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Chapter Text

At the sound of branches snapping, Chan’s eyes flew open. He sat up inside his tent and gripped the sword still sheathed in its scabbard, the same one he always slept with in his arms whenever he was on missions. He pulled the flap open just enough to peer through. Despite the darkness, he could make out faint shadows moving near the other tents—his knights’. He thought of signaling the one closest to him, Kwon, but didn’t want to risk alerting the intruders.

Realizing there was nothing left to do but fight, he unsheathed his sword and pushed the tent fully open. Holding the blade firmly with both hands, his voice rang out steady and commanding:

“Who goes there?”

Suddenly, a lamp was lit. A man in a black cloak stepped closer, holding the lamp in one hand while raising the other as though pleading for mercy.

“My lord, we are but travelers. We mean no harm, we only…” The man’s eyes flicked quickly to Chan’s blade before locking back on him. The prince noticed. “We merely wished to ask if you had a map of this area. We are lost.”

“Travelers from Dravaryn?” Chan asked, distrust clear in his tone. The man nodded eagerly, even smiling. “At this hour? And what of the curfew?”

The smile vanished instantly. This time, it was Chan who smiled.

“It takes more than such a foolish ruse to deceive me,” he thought with grim satisfaction, though there was no time to linger. He whistled as he charged forward, forcing the man to drop the lamp and draw two daggers from beneath his cloak. At the sound of Chan’s signal, his knights poured out of their tents, already prepared for battle. Orders were unnecessary; they knew exactly what to do.

The cloaked man tried to close the distance between them, while Chan fought to keep him at bay and strike with his sword. But the cursed Wen were beasts in close combat.

Chan leapt back, unharmed, throwing his opponent off balance. The man stumbled to his knees, and in that instant, the prince pressed his blade to his neck, cutting him just enough to draw blood. The man hissed in pain.

“How many are you?” Chan demanded. “Are there more coming?”

“Long live the Wen!” the man shouted instead of answering, before thrusting his own throat against Chan’s blade. The prince barely had time to react before blood sprayed across him. He staggered back, wide-eyed in shock.

When he recovered a heartbeat later, he saw all his knights lying on the ground. And he was surrounded—figures in cloaks and heavy hoods hiding their faces.

Ah… but I only just arrived. Chan couldn’t help but laugh, dropping his sword before collapsing onto the ground, both hands raised in surrender. With luck, he’d be nothing more than a kidnapped and enslaved prince, rather than having his head sent back to his parents as some gruesome gift.

From among the crowd stepped a tall man, cloaked not in rags but in a dark suit. His expressionless eyes drew the prince of Florienne’s gaze. He had seen this man countless times in sketches.

Wen Junhui, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years of age, the so-called “crown prince” of Dravaryn. In truth, the future leader and tyrant of the Wen dominion.

“Welcome to Dravaryn, Your Highness,” the man said flatly, bending down to meet his eye level. “I do hope you enjoy conversation, for I have much I wish to discuss with you.”

The night was cold, Chan wore little to guard against it, and the ground beneath him was nearly frozen. Yet none of those things chilled him as much as Wen did. There was something inhuman about the man—ghastly, funereal, deathlike. His presence seemed devoid of emotion, and it made Chan’s skin crawl.

More than a “heart of ice,” as many called him, Wen Junhui was like an angel of death. Did the bodies strewn about not disturb him, even those of his own men? Damn it, Chan had one corpse lying beside him, freshly slain in the Wen’s name—yet Junhui ignored it all, the blood’s iron stench, the corpses, everything—fixing his full attention on Chan, as though the prince were the only living thing on this mountain besides the trees and the mist.

Just by looking at him, Chan knew one thing: this man was going to ruin his life. He hadn’t even properly set foot in Dravaryn, and already this? What a joke.

“Grandmother, you were always right,” he muttered, laughing bitterly at himself. “I’m good for nothing.” Shaking his head, he met Junhui’s eyes. “You’d do better to abduct my brother and kill me instead.”

“I don’t think so, Your Highness.” Junhui smiled. Another shiver went down Chan’s spine. It was the most terrifying, lifeless smile he had seen in his nearly twenty-five years. “I know you will prove far more interesting than Prince Hansol. Believe it or not, I know you quite well, Your Highness.”

“Me? How?” Chan tilted his head in confusion. “Have you been stalking me?”

Jun’s smile stretched so wide his eyes nearly disappeared. Straightening to his full height, he extended a hand to help Chan up.

“We can speak in your new home, Your Highness. I cannot promise it will be comfortable, but…” He shrugged, leaving the thought unfinished. Chan ignored his hand and rose on his own, brushing dirt from his trousers. He glanced back just in time to see one of his knights, Kwon, badly wounded, dragging himself away. They had agreed long ago that if an emergency arose, whoever could would return to Florienne to call for reinforcements.

“Oh, wonderful,” Chan muttered with biting irony. “What joy, being kidnapped on the very first day of my mission.”

“First and last,” Jun corrected, seizing Chan’s wrists so that one of his men could clamp shackles around them. “Come. It will be a long journey.” He gave Chan’s shoulder a pat before melting back into the sea of Wen. Another man, not cloaked but dressed as though straight from a funeral, forced Chan to follow behind Junhui.

