Archive of Our Own ^beta

This wasn’t the first time Chan had been tasked to murder a member of higher society. It was, however, the first time he was ordered to spill blue blood. He’s in the guild’s main hall to receive his newest orders, the tall ionic columns surrounding his peripheral vision. The guild master- Kim Namjoon- has his hands splayed out on the long marble table in front of him, documents filling up the top of it. There was also a suspiciously large wooden box of pure oak, and that told Chan all he needed to know. Someone had paid a hefty price for this, though Namjoon typically hated dirty money, and asked for payment in other ways. Favors, knowledge, etc… So sue Chan if he was indeed a bit curious as to why his boss was talking in dead trees.

“What?” Chan asked once the request was truly processed in his mind.

Namjoon’s deadly inquisitive dragon-shaped eyes bored into him, surprised at the question. “Was I not clear enough? Your next target is Lee Minho, and you’re to complete this task by the next full moon.”

Chan didn’t flinch away from his gaze. He had grown up with Namjoon, and had been there when the man took down the previous master and took the title for himself. Namjoon should know by now that Chan wasn’t scared of him. He respected him, otherwise he would’ve run away like some of the others had, but he wasn’t going to blindly take orders to assassinate the crown prince without a good enough reason. That was treason, and even they were above that. Chan merely blinked at Namjoon as he tried to succeed in glaring Chan into submission.

Namjoon sighed after another minute of failure, pinching the bridge of his nose where his thin-rimmed glasses were currently sliding off. “I know what you’re thinking. There’s… reasons for this, Chan-ah. You’re going to have to trust your hyung’s judgment on this.”

“Clearly someone doesn’t want the little brat on the throne, and you’re agreeing with it for some unknown reason.”

Namjoon bit at the inside of his cheek, fixing him with that deadly stare again. “I don’t want you back in this guild until you have blue blood coating your hands. That’s the end of the discussion.”

That made Chan glare right back at his hyung. “And where will I stay? You aren’t even cruel enough to have me on the streets.”

“The dealer is someone who is well connected. He’s paid to have you be a fake guard within the castle for easier access. Learn the castle, learn the weaknesses of both it and the prince, and complete your task. Don’t worry about anything else. I’ll see you at the end of the month.”

When he turned to leave, he found that one of the other guild members- Jungkook- was already there with his bags in his hands.

“Not even a little prince can escape you, Channie,” Jungkook winked at him, but for some reason the statement just proved to irritate him even more about this whole ordeal.

“You seem so sure that I won’t just go back to my room and protest,” Chan took the bags into his arms anyway, but the next thing that Jungkook said irritated him even more.

“Maybe hyung wants you to protest, just not in your usual gloomy way.”

Chan managed to flip him off before exiting, Jungkook’s giggles only making him walk out of the building faster.

He was fine with being an assassin, but he didn’t think he’d ever be a traitor.

*****

Seo Changbin was the Captain of the Guard for the royal knights in the castle grounds. The kingdom of Levia was rather small compared to the neighboring kingdoms, including the one that Chan had been brought from when he was small. Yet, despite its size, it was powerful and filled with resources. The sea was the end of the kingdom on the southern end, and mountains in the north made for a nice barrier to prevent invasions.

The castle in the capital city stood proud and gleaming, ivory in its sheen and decorated with natural vines twisting and twirling around the different towers that made it up. The Captain stood at the gates, staring him down as he examined his papers stating he had been accepted into the Guard.

The man was around Chan’s height but packed with muscle, and the stiff set of his jaw put Chan on edge. He could only hope those papers looked convincing enough, as it was still broad daylight. Chan would have to flee into some alleyway and find some other way insi-

“Welcome to the Guard, Bang Chan,” Changbin smiled at him, making Chan blink in near surprise. “If you’ve been recommended by Lord Seokjin himself, well, that’s enough of a reason not to question you further. That man isn’t easily impressed.”

“I’ll say,” Chan muttered, trying to make it as natural as possible. He has seen Seokjin around the guild before- typically with Namjoon and Jungkook. He occasionally helped Joon with legal work and documents to hide as much evidence as possible, but this was a whole lot of forgery that Chan didn’t think he had the power to do. He wasn’t sure he liked the fact that he continued to be surprised this early in his mission.

Changbin grinned at him, clapping him on the shoulder like they were old friends, and he was let into the castle gates without another hitch. The inside of the castle was even more gorgeous than whatever could be seen from the streets of the capital. Lush garden beds filled with fresh herbs, vegetables, and fruit trees were the first thing that greeted them as they walked into the interior. He saw a sparkling fountain where small children were running around playing chase, their laughter filling the air. More servants were bustling around, hands filled with woven baskets filled with different things. Chan saw other guards passing by, in full armor, and they all waved at Changbin as they attended to their duties.

Chan could only try not to gawk as they entered the actual building. The assassin guild was by no means shabby, but he had never been in a place this nice, even when he had been hired to get rid of some people that had never known hunger or an unfulfilled desire in their lives. The tiles of the floor were sparkling, a deep ocean blue that had specks of white like stars, and the ceiling was painted with different arrays of images. Probably folklore, myths, or even the history of the kingdom. There was a grand staircase in the middle that connected all the splintered off hallways, and Chan knew it was going to give him a headache trying to memorize the layout of this place. He wished that Seokjin or their dealer had provided him with a detailed map, but he knew that would be asking for too much. There had to be some challenge if he was going to commit treason, after all. Otherwise there would be usurpers of all kinds.

“You decided to join us during the start of a rather important month, haven’t you?” Changbin smirked at him. “The Prince’s birthday celebration is already in full preparation mode. He’s turning twenty-five, so it’s also when his father is meant to officially announce him as heir to the throne. Sorry, Chan-ssi, but you’re going to have to deal with our more intense patrols and trainings this month. At least you’ll have the big feast to look forward to at the end, though.”

“At least there’s light at the end of my initiation, then,” Chan smiled, hoping it didn’t come off awkward.

Changbin laughed. “The Queen always bakes the Prince’s favorite sweets as a special treat. You’ll never want to quit after tasting his cousin’s brownies, though. They’re the real star of the show. Now, come, I’ll have to introduce you to some of the men you’ll be working with.”

The turned a few hallways before the stopped at a pair of large oak doors, ones that revealed a large training room filled with weapons of all sorts. Thick mats were on the floor, and Chan saw wardrobes probably filled with backup armor and training suits. There were three men training on one of the mats, all in tight-fitting black outfits. Two of them were significantly tall, and one of them was slightly taller than Chan himself. They could have easily been mistaken for nobles, all three of their faces strikingly handsome.

“Chan-ssi, these are my most trusted men. This is Jeong Yunho, Choi San, and Song Mingi. Guys, Chan is our latest recruit. Lord Seokjin himself recommended him, and I’ll take any set of extra hands this time of year.”

The one Changbin had pointed out as Yunho whistled. “Lord Seokjin sent you? How’d you swing that?”

Chan flushed. “Uhm, he’s good friends with my guardian. I’ve actually known him since I was small, didn’t realize he was such a big deal around here…”

Mingi snorts. “The Kims are one of the most well-connected clans in Levia. You must be from a really sheltered family. No offense. Sannie here is actually from an island, so it took him a while to get used to things around here, too. I’m sure you’ll fit right in if Seokjin gave you a hand.”

Chan swallowed. “You could say I’m sheltered, I suppose. My family is…private. But my guardian thought if anyone were to tether us more strongly to the public, it’d be me.”

“Just make sure to be in here before Changbin for training, don’t talk to him when he’s hungry, and you’ll be fine,” San grins at him, missing the swat Changbin sends him by a centimeter.

“Noted,” Chan chuckles. He’s still incredibly tense, but the closeness of them is rather contagious. Though he does realize that if he were to try and sneak past them, they would readily give him away since he hasn’t formed any loyalty with them. This might take longer than he thought.

“Anyway, San-ah, will you take Chan to his room? Any of the spares in our wing should do. You know where the keys are, right?”

San nods, motioning for Chan to follow him out of the training room (they say goodbye easily) and down more winding hallways until they reach the end of the current tower they’re in. The towers are apparently connected by stone bridges, one on each floor of the towers. San explains that the main tower and the servants’ towers are pretty much the only two they have access to, aside from the supply tower and kitchen/entertainment area. “Most days the servants will just bring us breakfast, since we’re in a higher bracket than them technically speaking. Changbin has us on a rather protein rich diet anyway, so it’s easier for them to mass produce our food than us individually cooking things. I don’t know what your family cooked at home, but be ready for a lot of vegetables and meat. And hardly any bread.” San sighed, “I miss bread so much.”

Namjoon had them on rather strict diets back in the guild too. But they all had to endure when Seokjin showed up with pastries for all, so Namjoon wasn’t that strict. Maybe he would begin missing the flaky dough of the early morning-baked croissants too.

Once San retrieved a set of master keys from a locked closet, he skimmed the hallways for an empty room. They reached the end of it before San finally stopped and opened the door, nodding to himself when he found it empty. “Here we are. Sorry, it’s usually a bit more empty but temps get hired and brought in during busier seasons. Hopefully you’ll get to stay if Seokjin recommended you. This used to be Ryujin’s room, but she moved out to start her own dance business with a friend of hers. Changbin liked her, so maybe her room will bring you luck or something.”

Chan scanned the room for any exit points and immediately felt satisfied when he noticed a pair of balcony doors. That was perfect. The room itself was nice as well- spacious enough for a large bed, a wardrobe, a floor length mirror, and even a filled bookshelf. The was an entryway to what he assumed was a bathing area, and he did indeed find an armor made to fit a woman inside a closed glass closet.

“Er, we’ll replace that with one that fits you,” San promised. “I’ll tell the others you’ll be organizing your things, but dinner is at dusk. I’ll be back to get you by then.”

“Do…do the King and Queen eat with us?” he dared to ask.

San blinked at him. “Rarely. They typically eat in their quarters, but sometimes the Prince does show up, and most of the nobles that are the Queen’s family live in the castle, so they’ll be more likely to show. Don’t worry, you won’t have to greet the rulers on your first day.”

Chan heaved a sigh of relief. If he could at least get a look at this prince…

“If Prince Minho does show up, though, I do hope you’re ready for him,” San chuckled.

That made Chan raise an eyebrow. “Why? Is he a spoiled brat or something?”

San smirked with a twinkle in his eye. “In some ways.”

And with that, San left him alone to decompress.

*****

The dining hall that was used daily was still larger than the kitchens in the guild. Which was to be expected, Chan supposed, since the castle obviously housed more than their little assassin group. San explained to him that you needed special permission to cook inside the kitchen from the head chef- Jung Wooyoung- but you could take whatever was on the buffet-style tables throughout the day if you got hungry. San also gushed to him that Wooyoung made the best soups for their hardest training days, somehow managing to make San actually like vegetables.

There were spaces for each food group in the large tables, no inch left unfilled with a tray of food. There was freshly baked bread, fried and grilled vegetables, an assortment of different meats, sauces that San recommended to him, and even a small area for dessert. A separate table held the local fruits that most likely came from the trees outside, though San said everything was grown or raised at the castle itself.

“Changbinnie will probably want you off bread and minimal fruits. And no fried things, either. I’m just happy he lets us eat the noodle soups,” San explains.

Chan ends up getting the same things that San piles onto his own plate, and then he follows him to a cafeteria-style mess hall.

He can see why the King and Queen would prefer to eat in the privacy of their own chambers. He spots Changbin, Yunho, and Mingi already at a table with some other young men that look around their age. One of them is laughing at something Mingi said, the high-pitch laughter ringing in his ears. Changbin waves them over, smiling at their food choices but greeting Chan politely.

“Did you get a room you liked?” Changbin wondered.

“Yes, it’s quite bigger than the one I had back home, thank you,” Chan nods, smiling softly. There’s been assignments where he’s had to stake out his victims and quite literally sleep on cobble-stoned roofs, so he’s thankful this time he gets an actual bed to rest on. Though it’s not like he plans to keep it warm for very long. He has until the next full moon, is what Namjoon instructed. But he has to do it and not get caught.

“Oh, you’re the new guard! Sannie told me about you! I’m Wooyoung, the Head Chef!” The boy with the laugh introduces himself, giving Chan a firm handshake. He’s seated next to San now, clinging to the arm in such à way that has the other man flushed pink. It’s cute. Next to him is a boy with an ethereal looking face, and Chan knows that he’s a noble just from what he’s wearing.

“I hope his food doesn’t poison you,” the boy warns, though there’s a playful glint in his eyes as he glances at Wooyoung. “I’m Kang Yeosang, my family is close to the royals. I grew up here. Nice to meet you.”

The Kang family were well known, and they owned the businesses that produced much of the kingdom’s fabrics and clothing. One of the guild members, Hongjoong, frequented some of their shops in his down time. He told Chan that their prices were worth it, had even had some of their belts used as protection against stabbings, and not a scratch was left on the material. It made Chan wonder who else was lurking in the palace.

He got his answer as two other boys came to sit at their table, each planting themselves as close to Changbin as possible. One of them was blonde, while the other sported black hair. Both of them had the same kind of ethereal grace that Yeosang had, and Chan found himself staring at the way Changbin even turned red in front of them. “Fresh meat?” the black-haired one asked, grinning slyly as he took Chan in.

“You can admire my muscles instead of someone else’s,” Changbin grumbled, but still introduced Chan to them. He learned that they were both related to the Prince, though the blond from the King’s side and the black-haired one from the Queen’s. He also learned that they were both Changbin’s lovers, apparently.

“Min will like this one,” Hyunjin, the black-haired one, assures. Felix hums in apparent agreement, and Chan squints his eyes at them.

“What do you mean?” Chan finds himself asking. It might be easier to get the Prince to trust him if he could become whatever he liked.

“You’re pretty,” Felix stated. “And hyung’s a sucker for dimples. Maybe you can bribe your way into ranking like Changbin if you play your cards right,” he winked.

That caused the other guards at the table to whine. “No fair! He hasn’t gone through Bin’s initiation training yet!”

“Oh, I won’t let him get out of that even if Minho stamps a royal decree.”

“Are you defying my authority now, Changbin-ah?” comes a teasing voice from the way back to the hallway.

“Your Highness! Of course not, why would I ever do that?” Changbin stammers profusely, ducking out of the gaze of the person that just entered their little conversation.

Prince Lee Minho.

Of course, Chan has heard stories about the only child of the King and Queen. He was rather elusive for being the only heir to Levia, but most people say that the Prince was strong-willed and fair, but that he had this strange way of getting whatever he wanted. While Chan chalked it down to him being the only royal child, his parents were rumored to never deny him anything.

Then there were stories of his beauty, obviously. All the noble families that had daughters were desperately trying to tie themselves to the royals via marriage, but especially because Minho’s face was rumored to rival the moon in its beauty. Chan would say that Minho won by a landslide. His hair was a beautiful purple shade, long and tied back in a half-updo. He was pale, with large dark eyes and a smile that seemed to be etched into a knowing smirk. Chan felt heat rush into his skin the minute the Prince’s gaze shifted from Changbin over to him, like he was indeed the fresh meat Hyunjin described earlier. He felt that if Minho were to pounce at him that very second, Chan would forget all the ways he knew to pin him and end his life right then.

