten what to do?” He lifts his own reins and flicks them encouragingly. “The reins are what steers the beast, your highness.”

Beneath him, his horse limps again. It must be a pebble, worked under his horseshoe. “Your wit is astounding,” Kyungsoo calls. “Perhaps my brother is in need of a court jester, were you looking for some employment?”

Yifan pulls to a stop next to him. “Your highness?” he asks. “Is something wrong?”

“Give me your knife.” It is not the reply that Yifan was expecting, but after a moment, he pulls the blade from where it is strapped, inside his boot. Kyungsoo's friends are moving on, shouting at Kyungsoo to keep up, but he waves them off. He needs to deal with this before he continues on.

As they ride on, Kyungsoo slides from his mount. “Sir,” Yifan says, alarmed, “what are you doing?”

“Relax, Yifan,” he says. He looks up at him, and Yifan is far too tall. He flicks his fingers, summoning him down. He could use a hand. “He has a stone in his shoe. I must remove it.”

Yifan swings down with ease, and before he can interfere, Kyungsoo pushes his reins into Yifan's hands. “Let me do that, sir,” Yifan says, and he sounds almost pleading. He is looking pointedly at the mud and dust caked to the legs and haunches of Kyungsoo's horse, and the mud already sticking to Kyungsoo's boots. “I can – ”

Kyungsoo holds up a hand. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own horse,” he tells him. “And a little mud will not harm me, Yifan, I am a prince, I am not made of sugar.”

“I did not say that, sir,” Yifan protests, but he quiets, lips tight as he holds Kyungsoo's mount still so he may work. His big, steady presence proves to be a boon. It has been a very long while since Kyungsoo has had to do this, but he is determined. It is a simple matter, it must be. Brow furrowed, Kyungsoo uses an edge of his robes to clean the hoof, and then carefully wedges the knife blade beneath the shoe. After a moment, he has worked it free, and he smiles up at Yifan in triumph.

He tucks Yifan's blade into his sash, but before he has a chance to clean his hands himself, Yifan has produced a kerchief for him. He reaches for Kyungsoo's wrist, as though he were going to brush away the mud himself, but he colours and instead hands it over. “I did not know you were so handy, your highness,” he says.

Kyungsoo takes a few seconds, but he cleans away the worst of the mess between his fingers, and then returns Yifan's soiled handkerchief. “There is a great deal you do not know about me, Lord Yifan,” he says, but Yifan sees right through the imperious tone of his voice, and he smiles.

Yifan gives him a boost back onto his horse, and he is climbing onto his own when someone calls out to them. At first, Kyungsoo believes it is one of his friends, Chanyeol, perhaps, returned to fetch him, but his blood runs cold when he sees the man who spoke. “Hello, princeling,” the man says. There are four of them, and they look rough, menacing. Kyungsoo is not easily frightened, but they hold swords and they are standing between Kyungsoo and the rest of his party and that in itself is unsettling enough. “You seem to have gotten yourself lost.”

“I am not lost,” Kyungsoo says. He swallows hard and grips the reins tightly in his hands. “I know just where I am.”

“A clever one, our prince,” another of the men says. He has few teeth and a wicked scar climbing up his forearm. He hefts his sword and steps forward, and Kyungsoo can not help the nervous way he clenches the reins, his horse taking a few steps back. “Perhaps you can enlighten us, your highness.”

At his side, Yifan shifts his feet in the mud, his hand resting comfortably against the hilt of his sword. “Enlighten you?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Perhaps you could let a fellow know where your purse is,” the man in the lead suggests. He sidles towards them, and Yifan takes one careful step forward. He does not look scared, Kyungsoo notes. He looks calculating. “Your highness is kind and noble. Aren't you? You'd be willing to part ways with your wallet for a good cause, I'd wager.”

For a brief moment, Kyungsoo almost wants to laugh out loud. The first time his father has let him out of his sight in years, and he is being robbed at sword point. It seems absurd. “You would lose that wager,” Yifan tells the man.

“The dog speaks,” the leader laughs, and his friends chuckle along with him. They take a few more steps forward and Yifan draws his sword in one fluid motion. “Better tell him to heel – ”

The way that Yifan fights is not graceful. He swings his sword forward, both hands wrapped around the hilt and slices the man's thigh open. There is a brutal force to the blow, and Kyungsoo is no wilting flower but the spray of blood still makes him jerk on the reins, his horse rearing and snorting. “Sir,” Yifan says, and the evenness of his voice is only broken when he plants one foot on the man's chest and rips his sword free. “Sir, do you still have my knife?”

Kyungsoo's free hand snaps to his waist, his fingers curling around the handle of the knife. The blade is still muddy, but it is long and sharp. “I do,” he replies.

The other three men circle Yifan warily, sizing him up. “Good. Stay back, your highness,” Yifan says. He does not bother to look back at Kyungsoo. He has not even broken a sweat, and his stance is relaxed and ready. “I will handle this.”

Joonmyun has told Kyungsoo time and again of Yifan's skill, of the years he spent training with his father's guard, but it is another thing entirely to see it in action. The man with the scar rushes Yifan, and there is a great clang as their swords meet. The bandit is rough, unskilled, and he swings wildly, and by contrast, Yifan appears as though a machine. Kyungsoo has seen those who fight with such grace that it appears to be a dance, like Baekhyun's guard, and Yifan has none of that. What he does have is a kind of precision and force that makes each blow look almost timed. Kyungsoo holds tightly to Yifan's knife, but he knows he will have no need for it, not with Yifan's skill.

A strong upswing of Yifan's sword sends the scarred man reeling, and another rushes to take his place, perhaps hoping to set Yifan off balance. Yifan meets the desperate thrust of his sword with his own blade, sliding away from the slice of the weapon and bringing down one of his big hands against the man's temple. The man crumples, and Kyungsoo feels obscurely pleased. Yifan is not a man who lets any silly rules about a gentleman's honour prevent him from winning, and Kyungsoo likes that.

The scarred man stumbles to his feet, and then he and the last man lunge at Yifan. It appears that one sword is all he needs for the two of them. He parries neatly, one after the other, until one swings up, the tip of his blade catching Yifan across the cheek. Kyungsoo inhales sharply, eyes wide, but Yifan does not stumble. He steps under the scarred man's arm, jabbing his long fingers into the man's windpipe. Before he has even hit the ground, Yifan has already spun around, his sword in his hand reversed, and he thumps the last man soundly in the forehead. The man collapses, and Yifan turns.

“Well,” Kyungsoo says. The leader of the bandits rolls in the mud, groaning. Kyungsoo mostly ignores him. Yifan could easily have dispatched all four men, but he had chosen to be merciful, and Kyungsoo admires that. As a prince, of course, Kyungsoo's first choice should always be to show mercy to his people but when he thinks of the way that they had eyed Yifan and called him his 'dog' – no. They deserved all they received. “It is good to know that you are, in fact, good for something.”

Yifan's horse had startled at the commotion, skittering away to graze beneath a nearby stand of trees, and Yifan must run to retrieve him. “Thank you, your highness,” he calls, hoisting himself back into the saddle. He rides back to Kyungsoo's side, but he shakes his head when Kyungsoo attempts to return his knife. “Just in case,” he says. He raises one hand to his face, wincing when his fingers come away red with blood. With careful, sure movements, he cleans the wound on his face. It is shallow, Kyungsoo sees, and it ceases to bleed almost immediately, thankfully.

They leave the men behind, the two of them kicking their horses into a brisk canter to catch up with the rest of their party. Baekhyun laughs when he sees them again. “You are rather muddy, my dear Kyungsoo. What exactly did the two of you get up to while you were gone?”

Kyungsoo favours him with a roll of his eyes, even as he feels his ears heat up. “Nothing so scandalous, I'm afraid,” he replies. “Nor so fun. Just a stone in my horse's shoe.”

“Then why is Lord Yifan so dirty, as well?” Chanyeol tips his head, his horse meandering alarmingly close to Kyungsoo. “I have never seen him such a mess.”

Hesitating, Kyungsoo glances at Yifan. He could tell them, of course. But Chanyeol has never been good at bearing secrets, and word would make its way to his father, and Kyungsoo would be once more forbidden to even blink without supervision. “Took a tumble, my lord,” Yifan says.

Kyungsoo bites back the smile that pulls at his lips, unbidden, borne of the rush of relief in his gut. “He has far too much limb,” Kyungsoo explains, gesturing at Yifan's long legs, and just as he had known he would, Chanyeol squawks in indignation, claiming suffering at the hand of all his friends with stunted growth. Kyungsoo lets the noise of his friends' voices wash over him, and he glances back at Yifan. He gets a nod and a quick smile in return.







Sunyoung is an absolute vision to behold, all in red and gold, and Kyungsoo tells her as much, reaching for her hand. “I am proud to welcome you to our family,” Kyungsoo says, and after a moment's hesitation, he pulls her into a quick hug. She is now his sister, after all. It proves worthwhile when she favours him with one of her lovely smiles, and then Joonmyun is hooking one arm uncomfortably around his neck and tugging him back. His brother is flush with wine and happiness, and so Kyungsoo allows him a second to squeeze him before he fends him off. “I wish you both great happiness in the future.”

“Enough formality, brother,” Joonmyun says. He has a firm hold on Kyungsoo's wrist, and while he is not yet wobbling, Kyungsoo believes it is only a matter of time. “The ceremony has finished! Now is the time for celebration.” His hair is beginning to fall from where it was slicked back, and he looks foolish and joyful and Kyungsoo could not be happier for him. He has been working so hard, he deserves a night like tonight.

“We are celebrating,” Kyungsoo assures him. And they are – the Great Hall is alive with noise and voices. The wedding of the King-to-be is the event of the year, and most every lord and lady has made an effort to attend. He sees that Lord Jung and his daughters are here, and it does not surprise him that Soojung is flanked by both Baekhyun and Chanyeol. She seems more amused by the attention than anything, accepting the drink that Baekhyun offers her with an inclination of her head and bestowing an indulgent smile upon Chanyeol. Kyungsoo snorts. He wonders how long it will take before she loses interest in the two of them. Not long, gauging by the amount of wine left in Chanyeol's glass.

There are others, as well. Kyungsoo raises his glass to his mouth, searching in vain for Jongdae among the crowd, when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. “Kyungsoo, my dear boy,” his father booms, and Kyungsoo lets his eyes drop closed for a second. He knows that tone, and he knows what is coming. It was silly of him to think that perhaps tonight he would be free of his parents' meddling. “There you are. I would like you to meet someone.”

“Lord Lim Hyunsik,” the man before him says, with a careful bow. “It is an honour to meet you, your highness.” He is soft-spoken, unremarkable, but he offers Kyungsoo a smile that pushes his eyes into crescents and tugs the corners of Kyungsoo's lips up in return.

“And you as well,” Kyungsoo replies, returning the bow. He is familiar with the name. The Lims are a wealthy family, and old, and they govern a great deal of land by the southern coast. It is far enough away that they do not often make the trip to the functions that his father holds, and this is the first time that Lord Lim has sent his son.

“Young Lord Lim has come a long way for the wedding,” his father says, and inwardly, Kyungsoo sighs. “Perhaps you could show him around. It is, after all, his first time at the castle since he was very young.” With another great thump of his hand, his father sweeps off, and Kyungsoo is left with a slightly befuddled-looking stranger.

Hyunsik ducks his head. “I would not wish to impose, your highness,” he says quickly. He is nervous, Kyungsoo sees. He fidgets with his hands, as though unsure where to put them, and he keeps smiling hesitantly. Not for the first time, Kyungsoo wishes that he were better with these types of things. Lim Hyunsik seems like a nice enough man, but Kyungsoo wants no part of this.

“No, no,” he says, his smile automatic. He raises his glass to his mouth. “It is perfectly alright. My father is a great King but when it comes to some things, he lacks a certain level of delicacy.”

Hyunsik laughs, but immediately moves to cover his mouth with a hand. “Oh, I do not think him indelicate,” he argues politely, and Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows. Of course he does not. Charming.

Kyungsoo raises a hand to summon a servant. He needs far more wine to deal with this conversation. “The ceremony was beautiful,” Hyunsik tries again. He says everything with that smile, and Kyungsoo cannot decide whether he finds his hesitation charming or not. As his glass is being refilled, Kyungsoo glances back at Yifan, standing a careful distance away, and widens his eyes pointedly. Yifan bites back a grin. “And, ah, you looked handsome as well. Green suits your colouring.” Kyungsoo turns back to Hyunsik, and the earnest tilt to his brows gives the compliment more credence.

“You are too kind, Lord Lim,” Kyungsoo demurs, but he can not help but feel a little bit pleased.

“You may call me Hyunsik, your highness,” Hyunsik says, and Kyungsoo acknowledges it with a nod. It is, perhaps, somewhat early to dispense with formalities, especially since Kyungsoo is a prince, but he has never much liked those anyway.

Lim Hyunsik, it seems, is not much of a conversationalist. The niceties done, he has run out of things to say. Over his wine glass, he catches sight of Hyunsik staring down at the ground, brow furrowed. He does not want to be a disappointment to the son of a King, it seems. It is too bad he does not know that this is not the son who needs to be impressed.

