Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The palace of Liraeth was made of mirrors—tall, cold ones that showed every flaw, every crack, and every weakness. No matter where you looked, your reflection stared back at you, sharp and honest. There was no place to hide.

Kim Dokja had grown up inside those walls, but he was never really part of them.

He lived in the quiet corners—the ones people forgot. Behind pillars, at the edge of grand halls, in rooms that no one used anymore. The kind of places where servants whispered and royalty never stepped. He knew how to keep quiet, how to keep his head down. It was safer that way.

He was the King’s son, but not really.

His name was never called during family dinners. No one saved him a seat at the table, so he always sat near the door. His cup was the last to be filled—if anyone remembered it at all. When he walked into a room, eyes slid past him like he wasn’t even there.

Dokja didn’t argue. Didn’t speak up. What was the point?

He was the son of a queen who had disappeared one cold night, and no one ever said her name again. A mistake the King didn’t dare erase, He was not dead yet—because doing that might make king look weak. So Dokja was left alone. Not quite disowned, not quite accepted.

He learned how to survive in the silence. How to move without being noticed. How to make himself small, quiet, forgettable.

He learned how to be invisible.

And he got very good at it.

But now, they needed him.

He sat in the royal study that smelled of incense and old blood, his head bowed before his father—the King of Liraeth, who had never once looked him in the eye.

“You will marry the Prince of Kaizenix,” the King said without any expression.

Dokja didn’t raise his head.

“It’s not a request.”

“I understand,” Dokja murmured.

His brothers stood behind the King, cloaked in ceremonial white. They watched him with mild contempt. If it had been up to them, he’d be sent to slums, not a throne. But this Kingdom needed stability. Kaizenix needed a consort. And Dokja was disposable.

“Do not embarrass us” one of his brothers hissed. “They already think we’re weak.”

Dokja merely nodded. He had heard the rumors. Prince Joonghyuk of Kaizenix—brilliant, merciless, ice-veined. A man who did not believe in love, who saw politics in every gesture. A man who would see right through him.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Dokja was supposed to departure the kingdom of Liraeth next day, He didn’t get a wink of sleep, so he went to library. The only place he was going to miss is this library and books. He brushed his hands against the books in the opulent shelves. As he was exploring the library last time, his gaze landed on a book with golden and black covers. A wave of memory hit him –it was the very book his mother once held as she told him stories.  He hesitantly took the book in his hands and decided to take this book to Kaizenix.

He went straight to his chambers, and laid on the bed, with that book in his arms –he fell into slumber.

The next morning, he was stirred awake by the rustle of hurried footsteps. Maids bustled around the chambers, their arms full of robes and jewels and silks. Before he could fully rise, they were already dressing him –adorning him in layers of finery. The robes shimmered in the morning light and embroidered across the fabric was the proud emblem of the kingdom he now belong to –Kaizenix.

He reached the carriage all dolled up, he didn’t know what to feel right now, it was too rushed to notice that no one was here to say him goodbye –not like he expected to. The ride was silent –too silent, dokja was glad he brought a few books with him. It had taken three long days of travel to reach the border between Liraeth and Kaizenix. Now, with only twenty minutes left, the carriage rolled steadily along the final stretch. Soon, Dokja would be transferred to a Kaizenix carriage that would carry him onward to the palace.

The carriage stopped with a jolt. “We’re here young prince” a voice interrupted, snapping Dokja out of his thoughts. Outside, the air was still, heavy with the weight of transition.

Dokja stepped out of the carriage, his boots meeting the dusty ground as his eyes lifted toward the transport waiting for him. A stunning sight met him—an opulent Kaizenix carriage gleamed in the fading light, adorned with gilded edges, intricate floral carvings, and deep velvet drapes embroidered with the royal crest. It was nothing like he had expected.

Compared to this, the Liraeth carriage he'd spent the last three days in looked like it was meant for servants. Plain, utilitarian, and worn from travel—it hadn’t drawn a second glance. But this… this was designed to be seen. Admired. Envied.

For a moment, he stood there, almost taken aback by its beauty. But the realization settled quickly. Of course—they would send something like this. It wasn’t just a ride; it was a statement. A display of pride and royalty, carefully selected to impress onlookers and fool the public into believing this marriage was a willing union, not the cold political transaction it truly was.

Dokja was startled as a man bowed deeply before him. The man’s appearance was striking—large and physically imposing, with a muscular build that spoke of rigorous training and battlefield experience. His features were serious and earnest, exuding a commanding presence.

“Young prince,” the man said with respectful firmness, “I am General Lee Hyunsung of Kaizenix.”

Dokja blinked, still adjusting to the sudden presence of such a high-ranking figure. “General… I didn’t expect to be greeted personally.”

“It is an honor, Your Highness,” Hyunsung said, straightening his posture. “Crown Prince Joonghyuk extends his deepest apologies. Due to pressing matters of state, he was regrettably unable to come himself. As a sign of sincerity and trust, he entrusted me with the task of welcoming and escorting you in his stead.” Dokja's gaze flicked toward the lavish Kaizenix carriage waiting nearby. Respect, or performance? he thought.

“I see,” he said aloud, choosing his words carefully. “You certainly make a statement, General.”

A faint smile touched Hyunsung’s otherwise stoic face. “According to the crown prince, Kaizenix does not take alliances lightly. It was important that the citizens see this moment for what it is.”

Dokja raised an eyebrow. “And what do you think it is?”

There was a pause—brief, but telling. Hyunsung's expression didn’t change, but something in his tone softened. “A duty. And a beginning.”

Dokja looked at him for a long moment. “Spoken like a soldier.”

“Because I am one,” Hyunsung replied calmly. “But I’m also a citizen of Kaizenix… and I hope, in time, an ally of yours.”

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Kim Dokja sat in the beautiful carriage, which was also made extremely to his comfort—down to the soft velvet cushions beneath him and the pale blue curtains that caught his eyes a little too well. Every detail had been chosen with unsettling precision.

Outside the window, the landscape had shifted. Gone were the brittle silver trees of Liraeth and the ashen skies. Here, the horizon bloomed with the crimson leaves of Kaizenix’s forests, the sun casting long, gold-streaked shadows over the hills. It was beautiful, in a distant, haunting way. Like the kind of place where stories ended... or began.

The ride was smooth, almost too smooth. He couldn’t shake the feeling that even the road had been prepared for him.

The man across from him—General Lee Hyunsung—sat silently, still as a statue. His sword rested against the seat, but his eyes, whenever Dokja glanced up, were watchful in a way that didn’t feel invasive. Protective, maybe. Dutiful.

“Do all royal carriages in Kaizenix come with silk cushions and scented wood?” Dokja asked eventually, his voice quiet but steady.

Hyunsung blinked as though the question had surprised him. “No. This one was... special. Commissioned last week.”

Dokja paused. “Last week?”

“Yes,” the General said simply. “The crown prince wanted everything prepared to your liking.”

A beat passed. “He doesn’t know me,” Dokja said.

Hyunsung’s expression didn’t shift. He paused for a moment. Hyunsung shifted in his seat, eyes flicking to the passing trees beyond the window, then back to Dokja.

“Prince Joonghyuk seemed… unusually pleased after hearing your father’s proposal,” he said slowly, like he was choosing his words with care. “Unlike his usual demeanor. Almost like he was—”
He stopped mid-sentence, cleared his throat, and looked away. “Apologies. That was inappropriate.”

Dokja tilted his head slightly. “Almost like he was what?” he asked, though his voice was light, almost teasing.

Hyunsung didn’t smile. “In lo- love,” he finished, reluctantly. “Which, of course, is… unlikely.”

Dokja blinked, startled into silence. Love? That couldn’t be right. He’d never even met the man.

“I thought you had,” Hyunsung added, his tone almost apologetic. “It’s shocking to hear that today will be your first meeting.”

Dokja let out a soft breath and turned his gaze toward the window. “No,” he said. “We’ve never met. Not even a letter. I wasn’t informed until two days ago.”

Hyunsung didn’t respond. Silence fell between them again—thick, contemplative. But the words still lingered in the air like smoke.

Almost like he was in love.

What kind of man falls in love with a stranger?

“And what does he expect in return?” Dokja asked, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into his tone.

Hyunsung looked at him then—really looked at him. “I don’t know, Your Highness. But I believe he doesn’t want anything taken from you.”

That was more terrifying than anything else.

Because Dokja didn’t understand it.

This was a lot of bullshit for today, he thought.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The carriage slowed again, wheels crunching to a halt.

Dokja looked up. “Have we arrived, General Lee?” he asked politely, though he already sensed the answer.

Hyunsung shifted in his seat. “No, Your Highness. Not yet…”

He hesitated—strangely uncharacteristic of him. Then, with an awkward cough, he added, “The crown prince has sent… something for you. The guards are here to deliver it.”

Dokja blinked. “A gift?”

Hyunsung gave a stiff nod. “Yes. I was told it was… personal.”

Dokja’s stomach twisted—not with excitement, but something warier. What sort of man sent personal gifts to a spouse he had never met?

He leaned toward the carriage window.

Outside stood two Kaizenix guards, one holding a long, narrow bundle wrapped in white cloth. There was a reverent stillness in the way the guard handled it, like he was holding something sacred—or fragile.

Dokja took the bundle slowly, hands brushing against cool silk. He felt Hyunsung watching him as he gently unwrapped it.

Inside were flowers.

Not jewels. Not a scroll. Not some symbolic crest of allegiance.

Just a simple bouquet of white chrysanthemums.

Dokja stared, heart thudding softly in his chest.

The petals were flawless—unbruised, freshly cut. They had been arranged with care, the stems bound in a pale ribbon embroidered with silver thread. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing meant for a show.

White chrysanthemums.

He couldn’t speak for a long moment.

“Is something wrong, Your Highness?” Hyunsung asked quietly.

Dokja’s fingers curled around the bouquet.

These are mourning flowers in Liraeth, he thought. The kind placed on forgotten graves. On tombs that no one visits anymore.

His mother’s grave had never received them. Because it didn’t exist.

Yet here they were.

A gift from a man he’d never met.

“No,” Dokja said finally, voice softer than before. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He looked back down at the flowers, unable to tear his gaze away.

What do you know, Yoo Joonghyuk?
What are you trying to say with this?

And why, for the first time in years, did Dokja feel something in his chest that almost resembled being seen?

Dokja’s fingers tightened slightly around the bouquet, the crisp white petals soft against his skin. The sight of them was like a phantom touch—a memory he hadn’t summoned.

White chrysanthemums. In Liraeth, they were the final offering. A symbol of grief. Loss. Death.

He was still staring when Hyunsung spoke again, voice softer now.

“I imagine… they carry a different meaning in your homeland.”

Dokja glanced up, startled. “In Liraeth, they’re for funerals,” he said quietly. “For mourning.”

A pause.

Hyunsung nodded, thoughtful. “Yes. I’ve heard that.” Then, gently: “But here in Kaizenix, they mean something else.”

Dokja tilted his head, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer. “What do they mean?”

“Devotion,” Hyunsung said simply. “Loyalty without expectation. A quiet kind of love.”

Dokja stared at him.

“They’re given to those we vow to protect,” the general continued. “And to those who’ve endured great sorrow and survived it.”

Dokja looked down at the flowers again, as if seeing them for the first time.

His throat tightened.

It would have been easier if Joonghyuk had sent him something impersonal. Something extravagant and political. Instead, he’d sent… this. Something that could be mistaken for mourning by a grieving son, but in this kingdom meant something tender. Quiet. Heartfelt.

A quiet kind of love.

But why?

They had never met. He was a pawn. A diplomatic knot to tie two nations together.

And yet...

“He sent these himself?” Dokja asked, voice nearly a whisper.

Hyunsung nodded. “He chose them. Personally. He also requested that they be delivered before you arrived at the palace, so you would understand before meeting him.”

Understand what?

Dokja didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

Instead, he gently held the bouquet against his chest as the carriage began to move again, and tried not to let the warmth blooming in his ribs reach his expression

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The gates of the palace loomed ahead, carved from dark stone and silverwood, arching high like the jaws of something ancient and regal. Kaizenix was not subtle about its power—it was carved into the very walls, built into the bones of the city.

Dokja’s carriage passed beneath the gate.

He had expected horns, fanfare, at least a line of stone-faced nobles waiting to analyze every inch of him.

Instead, there was silence.

Only the sound of wheels over polished marble, the rustle of silk robes, the weight of breath.

When the carriage finally stopped, the door was opened by a liveried attendant. Hyunsung stepped out first, then offered a gloved hand toward Dokja.

Dokja hesitated for a heartbeat—still cradling the white chrysanthemums in his arms—then accepted.

The moment his feet touched the ground, he felt it.

The air was heavier here. Expectant. Like the whole palace was watching, even if no one stood in sight.

And somewhere, it was.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

From the shadows above, hidden behind one of the grand pillars overlooking the courtyard, Prince Yoo Joonghyuk watched.

He had arrived early, of course. Earlier than the guards. Earlier than the sun.

He had stood in the same place for nearly half an hour, unmoving, unreadable.

When the door of the carriage opened, Joonghyuk's eyes flicked downward. His expression gave nothing away. But the way his jaw tightened—not with anger, but with tension—betrayed the weight in his chest.

And then he saw him.

Kim Dokja.

Slim and elegant in form, draped in travel robes that still shimmered faintly in the soft daylight. But it wasn’t his posture that caught Joonghyuk’s breath.

It was the bouquet.

Still in his arms. Uncrushed. Unrejected.

White chrysanthemums.

Joonghyuk said nothing. But his fingers curled slightly at his sides, like something in him had just been allowed to breathe.

He had expected distance. Suspicion. Cold indifference.

He had not expected Dokja to hold onto them.

He turned before anyone could see him, disappearing into the halls of Kaizenix like a shadow withdrawing into itself.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Below, in the courtyard, Dokja lifted his eyes to the palace.

It was colder than he thought it would be.

Not in temperature—but in silence. It was like standing at the foot of something alive and unblinking.

A soft voice to his side: “You’ll be taken to your quarters now, Your Highness,” Hyunsung said. “The crown prince has requested to meet you in the garden shortly, once you’ve rested.”

Dokja gave a faint nod, still clutching the flowers.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought wouldn’t leave him:

Why does this place feel like a memory I’ve never lived?

Chapter Text

The darkness felt suffocating, heavier than it should have been.

Dokja blinked, but the world around him stayed blurred, warped like melted glass. Cold air pricked his skin, and the scent of damp stone and something metallic,blood!? -hung thick in the air. He tried to move, to understand where he was, but suddenly-

A hand clamped around his throat.

His back slammed into a wall—stone, unyielding. The impact jarred the breath from his lungs, and before he could suck in more air, the grip around his neck tightened. Panic flooded his chest. His hands flew up, scrambling to loosen the fingers wrapped around him, but they wouldn't budge. They were strong. Too strong.

He couldn’t see the attacker’s face—just a dark figure, taller than him, cloaked in shadows. The features were distorted, smudged, like someone had blurred them out of existence. No matter how hard Dokja tried to focus, the face refused to come into view.

He opened his mouth to speak—to plead, to scream, to ask why -but no sound came out. Just airless gasps. His own voice was gone, stolen. Only his lips moved uselessly in the silence.

The shadow leaned closer. Its breath was hot and bitter against his skin. And then it spoke-
“You're not even worthy of standing near me,” the voice hissed, low and hateful. “Know your place, you filthy wretch.”

The words struck deeper than the grip on his throat.

Dokja’s chest burned. His lungs screamed. His vision flickered at the edges, turning red, then black. He tried to fight, he did, but his limbs felt like water, sluggish and weak. His fingers clawed, reached, but the air gave nothing in return.

And just as the world started to tilt, just as he felt himself slipping-

He woke up.

His body jolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around his legs. His heart thundered like it was trying to escape his chest. He gasped for breath, hand flying to his throat.

No bruises. No hand. Just silence.

A dream.
A nightmare.

And worse, this wasn’t the first time he’d had that dream.

He’d seen that faceless figure before. Heard those cruel words echo in the dark. Felt the same helpless panic in his chest. It always ended the same way -him choking, voiceless, and broken.

But this time…
This time, it was different.

The cold had felt real. The pressure on his throat had lingered even after waking. The weight of the words still sat heavy in his chest like they had been spoken to him, not imagined.

This dream didn’t feel like a dream at all.

It felt too real.

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting like that.

His nightclothes clung to his skin. The room was quiet but his head was not.

Then-
Knock. Knock.

The sudden sound made him flinch hard.

His breath caught. Shoulders tensed. For a split second, he expected someone to burst through- shadowed face, cruel voice, hands reaching for his neck.

But it was only a voice. Soft and Polished. A maid.

“Your Highness?” she called gently from behind the door. “Forgive the interruption… but the King and Queen are expecting you at the breakfast table.”

Dokja blinked.

The King and Queen?

Right. Kaizenix. His new home. The palace he had arrived in only yesterday, after days of silent travel and ceremonial greetings. He hadn’t even met his husband yet. He arrived and was being led to unfamiliar rooms with too-soft sheets and gold-covered walls, to rest.

Everything felt like a stage, and he was the only one who didn’t know his lines.

“Your Highness?” the maid called again. “Shall I help you prepare?”

“…No.” Dokja’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll come.”

He raised slowly, limbs still heavy with exhaustion. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. His legs ached as if he had run in the night—but he hadn’t moved an inch. Only dreamed. Or remembered. He wasn’t sure which anymore.

He scrubbed at his skin with cold water until the shaking stopped. Then dressed himself in the clothes that had been laid out for him: soft, silken robes in Kaizenix royal blue, embroidered in gold, light but formal. A brooch with the crest of the phoenix was pinned neatly at the collar. A gift, apparently.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His face was pale, as always. His lips, His lips were the shade of salmon pink. His eyes—tired. Not afraid, not angry, not even sad. Just… tired.

But there was no room for weariness today.

He squared his shoulders, smoothed his sleeves, and quietly opened the door.

The maid bowed as he stepped out. “This way, Your Highness.”

He followed her through the polished corridors. The palace was a strange mix of warmth and grandeur, sunlight streaming through high arched windows, golden tapestries, and floors that echoed with every step.

His heart thudded harder with every turn.

The King and Queen. His first impression.

He took a steadying breath as the maid stopped in front of two large oak doors.

“Shall I announce you?” she asked.

Dokja gave a small nod.

She pushed the doors open.

And beyond them—bathed in morning light and seated at a long table dressed in fine silver—sat two of the most powerful people of the kingdom.

Hades, King of Kaizenix. And Persephone, his Queen.

Their heads turned at the sound of his footsteps.

Dokja bowed low, voice quiet and steady despite the tightness in his throat.

“…Kim Dokja of Liraeth. I greet Your Majesties.”

There was a pause. A quiet one—but not empty. It was the kind of silence that hummed with expectation, like the moment before a blade touched the skin.

Persephone was the first to rise.

She was radiant, in a gown the color of ripened pomegranates, her golden hair coiled like sunlight around her shoulders. Her eyes, bright as summer storms, softened at the sight of him.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she murmured, crossing the room with a grace that made the air still. “You must be exhausted.”

Dokja lifted his gaze just enough to meet hers. She reached forward, not to command, not to inspect, but to brush a gloved thumb against his cheek. A soft, motherly gesture.

“You’re thinner than I imagined,” she whispered.

He wasn’t sure how to respond. But the warmth in her tone made his shoulders loosen, just slightly.

Behind her, Hades remained seated.

The King of Kaizenix was a figure carved from shadow and fire. Cloaked in dark robes, his presence filled the room like smoke. His gaze, when it landed on Dokja, was unreadable, sharp, assessing, yet somehow... restrained.

“Rise,” Hades said, his voice deep enough to rattle the cutlery on the table.

Dokja stood.

Their eyes met.

There was no cruelty in Hades’ gaze. No disdain. But neither was there the softness that Persephone so readily offered. There was something else entirely. Something buried.

Dokja bowed his head again, politely.

“I hope to serve Kaizenix with honor,” he said.

Hades let out a sound—half scoff, half exhale—as if something in Dokja’s words had struck a chord he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Persephone turned slightly toward her husband, eyebrows raised. “He’s being brave, you know.”

Hades didn’t look at her. He was still staring at Dokja.

“He’ll need to be,” was all the King said.

But Persephone smiled, as if that alone was victory.

She turned back to Dokja. “Come, dear. Sit beside me. You’ll eat with us today.”

Hades said nothing, but when Dokja took the seat—nervous, yet composed—the King didn’t look away once.

Persephone poured him tea herself, her movements elegant and unhurried. As the soft clink of porcelain faded, she leaned in just slightly, her voice low enough for only Dokja to hear.

“He likes you, you know,” she said, with a small, knowing smile. “He’s just… unbearably shy when he wants to make a good impression.”

Dokja blinked, surprised.

Persephone chuckled softly, eyes twinkling. “Hades hides it well—acts cold, kingly. But once he warms up, he talks far too much. You won’t be able to shut him up.”

Dokja dared a glance toward the King. Hades was silent, sipping his tea with rigid dignity, eyes fixed ahead like he hadn’t heard a word.

But the tips of his ears were unmistakably red.

Persephone added, almost fondly, “He thinks being distant makes him look powerful. Truth is, it just makes him awkward.”

Dokja gave the smallest smile, tension easing from his shoulders for the first time.

Persephone’s voice softened further. “Don’t be afraid of him, dear. He just doesn’t know how to show affection... but it’s there.”

And for a second—just a second—Dokja thought he saw it too. In the way Hades’s eyes flicked toward him when he reached for his cup. In the way he didn’t look away immediately.

Like a man who wanted to care, but forgot how.

Persephone placed a delicate hand over Dokja’s, just for a moment—comforting, grounding.

“You’ll notice it soon enough,” she murmured. “Joonghyuk and Mia—they’re just like him.”

Dokja’s eyes widened slightly.

Persephone smiled knowingly, voice dipped in fond exasperation. “Cold at first glance. Reserved, unreadable. But once they let someone in…” she gave a quiet laugh, “they become hopeless.”

She looked across the table at her husband, then back at Dokja with a soft glint in her eyes. “Hades pretends to be stone, but he feels everything much too deeply. So do the children. That’s their curse, I suppose.”

Dokja followed her gaze. Hades hadn’t spoken since his short command—but his eyes were no longer sharp. They rested on Dokja now, calm and thoughtful, with a furrow in his brow like he was trying to understand something delicate without breaking it.

Persephone leaned in one last time and whispered, “They just need someone patient enough to wait.”

Dokja gave a slow nod, unsure whether the warmth rising in his chest was from the tea—or something far more dangerous.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The doors creaked again.

Another set of footsteps echoed down the marble floor—measured, confident, unmistakable.

Joonghyuk had arrived.

He was dressed in the formal robes of Kaizenix’s royal house—black with silver embroidery, sharp lines accentuating his tall figure. The royal crest was pinned neatly to his chest. His hair was tied back, a silver clasp at the nape of his neck. Regal. Imposing.

Dokja felt the air change the moment their eyes met.

They softened.

Only for a moment.

“Your Majesties,” he greeted, bowing low before his parents.

“You’re late,” Hades said, though his voice lacked true bite.

Joonghyuk straightened. “There was a delay in the training grounds.”

Hades gave a small nod—brief, but approving.

Joonghyuk moved to sit, and to Dokja’s surprise, chose the seat beside him instead of one across the table. Their shoulders brushed faintly. Joonghyuk didn’t seem to notice—but Dokja did.

The quiet tension at the table shifted as servants refilled tea and laid out delicate dishes. Light conversation followed—Persephone asking about Liraeth’s summer climate, Dokja answering politely. Joonghyuk only interrupted once, correcting a misstatement about a Kaizenix tradition, earning a pleased nod from his father.

It felt... almost normal. (But not the quiet warm glances he was getting from the prince, now and then)

Then, as the plates were being cleared and fruit placed in elegant silver bowls, Hades spoke again.

“I presume the envoy from Liraeth delivered our agreement to your court.”

Dokja nodded slowly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good,” Hades said. “Then we should begin planning for the ceremony.” his voice steady, gaze fixed on his son. “It cannot be delayed any longer.”

Joonghyuk nodded once, his tone controlled. “Understood.”

“We’ll hold it by the end of next week,” Persephone said gently, glancing between the two of them. “Plenty of time for arrangements. And… not too long to keep the court guessing.”

Dokja lowered his gaze, fingers tightening around his cup. So soon.

Joonghyuk’s voice came quietly, after a pause. “If he’s ready, then I have no objections.”

Persephone smiled faintly. “We’ll make sure he’s not alone in this.”

Hades gave a small nod—brief, but approving.

Then, for the first time, Joonghyuk turned slightly toward Dokja. His voice was low, for him only.

“I didn’t think they’d decide this quickly.”

Dokja looked up at him, startled.

Neither did I, he wanted to say.

But Joonghyuk’s eyes—dark and searching—were steadier than expected. Like he was already trying to read him. Already trying to figure out how to do this better.

And this time, Dokja didn’t look away.

His gaze was heavy. Serious. Dokja felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders.

Persephone, however, smiled again—light and reassuring.

“End of next week,” she said softly. “That should give us time to prepare. You’ll look beautiful, Dokja.”

Hades hummed, almost approvingly. “He already does.”

Dokja froze.

Persephone beamed. Joonghyuk choked on his tea.

And for the first time since entering the room, a real laugh escaped the Queen’s lips.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The royal breakfast ended with a final clink of silverware and murmurs of satisfaction. Hades stood first, giving a curt nod before departing, robes sweeping behind him like a storm cloud. Persephone lingered for a few moments longer, gently squeezing Dokja’s shoulder before excusing herself with a warm smile.

That left just the two of them.

Silence settled like mist.

Joonghyuk stood, unsure for a second if he should go too—but instead, he turned toward Dokja, who was still seated.

“I—” Joonghyuk paused, cleared his throat, then tried again. “May I… speak with you?”

Dokja nodded carefully and stood as well.

They stepped out into one of the garden courtyards—quiet and walled in by hedges, a place too pretty for the tension between them. Sunlight glinted off a marble fountain. The air smelled faintly of citrus and roses.

Joonghyuk stood with his hands behind his back, stiff, like he was still reporting to a general.

“I’m Yoo Joonghyuk,” he said, voice firm. Then—almost as an afterthought—“The Crown Prince.”

Dokja blinked. “I know.”

“Right.” Joonghyuk’s expression twitched. “Of course you do.”

There was a beat of silence.

Joonghyuk looked away, brow furrowing. “This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.”

Dokja tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I’d meet you differently,” he admitted. “Not surrounded by ceremony. Not with everyone watching.”

Dokja wasn’t sure what to say. So he said nothing.

Joonghyuk sighed through his nose. “I’m not… good at this.”

“This?”

“Talking.” He hesitated, then added with a flicker of honesty, “Feeling.”

Dokja finally spoke, voice quiet. “That makes two of us.”

Joonghyuk looked at him. Not like a prince studying a political match, but like a person trying to understand someone else without armor in the way.

“I heard about your life in Liraeth,” he said slowly, but steadily. “You deserved better.”

Dokja’s chest tightened.

Joonghyuk swallowed hard. “I’m not sure I can fix everything. But I won’t be like them (this time)”

That startled Dokja more than anything else.

“I uh, I don’t need you to, uh you know-” Joonghyuk hesitated awkwardly, his words blunt and honest in the way only he could manage. “we’re going to be married, I want to at least try to… not make you miserable.”

For a moment, Dokja just stared.

Then—just barely—he smiled.

“I’ll take that over silence.”

Joonghyuk blinked.

“…Was that a joke?”

“A little one,” Dokja murmured.

Joonghyuk nodded slowly, then looked away again—shoulders stiff now.

“…I’m bad at those, too.”

Joonghyuk shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then gestured vaguely toward a stone bench near the fountain. “Do you… want to sit?”

Dokja gave a small nod, and they both sat—carefully, like two strangers unsure how much space to leave between them.

The sound of water trickling filled the silence for a moment.

“You don’t talk much,” Joonghyuk said.

Dokja glanced sideways. “Neither do you.”

Joonghyuk nodded, and then frowned. “This might be difficult.”

Dokja gave a soft exhale -was that a laugh? Just a small one.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “We don’t need to force anything. I don’t expect you to perform affection just because we’re engaged. I know it's political”

Joonghyuk looked at him sharply. “That’s not what I meant.”

Dokja blinked.

“I meant—” Joonghyuk paused, visibly struggling to find the words. He thought,
This time, I want to know you. Understand you.

Silence, he didn’t said anything, that made Dokja's stomach twist, unfamiliar and dangerous.

“Even if we don’t love each other,” Joonghyuk said, his voice portrayed sadness. “I want to know what makes you laugh. What makes you angry. (What makes you… stay)”

There was something in his eyes, guilt? Pity? Dokja stared at him, genuinely stunned.

No one had ever asked him that before.

And Joonghyuk, looking suddenly uncertain, added quickly, “You don’t have to answer now. I’m just—trying.”

Dokja looked away, the warmth in his throat difficult to swallow. “That’s new.”

“What is?”

“Someone trying.”

They sat in silence again, but this time it was warmer—less sharp.

“I heard you like books,” Joonghyuk said awkwardly, clearly reaching for something neutral.

Dokja gave him a small look. “Is that your attempt at small talk?”

Joonghyuk’s ears went a bit pink. “...Yes.”

Dokja looked down at his hands, but a quiet smile crept onto his lips. “I do. Mostly stories. Legends. Things that don’t belong to the real world.”

“I could show you the royal library,” Joonghyuk offered, quieter now. “It’s... peaceful.”

Dokja glanced at him, surprised again. “I’d like that.”

A beat. Joonghyuk’s heart ached, he didn’t deserve to even be around Dokja, he didn’t deserve to see his smile, and he didn’t deserve to be even able to talk to him. Dokja’s surprised expressions killed him silently; Joonghyuk was a sinner, who didn’t deserve even a bit of mercy.

“I know this won’t be easy,” Joonghyuk said. “But I don’t want you to regret this.”

Dokja looked at him, eyes steady. “I already regret many things.”

“Then let me not be one of them (This time)”

That made Dokja pause.

And for the first time since he’d entered Kaizenix, the ache in his chest wasn’t loneliness but something dangerously close to hope.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

He didn’t look like the monster Dokja had been warned about.

He didn’t look like the man Dokja had imagined—cold and cruel and sword-bright.

He looked… still.

“Crown Prince,” Dokja said voice formal.

A pause.

“I received the chrysanthemums.”

Joonghyuk’s posture straightened slightly.

Dokja blinked. “They were unexpected.”

“You didn’t throw them away, General told me”

Dokja glanced down then back at him. “I thought about it.”