“Is one of your new recruits giving you issues already?” Minho quipped, still staring down into Chan’s soul.

“No, Your Highness,” Changbin assured. His eyes flickered to the grinning black haired male seated next to him. “Our dear Hyunjinnie is.”

“Ya! What did I do?!”

Minho’s laugh rang beautifully in Chan’s ears. He found instantly that he wanted to hear that laugh as many times as possible. He slid into the space next to Yeosang, reaching over to run his hands through Hyunjin’s hair fondly before the other male slapped his hand away with a petulant pout on his lips. After he was done messing with his younger cousin, Minho’s gaze found itself back to Chan, like a cat assessing how to kill its next meal. “Changbin-ah, you chose well this time.”

Changbin flushed at the praise, but cleared his throat. “Lord Seokjin actually recommended him, Your Highness.”

At the mention of the older male, the Prince squints his eyes. “Is that so? How do you know him, Mr…?”

Chan bowed his head politely. “My name is Bang Chan, Your Highness. Lord Seokjin is close to my guardian.”

The suspicion in the Prince’s gaze doesn't let up, and it causes nerves in Chan’s body to come alive. Was there some kind of drama between the nobles Namjoon didn’t tell him about? “Well, at least hyung gave me a new eye candy to look at. About time he gifted me something I enjoyed.”

Felix and Hyunjin snickered at the apparent inside joke. “Don’t whine too much hyungie, the last bracelet he got you was probably the most expensive gift you’ve ever gotten.”

“And it was foreign, too! Priceless!” Hyunjin exclaims, agreeing with Felix.

Prince Minho rolls his eyes. “Whatever. It embarrassed my parents that he did such a thing. We’re not even that close like we used to be. If we were, he would’ve had the decency to introduce me to Chan sooner than my 25th birthday.”

Chan clears his throat, confused by the blatant flirting. Before he can even think of how to respond to the beautiful royal’s comments, however, Changbin stands up from the tables, followed suit by Felix and Hyunjin. The action makes Chan smile despite himself, the cute way that they seem to be in sync with each other reminding him of siamese twins. “Well, Your Highness, you’re free to stop by training any time. Maybe freshen up your own skills, no? I know your father probably wants you to do some grand routine at the party. But it is rather late, and we do have to get the newbie into royal shape, don’t we? So I would suggest…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know your little routine, Bin-ah,” the Prince waves him off. “Don’t wear out my cousins too much, they have to sit through lessons with the rest of us tomorrow. But afterwards, I will be stalking your training. After all, I would want the best security at my party, right?”

Chan wants the ground to swallow him whole.

*****

Prince Minho does indeed stalk their training for the next few days. He insists to Changbin that he must ensure that Chan is being well indoctrinated into the palace life, though with the not so subtle ways that Minho stares at the sweat sliding down Chan’s body as Changbin makes them run laps around the castle gardens each morning says otherwise. Mercifully, the early morning sun isn’t too brutal and there’s usually a breeze hitting his skin. Minho even comes with a tea set along with Felix and Hyunjin to give to Chan and the others, stating that Wooyoung picked out the best herbs for their muscle pains and to give them more energy. He pretends to not notice the way Minho’s eyes watch his throat bob while he gulps down the ice-filled glass of liquid.

The training itself is rather easy compared to what he’s used to back at the guild. He even begins to stay back to not lose his grip on his own training that Namjoon instilled in him. He has to be ready in case someone comes after him too. He does hope he doesn’t have to worry about such a thing, but Chan had learned that people seek revenge for frivolous things and would track you down even in the most secure places you could find. He’s seen Hongjoong be cornered by an ex lover that found out he had killed one of his family members out of a contract, and eventually Hongjoong had to kill him too, and afterwards getting an earful from Namjoon to never dare give any hints of where the guild could be located to anyone. Hongjoong and he had shared a glance at how hypocritical the statement was when Seokjin swung by a few days later. They knew Namjoon would find some excuse since Seokjin did help them with legal documentation.

Changbin would typically pair them up and make them spare with each other, but Chan noticed most of the moves were defense-based, and he quickly found himself pinning his guide here more so than the others. His reflexes couldn’t really be helped, and they were honed in to complete lethal moves.

“Woah,” Yunho said one morning, after Chan nearly caused Changbin to be unconscious with a mere hit at one of his pressure points. “I think we should be learning some pointers from you.”

“No one in the capital teaches styles like this,” Changbin motions vaguely, probably referring to the pressure point thing. “Who the hell trained you?”

Chan cursed inwardly. “My old guardian was foreign,” he said. “He taught my current guardian and I different styles so we could protect ourselves after he…rescued us. My hometown was attacked by raiders, but he had been a visiting merchant and saved us. He brought us here, where he decided to settle. But he was always away, so he wanted us to be able to look out for each other.”

“You grew up well, then,” Yunho nodded, though each of them held a rather pitying look in their eyes that Chan despised. The story he had just told was true, but Chan barely remembered anything about his original hometown. He had hazy memories of warm fireplaces, a salty sea breeze and strong arms, but then the fire…it messed with his memories.

The looks were ones he hadn’t seen in a while. Not since he had joined the guild when the original guild master still reigned.

The next day, Changbin decided to have them pair up and train with the various swords scattered within the weapons room. The practice swords were all tipped with a protective coating so they couldn’t actually hurt themselves, though Chan suspected no one had ever really put them through a test to find out how well the coating held up. He got paired with San, who had chosen twin daggers to use against Chan’s spear.

Everything was all well and fine until San’s legs locked around his waist, and the edge of the blade was pressed against the skin of his throat. Chan forgot in the rush of it that it couldn’t actually bring him any harm, and his instincts flared up once more. In the next millisecond, he had them repositioned with San flat against the training mat on his back with Chan’s spear digging into his neck’s flesh so hard he began coughing and gasping for breath.

Chan didn’t snap out of it until someone yanked him back by the collar of his shirt.

“What are you doing?!” Changbin yelled, though Yunho was the only who had pulled him back. He looked at San with a worried gaze as the skin was already starting to bruise, and San was still regaining his breath. Chan blinked back into the moment, dropping the spear like it had burned him.

San wasn’t supposed to take any injuries. While he supposed this was the easiest way to get him into the castle, Chan figures that Seokjin didn’t understand the instincts and reflexes instilled in you when you are trained to be an actual killing machine. Chan’s mind tended to blank out when he was in this mode, and the only others who were accustomed to it were members of his guild. People that knew how to hold their own against one of their kind, against another killer. People that weren’t like San, or Yunho, or Mingi, who had backed away from Chan now, or even Changbin, who had an incredulous look on his face.

“S’alright,” San wheezed from below them. “I’m the one that had him in that lock. He did what he needed to get out and win.”

Changbin narrowed his eyes on him. “There wasn’t à need for him to nearly take out your larynx. Chan-ah, we’re training here, not actually fighting an enemy.”

Chan breathed in, trying to shake off the nerves fighting their way up his body right now. “Sorry, I um. I really can’t stand being restricted like that, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have just…lost it.”

Changbin examined him, his body language. “Go and take a jog or something to clear your head. I need my men to be alert, but not paranoid. I’ll have Wooyoung send you a calming tea to your room later.”

Sucking in one more breath, Chan nodded in agreement. He hesitantly offered his hand to San, who took it with a stride he didn’t deserve. “Please tell me I wasn’t too rough?”

San smiled, dimples and all. “Of course not. I’ve had worse than that, just surprised.”

Despite San’s reassurance, Chan’s mind was filled by the image of the darkened skin on San’s neck as he left the training room, guilt beginning to gnaw at him. He didn’t need to add any extra bodies to the list this time, and he would have to find a way to ensure that could happen.

*****
Chan had decided to take advantage of the one time he would be in the castle and make use of the special hot springs they had while he could. The sweat clinging to his body gripped at him as he entered the changing area, though his mind was somewhat calmer now. He was also proud of the fact that he could easily find his way around the areas he was at least supposed to be in after only five days, and he began to mark places in his mind that would be good exit ways in case something disastrous happened.

Something that would’ve been useful to remember as that something disastrous came in the form of one Prince Lee Minho being in the same bathing pool as him once he stepped inside. He nearly cursed in surprise, considering how he knew the Prince had an entire wing to himself in the castle. What was he doing in the servants’ bathing area? Shouldn’t that be illegal?

He found that the Prince wasn’t alone. He was with another man, both of them laughing and splashing around. It made Chan pause in confusion. He felt an unfamiliar emotion rise in the pits of his stomach as the unknown man jumped onto the Prince’s back, getting piggy backed by the royal around the small pool.

“Maybe you should’ve been a royal horse instead, hyung,” the man laughed as he was dragged along the water, tugging softly on Minho’s wet strands

“Ya! Show me some respect, you menace!” he protested, though he was giggling nonetheless. “Besides,” he purred, and it seemed that Chan had been caught, as the Prince fixed him with his signature lethal gaze. “I like to be the one doing the riding, Hannie.”

‘Hannie’ let out a squawk, jumping off of his hyung immediately and grunting in disgust. “I don’t need that image, thanks.”

Minho ignored the man completely, smiling at Chan who was still frozen on the spot. Where had his sneaking around skills disappeared in the light of the Prince? He would need those desperately soon. “Don’t be shy, Channie,” he purred. “You’re welcome to be in my presence, after all.”

Somehow, Chan found the will to speak. “With all due respect, Your Highness,” he began. “What brings you to this tower? Surely you have your own private bath house that has better salts and oils than ours.”

Minho smiled. “I wanted to play with Hannie today. And we were coming from helping Hyunjin and Jeongin plant some new flower beds. The servants’ bath house is much closer than mine, and I don’t like being caked in soil.”

“What hyung means to say is that he didn’t want to walk another five minutes to his own quarters to clean up,” ‘Hannie’ rephrased, snorting even as Minho swatted at him. “I’m Han Jisung, I’m the Prince’s personal attendant.” The man’s eyes quickly glanced over Chan’s figure, then said, “You must be Chan. Hyung mentioned you. Congratulations on entering this madhouse of a castle.”

Chan scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. Minho spoke about him? He knew he was the ‘new meat,’ but surely that would’ve worn off by now? It also didn’t go unnoticed by Chan that Jisung was comfortable using casual speech with the literal Prince, and that might pose to be an issue. So many people in this castle were closer than Chan had anticipated. He was fed stories that royals and castle life was cold, void of emotion that wasn’t jealousy or greed.

“I can wash up in my room, Your Highness. I wouldn’t want to disturb your free time,” he suggested, bowing his head slightly.

“We were almost done, weren’t we, Jisungie?” Minho said, turning his head to his assistant. “Would you be so kind as to go and prepare my outfit for dinner? The other one needs washing, it has grass stains all over it. I can’t possibly wear that in front of others.”

“You were literally just wearing it in front of your cous-”

“Jisung.”

Jisung gave Chan a tight lipped smile. “Right. Of course. I will see you there then.”

Chan still hadn’t moved an itch when the other man had left the room.

“Aren’t you going to wash up before dinner, Channie?” Minho asked, moving around the pool without a care, like he was intending to sink into the water and never leave despite his previous promise. “The pool is large enough for the two of us, you know.”

The water was cool when he finally braved himself enough to sink into its depths. He moved himself to lean against one of the rocks, avoiding meeting Minho’s gaze as much as he could. If this were any other target, he wouldn’t hesitate to simply drown them himself and make a swift exit. But this was the Prince, and Jisung knew that he was in here alone with his lord. He wouldn’t be able to leave the guild for the rest of his life if he took the Prince’s life now.

As Chan closed his eyes in hopes that Minho would leave if he was just being ignored, the oils began to waft into the air more clearly for him to focus on. Soft eucalyptus calmed his mind, easing the soreness in his muscles from the tension he still carried from the morning’s events. When his shoulders finally started to droop just slightly, he was startled back awake when he felt two hands snake their way up his arms, squeezing the muscles appreciatively.. He sucked in a breath, trying to move but finding out his choice of location pretty much screwed him over.

“I’ll have to find a personal Guard once my father crowns me the heir, you know,” Minho hummed, gaze watching the water flow down Chan’s skin. This close, Chan could smell the shampoo that lingered in the man’s hair, a soft lavender scent mixed with something smoky. It made him dizzy.

“Changbin is a great fighter, you’ll be in great hands,” Chan said. He hoped he could end this before he had to add Changbin on the list of people he needed to get through.

“He is, isn’t he?” Minho said. “Though I’m sure that my cousins would hate for me to take away their lover. The expectations for this position are much more intense than his own, since he’d have to be as glued to me as Hannie is, if not even moreso.”

When Minho looked up at him, Chan found his throat constricting. “I’m sure there are plenty of applicable candidates.”

Minho smirked at him, eyes twinkling. “Not plural, Channie. Just one. He’s a bit shy, but I’m sure I’ll have him accepting the promotion once my new title is cemented. I’ll even give him some enticement of some of the other…perks that could come with it.”

Chan raised an eyebrow.

Minho said nothing of further explanation, he simply leaned in until Chan was completely flush with the rock behind him, and their breaths were mingling and his eyes dropped shut and then Chan felt those teasing lips press against his daringly, just quick enough for his own lips to tingle with the lingering taste of the Prince’s sweetness. The glazed over look on his face once he pulled back nearly sent Chan diving in for more, all other thought having been wiped from his mind. The Prince’s hands were pressed against his bare chest, and he smiled like a cat that just got the cream before pulling away entirely.

It left Chan’s skin cold where the embrace had been.

“I’ll see you for dinner, Channie,” was all Minho said as he exited the chambers, the teasing lilt of his voice echoing in Chan’s ears.

He didn’t even register the pain of his head hitting the rock after the Prince’s figure retreated. He was so fucked.

*****

“There’s a flower viewing ceremony tomorrow night,” Yeosang informed them. “Apparently the winter lilies are in early bloom this year.”

Wooyoung nodded. “Seonghwa-hyung is in charge of them this year! He really has a green thumb.”

“Gives us an excuse to get dolled up,” Hyunjin smiled, feeding Felix a slice of sweet bread absentmindedly.

“As if you ever need an excuse,” Yeosang snorted. “If anything, you’ll probably take your whole easel with you like last time.”

Hyunjin blushed. “I have to capture them, they only come out once a year. And Seonghwa always gets them to be different colors.”

“Oh! It gives me an excuse to make my lotus flower cakes too, since they’re both flowers,” Felix adds excitedly. “Chan-hyung, did you have a favorite dessert growing up?”

Everyone eyes him curiously, and he feels himself shrink into his seat. Minho is pressed up against Han on the opposite side of their little table, and Chan had refused to acknowledge his presence the entire evening. How could he, when his mind would immediately conjure up images of those sweet lips tasting his? He still had the scent of lavender stuck in his mind, and not even the spicy chicken Wooyoung had whipped up could get rid of it. “Ah, well. We only ever ate sweets for special occasions,” Chan remembers. “But I enjoyed these tea cakes one of my…family members used to make. It’s pretty basic, but we usually spent those times he’d make them talking while stargazing with everyone.”