They bound him onto a horse, and with him rode the same dull-looking man Chan already suspected to be Wen’s right hand—always near him, yet keeping distance from the rest of the clan. Chan’s head bobbed several times throughout the ride, but the relentless rhythm of the galloping horses—his own beneath him, and the others before and behind—kept him from sleep. Dawn came sooner than he had imagined, though the only sights were endless trees. Instead of passing through villages, the Wen had chosen the mountains for their route.

They stopped only twice along the way to rest. Of course, this did not include Chan, who was forced to remain on horseback while all the Wens present relieved themselves, ate, drank water, and sprawled on the dry leaves to rest. His stomach twisted, begging for food, but he was certainly not going to complain out loud. He had endured far longer without eating during past missions and training.

He was about to drift off when a sweet aroma forced his nostrils open involuntarily. His eyes landed on a piece of sweet bread being offered to him. Junhui stood at the side of the horse, palm extended with the bread in hand, while Chan gave him nothing but a harsh glare.

“What?” Chan asked, gruffly.

“Eat something, Your Highness. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?”

Junhui took a bite out of the bread himself and swallowed it before offering the rest back to the prince.

“I don’t plan to kill you,” something in Jun’s voice rang honest. Chan glanced one last time at the bread before snatching it and swallowing it in a single bite. “…yet,” Junhui added belatedly, smiling in that way that filled Chan with fear. Fear, disgust, shivers, and… many other unpleasant things. Everyone knew the Wen clan was not normal, but Junhui seemed to exceed all limits. Everything about him was strange; his aura was heavy, yet strangely compelling. Utterly terrifying.

Chan shook his whole body, startling the horse slightly, and hurried to soothe it, whispering softly as he usually did with his own horse.

“Ow…” he pouted, thinking of the steed he had left behind near the camp. “I hope they can untie themselves and make it back home…”

Chan’s spirits remained low for the rest of the journey to his so-called “new home,” as Junhui had called it. He couldn’t even walk when he was finally pulled down from the horse, his legs completely numb. Once they arrived, the other Wens dispersed, leaving only Junhui and his supposed right-hand man.

Chan’s new home was a small, one-story house standing in the middle of barren land. Between Junhui and the other man, he was forced inside and immediately chained to iron bars fixed into the wall. The entire house felt like a prison, reeking unbearably of dampness. There was only one window and a single door, both secured with iron. Bars lined all four walls, there was a tiny mattress in one corner, a chair set before it, and a refrigerator. Above the doorframe hung a clock.

Oh, quite cozy. In truth, Chan had expected less.

“If you cooperate, you’ll sleep in the bed,” Junhui said, turning the wooden chair to face him and sitting down. The other man left, shutting the door and leaving them alone.

“What bed?” Chan muttered, grimacing at the pain in his wrists as he tried to lower himself to the ground. “Oh, you mean that rotten little mattress over there? If that’s what you call a bed, I’d rather not cooperate.”

“You spoiled little brats,” Jun grumbled, looking suddenly angry. The hairs on Chan’s neck stood on end. “I spent thirteen years sleeping on the filthy floor of a dungeon. I would’ve killed to sleep on a mattress like that.”

Ah, so this was Wen Junhui when he was angry. Even more frightening. And he lost his temper over the smallest things—what kind of temperament was that? Something told Chan this man would get along with Seungkwan or Eunbi, his best friends, and he almost smiled at the thought, until he remembered his current situation.

It dawned on him that just as Junhui frightened him, so did other things. Chan was scared of certain bugs, of his parents’ anger, and, above all else, of mathematics. So perhaps facing the grim Wen Junhui could be child’s play—if he kept his mind strong and focused on one single goal: completing his mission.

“And what am I supposed to do about that? Is it my fault your criminal family decided to have children in a dungeon just to bring them into this world to suffer?” Chan never had much tact; his softer self was known only by his parents—not even his closest friends or his brother. Was he supposed to treat kindly a mass murderer who had just kidnapped him and slaughtered his squad? “Look, let’s be clear about one thing, Wen. I will not cooperate with you, nor will I pity you for whatever tragic past you might have. Everyone has problems, alright? And mine are far greater than listening to you whine about thirteen years without a bed. Thanks.”

Ha… well…

“Seems to me someone else needed to vent…” Jun muttered. Chan noticed how hard he was fighting not to laugh. That idiot. “I only meant to point out that sleeping on the floor isn’t exactly comfortable.”

“Neither is getting an infection.” Chan flashed him an annoyed smile, and Junhui finally relented, shrugging.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Junhui cast a sidelong glance at the clock and sighed, folding his arms. “Let’s begin. Just a few questions today, since it’s your first day here, yes?”

“You really think I’ll answer you?”

“They won’t compromise your kingdom’s safety, I assure you. Today, I only wish to ask questions that benefit me personally.”

Chan frowned.

Remember: no Wen is ever normal.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“What is life like in Florienne?” That weary, lifeless gaze lit up with something different, like a child receiving a gift. “Are the citizens usually happy?”

Confirmed: Wen Junhui was missing a few screws.