Joonghyuk’s eyes didn’t flinch. “Why didn’t you?”

There was no accusation in the question. Just curiosity. A strange, pointed calm.

Dokja studied him carefully.

The lips. The voice. The presence. The reputation that didn’t match.

“I wanted to see what kind of man sends mourning flowers to a stranger,” Dokja said.
A breath passed.

“In Kaizenix,” Joonghyuk said, “they’re not for mourning.”

“I was told,” Dokja replied.

Joonghyuk nodded once. Then, after a pause: “I hoped they’d speak for me before I could.”

There was a pause before Joonghyuk added, quieter now, “I didn’t send them for politics. Or pity.”

They left the courtyard in silence, walking side by side through the stone corridors of the palace. The light was dimmer here, filtered through stained glass windows that painted the floor with quiet colors.

Joonghyuk walked a step behind at first, hesitant—but then he caught up and glanced sideways.

His fingers twitched at his side.

Then, voice low, he asked, “May I… hold your hand?”

Dokja stopped walking.

He turned to him, startled. “Why?”

Joonghyuk met his gaze, eyes steady but uncertain. “To walk with you.”

Dokja studied him for a moment, then—slowly—extended his hand.

Joonghyuk took it.

His grip was warm. A little awkward. A little too careful. Like he thought Dokja might disappear if he held too tightly.

They walked like that—hand in hand, the silence now gentler than before. Until Dokja finally spoke.

“…Can I ask something?”

Joonghyuk looked over. “Of course.”

Dokja’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Why me?”

Joonghyuk blinked.

“You had choices,” Dokja continued. “Nobles. Foreign royals. People beautiful and powerful and… wanted.”

His voice faltered, but he went on.

“I was a pawn. A forgotten child from a broken corner of Liraeth. So why me?”

Joonghyuk didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he gently pulled Dokja to a stop just outside the doors to the royal library. He turned, still holding his hand.

“I didn’t choose you because you were convenient,” he said quietly. “I chose you because…”

He hesitated.

“Because even when your name was just ink on paper, I read it and it felt like a story I already missed. You’re not a pawn, your highness”

Dokja’s hand trembled faintly in his.

And then, quietly—so quietly—he whispered, “You say that now.”

Joonghyuk’s grip only grew firmer.

(I’ll keep saying it. Until you believe it.) Joonghyuk thought.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Kim Dokja was talking to him now.

Not just out of politeness. Not because it was required. But willingly, softly—even if it was guarded. The sharp edges in his tone had dulled, and the silence between his words no longer felt like walls—just pauses where something unspoken might someday grow.

Joonghyuk didn’t say much as they resumed walking toward the library, still hand in hand. He didn’t want to startle the moment. He simply held onto it. The quiet beat of their joined steps—all of it felt like something delicate. New. And he fears he might break it again.

Beside him, Dokja looked ahead, eyes scanning the hallway like he was memorizing each detail. But his hand didn’t pull away.

Joonghyuk didn’t need grand declarations. Not yet. For now, the progress was this:

Kim Dokja was talking to him.
Kim Dokja was listening.
Kim Dokja was still here.

This time Joonghyuk won't disappoint.
This time, he won't hurt him.

Chapter Text

It was well past midnight, yet Dokja found himself unable to sleep. Restlessness gnawed at him, so his thoughts wandered to the royal library. The one the prince had shown him earlier.

Still, he hesitated. In the Liraeth Kingdom, he had never been permitted to roam freely. He wasn’t sure what the rules were here.

He stood by the window for a long moment, debating with himself. Finally, he moved to the door of his chamber, only to find two guards posted outside. The instant they saw him, they bowed deeply.

Startled, Dokja stepped back.

“Do you require something, Your Majesty?” one of them asked politely.

Startled, Dokja took a half-step back. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I wish to visit the library.”

The guards exchanged a brief glance. “Of course. We will escort you.”

The corridors at night were hushed, the faint flicker of torchlight chasing shadows along the walls. The air was cooler here, touched with the scent of old wood and polished stone.

When they reached the library, the guards held the doors open for him and did not follow inside.

Dokja hesitated only a moment before stepping in.

The room felt endless, rows upon rows of books, shelves stretching toward the high, vaulted ceiling. A single reading lamp glowed near the center, casting a warm pool of light over the table.

He forgot the time entirely.

One book led to another, and then another. Myths of Kaizenix, maps of the Northern provinces, histories of past dynasties. At some point, he stopped thinking about leaving.

By the time, the sky began to pale, the library’s lamps still burned softly. A maid entered quietly, only to pause at the sight before her: Dokja asleep at a table, his head resting on an open tome, a faint crease on his cheek from the page.

She hurried away to find Joonghyuk. Clutching her apron, found her way to the crown prince’s study. She bowed so quickly she nearly lost her balance.

“Your Highness… forgive me, but… the royal consort is… asleep in the library.”

Joonghyuk, who just dressed up in his royal clothes, gaze sharpened.

“Asleep?” he repeated.

“Yes, you Highness. It seems he spent the entire night there.

A faint pause. Then Joonghyuk stood, the scrape of his chair echoing in the quiet room.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Dokja lay slumped over the polished wood, cheek pressed to the pages of an open book. His hair fell loosely across his face, the faint rise and fall of his breathing the only sign of life in the quiet room.

Joonghyuk stepped inside without a sound. The guards remained at the door.

He paused beside the table; his shadow falling over Dokja’s sleeping form. For a long moment, he simply looked.

The lamp’s warm glow softened the sharp lines of Dokja’s face, catching on the curve of his lips, a shade of salmon pink, parted slightly in sleep. His lashes trembled faintly, as if chasing dreams he would never speak aloud.

Joonghyuk’s fingers twitched at his side.

Slowly, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Dokja’s forehead. His touch lingered an instant too long.

He closed the book beneath Dokja’s cheek with careful hands, sliding it aside so he could lift him. Dokja stirred faintly but didn’t wake, his head falling against Joonghyuk’s shoulder.

The weight was nothing. Joonghyuk carried him as if he belonged there.

Outside, the first pale threads of dawn brushed the horizon.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Dokja woke the next morning in his bed, the pale light of dawn spilling across the silken sheets.

He blinked slowly, disoriented. The last thing he remembered was the library, the warm glow of the lamp, the weight of a book beneath his cheek.

How had he ended up here?

He lay still for a moment, trying to piece it together. But the thought felt… heavy, so he pushed it aside. Whatever the answer was, he doubted he wanted to know.

The day unfolded quietly enough. Joonghyuk was nowhere to be seen, and Dokja didn’t ask. Instead, Persephone, sharp-eyed and poised, with a faint air of mischief, took it upon herself to guide him through the palace.

She spoke of Kaizenix’s customs, its court etiquette, and its power dynamics. She introduced him to several key figures, lords, ministers, the occasional foreign envoy, each more unreadable than the last.

Dokja smiled when required, answered politely when spoken to, but by the time the sun began to sink, his energy was frayed thin. Meeting so many people in a single day was like wearing a too-heavy robe, it dragged at him in ways he couldn’t quite name.

By nightfall, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Night had fallen, the palace quiet save for the faint whisper of the wind through the open balcony doors. Dokja sat at the edge of his bed, half lost in thought, debating whether he should visit the library again.

He was just about to stand when a soft tap came from the balcony.

He froze.

Another knock. This one sharper.

His pulse jumped. Who would come from there at this hour? The balcony wasn’t exactly an easy path, unless someone wanted to avoid the guards entirely.

Before he could call for guards, a low, urgent voice cut through the stillness.
“It’s me.”

That voice, familiar, steady, and impossible to mistake.

Dokja exhaled, the tension loosening from his shoulders only slightly. He crossed to the balcony and pushed the curtains aside.

Yoo Joonghyuk stood there, not in his immaculate royal robes, but in dark, fitted clothes that made him almost unrecognizable. His hair was slightly mussed from the climb, and in one hand he held a bundle of folded fabric.

Dokja stared. “What—how did you—”
“You’re coming with me,” Joonghyuk interrupted, stepping inside without waiting for permission.

“With you?” Dokja repeated, glancing at the door as if the guards might burst in at any second. “Do you realize what time it is?”

Joonghyuk didn’t answer. Instead, he held out the folded clothes. “Change into this.”

Dokja didn’t move to take it. “…Why?”

“We’re going into the capital,” Joonghyuk said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Dokja blinked. “You’re the crown prince. You can walk anywhere you want, why are you going like, like this, undercover? And more importantly, why me?”

Joonghyuk’s gaze held his, steady, unyielding. “Because I want you there. I want to show you around.”

There was something in his tone that made Dokja’s breath catch, though he couldn’t place why.

Still, his thoughts tumbled over themselves: How did he even get up here? Why was he looking at me like that? And why does this feel like the start of something I won’t be able to walk away from?

Joonghyuk took a single step closer, closing the space between them. “You can ask your questions later. Change.”

The corridors were quiet at this hour, lit only by the dim glow of wall lanterns.

Joonghyuk led the way with the ease of someone who knew exactly where the blind spots were. Dokja followed, the unfamiliar outfit, loose, dark robes and a hood, making him feel like he was committing some sort of crime.

“Do you do this often?” Dokja whispered.

“Not with anyone else,” Joonghyuk replied without looking back.

Something about the answer sent a small ripple down Dokja’s spine, but before he could think too much on it, they were slipping past a service gate at the far end of the palace gardens.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The moment they stepped into the capital streets, the air shifted. Gone was the suffocating quiet of the palace, here, even at night, the world seemed alive. Lanterns swung gently above narrow streets, the scent of fresh bread and roasting chestnuts curling through the cool night air. Vendors laughed with late customers; children darted between stalls chasing one another.

Dokja didn’t realize how tightly he’d been holding himself until now. For the first time in months, maybe years. He felt… lighter.

“You’re smiling,” Joonghyuk observed suddenly.

Dokja quickly schooled his expression. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Joonghyuk said, the faintest hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Good.”

They wandered from stall to stall, Joonghyuk buying small pastries without asking if Dokja wanted them, simply pressing them into his hand. They stopped by the capital’s main library, its tall windows spilling warm light into the square. Inside, the shelves stretched endlessly, the scent of parchment and ink washing over Dokja in a way that almost made his chest ache.

He trailed his fingers along the spines of books, some in scripts he didn’t recognize.
“You could live in here,” Joonghyuk murmured beside him.

“Don’t tempt me,” Dokja replied, though part of him meant it.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

They were halfway through the market square when the scent of something sweet stopped Dokja in his tracks. A pastry stall stood at the corner, its shelves stacked high with delicate tarts, honey-drenched rolls, and warm, stuffed buns.

Joonghyuk followed his gaze, and then silently handed a few coins to the vendor before Dokja could protest.

“I didn’t say I wanted any,” Dokja said.

“You looked,” Joonghyuk replied simply, pressing a warm bun into his hand.

Before Dokja could retort, raised voices drew their attention to the far side of the stall.

Two children, a boy with messy light brown hair, a girl with blonde hair and a ribbon askew—stood stiffly in front of an irate shopkeeper.

“I told you two before. No loitering, no touching the trays without paying!” the shopkeeper barked.

“We weren’t stealing,” the girl shot back, chin lifted in defiance.

The boy mumbled something under his breath, but it only seemed to make the man angrier.

Before the argument could escalate, Dokja stepped forward.
“They’re with me,” he said smoothly.

The shopkeeper blinked. “You know them?”

“Yes,” Dokja lied without hesitation, already fishing out a coin from the pouch Joonghyuk had given him earlier. “And I’ll pay for whatever they touched.”

The man looked mollified, muttering something about troublemaking children before turning back to his customers.

Once they were out of earshot, the girl turned to him with a wide grin. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Would you have preferred the yelling?” Dokja asked dryly.

The boy stared up at him with wide, assessing eyes. “You have a kind face,” he said at last.

Dokja blinked. “…Thanks?”

“I’m Shin Yoosung. This is Lee Gilyoung.” Yoosung wiped a bit of pastry sugar from her cheek with the back of her hand, still chewing when she looked up at Dokja.

“What’s your name, kind man?” she asked between bites.

Dokja blinked at her. “Kind… man?”

“That’s what you are,” she said with complete seriousness. “You helped us. So, you’re a kind man.”

Gilyoung nodded like it was settled law.

A faint huff of laughter escaped him. “…Kim Dokja.”

Yoosung grinned. “Thank you, Kim Dokja oppa.” She said his name slowly, like she was tasting it.

Behind them, Joonghyuk made a faint sound in his throat, and Dokja didn’t need to turn around to know he was watching the exchange far too closely.

It was then that Yoosung noticed Joonghyuk standing just behind him, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the pair of children with all the subtlety of a drawn sword.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is he bothering you?” she asked Dokja in a stage whisper.

Joonghyuk’s brows drew together. “…What?”

“You just look… tense,” Gilyoung added seriously, glancing between them. “If he’s causing trouble, we can help you run.”

Dokja almost choked on a laugh. “No, no. He’s not—”

“He’s not what?” Joonghyuk cut in, his tone low, though his hand hovered protectively near Dokja’s back.

“Not… harassing me,” Dokja said, smirking faintly.

Gilyoung didn’t seem convinced. “You’re safe with us, hyung,” he said solemnly.

Something warm and unfamiliar stirred in Dokja’s chest at their stubborn protectiveness.

He crouched down to their height, handing each of them a small pastry from the paper bag Joonghyuk carried. “Here, Consider it thanks for the rescue offer.”

The two children lit up, clutching the treats like treasures.

As they reached the edge of the market, Yoosung skipped a step ahead and turned to face him, walking backwards.

“Will you come tomorrow too?” she asked brightly.

Gilyoung’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! We’re friends now, so you have to come play with us. We’ll have a lot of fun.”

Dokja opened his mouth, caught between amusement and surprise. “…Friends?”

“Obviously,” Yoosung said as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.

He hesitated, glancing at Joonghyuk, who was already frowning like the question had been an insult to his plans.

“We’ll see,” Dokja said at last, giving the children a small smile. “Maybe.”

“That’s not a yes,” Yoosung complained, but she was still grinning when they waved goodbye and darted off into the crowd, pastry crumbs trailing in their wake.

“See you again?” Gilyoung asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I hope so” Dokja said, and meant it more than he expected.

As they walked away, Joonghyuk muttered, “You attract strays too easily.”

Dokja glanced at him, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Maybe I just have a kind face.”

Joonghyuk gave him a look that said he disagreed and that it wasn’t just his face that drew people in.

As the children disappeared into the maze of stalls, their laughter lingering in the air, Dokja stood still for a moment.

It was such a small thing, two strangers asking him to come back, but something in his chest shifted. In Liraeth, people didn’t invite him anywhere. No one asked for his company unless it was out of duty or political necessity.

But here… in a place where he didn’t belong, where he was supposed to be just another pawn in a marriage contract… two children had looked at him and simply decided he was worth keeping.

It was ridiculous. And yet—he felt lighter. Almost… happy.

Joonghyuk’s voice broke through his thoughts. “They seemed to like you a lot.”

Dokja turned his head, catching the shadow of a scowl on the crown prince’s face. “…Jealous?”

Joonghyuk didn’t answer, only started walking ahead. But as Dokja followed, their hands brushed for the briefest second. Not an accident, he was sure of it.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, that small, fleeting touch stayed with him long after they left the capital.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

By the time they reached the palace walls, the moon hung high and silver over the dark spires. The streets were quiet now, the hum of the capital replaced by the faint chirring of night insects.

Joonghyuk led them to a secluded side gate, where a single guard stood at attention. Without a word, the man bowed and stepped aside, as if letting the crown prince sneak strangers into the palace was the most natural thing in the world.

They walked in silence through dimly lit corridors, their footsteps muffled by the thick red carpets. Every now and then, Joonghyuk glanced back to make sure Dokja was still behind him, though his face gave nothing away.

At last, they stopped outside Dokja’s chambers.

“You shouldn’t wander the capital so freely,” Joonghyuk said quietly. There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “It’s dangerous.”

Dokja arched a brow. “Says the man who dragged me out in the middle of the night and climbed my balcony like a thief.”

Joonghyuk’s mouth twitched, just slightly. “If you want to go again… tell me. I’ll take you.”

For a moment, Dokja didn’t know what to say.

Joonghyuk turned to leave, but just before stepping away, he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over Dokja’s wrist. Not quite a touch, more like the ghost of one.

“Good night,” he murmured, then was gone, his figure swallowed by the shadows of the corridor.

Dokja stood there a while longer, heart oddly unsteady, before slipping into his room. The palace felt quieter than ever, yet somehow… less lonely.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Two days passed in a blur, and now only three days remained until the wedding. The palace was a living storm of color and sound, its grand halls draped with cascading silks, shimmering ribbons, and fragrant garlands of late-autumn blooms. In the courtyards, musicians tested their instruments, soft notes drifting on the crisp air.

Inside, golden light spilled across the polished marble floors as maids hurried past, their arms full of fabrics, lacquered trays, and boxes tied with gold thread. Tailors flitted from one chamber to another, measuring sleeves, adjusting collars, and fussing over embroidery stitches so fine they looked like painted lines. Everywhere, there was movement, yet none dared to disturb the quiet, watchful air of the palace guards stationed at every turn.

Dokja stood near a tall window, half-hidden by the gauzy curtains, observing the chaos. He had never seen such a display before, not even in Liraeth. Back there, his place had been on the edges of royal events, never the center.

Today, however, the whispers he overheard weren’t only about the upcoming ceremony. They were about a girl.

By evening, Yoo Mia the crown prince’s younger sister, was expected to arrive from the imperial academy.

The palace staff spoke of her with a kind of fond reverence. Bright as springtime, one maid said. Sharp as a hawk, added another. Some chuckled about her wit, others gushed over her beauty. Apparently, she had inherited the same striking dark eyes as her brother, but with warmth that made people melt rather than freeze.

Dokja wondered about that. If she truly was like her brother in looks, would she also be like him in personality? Cold? Distant? Or would she be one of the few who could make Yoo Joonghyuk… smile?

He told himself he didn’t care, but the thought lingered. Meeting the crown prince’s family felt like stepping into deeper waters, and he wasn’t sure what kind of tide would greet him.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Evening fell, painting the horizon in streaks of crimson and gold. A small welcoming party gathered in the front courtyard, their breaths misting in the cooling air. Dokja was brought along by Persephone, who seemed far too amused by his faint reluctance.

“Don’t look so grim,” she teased under her breath. “You’re about to meet the crown prince’s favorite person. Well… other than you, perhaps.”

He gave her a flat look, but before he could reply, the rumble of carriage wheels echoed across the stone.

The royal carriage rolled into view, sleek and deep blue with the Kaizenix crest glinting in the lantern light. The horses slowed, their polished harnesses jingling softly. When the door opened, a young woman stepped out with the effortless poise of someone who had grown up in palaces and classrooms of the elite.

Yoo Mia was… not what Dokja expected.

She was dressed in the academy’s travel uniform, crisp and practical, but the smile she wore was dazzling enough to outshine any silk gown. Her long black hair was tied back with a ribbon, but a few strands had escaped, swaying gently in the evening breeze. She scanned the gathered crowd once before her gaze landed squarely on him.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, stepping forward without hesitation. “You must be Prince Dokja!”

The maids startled at her directness, but Dokja only blinked as she stopped in front of him, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“My brother wrote about you,” she said cheerfully, tilting her head. “Not nearly enough details, though. Guess I’ll have to find them out myself.”

Somewhere behind them, Dokja caught sight of Joonghyuk, watching the exchange with a face as unreadable as stone.

Mia’s eyes sparkled in a way that made Dokja feel both wary and… oddly disarmed.

“You know,” she began, circling him slowly as though inspecting a rare find, “my brother has written me exactly five letters this month. That’s more than he’s written in the last three years combined. Do you know how many of those were about politics?”

Dokja hesitated. “…Two?”

“Zero.” Her grin widened. “Every single one was about you.”

A faint cough sounded from behind them. Dokja didn’t need to turn to know it was Joonghyuk.

Mia ignored it. “And mind you, this is THE Yoo Joonghyuk we’re talking about, my brother who writes so stiffly you’d think he swallowed a sword. Yet suddenly he’s sending me pages about how ‘Kim Dokja prefers tea over wine,’ or ‘Kim Dokja dislikes sitting near open windows because of the draft.’”

Dokja’s ears heated. “That’s… very specific.” He was sure as hell his face was bright red right now.

“Oh, it gets better.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “He even described how you furrow your brows when you’re concentrating, and that you hum under your breath when reading. You’ve bewitched him, I think.”

“That’s enough, Mia,” Joonghyuk’s voice cut in, calm but edged with warning.

“Don’t ‘Mia’ me.” She turned to glance at him over her shoulder, the smile still in place but her tone sly. “You’ve been hopelessly obvious, dear brother. If you didn’t want me to know, you shouldn’t have practically written poetry about him.”

Dokja blinked, struggling to imagine Joonghyuk writing anything poetic.

Mia returned her attention to him, her expression softening. “I’ve been dying to meet you ever since the first letter. And now that I have…” She paused, studying him for a beat, and then nodded with satisfaction. “Yes. I can see why he likes you.”

“That’s—” Dokja started, but Joonghyuk stepped forward, placing himself ever so slightly between them.

“We’ve been standing in the courtyard long enough,” Joonghyuk said evenly. “You’re tired from the journey. Go inside.”

Mia raised her brows but didn’t protest—at least not out loud. As she passed, though, she leaned toward Dokja and murmured, “You and I are going to have so many conversations he’ll hate.”

For some reason, Dokja believed her.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The royal dining hall was warm with candlelight, the air heavy with the rich aroma of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, dumplings with chicken and onion broth and freshly baked bread. Long golden curtains swayed gently from the open windows, letting in a soft night breeze.

Dokja sat at the right of Joonghyuk, with Mia directly across from him. She was already halfway through a slice of honeyed pear when she leaned forward and asked, “So, Prince Dokja… what’s the most embarrassing thing my brother has done since you arrived?”

Dokja blinked. “Uh—”

Joonghyuk set his wine glass down. “Mia.”

“What?” She tilted her head innocently. “It’s a fair question. For research purposes.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Dokja said quickly, feeling Joonghyuk’s gaze on him like a physical weight.

Mia smirked. “That means there’s definitely something.” She rested her chin on her hand, eyes glinting. “He’s always been like this—serious to a fault. Even as a child, he refused to laugh at my jokes. You know, once I dressed up as a knight, burst into his study, and declared him under arrest for crimes against fun. He just stared at me for a full minute before saying, ‘Leave.’”

Dokja bit back a laugh. “That… sounds about right.”

Joonghyuk’s expression didn’t change, but his fork paused mid-cut.

Mia’s smile widened. “See? He’s always been impossible. But now…” She pointed her fork at Dokja. “Now he’s writing letters about your tea. Which means you’ve cracked his armor somehow.”

Dokja looked down at his plate, unsure how to respond. “I don’t think I’ve—”

“You have,” Persephone interrupted. “And I approve.”

Dokja looked down on his plate, the food was very interesting today.

Joonghyuk’s chair scraped slightly as he shifted, his posture straightening just enough to make Mia grin like a cat that had gotten into the cream.

“You’re not subtle, brother,” she teased. “You guard him with your eyes the entire meal.”

The silence that followed was thick. Dokja glanced sideways, meeting Joonghyuk’s dark gaze. There was no anger in it, just a steady, unyielding focus that made his chest tighten.

“Eat,” Joonghyuk said finally, his voice low.

Mia leaned back in her chair, clearly delighted with herself. “Fine. But you’re both far more entertaining than I imagined.”

The steady clink of cutlery quieted as King Hades rose from his seat at the head of the table. His deep voice carried easily through the dining hall.

“From tomorrow morning,” he announced, “guests will begin arriving for the wedding. The first delegations will be from the Liraeth court, followed by the allied kingdoms. All will be received with the dignity and grandeur befitting this union.”

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The announcement was expected.

Joonghyuk had known for weeks that Hades would make it public before the court, the guest list, the schedule, the formalities. Nothing about it should have mattered. And yet…

The moment his father spoke the word Liraeth, Joonghyuk’s attention slid to the man beside him.

Dokja stilled. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, Mia and Persephone were too busy nodding politely, the servants too focused on their duties, but Joonghyuk saw the way his grip on the fork tightened ever so slightly, the faint pause in his breathing.

Liraeth meant family. His family.

Joonghyuk didn’t need to guess what came next in his mind. He had lived it before. In that other life, he had seen the look in Dokja’s eyes when those people entered a room, how his posture shrank imperceptibly, how his voice took on a brittle steadiness that fooled no one who cared to look closely.

Back then, Joonghyuk had been too late to keep all the damage from being done. But now…

Now, as the candles threw long shadows across the polished table, he caught the faint tremor in Dokja’s hand.

Joonghyuk knew.

He kept eating as if nothing had changed, but his gaze stayed on him, steady and deliberate, until Dokja finally glanced up. Their eyes met, brief, but enough.

They won’t touch you.

It wasn’t spoken aloud. It didn’t need to be.

He would not allow that again.

Dokja broke the gaze first, looking back down at his plate. The conversation at the table resumed, polite and meaningless, Joonghyuk barely heard it.

Chapter Text

Kim Dokja sat on the edge of his bed, lost in thought. Tomorrow, the royal family of Liraeth will arrive. His father, who had never once offered him a shred of warmth. His stepmother, whose gaze was laced with contempt. His elder brother, Crown Prince Jaehyun, and his sister, Princess Serin, who had never been siblings to him at all, only tormentors, more like polished bullies dressed in silk.

Dokja sighed. Facing them again would not be easy. Perhaps it would have been simpler if Joonghyuk treated him as they did. As furniture, a ghost to be ignored. But Joonghyuk… Joonghyuk was different. He treated Dokja as though he were something precious. A treasure to be guarded.

It was baffling. Unnerving. What was it he saw? Was it real affection? Or pity, sympathy, regrets masquerading as tenderness? Dokja couldn’t tell. And the not knowing gnawed at him.

So wrapped in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the door opening. It was only when it clicked shut that he looked up, startled.

“Princess…” Dokja straightened slightly on the bed. “Having trouble sleeping?”

“Not really.” Yoo Mia leaned against the doorframe, pouting. “I just wanted to talk. Are you sleepy?”

“Not at all. Come sit,” Dokja said, smiling faintly.

“Shhh.” Mia pressed a finger to her lips, grinning as she slipped across the room like a cat. Without hesitation, she plopped herself onto the edge of his bed. “You think I’d let you sulk here alone? Not happening.”

Dokja blinked. “…You’re sneaking into the crown prince’s consort’s chambers.”

“Yes,” she replied, utterly shameless. “If Joonghyuk has a problem with it, he can duel me.”

A startled laugh broke from Dokja, muffled by his hand. “You really are his sister.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She sat cross-legged now, facing him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “So, tell me. What’s keeping you awake? Don’t lie, I can see it written all over your face.”

“…My family,” he admitted quietly. “When they arrive, I don’t know how I’ll face them. Or if I even want to.”

Mia’s expression softened, so reminiscent of her brother it caught Dokja off guard. But then she smiled lightly. “Then don’t think about them tonight. Think about me instead. I’m far more interesting.”

Dokja’s lips curved. “…That you are.”

“Good. Then let’s talk about the real scandal, my brother.”

Dokja blinked. “…Scandal?”

“Oh, come on.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell me he hasn’t done something ridiculous around you. He’s terrible at pretending he isn’t human, but he still tries. Surely you’ve noticed?”

And so they talked. About Joonghyuk’s embarrassing habits, his ridiculous moments, his poetry of all things. Dokja laughed more that night than he had in weeks, until sleep crept in unnoticed. Mia drifted off mid-sentence on the blankets, and not long after, Dokja followed.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The next morning, golden sunlight spilled through the palace courtyards, gilding the marble in warm light. Dokja stepped out of his chambers with Mia at his side, both laughing quietly as they walked.

“And then,” Mia was saying dramatically, “he actually compared his sword strikes to falling stars. Falling stars! Can you imagine how unbearably dramatic he was at thirteen?”

Dokja chuckled behind his hand. “I can imagine.”

“What are you imagining?”

The low, clipped voice froze them both.

At the end of the corridor stood Yoo Joonghyuk, already dressed in his dark royal robes, shadows sharpening the planes of his face. His eyes fixed on Dokja instantly, unrelenting.

“…Good morning, Crown Prince,” Dokja said carefully, bowing his head.

Mia, however, was fearless. “Morning, brother! We were just talking about your poetry phase.”

Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened. “…Mia.”

“What?” she said innocently. “You never told him? Honestly, how could you hide such an important part of yourself from your fiancé?”

Dokja coughed discreetly into his sleeve to smother a laugh. “It was… enlightening.”

Joonghyuk’s gaze cut to him, sharp and searching. Dokja swore he caught the faintest pink dusting the prince’s ears before he turned away.

“You shouldn’t be wandering the halls this early,” Joonghyuk said flatly. “You didn’t sleep well.”

Dokja blinked. “…How do you—”

“I can tell.” His tone brooked no argument. His eyes softened a fraction before flicking back to Mia. “And you. Why were you in his chambers last night?”

“Why? Are you jealous?” Mia shot back without hesitation.

Joonghyuk’s silence was damning.

Dokja, caught between amusement and exasperation, quickly intervened. “She only wanted to talk. Nothing more.”

“Talk,” Joonghyuk repeated, voice dry as stone.

“Yes,” Mia said cheerfully. “You’d be amazed how easy it is to make him laugh. Unlike you.”

Joonghyuk’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “…Stay out of his chambers from now on.”

“Possessive, much?” Mia teased. She leaned toward Dokja and stage-whispered, “He’s been like this since we were kids. Once, when I borrowed his training sword, he sulked for three whole days.”

“That sounds… believable,” Dokja admitted, smiling.

Joonghyuk’s gaze returned to him, heavy and unreadable, and Dokja’s heart stuttered under it. After a long moment, Joonghyuk finally said, “The carriages from Liraeth will arrive soon.”

And just like that, the spell broke. Dokja nodded, though part of him had already forgotten all about Liraeth.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The air was heavy with the mingled perfume of lilies, incense, and warm pastries brought from across the empire. Musicians played soft strings at the far end of the hall, their notes weaving through the chatter of gathered nobles. Carriages arrived one after another, their banners snapping in the breeze, each bearing gifts and tributes for the upcoming union.

At the head of the receiving line stood Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja.
Dokja held himself with quiet poise, chin lifted, and expression serene. But beneath the mask, his heart moved uneasily. He had been trained for this role: to stand, to bow, to smile. Yet this was no routine display of diplomacy. This was his wedding. And the family approaching were no strangers.