The conversation flows on from there, with the rest of the boys asking him things here and there, and Chan does his best to answer them without stuttering. He isn’t quite used to speaking with anyone for prolonged periods of time outside of the guild, but they make it easy for him. He feels the edges of his lips curl into a ghost of à smile against his will, and the gnawing monster in his stomach continues to expand and he nearly chokes on it when Wooyoung and Felix both promise to add tea cakes to the assortment of pastries and sweets they have in stock in their dining hall.

Before he makes the turn for his room down the hallway, he feels a tug at his sleeves. While he’s been here, his instincts have started failing him. Normally he would’ve been able to sense whoever was trailing him, yet he heard nothing. Felt no presence near him. It’s started to unnerve him quite a bit.

When he turns around, he nearly runs back the other direction at the sight of the Prince. “Channie, did you eat well?” he asks, a sweet curve to his lips.

“As usual,” he confirms. “Not like I’ve had to worry much about food back home, but Wooyoung does a great job.”

That was a lie. If he was out on patrol, or on a particularly longer mission, he’s had to fend for himself if he was stupid with his allowance. When he was younger it happened about three times before he learned that he did not need that brand new instrument at the local market, but he did need that extra slice of meat or loaf of bread to fill his belly.

Minho’s smile turns into a grin. “Wonderful. Now, I wanted to ask you… after the flower ceremony tomorrow, would you like to join me into the forest behind the castle? I know a lovely spot filled with other blooming flowers, but Hannie is rather scared of the forest. “

Chan gulps. They’d most likely be alone, just like earlier, and Chan would have another opportunity to finish this mission and get out before the deadline.

“You’ll protect me from any straggling beasts, won’t you?” Minho pleads, downright pouting his lips at him and fluttering his eyelashes. It’d be a rather irritating sight on anyone but him (he’s seen Hyunjin do it to Changbin multiple times just in this first week), and Chan is weak to it. “I promise I’ll tell the others where we’re headed. I just want to get out of the castle for a while.”

“Did all of the other guards have to personally protect the Prince at one point during their first week?” he says, though there’s not as much bite to his words as he wishes there’d be.

“Mm, no, but none of the other guards have been quite so back-talky with me, either,” Minho quips. “If you bring me back safely, I’ll even give you a reward.”

“Would it be another kiss, Your Highness?”

Chan decides that Minho is the devil when he replies, “I could convince you to take me anywhere with a kiss, Channie. If you’re good, it’ll be much better than just a little peck on the mouth.”

Perhaps he would be the one who wouldn’t make it to the end of the month.

*****

Han told him that morning why he was so scared of the forest while he was prepping the Prince’s breakfast.

“There’s a beast out there,” he insists, popping a whole devilled egg into his mouth before continuing, “I saw it when I was younger. Hyung wanted to play hide and seek, but there didn’t used to be any gates or barriers separating the back of the castle to the forest. I got kind of lost, ended up staying until the sun fell. I was crying, as children do, when I heard it. It was so loud, I can still remember how its growls felt in my bones.”

“What did it look like?”

“Like a wolf, just…wrong. It had red eyes, and it smelled nothing like a wild animal. It smelled like burnt sugar and flesh, and it was so, so horrid. I honestly would have died, but I fell into the river and it didn’t seem to like water. So I followed the river downstream till I came to castle gardens. I slept with hyung for about an entire year afterwards, and I don’t really have a sweet tooth anymore because of it”

Han looked at him, and Chan saw that he wasn’t lying. “Don’t leave his side, please. We sent hunters into the woods to try and track it, but none of them found it. And one of them didn’t even come back. They couldn’t find his body. “

“I’m sure His Highness will be attached to me like a thorn no matter what I do,” Chan smiled tightly.

“Oh, good luck getting rid of him,” Han winked. Despite his words, his gaze was fond. “He is the little spoiled prince he was raised to be, after all.”

The day passed in à blur, Chan mostly training and seeing some of the other servants prepare the gardens with little twinkle lights and oil lamps for the ceremony. Hyunjin had already claimed a spot for his easel by planting à chair in his desired spot, and Felix and Wooyoung were carrying out tray fulls of cakes and other snacks. Chan saw Seonghwa, the main gardener, ensuring that things were going smoothly. Chan couldn’t help but think that he was Hongjoong’s type to a fault.

Luckily, when he bathed with the others in the communal tower, there was no lingering Prince around. His muscles were still getting accustomed to the new exercises, so the hotter water from the bath house really alleviated any pain.

“Do you have any more formal outfits?” Changbin inquired when they were finishing up, robe tightening around his form. “The King and Queen do sometimes show themselves, and it’s best not to be in training gear or casual linens if they do.”

Chan shook his head bashfully. “No, I would’ve thought we would be in armor around them, I'm sorry.”

Changbin laughed. “No worries. Yeosang can send you something. Just brush your hair, yeah?”

Chan felt himself chuckle before he could keep it in, nodding in acknowledgement.

And Yeosang did deliver, and Chan’s jaw nearly dropped as he unpackaged the delivery he found not three hours later. It was a beautiful formal robe, with simple black pants underneath. The robe was thick and plush, embroidered with what looked like tiny stars with tiny crystals in their center. It was a rich sapphire in color, and it was probably the most expensive thing that Chan had ever worn, even counting his fancy knives and swords back at the guild.

He was thankful that Yeosang remembered to even send him some boots (how he correctly guessed his measurements for everything was beyond him) and even some simple silver rings and earrings to match. He didn’t recognize the person he saw in the mirror before he left, and it left him unsettled.

The castle gardens had filled up significantly with more people than he had seen over the week; lords and ladies and business owners, even some travelers he could see just from their foreign clothing. He had a sword tied to his waist in a sheath, and he was relieved to find Changbin and the others in similar states despite their fancy outfits. He didn’t want to assume that just because this was a celebration that he could be relaxed.

“Glad to see Yeosang got your measurements right,” Changbin grinned, and Chan flushed when the others gave him an approving once- over.

“I would expect nothing less, the quality is amazing,” Chan muttered out, subconsciously fixing the hem of the robe he wore.

Yeosang looked smug to Chan’s compliment, but it was well-deserved.

“The King and Queen are arriving,” Yunho pointed out, directing them to the main entrance to the gardens, where he saw Seonghwa ushering the royals into the direction of the main attraction of the night. Everyone stopped their chattering, bowing their heads as the King and Queen entered the area.

“Thank you all for coming today,” he heard the Queen say, her voice deep and soothing. “We’re very thankful for our lovely Seonghwa who was able to nurture these beautiful flowers that we so dearly treasure for their beauty.”

“Please join us in watching them come to life,” the King asked. “The moonlight aids in their petals fluttering all the way open, drinking in the energy she provides.”

When they all lifted their heads, Chan felt heat spread throughout his body as he found Minho standing behind his parents. While he was sure this was nowhere near the Prince’s finest garments, he looked as ethereal as the moon herself. His head was decorated with a crown that embedded itself into his hair with dangling crystals like teardrops, and Chan could swore that he had face gems giving the illusion of those teardrops on his face as well. He wore an azure and slate gray outfit, with opal crystals sprinkled throughout in delicate patterns. So this was the Prince in his royal beauty.

And Chan couldn’t bring himself to look at the flowers that everyone was clapping at.

The clapping died down, and the King’s voice resumed in the air. “As you know, my son’s 25th is approaching us this month, and we see this year’s blooms as an affirming sign for his reign. Please, enjoy yourselves tonight.”

“Please do not pluck any of the flowers,” the Queen warned, “Aside from the work Seonghwa put into nurturing them, their thorns do hurt quite a bit, and they are toxic if ingested.”

As they bowed and moved about, Minho floated his way over to Chan and the rest of the group, Han in tow.

“Bin-ah,” Minho smiled, “Where did your dear Lixie put his goodies?”

Changbin huffed a laugh, but he guided them over to where all of the ‘goodies’ were, and Minho excitedly picked out his chosen treat for the evening. Chan got distracted, noticing a figure that seemed quite out of place. His clothes weren’t foreign, but the way he put them on wasn’t the way a local would wear them. As if he was trying to blend in, or he wasn’t used to dressing himself.

The stranger seemed to sense Chan’s eyes lingering, and he stared back. There was something familiar about him, like Chan had seen him somewhere else before. Admittedly, the man reminded Chan of a tiger, and it rubbed Chan’s senses the wrong way. The man merely walked off, though as he turned his back to Chan, he gave a signal that sent Chan’s blood running cold.

He was a member of the guild. But why hadn’t Chan recognized him? He knew practically every member, and had even grown up with most of them. Why couldn’t he place a name to this man? And why was he here anyway? Was Namjoon doubting him? Did he send this man to keep tabs on Chan?

The thought made him angry. He had never failed a mission, no matter how difficult. And while a week wasn’t the longest he’s ever been out of the guild, he knew that this was probably the most important mission, since it involved literal treason. Not to mention only the moon herself knows what him killing the Prince would mean for the future of the kingdom. Chan hasn’t known Minho for very long, but from the other royals, he has a pull to him that Chan associates with a leader. The charisma that is needed to make any type of person want to follow them.

Maybe that charisma was clouding Chan’s judgment, and Namjoon sensed this somehow. Perhaps that man had been here the whole time, lurking as he had been tonight. Had only exposed himself as a warning for Chan to adhere.

Chan looked back at Minho, who was busy forcing another tea cake into Han’s already full cheeks, giggling happily, and clenched his jaw. His heart lurched in protest, but he forced himself to drown out his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

He would kill the Prince tonight.

*****

Chan had gone back to his room to change into less formal clothing when a knock at his door came. He felt it rather in distaste to commit murder in the beautiful clothing Yeosang had given him with pure intentions. He was no stranger to knowing how much of a pain in the ass it was to scrub blood out of clothing. Even if he knew the trick now, he certainly didn’t feel like finding out if Yeosang or any of his workers knew it either.

The Prince had also changed into a set of night robes; plain and thick for the chilly winter air. He had kept the crown on his head but only the face gems remained, the rest of his face washed of his earlier glittery makeup. The Prince had come alone, and he had a soft smile on his features. Then Chan noticed he held a plate of small cakes in his hands, and something ugly twisted in his stomach. He hadn’t touched any of the earlier treats, filled with thoughts of annoyance and regret with Namjoon having sent that man after him.

“I saved some of them for you,” Minho explained rather sheepishly. He had the ability to kiss him shamelessly in an onsen but this flusters him?

“I…I thought everyone finished them?” Chan says, and the memory clicks into place quickly. While he hadn’t touched any- he remembers Felix complaining that they were all slave drivers with how many cakes he and Wooyoung had already busted out, noting that they were now limited to one dessert for any future events. Had Minho snuck these when no one was looking?

“Oh, I asked one of the newer staff to save me extra,” Minho says. “They’re usually too scared to question me in the beginning and don’t know that Felix hates it when I sneak some.”

Chan notes that Minho must really enjoy Felix’s baking since there was already a bite at the end of one. Chan wanted to laugh at how cute Minho was, since he just now noticed the speckle of powder at the edge of Minho’s mouth. But he held it in, taking one and gingerly biting into the sweet treat. He could at least indulge the Prince like this, before he goes and..

“What do you think?” Minho asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

“I’m glad I didn’t miss out on these,” Chan replies, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Call me Minho.”

“I’m sorry?”

Minho swallows, placing the plate down on a nightstand in Chan’s room. “While we’re out…just, please? I haven’t heard my real name from anyone but Han in forever…I’d like to hear it from you.”

“That’s highly inappropriate for me to-”

“That’s an order,” Minho resolves, crossing his arms. Though he fails to look quite as intimidating as a small pout comes onto his face.

Chan sighs. He could indulge him like this. “Of course, Minho.”

The blush that coats the Prince’s cheeks makes it worth it.

Minho leads the way out into the forest, past the security of the gates and the walls of the castle barrier. There’s no one else out this late, since the festivities have finished a while ago. The moon is still high in the sky, lighting their path as they begin their trail into the dense fauna and flora. Minho tells him about how much trouble he’d get in as a child crossing the barrier without anyone to keep track of him. The little him didn’t really see the big deal, but he stopped going after Han had his encounter with the rumored beast. He didn’t want Han worrying over him, so he hadn’t visited the forest that much afterwards. Even as they both grew, Minho kept his trips more of a secret indulgence.

The Prince knows the area still like the back of his hand, telling Chan he’s thankful at least that this place never seemed to change. Chan watches on as Minho takes delight in seeing the almost mystical flowers peeking out of the bushes on the forest floor, their colors illuminating their path even more. Winter flowers were beautiful in Levia, coming to life while the rest of the greenery faded away into the autumn reds and oranges before falling off completely. Though the forest behind the castle held evergreens, and so there was no sparsity of life to relish in for their little walk.

“Oh! There it is!” Minho exclaims, dashing off ahead so quickly that Chan has to run just to catch up to him. He stops before he nearly crashes into the royal, who’s gazing upon a spot right in front of them in a clearing.

It’s the edge of a waterfall, which pours into the river that leads back to the castle. The small pool that connects the flowing waterfall into the river is surrounded by illuminated flowers and thick vines, and the mist coming from it is welcoming.

Minho turns to look at him. “Won’t you watch the moon with me?”

Chan nearly forgets to answer, caught up in how Minho is somehow seemingly emitting the same light that the forest is alive with. “After you, then.”

As Minho walks into the clearing and finds a spot he deems well enough to lay down in, Chan pats his hip. His sword is hidden underneath his robes, heavy and reminding him that it intends to drink blood tonight. Chan wishes he could let it starve.

He follows the Prince and sits, though he doesn’t allow himself the pleasure of laying down next to him. Minho has his eyes set on the sky, the clearing allowing them to view the stars and moon herself perfectly. He’s completely relaxed, the opposite of Chan, who is sure he has his entire body rigid and stiff like one of the discarded tree branches on the forest floor.

“Do you know any constellations?” Minho wonders, blinking as he tries examining the sky.

“A few, though I’ll admit my caretaker probably just made half of them up,” he confesses. He remembers being small and having Namjoon try and have him map out the stars, telling him the sky would guide him back to the guild if he ever got lost. He had found his way back that way countless times, but he refused to tell the older man that his little stories played in his mind when he would walk back.

Minho chuckles at that. He points up at a cluster of stars and says, “My mom told me that is the Lady Ima- the moon’s handmaiden. She used to say that Hannie was my Ima. Which is your favorite?”

Chan continues to indulge the Prince, unaware of how much time is starting to pass. They speak of the stars and funny folk stories that accompany them, though he begins to notice a shift in Minho the deeper they get into their conversation. He starts seeing a sheen of sweat coat Minho’s skin despite the coolness of the winter air. It’s enough that Chan dares to touch the Prince’s forehead and finds that it is ridiculously hot.

“Minho? What’s wrong?” he finds himself asking, eyebrows furrowing.

Minho’s eyes begin to look glazed over, and his hands curl around Chan’s wrist. “I don’t know,” he whispers, like he’s also confused. “My body…it feels like it’s on fire.”