They stand in silence for a few more seconds, before Yifan steps up to his elbow. The relief that Kyungsoo feels is instant. “Your brother requires your presence, your highness.” He bows in apology to Hyunsik. Hyunsik nearly bows in response, but he catches himself just in time, and Kyungsoo presses a hand to his mouth to swallow back his laughter.

“I am sorry,” Kyungsoo says, “please do excuse me.” Hyunsik looks a little crestfallen. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He says it forcefully enough that Hyunsik meets his eyes once more. It is not Hyunsik's fault that Kyungsoo is poor with these meetings.

With a final smile, Kyungsoo heads off. He lets Yifan leads the way, because the Hall is crowded, and Kyungsoo cannot see his brother through the faces, familiar and strange. They make their way away from the noise, out of the centre of the castle. “Did Joonmyun say what he wanted?” he asks. Not that he is not grateful for his brother's timely request, but he cannot imagine what Joonmyun could want of him on a day that is supposed to be for him and his new wife.

At this, Yifan looks oddly apologetic. “No, sir,” he says, “because he did not say anything at all.”

Kyungsoo stops dead. The corridor they are in right now could lead many places, but it ultimately ends in the library wing. “I beg your pardon?”

“I lied, sir,” Yifan admits, and Kyungsoo's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He has spent months in Yifan's presence, but this is the first time that Yifan has ever given him reason to question his faith in him. “You looked...uncomfortable,” Yifan explains. He licks his lips. “I simply wished to give you an exit.”

Kyungsoo stares at Yifan for a moment, words lost. It is a great deal of initiative for a guard to take, and it is unexpected. “Bold,” he says, but Yifan does not flinch. Somehow, Kyungsoo is pleased by this. “But not unappreciated. Thank you, Yifan.”

“Of course, sir,” Yifan says.

Now, Kyungsoo finds himself with a dilemma. Protocol requires that he return to the celebration – he is the brother of the groom and a prince, his absence will be noted. Not only by others, but by his father, which will not go over well. Still, he has a moment to himself for the first time all day, a chance to breathe and not worry about whatever royal his parents are foisting on him now. It seems a shame not to take advantage of this.

“Come.” With an imperious jerk of his chin, Kyungsoo heads off decisively towards the library. A few moments will not hurt.

It is blessedly silent within the library walls, and Kyungsoo sighs happily. He has been swept up in preparations for the wedding for days now. The role he had played in the ceremony was small, but that did not mean that his presence was not required at rehearsals and dinners and meeting after meeting with Sunyoung's family. It has all been so very tiresome. “Did I look as though I needed a life preserver?” he asks, folding himself up into a chair. He takes care to keep dirt off his robes.

The way that Yifan tips his head and pauses before he replies speaks volumes. “No,” he insists. “I have spent a great deal of time with you, sir, and it is enough to know when you are uncomfortable.”

He has, Kyungsoo supposes. It is odd to think about, the fact that Yifan has only been a matter of months. He is such a fixture in Kyungsoo's life, from the minute he steps out of his door in the morning until he dismisses him at night. “It was no emergency,” Kyungsoo says. “This one seems nice enough.” Hyunsik, although nervous, was at least earnest. There have been worst beginnings than that.

“Yes, sir,” Yifan says. He is still standing at the doorway, ready as ever. Even when Kyungsoo gestures at the seat across from him, he waffles, glancing at the door and then back. Eventually, he does sit, but only at the edge of the chair, back straight and knees pressed together. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. It is a start.

They sit in silence, but this time it is comfortable. Yifan seems to have an endless capacity of patient attention, almost a novelty after having spent so long with Sehun. It is nice to feel no pressure to perform. One thing, however, is nagging at the back of his mind. It has been two weeks since they returned from Sunyoung's kingdom, and Kyungsoo has been half-expecting his father to summon him with questions about their encounter, but it never came. Yifan had kept his silence. “You never told anyone, did you?” Kyungsoo asks, though it is not really a question. “About what happened upon the ride.”

Yifan shakes his head. “You looked – ” His eyes dart up to meet Kyungsoo's. “You looked so very pleased, sir. I could not take that from you.”

Eyes wide, Kyungsoo looks at Yifan thoughtfully. He is proving himself very thoughtful today. Kyungsoo is used to people looking after him, a happy circumstance of his birth, but something about Yifan's care feels different, somehow. Perhaps he is over-thinking it. “Thank you,” Kyungsoo says. “That – it means a great deal to me.”

Yifan's smile is small and pleased, but it falters at the sound of someone's voice at the door. A servant, probably one of his father's, calling for Kyungsoo. “It seems we must return,” Kyungsoo sighs. He climbs to his feet once more, taking a minute to straighten himself out. When he looks up once more Yifan is toying with the stem of a flower from the vase on the table. It is one of Kyungsoo's few requests, the fresh flowers every day. Something to brighten room. “Yifan?”

It is a pink camellia, one of the first of the season, that Yifan holds out to him. Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow at him. “This one does not match,” he points out, voice gentle, but he takes the flower anyway, tucking the bloom into his sash. He would not have guessed that Yifan had an appreciation of flowers, but he is proving to have a good eye for them.

Appearance fixed, Kyungsoo heads once more to the door and as ever, Yifan follows. His father's servant startles as he pulls open the door eyes wide. “You have found me,” Kyungsoo tells the man. “I am coming, I am coming.” The man bows and says something about Kyungsoo's presence being required for a toast, and Kyungsoo lets him lead them back to the Great Hall, his fingertips brushing across the flower petals at his waist.







It takes Sunyoung no time at all to settle into life at their castle, and it takes Joonmyun even less time to settle into married life. While their father has already begun to demand even more of Joonmyun's time, ostensibly to prepare him to take the throne, Kyungsoo has never, ever seen his brother so happy. He is like a blushing teenager whenever he is around her, and now, at dinner, is no different.

He sits close, and when their mother asks him how his day has gone, he somehow always manages to speak well of Sunyoung and how she has been keeping busy. And she has been, which earns her points with Kyungsoo. Before the wedding, he had only ever spoken to her a couple of times, but Sunyoung has proven herself a very capable young woman. He has seen the way she listens to his mother, deferential and attentive, and she learns so quickly. A matter of weeks, and she has already stepped in to take control of the kitchen, as well as sitting in on council meetings with Joonmyun and their father. Sunyoung knows how to make herself useful, and Kyungsoo likes that. She will make a fine queen.

It is a good match, that is a certainty. And they only confirm that with each dinner, and with how Joonmyun smiles dreamily at Sunyoung until she laughs and hides her face. Even now, as Kyungsoo lifts his chopsticks to his lips, Joonmyun is holding out a piece of meat to Sunyoung. She colours, but she opens her mouth for the bite, looking amused. His father, surprisingly, simply smiles indulgently.

If Kyungsoo is honest with himself, he is a little bit wistful. How could he not wish for that kind of happiness? His brother has truly won the lottery. How often does a prince get to marry someone he cares about, and someone who is so obviously capable of helping him to run a country?

Kyungsoo is a practical man. He hopes for a union with someone he at least likes, but he also is not foolish enough to believe that lightning will strike twice. It is unlikely that in the field of potential spouses that his parents produce, he will find someone who suits him so completely, the way that Sunyoung suits Joonmyun.

He knows this. But as he sits and watches them – Joonmyun obviously resting a hand on her knee, the two of them turned to face each other, as though they are the only ones at the table – Kyungsoo cannot help the slow burn of envy in his gut.

Kyungsoo makes it halfway through the dinner before he excuses himself and stands, heading back to his chambers. He does not have much of an appetite, tonight.







“This was a very good idea,” Kyungsoo says. The days are becoming shorter, but there is still plenty of warm midday sun in the solarium where he sits. His tea is getting cool, but that is not important. What is most important is the company he has, and perhaps the biscuits that accompany the tea.

“Yes,” Yiyun agrees, not a hint of humility in her voice, “it was, was it not?”

This is, ostensibly, another one of his match-making meetings, though for once it is something Kyungsoo himself planned. Yiyun is the daughter of a diplomat, and she has spent many months on and off within his father's court. They have known each other for a very long time. Their long-standing friendship had made this lunch very, very easy.

“You should not be so smug,” Kyungsoo chides. “I am the one providing you with a delicious meal, you know.” He points a finger at her. “Hand-cooked. I do not do this for just anyone.”

Yiyun presses a hand to her chest. “Oh my,” she says, affecting a squeaky falsetto. “Your highness, are you saying I am special?” She bats her eyelashes, a parody of a type of femininity she has never had the patience for, and then she grins, all teeth. Kyungsoo adores her.

He favours her with a look of distaste over his lukewarm tea. “Hardly,” he sniffs. She punches him in the knee.

This lunch had indeed been Yiyun's idea. As the oldest daughter, and a woman slightly older than he is, she is more than familiar with the type of familial pressure he has been dealing with lately. They had decided to have tea under the pretense of seeing if a union between the two of them would work.

In a certain sense, perhaps it could. Yiyun is nothing like Sunyoung. She is loud when she should be soft, headstrong and unfeminine, all things that might be frowned upon in court but make her a far more interesting person than the majority of the people Kyungsoo encounters. He could do worse than to marry a friend, really.

“What if we did it?” he asks suddenly, leaning forward. His teacup sits in front of him and he slowly turns it with one outstretched finger. “What if we went to our parents and made known our intention to wed?”

Yiyun scrunches up her nose. “Kyungsoo, I love you dearly,” she says, “but must you make me bear your children?” She laughs. “Would you shut me away in your damp castle halls? Leave me with only your friends for company? If I had no one to speak to but Chanyeol, I think I would be as strange as you.”

“You need not sound so disgusted by the idea,” he scowls, but there has been no offense. He feels similarly, after all. His affection is genuine, but he is not sure it could be anything other than platonic.

The way she pats his knee is more condescending than calming. “I simply prefer my men a bit more...” She holds one hand up at eye level, and then raises it. “Well.”

“I am a prince,” Kyungsoo laughs. “Surely you do not mean to imply that there are better husbands than a prince.”

“Of course not,” she agrees. She takes a bite out of a pastry, sending crumbs ricocheting down into her lap. “But there are taller ones.”

Height has its appeal, Kyungsoo can agree with that. He takes no mind of Yiyun's jabs, however. He knows she means no harm, even if she has taken aim at a sore spot of his. “Do you think you are my ideal match?” he asks. “I myself prefer someone – ”

“More male?” she suggests, her grin wide and toothy.

“No,” Kyungsoo replies, “but someone with better table manners, certainly. Or even any at all. That would be lovely.” He flicks one of her crumbs back at her and raises his eyebrows pointedly.

Yiyun carefully brushes all of the mess from the table top into her hand and then stands. She holds her cupped hands over his lap and looks him straight in the eyes as she lets all of the crumbs fall onto his robes. “I am certain you will find the polite princess of your dreams,” she says.

“And you shall find your tall, slovenly prince,” he says in return, and she throws back her head as she laughs.

This lunch will buy neither of them much peace from their parents once it becomes clear that they never intend to wed. But it is nice, Kyungsoo thinks, to have tea with an old friend, someone who understands precisely what he struggles with now. He brushes the crumbs off his lap and reaches out once more, turning his tea cup with one finger.








Kyungsoo will never, ever understand how his brother has the capacity to sit through every one of these meetings. He is among the first to leave, bowing deeply at all of the ancient old men who must find their canes and lever their old bones out of their seats. Joonmyun, of course, catches him before he can make his mistake. “Thank you for coming today,” he says, wrapping one arm firmly around Kyungsoo's waist. “I always appreciate your input.”

“'Input'?” Kyungsoo laughs. “Is that what you call it?”

Joonmyun matches his step, squeezing his hip affectionately. “Do not underestimate the value of your presence,” he says. There are no advisors within earshot, and Joonmyun leans in, grinning mischievously. “You keep me awake, after all.”

“I think you have things reversed,” Kyungsoo tells him, and Joonmyun chuckles and waves him off. Always busy, his brother. He has so many duties, and he is not yet King.

Kyungsoo is left to his own devices once more. He does not even have Yifan to accompany him today. He had dismissed him this morning, certain he would be stuck in the council meeting most of the day, something he would not wish to inflict on anyone else, and now Kyungsoo is alone. It is still a little jarring.

He settles on going for a walk. Though he does not feel constrained by Yifan's presence any longer, there is still something very freeing about this. He pulls on thick robes and heads outside. The air is brisk and the weather taking a distinct turn towards winter now. Leaves crunch beneath Kyungsoo's feet as he wanders through the garden. The garden is usually a very quiet place, but now all he hears is the wind in the trees. It is very peaceful.

It is also a bit dull. Kyungsoo has dealt with very little to entertain him for hours, and though the changing colours of the leaves are very pretty, he is starting to feel uncomfortably chilly, and the novelty is once more wearing off.