The gates swung wide.

The emerald carriage of Liraeth rolled into view, gleaming in the sunlight, drawn by four black stallions with silver-braided manes. From it descended the King, tall and imperious, his eyes sharp as honed steel. The Queen followed, draped in layered silks the color of deep forest, jewels glittering at her throat. Then came Dokja’s siblings: Crown Prince Jaehyun, all polished composure and smug pride; Princess Serin, wrapped in beauty like a blade in silk; and the younger princes, smirking as if the marble steps belonged to them.

A hush spread through the hall. The infamous family of Liraeth had arrived, as dazzling and as dangerous as the rumors promised.

Dokja bowed low, his movements practiced, precise. Nothing more than protocol demanded.

Jaehyun’s gaze slid over him, amusement flickering at the edges of his lips. Serin’s eyes rolled, subtle but deliberate. None of them returned his greeting.

Instead, the family swept past him, directly toward King Hades and Queen Persephone. Their words were honeyed, their bows deep, yet not a glance, not a word was spared for Dokja, as though he were a shadow at Joonghyuk’s side.

It was King Hades who shattered the charade. His voice, cool and courteous, carried like thunder.
“Your Majesties,” he said, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “but I could not help noticing. When you entered, you offered your greetings to Prince Joonghyuk, to Princess Mia, and even to other nobles present… Yet I did not see you greet Prince Dokja.”

The words struck like a stone cast into still water. Murmurs rippled through the hall.

The Queen of Liraeth’s smile remained intact, though her hand tightened around her goblet. Before she could fashion an excuse, Serin’s laughter chimed, a bright, cruel little bell.

“Oh, Duke Hades, surely it was no deliberate slight,” she said sweetly. Her gaze drifted lazily to Dokja, eyes gleaming with scorn. “It is simply… My brother has always been so very easy to overlook. He blends into the background without trying. Even now, amidst this entire splendor, he seems rather… out of place. He’s so invisible i didn’t even realized, he was there"

Soft laughter followed, cutting, poisonous.

Dokja’s lashes lowered, his lips curving in the faintest of smiles, unreadable, untouchable.

But beside him, Joonghyuk shifted. Slowly, deliberately. His voice, when it came, was like a blade unsheathed, each word honed to lethal clarity.

“Then perhaps it is not Dokja who lacks presence,” he said, his eyes locking on Serin’s with merciless calm. “Perhaps it is you who lack the eyes to see him.”

The laughter died at once.

Joonghyuk’s tone deepened, carrying through the hall like tempered steel. “And allow me to correct you. No one will speak of him like that. He is Kim Dokja, Royal Consort of Kaizenix, the future of this empire. You will show him the respect that title demands.”

Silence fell. Heavy, unbroken.

Jaehyun let out an awkward laugh, lifting his cup with too-eager hands. “Ah… Your Highness, you misunderstood. Serin didn’t mean to offend. She was only joking, you know how she is, always teasing, never serious. No harm was meant. Haha…”

His laugh rang hollow, brittle against the tension.

Joonghyuk didn’t blink. His hand tightened slightly over Dokja’s, his voice cutting colder than before.
“Then let her learn the difference between jest and insult. Especially when it concerns my consort.”

The weight of the declaration pressed against every corner of the hall. Nobles shifted uncomfortably. A few swallowed hard. None dared speak.

At last, the Liraeth royals were escorted to their chambers. They went in silence, their steps rigid, and their masks of pride cracking at the edges. The triumph they had carried into the hall seemed dulled, soured by the confrontation.

Dokja merely lowered his eyes, lips curved in the faintest smile, one only Joonghyuk could read.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

After the stormy entrance of Liraeth, the great gates of Kaizenix did not rest. Carriage after carriage rolled in, bearing banners of faraway kingdoms, their wheels rattling over the polished stone courtyard. Nobles spilled forth in cascades of silks and embroidered cloaks, each bearing offerings, chests of rare gems, bolts of enchanted cloth, gilded relics meant to curry favor with the future emperor and his consort.

The receiving hall glittered brighter with each arrival. Musicians struck bolder chords, courtiers whispered faster, eyes darting between the treasures presented and the pair standing at the front: Joonghyuk, tall and unyielding, and Dokja, quiet yet strangely steadfast at his side.

Among the procession of envoys and nobles, one arrival drew particular attention. A single rider on a white horse, her crimson cloak trailing like fire in the wind. She swung down from the saddle with practiced ease, tossing the reins to a waiting groom, her boots striking the marble with surety.

Han Sooyoung.
Joonghyuk’s childhood friend and the royal advisor. His shadow through the trials of youth, his sharpest critic, and his fiercest ally.

But as she entered, something about her was wrong.
Her eyes, usually quick with mockery and dry amusement, were storm-laden, dark with something that almost resembled… resentment. That gaze fell on him, just for a moment, and it was colder than he remembered. No smirk. No sly jab. Nothing but silence, weighted and strange.

Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, though the frown that tugged at his brow was faint but unmistakable.

Instead of addressing him, Sooyoung’s steps carried her toward Dokja.

Joonghyuk felt his body shift imperceptibly, as though instinctively bracing. He had expected her usual snide comment about the wedding, or a sarcastic greeting meant to cut the tension of the hall. Instead—

She embraced him.

The movement was sudden, almost violent in its swiftness. Arms wrapped around Dokja as though she had been waiting an eternity to do so. Tight. Desperate. Not courtly. Not ceremonial.

Dokja stiffened at once, caught off guard. His wide eyes flicked toward Joonghyuk, confusion plain on his face.
“Uh…?” he murmured awkwardly under his breath.

Joonghyuk’s gaze sharpened. This wasn’t right. Han Sooyoung never embraced anyone, least of all strangers. And yet here she was, holding onto Dokja as though he were the only anchor in the world.

For the briefest instant, Joonghyuk swore her shoulders trembled. He almost thought she might cry.

Han Sooyoung. It was like there is whole another person standing there.

Then, just as quickly, she stepped back, as though slamming a door on the weakness. Her iron mask returned, cold and hard, though her reddened eyes betrayed her slip.

“I am Han Sooyoung, Royal Advisor of Kaizenix,” she said, her tone steady, though quieter than it should have been. A brittle smile touched her lips. “It’s… good to finally meet you, prince Dokja”

Dokja, unsettled but courteous, inclined his head with a small, polite smile. “You know my name?”

“Ah… almost every citizen of the kingdom know after the announcement” she said, smiling.

Dokja blinked once, and then slowly nodded, his gaze flicking between Joonghyuk and Sooyoung, as though piecing together the unfamiliar threads.

Joonghyuk’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer. He knew her too well to mistake what he had seen. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

But Sooyoung did not meet his gaze again.
And for now, he let it pass.

Yet the silence that followed pressed heavily against the glittering hall, as if even the music faltered under the weight of something unspoken.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Joonghyuk was in his study when the door slammed open.

His pen stilled mid-stroke. He didn’t need to look up. That stormy presence could belong to only one person.

Han Sooyoung.

She stood framed by the doorway, cloak trailing like spilled ink, her expression unreadable.

Joonghyuk leaned back in his chair, tone flat, almost bored.
“So, you’re back. Where are your manners? Did you discard them on your little month-long journey to the neighboring kingdom?”

Silence.

His brows twitched faintly. He spoke again, slower.
“Han Sooyoung.”

This time she lifted her head. Her eyes were dark, storm-choked.
“You… remember?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it struck sharp. “You remember the past too?”

Too? Joonghyuk stilled, caught off guard by the words. He didn’t answer.

She let out a brittle laugh, but it held no humor.
“I’ll take that silence as a yes.” Her jaw tightened. “Of course. It makes sense. There’s no other reason the original crown Prince Yoo Joonghyuk would show care, Real care, for someone like him. For Kim Dokja. An illegitimate child.” Her tone curled into a growl. “Stay away from him, Joonghyuk. This time, you’ll stay away. I won’t let you destroy him again. Not ever. Not while I’m alive.”

Joonghyuk’s expression didn’t shift. His voice was calm.
“Han Sooyoung.”

“Don’t say my name like we’re old friends,” she snapped, stepping away from the doorframe and striding toward him. Her movements were measured, but her eyes burned with icy fire. “Let me make this simple—stay away from him.”

His jaw set, voice low, unyielding.
“No.”

Sooyoung’s laugh was sharp, bitter, cutting through the air like glass.
“No? Do you even hear yourself? After everything you did?” She closed the distance, voice rising with each word. “You destroyed him, Joonghyuk. You doubted him. Humiliated him. Broke him down piece by piece. And now you think you can just… play savior?”

His fists curled at his sides, but his tone held.
“This time, I will protect him. I won’t—”

“Protect him?” she cut in, venom dripping from every syllable. “Do you even remember how you ‘protected’ him last time? When you shattered his leg because you were convinced he was conspiring against the crown? No proof. No reason. Just your paranoia.”

Her voice dropped lower, weighted, dangerous.
“He couldn’t walk for months. And still, still he defended you, even in his last breath.”

The words struck like blades. Joonghyuk’s throat worked, but no reply came. He remembered. Too vividly. Dokja’s twisted body, the pain in his eyes. And his own cold indifference.

Sooyoung stepped closer, until her face was inches from his, her glare scorching.
“You can’t erase that,” she hissed. “The things you’ve done, the sins you carry… they don’t vanish just because you suddenly decided to care. Redemption doesn’t come that cheap.”

Joonghyuk’s voice finally broke the silence, quiet but steady.
“…Even if I can’t erase it, I can change what comes after. This time—”

“This time?” she cut him off again, bitter laughter spilling like poison. “Kim Dokja doesn’t need your version of ‘this time.’ He needs peace. Freedom. And I’ll make sure he gets it, even if it means standing between you and him.”

The air between them grew taut, razor-sharp.

For a long moment, nothing moved.

Then Sooyoung turned on her heel, cloak snapping behind her, her parting words like steel. “Stay away from him, Joonghyuk. I won’t let you ruin him twice. Even if I have to go against the whole kingdom.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Joonghyuk in the silence of his study—expression unreadable, fists clenched tight.

The door slammed shut. Silence pressed in.

Joonghyuk stood unmoving, but his knuckles were white against the desk.

And then—unbidden—the memory returned.

Stone walls. A dungeon stinking of damp and rust. The dim torchlight casting long, skeletal shadows.

Kim Dokja crumpled against the ground. His leg bent at a grotesque angle, bruises blooming purple-black across pale skin. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, his breathing ragged, shallow.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The throne room reeked of incense and fear.

Kim Dokja was dragged across the marble like a criminal, iron shackles scraping against stone, leaving red welts on his wrists. His knee hit the floor hard when the guards shoved him down, and the echo carried through the gilded chamber.

Joonghyuk sat on the throne, cold as a statue carved from obsidian. His gaze pinned Dokja like a hawk pinning prey.

“Kim Dokja,” his voice thundered, “you dare to meet foreign envoys in secret?”

Dokja lifted his head, his lips trembling as if searching for words. “It was only… only a message. They asked about trade routes. Nothing more. Please, listen—”

But the room did not allow him to finish. Laughter rose from the ministers, sharp and cruel.

“A liar!” one spat.

“A traitor,” another hissed.

Dokja’s breathe quickened. His hands shook where they pressed against the floor. He was alone. Always alone.

And then, Joonghyuk rose.

The scrape of his boots against the marble was slow, deliberate. Each step cracked against the silence like a judgment passed. When he stopped before Dokja, the air itself seemed to suffocate.

Without hesitation, Joonghyuk slammed his foot down on Dokja’s shin.

The sound was sickening—bone splintering beneath weight and steel.

Dokja’s body jerked violently, his mouth opening in a strangled gasp. No scream came out, just a guttural sound, raw and broken, before silence swallowed him.

The ministers flinched. The guards looked away.

But Joonghyuk pressed harder, twisting his heel cruelly into the shattered limb until blood seeped into the fabric of Dokja’s robes.

“Crawl,” Joonghyuk’s voice was ice. “If you value your life, then crawl. That is the worth of traitors. … take him to dungeon”

Dokja’s face was ashen, lips bloodless as he tried to move. His body shook, every inch trembling with agony, yet he pulled himself forward with his arms—dragging his useless leg across the marble. The sound of it scraping—limp, wet, broken—was unbearable.

Han Sooyoung stood among the courtiers, her nails digging into her skin until blood streaked her hands. Her throat burned with the scream she couldn’t release. If she spoke now, she’d join him on the floor. She knew it.

But watching her best friend reduced to nothing, forced to crawl under the heel of the man he had been forced to marry, was worse than death itself.

Joonghyuk looked down at Dokja’s shivering form with something darker than rage, something that looked like satisfaction.

“You will learn your place,” he said. “Or I will break more than your leg.”

Dokja’s head lowered. He didn’t speak. He didn’t fight. Only his shoulders shook, as if the last of his pride had been torn from him.

And when he finally looked up, there was no hatred in his eyes.

Only resignation.

That night, Sooyoung found him alone, pale and drenched in sweat, clutching his ruined leg. And he smiled at her. Smiled, even then.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, voice faint with pain. “At least… at least he didn’t kill me.”

Sooyoung had turned away so he wouldn’t see her cry.

That smile, the smile of a man who had already accepted that his life was nothing—haunted her more than the sound of bones breaking.

"Dokja! let's run away, somewhere safe, somewhere that monster can't reach."

"no"

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The skies split open the moment they lowered the casket.

Rain fell in sheets, relentless, beating against the black banners of Kaizenix until they sagged heavy in the wind. The courtyard was lined with nobles and generals, gold-threaded cloaks drenched, their jeweled crowns dulled by storm water. None spoke. None dared.

But the thought was there, etched in every averted gaze:

Why does the king mourn the traitor?

Joonghyuk did not hear them.

His eyes never left the coffin.

Dokja had died in his arms.

Silence was all that remained.

Silence… and the echo of Dokja’s final words, spilling from bloodied lips:

“Our story… it was beautiful. Sad… but beautiful.”

Another cough, crimson on pale hands.

“…But in my next life, if we meet again—” his breath broke, faint and fading, “I wish… I never fall for you.”

And then nothing.

Only a coffin, rain and the sound of a king breaking.

Chapter Text

The library was hushed except for the soft crackle of fire in the distant hearth and the scratch of pages turning. Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, pale and cold despite the hour, pooling across the marble floor in golden strips. Winter was coming, the air carried its bite even within these grand walls, but Kim Dokja barely noticed.

He sat beneath the high shelves, a thick tome balanced on his knees. The Origins and Conquests of Kaizenix . The words were heavy, laced with blood and ambition, stories of emperors who carved kingdoms with steel. His brows drew faintly together as he read, but his face, as always, gave little away.

Four maids hovered close, a silent circle, hands folded neatly, their eyes lowered. They followed him everywhere, like shadows that bowed. Dokja had learned not to startle at their presence.

A shift in the air drew his gaze upward.

“Hyunsung-ssi.”

Lee Hyunsung stood before him, tall and broad-shouldered, a soldier’s presence even in the stillness of the library. He bowed low, voice firm but respectful.

“Greetings, prince.”

Dokja closed the book gently, smiling faintly. “It’s been a long time. I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten me.”

Hyunsung shook his head, a rare small smile tugging at his lips. “Never. I’ve been stationed at the borders for additional inspections before the wedding. Security needed tightening. I hope your stay here has been… comfortable.”

“It has,” Dokja replied softly. “I’ve been well taken care of.” His eyes flicked to the maids lingering at his side. He didn’t elaborate further.

Only then did he notice the two figures behind Hyunsung, children, a boy and a girl, perhaps just younger than himself. They stood stiffly, their polished armor almost gleaming in the afternoon light.

Hyunsung motioned toward them. “These two are Kim Namwoon and Lee Jihye. Crown Prince Joonghyuk trained them personally, alongside me.”

Both bowed sharply. The boy’s bow was sharp, confident, bordering on arrogant. The girl’s, however, was rigid with nerves, her hands clutched so tightly at her sides they nearly shook.

Dokja inclined his head with a gentle smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, Namwoon, Jihye. You seem very capable.”

Namwoon puffed his chest out. “I’ll prove it, Your Highness. Just give me a sword and an enemy.”

“Namwoon,” Hyunsung warned quietly.

The boy flushed and lowered his head again, though not without a flash of stubborn fire in his eyes.

Dokja’s smile only softened. “Bravery is good. But don’t forget, courage is useless without restraint.”

Jihye glanced up at him then, startled, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak, but she pressed them together again quickly.

Hyunsung cleared his throat. “Crown Prince Joonghyuk has assigned them as your personal guards until the marriage ceremony concludes, and until the foreign guests return to their homelands.”

Dokja blinked once. “My… personal guards?”

“It is his will,” Hyunsung confirmed.

Dokja’s gaze lowered, fingers brushing the closed book on his lap. “…It isn’t necessary.”

Hyunsung’s expression softened, but his voice was firm. “All the same, Prince. Kaizenix does not risk its future.”

The words hung heavy in the quiet library, where the dust motes spun lazily in sunlight.

Dokja let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He glanced again at the two young knights, so serious, so unflinching under the weight of duties they barely seemed old enough to carry. Namwoon’s fire. Jihye’s nerves. Their loyalty carved into them not by choice, but by training.

Perhaps, he thought distantly, they were not so different from himself.

“Very well,” he said at last, voice even, quiet but resolute. “Then I’ll be in your care.”

The boy straightened proudly, the girl bowed once more, and Hyunsung nodded.

But even as Dokja smiled, his hands folded politely over the book, there was a faint unease stirring in his chest. Guards, maids, endless eyes that never looked away, Kaizenix’s kindness always came dressed in chains. These chains were, so that liraeth would stay in their lane and couldn't hurt him, but chains were still chains.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The introductions lingered a moment longer before Hyunsung straightened, casting a glance toward the high windows where light was beginning to fade toward amber.

“I’ll leave them with you, then,” he said. “If you need anything, Prince, you only have to send word.”

Dokja inclined his head. “Thank you, Hyunsung-ssi. I’m grateful.”

The soldier bowed once more, then turned and strode out. His footsteps faded beyond the archway until silence reclaimed the library. Only the crackle of the distant hearth and the rustle of a page caught in the draft filled the stillness.

The two young knights remained where they had been placed, Namwoon standing rigid, chin up, already itching to prove himself; Jihye quiet, shoulders tense as though she carried a weight far heavier than her frame allowed.

Dokja’s gaze lingered on her.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” he said gently, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry far. “It isn’t an interrogation. You’re only guarding a man who reads too many books.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, caught off guard by the softness of his tone. Then she bit her lip, glanced away, and whispered, “But… you’re him .”

Dokja blinked. “…I’m what?”

Her fingers curled into her sleeves, knuckles pale. “You’re the crown prince’s…” she hesitated, the words clumsy and almost forbidden on her tongue, “… his love . His future partner” Her voice cracked on the last word, barely more than a breath. “Of course I’d be nervous.”

The air stilled. Even Namwoon glanced sideways, as though the word had been too sharp to ignore.

Dokja’s lips parted, but no immediate reply came. Love. The word sat strangely in the space between them, foreign and heavy. He lowered his gaze, hiding the faint flicker in his eyes behind his lashes.

“…That’s quite a title to bear,” he murmured at last, the faintest smile tugging at his lips, thin, rueful. “But you shouldn’t tremble because of me, Jihye. Guarding me is no different than guarding anyone else.”

She swallowed hard, nodding, though her posture betrayed the stiffness of her uncertainty.

Namwoon broke the silence with a scoff. “Different? Of course it’s different. You’re the one person no one can afford to slip up around.”

“Namwoon, ” Jihye hissed under her breath, but he only folded his arms, defiant.

Dokja studied them both, so young, sharp-edged, carrying the weight of duty as though it were a blade pressed to their backs. His smile softened, turned almost wistful.

“…Then I’ll try not to make it heavier for you,” he said simply, lowering his eyes to the book in his lap.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, ” Jihye’s apology stumbled out, but Dokja lifted a hand lightly, cutting it short.

“There’s no need to apologize. You’re honest. That’s rarer here than you realize.”

Her lips parted, startled again, before she bit them shut. Color rose to her ears, but she gave a small, jerky nod.

Namwoon muttered toward her, “Tch. Honest or not, you talk too much.”

Dokja heard him, but his smile only lingered, gentle, shadowed at the edges. His gaze drifted past them, toward the tall window where the light had dimmed, the sun slipping behind clouds as though even the sky had grown wary.

Kaizenix was a kingdom of gold and steel, of oaths carved in stone and loyalties bound in iron. Yet beneath the splendor, it was always the same: chains, spoken or unspoken.

“Still,” he whispered, almost to himself, “I hope one day you’ll both see me as something other than… the crown prince’s love.”

The words fell into the silence like fragile glass, delicate enough to shatter at the faintest touch.

Neither Jihye nor Namwoon answered.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The silence of the library broke again when the great oak doors creaked open. Dokja glanced up, expecting Hyunsung or perhaps a maid with tea.

Instead, it was her.

Han Sooyoung. That was her name, right?

She stepped inside without ceremony, her crimson cloak brushing the marble as though she owned the place. Her sharp eyes swept the rows of shelves before settling on him.

“I heard rumors,” she said, voice laced with that dry, teasing drawl that seemed natural to her. “That the royal consort spends most of his hours hiding here.”

Dokja smiled faintly, marking his page with care before folding the book shut. “It’s quite true. Though I wouldn’t call it hiding.”

“Mm,” she hummed, her gaze flicking toward the spine of the tome on his desk. “Origin and Conquests of Kaizen?”

“Ah, yes.” Dokja nodded, suddenly a little self-conscious. “It’s… interesting.”

“But far too exaggerating,” she cut in smoothly, a wry smirk tugging at her lips. “They make kings into gods and wars into poetry. History is never that pretty.”

Dokja blinked, then laughed softly. “I thought so too. But I wasn’t sure if saying that aloud here would get me executed.”

“Execution for honesty? Please,” she scoffed, though there was a warmth behind it. “If that were true, I’d have lost my head years ago.”

Dokja tilted his head, curious. “Then what would you recommend instead?”

She stepped closer, pulling a slim, worn book from the shelf behind her. She placed it gently on the table before him. Its leather cover was scuffed, the edges soft with use.

“This,” she said. “A more honest account. Less flattery, more truth. Uncomfortable, sometimes, but real.”

Dokja traced the cover with his fingers, thoughtful. “You read much?”

“More than I should. Less than I’d like.” Her answer came quick, practiced. Then she hesitated, just slightly. “And I… write, sometimes.”

That caught his attention. He looked up, eyes bright with interest. “You write?”

A faint flush touched her cheeks, but she raised her chin like she dared him to mock her. “Fairy tales. Hardly worth mentioning.”

“Fairy tales…” Dokja’s lips curved, his voice soft but sincere. “Can I read them?”

Sooyoung blinked, caught off guard. “…You want to?”

“Why not? If you wrote them, I’d like to.”

For the first time since entering, her composure cracked. A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips, not sharp, not sardonic, but warm. Almost shy.

“…Maybe,” she said at last. “If you promise not to laugh.”

“I don’t laugh at stories,” Dokja replied, almost solemn. “Stories… They're the only things that survive people. They deserve respect.”

Something in her eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken.

She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down without asking permission, leaning forward on her elbows like they had known each other longer than a few minutes. “Then maybe, Royal Consort, I’ll let you read one. But only if you let me sit here the next time you decide to ‘not hide’ in the library.”

Dokja smiled, small but genuine, as he reopened the book she’d given him. “Then it’s a promise.”

And so it began, not with fanfare or vows, but with quiet words and borrowed books, two souls finding an unexpected companionship beneath the vaulted ceilings of Kaizenix’s library.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

That library. That stupid, drafty library with shelves that smelled of dust and candle smoke. In the previous timeline, that was where they met for the first time too. Not by fate, not by some grand design ,  just two lonely people who found each other between pages of borrowed books.

She remembered the way his eyes lit up when she shoved a tattered fairytale manuscript into his hands, daring him to laugh at her. He didn’t. He read it like it was scripture. Like her words mattered. That was the first time she let herself think: Maybe I’m not alone.

And now, here they were again. Same palace, same roles, same books. Same Kim Dokja, sitting too quietly in the corner of the world, too careful, too breakable.

Sooyoung’s fists clenched at her sides. She would not watch history repeat.

This time, she wasn’t just going to trade manuscripts and banter. This time, she’d protect him. She’d keep that sharp-tongued, story-loving fool alive, even if it meant drawing swords against Yoo Joonghyuk himself.

Because once, just once in her cursed lives, she wanted her best friend back.

Her partner-in-sarcasm. Her other half in stories.

Han Sooyoung would not stop the wedding.

Not because she couldn’t, she knew well enough how to pull strings, how to topple even kings if she wished. But because she shouldn’t. If she truly wanted Kim Dokja safe from the claws of Liraeth and the venomous court that lurked in Kaizenix’s shadows, then this wedding was the shield. The only shield.

Without the crown, Dokja was prey. Just another illegitimate son to be toyed with, discarded when convenient. But as the consort of the Crown Prince, he was untouchable. At least on the surface.

So yes. She would let it happen. She would watch him walk down that aisle of silken chains and smile like everyone else. Because behind those chains was safety. Safety was worth everything.

But forgiveness?

That was something Han Sooyoung did not have, and never would.

So what if Yoo Joonghyuk remembered? So what if his eyes carried the weight of guilt now? Memory didn’t erase blood. It didn’t undo screams echoing in dungeon walls. He was still Yoo Joonghyuk, the one who had broken him. The one who had watched Kim Dokja bleed and called it justice.

No. She would never forgive him. She had no right to forgive him. That right belonged to Kim Dokja alone.

And this, this attempt to inch closer again, to paint himself as protector, to twist his regret into affection, it wasn’t redemption. It was betrayal. It was a mockery of Dokja’s heart.

Because if Kim Dokja remembers one day too?

If he remembered every bruise, every humiliation, every soft smile crushed under Joonghyuk’s suspicion, he would never forgive him. Not for the cruelty itself, but for this: for pretending to care now. For making a fool of his feelings. For reaching out as though nothing had happened.

Han Sooyoung’s jaw set. Let Yoo Joonghyuk play at repentance if he wished. But she would not forget. And she would not let him ruin Kim Dokja again.

Not in this life.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Two days remained before the wedding.

Han Sooyoung was… interesting. That was the word Dokja settled on after watching her for some time. She moved through the palace like she already owned it, sharp words and sharper eyes, but underneath all that barbed wire there was a strange warmth, one that made people orbit her without realizing. Even Joonghyuk.

Or maybe not Joonghyuk.

The crown prince seemed busier these days, avoiding him more than usual, his gaze flickering elsewhere whenever Han Sooyoung was near. Childhood friends, were they not? That was what he’d been told. But if they were, then they were the kind of childhood friends who had bitten chunks out of each other and still hadn’t forgotten the taste.

Maybe they’d quarreled. Or maybe Dokja was overthinking. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t his business.

What was his business was the banquet arranged for tonight, the guests, the nobles, the royals from neighboring kingdoms. Banquets were exhausting enough when he’d been invisible, background furniture in a gilded cage. But now… now he was the center. The one everyone would be watching.

He was more nervous than he let on. The thought of having to dance with the crown prince terrified him, he wasn’t used to people touching him, let alone someone like Joonghyuk. He was convinced he might combust out of sheer embarrassment right there on the ballroom floor.

So he’d asked Jihye and Sooyoung about it earlier.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” she had said earnestly, “they won’t ask you to dance.”

“Really?” Dokja raised a brow, feigning lightness. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s tradition,” Namwoon cut in before she could explain, puffing out his chest like a proud rooster. “The bride and groom only dance together once, on the wedding day. Not before. Anyone else trying to make you dance would be breaking Kaizen’s oldest custom.”

Jihye elbowed him. “Don’t act like you knew that from the start. I told you yesterday.”

“Details.” Namwoon sniffed. “The point is, you’re safe, Your Highness.”

Dokja exhaled in visible relief. “Thank god. I’d rather not collapse from humiliation in front of the entire kingdom.”

Jihye blinked at him. “Collapse…?”

He looked away, ears faintly red. “I’m not exactly used to… people. Touching. You understand.”

That made both young knights pause. Namwoon frowned like he wanted to say something comforting but didn’t know how. Jihye, though, smiled a little and nodded. “Then it’s a good thing the crown’s traditions are on your side.”

Dokja smiled back, small and fragile, but real.

Yes. For now, things were fine.

The knight kids were good company, even if they bickered more than they breathed. Their morals were steady, their admiration for Joonghyuk almost irritating, but in an endearing way. And Han Sooyoung… Han Sooyoung had been dragging him out of his head without even realizing it. Her wit was biting, but she made the palace feel less suffocating.

It was a good time. A fine time, even.

Except…

Except yesterday morning.

Dokja was wandering in the purple orchid garden, the air cool with the promise of winter. He liked this place, quiet, serene, untouched by the endless politics that weighed on the rest of the palace. He was tracing a finger over a bloom when footsteps crunched against gravel.

Jaehyun. His half brother.

The young man slowed as he passed, his eyes sweeping over Dokja with faint disdain. He stopped just long enough to let the words fall, low and sharp.

“You shouldn’t be too happy.”

Dokja looked up. Jaehyun’s face was composed, polite even, but the venom was there, coiled under the surface.

“This protocol,” he continued, “all this attention, it’s just because the crown prince cares about the reputation of Kaizen. Once this wedding is done, you’ll be thrown aside like the trash you are. Maybe they’ll keep you around as a concubine. Or maybe”, his lips curved, just barely, “you’ll die before the year ends.”

The orchids swayed in the breeze, pale petals trembling.

Dokja did not answer.

Not because he couldn’t, his tongue was sharp when he wished it, but because… perhaps Jaehyun wasn’t wrong. Royals and nobles, they were just criminals wrapped in better cloth, murderers perfumed with gold. He had no illusions about that.

He stayed quiet, gaze turning back to the orchids. His silence was answer enough.

Jaehyun smirked faintly, as if satisfied, and walked away.

Dokja let out a slow breath.

He didn’t want to think too much about it. Right now, people were kind to him. Han Sooyoung with her fiery tongue. Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon with their earnest hearts. Lee Hyunsung with his steady loyalty. Yoo Mia, Persephone, Hades, even the guards and maids who smiled when they saw him.

Kindness. Small, fleeting, but real.

These moments were treasures. And if they were all he could hold on to before the storm, then he would clutch them tightly, no matter what waited on the other side of the aisle.

Ah, the banquet. 

He almost got lost in his thoughts once again.

He was talking about the banquet, right? It was scheduled for tonight, when the sun dipped fully below the horizon. 