Chan curses, the other boy tries moving but his body shakes like a leaf, and Chan catches him as he tries to sit up and fails. The Prince begins to cough, and Chan nearly shouts in alarm as blood comes up after about thirty seconds of him coughing. Then something clicks in Chan’s mind, and it’s like someone dumped cold water onto him. “Minho…what did the staff you took the cakes from look like?”

“W-what? Why are you asking me that?” The Prince blinks up at him, though it looks like he’s trying hard to concentrate on Chan’s form.

“Just answer me!” he nearly growls out.

“I- he was unusually handsome for a staff member, I’ll say that. Though he was quiet, he didn’t question me when I asked for more cakes. Honestly, he reminded me of a tiger with his looks. I suppose most staff are trained to be quiet so they don’t disturb anyone, but…”

“Was there anything off about his clothing?” Chan dared to ask. He might be exposing himself if he says anything else, but…

Minho makes a face. There’s a pause while he’s thinking, and then Chan begins hearing something loud coming from behind the waterfall’s curtain. The sound that he registers when he zones in on it makes all the hair stand on his arms and make him hold Minho closer instinctively.

“They weren’t tied like all the other staff members,” he supplies. He’s breathing out shallowly now, and Chan curses as he sees a tall, imposing shadow behind the waterfall’s curtain.

“Minho, I have some bad news,” Chan grits out, trying his best to keep his voice lowered as he sees the creature that haunts Han Jisung’s nightmares come into being. He can’t believe he’s seeing this. Sure, he knew that most folk stories did have at least some truth to them- there were only so many times people can use alcohol as an excuse for seeing things that were difficult to comprehend. Especially if multiple people, of all ages, began to experience the same thing.

Minho makes a disgruntled noise, and he’s turning to cough up more blood on the grass next to them. Chan’s knuckles are clutching tightly at the Prince’s hip, noting that the creature is too large to be a simple wolf- it’s much, much larger. The mist is covering some of it, but Chan sees enough to know that they’re in trouble. He doesn’t doubt that thing would be able to cross the river from how tall it is. The depth of that pool can’t be deeper than it is tall. “Minho-ya, Jisung was right,” Chan explains, sees that Minho is still unfocused on anything that isn’t trying to somehow regulate his body as it fights off the toxins from whatever poison he ingested.

“Huh? Chan, what are you- oh, stars,” he cusses out as he sees what Chan is speaking about. “How is it still alive?”

“Beasts don’t have humanity wearing them down,” Chan says. “I- we need to get out of here, but your blood will likely leave a trail for it to snuff us out. We can’t lead it back to the castle if it gets bloodthirsty, that’ll be a disaster.”

Minho sucks in a breath. He seems to realize what exactly is happening, and yet he shows no fear. He looks quite pissed at being poisoned, in fact. Chan would laugh at the way his nose scrunches like a miffed bunny, but he doesn’t think that appropriate at the moment. “Chan- leave, go bring other guards out here, quickly.”

Chan looks at him incredulously. “You- you’ll die,” he rasps out, aghast at how easily Minho accepts near certain death. Would it have been that easy? If Chan had wanted to- if he had had a higher sense of urgency, if he didn’t bother waiting for an opportune moment, could he have just convinced Minho that his death was necessary?

And Chan finds himself getting angry at such a thought. At Minho for ordering him to leave his side while he’s coughing up blood, while his body is shutting down as the toxin takes over, as his eyes lose that sparkle that rivals the stars’ light-

Chan lifts Minho into his arms just as the beast springs forward right across the pool in one jump, jaw unhinged and eager for its next meal. It’s only thanks to his training that he’s able to lunge back as far as he did, but Minho clutches onto him so tightly that he feels the material on his clothing begin to rip. He doesn’t pay any attention to it, instead he places Minho in the trunk of a tree right as the beast tries for them again, snapping its teeth on the thick bark and growling in anger as it misses yet again. Chan knows that it’ll be able to reach them if it tries hard enough, so he wipes some extra blood from Minho’s lips and cradles his cheek.

“Chan,” Minho gasps out, voice already sounding absolutely broken.

“You shouldn’t tell your guards to let you die,” Chan chides. “It’s not in our job title.”

He unsheathes his sword as the beast circles around the tree, most likely trying to figure out the best way for it to snatch them out of the tree in one go. Chan won’t allow that to happen. That man from the guild had come to poison Minho, and Chan intends to find out way his mission needed another person to expedite it. Somehow Chan doesn’t think Namjoon would undermine his ability like this. And yet, here Chan is, doing the very opposite of what he was sent to do. He can’t find it in him to care.

The beast is terrifying, with its silvery gray fur and elongated fangs and a pair of intelligent red eyes to match. Chan meets its gaze, his own eyes ablaze with determination, and he launches himself out of the tree, Minho’s scratchy yell echoing in his ears. Obviously, castle guards weren’t trained to fight off beasts. But Chan was raised to kill anything in his path, to find weaknesses in every type of body, and that include animals like these that a lot of upper class men loved to keep as pets. He’s never faced one as large as this thing from childrens’ nightmares, but he’s had to gut a bear before. He convinces himself his body will do what it was meant to.

He lands on the beast’s back, though he knows one of its fangs has managed to slice through his calve, and the sting is enough for him to groan out loud. He only gets one stab in between its shoulder blades before the monster reals on its hind legs and knocks him square off its body. The good thing, Chan thinks, is that he’s now the object of the beast’s aggression. Minho is safe in the tree as long as he holds this thing’s attention.

While he rolls over before his entire insides get ripped open by the long claws, his back does receive that treatment, and he yells out as his skin is opened, the cold air sending a shock through his system. But he’s up in the next second, the thumping of adrenaline in his ears only fueling his need to see this thing lifeless on the ground. His sword clangs against the fangs continuously snapping for him, backing him up until he feels himself go into the water. His blood from his leg and dripping from his back seep into the current, tainting it red.

Chan sweep up water with the blunt edge of his sword and gets it to blind the beast for enough of a second that he breaks out of the river, turning the sword in his hand and jumping right back onto the back of the beast, ignoring the pain in his leg as he does so. The beast roars, but Chan wastes no time this second round atop it, puncturing its jugular with a deep thrust of his weapon, causing the noise to choke up instantly and die within the next moment. He’s sent forward as the monster’s body slumps to the ground and river, water splashing onto the flower bed clearing and causing Chan to become drenched.

He breathes a sigh of relief, and turns to find Minho too slumped against the tree, unconscious.

“Minho!” he yells, panic laced in his voice. Going unconscious during any injury, internal or not, never meant anything good. He clumsily races off the beast, not caring about the carcass he left in his wake, and hurries to retrieve the Prince’s body, crying out as he sees that his skin is now so, so pale. It makes his heartbeat ring loud in his ears, and he doesn’t think as his body launches into autopilot, ignoring any aches or pains he feels as he races them back to the castle’s barrier, shouting for help and nearly crying himself with worry.

“Help, His Highness has been poisoned! Please, someone!” he yells, his breath coming out in puffs as his muscles scream at him to lay down himself.

There’s noise of commotion as the guards stationed on the lookout points see him coming into view, their Prince unconscious in his arms. They sound a horn, one of them yelling for a medic immediately. When they see Chan’s own injuries, they scream for two medics.

Chan reaches the edge of the tall stone walls before he collapses, the Prince held tight to his body, hand cradling his head as his own hits the soil and darkness overcomes him.

*****

The heat from morning light causes Chan to wake up. He’s sweated through, though he notes that he’s only wearing some thick cotton pants underneath the blanket that’s been placed over him. His body is wrapped in gauze, and he feels a tingling where his injuries are. Someone must’ve put some kind of salve on him. He’s groggy, mind fuzzy with trying to recollect what happened before he passed out. He remembers blood, his own and Minho’s, the loud thump as the beast fell into the pool of water, the glassy look in Minho’s eyes the last time Chan saw them open-

“Oh, good,” a voice greets him. “You’re awake.”

Chan blinks in confusion. With a groan, he recognizes that he’s in his own room, not in the medic wing of the castle like he would’ve thought. There’s a tray on his nightstand with a kettle of tea, a cup already filled with the herbal essence. When he tries to find the source of the voice, he notices a figure lurking in the still dark parts of his room that are shaded by curtains, although his body wakes up immediately upon meeting the person’s gaze.

“Hongjoong,” Chan gasps.

His guild mate’s cat-like brown eyes are piercing through his own, but Chan notices that the man has changed his hairstyle since the last time they had seen each other. It had been a blueberry color before, and now it's long and blonde, choppy with braids with gems intertwined in the strands. Hongjoong was the second closest person Chan had in the guild, just barely under Namjoon. Chan really shouldn’t be surprised that the man is here. Despite everything that Namjoon would tell them, they always tended to keep tabs on each other. Even during missions. Yet Chan feels like he’s been caught by a hunter, prey inside a trap, and he’s about to be eaten alive.

As Hongjoong steps out into the light, Chan notices that he’s wearing the uniforms of the medics in the castle. They’ve all had to get pretty well trained in healing their own wounds over the years, often alone during missions with hardly any medicine meant that you had to get resourceful. Once, Hongjoong came home nearly blind after a mission gone wrong, eye bandaged yet saved with the mixture of herbs Hongjoong had placed atop it. He knew he still couldn’t see very well out of that eye, though, and it was one of the man’s only weak points. If you could even call it that when he still could fight Chan with a blindfold around both eyes and still win sometimes.

“You have people calling you the Beast Slayer now, hyung,” Hongjoong laughed, though Chan knew him well enough to know that Hongjonog wasn’t exactly proud of him for obtaining that title. He shouldn’t be.

Chan sucks in a breath then groans when it hurts, the gauze straining against his skin. “They found the thing’s body, then?”

Hongjoong hums, eyeing his body with scrutiny. It makes Chan shrink into himself. “They only found it since you made it bleed out in the river of all places. They’re going to have to cleanse the entire plumbing now, you realize that, right? At least until the river is pure again.”

Chan knows he shouldn’t ask Hongjoong of all people. And yet. Hongjoong knows him well enough, though, too, and so he sighs as he sees Chan’s worried eyes.

“Your mission is still incomplete as of now,” Hongjoong supplies, tone hard. He tilts his head, blinks at him in that cat-like way that he has. “You don’t intend to complete it.”

Chan steels himself, unflinching as their gazes lock once more. “You didn’t phrase that as a question.”

“I’m not stupid, hyung,” Hongjoong spits out the honorific, something he only ever does when he’s serious. Chan never liked hearing the term from Hongjoong’s mouth, since it always was said with the opposite of respect. “I was the only one strong enough to claw the Prince out of your hands. Even as dead to the world as you were, you held him like you wanted him to join you in the afterlife.”

And Chan has no comeback to that. Because how could he? He remembers the panic that strangled his system, the fear that he could no longer see Minho’s eyes staring back at him with the life he was used to. The life he was supposed to rip away.

Chan feels cold nip at his skin, but he knows it’s not from his own nakedness or the draft coming in through the door. He knows no amount of furs could smother it down.

Hongjoong sighs, but it's the accompanying weight in it that grabs Chan’s attention. “Perhaps the two of you should’ve done more than just dance with death last night.”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong had a habit of speaking in riddles sometimes, in speech that Chan wasn’t used to. He had an accent to him like they all did, indifferent to all the years they’d spent in Levia. Hongjoong’s reminded Chan of the rough current of ocean waves, of syntax improper to everyone except the pirates he had come from.

“There’s tricksters in our house, apparently,” Hongjoong says, like that explains anything at all. “I’m afraid one of them is the one we thought knew naught how to lie.”

“Hongjoong,” Chan hisses, irritated by being in the dark to something the younger has found out on his own.

“You questioned Namjoon-hyung about this mission before you left,” Hongjoong states. “Jungkook told me about it when I had come back from my own mission not two days after. Even he was confused why our leader would allow treason to be on the list of sins we commit, but he’s blindly devoted to Namjoon. I didn’t question it until I happened to overhear them arguing a few nights later, and it didn’t end well.”

“Jungkook fought with Namjoon?”

“It turns out that Seokjin-hyung is much more than just our legal helper,” Hongjoong deflects. “He’s become Namjoon’s lover, but that isn’t the only important detail. Seokjin’s family are the descendants of the royal family that was exiled a few decades ago. The ones that the Lees replaced.”

Chan’s body jerks. First, he’s trying to process that Namjoon would take a lover when he himself warned against such a thing in their line of work to Hongjoong and Chan. He’s also reeling for Jungkook, who regarded Namjoon as the best being in the entire universe, and how he must be feeling at being betrayed in such a way. They’ve been committing treason all this time, and yet none of them knew it. He clutches the bed sheets, cursing lowly. “When I first arrived, everyone was impressed that Seokjin recommended me as a guard. Does anyone remember the Kim clan, then? If Seokjin can be so well integrated into noble life still, then what happened within their lineage?”

“I did some digging when I came to the castle,” Hongjoong begins. “I went through the books tucked away and nearly burnt, even finding scrolls about this history. It’s four generations old, already. But the Kims were exiled and allowed to take their art and relics, the one last mercy granted to them by the warrior who disposed of them after they plunged their kingdom into famine and needless violence with the neighboring kingdoms. He thought that they could settle somewhere else and sell the relics for money to plant their poison roots.”

His tone was dark as he continued, “One of them stayed after seducing a guard that was supposed to take them to the border of Levia and Aurora. She vowed that she would see the Lee clan fall one day and continue her bloodline. So far, her wish is starting to come true. And history is repeating itself, if another Kim managed to seduce the kingdom’s most lawful assassin, if that could even be a thing to begin with.”

There was a resentful scoff in Hongjoong’s voice as he assured that Namjoon’s heart was now in the hands of the vengeful lord who had now shown his true colors.

“I think we can worry about getting Namjoon’s rose-colored glasses off later,” Chan thinks, something finally clicking into place. “Seokjin doesn’t trust me as much as Namjoon does, and he’s getting antsy since it’s getting close to Minho’s birthday.”

That is the explanation that makes sense in his head for why Minho ended up getting poisoned. Perhaps Seokjin had just sent Taehyung to keep tabs on him, but if he was ballsy enough to outright poison the Prince, Seokjin didn’t really care about allowing Namjoon to handle his dirty work. “Taehyung is the one who poisoned Minho. He probably saw it was a great opportunity, maybe was hoping it would take me out too, since I’d be the only one who could rat Seokjin out if I put the pieces together before I followed through on my promise to Namjoon.”

Taehyung wasn’t a member of the guild, either, like Seokjin. He was Seokjin’s cousin, but he sometimes followed his hyung on his errands, and Namjoon liked him well enough to let it slide that he knew about the location of the guild. He and Taehyung also enjoyed art, and he became a friend to Jungkook over the years, too. Again, Chan feels his heart lurching for his guildmate.

“Namjoon is willing to assist in usurping the throne for Seokjin,” Hongjoong said. “At this point, I’m going to assume Taehyung may have been sent here on a different, larger mission.”

Ice floods Chan’s body. His injuries burn, but he asks Hongjoong, as they both come to the same conclusion. “They’re going to stage a coup, aren’t they? ”Chan phrases it like a question, fists clenched and jaw set tight. Hongjoong’s expression is dark, but there’s no more anger being directed at him. Only agreement.