Instead of heading straight indoors, Kyungsoo makes his way down to the training grounds. It is not foreign to him, he has had lessons here, lessons mostly abandoned as it became apparent that he was never growing any bigger and had no particular affinity for weaponry. Still, it has been a long time since he found himself at this particular end of the castle grounds.

The cold does not seem to have dampened the enthusiasm of those training out in the field. He recognizes many of the guards at practice – young Jongin with his coat stripped off fearlessly in the cold weather, Zitao with his twin blades and his almost inhuman grace – and his eyes fall upon Yifan. Of course, he must keep up with his training, or else he would be no use to Kyungsoo, but it is still odd to see him at work like this.

He knows that Zitao is from the same region as Yifan, and the two of them have an easy rapport. From his vantage point by the armoury, Kyungsoo can see them spar. Zitao is enthusiastic, letting out a shout with each jab and swing precisely aimed towards Yifan. As Yifan counters his attacks, Zitao calls out corrections or praise in their native tongue, his smile sharp and pleased. Yifan cannot possibly match Zitao's grace, but he does keep up, and Kyungsoo feels somehow proud.

Zitao brings his blade down once more and this time, when Yifan counters, he follows with a quick slash up with his blade. Zitao must jump to escape the swing, stretching his long body out of the way, and Yifan takes advantage of this, kicking at his knee. With a laugh, Zitao goes tumbling to the hard-packed dirt, and Yifan raises his sword in victory.

Yifan reaches down with his free hand to help Zitao to his feet, and that is when Kyungsoo realizes it. He has never seen Yifan with a friend. He has never seen him like this, loose-limbed and affectionate, that rare, childish smile upon his face as he slings one long arm around Zitao's shoulders. Kyungsoo is not certain how he feels about it, now that he knows about this side of Yifan that he is not party to.

Before he can move to leave, the two of them are brushing themselves off and heading back towards him, back towards the armoury. Zitao's eyes widen when he sees him and he drops into a bow almost instantly. “Your highness,” he says immediately. Yifan follows, a fraction of a second later.

“I did not know that you had an interest in combat training, your highness,” Yifan says. He slides his sword into his scabbard, brushing at the dirt that has accumulated on his knees and his palms, eyes trained upon the ground.

“I do not,” Kyungsoo replies frankly. “But you are very good, Zitao. Baekhyun is lucky that he has you to guard him.” Zitao colours, and Kyungsoo dismisses him with a nod.

He walks with Yifan to the armoury, their boots sounding loud upon the cobblestones. “And me, sir?” Yifan asks. He is formal once more, but Kyungsoo knows he is teasing. “Am I not any good?”

“Well,” Kyungsoo shrugs, “you show promise, I suppose.”

Yifan snorts, and he holds the door open wide for Kyungsoo to walk in first. “You honour me with your praise, your highness.”

Kyungsoo takes the only seat as Yifan unbuckles his scabbard, removing his sword to clean it. It is a practice weapon, nothing near as ornamental as Yifan's sword, but Yifan still treats it with respect. “Careful,” Kyungsoo tells him. “That sounds dangerously close to disrespect.”

As he runs a rag over the blade in his hands, the corner of Yifan's mouth turns up, though he says nothing. It is not fear that keeps him silent, not anymore, and this pleases Kyungsoo. If he must spend so much time with one person, he is glad that it is someone like Yifan, someone he gets along with.

“You came to watch me practice, sir.” It is not a question, not really, and hearing it spoken aloud makes Kyungsoo's ears turn red. He supposes it is not common. What prince spends his spare time watching his guard run through his training? Yifan does not mean to cause him embarrassment, though. He hangs up his sword and scabbard neatly and then his hands fall once more to the dirt on his pants, frowning a little.

“I did,” Kyungsoo agrees, “because as it turns out, even watching you wave a sword around is still far more entertaining than a bunch of old men sitting around a table.” He eyes Yifan defiantly, daring him to argue, but Yifan does not. He just straightens his jacket and meets Kyungsoo's gaze, eyes soft, and somehow, that is almost worse.

He stands in a rush and as always, Yifan follows when he makes his way back to the door. “Of course, sir,” Yifan says, and he may not be smiling, but he still looks pleased. Something about his expression sets off a sick roll in Kyungsoo's gut, a realization pushing at the back of his mind, and Kyungsoo is not sure he wishes to understand it. He is a prince, and he has had many years to learn the boundaries of what he can and cannot do. He feels, oddly, like he is spending too much time looking at what is out of his reach.

Yifan does not speak again as they make their way back to the heart of the castle, dutiful in his role though he is not wearing his uniform, but he has a certain lightness to his step. Kyungsoo does his best not to dwell on the fact that he knows Yifan well enough to understand him like this.







Kyungsoo is pleased to find that upon the second meeting, Hyunsik is far better company than he had first assumed. Of course, it had been his father who had pushed him to this lunch, but Kyungsoo is even enjoying himself, surprisingly enough. In a one on one setting, Hyunsik has proven himself remarkably capable of carrying a conversation.

“I am glad that you decided to stay at court,” Kyungsoo tells him, and he really does mean it. Their meal has been pleasant, much like Hyunsik himself. He is broad-shouldered, though not nearly as big as Yifan is, and he has this odd habit of hunching his shoulders forward, as though he is trying to fold himself up and become smaller than he is. He smiles at everything Kyungsoo says, wide and cheerful, every inch of it broadcast across his face.

“I did not think you would want me to,” Hyunsik admits, ducking his head. “I am not sure I have ever made such a poor impression upon anybody.”

“It was not that bad,” Kyungsoo reassures him. “Certainly not the stuff of legends.” His worst first impression still belongs to Jongdae. He had come to the library to dig up some documents for the diplomat he worked under, and had assumed that Kyungsoo was one of the staff. He had been haughty and imperious while Kyungsoo watched with faint amusement, until finally a librarian had hushed him, complete horror on her face. Jongdae had been unable to look him in the eye or speak to him for well over a month.

Hyunsik laughs. “That is a great relief,” he says. “I would hate for this second chance to be a waste.” What Kyungsoo finds so fascinating about him, is that nothing about his manner seems dishonest. He is earnest, he does want Kyungsoo to like him, but he wants Kyungsoo to like him. Not a prince. That is certainly appealing.

“Congratulations, you have redeemed yourself,” Kyungsoo says. At the door, Yifan shifts restlessly. “You are picking up court manners quickly. You will be ready to face large crowds and important lords in no time.”

“Ah, perhaps not the crowds,” Hyunsik replies. It is a sentiment that Kyungsoo understands very well himself. He thinks, that if nothing else comes of this meal then at least, he will have made a friend. Kyungsoo may not be the most open or friendly of people, but that does not mean he does not value those.

He stands and sweeps his robes straight with a quick movement of his hands. “Come,” he says impulsively. Both Yifan and Hyunsik's guard snap to attention, a movement almost comical because of the difference in their height. “Shall we go for a walk? Now that our lunch is done.”

In a surprising move, Hyunsik holds out an elbow for Kyungsoo to take. “I would like that, your highness,” Hyunsik agrees. Yifan makes a near inaudible noise in his throat as they pass through the doorway, and Kyungsoo shoots him a sharp look. There is a time and a place for initiative, and this is not it.

The garden is not nearly as impressive this time of year, but the staff still keep it well maintained, and Hyunsik exclaims over it as though the whole thing were still in full bloom. It is charming, in a way. He is trying very hard. Two steps behind them, Yifan remains silent and stony-faced, and Kyungsoo feels obscurely displeased.







When Kyungsoo enters the sitting room, he is greeted by the sight of three faces staring at him. “Do I have something on my face?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

“You are late,” Baekhyun says, his head tipped to one side. Next to him, Jongdae squints at Kyungsoo, examining him thoroughly from head to toe, and then back again. “You are never late.”

“Are we sure it is the real Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol asks in a stage whisper. “Perhaps he has been replaced by a changeling.” As one, he and Jongdae both lean in suspiciously. “What is your middle name?”

“Too easy,” Jongdae says dismissively. “When you were fourteen, what was the name of Yiyun's serving lady that you were in love with?”

Kyungsoo opens his mouth and then closes it. “No,” he says, holding out one finger at Jongdae. “No.”

Jongdae grins. “Never mind,” he says. “It is him.”

Rolling his eyes, Kyungsoo takes his seat. “I am not possessed,” he tells them. “Yes, I am late, please put your eyes back in your heads and pick your jaws up from the floor. These things do happen.”

“Not to you,” Chanyeol replies.

“I was busy,” Kyungsoo says briskly.

Baekhyun sets a teacup in front of him and pours. “What could possibly have kept you from tea with your nearest and dearest friends?”

Here, Kyungsoo hesitates. He could make up a story, of course, but once Baekhyun has scented blood, he can be impossible to shake. It is better to get it over with quickly. “I was with Lim Hyunsik,” he admits. “I must have lost track of time.”

Here it comes. Chanyeol laughs out loud, slapping one big hand down against Kyungsoo's knee as Baekhyun raises his eyebrows at him. “Lim Hyunsik?” Jongdae asks. “That is intriguing. Today is full of all sorts of exciting new things for you. Being late, meeting up with someone your parents wish you to marry more than once...”

“Are you certain you are not possessed?” Chanyeol asks.

“Enough!” Kyungsoo laughs, and he can feel the flush creeping up his cheeks. “I do not mind spending time with him, is that so wrong? If my parents think I might marry him, they do not foist anyone else on me. It gives me some freedom.”

“You like him!” Baekhyun accuses. “Praise the lord, Prince Kyungsoo has finally met someone he can stand being around.”

Pressing a palm to his forehead, Kyungsoo sighs. “You make me sound as though I were some intolerable monster.”

“Not intolerable,” Jongdae says, “Perhaps intolerant.” Kyungsoo does not bother to dignify it with a response. He is not that bad, truly. He can be perfectly approachable, if he wants to be. He just does not often want to be.

Chanyeol leans forward and props his chin up in one hand. “You like him,” he says. “Is he nice? I bet he has good table manners.”

“Is this one a winner?” Baekhyun asks. “Is this the one who will finally sweep you off into the sunset?”

Kyungsoo frowns. “Do I look like a damsel who needs to be swept off her feet?” he asks darkly, cheeks red. What is embarrassing about their words is not the teasing (Kyungsoo has thicker skin than that), but the fact that, well, they have a point. Kyungsoo does not make a habit of indulging any of the suitors that his parents present him with, and yet here he is, spending far too much time with one of them.

But Hyunsik is sweet, he is thoughtful and not terribly funny in a way that Kyungsoo finds unfortunately endearing. He is willing to sit with Kyungsoo as he reads, and will listen when Kyungsoo talks about the garden. He seems to genuinely care about the things that Kyungsoo values, and he does not have the arrogance that accompanies so many other members of the court. The truth is – it is tempting.

“Shall we prepare our speeches for the ceremony?” Jongdae asks, and Kyungsoo stuffs a cake in his mouth to shut him up. It is far too early to be speaking of anything like this, but Kyungsoo cannot keep the colour from his cheeks.

He is not in love, but this is the first time he has met someone and felt so hopeful.







“I can not believe that you agree to these walks in the cold,” Kyungsoo says. This is the third time he and Hyunsik have made their way around the garden, despite the weather and the lack of foliage. Hyunsik never complains, despite his southern upbringing, though he does wear a great thick coat with a fur collar, so big he is almost swallowed up in it.

“It is still lovely,” Hyunsik says. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and the tip of his nose too and Kyungsoo can not help but think he looks rather adorable. “And it is easy to see that this place is important to you.” His arm brushes up against Kyungsoo's as they walk, though he has not yet been brave enough to reach for Kyungsoo's hand. “That alone makes it worth bearing a bit of weather.”

Kyungsoo pauses, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. That is very sweet, he must admit. “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know,” he says, but Hyunsik just smiles that smile at him, and Kyungsoo knows he is not fooling him at all.

“My apologies,” Hyunsik says cheerfully. They have been spending a lot of time together over the past few weeks. Realistically, Hyunsik should have been ready to return to his home long ago, but he has lingered in the castle as the temperatures dropped, braving the winter to see Kyungsoo. It is very flattering indeed. “But I do mean it. “

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyungsoo can see Yifan, lips pressed tightly together and his strong brows furrowed. His displeasure is so uncharacteristically obvious that Kyungsoo turns to look at him for a second, frowning. He had thought that Yifan was more professional than that. “Thank you, Hyunsik,” Kyungsoo says, and he takes Hyunsik's arm. He had not thought it possible, but Yifan's scowl gets deeper. Kyungsoo smiles. “Even if you are just saying these things in order to land yourself a prince.”

Hyunsik sputters, but he lets Kyungsoo pull him along down the path as he fumbles for a response. He knows that is not the truth, of course. Hyunsik does not speak of marriage, nor of the power that Kyungsoo could pass to him, he is a perfect gentleman. He is not, perhaps, the most exciting, but he does know how to eat his dinner without making a mess. Surely that makes up for it.