Right now, the sun was still high, and he was practically drowning under a swarm of maids and tailors. Everyone fussed around him like bees, tugging and measuring, talking about colors and fabrics as though his opinion was going to change the fate of the kingdom.

One of the older ladies leaned close to him, whispering as if sharing state secrets, “Today’s banquet is not just any gathering. Important figures will attend, the royal envoys from Astria, the duke of Valcairn, and even the high priest of Demeter’s temple.”

Dokja nodded politely, though inside he was wilting. Important figures, yes, but for him it only meant more pairs of eyes watching his every move.

They ushered him down the long hallway toward the royal wardrobe chamber, some grand room with shelves of silks and velvets piled higher than he could reach. The Crown Prince’s outfit would be tailored to match whatever he picked. That fact alone made his ears burn.

But on the way, they passed by the training grounds. Or rather, not exactly “grounds”, a wide, sun-warmed yard of pale stone, where the Crown Prince liked to train most of the time. The clang of steel and sharp shouts of knights sparring filled the air. There must have been at least two hundred men there.

And in the middle of them, Joonghyuk.

Dokja’s steps faltered.

The prince was sparring with General Lee Hyunsung. His frown cut sharp lines across his forehead, and every movement was precise, lethal, and beautiful. He moved with the kind of grace that didn’t belong to mortals but to something crafted by gods. The way the blade gleamed, the way his feet shifted with perfect rhythm, the way he pressed forward without hesitation, 

Dokja swallowed. Too different. Too beautiful.

“Ah,” the lady escorting him followed his gaze, her voice tinged with admiration. “No one has ever defeated the Crown Prince in a sparring match, except King Hades himself. And…” she lowered her voice as though sharing some divine prophecy, “he’s evolving so quickly, some say he may surpass even the King Hades in a few months.”

Dokja blinked, shaking himself back to reality. “Y-Yes,” he managed, “the Crown Prince is indeed… very talented.”

The lady chuckled, sly. “Come now, no need to stare at him for so long. After your wedding, you’ll have all the time in the world to observe him to your heart’s content.”

His face turned crimson on the spot. He whipped his eyes away from Joonghyuk. “I wasn’t staring!” he said too quickly.

Her smirk told him she didn’t believe a word.

But against his better judgment, he looked back again. Joonghyuk was still sparring, still perfect, still moving like the edge of a blade itself. Every strike and parry seemed alive, deliberate, like an art. Gosh, Dokja thought miserably, there really wasn’t a more perfect man alive.

And then—

Their eyes met.

Joonghyuk. Looked.

A single glance. A heartbeat. Maybe less. Just one second.

But that one second was enough to distract the unshakable Crown Prince.

His sword slipped. His foot caught.

And the Crown Prince of Kaizenix, who could win wars, who could defeat generals, who was revered as a god among knights, tripped.

Literally tripped.

On air. On nothing.

The sparring yard went dead silent. Every knight gasped, froze, mouths hanging open. Lee Hyunsung stood there, eyes bulging like he’d seen the world collapse.

And Dokja—oh, Dokja, he laughed.

Not a polite chuckle. Not a muffled sound. An actual laugh. Loud enough that it echoed over the stone walls.

He froze immediately after. His hand slapped over his mouth too late. His brain screamed, What did you just do?!

This was treason, wasn’t it? Laughing at the Crown Prince’s humiliation, he was going to be executed before dinner. His blood would stain the banquet floor. Oh god, they’d probably make it part of the entertainment.

Heart pounding, he dared to look back at Joonghyuk.

And what he saw wasn’t wrath. Wasn’t the cold fury of a prince shamed in front of his men.

It was a smile.

A small, real, undeniable smile. Directed straight at him.

The knights collectively forgot how to breathe. The Crown Prince, smiling? At someone? No one in Kaizenix had ever seen such a thing. It was like witnessing a miracle, or the world turning upside down.

Dokja’s lips parted, stunned.

Joonghyuk didn’t get back up right away.

While the training yard buzzed in stunned silence, knights gaping, Hyunsung frozen mid-step, the Crown Prince simply… stayed where he was. He stretched one arm lazily behind his head, the other bent at his chin, propping himself up so he could look directly at Dokja.

Like there wasn’t an audience of two hundred men.
Like he didn’t feel an ounce of humiliation.
Like the world itself had narrowed to just him and Dokja .

The sun caught on the line of his jaw, the sheen of sweat on his temple, and he looked, God help him, far too unbothered, far too beautiful for someone who had just tripped on air .

His voice carried across the courtyard, clear and steady, echoed:

“Prince Dokja… you’re here?”

Dokja’s heart stopped.

The Crown Prince. On the ground. Looking at him like that. Speaking to him softly, directly in front of everyone.

He wanted to melt into the floor.

“I—uh—” Dokja stammered, cheeks burning as every single knight turned their heads toward him, like his answer was about to change the fate of the empire.

He tried for dignity and failed miserably. “I… was just passing by.”

The silence stretched, heavy and breathless.

Then, from where he reclined on the stone floor, Joonghyuk let out the faintest chuckle. Not mocking. Not cold. Something softer, warmer. A sound that shouldn’t even exist from someone like him.

“Then I’m glad you passed this way,” he said.

Gasps rippled through the knights like a wave. Hyunsung pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about divine punishment.

Dokja, meanwhile, nearly combusted on the spot. His pulse was racing so hard he swore it was audible. “Y-you should get back to sparring,” he blurted, voice an octave too high. “I didn’t mean to disturb—”

“You didn’t.” Joonghyuk cut him off with quiet certainty, still holding his gaze like nothing else mattered. “You never disturb me.”

The words fell like a stone in water—rippling out, pulling every whispering knight into a storm of disbelief.

Dokja’s knees felt weak. He wanted to shout at Joonghyuk to stop saying things like that in public, but all he could do was stare, lips parted, as the Crown Prince finally, finally pushed himself upright.

Joonghyuk rose with that same smooth grace, dusting his hands, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he said, “I’ll see you tonight, at the banquet.”

He didn’t even wait for an answer before returning to Hyunsung, who still hadn’t recovered from the earlier trip.

And Dokja, flustered, burning, unable to breathe, let himself be pulled away by the maids, while behind him, the whispers in the yard began to rise like wildfire.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

His name was announced.

He entered the banquet hall.

It shimmered with gold light and velvet curtains, filled with nobles and envoys from neighboring kingdoms. Music played faintly from one corner, the clink of goblets echoing in the vast space. But beneath the surface of elegance and chatter, Dokja could feel it, the pointed stares, the hushed murmurs.

Everywhere he went, people’s eyes flickered toward him. Some with curiosity, some with disbelief, and some with knowing smirks.

He tried not to hear, but the whispers weren’t subtle.

“Did you see it? The Crown Prince, smiling.”
“Not just smiling. Smiling at him .”
“I’ve never—never in my life—seen His Highness look like that.”
“Maybe the rumors are true. Maybe he really does care for Prince Dokja…”

Dokja’s ears burned. He lowered his gaze, gripping the rim of his goblet like a lifeline. 

Why couldn’t everyone just forget about it already? It was just a glance. Just a smile. People were overreacting. Thank god… he didn’t have to be here with the crown prince, or else it would be embarrassing on another level.

Beside him, Jihye leaned closer, her voice low. “You know, ahjussi… you’ve become kind of…a hot topic.”

“Hot topic?” Dokja muttered, trying not to sound panicked. “What do you mean?”

Jihye’s grin widened, wicked and delighted. “Don’t play dumb. The sparring grounds? The trip? The smile? The way His Highness called out to you like you were the only person there?” She mimed fainting dramatically. “Half the knights nearly collapsed on the spot.”

Namwoon, from the other side, snorted into his drink. “Collapsed? They’re still recovering. I heard two of them swore lifelong loyalty to you, hyung, just for making the Crown Prince smile.”

Dokja paled. “Wait, how much did you—”

“Enough,” Sooyoung cut in, strolling up with that look of smug amusement. “The entire training yard is already gossiping. ‘The Crown Prince tripped because he was distracted by a single glance from his fiancé.’” She mimed a swoon. “Romantic, isn’t it?”

“Romantic my foot,” Dokja snapped. “It was humiliating! I laughed at him ! In front of everyone!”

“That’s the best part,” Jihye piped up, practically bouncing on her toes. “He didn’t even get mad! He just… looked at you. And smiled. Crown Prince Yoo Joonghyuk smiling! In front of knights! At you! Hyunsung looked like he was about to faint, hahaha—”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Dokja groaned, pressing his hands to his face. “If anyone hears you, I’ll—”

“They already heard,” Sooyoung interrupted.

Dokja buried his face in his hands. “This is… so embarrassing…”

That was when Han Sooyoung finally spoke, her voice like a knife cutting through the playful air. She swirled the wine in her goblet, dark eyes narrowing at him.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” she said coolly. “You should be wary .”

Dokja blinked at her. “…Wary?”

(Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe all this nonsense. That Yoo Joonghyuk tripping over his own feet is some grand romantic gesture? Does a smile in your direction mean anything?) 

Ofcourse, Sooyoung shrugged and said nothing…

Jihye nudged him, laughing. “Unnie just means you should be careful, ahjussi. But honestly? I’ve never seen His Highness make a mistake while training and  look at someone that way before. You’re special to him. That much is obvious.”

Sooyoung clicked her tongue softly.

Jihye quickly jumped in with a lighter tone. “The Crown Prince, our Crown Prince, smiling like some lovesick teenager. You’re basically rewriting history here.”

Namwoon grinned toothily. “Hyung, if you ask me, he didn’t trip on air. He tripped on you.”

“Shut up! Now this is too much” Dokja hissed, mortified.

The three of them laughed, well, two laughed, and one (Sooyoung) just shook her head, eyes still sharp ( with warning).

Dokja lowered his gaze again, the memory of Joonghyuk’s eyes meeting his, the quiet certainty in his voice when he said You never disturb me …

That wasn’t something he could dismiss so easily.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The herald’s voice rang out across the banquet hall.

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Yoo Joonghyuk of Kaizen.”

Every conversation in the room stilled at once, like a candle snuffed out by the wind. Dokja’s fingers clenched the edge of his goblet when the tall figure entered, his presence commanding without effort.

The first thing he noticed was the clothes.

His own deep navy and silver robe, embroidered with phoenix wings at the sleeves, had been chosen earlier that day with little thought. But now, seeing Joonghyuk stride forward, draped in the exact same palette , silver-threaded navy silk, phoenix wings mirrored across his shoulders, it was like they had stepped straight out of a painter’s portrait.

Couple outfits.

Dokja’s breath hitched.

Whispers swept the hall like wildfire.

“Are… are their robes matched?”
“By design, surely.”
“It’s almost…”
“Who decided this ?”

Dokja swore he heard a really LOUD screech sound from the crowd of royals. He wanted to sink through the floor. His ears burned so hot he thought they’d ignite. He knew the tailors had said something about adjusting the Crown Prince’s attire afterwards, but he hadn’t expected… this. Not identical, but close enough to look intentional, like every stitch was a declaration.

At his side, Jihye leaned in with an audible grin. “Ahjussi. Couple outfits. You’re doomed.”

Namwoon let out a low whistle. “Not even married yet, and he’s already broadcasting it to the entire court.”

Dokja pressed a hand over his face. “It’s not, I didn’t, ”

But Han Sooyoung cut in, her tone smooth, eyes gleaming like a cat with a secret. “Oh, it’s absolutely intentional.” She let the words drip slowly, savoring them. “The Crown Prince doesn’t leave details like this to chance. He wanted everyone here to see you two as one.”

Dokja’s heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest. “T-That’s, ”

Sooyoung leaned back in her chair, her smile thin and sharp as a blade hidden in silk. “Romantic, isn’t it?” she said, as if teasing, though her gaze pinned him. 

“ Or maybe it’s just another mask for the crowd. Who can tell, in a court where appearances mean everything? ” she mumbled to herself.

Before Dokja could ask what she was saying, a shadow fell across the table.

Joonghyuk had arrived.

Every noble in the hall rose instinctively, bowing their heads, but the Crown Prince’s eyes were fixed on one person only.

On Dokja.

He didn’t speak, but the faint curve of his lips, the same impossible smile from the sparring ground, was enough to send another wave of gasps across the room.

Joonghyuk moved through the crowd like the tide, steady, unstoppable. Every noble dipped their heads lower as he passed, but his gaze never shifted, never once wavered from Dokja.

When he reached, he didn’t pause, didn’t greet the lords or dignitaries that protocol demanded. Instead, he lowered himself directly into the empty place beside Dokja.

The air tightened instantly.

Dokja stiffened, trying not to breathe too loudly, while Jihye bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. Namwoon looked like he was about to choke on his own drink, so they both decided to give the couple some space. And Han Sooyoung… Han Sooyoung’s smirk had sharpened into something unreadable, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

Joonghyuk leaned slightly, his voice low enough that it was meant only for Dokja, yet everyone could feel the intimacy in the gesture.

“You’re late,” Dokja blurted without thinking, then immediately wanted to smack himself.

Joonghyuk’s mouth tilted faintly. “You noticed.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them, like they were sharing some private joke, made Dokja’s pulse stumble. He reached for his goblet again, only to find Joonghyuk’s hand already there, steadying it before it tipped. Their fingers brushed, just barely, but enough to send a shock straight up Dokja’s arm.

Dokja yanked his hand back like he’d touched fire. “I-I was just—”

“Careful,” Joonghyuk said quietly, placing the goblet back into Dokja’s hands, steady, deliberate. “Don’t let them see you falter.”

Them. The entire court, still whispering behind their fans and cups.

Dokja swallowed hard. “Right.”

The Crown Prince didn’t move away. Instead, his shoulder brushed against Dokja’s ever so slightly, the contact subtle but firm, as if telling him without words: You’re not alone.

From afar, Jihye gave up trying to hold back and whispered, “Ahjussi is red.”

Namwoon muttered, “Forget red, he looks like he’s about to faint.”

Sooyoung interrupted. “Mm. The Crown Prince does like to make statements, doesn’t he?” Her eyes flicked between them, calm but edged. “And wait… since when did you two brats start calling him hyung?”

…

Dokja wanted to crawl under the table. Joonghyuk, meanwhile, looked utterly unbothered, like standing in a couple's attire shoulder-to-shoulder with him before the entire court was the most natural thing in the world.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The whispers hadn’t yet died down when suddenly a high-pitched voice rang out from across the hall, slicing through the solemn music like a knife.

“Oh. My. Godssss—!!”

Every head turned. A young woman with wild golden curls, clad in the richest silks of a foreign court, was literally jumping in place beside her country’s delegation. Her jeweled tiara tilted dangerously with each bounce, but she didn’t seem to care.

“It’s true! It’s true! The rumors about the Crown Prince’s secret love were TRUEEE!” she screeched, clutching her face like some maiden seeing her idol. “Ohhh my eyes are BLESSED, the main couple right before me!!”

The entire hall froze. Nobles stared as though someone had just set fire to the tablecloths.

…

Chapter Text

The banquet was… not as bad as he had thought.
Embarrassing, yes. Mortifying at times, absolutely. But still, fun, in a way he hadn’t expected.

People spoke to him politely. They respected him, like he wasn’t the same Kim Dokja who used to be treated like invisible furniture. They laughed at his awkward jokes, complimented his attire, and even bowed to him. For once, his smile wasn’t entirely fake.

He didn’t see his family anywhere, which made him all the more relieved.

And thank heavens, no dancing with Yoo Joonghyuk. His heart would’ve imploded on the spot. Still, the Crown Prince never left his side from the moment he stepped into the hall, shadowing him so closely Dokja wondered if he had some sort of radar. Same with Jihye, Namwoon, and even Han Sooyoung.

It felt… safe. Almost.

Until it didn’t.

Because his smile froze, dropped, shattered, the second he saw Serin and Jaehyun cutting through the crowd toward him.

Joonghyuk? Gone.
Sooyoung? Off grabbing drinks, probably plotting how to poison half the nobles while she was at it.

That left him with the kids, Jihye and Namwoon, wide-eyed and innocent, completely unaware of what the Kim siblings were capable of.

Dokja’s gut twisted. Something was going to happen. He just knew it.

Serin looked at the very picture of grace, holding a gleaming glass of red wine in one hand and a steaming bowl of Kaizenix royal cuisine in the other. Her lips curled into an innocent smile as she approached.

“Oh !”

Her voice lifted into a theatrical screech as her foot tripped on air.

Glass.
Bowl.
Both tilted forward in slow motion, perfectly aimed, straight at him.

Dokja’s eyes widened. Oh you have GOT to be kidding me, 

The crash was inevitable, Dokja braced himself for heat and stains and humiliation,
But it never touched him.

Because in the blink of an eye, Yoo Joonghyuk was there.

He moved so fast that the crowd barely registered until it was over: the Crown Prince had stepped cleanly between Dokja and the disaster, arm slightly outstretched as if shielding him.

The result?
The steaming soup sloshed all over Serin herself, splattering across her delicate hand, leaving angry red burns in its wake. The wine glass slipped, shattered on the polished floor, ruby liquid spilling like blood. A few drops flicked onto Jaehyun’s pale sleeve… and a faint splash on Dokja’s robe too, but nothing more.

The hall went utterly silent.

Joonghyuk’s face didn’t twitch. Not a single flicker of concern for Serin’s scorched skin. His voice, smooth and biting, cut the silence:

“Careful how you walk, Lady Serin. This entire bowl might have ended up on Prince Dokja… if I hadn’t stepped in.”

A pause. His gaze sharpened, blade-like, poison dripping with every word.

“Or perhaps… that was your intention?”

Gasps fluttered across the hall like startled birds.

Serin’s eyes welled instantly, her lips trembling as she clutched her burnt hand. “N-no, Your Highness, I-I only tripped. It was an accident…”

Meanwhile, Jaehyun looked down at his sleeve, scowling at the droplets of wine like they were mortal wounds. He didn’t even glance at his sister. “We simply wished to greet Prince Dokja,” he said smoothly, brushing at his clothes. “This was… unfortunate.”

Joonghyuk tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Unfortunate,” he echoed softly. “Hm. Funny. From where I was standing, it didn’t look like an accident at all.”

Tension snapped, crackling in the air like lightning.

And then, like clockwork, Han Sooyoung appeared, sliding herself between them with the grace of a predator dressed as prey. Her steps were just a little too casual, her smile just a little too sweet.

“Oh, !” she gasped, tripping on nothing, and the wine she carried tipped straight onto Jaehyun’s immaculate outfit. The red spread like a blooming flower across his chest.

She covered her mouth dramatically. “Oops. I tripped, accidentally. I do hope His Majesty will forgive me.”

Her voice dripped sugar. Her eyes did not.

The crowd tittered behind their hands, delighted at the spectacle.

Jaehyun froze. He looked at Sooyoung. At the wine soaking into his finery. At the guests whispering. Serin was still shaking and clutching her hand.

And he smiled. Tight. Empty.

Without another word, he placed his hand on Serin’s shoulder and guided her away, silent as stone.

The music swelled again, conversation resumed in buzzing whispers, and the hall moved on as if nothing had happened.

But everyone remembered.

The hall was still humming with half-hidden whispers when Serin and Jaehyun finally disappeared, their retreat like a stain vanishing into the crowd.

Dokja exhaled. His heart was pounding like a drum in his ribs. He didn’t even realize his hands had curled into fists until he felt the sting of his nails pressing against his palms.

“Prince Dokja.”

The voice was low, close, he blinked up and almost stumbled back.

Joonghyuk hadn’t returned to his seat. He hadn’t turned to the murmuring nobles or the rattled generals. He hadn’t even looked at the guests still gawking at him.

No. He was standing directly in front of Dokja. Like the whole banquet had melted away until there was only the two of them.

His dark eyes swept over Dokja’s figure, checking with the sharpness of a blade, lingering far too long on the faint red drop of wine marring Dokja’s sleeve.

“Are you hurt?” Joonghyuk asked.

“I—what? No,” Dokja stammered, shaking his head too quickly. His ears burned. “It... it barely touched me, see?” He pinched the fabric awkwardly between his fingers like proof.

But Joonghyuk didn’t glance at the sleeve again. His gaze stayed fixed on Dokja’s face. “Good,” he said simply. The word was quiet, but heavy, like a verdict.

The silence that followed prickled at Dokja’s skin. He shifted, searching for something to say, anything, but words tangled uselessly in his throat.

And then... 

“Well, wasn’t that dramatic?”

Han Sooyoung’s voice cut in like a dagger, sweet as honey but sharp as salt. She reappeared, balancing two untouched goblets of wine in her hands, eyes dancing with amusement that was just shy of mockery.

“I must say,” she went on, planting herself neatly at Dokja’s side, “Crown Prince, you do have a way of making a spectacle. The poor girl’s hand is half-burnt, and here you are, interrogating her intentions instead of summoning a healer.”

Joonghyuk’s jaw twitched, the faintest sign of irritation. “Serin’s safety is the responsibility of her family,” he said flatly. “Dokja’s safety is mine.”

The words were delivered so casually that Dokja almost missed them. Almost.

He choked, coughing once into his fist. His face felt like it was on fire. Why would he say that here? In front of everyone?

Sooyoung’s smile thinned, a wolf baring teeth behind a painted mask. “Ah. How noble,” she murmured. “But perhaps you should remember, sometimes the greatest danger to someone isn’t an outsider… it’s the one standing closest.”

Her gaze flicked deliberately between the two of them. The jab was clear.

Dokja glanced between them nervously, raising a hand. “I-It’s fine. Really. Please don’t… ”

But Joonghyuk cut him off, stepping just a fraction closer, lowering his voice as if the hall itself no longer existed. “If it had touched you,” he said, quiet but fierce, “I wouldn’t have forgiven them.”

Dokja blinked at him, heart hammering. “It… it was soup.”

“It was enough,” Joonghyuk replied.

Their eyes locked, and for one dizzying second, Dokja felt something tug in his chest, an invisible chain pulling him closer, tighter, until he couldn’t breathe.

Sooyoung clapped her hands sharply, breaking the spell. “Alright, lovebirds,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, handing one goblet of wine into Dokja’s hand as though he were a child to be distracted. “Save your soul-gazing for after the wedding, hmm? Some of us are trying to digest our dinner.”

Dokja nearly spilled the wine on himself, coughing again. “We weren’t…! It’s not like…!”

Joonghyuk’s lips curved. Just slightly. A smile so small it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, except that everyone in the hall was already staring.

The whispers began again, louder this time, rippling through the banquet like wildfire.

Dokja wanted to sink into the floor.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Persephone was seated near the center of the hall, a position of quiet power that none dared contest. Her hair gleamed beneath the lantern-light, and her wine glass caught the glow like liquid fire. Nobles clustered around her in little circles, eager for a word, a smile, a blessing.

One duchess leaned forward, voice hushed but brimming with curiosity. “Your Majesty, forgive me, but… the Crown Prince seems… different, lately.”

“Different?” another baron echoed. “You mean calmer? Happier?”

“Yes, yes… happier!” someone else chimed in, their fan fluttering like wings. “Why, I even saw him smile tonight. A real smile. The last time I witnessed such a thing, he was hardly ten.”

Persephone’s lips curved, soft and knowing, though her eyes remained sharp as polished obsidian. She let them chatter a moment longer before she answered, her voice carrying with the smooth cadence of a woman who never had to raise her tone to command attention.

“My son,” she said, “has always carried the weight of Kaizenix upon his shoulders. A boy forced to grow into a sword too quickly.” She sipped her wine, slow, deliberate. “But lately… yes. He has changed.”

Her gaze flickered across the banquet hall, landing briefly on Dokja, awkwardly trying to manage a conversation with Lee Jihye while fidgeting with his goblet. Joonghyuk stood not far behind him, every line of his posture guarded, yet his eyes followed Dokja’s every move like an orbit he could not escape.

Persephone’s smile deepened, wistful, almost conspiratorial. “It seems as though magic itself has walked into his life. Prince Dokja is not a crown forged of iron or a sword to wield. He is… light. And somehow, that light has reached even him.”

Gasps fluttered through the group, fans snapping shut, rings clinking against goblets.

“Magic,” the duchess whispered, eyes widening. “That’s exactly it. Like a spell.”

“Or fate,” another murmured.

Persephone tilted her head, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Call it what you like. But remember this, sometimes, the greatest miracles are not storms or swords, but the people who arrive quietly, and make a warrior put down his blade, if only for a moment.”

The circle of nobles fell silent, her words sinking in like honeyed poison. And when they glanced again toward the Crown Prince, who had, at that exact moment, leaned just slightly toward Dokja, listening intently as though no other sound in the hall mattered, it was hard to argue.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The banquet blurred. Voices, music, laughter, none of it reached him.

What Yoo Joonghyuk only saw was him.

Kim Dokja, standing a few steps away, speaking politely to a cluster of nobles. His gestures awkward but strangely graceful, his smile timid yet bright enough to draw every eye in the room. He didn’t even notice the way people leaned toward him, fascinated, as if he were some delicate, rare flower suddenly blooming in Kaizenix’s cold marble halls.

Joonghyuk’s gaze lingered too long. Every blink felt stretched into eternity, every movement slowed like water dripping from a blade. Dokja’s lips parted as he laughed lightly at something Jihye whispered; the curve of his mouth, the spark in his dark eyes, 

And suddenly, those eyes were not in this hall.

They were wide with pain. Shock.

The banquet dissolved into another memory,
The same hall, another night, another life.
Wine spilling red across white silk.
Hot stew scalding pale skin. Dokja flinching, his hands blistered, shaking.

Joonghyuk’s jaw clenched. He remembered the way he had grabbed him then. Not gently. Fingers biting into Dokja’s wrist, dragging him from the hall like he was a misbehaving servant rather than a fiancé. Dokja’s steps stumbling, the burn still fresh on his skin, his breaths coming short and broken.

And Han Sooyoung, her voice cutting through the hall like a sword.

“Enough, Yoo Joonghyuk! Can’t you see you’re hurting him?”

But his older self hadn’t cared.
He had turned back, gaze colder than steel, and spat the words like law:

“Stay out of matters that don’t concern you, Advisor. This is between me and my fiancé.”

…

The banquet hall in the past was bright that night, golden chandeliers glittering overhead, music weaving through laughter and whispers. Nobles in jeweled collars raised their glasses, eyes darting toward the newly announced royal consort. Kim Dokja had been seated at the crown prince’s side, shoulders stiff, hands folded too neatly in his lap.

He didn’t belong there, and everyone knew it.

And then it happened.

A slip of a heel, a staged stumble. A servant girl, no, not a servant, Serin, falling forward with wine and steaming stew in hand.

The glass shattered first, wine splashing scarlet across marble, drops landing on Dokja’s sleeve. He flinched at the stain, startled, before the bowl followed.

The scalding stew cascaded directly over his wrist and the side of his hand.

“Ah!” The sound tore out of him before he could stop it. His fingers jerked back, skin already reddening, angry blisters rising where the heat struck. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, trying not to cry out further, but the tremor in his body gave him away.

For a moment, just a breath, the hall froze.

And then Yoo Joonghyuk moved.

But not the way anyone expected.

He did not check the burn.
He did not shield him.
He did not even glance at Serin.

He seized Dokja’s wrist, the very one blistered and raw, fingers closing like iron shackles.

Dokja gasped, stumbling to his feet as Joonghyuk dragged him forward, away from the table, away from the whispers. His injured hand was caught in his grip, every step jolting pain up his arm.

“Y-Your Highness—” he tried, voice thin with shock, but Joonghyuk’s grip only tightened.

The crowd parted before them, silent, watching.

Han Sooyoung’s voice cut like a blade through the tension.
“Crown Prince, stop!”

Joonghyuk didn’t even slow. He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes, his own expression carved from cold stone.
“Stay out of matters that don’t concern you, Advisor.”

Sooyoung’s hands clenched at her sides. “He’s in pain—”

“This,” Joonghyuk snapped, his voice low but ringing across the hall, “is between me and my fiancé.”

Dokja’s knees nearly buckled as he was yanked down the long corridor, his skin burning, his face pale and tight with restrained agony. He did not resist. Did not cry. Did not scream.

And perhaps that was the cruelest part, 

That even then, he followed.

Even as Joonghyuk’s grip dug into his scorched flesh, even as each step deepened the wound, Dokja bore it silently.

“Why are they always begging for attention?” Joonghyuk’s voice was ice, cutting through Dokja’s choked breaths. His grip twisted tighter around the injured wrist, ignoring the way Dokja flinched. “You’ve fallen so low you’d even hurt yourself for pity? Pathetic. Disgusting.”

The words landed harsher than the burn itself.

Dokja’s lips parted, but no defense came. He only lowered his gaze, teeth pressing into his tongue to stifle any sound. His legs moved where Joonghyuk dragged him, quiet, obedient, like silence could shield him from the humiliation of being treated like a criminal for simply existing.

When Joonghyuk finally released him hours later, the damage was done. His hand was ruined, skin angry red, blistered, trembling with every breath.

The air between them was heavy, sharp enough to choke.

And still, Dokja lowered his head. His voice came soft, broken, but steady:
“…I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”

As if he had done something wrong.

…

The memory struck him like a blade in the ribs. Dokja’s eyes, those same eyes before him now, filled then with something worse than pain. Not anger. Not even hatred. Just quiet resignation. As if he had already given up on the idea that Joonghyuk could ever be kind.

Joonghyuk’s chest tightened. His breath caught, jagged. The wine glass in his hand trembled, nearly slipping.

Because now, in this life, Dokja was still smiling. Still bright. Still within reach. And yet all Joonghyuk could see was how easily he had once crushed that light.

And how, no matter how tightly he held onto him this time…
He feared he might do it again.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The banquet had created more rumors than there already were, ridiculous, impossible rumors that seemed to spread like wildfire the moment people saw Yoo Joonghyuk smile in his direction.

Prince Joonghyuk, head over heels? In love with him since childhood? Absurd. They didn’t even know each other existed until now. And yet, somewhere between one smile and one too many lingering glances, the court had decided to spin their own fairytale. Dokja swore he heard whispers about him being some sort of wizard who cast a spell on the crown prince, what the hell? Magic? As if that explained Joonghyuk’s every action.

And then there were the books. Real, physical books that were suddenly being sold in the marketplace.

One was titled The Eternal Vows of Crown Prince Joonghyuk. Another, more dramatic, was called Chained Hearts: A Forbidden Love. He’d even overheard a maid giggling about a tragedy called The Bride Who Burned.

Dokja wanted to bury himself six feet under.

It didn’t stop there. Passing nobles added their own theories:

“Have you seen the way they looked at each other? That was fate.”