“Happy birthday to His Royal Highness.”

*****

“Since we’re both traitors to the guild now, I’m staying with you,” Hongjoong decides, leaving no room for argument. “I’d be as good as dead if I dared step foot back on guild soil.”

“You’re as good as dead here if Taehyung is lurking around,” Chan reminds him through a mouthful of bread. Changbin had relented and sent him a tray filled with meat and cheeses and some thick slices of bread a while ago, insisting that it was only because he needed his strength back as soon as possible. The maid looked rather irritated that anyone would have to be restricted from food when they lived in the castle, which Chan found rather amusing. “If he stayed to confirm that the Prince died, then he certainly knows I disobeyed Namjoon. And he also knows who was the one that kept me alive.”

“Precisely my point,” Hongjoong mutters annoyed, stealing some slices of cheese and nibbling on them. “I just pray that Namjoon or Seokjin won’t try another stunt until the day of the party. We need to figure out how to prevent this entire thing from happening.”

“I never thought you to be a royalist,” Chan teases.

He gets a glare in response. “Do I have to remind you of history? The Kim clan nearly caused the entire kingdom’s downfall. At least the Lees have the heart of warriors. They know hardship, quite the opposite of bluebloods.”

“Well, do you have a plan? Or are you just going to lecture me on things of the past without thinking of the future?”

“You need to worry about recovering your strength before you take on more than you can handle this time,” Hongjoong orders. “As the medic here, I forbid you from leaving this room, and I’ll tell the Captain myself if I have to.”

Chan snorts at that. “Where’s your medical license, hm?”

“Christopher.”

Well, if Hongjoong was using his birth name, then Chan supposed he should listen to him.

Chan spent the next four days recovering, though he refused to stay locked in the room on the last day, at least badgering Hongjoong enough that the younger allowed him to walk around the hallways with him while they tried to search for a sleeping tiger. The other guards in the castle had been ordered by the King and Queen to try and find the man that dared attempt to poison the Prince, but they failed in matching a servant to the description provided by both Chan and Minho. And Chan and Hongjoong didn’t see him in any dark corner of the castle. They could only assume he was back with Seokjin to report that the guild master’s prized pupil wasn’t such a good listener anymore. And Minho himself was worse off than Chan, not having built a tolerance to poison at all throughout his royal upbringing. For the most part, Hongjoong told Chan that his servant must do all the taste testing before he ate himself, but since Han had been separated from Minho when he came to Chan that night…

He hadn’t seen the Prince since he carried him back to the castle with panic clutching at his heart. Hongjoong informed Chan that he was unconscious for the first two nights, his body barely pulsing with life. The Queen had ordered all of the precious lilies cut down and preserved immediately, banishing anyone save for Seonghwa to touch them. No one outside of the castle was allowed into the gardens after that, as they tried to save face and act like the Prince’s life wasn’t in any danger. It would only cause panic and fuel any anti-royalists, which they did not need so close to the celebration.

The others had come to visit Chan during his recovery, bringing him warm meals and cups of calming tea with gentle smiles. They all thanked him, though Han especially cried the first time he saw Chan bruised and battered in his bed. The other man wept into his arms, thanking him for saving his hyung’s life. Not to mention slaying the monster from his childhood.

Chan couldn’t stop their fussing over him even if he wanted to. Even if he had gone out into that forest with the intention of being the one to cut the string of Minho’s life. Only Hongjoong recognized the distant look in his eyes when the others came in and told him to work on Chan’s recovery quicker so that he could be back outside with them.

“He can get off house arrest tomorrow,” Hongjoong finally said after the fifth day. “But one of you still needs to help him change his bandages during any training he does. He’s also not to do any heavy lifting or sparing.”

“What? Am I just to jog around the castle like a fool?” Chan said with a small snarl. He couldn’t help it, he was beginning to grow restless.

“Doc knows best, I suppose,” San stepped in after seeing the familiar heat rise in Hongjoong’s eyes. “Don’t worry, we won’t beat him up too much.”

Chan wouldn’t admit it, but it felt nice to eat with others again. He hadn’t realized quite how many meals he had eaten alone. Even Hongjoong didn’t stay too long with him aside from napping in a loveseat that was in the corner of his room. He still hadn’t told Chan exactly how he snuck into the castle without anyone questioning his random appearance, but he was never one to ask Hongjoong things like that. Chan had seen with his own eyes just how much of a smooth talker Hongjoong could be.

During their training now, there was an empty presence left by Minho. Felix and Hyunjin still joined them, Felix nearly crying that his creations were the reason why both he and the Prince had nearly died out in the forest. As if there wasn’t an entire beast that made it that much more difficult. Chan had done his best to assure Felix that he wasn’t the one that messed up the perfect recipe by poisoning it, though the boy’s tear-filled eyes still lingered for most of the first day.

Minho called for Chan the fourth day after he woke up.

Han told him that the King and Queen were hogging him, trying to ensure that he was alright, and that Chan wasn’t the one who had actually tried to poison him. It made Chan nearly laugh at the entire thought. Because he could’ve been. But he wiped that thought out of his mind when he remembered his sword had tasted beast blood.

Still, Minho’s body was much more in need of rest than Chan’s. The poison from the plants had been a high dosage, and the only reason Minho hadn’t passed out to it sooner was because the beast gave him enough of a scare he had an adrenaline boost.

Chan knew this, but it didn’t stop his heart from lurching at the sight of the Prince in his night robes, still tucked into bed with a book in his lap. He only found some comfort in the fact that the stars were still dancing in Minho’s eyes, that they hadn’t gone out after all.

“Well, it seems that Changbin won’t have to find a replacement so soon, then,” Minho smiled as Chan walked into his room, accompanied by Han. The youngest stood near the door, given the two their space as much as he could. Minho motioned for him to exit the room, and Han rolled his eyes but obeyed, mumbling that he was going to get him in trouble like usual by not following protocol.

“It also seems that the kingdom will still get a Crown Prince,” Chan huffed out, smiling back rather tightly.

“Thank you,” Minho said softly, uncharacteristically quiet for the next few moments. “I know it is why you are here, but it is another thing for you to…”

“Slay a beast for you?’

Minho laughs, the sound nearly enough to calm Chan’s mind. “Yes. That’s quite a large ask, even for a royal guard.”

Chan gave a mock bow, “His Highness only deserves the best, is what I was told upon signing up.”

“Hyung,” Minho whines. And, oh, Chan never expected to hear that term fall from Minho’s lips. He was the Prince. He had no need for honorifics in his vocabulary.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” is what Chan manages to respond with, voice sincere. He dares allow himself the privilege of reaching forward and tracing Minho’s cheek with his fingertips, tucking a loose strand of his long hair behind his ear. Minho watches the action with wide eyes, before looking up at Chan with a lovely pink coloring his paler than normal cheeks. So he was still not back at 100 percent.

“Of course I’m safe,” Minho argues. “I knew you would do your duty as my guard.”

Chan smiles softly. The Prince may be spoiled, Han had said, but Chan also found out that the Prince had a reputation of being quite honest. Of never telling a lie just to spare feelings. Chan can’t help but think that Minho’s words will ever hold more truth to them later than they do now. Because Chan would indeed do his duty. He would protect the one life he wanted to spare. No matter what it cost him. His title, his guild, his occupation? Heavens, his own life? Minho’s aura filled Chan with the warmth of peace he thought he had lost when he was taken from his home.

How could Chan even think to get rid of that light?

*****

After Minho recovered, he insisted on going to their practices pretty much every day. The King and Queen would whisk him away after an hour to complete his tutoring sessions, and to practice or the upcoming ceremony. He had to perform a traditional dance as a testament to show he could rule with grace, poise, and passion. That was what the dance was supposed to display, or at least that’s what he told Chan.

“It’s just another way for them to show off,” Hyunjin disagreed. “The only other thing that MInho has to do to be named Crown Prince is defeat the King in a battle of swords. Like how you guys practice, except there are actual stakes. If he can’t get at least hits in, he won’t get the title.”

“Who would it go to, at that point?” San wondered, like none of them had imagined anyone else besides Minho taking the throne.

Hyunjin shrugged. “Next of kin? Though Minho is an only child, so maybe one of us would have to do it. Unless they let him try and his next birthday until he actually gets it right. He won’t get to be King until his father retires the throne, anyway.”

“When did the last King retire, again? I know Minho’s grandfather is still alive, right?” Yunho asks, brows furrowed as he tries remembering the information.

“When he hit fifty years, he thought it right to give the throne away, lest his judgment begin to fail him,” Changbin answered.

Felix nodded. “The right thing to do is give up before cognitive decline starts. At least, that’s what the scholars recommended at the beginning of our kingdom.”

“Thankfully we haven’t gotten a tyrant since..”

At the mention of the previous ruling clan, the table falls silent. Chan sees Yunho realize what he had said and quickly clears his throat, though the nobles look rather uncomfortable in their seats. He wonders if any of the noble families had any preference to which clan took over. Though if the Lees were successful in overthrowing the last clan, he can only assume that the nobles hold their alliances with them.

The rest of dinner that night is quiet, an awkward tension having fallen over the table at the mention of the previous ruling clan. Minho had stayed back with his tutors for practice, although Han was eating with them, stating that the Prince’s lessons for that were considered private and almost sacred.

And while Taehyung is gone for now, Hongjoong is still antsy and is pacing across Chan’s room when he returns from dinner, books lying about everywhere.

“I thought we agreed that we couldn’t do much else since Taehyung left,” Chan sighs, tired from the day’s work load.

“Well, being sitting ducks will kill us,” Hongjoong insists. “Namjoon possibly has the entire guild on standby for the ceremony. Which is now just a bit over a week away, mind you.”

Hongjoong gives him a pointed look. “We have to warn them.”

Chan blinks. “Warn them?!” He says incredulously, looking at his friend like he’d gained a third head. “You realize if we warn them we out ourselves, right?”

“We should have them train accordingly. Going against an assassin blind will kill them.” Hongjoong points out. And Chan hates to admit it, but he has a point. He nearly strangled San the first week he was here. He was able to beat Changbin on most days.and that’s when he was trying to be mindful of his strength.

“We’re subject to jail just because of our occupation,” Chan reels back, frustrated that they’re even having this conversation. “No matter if I saved the Prince’s life, my hands are not free of other blood I’ve spilled. And they never will be.”

“Neither are mine,” Hongjoong asserts. “Maybe some of the people we’ve killed didn’t deserve it. Maybe they were hated by people with too much money and too much vengeance in their hearts. You and I never asked questions, because we knew nothing else. But you and I both know bad things happen when history repeats itself. Namjoon is turning into the old Master, thinking if he just allies himself with the right people, he’ll be able to free himself of the blood he has on his own hands instead of atoning for it some other way.”

“I can’t protect Minho if I’m sleeping with the rats, Hongjoong,” Chan grits out.

“You’re on first name bases, are you?” Hongjoong rolls his eyes, and Chan readies himself to fire back at him, but they’re interrupted by an urgent knock at Chan’s door.

“Chan, it’s me,” Changbin calls. “You have à…visitor.”

Hongjoong and he share a look before he goes to open the door, Hongjoong sliding into the shadows quickly. The sight he’s greeted with is an unusually serious-looking Changbin, who has an unpleasant tilt to his lips. It makes something nauseous stir in Chan’s stomach.

Namjoon never let the guild if it wasn’t for business or for any personal missions, and there were few other members that Chan was completely close to like he was with Namjoon himself and Hongjoong. He doubted that the traitor was here to see him, either.

“Follow me,” was all Changbin said. He didn’t check to make sure Chan was following him, but given the tone he used, Chan obeyed. He didn’t have to look back to know Hongjoong was on his trail as well, making no noise and blending in as well as he could.

They went down the twisting hallways of the staff tower before they moved into the next one, then another one Chan hadn’t been in. He noted that it was behind the main tower, but this one had guards stationed by the connecting bridge and in front of the main entrance. Changbin nodded at them, and they allowed them inside without another word to give a hint as to what the hell was going on. As soon as they stepped foot into the tower, the temperature dropped significantly, like the tower was locked away from all other outside influences. Changbin still gave him no further hints or explanations, and when they began delving further into the tower, Chan knew what it was. And it made the breath he had nearly knock out of his system.

“He’s lucky he ran into me first, and not one of the King or Queen’s guards,” Changbin grunted as they came to a stop at one of the many cells in the tower. “They wouldn’t have bothered keeping the key, or keeping him breathing at all.”

Big bambi eyes stared back at him, relief flooding them as they landed on Chan.

Jungkook.

Changbin’s grip on him as recognition and panic filtered through Chan’s usual poker face was as tough as steel, harder than anything he’d experienced during their training sessions. So he wasn’t the only one holding out either. “I sure hope you have a good explanation for why you know an assassin,” he hissed.

Jungkook hadn’t revealed Chan’s status?

“Actually, he knows more than just one,” a voice said behind them, startling Changbin into releasing his death grip on Chan’s shoulder. Hongjoong looked unimpressed by Changbin’s surprise, though he did regard Jungkook with an unreadable expression on his face. He must be as confused as Chan was.

Although, even in the dim lighting of the cell, he saw tear marks on Jungkook’s face. Somehow he knew that it wasn’t because he was held up in a dingy prison cell. And then it made sense. Jungkook had run away. It still just didn’t make sense for him to follow Chan here, though. Jungkook must’ve heard that Chan’s mission was failing, had most likely talked to Taehyung when he returned with the way Chan was nothing short of a traitor to them now. So then why had he come here in broad daylight, turned himself in, and not given up Chan at all? Why hadn’t he greeted Chan with a knife through his heart?

“The Prince said you saved his life,” Changbin said, though it was phrased more like a question. “I saw the blood on your sword, and it wasn’t his. You would’ve left him to die if you wanted to kill him.”

And so Chan sucked in a breath to his teeth, laughing awkwardly at the way this was playing out. “Well, as you can see,” he started, “I’m quite terrible at my actual job.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “Love made you stupid, is all it is. You did quite well at killing the beast that attacked your target.”

Changbin looked shell-shocked, and Chan couldn’t blame him. “But you also didn’t poison him. Were you sent by Lord Seokjin to watch over the Prince?’

Finally, Jungkook made noise. At first, it was a bitter sounding laugh that got their attention. He looked quite miserable, sniffling as he explained, “Oh, Lord Seokjin sent him alright,” he said bitterly. “Just not in the way you think.”

Changbin blinked slowly.

“You know Lord Seokjin’s surname, don’t you?” Chan asked. Changbin nodded unsurely.

“Kim,” he supplied.

“Do you know the way in which he writes it?” Hongjoong urged.

“No, they’ve always preferred to be regarded by their title rather than their surname.”

Hongjoong hands him a torn out page, one he managed to take from those books sprawled upon Chan’s room, he supposes. Was this why Hongjoong insisted that they reveal themselves? Chan notices that it’s from a clan book, one listing all the clans in Levia. At the bottom of the tree denotes Kim Taehyung and Kim Seokjin, along with their official characters for their names.