“You do not really believe that, do you?” Hyunsik asks finally, eyes wide. “Kyungsoo, I do not – ”

Yifan actually snorts in disdain, and Kyungsoo lashes back blindly with one hand. It thwacks satisfyingly into Yifan's belly, and Kyungsoo does not regret it for a second. Yifan is Kyungsoo's guard, not an audience. He did not ask for Yifan's reactions. “Of course not,” Kyungsoo pats Hyunsik's arm absently.

Throughout the rest of the walk, and when they return to the castle, Yifan remains blessedly silent. Kyungsoo is glad, because Yifan is becoming a little too judgemental for a guard. If Kyungsoo wishes to hear his opinion, he will ask for it. Hyunsik may not be a terribly interesting person, but Kyungsoo enjoys his company. Is that not enough?








“Young Lord Lim made a formal offer of proposal last night,” his father tells him over breakfast a week later. It is something that Kyungsoo has been expecting for quite some time now, really. No matter how genuine Hyunsik may be, Kyungsoo has no illusions about where their time spent has been headed. He is just not certain what his feelings are on the matter. “I expect he will ask you shortly.” As though Kyungsoo were not already feeling enough pressure, his father levels a very pointed stare at him. “You must decide how you will reply.”

Kyungsoo knows better than to engage his father, and he has no wish to discuss this with him, so all he does is bow his head over his plate. “Of course. Thank you, father.” He is grateful, after all. At least he has had advance warning. He will have time to think. Under the table, Joonmyun bumps his heel companionably against Kyungsoo's ankle, drawing his eyes up once more, and then he smiles at him. His brother does try so hard.

He does not plan to see Hyunsik until the evening, so Kyungsoo can be certain he has the day. He needs it, he thinks. Yifan finds him after breakfast, but wisely, he does not speak. Instead, he follows dutifully as Kyungsoo makes his way to the library, pulls out the thickest, driest tome he can find on the history of the kingdom. He leads them to the very furthest corner of the library, settles into a chair, and pretends to read.

He thinks, perhaps, that were he to say yes, it would not be so bad. Hyunsik cares for him, that much is certain, and he is very genuine. Kyungsoo likes that about him, and he must admit, he appreciates his bright smile, too, and his shoulders. He turns the page and frowns down at it, but he is not reading a word.

He knows all this. Hyunsik is a lovely man. He is also a wealthy one, which of course makes him a star in the eyes of Kyungsoo's parents. As much as he would like to pretend that it is not true, that is important. Hyunsik would be a perfect match. That is certain.

And yet... Kyungsoo sighs, and he does not need to look up to know that Yifan is watching him. And yet, all he feels is a distant sense of affection. Perhaps it could change, perhaps he could learn to feel the kind of attraction that, well, he wants.

Perhaps.

“Yifan,” he says finally, breaking the silence. “Hyunsik is going to ask me to marry him.” Yifan goes suddenly, utterly rigid, and Kyungsoo knows for sure how Yifan feels. It makes this question a bit cruel, but oddly enough, Yifan is one of the only people that Kyungsoo trusts implicitly. He needs to speak to someone about it. “What do you think I should do?”

He can see the way that Yifan's jaw works as he clenches his teeth. “I think,” he says, and he sounds shaky, “I think you should do what makes you happiest, your highness.”

Kyungsoo has been feeling tense since morning, but seeing this, the effect he has on Yifan, it makes Kyungsoo's chest tighten. “Yifan,” he says, though it comes out almost like pleading. He is not certain what he is pleading for.

“If he makes you happy, then you should choose him,” Yifan tells him. It is so strange, to see Yifan so flustered, and to know that he is the cause of it. “I want you to be happy.” He swallows. “Sir.”

He is not certain what prompts him to fix his eyes upon Yifan so steadily, until Yifan clenches his fingers and speaks. “I want you to be happy,” he says quietly, ever conscious of where they are. “But.” He meets Kyungsoo's gaze. “But I am a bit in love with you, sir. Perhaps I am biased.”

Even if he had known it, hearing the words aloud still shock Kyungsoo into silence. If he had not pressed his hands into his lap he is certain they would be trembling. He is not certain what this emotion is, somewhere between utterly pleased and despairing.

When Kyungsoo does not reply, Yifan ducks his head. “I am sorry, your highness,” he says. “Forgive me, please, I spoke out of turn.” He is staring at the floor, hands folded together and gripped so tightly his knuckles are white.

“No,” Kyungsoo says, too fast, he knows. Yifan is watching him, eyes terrible and hopeful, and Kyungsoo feels just a little bit sick. “It is fine, Yifan.” It is not fine, but Kyungsoo is a prince. He may have a very many fine things but in the end, he must think of his place, not what he wants. He must not want a guard, one without wealth or much standing. He must not. “Thank you for answering honestly.”

It is not the answer Yifan wishes to hear, and all of his courtly graces cannot prevent his face from falling, if only for a second. “Of course, your highness,” Yifan replies. The anything for you goes unspoken, but Kyungsoo still feels it as though the words echo in the room.

Yifan pulls himself straight, face stoic once more, and Kyungsoo lets his eyes drop to his book. Yifan's answer has simultaneously simplified things and made them all much more complicated.

Kyungsoo sits, bent over his book, for several more minutes, until Yifan clears his throat abruptly. “I am sorry, your highness,” he says. “But I must – ” He looks at the door.

A guard does not get to tell his prince when he leaves, but Kyungsoo believes that these, perhaps, are extenuating circumstances. “I think I can do without your services today,” Kyungsoo says gently.

Yifan nods. “I will send for Sehun,” he says. Kyungsoo needs no supervision, he is not certain anyone could find him today unless they knew where to look, but he does not argue. At least Sehun will not bother him while he thinks.

Kyungsoo offers Yifan a smile, one he fights to return, and then looks down at the page in front of him. The words blur together, but he is not focused. It does not help anything when Yifan hesitates before he leaves, pulling something from inside his jacket and laying it on the table in front of him. A rose. Red, and a little flat from where it has been tucked into Yifan's jacket. Kyungsoo had thought the roses in the solarium were ready to bloom, and this has been carefully clipped. Yifan was waiting, it seems, for the right moment.

Kyungsoo looks up, but Yifan has already gone. Rubbing a petal between his fingers, Kyungsoo stares down at the flower. It is beautiful, indeed.

He spends the rest of the day in his corner in the library, long hours with the heavy tome in his lap, until the sun goes down. Before he leaves, he meticulously removes the stem of the rose and arranges the petals so he can press it flat between the pages of the book.







It is only two days later that Hyunsik proposes. It is nothing showy, nor dramatic. They are in the sunroom, having tea, when Hyunsik slides out of his seat and drops to one knee in front of Kyungsoo. He reaches for Kyungsoo's hand, and Kyungsoo lets him take it. “Prince Kyungsoo,” Hyunsik says, and Kyungsoo's heart drops into the floor, “will you grant me the honour of your hand in marriage?”

He smiles up at Kyungsoo, so hopeful, and Kyungsoo brushes his thumb across Hyunsik's knuckles. He has had two days to think, but he has long since made up his mind. “I am sorry, Hyunsik,” he says, as delicately as he can. “But I cannot say yes.”

He has spent much time with Hyunsik over the past few weeks, and he has gotten to know him reasonably well. It is why he cannot do this. He likes Hyunsik, is very fond of him and his sweet smile, but that is all. It would be a dishonesty to enter into a marriage when he knows that his feelings do not match Hyunsik's.

The distress on Hyunsik's face and the way his shoulders droop make Kyungsoo's heart clench. “Please,” Kyungsoo says, and he pulls at Hyunsik's wrist until he gets to his feet once more. “It is no shortcoming of yours.”

Seated once more, Hyunsik folds his hands in his lap. He keeps his hands to himself. “Might I ask, then, your highness?” he says softly. His shoulders are hunched in, and Kyungsoo cannot tell if he is expecting a blow, or attempting to hide himself away.

How can he explain this, though? How does he tell a man that he just does not feel the way he wants to? “It would not be fair to you,” Kyungsoo says, and that is when Hyunsik breaks, the hurt written all across his face. Kyungsoo aches for him, but it only steels his resolve. He could not give Hyunsik what he needs from him.

He knows it will only hurt worse, if he tries to help now. Placation and gentle hands will only cut Hyunsik deeper, and so he does nothing. “I am sorry, truly,” he says, and Hyunsik just nods.

“I understand,” Hyunsik says, and though he sounds nearly miserable, Kyungsoo knows he means it. He is a very good man, Lim Hyunsik, and for a moment he wonders what it would have been like had he said yes.

Hyunsik does not linger, and Kyungsoo would not ask him to. The smile he turns in Kyungsoo's direction is a mere shadow of its normal self, but Kyungsoo will take it, nonetheless. It is selfish of him, but he hopes that they can remain friends, that someday Hyunsik will return to court and they can speak again, but he knows that now is not the time to think of this.

He sits alone in the sunroom with his cold tea until his brother finds him. “Is there any reason why Lord Lim is making preparations to return to his home, and looks as though you kicked his puppy?” he asks gently. He frowns for a second. “Or why Sehun was sent to your post a few days ago? It is not that I do not appreciate a break from the boy, but.”

Kyungsoo musters up a laugh. His brother is trying, and he does appreciate it. “Father is not going to be happy with me,” he sighs.

The hug Joonmyun pulls him into is somewhat awkward, but warm and needed. “Perhaps not,” Joonmyun agrees. He pats the back of Kyungsoo's neck. “But I have no doubt you did the right thing.”

“You sound like our tutor,” Kyungsoo grumbles, and Joonmyun beams at him.

“But I am right, am I not?” he says.

“You have a great deal of faith in me,” Kyungsoo tells him. It is hard to feel like he has made the best choice when he feels the way that he does right now.

There is movement at the doorway, and Kyungsoo turns to see Yifan standing there. He has not seen him since his confession two days ago, and it is a relief to see him once more. “I do,” Joonmyun agrees. He gives Kyungsoo once last pat and pulls away. “But as it turns out, I have known you a very long time. I am something of an expert in Prince Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo snorts and presses a hand to his forehead. “And you are to be the King?” he says. “Is royalty even allowed to be so unbearably silly?”

“There it is, there is that smile,” Joonmyun says. He pats Kyungsoo's cheek. “I am not the only one who has spent long years being trained in court manners and diplomacy, Kyungsoo. You did the right thing.”

It is sweet of his brother to say, but it does not alleviate the weighty feeling in Kyungsoo's gut. “I am glad to know that our father's training paid off.”

Joonmyun lays his arm around Kyungsoo's waist and squeezes him quickly. “And you did the right thing for you, too,” he says quietly. “You will meet someone who makes you happy.”

Kyungsoo groans and colours. “Hyung,” he grumbles, though it eases the tightness in his ribs. Joonmyun has a coronation to prepare for, and instead he is in the solarium with his younger brother, and holding his hand.

“I promise you that,” Joonmyun says. “There is someone who will be that person for you.” His words sound pointed.

“You sound like a dreamy maiden,” Kyungsoo tells him. “Shall I look into a mirror at midnight on a full moon to see my true love's visage? Is that what you suggest?”

Joonmyun shakes his head. “No, it is a pool, not a mirror.”

“Have I been doing it wrong all this time?” Kyungsoo asks.

With a final squeeze, Joonmyun lets him go. “I have an advisor's meeting, but I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says. His eyes flick to the doorway and then back again. “But I am not worried.”

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says. He means it to come across as dry, but he mostly sounds sincere. It just makes Joonmyun light up and pinch his cheek. Kyungsoo swats his hand away, scowling. His brother is an embarrassment.

Joonmyun leaves with a nod to Yifan and Kyungsoo must admit that he feels a little better. At the door, Yifan dips his head in a quick bow, and then he smiles, and Kyungsoo is certain he has never been more glad to see that sight.







“Kyungsoo!” he looks up from where he's been bent over a fruit pie in the kitchen, placing the crust with Ryeowook. Sunyoung sweeps in, a huge smile on her face. “Just who we were looking for!” Her hair is pulled up away from her face in a simple way, and a smudge of dust across her cheekbone. “Come, come!”

She grabs his wrist and tugs him away, uncaring of the flour on his hands. “My pie,” he protests, but she looks so excited and bright, that he lets her pull him away. A pie can wait but this, whatever it is, cannot.

“It can be a celebratory pie,” she tells him. She hooks her arm in his and laughs. “Oh, I am so happy.”

Kyungsoo snorts and pats her hand. “I do not doubt that,” he says. “But what is this about?”

They round a corner and he nearly collides with Joonmyun. “Brother!” Joonmyun says, seizing Kyungsoo by the forearms. He spins them around in a circle and whoops. “We have news!”

It takes a few seconds for Kyungsoo to extricate himself from his brother's embrace. “Enough!” he says. “Please tell me what it is, I am dying to know.”

Sunyoung clasps one of his floury hands in hers. “We are going to have a baby,” she says.

It takes a few seconds for the news to sink in, and then Kyungsoo's eyes widen. “I am to be an uncle?” he asks. He cups Sunyoung's face in his hands before he realizes he is getting flour all over her, and then he pulls her into a hug. “I am so happy for the two of you!”