“Fate? Please. This is a political love story turned into passion! The bards will sing it for centuries.”

“I heard the prince smiles only at him. No one else. Imagine! A smile like that!”

Dokja pressed his face into his hands. “God, kill me now,” he muttered under his breath.

And then, worse yet, he overheard some of the palace guards arguing near the training grounds.

“I tell you, the crown prince tripped because he was distracted by love.”

“That’s nonsense. He tripped because he was blinded by beauty.”

“No, no, no, you’re both wrong. Prince Dokja’s gaze knocked him off his feet. Literally.”

Dokja wanted to throw himself into the nearest river.

Still… nobody had dared insult him since. Not once. If anything, people bowed deeper, smiled more politely, and addressed him as if he already wore the crown.

Which only made everything worse.

Because now, on top of being respected, he was also the protagonist of the most embarrassing romance novel ever written, except this one was playing out in real time, in front of the entire kingdom.

It was all fantasy, of course. Nonsense. But the most humiliating kind of nonsense, because even if he ignored it, it didn’t stop the entire kingdom from whispering about him. He was painfully aware that by now, half the country probably knew more about his “love story” than he did. 

It was surreal, he could move through halls without bracing for insult.

But relief didn’t wash away the storm building inside. The wedding was tomorrow. Only twenty-four hours left. His heart twisted every time he thought of it.

Hades had explained the order of things: first the vows, and then, Dokja swallowed hard, probably a kiss. In front of everyone. After that, they would ride to Kaizenix’s capital together, a royal procession to greet the citizens. Dokja’s veil would be lifted, his face revealed to the entire nation. No more hiding. No more shadows.

It was terrifying, the thought of so many eyes staring at him. Would the people hate him? Or, worse, would they adore him the way they already adored their crown prince?

And then there were the children. Dokja wondered, with a faint pang, if Gilyoung and Yoosung would be in the crowd. Would they remember him? Would they… smile at him, like they did that night? He hoped that they wouldn't be scared of him.

The questions made his chest tight, but what consumed him most right now was something much more immediate: the dance.

The first dance as a married couple. With everyone watching.

He was sure he’d rather face a battlefield than that. His palms already sweat just thinking about it. What if he tripped? What if he stepped on Joonghyuk’s toes? What if his nerves ruined the entire performance? The idea of every noble in Kaizenix whispering about his clumsiness until the end of time made his stomach knot in horror.

Han Sooyoung had been drilling him mercilessly. She corrected his posture, dragged him across the floor, forced him to repeat every step until he thought his feet would fall off.

And yet… she stayed. Every night, every spare hour, even though she was the royal advisor and should’ve been drowning in work, she made time for him. Dokja didn’t comment on it much, but he noticed. She didn’t have to hover over him this much, and yet she did.

“Left foot, Dokja. Left. Gods, you’re hopeless.”
“…You’re enjoying this too much.”
“You bet I am.”

The truth was, he was closer to her now than he’d ever thought possible. Sooyoung wasn’t just the sharp-tongued advisor anymore, she was someone who hovered protectively over his shoulder, someone who made him laugh, someone who, when he stumbled, steadied him with a hand that always felt reassuringly firm.

And she wasn’t the only one.

The knights, Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon, were around him so often he sometimes forgot they were supposed to be intimidating. They bickered constantly, true, but they treated him with an earnestness that warmed him. They were young, but admirable in ways Dokja couldn’t ignore. He caught Jihye sneaking proud glances at him as though he were worth following, and Namwoon, loud, brash Namwoon, seemed oddly determined to guard him like a hawk.

Hyunsung, too, with his steady, unshakable presence. He had a way of speaking that anchored Dokja, a quiet strength that eased his nerves when the palace felt overwhelming.

And then there was Mia, dear Mia, who practically glued herself to his side. She sulked every time she had to leave, and pouted like the world was ending whenever duty pulled her away from him. Dokja found her impossible to refuse. Impossible not to soften around.

It was strange. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to find a circle of people who cared, who lingered, who refused to let him feel alone.

Tomorrow, the world will change again. Tomorrow, he would step into the light before all of Kaizenix. Tomorrow, Yoo Joonghyuk will be his husband.

But tonight, in the quiet before the storm, Dokja thought of Sooyoung’s teasing, of Jihye and Namwoon’s chatter, of Hyunsung’s calm, of Mia’s warmth, and realized, with some bewildered wonder, that maybe… just maybe… he had people who would stand by him, no matter what came next.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The whole kingdom had transformed overnight.

Every street, every balcony, every corner was drowned in blossoms and silk. Flowers of every shade were braided into garlands, strewn across rooftops, spilling from baskets carried by children who skipped through the roads. Banners of white, gold, and black draped like rivers of silk across the walls of Kaizenix, catching the early morning light so that the whole city seemed to shimmer.

The citizens had poured out into the streets, not out of duty but excitement. They whispered and laughed and threw petals, as if this was no ordinary royal marriage but the union of legends. The moment when their untouchable crown prince would finally claim the one they had already heard a thousand stories about, his mysterious, fated partner.

And those stories… Oh god, those stories were everywhere. From market stalls selling sweet buns shaped like a bride and groom, to bards strumming lutes and reciting verses about “a smile that ensnared the prince’s heart.” Even the children were playing make-believe, one of them pretending to trip like the crown prince had, the others shrieking, “It’s love, he’s fallen in love!”

The palace was no less overwhelming.

The great halls, where the vows would be spoken, looked less like a room and more like a shrine carved for the gods themselves. Vast curtains of white silk embroidered with gold threads spilled from the ceilings, each fold glimmering faintly with crystal beads. The scent of lilies and orchids was so thick it clung to the air. Candlelight caught in golden chandeliers above, making the marble floors glow like polished starlight.

And in the center of all this, Kim Dokja stood trembling.

He was dressed already, layers of finely woven white and gold that clung heavy on his shoulders, each thread glittering faintly as though it carried starlight. His hair had been brushed and bound, his face touched faintly with powder. He looked every bit the royal consort the kingdom dreamed him to be. But inside, he was shaking so hard he feared his knees would give out before he even stepped into the hall.

Because today, he had to walk the aisle.

And not alone. With his so-called father.

The very thought made bile rise in his throat.

The chamber doors opened and there he was, his father, the man who had never once treated him as a son, standing like a shadow in finery he didn’t deserve. The silence that followed was unbearable, a suffocating weight in the pit of Dokja’s chest.

But before he could move, before the man could even step forward, two figures had already placed themselves between them.

Lee Jihye and Kim Namwoon.

Their laughter, their bickering, their childish antics were gone. Now, they stood rigid, hands on the hilts of their swords, expressions sharp as drawn steel.

Dokja blinked at them in confusion. “What…?”

Namwoon didn’t take his eyes off the man at the door. “Orders,” he said simply. His voice, normally so eager and hotheaded, was calm, cold.

Jihye’s gaze flickered toward Dokja, softer, but her body remained firm like a shield. “You won’t be left alone. Today.”

Dokja’s breath caught. He realized then, it wasn't a coincidence. This wasn’t just a protective instinct. They had been told.

Someone, maybe Joonghyuk, maybe Sooyoung, had given the order: never let Dokja be left alone with his family.

His chest tightened, an ache swelling where the fear had been.

It was terrifying, humiliating, and yet… also safe.

He wasn’t alone.

The man’s presence was like a shadow crawling across the silk and gold, oil seeping into clear water. He didn’t belong here, not in this hall made for light, yet he walked as if he owned it.

“Dokja,” he said, voice smooth, almost warm, the kind of tone that would sound gentle to strangers. “You look… presentable. Almost like a real prince.”

The words slid like knives beneath velvet.

Dokja lowered his gaze instinctively, his palms clammy inside embroidered sleeves. That old reflex, submit, don’t breathe too loudly, don’t anger him, rose up before he could stop it.

The man clicked his tongue, his smile sharpening. “But don’t think wearing silk changes what you are. No matter how much they dress you, no matter what crown you sit beside, you’re still a mistake. My mistake.”

The air curdled.

Namwoon shifted at Dokja’s side, hand twitching against his sword hilt. Jihye’s jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder her teeth didn’t crack.

”Sir,” Jihye spoke, her voice crisp as steel. “The ceremony is about to begin. Kindly keep your comments to yourself.”

His father’s eyes flicked to her, a look of disdain that dismissed her as though she were a buzzing fly. “Bold little girl. You’re just a sword. Don’t mistake your place.”

And then his gaze returned to Dokja, piercing, heavy, cruel. “Do you think they’ll keep you once this pretty wedding is over? Hm? You’ll sit in silks, smile for the people, and warm his bed. But when he tires of you? Where will you go then? Back to me? Or perhaps you’ll end up like your mother.”

The words hit like ice water down his spine. Dokja’s stomach churned violently, his throat tightening. He wanted to shrink, to disappear into the polished marble. The ache in his chest was unbearable, fear, shame, the weight of being seen as nothing.

But then, something else stirred.

Jihye had stepped half a step closer, her sword angled slightly forward. Namwoon’s glare was so fierce it could have burned a hole through the man’s skull. They were ready to tear him apart if he took a single step closer.

All for him.

Dokja swallowed hard. His hands trembled, but he forced them still at his sides. For once, he didn’t want to hide behind someone else’s shield.

His voice came quiet, thin, but steady.
“…Enough.”

His father’s eyes snapped to him, amused, mocking. “What was that?”

Dokja lifted his chin, though his heart thrashed against his ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. “I said enough. You’ve spoken your piece. If you can’t keep your tongue civil, then don’t speak at all.”

Silence.

The man blinked, once, slowly, as though this son of his had grown fangs when he wasn’t looking.

Then came a chuckle, low and scornful. “So the crown prince’s lapdog has learned to bark.”

The words stung, but for once, they didn’t hollow him out. Dokja’s legs still trembled, but he stood there, upright, unbroken.

A fragile, wavering thing.

His father could sneer, could spit poison, could remind him of every scar, but for the first time, Dokja had spoken back.

And that mattered.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The doors opened.

And the world stilled.

The sound of the orchestra, the whispers of nobles, even the restless shifting of the guests, all of it fell into silence, as if time itself bowed to his entrance.

Kim Dokja stepped forward.

Hand in hand with the King of Liraeth, the man who had given him nothing but pain, yet Dokja walked with a grace that made every jewel in the hall seem dull. White silk draped across his frame like sunlight caught in fabric, every thread lined with gold so fine it looked as if he were carved out of starlight itself. His black hair framed his face in soft waves, and the faint tremor in his step only made him more breathtaking, like a fragile miracle that the world had no right to behold.

Joonghyuk forgot to breathe.

Every ounce of steel, every scar carved into his soul, every memory of blood and ruin, none of it mattered in that moment. His gaze locked on Dokja, and all he saw was a man who looked as if he had stepped straight out of a story Joonghyuk had never deserved to read.

The hall saw a prince. A royal consort. A jewel to crown their empire.

But Joonghyuk saw him.

The boy he had once broken. The man who had once died in his arms. The soul who, despite everything, still shone brighter than anyone else in this world.

He remembered the past, the same white hall, the same procession, but then Dokja had been trembling, afraid, chained by humiliation. His eyes had been downcast, lifeless.

But now, 

Now, his chin was lifted. His steps, though hesitant, carried dignity. His eyes sought no one else, but Joonghyuk could feel it: the silent thread pulling between them, taut, unbreakable.

And Joonghyuk’s chest ached.

He wanted to stand, to walk across the aisle, to tear Dokja’s hand from that man who had called himself his father, who had no right to touch him. He wanted to swear before gods and kings alike that no one, not fate, not kingdoms, not even time, would lay claim to Kim Dokja but him.

Instead, he stayed rooted, every muscle iron-tight, his gaze the only thing he could give.

Look at me, he begged silently. Not at him. Not at them. Only me.

And then, as if the universe had bent to his will, Dokja’s eyes lifted, hesitant, searching, until they met his.

The hall fell away.

There was no crown. No kingdom. No guests. No whispers.

Only Yoo Joonghyuk.

And Kim Dokja, walking toward him.

For the first time in his life, Yoo Joonghyuk thought: If this is a dream, let it never end.

The doors closed behind him, and Kim Dokja’s every step down the aisle felt like a blade driven deeper into Joonghyuk’s chest.

He tried to steady his breathing, but his body betrayed him; his heartbeat was hammering, heavy and loud, like it was trying to escape the cage of his ribs. He was Yoo Joonghyuk, warrior, prince, heir, the one who never faltered, yet right now, he was nothing more than a man undone by the sight of another.

Dokja’s hand was still held by the King of Liraeth. The old man’s grip was firm, proud, possessive. Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened at the sight. That hand had no right to guide him. No right to walk him here. No right to claim him.

Every fiber in Joonghyuk screamed to rise, to rip that hand away, to stand at Dokja’s side before the old bastard could take another step. But the weight of tradition pressed down on him. This was the way. The father delivered the child. The court demanded it.

So he stayed still.

And he burned.

When Dokja finally reached him, their gazes met again. For a moment, Joonghyuk thought the world might truly end, that the ceiling could collapse, that the torches could go out, and still he would not look away.

Dokja’s hand trembled when it left his father’s and was placed into Joonghyuk’s palm.

It was warm. Real.

Joonghyuk closed his hand around it slowly, carefully, as if holding something he had already broken once and had no right to touch again. His thumb brushed against Dokja’s knuckles, just the faintest pressure, an unspoken vow that trembled against his skin.

This time, I won’t let go.

The priest’s voice echoed through the great hall, grand and ceremonial, but Joonghyuk barely heard it. Words about union, vows, gods and kingdoms, all noise, meaningless compared to the soft rise and fall of Dokja’s breath at his side.

“Crown Prince Yoo Joonghyuk,” the priest intoned. “Do you swear, by blood and by crown, to honor, protect, and cherish the one beside you, until death and beyond?”

Joonghyuk’s lips parted. His voice, when it came, was low but steady, iron laced with fire.

“I swear.”

A murmur rippled through the hall at the force of it.

Then the priest turned. “And you, Prince Kim Dokja, do you swear, by heart and by name, to walk beside him, to hold and endure, until death and beyond?”

Dokja hesitated. Just a flicker, just a second, but Joonghyuk felt it like a dagger in his ribs. Dokja’s lashes lowered, and his lips pressed into a thin line before he whispered, softly but clear enough for all to hear:

“…I swear.”

Joonghyuk’s grip tightened, subtle, almost imperceptible. He wanted to tear the word from the air, to tell Dokja he didn’t have to promise, and didn't have to chain himself again. But the world demanded it. And Dokja had given it.

The priest raised his arms. “Then let it be sealed.”

It was tradition now. No escape. The kiss.

Joonghyuk turned fully to face him. And for a moment, he faltered.

Dokja was looking at him, not with the open warmth the court might have expected, but with quiet resignation, something unreadable, as though he stood at the edge of a cliff and had already accepted the fall.

Joonghyuk’s breath caught.

In the past, he had dragged him to this very moment in cruelty, in paranoia, in pride. He had forced his hand, crushed his spirit, demanded vows from lips that trembled with pain. And then, 

And then he had watched him die with those same vows on his lips.

Not this time.

Never again.

Joonghyuk lowered his head slowly, deliberately, not as a conqueror claiming a prize, but as a man approaching a miracle. His lips brushed softly against Dokja’s, barely a whisper, barely a touch, more reverence than possession.

The hall erupted into applause, cheers, voices rising in celebration, yet Joonghyuk heard nothing. His world narrowed to the taste of that fleeting kiss, the warmth of that fragile hand in his.

When he drew back, he lingered just close enough to whisper to himself words no one else could hear:

“…Even if you can’t forgive me, Kim Dokja, I will spend every breath proving I am yours.”

Dokja blinked at him, startled and confused, not knowing what the crown prince said. His lips parted as if to speak, but then the priest declared their union, and the moment was swept away in the roar of the crowd.

Joonghyuk stood tall, crown on his head, Dokja’s hand still in his grip, blushing.

But beneath the gold, beneath the cheers and the glory, his heart whispered only one truth:

This was not the end.

This was the beginning.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The wedding was over. The cheers still echoed in Joonghyuk’s skull like thunder long after they left the grand hall.

The two of them were seated side by side in the gilded carriage, the emblem of the crown carved into its walls, silken curtains half-drawn. Outside, drums beat in rhythm with the roar of the crowd; citizens pressed against the streets, waving flowers, calling his name, their names.

But inside the carriage, silence.

A silence so heavy Joonghyuk could hear the faint tremor of Dokja’s breath. Could hear the sound of his own pulse hammering against his ears.

He sat rigid, back straight, hands resting on his knees. Yet his gaze refused to leave the man beside him.

Dokja’s face was half-hidden by the ceremonial veil, the fabric light enough to reveal the delicate curve of his jaw, the trembling of his lips. He wasn’t looking at Joonghyuk, his eyes were fixed forward, as if he could hold the entire capital at arm’s length by refusing to turn his head.

And yet every line of him spoke of unease. His fingers curled tightly into the folds of his robe. His shoulders held just a little too stiff, like someone bracing for impact.

Joonghyuk wanted to speak. To break the suffocating silence. To say, what? That Dokja didn’t need to fear him? That this wasn’t the past, that he wasn’t the same man who had once dragged him mercilessly through fire and humiliation?

The words rose to his throat, desperate. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came.

He could not form them.

The carriage rocked with the cobbled streets, jolting them closer for a moment. Their knees brushed. A spark went through Joonghyuk’s chest, burning, startling, too much. Dokja flinched almost imperceptibly, shifting away.

Joonghyuk’s hands curled into fists. His breath was sharp, tight.

Outside, the citizens cheered again, louder, shouting blessings, crying out about their beloved crown prince and the new consort. Voices overlapped, a love story for the ages, a fairytale come true, the crown prince is finally smiling again.

Joonghyuk let his head tilt, just enough to look at him fully.

Kim Dokja, sitting beside him in that golden carriage, veiled and trembling, was everything the kingdom saw as a miracle. To Joonghyuk, he was something far greater, and something far worse. He was the proof of every sin Joonghyuk had committed, every cruelty that haunted his nights.

And now, here he was, close enough to touch, yet distant as the stars.

The priest’s words still rang in his ears: until death and beyond.

Joonghyuk’s chest ached with the weight of it. He wanted to reach across the space, to cover that trembling hand with his own, to whisper something reckless and raw. You don’t have to bow. You don’t have to flinch. Just look at me once. Just breathe beside me without fear.

But Dokja never turned. Not once.

The silence remained.

By the time the carriage reached the central square, Joonghyuk felt as though he had fought a hundred battles without moving an inch. His armor was gone, but the exhaustion was the same.

The doors opened. Light and sound flooded in. The capital awaited.

He rose first, as tradition demanded, extending his hand down to Dokja.

For a heartbeat, Dokja hesitated, staring at that offered hand, the hesitation so small no one else would see it. But Joonghyuk felt it like a blade through the ribs.

And then, slowly, Dokja placed his hand into his.

Joonghyuk’s grip tightened, not enough to hurt, never again to hurt, but enough to tell the world what no words could yet say.

He is mine to protect.

The citizens roared their joy.

But inside Joonghyuk’s chest, silence still reigned.

Chapter Text

The roar of the crowd hit them like a living wave when the carriage doors opened.

Trumpets flared, banners unfurled from the rooftops, petals rained from baskets above. The central square of Kaizenix was a sea of color and sound, thousands gathered, pressing shoulder to shoulder, standing on rooftops, leaning from windows, all to catch a glimpse of the Crown Prince and his new consort.

Joonghyuk stepped down first. His boots struck the stone with the force of inevitability. The cheers swelled at the sight of him, chants of “Long live the Crown Prince!” rolling like thunder through the air.

But he barely heard it.

Because his hand was still stretched behind him… waiting.

Waiting for him.

The pause dragged long enough that his heart clenched like a fist. Then, slowly, Kim Dokja appeared at the threshold.

The veil still covered his face, sheer white falling like mist, the edges embroidered with threads of gold. He was trembling; Joonghyuk could feel it even before Dokja’s hand slipped into his. It was small, uncertain, fingers curling as though he had no choice but to hold on.

Joonghyuk tightened his grip, firm, grounding, a silent promise. The crowd would see only the ritual, the gesture of a royal escort. But Joonghyuk… Joonghyuk clung to it like salvation.

Together, they descended.

And then, with the blare of horns, came the moment the people had been waiting for: the unveiling.

The priest’s hand lifted the veil from Dokja’s face.

The sunlight struck him full-on, and for the first time, Kaizenix looked upon the Crown Prince’s chosen consort.

A silence fell so completely, Joonghyuk could hear his own pulse.

Dokja blinked beneath the sudden brightness, lips parting just slightly. His face was pale, delicate, framed by the ceremonial crown of white orchids. His expression wasn’t the radiant confidence of a noble accustomed to admiration—no. He looked startled, almost fragile, as though he couldn’t quite believe the world was staring at him.

And that, perhaps, was what made them gasp.

The crowd… thousands of voices, sighed as one. Then the square erupted in cries.

“Beautiful!”

“A blessing!”

“He looks like starlight itself– !”

“The gods have given us a miracle!”

Flowers showered the steps. Strangers wept. Children on their parents’ shoulders shouted his name, as though it had always been theirs to call.

Joonghyuk, who had faced armies, who had conquered fields of blood without flinching, felt something inside him shatter.

Because he remembered.

He remembered a hall filled with screams instead of cheers.

And now, that same man stood at his side, the world calling him miracle, beauty, salvation.

Dokja’s hand trembled in his own.

Joonghyuk’s throat was tight, unbearable. The words rose again, desperate, violent in their need to escape—I’m sorry. I was wrong. I won’t let them touch you again. I won’t let myself touch you like that again.

But the square was roaring, demanding his composure. So instead, Joonghyuk raised their hands together, high for all to see, as tradition required.

The citizens screamed their joy.

And Dokja… Dokja only glanced sideways at him, uncertain, lips trembling with something that might have been gratitude, or fear, or nothing at all.

The world called it a fairytale. The kingdom saw a perfect union, the prince and his miracle consort.

But Joonghyuk knew the truth.

He had broken this man once. And now he would spend every breath left in his body trying to protect him… even if Dokja never looked at him with anything but trembling uncertainty.

The roar of the capital swelled. Joonghyuk held on tighter.

This time, he swore silently, as petals rained around them, this time, I will not fail you.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The sunlight was too bright.

Or maybe it was the eyes.

Dokja thought he’d collapse right there on the marble steps. Thousands of people… faces blurred together into one vast, endless gaze… all looking at him. At him. His breath snagged in his throat. He’d always been the shadow at the edge of the page, the invisible one, the background furniture. Now he was center stage, unveiled like some prize.

The priest’s hand had lifted the veil before he could even prepare. And just like that, he was bare.

He heard the gasp ripple through the crowd, saw the way their mouths moved, the way hands reached toward him from below.

“Beautiful!”

“A miracle—”

“Blessing from the heavens!”

His ears rang.

Beautiful? Him?

His lips parted, but no sound came. His fingers twitched nervously in the Crown Prince’s grip, but Yoo Joonghyuk only tightened his hold, grounding, steady… too steady. Dokja wondered if the man’s hand had always been this warm, or if it was just his own trembling that made it feel like fire.

The people were smiling at him. Smiling. Not sneering, not mocking, not whispering like the way his family used to, not spitting words that burned more than any flame. They looked at him with awe, reverence even.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

For a moment he thought… maybe they’re mistaking me for someone else? Surely they weren’t seeing him, Kim Dokja, the nothing son, the useless, unwanted one. Surely they were seeing a veil of gold embroidery, the shine of orchids, the reflected glow of a crown prince’s hand wrapped around his.

And yet…

And yet the petals kept falling on his hair, children’s voices shouted “Consort Dokja!” like it was a name worth cheering, like it belonged in their mouths. His chest felt tight.

He wanted to cry. He didn’t. He forced a smile, thin and wavering, but still a smile.

He glanced at Yoo Joonghyuk then, just a sidelong flicker, and caught something that startled him more than the crowd.

The prince was looking at him… not at the crowd, not at the priests, not even at the cheering nobles… at him. His dark eyes fixed as if nothing else in the square existed.

Dokja’s heart jumped, traitorous. For a second, he forgot the crowd, forgot the flowers, forgot to breathe.

But then the doubt crashed back like a tide. It’s an act. Of course it’s an act. He’s the crown prince… he knows how to play to an audience. This is about reputation, not… not me.

He swallowed hard, forcing the thought down, and lifted his chin as the priest bade them to raise their hands. Joonghyuk’s grip was unyielding, lifting him as though he were weightless. The people cheered again, louder, until the square shook.

It was like a fairytale.

And Dokja had read enough fairytales to know: fairytales never ended well for people like him.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The capital square was alive with music and petals, but Dokja swore his heartbeat was louder than the drums.

The announcement of their ride spread quickly through the streets, consort and crown prince riding side by side, as custom dictated, to visit the royal church and the markets. People lined up, children pressed against their parents’ legs, flowers clutched in tiny fists.

When the horses were brought forward, Dokja blinked.

A white stallion. Its mane braided with small silver beads, its bridle embroidered with fine thread. Graceful, delicate, almost too perfect.

And beside it… Joonghyuk’s. A towering beast of shadow, scarred from war, its eyes sharp, movements taut with restrained violence. The kind of horse that looked like it could trample down armies.

The contrast between them couldn’t have been more jarring.

Dokja hesitated, staring at the animal meant for him. “I’ve… never really ridden before,” he admitted, his voice low, half to himself. His fingers twitched at his sides, already imagining slipping off in front of the entire kingdom. Great. First day as a consort and I die falling from a horse.

The attendant smiled politely. “It is a gentle one, my lord. The finest, chosen for you.”

Before Dokja could protest, a deep voice cut in.

“Hold the reins steady,” Joonghyuk said, already mounted on his beast, his figure tall and commanding. His horse obeyed without a sound, like a shadow submitting to its master.

Dokja’s breath caught. That man always looked terrifyingly natural in a saddle, like he was born for battlefields.

“…And if I fall?” Dokja asked, only half-joking.

Joonghyuk’s eyes slid toward him, sharp as a blade, and for once the corner of his mouth twitched… something not quite a smile, but close.

“Then I’ll catch you.”

Dokja blinked, heat creeping up his ears. “That’s—That’s not very reassuring, Your Highness.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” Joonghyuk replied smoothly, tugging his reins. His horse pawed the ground, impatient, eager for movement.

Dokja climbed onto the white stallion with the help of a stablehand, the saddle softer than he expected, but his hands stiff around the reins. He felt the eyes of the entire crowd pressing on his back, watching his every twitch. His horse gave a gentle snort, nudging his knee almost comfortingly, and he exhaled.

The gates opened. The path stretched before them, lined with garlands, petals raining from rooftops, people calling out blessings.

And so they rode… side by side.

One man on a creature of war, unyielding, dark as iron.
One man on a creature of grace, luminous as snow.

Together they made a picture that didn’t belong to this world.

Children shouted, throwing flowers. Old women reached forward with trembling hands for a glimpse of them. Dokja tried to sit straighter, even smiled once or twice, though the knot in his stomach remained. Every time the crowd roared, his white horse flicked its ears nervously, but Joonghyuk’s dark beast stayed steady, matching its pace to Dokja’s mount so they stayed perfectly aligned.

It was ridiculous, but Dokja felt… protected. As though if he so much as tilted in the saddle, Joonghyuk’s hand would already be there to steady him.

When they reached the first market stall, vendors bowed low, presenting trays of fruits, handwoven scarves, and little charms. Dokja reached out awkwardly, touching a carved wooden bird.

“Consort Dokja has a gentle taste,” one of the merchants said brightly.

He flushed, about to withdraw his hand, when Joonghyuk spoke, voice steady, almost too casual. 

“He always does.”

Always.

The word lodged in Dokja’s chest, sharp and sweet and confusing all at once. He quickly lowered his gaze, murmuring thanks to the merchant.

They continued like that… stalls, greetings, offerings. Dokja’s nerves never fully eased, but each time the reins slipped a little or his horse shifted beneath him, Joonghyuk was already there beside him, solid and immovable, like a shadow that refused to leave.

The final stop loomed: the Royal Church. Its spires pierced the sky, bells ringing out to announce their approach. The crowd hushed, bowing deeply as the two horses slowed before the holy steps.

Dokja inhaled, fingers tight around the reins, the weight of the moment crushing him.

But then he glanced sideways—and found Joonghyuk already looking at him.

The unbreathable silence of the carriage had followed them here, into the open, even surrounded by thousands. Eyes locked, wordless, and for a heartbeat Dokja swore it was just the two of them again.

Just them.

And the weight of everything neither could say.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The Royal Church was the pride of Kaizenix—white stone carved with ancient runes, spires tall enough to graze the heavens, every window a mosaic of saints and battles long past. Its bells tolled as Dokja and Joonghyuk dismounted, the sound rolling across the city like thunder.

The high priest stepped forward, his robes embroidered with gold and silver threads that caught the light. The citizens knelt, bowing their heads.

“By the grace of the divine,” the priest began, voice deep and ringing, “today we bless the union of our crown prince and his consort, Kim Dokja, who shall share in his fate, his victories, his sorrows, and his throne.”

The words felt heavy, each syllable pressing against Dokja’s chest. Share in his fate. What did that mean for someone like him, who still woke in the middle of the night wondering if all of this was just a cruel dream?

He lowered his head obediently as the priest lifted a golden chalice of sacred water. Drops fell like icy jewels onto his forehead, trailing down the bridge of his nose.

“May your steps walk in light,” the priest intoned.

“May your voice carry the truth.”

“May your bond endure through fire and war.”

Dokja’s breath stuttered, caught in his throat. The crowd echoed, a thousand voices rising in unison—So may it be.

When he lifted his eyes, Joonghyuk was already watching him. Not the way the people were, with reverence and curiosity. No—Joonghyuk’s gaze was something else. Something heavier. Something that made Dokja’s skin burn beneath his robes, as though he was the only person in the church.

And for a single, terrifying moment, Dokja thought- If he keeps looking at me like that, I’ll believe it too. I’ll believe I belong here.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The return ride was quieter than the journey there.

The crowd still roared, petals still rained in glittering showers of white and gold, but Dokja barely heard them. His thoughts circled endlessly around the priest’s words: Consort of Kaizenix. Kim Dokja, who shall share in his fate, his victories, his sorrows, and his throne

He wasn’t sure how to hold them. They sat too heavily on his chest, like jewels draped over someone who had only ever worn rags. His horse’s steady gait, the rhythmic thud against the cobblestones, was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

And then-

“…Hyung.”