Changbin curses upon seeing it. “I thought they were banished,” he breathes.

“No one would’ve said anything because the clan continued maternally,” Hongjoong guessed. “Since they had another way to write their names down, too, from their paternal line, this book was most likely written by someone still loyal to them.”

“No one besides the scholars read the books mostly,” Changbin informs them. “And unless there’s something wrong legally with anything- like passing down land, these go unchecked.”

“Obviously,” Hongjoong snips. “This was one book out of about ten that I had found. And the person who wrote it sure knew where to hide it.”

“That still doesn’t tell me why any of you three are really here,” Changbin glares. He looks to Chan for some kind of explanation.

Chan feels heat rush into his system despite the coldness in the room. “I wasn’t the one who poisoned the Prince,” he assures Changbin. “Our guess is that Seokjin is getting impatient or the person he sent to spy on me saw an opportunity and took it. Easy to put the blame on me anyway if we were going to be out there alone. But I…my original mission was to end Prince Minho’s life. We’re all from the same guild, but we no longer stand with our guild master, who’s aiding in committing treason.”

“You were fine with it if you came here willingly,” Changbin growls. “Why the hell did you change your mind? I thought assassins didn’t give a shit about the law.”

Chan flushes, swallows and clears his throat. It’s not like he can just admit his feelings for the Prince outright. He’s sure Changbin isn’t that oblivious to Minho’s flirtations with him, but it’s another for Chan to reciprocate them in any capacity. “The way I was raised…I thought I could know no other life except for one filled with blood. I grew to like it here, even if it’s only been a few weeks. For once in my life, I didn’t feel like I had to hold my breath.”

“In other words, he fell in love with His Royal Highness,” Hongjoong deadpans. “And we are trying to help keep them in the honeymoon phase instead of turning Chan into a poor version of a widow.”

“I came here to warn you two,” Jungkook says. “Seokjin would’ve attempted to overthrow the crown regardless if the Prince died or not. He just wanted to give him that mercy instead of keeping him a prisoner or exiling him like they did to his ancestors.”

“They wanted to make him some kind of martyr?” Changbin questions. “What? Does Lord Seokjin think everyone will just accept his rule?”

“They will if assassins replace guards and policemen,” Jungkook scoffs.

“We can train you our way up until the ceremony,” Chan suggests. “I can’t say it’ll be enough time for us to defeat them if they choose to attack, but it’s better than going in blind.”

“I can’t tell the King and Queen about this,” Changbin refuses. “Not without getting both you and Hongjoong thrown in here too.”

“We’ll be exposed anyway,” Chan says. “But if you don’t want to freak them out, keep it to your men. I’ll take on Namjoon if I must, but I will not allow anything to happen to the Prince, Changbin-ah. You have my word.”

Changbin’s face contorts with confliction, but then he sighs. “What am I doing, trusting the word of a killer?”

Chan hopes that one day that word won’t be in the description that Changbin uses for him. If they can make it out of this, anyway. Changbin stares at him darkly, jaw clenched tight. “Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

*****

None of the others seem to be really shocked at the news when Chan breaks it to them. San said he was actually relieved because it meant that they didn’t really suck at sparring, Chan was just trained to actually kill people and not just protect others. It made him feel equal parts embarrassment and ashamed, since he realized that he really wanted to be looked at in a different light. He could only hope that Minho would forgive him when shit inevitably hit the ceiling. Changbin refused to allow him to reveal himself to any of the royal family. He would ensure that they all received a royal pardon if Seokjin gave up their identities during the ceremony. He didn’t let Chan forget that he would now owe him favors for the rest of his life.

Jungkook and he began training the others in all the skill sets they knew. Fully releasing aggression on their opponent took some getting used to from the others, especially from Yunho and San who were naturally more gentle-natured already. Thankfully, during the last week, Minho was completely wrapped up in royal duties, with Felix and Hyunjin attending to him along with Han. He had to go in for fittings for his coronation outfit, as well as his dance lessons being finalized, etc.

Though he still found some time to be with them. Throughout dinner, he stuck to Chan’s side like glue, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously but saying nothing since everyone else had welcomed them into their little circle.

Minho was kept perfectly in the dark…until he wasn’t.

It was mostly Chan’s fault.

They had been practicing close-range techniques, ways to sneak behind your opponent and get the upper hand, when it happened. San’s grip on the blade was still rather shaky, especially this close to Chan’s vital spot on his neck, when the three royals came down with some refreshers, eager to be out of the clutches of their teachers. Hyunjin shouted for Changbin happily, though their presence was so unexpected and sudden that San jumped and the blade sliced through Chan’s skin like butter. If he had just been another centimeter lower…

“Hyung!” San cried, tears flooding the poor man’s eyes when he saw Chan curse and clutch his neck. “I’m sorry!”

“There goes that career choice option for you if you ever get fired here,” Mingi said, but he went and got the first aid kit immediately after getting a glare from Yunho.

“What career choice? Why would San ever consider a different career?” Minho wondered.

The silence he received from them was enough to raise his suspicions high enough that he practically demanded they tell him what their little inside joke was about.

“Chan is…was, um,” Yunho began, but he was too anxious to say it outloud.

“I used to be a hitman,” Chan said, choosing his words carefully. “Jungkook and I trained together, and so…”

“He deserves to know, Captain,” Jungkook said to Changbin. “He was the original target, after all.”

Even with the truth to Jungkook’s words, anger still floods Chan’s system.

“He still is,” Changbin admits. He can barely look at Minho when he comes clean about what is really going on, and Chan is no better. Even glancing at Felix and Hyunjin as Changbin explains the weight of the threat they’re going to face is enough to make him want to vomit. He has to protect them. All of them. He failed in his original mission, and now he thinks that he’s putting more lives at risk. But he remembers that regardless of whether Minho died or not, Seokjin would still usurp the throne, and it’s not as though the King and Queen would be thrilled about it if their only son was dead.

Hyunjin and Felix mentioned that others could challenge for the throne if Minho couldn’t defeat his father in a duel. Chan feels as though Seokjin wouldn’t mind challenging Minho if he does defeat the current King, showing that he’s a much better choice.

“Chan?” Minho calls, his voice unusually soft and unsure. When he looks up again, there’s no anger or resentment in Minho’s eyes. Only shock and awe, and a bit of bashfulness.

“I would humbly request a royal pardon from His Highness, when he is given that authority,” Chan requests. “I wish to clean my hands now, if you’ll allow me.”

Minho grabs Chan’s hands, bringing them to his lips. Chan’s jaw drops at the sudden display of affection, especially in front of everyone, but he can do nothing to stop it. “You cleaned them in the water when you saved me,” he asserts. “The beast’s blood carried away all of your sins when it stained the water red. Just continue to be my shield, and I’ll be thankful.”

Chan feels exposed with all of the attention on them, but Minho doesn’t let up until Chan promises with a murmur of his birth name, scolding him over using formal titles even in the presence of others.

*****

The day of the ceremony, everyone is on edge. No one save for Han is allowed to be in Minho’s company that day, and the ceremony is set to begin at dusk. The sun is nearing the edge of that now, the sky bright vivid flames and it descends into nightfall.

Minho had snuck into Chan’s room that morning, scaring the assassin to nearly fall off his bed. Luckily, after coming clean to the Prince, he had given Hongjoong and Jungkook a spare room, a shared suite that used to belong to a pair of castle maids. Hongjoong did not take being woken up lightly if he didn’t have to. He groaned as he registered being awake, but scrambled when he realized who exactly was in the room with him.

“Your- Minho! What are you doing here?” Chan whisper-shouted, trying to cover his body as best he could. Even with the beginning of winter chill, his body still ran hot, and so he only really needed the thick velvet blankets to keep from freezing at night. He tended to only wear a pair of undergarments to sleep if he could help it. So having his bare chest on display felt exposing.

Minho giggled. Fucking giggled. “I have a gift for you,” he said, grinning. Though he paused, biting his lip. “I do hope it ends up quite useless for you, however.”

Chan tilted his head confusedly, but when he unwrapped the gift that was placed on his lap, he understood. It was a pair of dual-wielding blades, sharp and glistening.

“I’ll feel more secure if you have two blades instead of one,” Minho explains. “And um..Wooyoung also gave me this for you,” he adds, settling a small tin on his lap as well. “Seonghwa helped him prepare it in secret, but I think it’ll make the best surprise if my hyung decides to try something with you.”

It’s liquid, and from the scent that Chan has wafting into his nose, he immediately knows that it’s poison derived from the flowers that nearly took the Prince from him.

“You can coat the blades in it,” Minho suggests. “Or not. I don’t know, you’re the assassin, but I figured it would help you. I wish there was more that I could do.”

Chan strokes Minho’s cheek, the other grabbing his wrist gently. “There is one thing that I’d request.”

Minho nods. “Say it, and it’s done.”

“Please only refer to me as your guard from now on.”

Minho’s lips tilt into a smile. “I told you, Channie, I would convince you to say yes to being my personal guard. Changbin can’t have you after this, I’m sorry. He can have Jungkook and Hongjoong instead.”

Chan laughs at that. “Two for the price of one?”

“They’ll be compensated fairly, don’t you worry. But you’ll be with me afterwards. I want that to be your birthday gift to me, amongst other things.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Other things?”

The press of Minho’s lips is featherlight. Nonetheless, Chan’s body reacts, and he instantly craves for more. His mind is clear enough to allow him to indulge in Minho this time, and he places his hand on the back of the Prince’s neck, cushioning his lips against his own more deeply than what Minho gave him.

The Prince makes a pleased hum at this, and he allows their lips to languidly slide against each other for a few moments before he dares to sneak in a sliver of his tongue, and Chan shivers as they intertwine, and he goes to pull Minho onto the bed and-

“Hyung! They’re going to have my head if we don’t show up! We have to go!” Han’s voice interrupts them, making them separate from the sudden loud noise. They both sport a dazed look on their faces, and Minho pouts as he moves away from him, but Chan kisses his knuckles before his grip is released entirely.

A promise.
****

The entire main tower of the castle is filled with those invited for the ceremony.The people are in the main area of the gardens where the flower viewing ceremony was not even two weeks prior. People surround the area cleared for the entrance of the Prince, where it leads into the castle itself and where Minho will dance under the full moon’s light. The main throne room will remain empty until he completes the dance. If he dances properly, the moon is supposed to bless him into gaining victory over his battle with his father for the title and right to inherit the throne.

Chan stands right at the entrance with the others, most of the King and Queen’s guards by the walls and lining the inside of the castle. There’s traditional instrumentals playing in the background now, signaling that the Prince is coming. The steady strings being plucked and thrummed while a choir calls up to the moon to grab her attention floods Chan’s ears, so he strains to listen to any other noises that aren’t welcome for the ceremony. He sees Changbin and the others scanning the crowd for foreign faces, for features that stand out and for anyone that looks too still within the jostling crowd. Jungkook and Hongjoong are looking out in the shadows, unseen but definitely poised to attack when necessary.

Chan isn’t ready for Minho when he arrives, alone as Jisung is within the crowd instead of at his side like normal. He manages to hold in his gasp but air still gets sucked in through his lips when they take in his appearance. His long hair has been completely let down for the ceremony, save for a small bunch tied into a knot with a hairpin signaling his status as first-born royal. The jade points off and Chan figures it could easily be used as a backup weapon if needed. Minho’s eyes are framed by kohl as well as glinting gems in the shape of crescent moons. His lips have been coated with rose oil, and they’re curled into the familiar cat-like smirk. The robes draped onto his frame are simple but of the highest quality silk Chan’s ever seen- an iridescent silver with overlapping lilac, tied at his waist and flowing over simple pants. The outfit isn’t truly restrictive, but Chan doesn’t think flowy outfits are meant for battles. He doubts Minho will be given the ability to change into armor.

Minho begins his dance with the opening of a hand painted fan.

The movements he creates are circular and lithe, as if he isn’t on the ground at all. As Minho contorts and twists his body throughout the cleared out cobblestone makeshift stage, Chan begins to realize that the dance is meant to reflect the ever changing faces of the moon. His fan closes itself and mimics the way that the moon presents itself as he goes through it, with his movements either becoming wider or narrower depending on how much of the moon is revealed for that particular phase. It draws in everyone in the audience, though no one dares murmur a word or belt out any praise. The music draws in and out as though they’re being guided by Minho, not the other way around. Chan can’t see the King and Queen from where he stands, their backs to him and the rest of the guards poised at the entrance of the castle, but he sees that their hands are tightly clasped together.

Minho’s face is the picture of serenity while he dances, his eyes only ever turning to the moon as though he truly is praying to the goddess of Levia. Chan doesn’t take Minho for the type to bow his head in gratitude to a strange deity, but he supposes that Minho is the splitting image of what the moon goddess wished for in Levia’s throne. He truly looks like a child of the moon goddess herself.

The Prince bows down to his parents, and he withdraws the jade pin from his hair before offering it to them, and Jisung comes from out of the crowd to strip him of the first layer of his robes, and Chan realizes that now he simply looks like a citizen of Levia instead of their Prince, albeit a wealthy one.

There is no clapping or noise from the audience yet. There won’t be any noise coming from them until the future of Levia is secured. The Queen takes the pin from her son, placing it in her own hair from where it must’ve sat originally. The King retreats back into the castle, with Changbin closing the doors before the Queen begins speaking.

“It is under this full moon that we will bear witness to my son, First Prince Lee Minho, challenging the King for his place on the throne. May his devotion to the moon goddess be seen and rewarded with courage, wit, and strength necessary to lead and claim his spot,” she addresses, smiling gracefully at her son. She turns to her own handmaiden, a petite woman who also resembles the moon in her pale and quiet looks, who hands her a sword. The sword is long and curved, and is supposed to resemble the moon phase on the challenger’s birth date.

Minho takes the sword and stands as his mother signals him too, and the two of them begin to talk towards the entrance when an agonized yell pierces through the silent night, freezing everyone in their spot.

“Father!”

The Queen, after getting over her initial shock, pushes the guards away and opens the doors with such force Chan’s afraid that she might rip them off of their handle. Her personal guards and maidens rush after her, with Minho nearly pressed at her back. Chan meets Changbin’s alarmed face and they go inside the main room of the tower that holds the empty throne room.

There’s another piercing scream that echoes off the walls in the room, since all of the furniture had been emptied out to create a space for Minho and his Father to complete the challenge. It comes from the Queen, Chan realizes, and a second later he finds the cause of the scream, although he wishes he only could’ve been ahead of Minho to cover his eyes from the sight he is now witnessing.

The King lies on the castle floor, a trail of blood flowing in their direction from the open wound in his chest, eyes wide open but void of any life that had filled them not minutes ago.

Chan then sees the traitor, holding the sword that is dripping with the King’s blood and now raising it to point to Minho.

“I’m afraid your opponent changed,” Seokjin drawls, face dark and glaring. “How unfortunate.”

“Treason!” The Queen yells, clutching onto Minho who is standing without his eyes moving from his father’s lifeless body.