Joonmyun launches himself at the both of them, pulling all of them together. “I am going to be a father,” Joonmyun says against Kyungsoo's face. “A father.”

Joonmyun will make an excellent father, Kyungsoo knows. He has always been good with children, whether they be the children of diplomats or of the staff in the kitchen. He will do well. “I know,” he says, “and I could not be happier.”

Of course, Joonmyun becoming a father means that Joonmyun will have an heir. It is only a matter of time now before they begin to make arrangements for the crown to be passed. Kyungsoo is not certain that Joonmyun has thought past the joy of his new child, but now Kyungsoo is thinking. His brother will be King. That feels enormous.

“You are the first we have told,” Sunyoung says, cleaning the flour from her cheeks with a sleeve. She grips his hand. “We will make the announcement soon, I am sure, but the physician says it is a certainty.” She lights up and Joonmyun wraps his arms around her, the two of them sporting matching smiles. Their happiness is contagious, and Kyungsoo cannot help but to grin back.

“I am honoured,” Kyungsoo says, and he watches the way that Joonmyun presses one hand flat over Sunyoung's belly. He looks as though he has won the lottery. “I should hope this means I am to be the godfather.”

“I could think of no one better,” Joonmyun replies.

With another round of congratulations (and a very enthusiastic set of kisses on each cheek from Joonmyun), the two of them are off once more to break the news to the King and Queen. Kyungsoo returns to his pie with Ryeowook, only laughing when Ryeowook regards him with obvious curiosity. His brother is to be a father. He has not heard such good news for a long time.







His brother is not a big man, but when Joonmyun lifts his head high with the crown upon his brow, he looks like a giant. He moves with far more grace than Kyungsoo had expected as he takes his seat on the throne, Sunyoung at his side. It makes sense, this is what Joonmyun has spent his entire life working towards, patiently and thoroughly, and it is very gratifying to see this pay off.

Of course, their father may have stepped down, but he will not retire. Kyungsoo has no doubt that he will use his position as an advisor to steer Joonmyun with a heavy hand on a path of his choosing, but the kingdom is Joonmyun's now. That feels so monumental.

After the ceremony, Kyungsoo grips Joonmyun's hand tightly. “I am so proud of you, hyung,” he says. He touches his fingertips gently to the gold crown. “Even if it will be years before father lets you make a decision on your own. You are a King.”

“The King,” Joonmyun says, puffing up his chest and laughing. “I am glad I have you here, you know.”

Kyungsoo laughs. “What use could I possibly be?”

“You are invaluable,” Joonmyun says firmly. “You are my brother, Kyungsoo, you are the one person who understands what it is like to be a prince and a son of our father.”

Kyungsoo barks out a laugh, and he is glad that their father is occupied on the other side of the hall, speaking to some dignitary from the north. “Then I am glad to be of service,” he says.

A newly crowned King is a popular one, and Joonmyun is soon pulled away, leaving Kyungsoo on his own. His favourite activity, of course, being left to his devices in a crowd full of political types. Fantastic.

He had come with Yifan, as always, but he had somehow lost him during the ceremony. He is unconcerned, of course, he is certain that he will not come to harm in a crowded room on the day of his brother's coronation, but still.

He finds Yifan nearby, easily within eyesight, especially with his height. He does not expect to find him with company, though. Lady Hwang Miyoung is with him. Kyungsoo blinks a little, taken aback. He had forgotten what exactly Yifan had come to court for, if he is honest. This is good, though. Lady Miyoung is sweet and charming, known for her philanthropy, and very, very pretty. He can tell that Yifan likes her, too. He leans in when she speaks, and he is far more relaxed than Kyungsoo has seen him in weeks. He smiles, and Kyungsoo hesitates.

Instead of summoning Yifan, he goes to find his friends. He lets Chanyeol hook an arm around his shoulders and pull him in, listening to Yiyun telling a story about the last girl her mother had introduced her to. He is spending a great deal of time making the Right Choices, he feels. Surely this will endear him to powers that be and earn him some kind of medal.

Yifan does not return to his side until dinner, and Kyungsoo is not disappointed, he is not. Lady Miyoung is a lovely girl, one who would do well for Yifan and his family. If she is showing an interest in him, he should pursue that opportunity. Everyone should be happy.

And everyone is. His brother has the heir to the kingdom on the way, and he has just been crowned ruler. Baekhyun has finally managed to get Lady Seohyun to remember what his name is. And now Yifan, too. Today is a good day, and Kyungsoo is a prince, and he does not feel jealousy. Yifan smiles at him from the doorway, and Kyungsoo's stomach clenches. He does not.







Kyungsoo has had a great deal of practice with keeping himself busy. Now that his brother is King and his father has stepped down, he has far more time to fuss about Kyungsoo's future instead. This has lead him to a great many meals with a great many people he did not already know. Tonight, at least, it is a ball, and though he must entertain someone, at least it is not one on one. Lady Minah is no trouble to entertain, either. She has more energy than Chanyeol, even, and though Kyungsoo is no dancer, she does not seem to mind that, dragging him out to the floor with her. She seems to have no qualms about asking him to do whatever she wants with a bat of her eyelashes, and he finds it oddly refreshing. Not many would be so willing to tug on a prince's sleeve and beg him to dance.

She is a good dancer, too, lively and passionate, and it startles Kyungsoo to realize that he is actually enjoying this. “Do not look so surprised, your highness!” she exclaims. She does a spin, her robes flaring out around her, and Kyungsoo's mouth goes a little dry. Perhaps tonight will turn out well. “Even princes are allowed to enjoy themselves.”

“Some princes abandoned dance lessons once they proved useless,” he replies, and she giggles at that. She has a lovely smile.

He can see Yifan at the edge of the dance floor, carefully positioned so he can keep an eye on Kyungsoo. He is doing his best to look stoic but Kyungsoo's eyes widen when he realizes that it is not him that Yifan is watching with slightly narrowed brows, it is Minah. He does not like her, Kyungsoo realizes. This should not please him, and yet somehow it does.

“Alright,” Minah says. “I will not torture you any longer. Come, you may get me a drink.” This is only the first time they have met, and Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows at her boldness. It is interesting, but he can not decide if he likes it or not, not yet. She is very different, he will give her that.

“Yes, my lady,” he says dryly, as he is dragged back to their table and she stops to look back at him.

“Forgive me, your highness,” she says, all apologies, and she dips her head. “I have never met a prince before, and tonight, I have one all to myself. I must admit, it is a bit overwhelming.”

Sometimes, Kyungsoo must remind himself that he is not the only one being set up in these situations. Perhaps Minah has no inclination to wed, and yet she is here upon the behest of her family. He must try harder. She is sweet and pretty and charming, if a bit enthusiastic, a bit like Chanyeol is. Enough so, in fact, that he is not certain if introducing the two of them would lead to a great friendship or something great and terrible. There are worse people to spend an evening with.

“There has been no offense,” Kyungsoo assures her. They sit down at the table, and Kyungsoo glances up to meet Yifan's eyes. Yifan raises his eyebrows, a clear question, and he is glad, at least, that this time Yifan is asking before acting. Kyungsoo replies with a quick shake of his head. He does not need to be rescued this time.

Lips tight, Yifan nods briskly, and then he draws up his shoulders, the picture perfect guard once more. Kyungsoo exhales through his nose and then he turns back to Minah, smiling and pouring her wine. He refuses to let tonight turn sour.







“Ah, our new King taking time out of his busy schedule to take tea with his lowly brother,” Kyungsoo says, and Joonmyun rolls his eyes and laughs. “I feel ever so honoured.”

“Enough,” Joonmyun says, waving a hand. “You know I will never be too busy to spend time with you.”

He is, though Kyungsoo could never complain. His brother is the ruler of a very large kingdom, and a newlywed as well. When his child is born, Kyungsoo does not doubt that what little time Joonmyun has to himself will be eaten up. And that is not something Kyungsoo could ever begrudge him. Joonmyun has worked hard his entire life, studied every subject that could help him to be a better ruler, and now it is coming to fruition. Kyungsoo could not be prouder.

He does miss Joonmyun sometimes, though. He believes that it is his job as his brother to make Joonmyun's life difficult anyway. “Such pretty words,” he teases, and Joonmyun groans and throws his napkin at Kyungsoo.

“The truth, troublemaker,” he corrects. “Besides, it is nice to take a break from all the diplomatic meetings. If I must make conversation about our grain exports one more time, I may lose my mind.” He smiles. “You are an oasis of calm from my kingly duties.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head sadly. “I am very glad you have a speechwriter,” he tells Joonmyun. “You would be dethroned in an instant if they allowed you to speak for yourself.”

“I changed my mind,” Joonmyun says. “You may drink your tea on your own.”

“Please stay,” Kyungsoo laughs. “I will even let you eat the last pastry.”

“How thoughtful.” He is being sarcastic, but that does not stop Joonmyun from snatching the last pastry. “I am surprised you could squeeze me in yourself, brother, you seem to have very little time yourself lately.”

“Do I?” Kyungsoo asks, deliberately casual. He knows what Joonmyun is referring to – Minah. The ball was an admittedly rocky beginning, but Kyungsoo had liked her well enough to invite her to lunch. She was still full of energy and giggled at everything Kyungsoo said, but he liked her spark. And so, he had invited her to a walk in the garden. The first spring flowers were blooming, and she showed a surprising interest in them, bending to smell the flowers and delighting over the colour. After that walk, well, there had been many other meetings on many other days. It is a pleasant way to while away the beginning of spring.

“You are,” Joonmyun says, fixing him with a pointed stare. “With a certain young Lady Bang Minah.”

He is not going to let Kyungsoo free without discussing this, it seems. “I suppose I am,” he says.

“Is that it?” Joonmyun asks. He carefully sets down his teacup and pushes it aside. “While I appreciate you doing your best to appease our parents with these match-making dates, it is not like you to, well. Spend time with strange people instead of your books.”

“I do not like what you are implying,” Kyungsoo sniffs. “I am perfectly capable of greeting new people.”

Joonmyun shakes his head. “And of avoiding my question,” he says gently.

Of course, his brother has always had an uncanny ability to pin him down. “It is nothing monumental,” Kyungsoo says. “I enjoy her company and I am merely...exploring to what capacity I enjoy it.”

“You like her,” Joonmyun says. “Do you not?”

“I do,” Kyungsoo admits. Minah is entirely different from Hyunsik, but what he dreads is the way that something feels so very similar about this. She is pretty and lively, but he still – he is not certain.

Joonmyun lays a hand over Kyungsoo's. “I know, it is hard to let yourself go,” he says. “Especially since these matches make everything seem a bit, well, artificial.” He squeezes Kyungsoo's fingers. “Our father may have a heavy hand, but he also has our best interests at heart, and sometimes, he can choose well.”

“I know this,” Kyungsoo says. Minah is, of course, a good match. While her family is new to their status, they have a great deal of wealth to accompany it, and she spent much of her childhood training alongside her father and helping manage her family's lands. She would be a capable wife, and one he enjoys spending time with.

Joonmyun regards Kyungsoo steadily. “You must learn to take some risks, brother,” he says. “I know you enjoy your solitude, but you must learn to open yourself up. You will never be happy with any match you get until you do.”

A speechwriter would never have let Joonmyun say that to him, but Kyungsoo knows that it is heartfelt. “You sound silly,” Kyungsoo tells him, “but thank you.”

“I speak from experience, after all,” Joonmyun says. “I want that kind of happiness for you.” He looks blissful, and as much as that sends a tiny pang of jealous through him, Kyungsoo cannot be anything but happy for him. “You like her. Perhaps this time, you do like her enough?”

“You could be right,” Kyungsoo says. He toys with his teacup and pushes a smile onto his lips. Everyone just wants what is best for him. Somehow, that feels like a great deal of pressure. “Thank you for this. I have missed you, you know.”

“And I you,” Joonmyun replies. “This has been all too brief, but alas, I must go. Duty calls.” As always, he refuses to leave before he pulls Kyungsoo into a tight hug. “Think on my words. I know you will not regret it.”

His brother, ever the positive one. He has always had such faith that Kyungsoo will make the right decisions. Kyungsoo is not certain it is so well-placed.







When Kyungsoo stumbles for the third time in ten minutes, he has to stop and laugh. “I think,” he says, “that you may have to give up hope.”

Minah does not let go of Kyungsoo's hand. “Nonsense,” she says cheerfully. “You simply do not want it enough.” She waves the fingers of her free hand at the woman at the piano in the corner. “Again, please!” she trills.

Dance lessons are not Kyungsoo's idea of a good time, and the instant his parents had agreed to let him, he had abandoned them. It is not that he is hopeless, more that he is not particularly inclined nor interested in it. He has better things to do. Minah seems to have a different idea, however. She seems determined to teach him how not to embarrass her. “Come, Kyungsoo!” she trills. “There is a dancer trapped within you, I am certain of it.”

They begin the routine once more, and Kyungsoo must admit, he finds her enthusiasm infectious. She does not make him feel silly for his missteps, and she leads him with featherlight fingers on his wrists. She is good at this, he thinks. “And all I must do is let him out?”