The sound was faint, muffled by cheers and trumpets. But it pierced straight through the noise, straight into him.

Dokja’s reins slipped in his hands. His horse faltered to a stop.

“…Hyung.” Again, clearer this time, desperate.

Dokja’s head snapped toward the sea of people pressing against the barriers. His eyes scanned the blur of faces until they found two small figures—pushed back, nearly swallowed by the crush of the crowd.

Gilyoung.
Yoosung.

So small they barely reached anyone’s shoulder. So fragile they looked like they could be swept away with a single shove. And yet they were screaming for him, their little hands stretched out like they could bridge the impossible distance.

His breath caught. His body moved before thought could catch up. He shifted to dismount– 

–but Joonghyuk was already there.

The prince had stopped his black warhorse the moment Dokja faltered. In one fluid motion, he dismounted, boots striking stone with quiet authority. Without hesitation, he extended his hand upward.

“Careful,” he murmured.

Dokja froze. The hand was steady, waiting, as though Joonghyuk had known from the beginning that this moment would come.

Without thinking, without daring to breathe, Dokja slid his fingers into his palm. The world seemed to tilt. Joonghyuk’s hand was strong, warm, closing around him like a vow no priest had spoken aloud. He helped him down gently, as if Dokja were something fragile, breakable, precious.

The crowd hushed. For a heartbeat, all Kaizenix seemed to hold its breath.

A knight stepped forward uncertainly. “Your Majesties… is something the matter?”

Dokja startled, suddenly aware of thousands of eyes on him. His hands fidgeted at his robes, guilt pricking sharp.

“Ah– no, I… I only thought I heard…” His voice trailed, too small for the grandeur of the moment. “…I shouldn’t have acted on impulse. Not in front of the citizens.”

The shame burned, but before it could consume him, Joonghyuk spoke.

“You don’t need to apologize.” His voice was low, certain, a quiet anchor in the storm. Joonghyuk’s gaze lingered, softer than any crown, sharper than any blade. “…This is your kingdom. You may go wherever you wish. Stop whenever you wish.”

Dokja’s breath stuttered. He dared to look up, only to find Joonghyuk watching him as though he was the only person alive in this crowd of thousands.

“…I heard Gilyoung and Yoosung,” Dokja whispered at last, the words slipping out raw. “They… they called me.”

A flicker crossed Joonghyuk’s face. Recognition. Memory. “The strays from the market,” he said, voice quiet, almost thoughtful.

Dokja nodded, unable to trust his voice.

And then, without ceremony, without hesitation, he moved toward the crowd. Toward them. His heart thudded in his chest, louder than the cheers, louder than the bells. He could see them now, their round, worried eyes, their trembling arms reaching through the press of bodies.

They were waiting for him.

Dokja pressed forward. The knights, confused, instinctively stepped with him, their hands on hilts, but Joonghyuk’s single raised hand stilled them all. His wordless command was enough: let him go.

The crowd parted slowly, murmuring in surprise, as Dokja’s robes brushed the petals scattered on the stone.

And there they were.

Two children.

Yoosung’s cheeks were flushed pink from shoving through the crowd, her wide eyes shimmering like she’d been holding back tears all day. Gilyoung’s hand gripped hers tight, his own frame taut with a bravery that didn’t belong on someone so young.

When Dokja finally knelt in front of them, it felt like something inside him cracked wide open.

The noise of the city fell away. The cheers, the bells, the shouts… none of it mattered anymore. All he could see were these two children, staring at him like they were caught between fear and hope.

At first, they only stared.

Their shoulders curled inward, small bodies pressed against the sea of strangers, their eyes trembling under the weight of shining armor and royal presence. The citizens had quieted around them, confused murmurs rippling through the air. Why is the royal consort kneeling? Why in the dirt?

Dokja didn’t care.

He crouched low, fine embroidery dragging against stone, not sparing a thought for his spotless robes. He wanted to be eye-level. He wanted them to see his smile, however small, however trembling.

“Hey,” he whispered softly. His voice was nearly swallowed by the hush around them, but the children heard. “It’s me.”

Yoosung clutched harder at Gilyoung’s sleeve, her knuckles pale, her lips wobbling dangerously. Gilyoung’s throat bobbed as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t force the words past his clenched jaw.

When he finally did, his voice was fragile, quiet enough to break.

“You… You’re the royal consort. And he’s the crown prince.”

Dokja’s chest tightened. He gave a small nod. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I should’ve told you who I was before.”

Gilyoung’s mouth pressed thin. For a moment, he looked so much older than his years. Then, in a whisper so low only Dokja could catch it, he asked,

“…Will I be executed for calling the crown prince a… harasser?”

Dokja’s eyes went wide, and then a startled laugh burst from him… too bright, too sharp, but impossible to hold back. It was the kind of laugh that cracked the ice around his chest.

“No,” he chuckled, the sound trembling at the edges. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m… actually glad you said it. I’m glad you remembered me.”

Yoosung finally let go of Gilyoung’s sleeve, fumbling with something hidden behind her back. Together, the two of them straightened awkwardly, as if preparing for a grand gesture they’d practiced in secret. Then, shyly, Gilyoung stepped forward, holding out a bundle.

It was a bouquet.

Messy, uneven, petals already drooping… but every stem was tied with care, each flower chosen with the sort of earnestness only children carried.

“We… we made this,” Yoosung whispered, her voice breaking as she pushed the bouquet closer. “Me and Gilyoung. For you.”

And then… hesitant, awkward, yet heartbreakingly sincere… they bowed. Two children bowing low before the royal consort, as though he were a king in his own right.

Dokja’s breath hitched. His throat burned. He reached out immediately, taking the bouquet as though it were the most precious treasure he had ever been given.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick, trembling as he fought the sting in his eyes. “It’s… it’s perfect. Truly perfect.”

Behind him, he felt Joonghyuk’s gaze like a brand on his skin… steady, unreadable, yet heavy with something raw. The crown prince stood tall, but his hand hovered close, like he was ready to shield Dokja if the world so much as breathed wrong in his direction.

Dokja didn’t pull away from the weight of that gaze. He simply clutched the children’s bouquet tighter against his chest, holding it like a lifeline.

And in that moment… in the silence between cheers and petals, between bowed heads and tearful smiles… it felt less like a royal procession and more like the world had stopped just for them.

The silence broke.

It began with a single murmur, carried through the crowd like sparks on dry leaves.

“The royal consort knelt…”
“For children?”
“He’s… holding flowers…”
“Look how gentle he is…”

And then louder, swelling with awe and disbelief-

“Our crown prince chose well.”
“The gods blessed us.”
“He’s real, not just stories!”

The citizens, who only hours ago had craned their necks to glimpse their new consort with suspicion or shallow curiosity, now looked at him with something else entirely. Wonder. Devotion.

Dokja’s fingers tightened around the messy bouquet. It wasn’t heavy, but the weight of it felt crushing. The petals were trembling in his hands the same way his heart trembled inside his chest. He didn’t know if he was supposed to smile or cry.

And then… warmth.

A hand brushed against his shoulder. Steady, grounding. When Dokja looked up, Joonghyuk was there, towering at his side, the faint sunlight catching in his dark hair, eyes locked firmly on him—as though the chaos of the crowd didn’t matter, as though only this mattered.

Without a word, Joonghyuk reached down and covered Dokja’s hand over the bouquet, holding it with him for a moment. Not taking it away. Simply… sharing the weight.

The crowd erupted.

Gasps, cries, even cheers… it was as if petals rained harder, as if the kingdom itself was rejoicing.

Yoosung’s lips parted, stunned by the sight, while Gilyoung froze, his usual caution trembling in the face of something so vast.

And then, to everyone’s shock, Joonghyuk shifted his attention to the children. His voice, when it came, was low but carried effortlessly across the courtyard.

“You two.”

The knights stiffened immediately, as if expecting reprimand. Citizens held their breath. The children themselves flinched, Yoosung shrinking back into Gilyoung’s shoulder.

But Joonghyuk didn’t glare. He didn’t sneer. Instead, he bent slightly, his gaze unwavering.

“You have honored my consort today,” he said, each word sharp with sincerity, the weight of royalty in every syllable. “For that, I am in your debt.”

Dokja’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide, heart pounding. Debt? From the crown prince? For children?

Joonghyuk extended his hand… not to Dokja this time, but toward the children. The gesture was subtle, almost awkward, but undeniably genuine.

“Come to the banquet tonight,” he said. “Both of you. As our honored guests.”

The courtyard exploded.

A roar of whispers, cheers, disbelief:

“The crown prince… inviting commoners?”
“Children, no less?”
“He’s serious… look at his face!”
“The consort must truly be blessed.”

Yoosung’s mouth dropped open, and Gilyoung blinked rapidly, as if the words didn’t make sense in his world. He looked up at Dokja, silently pleading for confirmation.

Dokja, still clutching the bouquet, felt his throat tighten. He wanted to tell them it was safe, that they wouldn’t be punished, that this wasn’t some cruel trick. His lips curved into the smallest, softest smile he could manage.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You can trust him.”

Joonghyuk didn’t flinch at Dokja’s words. His gaze only softened further, a faint curve tugging at the corner of his lips, so brief and rare it seemed unreal.

And so, in the middle of Kaizenix’s capital, beneath the shower of petals and the roar of their people, Kim Dokja stood with flowers in his hands, two children at his side, and Yoo Joonghyuk’s shadow steady behind him.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The palace gates shut behind them with a heavy clang, cutting off the roar of the crowd outside. Inside the stone walls, the sudden quiet was almost suffocating.

Dokja slid off his white horse with help from a guard, smoothing his robes down to keep his trembling hands hidden. Joonghyuk dismounted easily, landing in a smooth, practiced motion that only made Dokja feel clumsier by comparison.

They walked together through the wide corridors, but the silence between them was thick. 

Too thick.

Dokja could still feel the ghost of Joonghyuk’s hand on his earlier, steadying the bouquet in his grip. He could still see the way Joonghyuk had spoken to the children… firm, unshakable, as if their presence truly mattered. The memory left something warm and confusing twisting in his chest.

He hated that silence. It pressed down on him, made every step echo louder than it should.

So he blurted, “...Thank you.”

Joonghyuk stopped mid-step, turning his head slightly. His expression unreadable, caught between curiosity and surprise.

“For…?” His voice was quiet, low enough that the knights trailing behind couldn’t overhear.

Dokja swallowed. “For earlier. With the kids. And… with me.” He hesitated, then laughed weakly. “I probably embarrassed you in front of the entire capital. Kneeling like that… laughing like an idiot… I—”

“You didn’t embarrass me.”

The words cut through his rambling like a blade.

Dokja blinked, caught off guard. Joonghyuk wasn’t looking at him anymore, but ahead, eyes fixed as if the marble floor was more important than his own words. Yet his jaw was tight, his shoulders squared, as though forcing the words out took effort.

“You didn’t embarrass me,” Joonghyuk repeated, slower this time. “You… reminded them what respect looks like. What care looks like.”

Dokja’s throat tightened. He wanted to say something back, but nothing seemed enough.

So instead, he offered a small, awkward smile, voice barely above a whisper. “…Still. Thank you. For standing by me. And for helping me with the horse too.”

For the first time since they’d entered the palace, Joonghyuk’s eyes finally flicked toward him. Just a glance. Brief, but deep enough to make Dokja’s heart stutter in his chest.

He looked away quickly, ears burning. “I’ll… I’ll go change before tonight.”

And before Joonghyuk could reply, he practically fled down the corridor, leaving the crown prince standing there in silence, watching him retreat with an unreadable expression.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Joonghyuk didn’t follow.

He stood in the corridor long after Dokja’s footsteps faded, the echo of “thank you” clinging to him like smoke. Such simple words, yet they pressed into his chest with a weight no battle had ever managed.

Thank you.

He closed his eyes. For a moment, the present blurred.

And there it was again-

His vision betrayed him.

A memory bled through.

The same palace gates, another lifetime ago. The same capital procession. But back then, Dokja had faltered, slipping as he dismounted his horse, the reins sliding through his grasp before his body struck the cobblestones. His hand, still raw beneath its bandages, had not yet healed; the blisters from the scalding soup days prior left his grip thin, clumsy, trembling against pale fingers.

And Joonghyuk—Yoo Joonghyuk, prince of Kaizenix, conqueror of all… had not offered a hand.

He had sneered.

“The kingdom of Liraeth sends me a defective piece,” he had said coldly before the watching court, each word a lash. “A consort who can’t even sit on a horse. What use are you?”

Dokja had bowed, bandaged hand pressed against his chest, head bent so low his shadow looked broken.

“I’ll practice harder,” he had whispered. “…I’ll do better.”

Not thanks. Not warmth. Only humiliation swallowed down until it rotted inside.

Joonghyuk’s hand tightened now against his knee, the present snapping back like an arrow loosed from a bow. 

Now, Dokja had thanked him. Genuinely. Softly. With that awkward smile that made his ears burn red.

He hadn’t bowed. He hadn’t whispered apologies for things that weren’t his fault. He smiled.

Joonghyuk’s lips curved before he realized it. Small. Fragile. Dangerous.

He should not allow it, he knew. His sins from before lived too vividly in his bones to pretend at innocence. But still, his chest tightened at the thought that maybe… just maybe… he could keep that version of Kim Dokja safe. The one who smiled. The one who looked him in the eye and said thank you.

The thought was almost unbearable.

A guard cleared his throat softly down the hall, waiting for him to move. Joonghyuk straightened, expression shuttering back into its usual mask of steel. Yet as he walked, his hand brushed against his side… phantom warmth lingering from when Dokja had taken it, however briefly.

He remembered the way Dokja’s fingers had felt in his palm: hesitant, small, but trusting.

Yoo Joonghyuk let himself admit; he was afraid. Afraid of losing that hand again. Afraid of repeating the moment where gratitude had tasted like ash.

“…Not this time,” he murmured under his breath.

Not this time.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

After a brief rest, Dokja was dressed once more for the banquet.

The great banquet hall blazed with light. Crystal chandeliers spilled gold across marble floors, musicians tuned their strings, and the nobles of Kaizenix stood like jeweled statues in rows.

Dokja’s hand was in Joonghyuk’s, warm and steady, and though the crown prince’s expression was carved from stone, the world looked at them as if they were already a legend. Matching robes of black and gold, silks threaded with silver, two halves of a perfect whole.

Dokja tried not to tremble.

Because tonight, unlike the banquet before, there was no escape.

Tradition was iron in Kaizenix: after vows, after blessings, after feasts—the first dance of bride and groom.

His stomach twisted. He remembered stumbling through practice steps with Han Sooyoung in a quiet chamber, her teasing voice scolding him every time his feet tripped.

Relax, Dokja, you’ve practiced. You won’t die of embarrassment. Probably.

The herald’s voice rang through the hall:

“His Majesty, Crown Prince Yoo Joonghyuk, and His Consort, Prince Kim Dokja… will now open the floor.”

Gasps. Cheers. Whispers rippled like wildfire.

Joonghyuk didn’t falter. He turned to him, hand firm around Dokja’s, eyes steady, unreadable. The musicians struck the first chord.

Dokja’s heart almost leapt out of his chest.

“Breathe,” Joonghyuk said softly, for him alone. The words brushed his ear like a secret.

“I—I am breathing,” Dokja whispered back, though it sounded more like choking.

The first step. Joonghyuk guided him effortlessly, like water moving stone. His hand pressed gently at Dokja’s waist, leading him across the gleaming floor. Dokja’s pulse thundered in his throat… too close, too warm, too much.

Everyone was watching.

But then Joonghyuk looked down at him. Really looked. And for a moment, it was as though no one else existed.

“You’re doing well,” the prince murmured. His voice was low, steady. “Just follow me.”

Dokja’s lashes fluttered. He wanted to look anywhere but into those eyes- but the pull was too strong. Joonghyuk’s gaze held him, steadying him more than the practiced steps ever could.

The music swelled, a slow arc of strings and horns. The nobles’ whispers blurred into nothing. All that remained was the rhythm between them: step, turn, step.

Dokja realized with dawning horror, and something else, that he was smiling.

And Joonghyuk saw it.

The faintest curve of the prince’s lips answered, quick as lightning, there and gone. A smile no one else in the hall could claim, except him.

Dokja nearly missed his next step. Joonghyuk’s arm steadied him, tightening briefly, almost protective.

The hall erupted when the final note rang out, cheers crashing like waves. But Joonghyuk did not release him immediately. His hand lingered at Dokja’s waist, his gaze fixed, as if daring the world to interrupt.

Dokja swallowed, cheeks burning. His heart was no longer in his chest… it was in Joonghyuk’s hand, whether he liked it or not.

(Incase you guys forgot— Dokja in the first timeline: ‘If we met again… in another life… I wish I never fall for you again’)

And for the first time, the thought struck him like a quiet prayer:

Maybe this wasn’t as terrifying as he had feared.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The final note lingered in the air, then fell away.

For a heartbeat, silence held the hall.

And then the applause thundered.

The nobles stood from their seats, clapping until their palms must have stung, cheers echoing against the vaulted ceilings. Rose petals rained again, golden ribbons unfurled from the balconies, and in the middle of it all… Joonghyuk and Dokja, still holding hands, breath caught between them like a fragile flame.

Dokja pulled back first, bowing quickly, ears hot, face hidden. He thought if he looked up, he might combust.

But Joonghyuk didn’t let his hand go.

Not even for a moment..

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The first to step forward was Persephone. Regal, radiant, with a smile that melted through her queenly dignity.

“You were beautiful,” she said warmly, taking Dokja’s free hand into both of hers. Her eyes softened, a gleam of almost motherly affection there. “I’ve never seen my son look at anyone like that.”

Dokja’s heart tripped. He quickly bowed his head. “Th-thank you, Your Majesty-”

“Mother,” Joonghyuk interrupted, voice just a fraction tighter, but Persephone only laughed.

Hades followed behind, solemn as ever, but the rare pride in his eyes was unmistakable. He placed a hand briefly on Joonghyuk’s shoulder, then, hesitated, before inclining his head toward Dokja as well.

“Kaizenix is honored,” he said simply, and Dokja, who had never received such words in his life, nearly forgot how to breathe..

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Jihye and Namwoon barreled in after, beaming like children.

“Hyung, you didn’t even trip once!” Jihye said, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with pride.

“Yeah, you looked like… like a proper royal or something!” Namwoon added, already earning himself a sharp elbow from Jihye, but Dokja laughed, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hyunsung, quieter, gave him a steady nod. “You did well. Truly.” There was a gentleness in his tone, like reassurance, like he was reminding Dokja he had nothing to fear anymore..

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Han Sooyoung sauntered over with a glass of wine in hand, her smirk sharp enough to slice the air.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled. “Our Kim Dokja didn’t turn the prince into a public disgrace after all. I almost feel cheated.”

Dokja glared weakly. “Thanks for the support.”

“Don’t thank me,” she sipped smugly. “Thank those endless hours of practice where I graciously let you stomp on my feet.”

Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed at her, but she only raised her glass in mock salute..

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Mia practically skipped in, her excitement too big to contain.

“Your Majesty… You looked so, sooo pretty out there! Like… like a storybook prince!” she gushed, clapping her hands, before leaning closer and stage-whispering, “But Prince Joonghyuk couldn’t take his eyes off you. Not even once.”

Dokja flushed scarlet.

Joonghyuk said nothing, but the slight tilt of his head and the way his hand still didn’t release Dokja’s said enough...

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

And then… two smaller voices.

“Hyung!”

Yoosung and Gilyoung squeezed through the crowd, their eyes shining, cheeks pink from excitement.

Dokja’s heart nearly burst. He crouched immediately, pulling them both into his arms, ignoring the stares of nobles who probably thought it improper.

“You came,” he whispered, voice catching.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Yoosung said fiercely, arms wrapping tight around him.

“You were amazing,” Gilyoung added, quieter but no less earnest. “The whole kingdom saw you… and you looked happy.”

Dokja swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes. He smoothed Yoosung’s hair, squeezed Gilyoung’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. And thank you very much for the flowers once again.”

When he finally straightened, Joonghyuk was watching him.

Their eyes caught. Held.

And for one dizzying moment, the clamor of the hall faded again.

The children still clung to Dokja, Yoosung stubbornly holding his sleeve as though letting go meant losing him forever. Gilyoung hovered protectively at her side, wary eyes darting around the glittering hall.

And Joonghyuk… moved.

Every gaze in the banquet followed him as he stepped closer—not with the cold, distant stride of a crown prince, but with quiet purpose. His shadow fell over them, and for a flicker of a moment, Gilyoung tensed, like he expected to be dragged away.

But Joonghyuk crouched.

The crown prince of Kaizenix, in all his flawless regalia, lowered himself so he could meet two street children eye to eye.

“You two,” Joonghyuk said, voice even but softer than anyone had ever heard it. “You know my consort.”

Yoosung blinked, stunned by the direct attention. “...We… we do.”

Joonghyuk’s gaze shifted briefly to Dokja… lingering a heartbeat too long, almost tender… before returning to them. “Then you should sit near him. The hall is full of wolves with pretty clothes. Stay where he can see you.”

Joonghyuk inclined his head, like it was law simply because he had said it.

And Dokja… Dokja’s chest ached. His throat closed, his smile wobbling as he looked from Joonghyuk to the children. Because it was so clear, this wasn’t just permission. This was protection. A silent vow spoken in front of every eye that mattered.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Gilyoung said at last, voice quiet but steady.

Joonghyuk’s mouth curved… barely, but it was there. “Don’t thank me. Thank him.” He nodded toward Dokja. “He’s the one who makes people worth noticing.”

Dokja’s heart stuttered.

The words hung in the air, heavier than the jeweled chandeliers, more dazzling than the glittering gowns.

And all Dokja could do, cheeks burning, was bow his head and whisper, “…You didn’t have to.”

But Joonghyuk, still crouched close, only met his eyes again. “I did.”

Chapter Text

The hall was bright with chandeliers, laughter, and the faint hum of strings. Silk rustled like water as nobles passed by, their perfumes thick enough to choke. But none of it reached Joonghyuk.

Because Dokja was standing in front of him.

Not doing anything extraordinary. Just… smiling politely at a guest, a glass of wine balanced carefully in his hand. His head tilted slightly, dark hair brushing against his cheek. His lips curved, awkward but kind, the way they always did when he didn’t quite know what to say.

And then….Dokja’s eyes flicked up.

A single glance.

That was all.

The past clawed its way to the surface.

Joonghyuk knew the exact moment, the fracture line where everything had started to rot.

Back then, The banquet hall was warm with golden firelight, Dokja’s voice somewhere low and careful, and his parents’ laughter, his mother’s, Persephone’s, especially, softer, freer than it had been in years.

That was the first spark of unease.

Because his parents had not laughed for him like that in a long time.

Because the smiles they gave Dokja were brighter than the ones they saved for their own son.

It wasn’t hatred. Not yet.

Joonghyuk didn’t dislike Dokja in those early days. He was wary, certainly. Suspicious, yes. But not cruel.

Dokja was strange… nervous, bookish, too quick to bow and apologize. He had the air of someone who expected punishment just for breathing wrong. And for a time, Joonghyuk pitied him. A little. Not enough to say it aloud, but enough that he never raised his voice at him, never forced him into a corner.

But then came the rumors.

The whispers slithered through Kaizenix like smoke: 

“The son of Liraeth cannot be trusted.”
“He is a spy sent by the viper king.”
“Marriage is only a cloak for infiltration.”

And Joonghyuk… he couldn’t dismiss them. Not when he remembered how cunning Liraeth’s king was. How easily he twisted alliances, how blood on his hands was cleaned with honeyed words.

A son from that family could only be the same.

And Dokja, quiet, clever-eyed Dokja, with his silence that felt like secrets, he became the perfect vessel for every doubt.

Then, the poison spread.

Three days after Dokja’s arrival, the palace air turned red. The royal halls reeked of iron and loss. His mother and father, Persephone and Hades… beloved pillars of the empire, were found lifeless in their private chambers, their goblets laced with death.

The kingdom screamed. The nobles raged.

And Joonghyuk… Joonghyuk could only stand still, heart hollow, because the grief was too sharp, too vast to grasp.

His mind grasped for answers. And the pieces fell together in a way that seemed too neat, too inevitable.

Liraeth. Always Liraeth.

The enemy kingdom that had warred with them for centuries. The kingdom that suddenly, without reason, had sent over a son in marriage. A son who arrived with timid smiles and eyes that missed nothing.

A son who, by mere coincidence, surely, was the last one his parents had dined with before their deaths.

It was too much.

It couldn’t be ignored.

The doubt hardened into suspicion.

Suspicion, into anger.

And that anger… misdirected, poisoned… rooted itself in Joonghyuk’s chest like iron.

From then on, every soft word from Dokja felt rehearsed. Every bow, every apology, every trembling smile looked like a mask. And Joonghyuk… Joonghyuk, who had once pitied him, began to see only the spy, the traitor, the dagger his family had foolishly welcomed inside their home.

That was the beginning.

The moment where kindness curdled, and misunderstanding began to set its unbreakable bones.

The way his parents died was too cruel to put into words.

It hadn’t been on the battlefield, where one expects blood and swords. No, their deaths came quietly, poison slipped into a cup. Joonghyuk still remembered it in fragments: the smell of incense mixed with iron, the faint flicker of a candle going out, Persephone’s pale hand falling from Hades’s grip. He had come too late. The warmth in their bodies was already gone.

He cried that night… real tears, hot and bitter… though he hadn’t thought himself capable of crying anymore. The weight of the crown sat heavy by the bedside, and all he could do was press his hands into the sheets that still carried the shape of the parents who had raised him. For the first time in his life, he felt like a boy instead of a prince. And under the grief, there was another, sharper feeling: rage. A need for someone to blame.

But the kingdom gave him no time to grieve.

Kaizenix was shaking, weakened. Nobles whispered in corners, enemies waited at the borders, and the council urged speed. There was no room for mourning, only decisions. Only politics.

That was how he ended up marrying Kim Dokja.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he liked him. But because the kingdom demanded it.

So Joonghyuk stood at the altar and spoke vows he didn’t feel, the kingdom watching with hungry eyes. He put on the mask of a loyal prince, but inside, suspicion had already rooted itself deep.

Dokja came from a family known for their tricks. The timing was too sharp, too convenient. Just three days after Dokja’s arrival, Hades and Persephone… 

How could Joonghyuk not doubt him? Every little thing became a sign: the calm way Dokja spoke, the quiet way he moved, the glances he gave that could mean too much.

So Joonghyuk began to hate him.

So he chose suspicion. He chose to believe every act of kindness was just another mask. And because he couldn’t prove it, he turned cold instead. He corrected Dokja in public. He spoke sharply, kept his distance, and let his silence hurt as much as words. The court believed it was the anger of a grieving son… and Dokja, poor Dokja, only bowed his head lower and apologized.

The circle of misunderstanding grew tighter and tighter.

Joonghyuk told himself it wasn’t cruelty. It was duty. A king had to protect his throne, even if it meant shutting out his heart. But at night, when the palace grew quiet, he sometimes looked at Dokja reading under the lamp and felt something far more complicated.

Grief had turned him into stone. But beneath it, he realized with bitter clarity, there was still a man who bled. And every time he looked at Dokja, the wound opened wider.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆•‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

For almost his whole life, Yoo Joonghyuk had believed one thing:

Kim Dokja killed his parents.

It was the belief that shaped everything. Every look, every word, every silence between them. It was why his hand turned cold when it touched Dokja’s. Why his voice, no matter how low, always cut sharp. Why every time Dokja bowed his head and whispered I’m sorry, Joonghyuk let himself believe it was a confession.

But truth has claws, and one day, it tore through the illusion.

The true culprits were uncovered, piece by piece… shadows from within Kaizenix itself, men who had whispered poison into the ears of nobles, who had wanted the king and queen gone. And when Joonghyuk finally faced the evidence, when the mask of lies fell apart, he saw it clearly: Dokja had been innocent all along.

The weight of it almost crushed him.

Every sharp word he had thrown, every moment he had turned away, every accusation that had never left his lips but lived heavy in his silence… all of it had been for nothing. Dokja had carried that weight quietly, never once defending himself, never once fighting back. He had endured it all, as if his very existence was something to apologize for.

And Joonghyuk had let him.

After that, the misunderstandings began to untangle, one after another. The wall between them cracked. Joonghyuk started seeing things he had never allowed himself to see before: the way Dokja’s hands trembled when he thought no one was watching, the way he still smiled at the servants, the way he carried kindness like a shield, even when it left him open to hurt.

And Joonghyuk… for the first time, he wanted to make it right. He wanted to try.

He almost did.

He almost caught the real mastermind, the one behind the poison, the one who had spun the strings from the dark. Joonghyuk had been so close, so close he could taste the victory, so close he could feel the rage of justice finally in his grasp.

But fate was cruel.

The assassin’s blade came first for him. Swift, precise, meant to end the line of kings once and for all. Joonghyuk remembered the flash of steel, the taste of blood at the back of his throat. He remembered thinking: So this is it.

The blade struck too fast for Joonghyuk to stop it. One second he was reaching for his sword, the next-

Kim Dokja was in front of him.

The steel slid deep, sinking into soft flesh instead of Joonghyuk’s heart. For an instant, the world froze. Joonghyuk’s eyes widened, the sound of the crowd faded, even the assassin’s sneer blurred away. There was only Dokja, trembling against the weapon meant for him.

“...Hyuk.” Dokja’s voice cracked on the single syllable. His lips curled faintly, as though even now he wanted to smile, to soften the pain of it. Blood welled at the corner of his mouth.

Joonghyuk caught him as he fell, hands desperate, shaking. “No. No… stay with me. Don’t you dare-”

Dokja’s lashes fluttered, his breathing shallow, uneven. His hand… small, fragile, trembling… clutched at Joonghyuk’s sleeve. “I… was always clumsy, wasn’t I?” A broken laugh slipped through his lips, cut with blood. “Always falling. Always in the way.”

“Shut up.” Joonghyuk’s voice shook, harsher than he meant. His palm pressed against the wound, trying to hold in what kept spilling out. “Save your strength. I’ll—” His throat closed. “I’ll fix this. I’ll protect you.”

“You already did.” Dokja whispered, his words nearly lost in the chaos around them. “You gave me… a place. Even if you hated me.”

Joonghyuk’s chest caved in. “I never-”

“You did.” Dokja’s lips twitched into the faintest, saddest smile. “But it’s alright. I… I don’t regret it.” His gaze softened, a light that dimmed too fast. “I’m glad it was me. I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

Joonghyuk shook his head violently, tears burning his eyes, his jaw clenched until it hurt. “Don’t you dare talk like that. You hear me? Don’t you-”

Dokja coughed, his body trembling in his arms. And then, with a voice so fragile it was almost gone, he whispered the words that carved themselves into Joonghyuk’s soul forever:

“If… if we meet again– in another life, in another world… I wish I never fall for you.”