Seokjin raises a brow, walking down the steps from the throne. He steps right over the King’s body with no regards to it, a horrid crushing sound echoing as his boot presses down on the wound he inflicted. “Treason? You know nothing of treason,” he spits. “Treason was the ancestors of this cursed bloodline, thinking that warriors made for good kings.”

“Your line doesn’t carry of the moon goddess’ blessing within it,” he sneers. “Your blood isn’t blue like ours is. There’s not an ounce of divinity that you can covet, and no amount of dances or offerings or prayers will change that. Perhaps if the little Princeling can make actual blue blood spill on this floor he can claim some for himself. If not, I’m afraid it’s time that the blessed return to power.”

“I see the reasoning now,” the Queen grits out. “You were a part of that clan after all. I’m afraid you will rot away in exile for not staying hidden like the rest of your clan. Guards!”

The reaction is immediate. The guards move to storm Seokjin, yet because of that they lose track of the movement in the shadows. It’s only thanks to the smallest gesture of Seokjin’s head that Chan sees it, and his legs scream with the amount of force he uses to sprint into action. His blades barely make it into the assassin’s neck, saving the Queen from a fate mirroring her husband. The man goes down onto the floor with a thud, although Chan hears other similar noises, and he curses when he finds that most of their guards are the ones meeting their fate. Changbin and the others form a circle around the Queen and Minho, and although more guards rush in from outside, Chan knows that one assassin is worth nearly ten or more royal guards.

“You’re not going to commit anymore sins,” Chan snarls at Seokjin, who annoyingly keeps managing to kill any unfortunate guard that crosses his path. Chan doesn’t see Jungkook or Hongjoong still, and it’s starting to get him antsy.

“I don’t think an assassin has a right to tell a King what to do,” Seokjin scoffs.

Chan ignores the clashing of swords behind him, ignores the panic roaring in his ears that Minho might be in danger, that Changbin and the others are losing, instead narrowing his focus to Seokjin alone. If he kills him, the others will most likely surrender or retreat into the forest and crawl into the shadows for the rest of time. Assassins, by nature, don’t kill unless ordered to or threatened, and they have nothing to gain if their master is dead.

Their blades clang fiercely, the force nearly enough to cause Chan’s teeth to ache, his legs and all his other muscles straining from the pressure Seokjin is placing onto him. How the hell this man got this strong without proper assassin training is beyond Chan. but then it dawns on him that perhaps Namjoon had trained him while they developed their plan, and the thought sends a rush of fresh anger through him. He sidesteps a thrust that would’ve gone through his left thigh, and twists to avoid another one aimed right at his heart. Chan finds that the man he had known as rather conceited only about his looks is a flame burning in combat. Sweat pools on his forehead not even five minutes into their duel. His breath strains as his muscles fight to keep up with Seokjin’s pace, and he barely manages to block blows meant to stun or outright kill.

“You’re not such a prodigy after all,” Seokjin says, and with one misstep Chan’s face gets slashed across the cheeks and nose. He tastes the iron on his tongue when it falls down to his lips, but he ignores the sting of it. He’ll repay Seokjin tenfold. “I had to get my hands dirty when Namjoon promised me I wouldn’t have to. Though I suppose his other words still held true. This kingdom doesn’t even have warriors for rulers any longer, not if I bested the King so quickly.”

“You won’t get to Minho,” Chan growled. “And I’ll get Namjoon out of your poisonous hands, too, if I can help it.”

Seokjin grinned at him. “I don’t think you truly know your master if you don’t think he rather loves the feeling of blood on his blade.”

And Chan saw Seokjin’s eyes flicker to a different place in the throne room. He snapped his gaze to find Hongjoong and Jungkook both on the ground, unconscious and perhaps not even alive with Namjoon cleaning his blade like he would a dirty dish at home. The shock was enough to give Chan enough strength to knock Seokjin to the floor with an upwards slice, and he admittedly felt a sick feeling of satisfaction at the sound of both cloth and skin ripping open. It gave him a second to see that the Queen was now nowhere to be seen, but Minho was back-to-back with Han fending off Taehyung and another guild member Chan knew; Hoseok. Minho was smart enough to realize the fan could catch an incoming blade, and he caught Taehyung’s sword before it pierced him, pulling the man forward and kneeing him so hard that he coughed up blood. He then brought down the blunt of the sword he had just barely acquired onto his head, and Taehyung slumped to the floor.

Han seemed to be more agile than Hoseok and was able to evade all of his attacks, though he was on the floor after Hoseok managed to trip him. Right before Hoseok could bring down his blade into Han’s exposed front, Minho cut through his back mercilessly. He gathered Jisung into his arms, and they both met Chan’s gaze, and Chan was about to call out for them when Minho’s eyes went wide.

Chan ducked, pushing himself behind Seokjin and springing back up onto his feet, ready to end the fight and assess the rest of the damage. He would take on the members of the guild that didn’t know when to quit if he had to. But right before his sword could sink itself into Seokjin’s tailbone, it was knocked out of his hand, the metal clanging as it splintered in pieces. À bladed star fixed itself onto the wall, coated in Chan’s blood where it had sliced through his hand, and Chan only had another second to react as Namjoon essentially flew towards him, yet again knocking the breath out of his system. He and Namjoon would always fight barehanded and it seems that that hadn’t changed in the course of the last month. Namjoon’s wrapped hands trying to land a punch in Chan’s vital spots. He knew his former friend would aim for his throat, his ribs, his knees. Right where it would only take one hit to sweep the fight into a sure victory for Namjoon.

Chan had to go for an area that Namjoon wouldn’t be able to guess with a move he was blindsided by. But when you have trained with someone for too long, they can even tell how hard your heart is beating, how much sweat is collecting on your body, how much longer it’ll take before your muscles hit their breaking point.

But that’s exactly how Chan is able to tell that Hongjoong and Junkjook had at least tired him out. If they had passed, then at least their efforts might help Chan win this. He could only pray that Namjoon still had some kind of consciousness in his mind left. That the twinge of a frown on his lips was because of guilt, that the way Namjoon seemed to flinch when Chan held his gaze was because he still didn’t want to hurt him. That he had wished Chan had listened to him and made this easier.

“You’re such a hypocrite, hyung” Chan hissed. “You closed your heart off to Jungkook- to everyone- because you said killers don’t get the mercy of love. Why the hell would you commit treason if love didn’t have you losing your mind and your principles?!”

“We were at war with Levia back in our home,” Namjoon explains. “Their soldiers are the ones that started that fire, Christopher. While we didn’t have much of a choice in following whoever gave us pity, I have a choice to make them pay for what they did. The war wasn't just. It may not be blood on Minho’s hands, but his father wanted to teach our kingdom a lesson. That they needed to trade or suffer the consequences. He’s atoned now, I just wish you had had the ability to spare Minho of witnessing the punishment.”

“How is killing him the answer to that?”

“If you wouldn’t have done it, it would’ve happened eventually,” Namjoon said. “You give the privilege of being quick and painless. Seokjin will not.”

At the mention of the exiled royal, Chan moves to see Jisung trying to shield Minho as much as he can from Seokjin’s blows, protecting his Prince even if with his life. Chan needs to get to them, and fast.

Namjoon throws a punch at his temple, and it makes him dizzy enough that he stumbles onto the throne, grasping its solid form for support. He hears the telltale sound of a sword being unsheathed, and he sees the glint of it in the reflective material of the throne. However, the strike doesn’t come. Chan’s balance comes back and he finds Jungkook placing Namjoon in à headlock, with Hongjoong now in possession of Namjoon’s sword. Jungkook moves to wrap his hand around Namjoon’s throat, but the look on his face is twisted with pain. There are tears in his eyes, and he lets out a sob as Hongjoong slashes through Namjoon’s body in the shape of an X.

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong whispers, though Chan’s unsure if he directs it at Namjoon or Jungkook. By the answering wails Jungkook lets out as Namjoon’s body goes limp, he knows then. That’s the first time he’s ever heard Hongjoong apologize. Hongjoong doesn’t bother saying anything else as he reaches into Namjoon’s robe’s sleeves, fishing out more bladed stars and handing them to Chan.

“I’ll take care of any stragglers,” he promises, and Chan merely nods at him.

Minho is blanketing an unconscious Jisung with his body when Chan’s gaze finds him again. He’s blocking every blow Seokjin deals to him, but the other man is relentless. He doesn’t let up enough to give Minho space to even think of going on the offensive. And it’s a millisecond that Chan has to react when Minho makes the mistake of tripping on on of Jisung’s splayed out arms, leaving too much of himself open to be cut into.

Chan thinks this is the last time he’ll be thankful to Namjoon for being so adamant about all of them striving to achieve perfect aim on every single weapon that they could use. The bladed star drives itself home into Seokjin’s throat, making him stumble just in time for Minho not to be touched by his sword. There’s an ugly gurgling noise as blood floods Seokjin’s mouth, before he sputters and crashes onto the floor on his knees first, then slumping over completely.

Minho is sat on the floor now, watching as blood pools onto the normally shining surface. He moves to sweep Jisung into his arms, cradling his friend close to his chest. From here, Chan can thankfully see the slight rise and fall of Jisung’s chest, and that at least relieves some pressure that he feels.

“Is it…over?” Minho’s voice sounds soft and almost fractured.

While Chan has always been taught to never trust his own kind’s words, he knows Hongjoong and he are freeing themselves of the title. He also knows he can trust Changbin and the others, that he knows that somehow they pulled through when the moon’s light begins to pour in from the windows in the throne room. He breathes out after what felt like drowning for the past what felt like hours but was surely no longer than one.

“Yes, Minho, it’s over,” Chan confirms. “You’re safe.”

Minho breathes in a shaky breath, but he lifts his head to look at Chan, smiling weakly with some tears beginning to form in his eyes as he says, “Of course I’m safe, I had my Channie here watching me.”

The pressure in Chan’s chest dissipates completely.

*****

While Hongjoong does make good on his promise to take care of any of the lingering members of the guild, he’s not quite sure what to do about the guild itself.

“Do we just dissolve it?” Hongjoong asks, eyeing the bowl of warm tomato soup Wooyoung had whipped up for them that night. It was a week after the events of the failed coup took place, and most of the guards were still recovering- those that made it, anyway. Their table is smaller than normal because of this, and even with the nobles here, it still feels too quiet in their dining hall.

“You could always repurpose it, turn it into a sanctuary for wandering souls,” Chan suggests.

“You mean like a hotel?” Yeosang quirks an eyebrow. Chan shrugs.

“I am more than tempted to just burn the whole thing down,” Hongjoong sighed. “Especially since we’re all staying here, it seems.”

Changbin snorts. “You made the others give up their livelihood?”

“I didn’t give them much of a choice.”

“Well, one thing is for sure,” Mingi grins. “Chan did get promoted before the rest of us.”

Chan flushes up his neck and clears his throat. Minho’s words to him those weeks ago in the bath house come back and he feels even more bashful. “I still don’t really have more authority than Changbin does.”

“When it comes to the Prince you do, hyung,” Changbin chuckles. That was another change that had developed- the others (except for Hongjoong or Jungkook) had started calling him hyung. He rather liked it. It made him feel like he was needed now. Sure, people before had needed him to do their dirty work for them, but he was just a means to an end. He could take off the mask now.

“Speaking of,” Felix starts. “The Coronation is next week. He won’t be our Prince anymore.”

Since the King passed away, and Seokjin’s other family had willingly surrendered after news spread through the capital over the failed coup, Minho was left unchallenged for the throne. Hyunjin, Felix, and the others had no interest in ruling, and they were content to follow Minho’s rule. His mother would serve as Queen Dowager and guide him until he felt ready to make decisions alone, but she was also still grieving. They were helping each other bear this sudden responsibility.

And Chan would become Minho’s own pillar to rely on. Jisung and he had been promoted after everything. Jisung was now the to-be-King’s man in waiting, and Chan his personal guard and consort. While Minho’s mother had been worried about the bloodline dying off after he revealed he’d also take Chan as a consort, he assured her he would either adopt or hand the title down to any of his cousin’s future offspring. She didn’t really have any objections after that.

Chan reflected how different his life is in barely the span of a moon cycle. But he can’t complain, not when he sees Minho’s smiling face coming down to the table, Jisung trailing after him. His smile still doesn’t quite reach his eyes, since they had to bury the King’s body just last night, but Chan hopes it’ll heal with time.

Within the next week, Chan moves his things to Minho’s room, which has been decided he’ll keep. He can’t bring himself to move his mother to a different chambers, and doesn't want to be in their room. Chan is fine bringing the small amount of things he has into Minho’s room. The only difference that occurs is that they get a bigger bed.

This time around, the coronation is limited in its invitations. News spreads throughout the kingdom, though, and Hongjoong tells him that the new King’s portrait is painted in almost every restaurant that he now visits. With none other than Seonghwa, who was a large reason why Hongjonog hadn’t just gone back to the guild. Jungkook stayed and found his place helping the guard, but he also found solace in a pair of scholars in the castle; Yoongi and Jimin. He let his hair grow longer, and ink began to crawl on the skin of his body. They all were healing in their own way from their previous lives.

Minho wears the crown with pride, and he always places it down in its box delicately at the end of each night before they crawl into bed.

“You’re doing well,” Chan tells him one night a few months later, sensing that Minho was stressed as they prepared for the coming of spring. The farmland would reflect that soon, as even their winter foods had been abundant despite all that had happened. “The moon blessed you, after all.”

“Yet not an ounce of her is in my heritage,” Minho snips. Chan breathes out. Minho only snips at him if the scholars had been pestering him, but he knows it doesn’t come from a place of malice.

“She crafted you herself,” Chan protests, slipping his arms around his husband’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. He tucks a strand of Minho’s hair behind his ears, kissing the skin that becomes exposed to him. “I could fight them for you, though, if you want me to. So they stop questioning you. I’ll even fight the moon herself to give you some of her divinity, if that’s what you desire.”

Minho’s unbelieving laugh resounds in his ears. “I thought you didn’t want to spill any more blood?”

“I stopped because of you, but if you want the world to bleed, then that’s what I’ll do, too,” Chan murmurs. His hands trace along the robes covering Minho’s body from him, still in the fancy attire from his meeting that night.

“So loyal,” Minho smiles, turning in his hold to face him. Chan winks at him, tilting his jaw up to seal their lips in a deep kiss. While the first time he had felt Minho’s lips against his own had taken him completely by surprise, he basks in the familiarity of them now. The warmth that they spread throughout his body, the coiling fire that threatens to spread into a blaze if he lets himself linger long enough. If Minho teases him just enough on any given night.

“What kind of husband would I be if I was not loyal?” Chan grins back.

“I don’t know, maybe one that’s out to kill me?” Minho smirks, though the words don’t make Chan flare in anger. He knows that Minho would never doubt him, that he knows what Chan feels even more so than Chan himself at times.

So he presses Minho back to lay on their sheets, beginning to disrobe him gently. He sees the rise and fall of Minho’s bare chest and traces over his heart, pinching the nipple on that pec just to be a little cruel. It makes Minho whine, and Chan chuckles at this as his hand trails its way up to his husband’s neck, circling around him carefully before just barely squeezing. His gaze falls to where Minho’s lips part in a silent gasp, though he doesn’t move an inch.