As ever, Yifan remains by his post at the door. It amazes him that Yifan could be so unprofessional, but he is no longer even bothering to hide it. He stares at their linked hands and scowls as though Minah has personally wronged him, and Kyungsoo should really be focused on her, but. Yifan's obvious jealousy is somehow so pleasing. It is unfair to think this way, of course – Yifan is not his – but that does not mean that he cannot enjoy this.

“Kyungsoo?” Minah says, and Kyungsoo's head snaps back to her. Had he been staring? His gut shifts unpleasantly. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

Minah is pretty and charming, willing to ask for what she wants, entirely focused on him, and Kyungsoo is too busy making eyes at his guard to even listen to her speak. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks and he turns away. “We have been working very hard,” he says. “I have worked up a great thirst.”

There's a faint roaring in his ears. He knows now, that it does not matter who his parents introduce him to. He had tried with Hyunsik, and now with Minah, but the ultimate problem is not them – it is him. His brother believes he must open himself up, that he is afraid, but that is not the issue. Kyungsoo cannot give his heart away because he already has. There is a lump in his throat that he cannot swallow back.

He risks a glance towards Yifan, and he must read something in Kyungsoo's face, because the scowl is gone in an instant, replaced with concern. He tips his head forward, brows creasing, asking wordlessly if he would like a rescue. It almost makes Kyungsoo want to laugh. It is not Minah he needs to be saved from.

There is something very frustrating about this. Kyungsoo raises his water glass to his mouth and keeps his eyes fixed upon the floor. He is not a suitable match. He is a guard, he is not wealthy and he cannot provide Kyungsoo with an heir, and Kyungsoo's parents will never approve. But if Kyungsoo is honest with himself, those are not things that matter to him. Yifan understands him, better than a great many people he has met, and he is thoughtful and kind and he will not even kill bees. No matter what his head has said, his heart has long since made the decision.

That alone means that he cannot let this flirtation go on any longer. Regardless of what he decides to do about that, he will not hurt anyone with dishonesty. “Come, Kyungsoo,” Minah says again, ever cheerful. “The man I marry will not be a poor dancer.” It is precisely the same sort of thing she has been saying for a while now, flirtatious and a little bit hopeful, and it makes Kyungsoo close his eyes so as not to wince.

He sets down his water and he turns to her. “I am certain he will not be,” he says gently. He looks at her steadily, so she cannot mistake his intent. Her face falls. “After all, you have a very strong will.”

Minah blinks. “Is that – ”

“No,” Kyungsoo shakes his head. He hesitates, but she lets him reach for her hand and hold it between his. “No, there is not a thing wrong with you.” He can feel Yifan's eyes on his back, weighing on him. “Please forgive me, but I do not think this will end in a royal wedding.”

There are many things about being matched with a potential spouse, but one benefit is that both parties understand that this is an arrangement that may not work out. He is also a prince, and one does not argue with a prince. “I must admit,” Minah says, “I am a bit disappointed.” She smiles at him.

“Even with my two left feet?” he asks. With a final squeeze, he lets her go.

“I think that perhaps we should cut this lesson short,” she says, and he does not attempt to stop her. It would be selfish of him, after all. He knows that she likes him, but it is not the same as with Hyunsik, and for that, he is glad. He does not wish to hurt anyone. “I had a very nice time,” she tells him.

“As did I,” Kyungsoo replies, and then she walks out.

It is scary, to see her leave. He cannot help but wonder if he is making a mistake. He could be happy with someone like Minah, he is certain. It would not be an earthshattering kind of happy, no, not the type of joy that would make his heart stutter, but he could be content. Each time he says no, he is turning the security that comes with that type of marriage. After all, he is royalty. A loveless marriage is nothing out of the ordinary.

But Kyungsoo is a little bit selfish, and he cannot help but want more than that. He would like to marry someone who makes him feel more than that. Someone like Yifan.

He does not attend dinner that evening, though he knows that it will only excite his father's curiosity, but he is not yet willing to break the news. He can take this one night to himself.

The garden is beautiful at night. The only light comes from the castle windows, which seem so far off, and the lantern in Yifan's hand. He has been avoiding speaking to Yifan and even looking at him, as though frightened that he will know. It is not an easy thing, these feelings. Kyungsoo is a very grounded person, he likes his books and his garden because they are reasonable and predictable and they do not require an emotional investment. The most danger in the garden is a turned ankle and bees. This is a far cry from that.

“Sir?” Yifan asks. Kyungsoo flinches, blinking up at him. He had been so lost in thought that he had forgotten he was there. “May I speak candidly?”

“Of course,” Kyungsoo says without hesitation. “You know that.”

Yifan licks his lips and shifts his grip on the lantern. “You like her, sir. Why did you turn her down?”

Kyungsoo has a chance right now to speak honestly. After all, Yifan had confessed to him. Does Kyungsoo not owe him the same? Yet...Kyungsoo has lived a very charmed life. He has always had people to look after him and to take care of the petty annoyances of life. He has very little occasion to feel fear, and right now, he is terrified. He is supposed to meet a nice man or woman, one of appropriate standing, and if they could give his parents a particular political alliance, that would be an added benefit.

On one hand, it is a rush, knowing that all he needs to do is reach out and Yifan would take his hand. And is that not what he wants? On the other hand, he knows that Yifan is not the most courageous of men. He may stand tirelessly at Kyungsoo's side, and the flowers are sweet, but beyond confessing his feelings, he has not yet taken initiative.

He swallows hard. Kyungsoo is a prince. Must he do everything himself? “I could not marry her,” he says simply. Yifan does not speak, just watches him. “It would be unfair to her, because I am in love with someone else.”

His breath catches in his throat when Yifan's mouth falls open, that terrible hope returned. Yifan's mouth works for a few seconds before he closes it. Kyungsoo waits and he waits. “Wise, sir,” he says finally, and Kyungsoo must bite back his disappointment. He is not certain what he had expected, surely not for Yifan to drop to one knee right here in the dirt, among the fireflies and the trees. That seems less romantic and more impulsive and faintly unsanitary.

“I thought so,” Kyungsoo laughs weakly. He drags his toe in the dirt and sighs. He is getting very good at this, at scaring away all of his prospective suitors. Perhaps he should work on it.

“It is getting cold, sir,” Yifan says, and though Kyungsoo is not particularly inclined to let his guard push him around, he knows he is right. It is not yet late enough in the spring, the nights are still long and cool, and he should not linger. Still, he likes the peace of the garden, and he is loathe to leave it. “We should return.” Kyungsoo nods in acknowledgement, but before he can get to his feet once more, Yifan is holding out one large hand to him. His grip is firm and warm, and Kyungsoo feels somewhat lightheaded.

“Thank you, Yifan,” Kyungsoo says softly, and Yifan offers him a smile. It is unfair, how just his smile can set Kyungsoo's heart fluttering in his chest even more than before.

“Of course, sir,” Yifan replies. They pause at the entrance to the castle so that Kyungsoo might shake some of the mud free from his boots, and when he straightens once more, Yifan holds something out to him. A violet, this time. He curls his fingers around the stem thoughtfully. He does not know what is in Yifan's head, but he likes the hope this gives him. He tucks the flower into his robes, just above his heart, and Yifan smiles as they walk back into the castle.







“What do you mean, 'no'?” Kyungsoo's father says. He is not a big man, and he does not shout, but his fury is like ice and written in each sharp, clearly enunciated word. “I do not believe it was a request.”

Kyungsoo must steel himself to reply. His father may no longer be a King, but that does not mean Kyungsoo is in the habit of disobeying him. “It does not seem prudent to waste her time and mine, father. I will not marry this girl.”

“You 'will not'?” His father is infuriated, and though his face is calm, he is gripping his chopsticks so tightly his knuckles turn white. “You have only met her once. You do not know that you will not like her.”

“Father, with all due respect, I will not meet with any more of these potential matches.” He holds his hands flat under the table, palms pressed against his knees, trying to ground himself. His father is a very intimidating man, and he is trying so very hard to stand strong, but this is not easy. Even when Yifan stands by his post with the other guards, yes heavy. “It is not fair for me to spend time with someone when they expect a wedding they will not get. It is unfair for both of us, and continuing this charade serves nobody.”

Kyungsoo's practical nature did not come from nowhere. His father presses his lips together and leans back in his seat, nodding once. Even a King must be diplomatic, and there are some lords who would not take kindly to the insult of being strung along only to be given a no. “What precisely is wrong with the people I have matched you with?” his father asks. “Each one has been highborn, wealthy, well-trained. I do not know what more you could possibly ask for.”

If Kyungsoo were to answer honestly, all he would do is embarrass himself. A prince may have a great many luxuries but marrying for love is not one of them. “You have agreed that I am to have the final choice on who I marry. You have one son who is married with an heir, and who has taken the crown. Perhaps you can give me some time.”

His father regards him for one long moment. “You are hiding something from me,” his father says, and Kyungsoo goes cold. He cannot even confess his feelings to the one person who returns them. How can he tell his father? “That much is certain.” He sighs. “You cannot marry your books, Kyungsoo. You do not have to meet with Lady Jinri, but you are a prince. You must think of your obligations to your family and your kingdom.”

“I know, father. I promise you I have not forgotten those.” He lets his eyes flick over to meet Yifan's for a second, and he looks as confused and unhappy as Kyungsoo feels. Kyungsoo has never enjoyed court politics, and it is why he has always been pleased that Joonmyun was the one to deal with it, but now he loathes it. It is all just giving him such a headache.

His father does not bring up marriage again, and instead chooses to eat in silence, his disappointment palpable. It gives Kyungsoo a great deal of time to let it sink in. His father is not entirely unreasonable, but Kyungsoo knows this is his only chance. He will always be a prince, but princes get old, and much less appealing, and his father does not have an endless well of patience. He suspects that he has only earned this respite by playing along with his earlier match-making efforts.

So now, he has time. He looks up at Yifan, and wonders how long it will take.







When Yifan had approached him almost shyly and requested an audience, this was not the topic that Kyungsoo had expected. “You are leaving?” he repeats dumbly, blinking up at Yifan.

“With your permission, of course,” Yifan says. “It has been nearly a year since I saw my family, and I would like to see them.”

Of course. Yifan's family. They have both avoided the topic of marriage since Kyungsoo last spoke to Minah, and Kyungsoo wonders abruptly what Yifan will tell his parents. What excuse will he offer for not having found any potential spouses? Perhaps that is a bit arrogant. Yifan is a handsome man. He would have no trouble finding a match were he to look.

He does not seem to be looking, and Kyungsoo is glad.

“Of course you may go,” Kyungsoo says, though he does not want Yifan to go. He cannot imagine what it will be like to return to a life without him at his side. Still, he would never deny Yifan time with his family. “Take the time you need.”

Perhaps that was not the answer that Yifan wanted to hear. His throat works, but he smiles at Kyungsoo. “Thank you, sir.” He tugs at his cuffs. “I will return within the month. I would not abandon my post.”

The familiarity of his tone is a shadow of what it once was, but Kyungsoo must admit, he is reassured. It would be well within Yifan's right to leave the castle. He is no captive, of course, and his post as a guard is neither unique nor terribly necessary. “I am sure I could survive without you once more, you know,” he says.

“Are you certain?” Yifan asks, and Kyungsoo wants to reach for him. Who knows when he might see Yifan again? He knows better, though, than to touch what is not his.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Kyungsoo admits, and he likes the way that Yifan's eyes light up at that. “You will be missed. What will I do with Sehun once more?”

He is not even the slightest bit surprised when Yifan sees right through that. “I will miss you as well,” Yifan says, and whatever words Kyungsoo might have had in reply die on his tongue. Yifan's tone is casual and fond and it has been a while since he has been so direct.

“Travel safely, Yifan,” Kyungsoo says. He cannot think right now about the distance between his castle and Yifan's lands.

“Thank you, Kyungsoo,” Yifan replies, and Kyungsoo's mouth drops open. Yifan is watching him carefully, and Kyungsoo knows he is searching him for any sign that he has not made a misstep, but he has not. He has instead, set Kyungsoo's heart racing just before he takes his leave from the court. It does not seem fair.

It takes Kyungsoo a few seconds to recover his voice. “You walk a fine line, you know,” he says, and Yifan just smiles. Kyungsoo almost expects it when Yifan reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flower. One of the last tulips of the season, a pretty red. Kyungsoo takes it without question, brings it up to smell. He will miss Yifan.

When Yifan rides out the following morning, Kyungsoo makes his way out onto the perimeter wall towards the front gate to watch him go. It is windy at this height, and unusually cool for this time of year. Yifan pauses to look back at him and Kyungsoo cannot help but smile when he salutes and then rides away once more.

Sehun eyes him oddly as they descend once more, but he stays silent. Kyungsoo is glad for small miracles.







A month passes, and Yifan does not return. Kyungsoo does his best not to let it worry him. Yifan is his own man, and he must have responsibilities to his family, much as Kyungsoo himself does. While he is no longer on the hook for those match-making meetings, that does not mean that his father has let him go free. Instead of those, he gets to attend meetings with his brother and the advisory council. Kyungsoo has not ever been so bored in his life.