The breath left him with those words. His hand slipped from Joonghyuk’s sleeve, falling limply to the ground. His eyes, once so stubbornly alive, closed for the last time.

Joonghyuk’s scream tore the night apart. It wasn’t a prince’s sound, nor a warrior’s… it was the raw cry of a man whose heart had been ripped from his chest. He held Dokja against him, shaking him, begging him to open his eyes, to take the words back, to stay.

But Dokja was gone.

And the cruelest part was that Joonghyuk understood. He understood why Dokja had said it. Not out of spite. Not out of bitterness. But out of exhaustion. Out of the unbearable weight of loving someone who had never loved him back… until it was too late.

That was the moment the world lost color. That was the moment Yoo Joonghyuk actually lost everything.

And that was the wound he carried into this life.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The banquet glittered. Strings sang from the corner of the hall, crystal clinked, nobles murmured with their endless flattery, but for Yoo Joonghyuk, the world narrowed into a single fragile shape beside him.

Kim Dokja.

Every step Dokja took beside him, every shy glance, every nervous smile… it shouldn’t have mattered. But Joonghyuk’s chest clenched as though each small detail was an echo of something lost, something he had already destroyed once.

His hand was warm in his own, steady and alive. His lips curved with awkward smiles, his eyes darted nervously around the hall as people whispered. He was here. Breathing. Laughing. Looking so breakably human that it hurt to even blink.

The light from the chandeliers spilled across Dokja’s face, gilding the line of his cheekbones. He was looking everywhere but at Joonghyuk, like he was afraid of being caught staring, but every so often his eyes flicked up… brief, fleeting, and then darting away.

And in those seconds, Joonghyuk’s vision cracked.

A memory painted in blood.

Joonghyuk’s vision split.

Behind the warmth of Dokja’s hand, he saw the other one. Cold. Limp. A hand slipping from his grasp, falling to stone. Bandages soaked through with blood. His ears still rang with that voice… faint, broken, whispering, If we meet again in another life… I wish I never fall for you.

It was enough to crush him.

Joonghyuk’s fingers tightened around Dokja’s now, almost without thinking. Too tight. As though to anchor himself, to make sure this wasn’t another cruel hallucination from the ghosts that stalked his nights.

Dokja startled slightly, turning his head up with a small frown. “...Crown Prince?” His tone was soft, questioning, unaware of the storm raging behind the crown prince’s eyes.

Joonghyuk swallowed hard. He couldn’t tell him. Not here. Not yet.

“Nothing,” he murmured, though his grip didn’t loosen. His thumb brushed against the inside of Dokja’s palm, an unfamiliar tenderness hidden beneath the silence.

Dokja tilted his head, confusion flickering into something warmer. He didn’t press further.

But in Joonghyuk’s chest, the memory lingered like a knife. He knew, with bone-deep certainty, that he could not, would not, let this version of Kim Dokja fall the same way. Even if it meant tearing apart destiny itself.

Because this time… this time, he would not hear those words again.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The banquet ended with thunderous applause, laughter, and the sharp sweetness of wine still clinging to the air. Guests trickled out one by one, leaving only echoes behind in the grand hall. The night itself seemed to sigh in relief when the doors finally closed.

The palace corridors were quieter, the candlelight softer. Dokja walked beside Joonghyuk in silence, their hands not touching now, but close enough that the air between their fingers felt charged. Dokja’s heart still beat faster than he wanted to admit… first from the dance, then from the way everyone had looked at him as though he were something precious, something beloved. It was suffocating. And yet… not entirely unbearable.

When the guards opened the door to their new chambers, Dokja froze.

It wasn’t the size… though the room was vast, larger than any place he had ever called his own.

It wasn’t even the gilded furniture, the silken curtains, or the perfume of fresh flowers drifting in from the balcony.

It was the bed.

One bed.

Dokja’s ears burned. His first instinct was to glance at Joonghyuk, to see if the crown prince noticed… but Joonghyuk was already looking at him. Their eyes locked, and for the smallest heartbeat neither of them looked away.

Then Joonghyuk cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “You should rest. The day has been long.” His voice was steady, controlled, as if he were holding something back.

Dokja nodded quickly. “Right. Rest.” He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. “I—uh—I can take the sofa if it’s… awkward.”

Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened. For a moment, something flashed in his eyes, pain, guilt, something old and unspoken. “No.” His tone was final, sharper than intended. He softened it a moment later. “You’ll take the bed. I won’t have you sleeping anywhere else.”

Dokja blinked. His chest warmed at the words, though he tried to brush it off with a small laugh.

“You sound like you’re scolding me.”

Joonghyuk didn’t answer. He only moved past him, shrugging off the heavy outer coat of his ceremonial robes. His movements were precise, disciplined, but Dokja caught the faint tremor in his hands. The kind that came not from exhaustion, but from restraint.

Silence stretched. Dokja walked toward the balcony, letting the night air cool his face. The capital lights glittered below like fallen stars. “They’re still awake,” he murmured, watching the faint glow of lanterns in the distance. “Celebrating.”

Joonghyuk stood behind him, close enough that Dokja could feel the warmth of his presence. “They celebrate because they trust their future,” Joonghyuk said quietly. “Because of you.”

Dokja’s heart stuttered. He turned halfway, meeting the crown prince’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror carved on the walls. “Me? I think it’s because of you.”

Joonghyuk didn’t argue. He only looked at him, the weight of a hundred unsaid words burning in his dark eyes.

Dokja swallowed. His chest tightened at that look, it was too much, too raw. He looked away first, stepping back into the room. “We should sleep. Tomorrow will be busy.”

Joonghyuk nodded, though his gaze lingered on Dokja longer than it should have. As Dokja settled into the bed, carefully pulling the covers around himself, Joonghyuk extinguished the last of the candles.

Darkness wrapped the room, broken only by moonlight spilling through the balcony doors. The quiet was heavy, but not empty. Dokja could feel Joonghyuk’s presence from across the room, steady and silent like a mountain.

And yet, just as sleep was about to claim him, he heard it… a whisper, almost too faint to catch.

“...This time” Joonghyuk murmured into the dark, “I won’t let you fall.”

Dokja’s eyes opened, heart pounding. He wanted to ask… this time? But when he turned, Joonghyuk’s back was already to him, shoulders rigid, guarding secrets Dokja didn’t yet understand.

And so, with questions lingering on his tongue, Kim Dokja closed his eyes and let the night take him.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Morning crept gently into the chambers. The first rays of sunlight filtered through golden curtains, falling across silk sheets and stirring the faint scent of roses that lingered from the wedding.

Dokja woke slowly, blinking against the glow. For a moment, he forgot where he was, the softness beneath him, the faint weight of embroidered blankets. Then memory returned, and with it, heat rushed to his cheeks.

The wedding.
The banquet.
The shared chambers.

He turned his head slightly. Joonghyuk was there, seated by the table near the balcony, already dressed in dark royal robes, the crown at his side. He was only staring at a cup of untouched tea, as if the weight of the world was inside it.

Dokja sat up carefully, trying not to disturb the silence. But Joonghyuk’s eyes flicked up instantly, catching him.

“You’re awake.” His voice was calm, but softer than last night. Almost… careful.

“...Yes.” Dokja rubbed at his eyes, embarrassed by the rasp in his voice. “Good morning.”

He rose and made his way to the adjoining chambers, where a bath had already been prepared. The air was warm with steam, carrying the faint fragrance of lavender and cedarwood. The water shimmered in the wide stone basin, petals drifting lazily across its surface. 

Dokja lowered himself in, letting the heat soak into his tired body, easing away the restless night. For a while, he simply sat there, eyes closed, listening to the quiet trickle of water as if it could wash off more than just sleep.

When he finally stepped out, attendants wrapped him in soft cloth, and he dressed in the fresh robes laid neatly at his bedside.

In his—their—chamber.

For a long moment, neither moved. Then Joonghyuk stood, walking to the table. “Breakfast has been prepared.”

The words were stiff, but Joonghyuk himself pulled out the chair for him. Dokja hesitated, then sat, heart oddly restless.

The table was filled with delicacies… fruits glazed in honey, bread warm from the oven, Kaizenix porridge rich with spices. Dokja picked up his spoon, trying to steady his hands. “It looks… amazing.”

“You should eat,” Joonghyuk said. “You’ll need your strength for today.”

“Today?” Dokja glanced up.

“The throne room,” Joonghyuk recalled. “It will be your first time standing beside me as royal consort.”

Dokja’s chest tightened. He tried to smile, though his throat felt dry. “Ah… right. Facing a room full of nobles who probably think I bewitched you.”

Joonghyuk’s gaze hardened, sharp and sudden. “Let them think what they want. As long as you stand beside me, no one can touch you.”

The words made Dokja still. His fingers curled around the spoon. He wanted to laugh it off, to make some self-deprecating remark. But Joonghyuk wasn’t joking, his voice carried iron.

“...Thank you,” Dokja whispered instead, lowering his eyes.

The rest of breakfast was quiet, but not unbearable. More like two people circling an invisible thread between them, neither willing to cut it.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Joonghyuk in black and crimson trimmed with gold; Dokja in matching white and silver, the fabric flowing like water. Together, they looked like opposites bound by the same thread of fate.

The walk to the throne room was long. Dokja’s palms grew damp despite the cool air. With every step, the sound of nobles murmuring inside grew louder.

Then the doors opened.

And the world fell silent.

Hundreds of eyes turned as they entered… the new crown consort at the side of Kaizenix’s heir. Whispers rippled, but none dared raise their voices. Dokja’s instinct was to look at the floor, to disappear into the silk of his robes. But then—

Joonghyuk’s hand brushed his. Just the faintest touch, grounding, steadying.

Dokja lifted his head.

They walked together to the twin thrones, and though Dokja’s heart thundered like a storm, he kept his chin high.

Beside him, Joonghyuk’s expression was carved from stone, but his hand lingered near Dokja’s as though saying without words: You are not alone.

The hush in the throne room was so complete that Dokja could hear his own heartbeat. Every step across the marble floor echoed, sharp and unyielding, like a bell tolling through the chamber.

He didn’t dare look at the nobles’ faces. He didn’t need to. Their silence was a storm waiting to break. Their judgment pressed heavy, as though the very air wanted to crush him.

But then, there was that faint brush of warmth. Joonghyuk’s fingers, grazing his hand. It wasn’t even a grasp, just a tether. Barely there, yet enough to anchor him in place.

Dokja inhaled. He lifted his chin, robes trailing behind him, and let himself walk as though he belonged here.

As though the crown prince had chosen him, and that was enough.

The twin thrones loomed ahead. Black and gold for Joonghyuk. White and silver for him. When they sat, the sight was almost jarring... the sharp line of the crown prince beside him, the softer, unreadable lines of the new consort.

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then, from among the sea of courtiers, a ripple of movement.

Hades. Persephone.

Their faces, though hidden in mythic poise, betrayed a trace of pride. Persephone’s eyes lingered on Dokja with something warmer, almost maternal, as if she’d watched this fragile figure stand against a storm and claim his place. Hades inclined his head ever so slightly at Joonghyuk, recognition flickering in his gaze. This is the moment. You’ve chosen. You’ve bound yourself.

And Mia, brilliant, playful Mia, couldn’t hide her grin. She clapped softly, not caring about the stiffness around her, as though she were watching a story she’d known the ending to all along.

Han Sooyoung, of course, was leaning lazily against a column. Her expression said boring, but her sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. She caught Dokja’s gaze, mouthed a sarcastic little good luck, then smirked.

Dokja almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, he straightened, the weight of countless eyes on him, and folded his hands neatly in his lap. His heart was still a wild thing but Joonghyuk’s steady presence beside him dulled the panic into something else.

Not comfort. Not yet.

But a bond. Silent. Unspoken. Alive.

And when Joonghyuk’s hand brushed his once more, so subtle only he could notice, Dokja finally allowed himself to breathe.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The study smelled faintly of ink and burning oil. Scrolls lay stacked on one side of the table, maps and sealed letters scattered in deliberate disorder. Behind them, Yoo Joonghyuk sat at his desk, shoulders bent in thought, the candlelight drawing hard lines across his face.

The knock at the door was soft but steady.

“Enter.”

Lee Hyunsung stepped in, closing the heavy oak door behind him. Even in silence, the weight of his armor filled the space, his expression grave.

“Your Highness,” Hyunsung began, voice low. “It’s about the prisoner in the dungeon.”

Joonghyuk didn’t look up. His quill moved across parchment with precise, deliberate strokes. Only when he finished the line did he set it aside.

“Speak.”

“He won’t talk.” Hyunsung’s brows furrowed. “We’ve tried every method within reason. He refuses to reveal who ordered him to poison Their Majesties. He repeats the same words over and over… that he acted alone. But we know, there's someone behind him. Someone dangerous.”

The candle flickered as Joonghyuk finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were cold, dark with something Hyunsung couldn’t name.

“And you wish to know what should be done.”

Hyunsung nodded. “Yes. If he won’t break, should we… dispose of him?”

The silence stretched.

At length, Joonghyuk said, “No. Keep him alive.”

Hyunsung blinked. “Alive? But why-”

“He will break,” Joonghyuk interrupted, his tone sharp as tempered steel. “Not now. Not tomorrow. But eventually. Desperation makes even the loyal betray their masters.”

Hyunsung hesitated, studying his prince’s face. There was something different there, an edge of certainty that didn’t belong to simple suspicion.

“…Then may I ask,” Hyunsung said carefully, “how Your Highness knew? That man had served in the palace faithfully for years. No stain on his record. No whispers in the servant halls. And yet you singled him out suddenly. How?”

Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled before his lips.

“He was… different.”

Hyunsung frowned. “Different?”

“The way he walked,” Joonghyuk said after a pause. “The way his eyes lingered in places they shouldn’t. A hesitation when he spoke of routine tasks he’d performed countless times before. He wore loyalty like a cloak… but it didn’t fit him anymore.”

The words were smooth, reasonable. And yet, beneath them, there was something else… something Hyunsung couldn’t see.

Joonghyuk’s mind burned with another truth.

Because last time, I didn’t see it until it was too late. Because I watched my parents’ blood stain the marble. Because I doubted the wrong person, and by the time I realized, I had already lost everything.

His hand curled into a fist beneath the table.

Hyunsung, oblivious to the storm beneath the surface, nodded slowly. “I see. I will continue questioning him. Keep him alive, as you ordered.”

Joonghyuk inclined his head. “Do so.”

As Hyunsung turned to leave, Joonghyuk’s gaze lingered on the flame of the candle. It swayed gently, fragile, as if it could be extinguished at any moment.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

Dusk had already settled when the Liraeth carriages rolled away from Kaizenix… three black coaches, lacquered and solemn, their wheels beating a tired rhythm against the road. One carried Jaehyun and Serin; another bore the Queen; the third held the King himself. They had left early, the gilded celebration behind them, but whatever was inside those carriages did not leave with the music.

The road was quiet when the carriages of Liraeth slowed to a halt. The forest around them had gone still… no birdsong, no wind through the branches. Just the creak of wood, the snort of horses, and the impatient shuffle of guards.

The king of Liraeth pushed open the small window of his carriage, his eyes narrowing. Ahead, three figures waited in the middle of the path as if they owned it. A man, sharp-eyed and lean, his stance unnervingly steady. Beside him, two women, one older, draped in shadowy silk, her face hidden beneath a veil, and another, young, barely grown, with eyes that looked too hollow for her age.

The moment recognition struck, the royal family’s rage snapped loose.

“You lying wretches,” Serin spat, her voice shrill enough to echo between the trees. She half-stood in the carriage, her hands fisting at her sides until Jaehyun dragged her back down.

The king’s tone was worse, low and venomous, each word dripping with fury. “You promised us victory,” he said, every syllable a whetted edge. “You told me Hades and Persephone would die. You told me Kaizenix would be weakened, that we would walk straight into their ruin. Instead—this marriage? This farce?”

The veiled woman tilted her head, as if considering whether the insult was worth acknowledging. “The plan was perfect. Every piece moved as it should. Their deaths were certain. And yet—”

“Yet what?” the king snarled.

Before she could answer, the man at her side stepped forward, his voice calm in a way that made the silence heavier. “The crown prince.”

The queen of Liraeth, silent until now, stiffened. “What of him?”

“He saw through the cracks,” the man said simply. “Your spy—our hand within Kaizenix—wasn’t as invisible as we thought. The crown prince is not like his father. He observes too closely. He… dismantles things before they bloom. It was his interference that ruined the strike.”

Serin’s hands trembled on her lap. Her voice cracked with fury.

“And what about Dokja? He was supposed to be despised, ostracized, accused, abandoned by everyone. He was supposed to be our shield, our pawn!”

Her voice grew louder, shriller, until her words split like glass against stone.

“He was not supposed to stand in silk at that altar, smiling like he belongs! He was not supposed to have the crown prince—Kaizenix’s cold, ruthless crown prince—standing beside him as if the sun itself had bent down to warm him! How—how did that happen?!”

Her cry rang through the forest until even the horses tossed their heads nervously.

The veiled woman did not flinch. Her voice remained soft, deliberate, a serpent’s hiss coiled into something soothing.

“We saw it too. The veil-lifting ceremony… strange, wasn’t it? Almost unnatural. A shift too sudden, too deep. But it doesn’t matter.” She lifted her chin. “Let him smile. Let them cheer. Happiness is fragile. It will not last.”

Her gaze slid to the king, dark and certain. “We will make sure of it.”

The king’s lip curled. “Words. All I’ve heard are words. You promised me Kaizenix would be brought to its knees. You promised me a scapegoat in the boy I loathe. Instead, I see a celebration. A union the people adore.”

The older woman’s voice sharpened, quiet but lethal.

“Destroying a kingdom is not done with a single blow, Your Majesty. It is done with rot. You plant it deep, where no one sees. You let it eat at them from within until the whole empire collapses under its own weight. And when that happens, everyone will point to him—your hated son—as the cause.”

Her lips curved beneath the veil, though the smile never reached her eyes.

“Three kills with one stone: Kaizenix in ashes, your enemies’ thrones unguarded, and the boy you despise carrying every ounce of blame. That is still the plan. That has not changed.”

The king leaned forward, his voice dropping into a growl.

“I’m giving you one chance. Only one. Deliver what you promised, or I’ll see your corpses scattered at my gates.”

The older woman dipped her head, the motion small but absolute. “I will not fail you. No one hungers to see Kaizenix fall the way I do… not even you, Your Majesty.”

The young girl beside her never moved. She did not nod. She did not look up. Her eyes were glassed with something like old sorrow; her hands were folded so still they might have been part of her sleeves. She seemed to be carried by the room’s air rather than standing of her own accord, as if whatever had hollowed her had happened long ago.

Jaehyun watched the exchange with a hard, animal-like patience. Serin’s shoulders trembled with the aftershocks of fury. The King’s lips pursed until bloodless.

The older woman let her silence hang as an answer. Around them, the road smelled of horse and roadside dusk. Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of Kaizenix’s celebration, music, laughter, seemed impossibly bright, like a painting being burned at the edges.

“Very well,” the King said finally, voice low. “You have one more chance. If you succeed, Liraeth will stand indebted. If you fail…”

He did not finish. None needed him to. The threat shivered between them.

The older woman’s eyes met his then steady, dark. “We will make sure the blame rests on him,” she promised. “You will watch Kaizenix break, and you will be free to take what remains.”

As they turned to leave, the silent girl finally breathed, so slight it might have been the wind of her movement. The King watched them go, fury and fear like two small beasts tugging at his throat, while Jaehyun and Serin sank back into their carriage, both of them shaken in ways not easily visible.

The three mysterious figures melted into the night as if they had been waiting for the perfect hour to recede. The King stared after them until their lanterns dwindled to ash and then, at last, his jaw throbbed and he gave a choking, helpless sound.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The candle on Dokja’s desk had melted halfway down, wax spilling like frozen tears across the polished wood. His eyes burned, lids heavy, but still he turned another page.

Books. Words. Stories. They were safer than dreams.

Because lately… lately dreams were no longer dreams. They were traps.

The moment his head touched the pillow, the warmth of Kaizenix, the laughter of knights, Mia’s playful clinging, Sooyoung’s dry sarcasm, vanished. What came instead were whispers, sharp and wet, like something crawling against his skull. He saw corridors drenched in shadow, faces twisted beyond recognition, hands that reached but never touched. And sometimes, in the thick of those nightmares, he thought he heard his own voice crying for help.

So he read.

His fingers traced the ink of a passage without seeing the words. Reading was an anchor, a way to tell himself: this is real. This page. This candle. This desk. Not that.

And yet—

His gaze flicked to the window. Beyond it, the palace grounds were hushed under the weight of night. Flowers curled inward in sleep, torches crackled faintly against the wind. Safe. Peaceful. Almost unbearably so.

Then why? Why, when his life here was fuller than it had ever been… surrounded by people, no longer abandoned… why did the dark insist on clawing its way back in?

He pressed a hand to his face, laughing softly under his breath. The sound was brittle. “Ridiculous. You’re happy, Kim Dokja. You’re… finally happy.”

But the book blurred, his eyes stung, and his body sagged forward, begging for rest he didn’t dare grant. Sleep meant surrender. Sleep meant the noises. The visions. The places that felt too much like memories.

And maybe, deep down, that was what terrified him most.

The letters on the page had started to bleed together, swimming into nothing. Dokja blinked hard, shook his head, and forced his eyes to focus, but the weight dragging him down was merciless.

The candle had burned low, the wax snuffing into smoke.

He didn’t even notice when the door opened.

“Dokja.”

The voice was quiet, softer than it ever was in daylight. Joonghyuk stood at the threshold, dark hair falling against his brow, his expression unreadable in the faint firelight.

“You’re still awake.”

“I…” Dokja hesitated, his fingers tightening on the spine of the book. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Joonghyuk crossed the room in long strides. His shadow fell over the desk, over Dokja’s hunched figure. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” It came out sharper than he meant, brittle with the edge of panic. He didn’t look up, afraid that if he did, the weight in his chest would crack open. “Just a little reading. That’s all.”

Joonghyuk didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out and closed the book with one firm hand. The sound of the pages pressing shut echoed far too loud in the stillness.

“Come.”

“I said I’m—”

“Don’t.” Joonghyuk’s gaze softened. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

For a moment, Dokja couldn’t breathe. The world felt tilted, unreal. His nightmares always left him feeling like he was suffocating. But now… looking into those steady, dark eyes—he felt something loosen inside him.

Without fully realizing it, he let Joonghyuk guide him to bed. He lay stiff at first, every muscle resisting. But Joonghyuk didn’t leave. He sat beside him, an immovable presence at the edge of the world, silent but steady.

It was enough.

The tension in Dokja’s body gave way, his breathing slowed, and for the first time in weeks, his mind didn’t drown in shadows. He slept.

Four, maybe five hours. Peaceful, dreamless.

Until the dark returned.

The bed was gone. The warmth was gone. He was back in those endless corridors, the air heavy with whispers. His hand burned, blistered, ruined—and voices laughed at him from the dark. He tried to call out, but his throat only bled silence.

Somewhere far away, someone was shaking him. Calling his name.

Dokja jolted upright with a strangled gasp, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as if he’d run for miles.

And there was Joonghyuk, still beside him, his hands gripping Dokja’s shoulders, holding him steady.

“Dokja,” Joonghyuk said again, low but firm. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

But Dokja’s eyes were wide, glassy, staring past him at something only he could see.

And Joonghyuk, for all his iron strength, felt a cold helplessness creep in.

Because even with his hand there, even with his voice grounding him, he couldn’t reach whatever nightmare Dokja was trapped inside.

Dokja’s breaths came ragged, shallow. His knuckles were white where he clutched at the sheets.

Joonghyuk didn’t let go. He stayed close, grounding him with his presence, his voice steady as steel even though there was a storm behind his eyes.

“It’s just a dream,” Joonghyuk said quietly. “You’re here. With me.”

For a moment, Dokja said nothing. His lips trembled as though the words refused to come out. Then, barely above a whisper:

“It’s not… just a dream.”

Joonghyuk stilled.

Dokja’s throat worked, his gaze darting to the window, anywhere but the man beside him. “Every night… It's the same. The sounds, the faces… like they’re waiting for me. Calling me back. I thought… coming here, I’d finally escape. But it’s worse now.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Joonghyuk had faced battlefields, corpses, betrayals. But seeing Dokja like this… fragile, trembling under a weight he couldn’t see—struck something in him he didn’t know how to name.

“What do you see?” he asked, softer than he intended.

Dokja shook his head violently, almost flinching from the question. “You don’t want to know. It’s ugly. It’s… wrong.” His fingers curled tighter into the sheets until his nails bit into his palm. “If I close my eyes again, it’ll start all over. The whispers, the blood—”

His voice broke, and for the first time, Joonghyuk reached forward without hesitation. He pulled Dokja against him, one arm wrapping around his trembling frame.

Dokja stiffened—but only for a heartbeat. Then, as though the last of his strength had snapped, he sank into Joonghyuk’s chest, his breath shuddering against his collar.

For a long while, neither spoke.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The silence in the chamber stretched on. Dokja’s breathing had evened again, but it wasn’t the peaceful kind of sleep… his brow was furrowed, his body twitching ever so slightly as if even unconsciousness refused to spare him.

Joonghyuk sat with his back against the headboard, one hand resting against Dokja’s shoulder. He told himself he would stay awake, guard the man beside him from whatever shadows hunted him in dreams.

But then… Dokja whimpered. Just a broken sound, but it struck like a blade.

Dokja’s lips formed words even in his sleep, his voice strangled, terrified. His face twisted in pain, in shame, in something so raw that Joonghyuk’s chest tightened.

And … Joonghyuk understood.

Not completely, not with certainty. But enough.

These weren’t just dreams. They were memories. Fractured, bleeding through the cracks of a forgotten past.

A past Joonghyuk knew all too well.

His fists clenched. His breath grew unsteady. Because in that past… he remembered exactly how the world had treated Kim Dokja.

Unwanted. Suspected. Used.

Abandoned again and again until the only thing left of him was brittle edges and a tired, trembling smile.

And Joonghyuk himself—past Joonghyuk—had been the cruelest of them all.

The image flashed too vividly in his mind:

The sneer on his own lips as he threw cutting words at Dokja. The cold eyes that refused to see the bleeding hands, the desperate endurance, the loneliness gnawing at him. The way he had left him standing alone in the rain of accusations, thinking him a traitor, a liar, a burden.

Dokja jerked in his sleep, muttering broken fragments. “I didn’t… I wasn’t… please…”

Joonghyuk’s throat tightened. His hand hovered, trembling, before he finally cupped the side of Dokja’s face, steadying him.

“…It was me,” he whispered hoarsely. “In that life, it was me who hurt you most.”

The realization cut deeper than any blade. That every tremor in Dokja’s sleep, every tear unshed, every shadow hunting him through dreams… they weren’t faceless phantoms. They were Joonghyuk’s own sins.

The weight of it crushed him, made his chest ache until he could barely breathe. He had thought he could endure anything, betrayal, war, even the loss of his crown. But this, knowing that in one life he had been the hand that broke the one man who had stood by him… this was unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though the words felt useless, too late, too small against the enormity of what had been done.

Dokja stirred faintly, leaning unconsciously into his palm, seeking warmth he didn’t know he reached for.

Joonghyuk’s eyes burned, the sting so sharp it felt as if he could weep blood…

Chapter Text

The next day passed.

And the one after that.

Between them… nothing.

Not nothing in the sense of silence; they still spoke, exchanged glances, brushed past one another in the halls. They still sat together at meals, still shared the same carriage, the same table, the same chamber.

But nothing that should happen between a married couple ever came to pass.

It didn’t bother Dokja… at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Joonghyuk was the crown prince of Kaizenix, after all, shouldering more responsibilities than anyone could imagine. And Dokja himself was busier than ever. He had no right to expect anything more.

And yet… It was strange. A space lingered between them, subtle but undeniable, like a draft in a tightly shut room.

Dokja tried to scold himself for even noticing.

He’s busy. You’re busy. That’s all.

But the thought lingered in his chest anyway, heavier each night when the silence in their chamber stretched long, and he lay awake with the ghost of Joonghyuk’s warmth just an arm’s length away.

During the day, there was no time for such thoughts.

Joonghyuk had given him rights he had never dreamed of: the authority to sit in the throne room, to listen to citizens’ petitions, to judge and act as he saw fit. It was more than ceremonial—it was trust.

Kim Dokja felt… needed.

The citizens now greeted him with open smiles. They came to him with grievances, with hopes, with small joys, and they left with their hearts lighter. Every day, he was swarmed by advisors, by farmers, by merchants, by soldiers. Every day, his hands were full and his mind too occupied to remember the old sting of loneliness.

For the first time, he wasn’t an outsider pressed against glass, watching others live. He was inside.

Pampered, cherished, protected by a kingdom that had every reason to reject him, but hadn’t.

And yet, when night fell, and the palace grew still, he could not help but wonder…

If the entire kingdom could embrace him, why was the one man whose acceptance mattered most still just out of reach?

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

At night, when Dokja finally drifted into sleep, Joonghyuk would remain awake.

From his side of the bed, he watched the curve of Dokja’s back rise and fall with quiet breaths, watched the faint furrow in his brow that even dreams couldn’t smooth away. Sometimes, Dokja murmured in his sleep, half-formed words, broken apologies, sounds of fear Joonghyuk recognized all too well.

Every time, Joonghyuk’s hand twitched, wanting to reach out. To brush back the stray strands of hair that clung to his face. To pull him closer, press his chest to his back, whisper that he was safe here, in this lifetime, with him.

But his hand never moved.

He couldn’t allow it. Not yet.

Joonghyuk had lived long enough to know how fragile trust was. Dokja didn’t remember their past, but he did and memory was both his punishment and his chain. He remembered the cruelty of his own hand, the cold words he had flung like knives, the loneliness he had condemned Dokja to.

And now… after everything, after the chance this strange twist of fate had given him, Joonghyuk couldn’t let himself take what he longed for. Not when he still bore the weight of that guilt, not when the scars of the past still shaped them both, even if Dokja didn’t know it.

So he controlled himself.

During the day, he kept their interactions formal, just warm enough to reassure Dokja, never warm enough to betray the storm underneath. He forced his eyes to linger only for a heartbeat too long, never more. He allowed himself the smallest touches… the brush of fingers when helping Dokja mount his horse, the steadying hand when the crowd grew too thick. Nothing beyond that. Nothing that might reveal how badly he wanted to close the distance between them.