“My life is yours, Minho,” Chan says, sincere in each breath he takes. “You stole it the second your lips touched mine, and I just hadn’t known it yet.”

Chan leans down to connect their lips again, moving to cradle the back of Minho’s head. Minho’s own arms circle around his neck, combing their way into his hair that has grown out into curls, just the way his husband prefers. Their friends would often poke at their dynamic mirroring the sun and the moon; how Chan would bow to Minho so that he could shine. Chan never rejected any of it. He hissed when Minho decided to nip at his lips, his teeth somewhat sharp though playful. He responded in kind by slipping his tongue into the other’s mouth, curling them together as they shifted their weight to be closer, always connected.

That was another thing that Chan had learned about his husband. When he began to become attached, he became needy. But Chan loved how needy his husband turned out to be. So much so that when they couldn’t be intimate for more than a week, Minho grew so frustrated he would cry and demand a day to just be with Chan. The amount of times that jisung had to lie to the scholars or the Queen was lost at this point.

Chan switched from devouring Minho’s mouth to placing teasing nips and bites on the side of his neck, delighting in the gasp he drew from the man when he licked along the skin there and up to the shell of his ear, tugging it between his teeth. He sucked on it harshly while working on untying the bands holding Minho’s pants together, chuckling when Minho eagerly lifted his hips so Chan could do it faster. “Eager little thing,” he teased, ignoring the way he received a whine in response in favor of sucking more bruises into the side of his neck.

“You know how I am and yet you continue to tease me,” Minho complained, glaring at him.

“I do it because it gets you to beg so prettily for me,” Chan responds easily. He drew one of his hands up to Minho’s mouth, smirking at him. “You know what to do, darling. If you want it,” he purred, leaning in so their faces were inches apart once more, “work for it.”

Minho cursed at him but took Chan’s fingers into his mouth obediently, and Chan growled a bit as he felt the swirling of Minho’s tongue sinfully curling them. Minho coated them heavily, even if Chan and he would end up having to use oil as well, he liked it messy. And he also loved riling up Chan. As he did that, Chan slid lower down Minho’s body, trailing kisses from his pecs to his abdomen before getting to the now untied waistband of his pants. He tugged them and his husband’s undergarments down in one move with his free hand, and he nearly laughed as Minho hissed when the cold air hit his now freed cock. Chan wrapped his hand around it, pumping him until he was completely hard and nearly throbbing in Chan’s hand.

Chan removed his other hand from Minho’s mouth, groaning as he saw Minho lick his lips afterwards. His husband parted his legs wider to make room for Chan, and Chan didn’t resist the temptation to bite into the revealed flesh of his inner thighs. It made Minho keen, and he threw an arm over his mouth in a poor attempt to keep his noises down. Chan just bit down harsher, even smacking the tip of his cock in punishment lightly.

“Don’t,” Chan hissed. “You know I want to hear you fall apart from my touch, don’t try and hide your noises.”

Before Minho could open his mouth to retort, Chan slapped him once more, this time on the fresh bruise blossoming on his thigh. “If they dare to listen, let them,” he growled. “Changbin shouldn’t place any guards near our chambers at this hour anyway. He already knows I’m more than capable of handling anything. And that includes my brat of a husband, too.”

Minho whined, his chest rapidly moving now from how hard he was breathing. He knew how to rile Chan up, but Chan knew every way to make Minho fall apart, and sometimes it didn’t take much more than just a few taunting words and skillful touches to get him to unravel. “C-Channie, please,” he sobbed, choking when Chan dug his nails into his skin. “I’ll be good, just please touch me, do something, please!”

Chan grinned darkly at how pliant Minho was becoming so shortly this time, and to give his husband a reward for no longer hiding his pleas, he licked a stripe up the curve of his cock, earning him a high-pitched moan from the other. He had to press down Minho’s hips so they wouldn’t buck up into his mouth to seek more of the warmth given to him by it. He sucked on the pink tinged head, loving the way that Minho began to chant his name like a mantra after just a few moments. Chan did all the tricks he knew would make Minho lose it- alternating between suckling and licking, flicking his tongue expertly underneath the head and between the slit, pumping any other parts of skin that his mouth didn’t take.

He lived to worship any part of Minho’s body that he was allowed. And Minho never denied him an inch of himself, so Chan took and took and took. He pressed hot open kisses down the shaft, making Minho’s cries become louder as Chan worshiped him. Just as Minho voiced that he was nearing the edge, Chan pulled back from his cock and spread his legs wider before bending them to reveal probably the most intimate part of his husband. Minho’s curses fell on deaf ears as Chan’s mouth attached itself to Minho’s body once again, and he would have laughed at how fast the curses switched to moans again if he were not busy causing them.

His tongue snaked its way into the crevices of Minho’s hole, and he gripped Minho’s ass between his hands roughly, smacking it every once in a while to hear Minho gasp out his name breathily. He was currently thankful that he had gone to retire into their chambers a bit earlier than Minho had, bathed and sans clothing. Chan had a habit of not really wearing night robes, and there have been times where he did end up regretting it. This was not one of those times.

He snuck in to press two fingers alongside his tongue into Minho’s hole, scissoring him open. Even with the wetness from Minho’s spit, it was still somewhat tight. He pulled back to retrieve the bottle of oil they kept handy at their bedside nightstand, and he noted that it was nearly empty. He made a mental note to make the embarrassing request to Jisung to get some more from the maids later. For now, he slicked up his fingers and even poured some onto Minho’s skin before going back to sliding his fingers back into his husband’s body. He curled them just right, making Minho whimper and beg some more, tears gathering in his eyes.

“C-Channie, hyung, please, want you now,” Minho whined, canting his hips back onto Chan’s fingers to show just how eager he was for it.

“Don’t want to hurt you, my love,” Chan shushed him, opening him up with another two fingers. Chan knew his size was larger than most, and while he knew Minho loved the burn and stretch of him, he didn’t want to actually hurt him at all if he could help it.

“You won’t, you won’t,” Minho swore, tugging Chan down by the back of his neck, kissing him filthy, trying to make Chan lose all of his composure. “Need to feel you inside me, hyungie, please?”

And Minho did that thing he does where he tilts his voice up, his voice breathy and sultry all at once. It made desire pool in Chan’s gut, and the last straw that made the coil in him snap was Minho circling his legs around Chan’s waist, pulling him in and whispering into his ear, “Fill up your King, Christopher.”

It had been a mistake telling Minho his birth name from his other kingdom.

And so, to get back at him even just a little, he pushes in in one fluid thrust, punching the air out of Minho’s lungs with the harshness of it. He takes a hold of his hips, hoping that his grip will leave marks tomorrow, and sets a brutal pace from the very beginning. Minho’s legs only tighten around him, ensuring that he’s locked inside him, and the thought of Minho merely using his body to bring himself pleasure sets him off even more. He buries his face into the side of his neck, groaning and panting as he thrusts deeply into his husband, biting down into the junction of where his neck and shoulder meet.

Minho was faring no better, mumbling incoherent curses and pleas, his fingers tugging roughly at the strands of Chan’s curls. It makes his scalp tingle with slight pain, but he welcomes it gladly. He’s used to Minho leaving just as many marks of their nights together as he does, and the possessive side of him burns in contentment. Minho’s legs fall onto the mattress not after a few minutes, but it’s enough space for Chan to continuously drill into him. He grips the flesh of Minho’s ass with that same possessive bite he always does, smirking to him as he says, “If only your subjects could see their precious King now,” he chuckles. “Spreading his legs like some common whore for a former killer. What would they say if they knew you liked my cock so much that you decided to marry me? Hm? Would they still bow down to you if they knew you drop to your knees every chance you get for me?”

Minho gasps as Chan taunts him, the words being whispered right next to his ear. Chan doesn’t miss the way he shudders at the harsh words, the way his eyes roll back and he moans for more. For Chan to absolutely ruin him.

Chan takes one of Minho’s legs and places it over his shoulder, causing him to fuck into him deeper than before. He knew that Minho loved it best when Chan fucked him so good that his mind went blank- that no thoughts could come into his mind and make him think of anything that wasn’t just Chan Chan Chan-

“Admit it, darling,” Chan growls, “You worship me, right? I’m the only one that gets to see you like this, such a pretty mess for me, aren’t you?”

Minho keens high in his throat, nodding when Chan slaps his thigh for not responding quick enough. “Yes, Chan, please,” he sobs, his hair a perfect mess around his face. “You’re the only one, Channie, n-no one else can make me feel so good.”

Chan’s hips grind into him sinfully, carving out his place inside of Minho’s body. He curses when he feels Minho clench around him, like he wants Chan to go even deeper. He has to bite his lip when he sees that the shape of his cock is shaped into Minho’s stomach, the indent of it moving as Chan’s hips pulse into the royal, and they begin to bleed when Minho runs his hand along the dent, eyelashes fluttering shut like he’s experiencing something spiritual.

“So big always,” Minho whimpers, “so good at making me yours, Channie. You belong to me, my love.”

Chan moans at the claim, and he cages Minho’s body with his own, his arms bracketing around MInho’s frame so easily. While his husband is physically fit thanks to Changbin installing him into some form of training (just in case), he’s still so small compared to Chan’s muscular build. Minho screams out Chan’s name as he finally reaches the spot that drives him mad, and he aims for that spot continuously as he chases his high.

“I’m gonna fill you so well that you won’t be empty ever,” Chan swears, already feeling the familiar heat rising in his stomach. “You’ll find my essence inside you for weeks, darling.”

Minho moans loudly at the sinful promise, shuddering beneath him. “You want to breed me, Channie? Mark me as yours like that?”

Chan growls at the thought, even though he knows it would never happen biologically speaking. He and Minho had already discussed that the throne would most likely go to one of his cousin’s children, but the thought of claiming Minho in such a primal way has Chan nearly feral in a way he’s never felt before. Not even when he had been high on the adrenaline that came with his previous job did he feel this gone. Of course Minho would be the one to bring out this side to him.

His pace becomes punishing after those words leave Minho’s lips. He kisses him as his thrusts become rougher, devouring all of the moans that come out in time with his movements. He wants to fuse their bodies together so he never has to leave Minho’s side, so he can know all of his husband’s inner thoughts and feelings. He lives to bring Minho to the peak of all forms of pleasure he can think of, whether that be remembering what type of tea he needs after a particularly grueling meeting with the scholars or making him cum five times in one night (their personal best so far, and Chan hopes to one day beat it).

“My perfect lover,” Chan moans, the wet slide of his cock pulsing as Minho digs his nails into Chan’s back, leaving striking red lines in their wake. Minho is glowing in the height of their love making; his face shining with the sweat gathering at his temples, his hair now tangled on the sheets. There’s a red flush to his chest that goes all the way to his cheeks, and Chan can’t help but think he resembles an angel crafted the moon herself. “You were made to take me, Minho, your body constantly craves me. Look how you’re sucking me in, baby, like you can’t get enough of it.”

Minho’s mouth is agape with soundless cries now, and he’s so hot inside that Chan can barely breathe. He gives Chan a look he knows all too well, one filled with hunger and lust and love all in one. If Chan wasn’t as strong of a man as he is, he would’ve finished when Minho breathes out, “Ruin me.”

Chan grunts, instantly flipping over and pulling Minho’s hips flush against his own, not wasting a second more than he needs in getting back inside of him, the loud cry of his lover echoing in their bedroom. He’s sure that even the moon can hear him with how loud he’s being now, as Chan snaps his hips into him with the intent to wreck him. Chan grabs a handful of Minho’s hair, tugging him up to press against his chest, sliding the other around his throat once more and putting the slightest bit of pressure in his grip. He knows that Minho loves the fuzzy feeling he gets in his mind when he does things like this, and he wants Minho to be pliant for him after this so he can relax through the rest of the night.

“Mm, Channie,” he croaks out, hands clenching against the bed sheets. “You’re so hot inside of me, I can feel you pulsing- oh my god!”

Chan chuckles as he hits Minho’s sweet spot from this angle, the pleasure no doubt shooting right up his spine in a way that it probably couldn’t have in any other position. The moans become higher in pitch as he grinds into it cruelly, like he’s trying to set Minho’s inner walls on fire. It seems to be working because Minho’s voice turns into mindless babbles of pleasure mixed in with Chan’s own name, and he feels Minho’s nails dig into his hips, his head falling onto Chan’s shoulder.

“Let go, my love,” Chan coaxes, “I’ll hold you together.”

“Chan-Channie I’m right there, please, I need it, make me cum!” Minho pleads, his breathing shallow as Chan cuts it off just slightly, but Chan hears his order loud and clear.

He takes a hold of Minho’s hard cock that’s been uselessly standing between his legs this whole time, pumping him in time with his thrusts. They become erratic as Chan climbs the ladder of his own pleasure, able to feel Minho’s walls clench around him like a vice. Chan moans as Minho rocks back into him, the sounds of their skin connecting an endless loop in his ears. His grip on Minho’s cock tightens, and it only takes another swipe on his slit before Minho’s shaking, a cry of Chan’s name falling from his lips as he releases into Chan’s hand, choking at the end as Chan pumps him into near sensitivity.

The burst in Chan’s pleasure comes as Minho’s back arches and he licks a stripe up Chan’s neck before sucking down hard, the rough treatment piercing through Chan’s mind enough that it punches his release out of him without any other warning. Chan groans Minho's name before biting down between Minho’s shoulder and collarbone, nearly drawing blood with how hard he does it. Minho whimpers at the pain, but doesn’t voice any protest as Chan’s teeth don’t let up until he’s finished pumping his release inside him.

As Chan releases his hold on Minho’s neck, he slumps down onto the sheets, even though he’s still connected to Chan. His back is arched perfectly, and as Chan pulls out of him, he feels like he could finish again at the sight of his release connecting him and Minho, most of it falling down Minho’s thighs and onto the sheets. Chan breathes out, knowing that he’s going to have to carry his lover to the bath now. When Minho falls completely onto the bed, he turns to look at Chan with blinking, glassy eyes.

Chan can’t help but grin at him, reaching out and cradling his cheek in one hand. “Hi, darling,” he coos. “Are you back with me?”

Minho huffs at him, but he still grabs onto Chan’s arm like a lifeline. “We’re all dirty now, and we got the sheets drenched in all this vile liquid.”

Chan laughs now, pressing a kiss to Minho’s sweat-drenched forehead. “You are the one who ordered me to ruin you. The bed is an unfortunate victim.”

Minho rolls his eyes, making grabby hands for Chan, who complies easily. “This means we have to call for a maid now. Or worse, for Sungie.”

The smile falls off Chan’s lips as he carries Minho to the bath chambers in their room, thankful he at least didn’t have to go all the way down to the other bathing area where they shared that first fateful kiss. “We really should consider keeping extra sheets in a basket in the room, don’t you think?”

Minho’s answering laugh warms Chan enough to have the smile tug back onto his lips, and as he begins running the bath, he can't help but think that that sound is the reason why his mission had been doomed from the start.

He fell in love with the sound of joy coming from Minho’s soul, and he won’t ever regret letting it consume him so much that it changed his own.