As distractions go, it is not very good. All he does for hours on end is nod at the appropriate moment and pull at the hems of his robes. But it fills his hours, and when he is in council, he is not constantly reminded of Yifan's absence. Sehun is not a terrible guard, really, just an incredibly lazy one, but Kyungsoo cannot help but compare him to Yifan. He is not nearly as obedient, of course, and he knows nothing about flowers. Kyungsoo should not find it as disappointing as he does.

As the summer stretches on, and Yifan remains conspicuously absent, Kyungsoo begins to become antsy. He has become an expert on the main exports of their kingdom and the taxation levels by sheer exposure, not by choice. He certainly does not envy his brother. It is nice, of course, to see his brother in action. Even when their father attempts to talk over them, Joonmyun stays level-headed and calm. He will be a great King.

That is not enough to keep Kyungsoo from thinking, and think he does, far too much. No matter how much he tries not to dwell, he just cannot help himself. Yifan had said he would return, but as the weeks while on, Kyungsoo thinks that perhaps he will not.

And that is fine, of course. Yifan had been sent to the court to improve their family's standing, and the most he had done was watch as Kyungsoo made the rounds with everyone else. If Yifan's family was anything like Kyungsoo's, it would make sense that perhaps they would make him stay home, keep him on a tighter leash before they try once more.

That does not mean that Kyungsoo is not disappointed. Perhaps he should not have waited so long, perhaps he should have said something more, something to make Yifan more likely to stay, perhaps – no. What is done is done, and there is nothing that Kyungsoo can do about that. Yifan is gone, and by all appearances, he is not going to return.

He does not expect that realization to hurt as much as it does. He has not even managed to confess his feelings to Yifan, but he still feels his absence keenly, an aching hole in his chest. He feels as though he is missing a limb, without Yifan at his side, and he is always turning to find him, but he is not there. It is too strange.

It is funny, how someone can have that kind of effect on him in so short a time. Kyungsoo does not want to believe it, not when he knows that Yifan will not return. His brother was right, after all, Kyungsoo was scared, and now he is paying the cost of his own cowardice. He deserves it, really, just as Yifan deserves someone who will treat him better. It is for the best.

That does not mean that Kyungsoo will stop looking for Yifan whenever his brother says something silly. It will take a great deal of time before this habit fades.







The leaves are beginning to turn colours when Chanyeol finds him in the garden. “You have a visitor,” he announces. He is practically bouncing from foot to foot, grin stretching wide across his face.

It is one of those rare days that Kyungsoo has off from council duty or helping his brother, and while he could probably simply tell his father he was ready to begin meeting people again and get out of them, there was a tiny part of him that remains hopeful. Just a little while longer, he will wait just a little more.

“Who could possibly – ” Kyungsoo loses his voice when he sees who it is. “Yifan.” He can barely speak past the terrible hope that rises inexorably in in his chest.

“Your highness,” Yifan replies, bowing deeply. The jacket he wears is beautiful, heavily embroidered and tailored neatly to the stretch of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. He looks good. Yifan manages to tear his eyes away from Kyungsoo for long enough to look pointedly at Chanyeol. It takes Chanyeol a few seconds, but eventually he understands, ducking his head in apology and slipping away.

“You said it would be a month,” Kyungsoo accuses. He closes his book in his lap. “Perhaps you should revisit your lessons in counting, Wu Yifan.”

Yifan pulls himself up very straight and takes a deep breath. “My apologies,” he says. “It took somewhat longer than I had hoped it would.”

“Are you offering me excuses?” Kyungsoo says imperiously, and Yifan grins at him. It hits him like a punch in the chest, he has missed Yifan's smile so much.

“I had plans, you see,” Yifan says. He approaches slowly, as though Kyungsoo were a deer that could startle at any moment. “My family is not wealthy, as you know, and it took me sometime to find the money for it, but I knew I could not come unprepared.”

These riddles are giving Kyungsoo a headache. “Speak plainly,” he says. “You come back after nearly four months and you only speak in half sentences, hiding the truth.”

“There is a castle, half a day's ride from here,” Yifan says. Kyungsoo frowns. He is not certain where this is going. “I am sure it is not what you are used to, not even as large as your summer house, but it has a large library, and it is known for its gardens.”

Kyungsoo swallows, staring at Yifan. His heart is thundering in his chest and he feels so desperately hopeful. “I do not know what this has to do with me,” he tells Yifan.

In his beautiful uniform, Yifan drops to one knee in front of Kyungsoo in the dirt. When he reaches for Kyungsoo's hand, Kyungsoo can feel him shake. He is just as scared as Kyungsoo is. “I could not come to a prince empty handed,” Yifan says. “I knew that your father would not give his blessing unless I had something to show for myself.”

Perhaps Kyungsoo has underestimated Yifan's courage. “You spoke to my father?” he blinks at Yifan in astonishment.

“I wanted to do this right,” Yifan explains. He smooths a hand down his front and exhales. “Kyungsoo, I know I am not the most ideal of matches, and I cannot provide the kind of life that others may. But you may have every book you dream of and a garden to read in, and I will protect you from every bee.”

Kyungsoo chokes out a laugh, and he half-wonders if he is dreaming. “Yifan,” he begins, but Yifan merely shakes his head and barrels on.

“Prince Kyungsoo,” he says, his voice abruptly serious, “will you be mine, in formal wedded bliss, for the rest of our lives?”

It cannot be real. Kyungsoo must have fallen asleep in the garden, he must have. Except Yifan's big hands are so warm and present, and so is his hopeful smile. “Of course not,” Kyungsoo says, and Yifan nearly topples over in the dirt, face distraught. “Yifan, I am nobody's possession.”

Yifan's mouth works uselessly as he stares up at Kyungsoo, miserable. Kyungsoo does not give him a chance to speak. He leans forward, cupping Yifan's face in both hands. “But you have always been mine, have you not?” The confusion in Yifan's eyes melts away as Kyungsoo leans in to kiss him.

He is not the slightest bit surprised to find that Yifan kisses like a gentleman. He lets Kyungsoo take the lead, his lips parting under the gentle pressure of Kyungsoo's tongue, big hands balanced against Kyungsoo's knee to steady himself. It is even better than Kyungsoo has even let himself dream of, sweet and undemanding. “Is this a yes?” Yifan whispers against Kyungsoo's lips and Kyungsoo just laughs and pulls him in once more.







They marry in the spring, a wonderful, vibrant affair. Yifan looks dashing across from him, long hair swept out of his face and that lovely, ugly grin of his directed solely at Kyungsoo. He thinks Yifan looks perfect.

The celebrations last long into the night, and for once, Kyungsoo does not mind the crowds so much. “I told you, brother,” Joonmyun laughs, seizing him in a rib-crushing hug. “I told you there would be someone who would make you that happy!” Joonmyun may be King now, but he does not let this restrain him from enjoying his brother's night, it seems. Kyungsoo likes the way that he looks, just as happy as Kyungsoo feels.

He fights his way free of Joonmyun's grip, grinning. “A wise King you are, your majesty,” he replies. Joonmyun ruffles a hand through Kyungsoo's hair and then presses a pair of sloppy kisses to Kyungsoo's cheeks, and then he is gone once more.

Kyungsoo has spent a great deal of his life watching his brother bear the burden of being the oldest son, but also reaping the rewards. He watches as Joonmyun returns to Sunyoung's side and presses his small hand to the curve of her belly. It seems a bit strange to be getting a piece of that happiness himself.

And not such a small piece of it, either. His eyes find Yifan instinctively, though it is never hard with his height. Chanyeol has him cornered, but Yifan holds his own, and Kyungsoo feels a surge of pride. At last, a use for his excruciatingly formal manners. Perhaps Yifan is not a consort, but Kyungsoo will walk with his husband on his arm with pleasure.

He has turned to look to find Baekhyun in the crowd when he feels fingers walk up his spine. He knows who it is almost instinctively. “Hello, husband,” he says, and Yifan beams down at him. He is still hesitant when he touches Kyungsoo, careful, as though waiting for Kyungsoo to tell him no. Kyungsoo solves this by grasping Yifan's wrists and dragging his hands down to his hips, leaning up to kiss him.

“This feels somewhat unreal,” Yifan admits. Kyungsoo has found that his hands fit perfectly around the small of his waist, and Yifan always bends pleasingly under his hands so that they may kiss. Kyungsoo is not naturally given to physical affection, he does not hold hands nor embrace anyone unless he truly trusts someone, so this is somewhat of a novelty for him. He surprises himself, with how he likes it with Yifan.

“I know,” Kyungsoo says. “It is a miracle that I even said yes.”

The barb of his words are ruined when Yifan just smiles down at him dreamily. “It is,” he replies, and Kyungsoo groans. Something so cripplingly cliche should not make his cheeks turn red and his ears feel hot.

“Who do I speak to about an annulment?” he grumbles, and his heart thumps when Yifan's grip tightens instinctively. “I have changed my mind.”

Yifan reaches for his wrist, fingers easily circling the bone. “No, you have not,” Yifan tells him. He likes this, Kyungsoo finds. Yifan may be hesitant, but now that he knows that Kyungsoo is not going anywhere, he is so much more bold. He lifts Kyungsoo's hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles just to see him roll his eyes. “And I will make absolutely certain that you never will.”

This is accompanied by a wiggle of his eyebrows so laden with innuendo that Kyungsoo laughs. He hits Yifan with the back of his hand. “You know, when I met you, I did wonder how someone so handsome could be unmarried. Now, I am certain there is something wrong with you.”

“You love me,” Yifan says, less in reply, and more just a statement of disbelief. He runs his thumb across the gold band around Kyungsoo's ring finger and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes once more.

He reaches up to lay a hand on the back of Yifan's neck and pull him down once more. He loves how pliant Yifan is, how easily he bends to his will. “I do,” he agrees. “Only you.” It is difficult for Yifan to kiss back when he is smiling the way he is, but Kyungsoo does not mind so much.

“Oh, look at the two of you!” Kyungsoo drops back down on his heels to see Jongdae and the others approach. Jongdae has his hands clasped together in front of him, as though an old woman overwhelmed with emotion. “I have never seen such joy on Kyungsoo's face, have you, Baekhyun?”

“Never,” Baekhyun agrees. “It has been so long since I saw Kyungsoo smile, I halfway believed that it must cause him physical pain to do so.”

Chanyeol hooks his chin on Jongdae's shoulder. “I like him,” he says. He gestures at Yifan. “I like him. He is not stunted. You chose well.”

“If only you could bear his children, Kyungsoo – ” Jongdae begins, but Yifan laughs.

“I do not advise you finish that sentence,” he says. “This is a nice celebration and I am not certain that your violent murder would add to the atmosphere.”

Kyungsoo cannot help the grin that spreads across his face, and he slides one arm around Yifan's waist, pulling him close. Jongdae is shocked into silence for a moment. “Now, I really like him,” Chanyeol announces, and even though Jongdae drives an elbow back into his gut, that does not dampen his smile. It sends a rush of warmth to Kyungsoo's chest. Chanyeol is his oldest friend, and though he does not need his approval, it is appreciated.

“Well, I am offended,” Jongdae says, and no one pays him much mind save Chanyeol, who pats his head.

“I did not expect you would be the first of us to marry,” Baekhyun admits, and he seizes Kyungsoo's hand. “But I am so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says. He smiles again when he feels Yifan press his lips to the top of Kyungsoo's head. He must admit, he feels fit to burst, and he thinks that everyone should be able to feel like this. “Even if I know you are a little bitter that Lady Taeyeon has yet to fall for your charms.”

Baekhyun points one long, elegant finger at Kyungsoo. “Time, my dear boy, all I need is time.” He must admire Baekhyun's persistence, he supposes.

The night is winding down, and Kyungsoo thinks it is well within his right to wave them off imperiously. “As do we,” he says. “Please, help yourself to the wine, as I know you will.” He grips Yifan's wrist firmly. “My husband and I have some final duties to attend to.”

“Ah yes,” Jongdae says. “Do enjoy your deflowering.” Behind him, Chanyeol snorts loudly before quickly composing himself and attempting to feign a casual expression. He has never had much subtlety, Kyungsoo thinks.

Kyungsoo levels his narrowed gaze on Jongdae, and then Chanyeol in turn. “Thank you all for coming,” he says darkly. Of course, they do not let him leave without a smothering hug, and though Kyungsoo may not be able to breathe very well, he tolerates it nonetheless. He loves these men, no matter how much of a nuisance they may be.

It takes quite a while for Kyungsoo and Yifan to escape the Great Hall and the celebration. First, they must make the rounds, thanking each family for attending. His father is the last. He does not make any threats, nor does he stare Yifan down or question his fitness. The two of them nod at each other, as though the understanding has long since been reached, and Kyungsoo is curious. Now is not the time, though. “As promised,” Kyungsoo says, offering his father a smile, “I did not marry my books.”