Because if he reached too soon, if he grasped too tightly…

He might lose him again.

And Joonghyuk would rather break his own bones with restraint than risk it.

Still, there were moments when his control slipped. Like when Dokja leaned over the throne during petitions, explaining something softly to an advisor. The light from the high windows caught in his dark hair, and Joonghyuk had to look away before the ache in his chest betrayed him.

Or when Dokja laughed, a small, startled thing, like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to. It cracked something inside Joonghyuk every time, and he clenched his fists behind his back, nails biting into skin, to keep from pulling Dokja into his arms then and there.

At night, he punished himself further. He would stand by the window while Dokja slept, letting the cold air bite his skin until his longing dulled into something manageable. Then he would return to bed, lying still, close enough to hear Dokja breathe but far enough to feel the gulf between them.

And in that space of silence, he whispered words he could never say aloud.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The training grounds smelled of steel and dust.

Dokja wasn’t entirely sure why Han Sooyoung had shoved him out here (“Go watch your husband or something, you idiot, you’re making the throne room gloomy with your sighing”). But now he stood awkwardly on the edge of the arena, robes far too fine for sand and sweat, while Yoo Joonghyuk carved through the air like it belonged to him.

The crown prince moved with frightening precision. Sword in hand, every strike and parry was so fluid it almost seemed rehearsed. And maybe it was, because the soldiers watching didn’t just see a sparring demonstration; they were witnessing something closer to art.

When Joonghyuk finally lowered his blade, chest rising and falling with even breaths, his gaze slid past the guards and fixed straight on Dokja.

Dokja stiffened. 

Oh no. He’s coming over here.

He was. Armor still gleaming, steps sharp and assured, Joonghyuk walked directly toward him, ignoring every bow and salute along the way. Stopping only when he stood before Dokja, close enough that the heat of training still clung to his skin.

“Would you like to try?”

Dokja blinked. “...Try?”

Without waiting for permission, Joonghyuk unbuckled a ceremonial blade from his belt. The hilt was simple, the weight lighter than real steel… but still, it was a sword. He held it out to Dokja like it was a gift.

“For balance. Not combat.”

Dokja looked at the sword, then at Joonghyuk’s face. Something in the prince’s expression was too serious, too intent. He arched a brow. “Are you… teaching me? Or is this your idea of courtship?”

That almost-smile ghosted over Joonghyuk’s lips. “Why not both?”

It was so dry, so un-Joonghyuk-like, that Dokja actually laughed—really laughed, the sound breaking free before he could stop it. It startled the nearest knights, who hadn’t thought their grim crown prince capable of joking, much less making someone laugh like that.

Dokja shook his head, amused. “Fine. But don’t be upset when I trip and ruin your sparring yard.”

He accepted the blade. His hand was steady, almost too steady, but no one noticed… except Joonghyuk.

“Feet apart,” Joonghyuk instructed, stepping closer. He reached out, adjusting Dokja’s grip with gloved fingers, lowering his elbow, tilting his stance. His touch lingered a moment too long on Dokja’s wrist, the warmth seeping through fabric.

“Like this,” Joonghyuk murmured, voice low.

Dokja swallowed, forcing another polite smile. “If you’re trying to fluster me, it’s working.”

He shifted, lifting the blade with deceptive awkwardness… before his body moved in a smooth, practiced arc. One strike. Then another. Quick, controlled. The ceremonial sword sang through the air.

It silenced the yard.

Guards froze mid-motion, eyes widening. Joonghyuk’s brows lifted, just slightly, but his gaze sharpened.

“...You’ve done this before,” he said quietly.

“Oh? No.”

He spun the blade once more, faster this time, body flowing with ease born of countless hours. There was nothing ceremonial about it anymore… this was training, discipline, instinct. He ended the sequence with the sword raised, posture perfect.

The guards exchanged stunned glances. Their royal consort—this quiet, book-obsessed man—was handling a blade like a seasoned knight.

Joonghyuk’s lips curved. Just faintly. “You’ve been hiding.”

Dokja tilted his head, feigning confusion. “Hiding? I’m just… following your example.”

“Is that so?” Joonghyuk stepped back, raising his own blade. “Then show me.”

And suddenly, it wasn't an observation anymore. It was sparring.

Steel rang out as Joonghyuk struck first, a measured blow, testing. Dokja parried smoothly, meeting his gaze with the smallest smirk.

The guards gawked. No one parried the crown prince like that.

Another strike, faster. Dokja blocked again, his robe swirling around his ankles. Their blades slid against each other, sparks flying, and for a breath their faces were inches apart.

“Not bad,” Joonghyuk murmured.

“Not bad yourself,” Dokja shot back, voice steady despite the thunder in his chest.

They moved, strike, parry, spin, counter. To the onlookers it was battle, but to them it was a dance. Every clash carried something unspoken, every step drew them closer.

At one point Joonghyuk caught Dokja’s wrist, pinning him lightly, blades locked. “You could have told me,” he said lowly, breath brushing against Dokja’s cheek.

“And miss this reaction?” Dokja teased, eyes glinting. “Never.” 

Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened, but his lips curved again… so fleeting no one else would have caught it.

The spar stretched on, longer than any of the knights dared to breathe. Finally, with a deliberate motion, Joonghyuk twisted, disarming Dokja. The ceremonial sword flew, clattering harmlessly on the ground.

The strike was clumsy, too wide, too slow. But before it could even finish, Joonghyuk’s sword flashed, catching it neatly, redirecting the weight so Dokja stumbled forward… straight into him.

Dokja crashed into Joonghyuk’s chest with a startled gasp.

Strong arms steadied him before he could fall.

For a moment, the whole training ground seemed to stop. Joonghyuk held him close, steady, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dokja tilted his head up, breath caught somewhere between his ribs and his throat. “...You did that on purpose.”

Joonghyuk’s lips curved, just barely. “You noticed.”

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The sparring yard was empty now. The clang of steel, the murmur of guards, even the restless shuffle of armor… all of it had faded away. Only the echo of their footsteps lingered, crunching against sand and stone as they walked without direction, side by side.

They hadn’t planned to stay. But somehow, neither of them had left.

“Crown princ—”
“You can—”

Both started at once. Both froze. Their eyes met, startled, before darting away just as quickly.

Dokja chuckled nervously. “...You can say it first.”

Joonghyuk hesitated. His hand flexed by his side as if he was trying to grip something invisible, something slipping away. Finally, he spoke, his voice lower than usual.

“I… didn’t know you could fight this well.”

Dokja’s smile was wry. “That wasn’t exactly a secret.” His gaze tilted toward the sky, almost shy. “Maybe you just assumed a bookworm wouldn’t even know how to hold a sword.”

Joonghyuk’s lips curved, barely visible, but his tone was honest. “No. I just never allowed myself to imagine you like this.”

Dokja blinked. The words caught him off guard, and something warm spread across his chest before he could stop it.

They walked a few more steps in silence. Joonghyuk’s words felt like a quiet confession between them.

“I should have asked,” he murmured, softer than before, almost guilty. “I should have tried to get to know you sooner.”

Dokja’s steps faltered. He stopped mid-path, turning toward him with eyes that searched and searched, as though peeling away the layers, the crown, the armor, the impossible weight he carried. His gaze lingered on Joonghyuk’s face, as if determined to find what lay beneath the stoic walls. His voice, when it finally came, was fragile, but steady enough to pierce through.

“...All this time, I thought you were ignoring me.” His throat tightened. “Did you not like me?”

The question shattered something inside Joonghyuk. His breath caught; panic flared in his chest. His whole body tensed as if Dokja had reached inside and touched the most vulnerable place in him.

“No.” he burst out, too quickly, too anxiously. His voice shook, urgency spilling out without restraint. “No, that’s not true—don’t ever think that.” His words tumbled, unpolished but desperate. “I never hated you. I never ignored you because I disliked you. Gods, Dokja—I love you.”

His tone was raw, so unlike the measured calm of the crown prince. He looked almost frantic, as though Dokja’s question had pulled the ground out from under him.

“I—” Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened, but he pressed on. “I love you so much it terrifies me. Every time I look at you, I want to be closer. And every time I stop myself, it feels like I’m carving pieces out of my own heart just to protect you. You don’t know how hard it is to hold back—”

Dokja’s breath hitched. His fingers curled at his side before he dared to ask, quietly, almost like he was bracing himself for a wound.

“Then what’s stopping you?” His eyes softened, vulnerable in the warm light. “What’s keeping you from being close to me?”

The silence that followed was heavy. Joonghyuk’s gaze wavered, as if the truth pressed hard against his ribs but refused to spill. At last, he spoke, low and unsteady.

“Because… if I come too close, I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

Dokja blinked. For a heartbeat, he only stared. Then, with deliberate steadiness, he reached out and caught Joonghyuk’s hand. The warmth of the touch jolted through both of them. Dokja stepped forward, slow, unyielding, until their foreheads almost touched… until their noses brushed, breaths mingling.

His voice was a whisper, trembling but full of conviction.

“Since the day I arrived here, you’ve only protected me,” Dokja said. “You’ve made me feel cherished. You’ve given me a place to belong. So no matter what you think of yourself… I know you could never hurt me.”

Joonghyuk froze. The words were a knife and a balm all at once. He wanted to believe them. He wanted so desperately to sink into them. But the weight of his past pressed against him, suffocating.

In his mind, memories flashed… the cruel words he had once thrown, the cold distance, the way he had broken Dokja in another life. Han Sooyoung’s voice echoed in his ears: You’re keeping him in the dark. It’s still a scam if he doesn’t know.

His chest ached. His throat burned with all the truths he hadn’t spoken.

And in that moment, Joonghyuk decided… he couldn’t keep the shadows buried any longer. If Dokja trusted him this much, if Dokja looked at him with those clear, unwavering eyes… 

Then he had to tell him everything.

He parted his lips. The first words trembled at the edge of his tongue– 

“Dokja–”

But then—

“Your Highness!”

Namwoon came tearing across the training grounds, breathless, pale, his steps uneven from running. His face was twisted in alarm, panic raw in his eyes.

Joonghyuk flinched back, hand slipping from Dokja’s before he could stop it.

“There’s an emergency,” Namwoon blurted, his voice hoarse, strained. He looked between them with something like fear. “Please… both of you, come quickly.”

His shoulders heaved, his entire body trembling as though the weight of what he carried was too much for him alone. Whatever it was, it was bad. Bad enough to make Namwoon’s hands shake, bad enough to make his words stumble over each other.

Joonghyuk’s instincts snapped taut in an instant. He reached out, steadying Namwoon by the shoulder, his tone firm though his heartbeat was still a storm.

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded.

Namwoon only shook his head, wide-eyed. “I—I can’t explain here. Please. Just come. Hurry.”

Beside him, Dokja straightened, his earlier softness fading into alertness. He glanced once at Joonghyuk… their closeness still thrumming between them, unresolved, before they both followed Namwoon into the darkened halls of Kaizenix.

And Joonghyuk thought, bitterly: 

The truth will have to wait. Again.

Namwoon’s footsteps pounded down the corridor, his voice tight with urgency. 

“This way… hurry!”

Dokja followed, heart thudding without rhythm. Joonghyuk was a shadow at his side, silent but taut, his presence coiled like a blade ready to unsheathe.

When they turned the corner, smoke struck them first… thick, acrid, biting at their throats.

And then—

Dokja’s chamber. His old chamber. The one that had been his little haven in the palace before the marriage. 

It was burning.

Flames licked the curtains, swallowed the walls, devoured the shelves. Firelight twisted across the marble, wild and hungry, painting the faces of the guards who struggled with buckets and cloths. 

Han Sooyoung was there too, barking orders through the smoke, her expression sharp with fury and fear.

But Dokja… Dokja couldn’t move.

He stood frozen at the threshold, his eyes wide as the fire ate everything that had once been his. His books… his lifelines. The volumes he’d bought in secret, the stories he had clung to when no one else was there. The battered spine from Liraeth, still faintly ink-stained from its first owner’s hand. 

And—

His mother’s book. The last piece of her he had.

The sight of it collapsing into flame tore something open inside him. He hadn’t even noticed the sting in his eyes until his vision blurred. His chest ached, his throat closed, and his lips parted as if to beg the fire to stop—to give it back—

And then Joonghyuk moved.

Before anyone could react, the crown prince threw off his cloak and lunged straight into the inferno.

“JOONGHYUK!” Dokja’s voice cracked, breaking out of its shock. The world jolted back into sound… the guards shouting, Han Sooyoung swearing as she reached too late, Namwoon grabbing Dokja’s arm to keep him from rushing in too.

Inside the blaze, Joonghyuk’s figure disappeared for one terrifying moment. Sparks rained as beams groaned overhead, flames roared with greedy tongues.

Dokja’s chest burned with something worse than smoke. Panic, raw and suffocating. His hands trembled as he tried to push forward, half-mad with fear. “What is he doing—why—get him out, someone, get him—!”

But then, through the fire, a silhouette emerged.

Joonghyuk burst out of the smoke, cloak charred at the edges, one arm shielding something clutched close to his chest. In his grip was the book… singed, blackened at the corners, but intact enough to still be hers.

And Joonghyuk himself.

He stumbled, teeth gritted, a harsh hiss escaping him. His left arm hung stiff at the elbow, the sleeve burned through to angry, blistering flesh. The acrid stench of scorched fabric and skin cut through the air.

“Joonghyuk—!” Dokja’s cry tore free, anguish breaking his voice. He lurched forward, catching him before he fell. “You—why would you—”

The book was shoved into Dokja’s chest, pressed there with rough insistence, as if Joonghyuk’s life meant nothing compared to keeping it safe.

Joonghyuk’s voice was hoarse, breathless. “It mattered to you.”

Dokja’s fingers closed around the half-burnt spine, trembling so violently it almost slipped from his grasp. Tears he hadn’t realized had fallen spilled hot against his cheeks, blurring Joonghyuk’s scorched figure.

“You—idiot,” Dokja choked. His throat burned worse than the smoke. “What if you—what if you had died—”

But Joonghyuk only looked at him, eyes dark, unwavering even through the pain. His lips curved faintly, almost defiant despite the agony.

“For you,” he said simply.

And Dokja’s heart broke, because he meant it.

The flames were doused. The guards scattered to sweep the ruins. Han Sooyoung was already demanding answers, sharp as a blade, her voice carrying through the hall like a whip.

But none of it reached Dokja.

He dragged Joonghyuk to the royal nursery, the quietest chamber nearby, far from the smoke and shouting. He sat him down on the low couch beneath the tall windows where sunlight still filtered in, stubbornly pure despite the ash clinging to Joonghyuk’s hair.

“Sit. Don’t move.” Dokja’s voice trembled, though he tried to make it sound firm. His hands, however, betrayed him, shaking as he fetched water, linen, and salves from the attendants who hovered nervously at the door.

When he pressed the damp cloth to Joonghyuk’s burned arm, Joonghyuk hissed through his teeth but said nothing. He didn’t even flinch.

That silence… it made something in Dokja snap.

“You reckless—reckless fool!” Dokja’s voice cracked as he worked, blotting the charred skin, trying not to let his hands shake too much. “Do you have any idea what you just did? You could have died in there. You could have burned alive!”

Joonghyuk lowered his gaze, the line of his jaw tightening. “It was your book.”

“I don’t care about the damn book!” Dokja shouted, though his grip trembled harder on the bandages. His breath stuttered; his vision blurred. “For a moment—for one terrifying moment… I thought I lost you.”

The linen slipped in his hands. He bowed his head, shoulders shaking as the tears finally spilled, dripping against Joonghyuk’s uninjured sleeve. “You’re the one who—who taught me how to live again… who made me remember what it feels like to be—” He broke off, voice raw. “—to be worth something. And you almost threw yourself away. For me.”

Joonghyuk’s good hand moved then, hesitating only once before curling around Dokja’s wrist.

His grip was steady, grounding.

“Royal consort Kim Dokja,” he said quietly, voice rough but certain. “Listen to me. I would burn a thousand times over if it meant you never had to lose what matters to you.”

Dokja’s breath hitched. His tears soaked into the fabric beneath his cheek, but he didn’t pull away. He let Joonghyuk’s fingers hold him still, let the warmth of that touch sink through the storm clawing at his chest.

“You idiot,” Dokja whispered again, softer this time. He lifted his face just enough to meet Joonghyuk’s gaze… eyes dark, fierce, but softened now, only for him.

Then Dokja pressed his forehead against Joonghyuk’s shoulder, voice muffled and trembling. “Don’t you dare do that to me again. I can lose books. I can lose rooms. But not you. Never you. You can’t leave me after you gave me hope.”

Joonghyuk’s throat worked as if the words caught there, too heavy, too dangerous. Instead, he tightened his hold on Dokja’s wrist, pulling him just a fraction closer, until their breaths tangled in the quiet nursery air.

And though pain throbbed through his arm, Joonghyuk whispered the only vow he could trust himself to make:

“I’m not leaving you. Not in this life.”

The skin of Joonghyuk’s left arm… just below the elbow… was angry red, blistered in places, the heat of it radiating even through the damp cloth. His breath caught, and for a heartbeat he couldn’t move.

“…It’s worse than I thought.” His voice came out hoarse, trembling around the edges. “Why would you…” Dokja’s words broke off, his throat tight. He forced his hands steady and dipped the linen in the water again, wringing it out.

The first touch made Joonghyuk flinch despite himself. Dokja’s chest twisted at the sound sharp, bitten off, like Joonghyuk was trying to hide the pain.

“Don’t… don’t do that,” Dokja whispered. “Don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. You don’t have to…with me.”

Joonghyuk didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the opposite wall. But when Dokja pressed the cool cloth down again, this time slower, gentler, Joonghyuk let out a breath that shook, long and quiet.

“You’re impossible,” Dokja murmured, winding the linen carefully around the burn, mindful of every raw edge. “Always carrying the world like it won’t crush you. Always throwing yourself into fire like you’re… like you’re expendable.”

“I’m not,” Joonghyuk said lowly. “Not to you.”

The words froze Dokja’s hands mid-motion. For a moment, he simply stared at him, wide-eyed, the bandage hanging loose between his fingers. His lips trembled as if he might argue but nothing came. 

His heart was too loud.

Finally, with fingers still trembling, Dokja finished tying the bandage in place, smoothing it with more tenderness than necessary. He lingered there, palm pressed lightly against Joonghyuk’s arm, afraid to let go.

When he finally lifted his gaze, Joonghyuk was already watching him. Not the way a crown prince should look at anyone, not with that kind of intensity, that quiet, desperate longing barely contained.

Their breaths brushed in the silence.

Dokja’s throat went dry. “You—” He faltered, voice breaking. “You can’t keep doing this to me. I can’t…” His eyes stung again. “I can’t lose you.”

Something cracked in Joonghyuk’s expression then… the iron discipline, the guarded walls, all of it fractured for one vulnerable instant. His good hand lifted, hovering like he didn’t dare… until Dokja leaned, just slightly, into his touch.

And then their foreheads met.

Soft. Hesitant. Fragile, like neither of them trusted the world enough for this moment. Dokja’s lashes fluttered shut, a tear slipping down his cheek, catching on Joonghyuk’s thumb.

When Joonghyuk finally moved, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even bold. Just the faintest brush of his lips against Dokja’s… testing, reverent, like he was asking for forgiveness with the gentlest kiss he could give.

Dokja exhaled a shudder, his hand clutching the edge of Joonghyuk’s tunic as though anchoring himself. For a heartbeat, the smoke, the fire, the ruins… they were all gone. There was only this: the quiet press of lips, the trembling relief, the promise that neither of them dared to speak aloud yet.

When they pulled apart, only by a breath, Joonghyuk whispered, so soft it was almost lost between them:

“You’re my only weakness. And my only strength.”

Dokja swallowed, eyes still wet, voice barely steady. “…Then don’t let go.”

And Joonghyuk, for once, didn’t.

The nursery was quiet now. The bandages had been tied, the basin set aside, the fire reduced to nothing but a faint glow in the hearth.

But neither of them moved.

Joonghyuk’s hand still lingered at Dokja’s waist, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. And Dokja, he hadn’t stepped back, hadn’t rebuilt the distance he always used as armor. Their breaths mingled in the silence, hearts thundering in a rhythm that was no longer afraid.

One look, one lean, and restraint unraveled.

The kiss was a question at first, hesitant. But when Dokja answered, when he leaned back with all the fragile bravery in him, it grew deeper. Fiercer.

The fire in the hearth crackled, shadows shifting across the walls, and somewhere between breaths, restraint was lost.

The kiss deepened, slow at first, then hungrier, heavier… as though both had spent too long waiting for something neither dared to name.

Later, much later, the bandages would need to be checked again, and the guards would wonder why the royal consort never returned to his own chambers that night.

But for now, the nursery held only quiet whispers, the rustle of robes, and the fragile, unspoken truth that the distance between them was gone.

When dawn came, it found them together, tangled in the same silence, no longer divided by titles or hesitation… only the steady warmth of two people who had finally chosen to stay, as if both had finally crossed into a place neither of them would ever step back from.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The dawn crept gently into the nursery, pale gold spilling across the floorboards. Dokja hadn’t woken with a nightmare. Instead, he blinked awake to warmth, an arm heavy around his waist, a steady breath against his hair.

Reality caught up slowly. The scattered robes, the faint ache in his body, the bandages peeking out from under the sheets… and Yoo Joonghyuk, very much real, lying beside him.

Dokja froze. Oh gods. We… His face heated instantly. He wasn’t sure whether to bury himself under the blanket forever or laugh at how ridiculous this felt.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Joonghyuk muttered, voice rough with sleep.

Dokja turned his head slightly… only to find Joonghyuk already awake, watching him with that steady, unblinking gaze. His hair was mussed, falling into his eyes, and he looked far less like a crown prince and more like a man who’d stayed up too late… doing exactly what they had done.

“…Your arm,” Dokja said quickly, seizing the first excuse to hide his embarrassment. He sat up, fumbling for the bandages. “You burned yourself. You shouldn’t even be moving, let alone—”

A hand caught his wrist, pulling him back down.

“I’ll live,” Joonghyuk said simply. Then, softer, almost hesitant: “Unless you regret it.”

Dokja blinked, startled. “Regret… last night?”

Joonghyuk didn’t answer, but the tension in his grip said enough. For all his iron will, for all his cold command, here he was… uncertain.

Dokja’s chest ached. 

Slowly, he pried Joonghyuk’s fingers open and laced their hands together instead. “…If you think I regret it, then you weren’t paying attention.”

Joonghyuk’s eyes widened, the faintest crack in his usual composure. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, shoulders easing as though something unbearably heavy had lifted.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a brief kiss to Dokja’s temple.

The room was quiet again, filled only with the rustle of sheets and the distant sounds of the waking palace. Dokja leaned against him, head resting against his uninjured shoulder, and for the first time in years—maybe lifetimes—he felt no urge to run, no weight of loneliness pressing on him.

Just warmth. Just him.

By the time the palace truly began to stir… maids hurrying down the corridors, guards changing shifts, advisors gathering for morning council… neither of them wanted to face it.

So, without a word, they made their way back to their shared chambers.

The corridors were still dim, lit only by the soft flicker of oil lamps. Their footsteps barely made a sound, and every time they passed a servant or knight, Joonghyuk’s hand tightened ever so slightly around Dokja’s, a silent command: don’t let go.

They slipped inside before anyone could notice. The heavy doors shut behind them, muting the world.

For a moment, they both just stood there in the quiet. Dokja glanced at his wrinkled robes —an undeniable reminder of what had happened. His ears burned, but Joonghyuk only moved forward, tugging him gently toward the bed.

“…We should rest,” Joonghyuk said, voice softer than it had been in days.

Dokja hesitated, biting back the urge to argue. He should scold him again about the wound, about pushing himself, about how reckless last night had been. But instead… he nodded.

The sheets warmed when they slipped beneath them again. This time, though, there was no distance. Joonghyuk pulled him close, tucking Dokja into the curve of his body like it was the most natural thing in the world. Dokja’s hand rested lightly against the bandages on his arm, careful, protective.

Outside, the kingdom awoke. Inside, in the safety of their chamber, the crown prince and his consort let the world wait a little longer.

For the first time since their marriage, they slept not apart, not restless, but together.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The curtains did nothing to stop the sunlight. By the time it crept into the chamber, pale gold spilling across the sheets and painting the marble floor, the palace was already fully awake.

Voices drifted from the courtyards below, the bustle of servants and guards moving briskly about their duties.

But here, in this sealed-off world of silk and warmth, time was slower.

Dokja stirred first. He hadn’t really slept… only brief, fractured dozes, waking again and again to check Joonghyuk’s breathing, to make sure the bandages were still tight. Every time he blinked awake, Joonghyuk was there beside him, steady as stone, his brow furrowed even in sleep, the burns hidden beneath fresh wrappings.

It should have been enough. But Dokja couldn’t stop the ache in his chest.

He shifted carefully, sitting up on the edge of the bed. His fingers brushed against Joonghyuk’s good hand, light, as though memorizing the weight of it. He whispered, almost to himself, “Idiot.…” His voice cracked. “…Do you have any idea how scared I was?”

“You weren’t the only one.”

The low murmur startled him. Dokja’s eyes snapped up to see Joonghyuk awake, gaze fixed on him, softer than the morning sun should allow.

“Y-you…” Dokja flustered, scowling automatically to cover it. “You should be resting. Don’t just… don’t listen when I’m talking to myself.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Joonghyuk said simply, voice still rough from the night. His lips curved, faint but undeniable. “You don’t let me.”

Dokja’s face burned. He fumbled with the fresh roll of bandages he’d prepared, too obviously avoiding Joonghyuk’s gaze. “Someone has to make sure you don’t lose an arm because of your stupidity. Hold still.”

Joonghyuk obeyed. For once, he didn’t argue. He let Dokja unwrap the old dressing, fingers delicate as they worked over blistered skin. Every touch was cautious, reverent, but his hands trembled just enough that Joonghyuk noticed.

“Worrying,” Joonghyuk finished for him. His lips curved, faint but real. “You’re allowed, you know.”

The words unraveled something in Dokja. He ducked his head, muttering, “Of course I’m worried. You nearly killed yourself last night.” His fingers trembled as he retied the bandage more securely, biting back the sting in his eyes. “For what? A book. A stupid book.”

Joonghyuk caught his wrist with his good hand. “Not stupid. Not to you. So not to me.”

Dokja stilled, looking up at him, and found Joonghyuk’s gaze unwavering….fierce, unyielding, the way he faced armies and wars. But softer too, in a way that felt dangerous, because it was aimed only at him.

“You’re impossible,” Dokja whispered, his voice breaking. “You keep… making me feel like I matter more than I should.”

Joonghyuk shifted closer, pulling Dokja down until their foreheads touched again, just as they had last night. “You matter more than anything. Don’t you understand that yet?”

Dokja’s breath hitched. His walls, the sarcasm, the practiced distance crumbled all at once. He let out a shaky laugh that sounded almost like a sob, burying his face briefly against Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “You’re not supposed to say things like that. I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”

“Then don’t stop.” Joonghyuk’s voice was steady, but his thumb brushing slow circles on Dokja’s wrist betrayed how hard he was trying to hold himself back.

Joonghyuk studied him in silence for a long moment. The way Dokja’s brows furrowed in concentration, the way his lower lip caught between his teeth as he tied the fresh bandage.

Joonghyuk’s breath caught. His good hand lifted, hesitant, then firm as it cupped Dokja’s cheek. He leaned in until their foreheads brushed again, the intimacy of the night before renewed but softer now, gentler.

“Dokja-ya, I love you… I will never let you cry because of me again” he whispered, voice ragged with something close to desperation.

Dokja swallowed hard, his own hand rising to cover Joonghyuk’s, pressing it tighter against his skin. He leaned into the touch shamelessly now, eyes fluttering shut.

“…You promise?”

“I swear it.” Joonghyuk’s thumb brushed away the lingering trace of a tear. “Even if I burn a thousand times over, even if the world itself turns against me… I won’t leave you.”

For a long moment, neither moved. Their breaths mingled, hearts loud in the fragile silence. Then, slowly, Joonghyuk tilted forward, catching Dokja’s lips once more.

This kiss was different. Not born of panic or relief. But steady. Certain. The kind of kiss that tasted of vows unspoken, of evenings yet to come.

Dokja sighed softly against him, hand sliding to rest against Joonghyuk’s chest, feeling the strong, steady beat beneath his palm. When they parted, he whispered, voice shaking but full,

“Then don’t scare me like that again.”

Joonghyuk smiled, small, rare, but real. “I’ll try. But you make it difficult.”

“Me?” Dokja scoffed weakly, trying to ignore how warm his chest felt. “You’re the one throwing yourself into fire.”

“Because it was you,” Joonghyuk said simply, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did.

Dokja couldn’t find the words to answer. So he leaned in again, pressing the lightest kiss against Joonghyuk’s temple, and let his silence speak for him.

‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •‧｡⋆ ‧₊˚˚‧｡⋆ •

The royal dining hall was already alive with quiet bustle when they entered. Servants moved like shadows, trays of steaming dishes laid out with ceremonial precision, the kind of breakfast fit for kings and crown princes.

And yet, the moment Yoo Joonghyuk walked in with Kim Dokja at his side, the air shifted.

Not because the crown prince looked as unshakable as ever… he did, though his left arm was bound in fresh bandages, hidden beneath crisp robes. Not because Dokja looked collected, either… he didn’t, though he was doing an admirable job pretending, his hands folded neatly in his sleeves, his hair still slightly mussed from a night of poor sleep.

It was because they entered together. Step for step.

The guards posted at the hall exchanged quick glances. Servants bowed low, but not before stealing flickers of wide-eyed surprise. Even Hades, already at the table with a cup of tea, paused mid-sip, eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of them side by side.

Joonghyuk, usually the first to claim his seat in austere silence, did not sit immediately. Instead, he slowed to Dokja’s pace, pulling out the chair beside his own and waiting, as though daring anyone in the room to find it unusual that the royal consort sat directly at the crown prince’s right hand.

Dokja hesitated only a heartbeat before taking the seat, lips pressed thin in what could almost pass for composure. Inside, though, his chest was warm with something dangerously close to giddiness.

Joonghyuk finally sat, his sleeve brushing Dokja’s as he settled. He reached for the teapot himself, something he never did, pouring first into Dokja’s cup before his own. The gesture was simple. But in the silent gasp of the servants, in the way Hades’s brow arched high enough to disappear into her hairline, it might as well have been a declaration.