His father is not a soft man, and he spent many years ruling over their kingdom. Perhaps those years taught him the wisdom he needed to step back and let Kyungsoo marry who he chose. “I am thankful for small miracles.” He lays a hand on Kyungsoo's shoulder. “You will visit often, will you not?”

“We have not even left yet, father,” Kyungsoo says. Yifan's hand rests against the small of his back, firm and possessive. “You need not worry.”

When they hug, Kyungsoo squeezes him tight. He is not always easy to get along with, but his father was lenient here, and for that Kyungsoo is grateful.

His friends, of course, wave them off with a noisy round of catcalls, which Kyungsoo chooses to ignore. They are an irritation, but they make Yifan flush, and Kyungsoo likes the pretty pink of his cheeks. It is tradition for the new couple to have an escort to the marriage bed, but Kyungsoo had insisted that they do without. He does not wish for an audience, and he already has the only escort he shall ever need.

They make their way down the corridor alone, the heels of Yifan's shiny boots clicking against the stone floor, and Kyungsoo realizes that Yifan's palm is sweaty. “Are you nervous?” he asks, voice gentle.

“No,” Yifan insists, his hand tightening around Kyungsoo's. “Of course not.”

The rigid set of his shoulders betray the lie of his words, and Kyungsoo smiles. “You have nothing to worry about,” he says.

It takes Yifan a try or two to unlock the door, and then he holds it open for Kyungsoo. “I am not certain of that,” he says.

The door closes with a definitive click, and then, Kyungsoo must admit, he begins to feel some of Yifan's nerves. It has been a great while since he has been with anyone, and this will be the first time that it means something to him, something important. “Yifan,” he says, loosening the ties of his robes. “What do you have to fear? Surely I can do you no harm.”

He turns to face Yifan, and finds his eyes are fixed upon Kyungsoo's chest, newly exposed. It takes him a second or two to drag his gaze upward. Kyungsoo shivers. “I am not experienced,” Yifan says softly. “I would not want to disappoint.”

Taking a deep breath, Kyungsoo steps forward and begins to unbutton Yifan's jacket, one at a time. “You can be trained,” he says, and he watches Yifan's throat work as he swallows hard.

It takes a few minutes for them to rid Yifan of his clothing, with all of the layers. “Ridiculous,” Kyungsoo mutters mostly to himself as he tugs down Yifan's trousers. “Next time I get married, my husband is wearing nothing at all.”

Finally, Yifan stands, wearing nothing at all. “Next time?” he asks indignantly, but Kyungsoo is far too distracted by the view. Yifan is not all muscle, but he can see it there, in the flex of his thighs and the stretch of his shoulders, and Kyungsoo finds he quite likes the softness of his belly. He is going to enjoy himself.

Kyungsoo smooths a hand down Yifan's chest just to watch him flinch, eyes wide. “No more complaining,” he says firmly, rolling back his shoulders and letting his robes slide to the floor. “Understood?”

He has never been a big man, but Yifan's hands splayed across his hips make him feel tiny. “I could never complain,” Yifan says, and Kyungsoo bends to kiss him for that, before pushing him back down onto the bed.

Kyungsoo's usual quarters in the castle are much smaller and less fussy. He prefers function over luxury most days, but he decides he can make an exception for a bed like this. It is huge and soft, the sheets ornate and white (the implication makes Kyungsoo want to laugh), and from all appearances, very comfortable. He cannot be sure, of course, because he sits astride Yifan's thighs instead. Yifan is half-hard already, a sight that both amuses and thrills him. He slides his hands up Yifan's thighs, digging his fingers in to feel the flesh give underneath him, and then lets his thumbs rest against the line of his hips. “I wonder,” he says, watching Yifan's stomach jump under his touch, “if I could make you hard, just like this.”

Yifan groans, but he does not stop Kyungsoo's hands from beginning a featherlight path downward once more. “Please,” he begs, and his hips jerk. “Please do not toy with me.”

He is sensitive, that much is certain. He gasps when Kyungsoo curls a hand around his cock, and Kyungsoo is so very tempted to see how far he can push him. He thinks he'd like it if Yifan begged him more, but he is too eager for that. Besides, they have all the time in the world, now. “Not this time,” Kyungsoo agrees regretfully, but the gaze he fixes up upon Yifan is full of promise and he grins when Yifan's breath catches in his throat.

He does not tease when he takes Yifan's cock into his mouth. He has been told he has the lips for this, and he puts them to good use. Yifan is not particularly impressive, but this just works to his advantage. It means that Kyungsoo can slide down until his lips meet his fingers, curled loosely around the base of Yifan's dick, and the moan he gets in return makes Kyungsoo's twitch in response. Yifan is so good for him, staying still though Kyungsoo can feel the way his thighs tense with the effort. Yifan's cock hardens further under his ministrations until Kyungsoo can taste it on the back of his tongue, and it sends a rush of heat straight to his groin. He did that.

He is breathless when he pulls off, his jaw beginning to ache, and he wipes away the saliva that has collected at the corners of his mouth. “Are you certain you do not want me to tease?” he asks.

Yifan is already a wreck, eyes half-lidded and his chest flushed with arousal. “You look...” he trails away, eyes caught on Kyungsoo's mouth, and Kyungsoo traces his tongue across his bottom lip, just to see Yifan's mouth fall open with desire.

“I am not the only one,” he says. He straightens again, and it surprises him when Yifan sits up, pulling Kyungsoo into his lap. Kyungsoo jolts at the press of Yifan's cock against his, arms coming up around Yifan's shoulders instinctively, for balance. He likes this intimacy. Just like this, he can kiss Yifan deeply. He does not think he shall ever tire of how Yifan bends to every whim, the way his mouth parts under Kyungsoo's and how he chases Kyungsoo's mouth even as he is pulling away to breathe.

“May I?” Yifan asks, before taking them both in hand. The slide is dry, but it gets better after Kyungsoo has lifted Yifan's hand to his mouth and licked at his palm.

“Yifan,” Kyungsoo says, dragging his nails across the soft skin at Yifan's hairline. Yifan's grip tightens in response and Kyungsoo can feel his cock jerk. “You need not be so afraid to touch me. I want this. I want you.”

Gently, Yifan grabs Kyungsoo's ass in one hand and pulls him forward. “You said it yourself,” he says. “I have always been yours.” His thumb skates across the head of Kyungsoo's cock and it surprises Kyungsoo to realize that he is better at this than he would have assumed. Kyungsoo inhales sharply, fingers digging into Yifan's shoulders as his hips jerk forward, fucking Yifan's hand. It just feels so good.

They kiss again, though Kyungsoo is so breathless now that he is mostly panting into Yifan's mouth. He wants it, he wants more, but he is not certain he can ask for it. Even at such close quarters, Yifan can read Kyungsoo like it is nothing. He ends up sprawled on his back, Yifan between his spread thighs, and he likes this view almost as much. He lets his legs fall open even further and Yifan groans, leaning down to press his lips to his knee. “Do you await instructions?” Kyungsoo asks archly, raising one eyebrow. He is flushed and sweaty, spread out just for him. What more does he need?

“I...” Yifan shakes his head. “Can I not admire the view?” He grins down at Kyungsoo and then kisses him. It is surprisingly sweet, considering that he can feel the hardness of Yifan's cock pressing against the inside of his thigh, and he adores it. He loves that Yifan is like this, so soft despite his appearances, and all his.

Once he has managed to render Kyungsoo breathless once more, Yifan stretches across him to the bedside table, coming up with a vial of oil. Now that is more like it. He does not ask this time, at least with his words, but Kyungsoo squeezes his biceps and nods. He is fairly certain that if Yifan does not get to it soon he will take care of his own needs and then make Yifan sleep on the floor.

Luckily, there is no need for any of that. Yifan presses one of those long fingers inside Kyungsoo, slick and agonizingly slow. Kyungsoo squirms, trying to take him in deeper, but he is startled when Yifan settles his free hand against his belly to hold him still. “Let me do this,” he says. He crooks his finger up with intent and it takes him a few strokes but soon Kyungsoo is arching up and moaning underneath him. “I just want to make you feel good.”

He is certainly managing that well. By the time Yifan has worked a third finger into him, Kyungsoo has his calves clamped around Yifan's waist, urging him on. Between the stretch of Yifan's fingers pressing up against his prostate and the way that Yifan is tugging at his cock, slow and just this side of too loose, he is beginning to think he may lose his mind. “Yifan,” he gasps, and he levels his best irritated stare in his direction. “Yifan, if you do not fuck me right now, I swear on my name – ”

He does not need to make any further threats. The moment Yifan hears Kyungsoo swear, his cock jerks against Kyungsoo's hip, and he pulls out his fingers. He presses his mouth to Kyungsoo's shoulder and Kyungsoo can feel him grin against his skin. “Your wish is my command, your highness,” he says.

Kyungsoo sighs when he pushes in, hooking one thin arm around Yifan's neck and pulling him in close. The angle is awkward, yes, but Yifan still bends towards him so that Kyungsoo may kiss him. It has been quite some time since Kyungsoo has been with someone and the stretch of Yifan's cock is perfect, each thrust of his hips driving him in deep and hard. He grips at Yifan's shoulders, his knees locked tight around his hips, sparks shooting up his spine when the head of Yifan's dick brushes up against his prostate. His own cock is mostly trapped between the two of them, and it is not much friction, but it is more than enough. Yifan holds him to his chest, muttering something in his native tongue as his hips speed up, and Kyungsoo is melting against him, already so close. This is all he has ever needed.

“Please, please, please,” he murmurs, and Yifan mouths at his shoulder, pushing one hand between them and finally gripping Kyungsoo's cock. It only takes a few seconds more for him to come, arching and gasping Yifan's name.

As he comes down, Yifan stills, and then carefully pulls out. He moves to take things into his own hands, but Kyungsoo frowns at him. Breathless though he may be, he would not leave his husband to finish himself off on their wedding night. “Yifan,” he murmurs, sitting up and cupping Yifan's face in one hand while he replaces Yifan hand with his own. “My Yifan.” He does not tease, simply jerks him off tight and fast. He kisses Yifan sweetly once more and that is what sends him over the edge, spilling over Kyungsoo's fingers with a choked off groan.

Though his hands are sticky, Kyungsoo feels utterly sated and content. Yifan has his forehead pressed to his chest, and Kyungsoo can feel him pant and tremble. Kyungsoo strokes his hair, smiling. “And you were worried,” he says, and Yifan laughs.

In one swift movement, Yifan sweeps his long arms around Kyungsoo's thin chest and pulls him down to the bed once more. He seems ignorant of the mess, though Kyungsoo is not (perhaps this is because he is the one most sticky). “I love you,” Yifan says, and when he kisses Kyungsoo again, Kyungsoo finds he does not care so much about how filthy they are. This truly must be love, after all.







Unpacking, it seems, is a headache, even when one has servants to do most of the heavy lifting. Kyungsoo is in the library, examining some of the books Yifan had shipped in from his parents' castle, when he hears him call his name.

It is strange, living somewhere other than his parents' home for the first time in his life, but Kyungsoo finds he quite likes it. This castle is small, but warm and inviting, and there is a heady kind of freedom to it. He has never been able to decorate his own home, and Kyungsoo relishes it.

“Kyungsoo?” He finds Yifan in a corner of the library, facing the shelves designated for Kyungsoo's personal collection. Several of the books are spread across the floor, pages open.

“Yes, love?” Kyungsoo asks. He pushes down the bristle of irritation that he feels at the sight. He has no problem with Yifan borrowing his books, of course, but he is not certain what he could be doing trying to read multiple books at once.

Yifan holds up a pressed flower. “What is this?” he asks. Kyungsoo swallows, flushing to the tips of his ears. “It looks like a pansy.”

He had never planned for Yifan to find this. “I suppose it must be,” he says, trying to keep his voice even.

Of course, Yifan does not even pretend to believe it. “I did not know you pressed flowers,” Yifan says. He raises his eyebrows.

“I like flowers and books, it seems like a natural combination of things, do you not think?”

He turns to leave, to run, if he is honest, but Yifan fixes him to the spot with a pointed finger. “This is the tulip I gave you the day I left,” he says. It is not a question.

“It could be,” Kyungsoo says, shrugging.

There is a grin spreading across Yifan's face. “Did you press every flower I gave you?” he asks. His expression is a bright mix of astonishment and sheer pleasure. He stands, holding the pansy between his fingers. “This is the first flower I presented you with, I am certain of it.”

“Perhaps,” Kyungsoo says.

In a few quick steps, Yifan has abandoned the books and scooped Kyungsoo up into his embrace. “You kept them all,” he says, and Kyungsoo turns even redder. He had hoped that Yifan would never discover how sentimental he could be.

He begins to protest but Yifan pins his arms to his sides, peppering his face with kisses until Kyungsoo is helpless to do anything but laugh. “You love me,” Yifan says, and Kyungsoo wiggles one arm free, uses it to hold Yifan's jaw and kiss him properly.

“I do, I love you,” he agrees, and when Yifan beams down at him, he grins right back. This is his happy ending.