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Chapter Text

Long ago, in the kingdom of Aristama, a king and queen bore twins: Sunghoon and Jongseong. From the moment they could speak, the court whispered that they were destined for the throne, and the twins were raised to claim it. Each step they took was guided, each word measured; every triumph and misstep observed. The king favored one, the queen the other, and so the seeds of rivalry were sown before the first dawn they had ever seen.

In those same years, far from the glittering halls of Aristama, a boy hid alone among the ruins of war. His name was Sunoo. He was discovered by General Kim Seokwoo, a commander of great renown, amidst the chaos of a border raid. The boy’s parents, both humble betas—a carpenter and a tailor—had been lost to the flames, leaving Sunoo alone with nothing but sharp instincts and a stubborn heart. Seokwoo took him in, raising him not only to survive, but to thrive; to be strong, independent, and to choose carefully to whom he would reveal his vulnerabilities.

Time passed, and the General returned from distant battlefields, carrying with him both experience and authority. He came to Sunoo, and with the weight of duty and affection, he said: they would leave the quiet life of the country. The boy would move to the heart of the kingdom, into the castle itself, to the quarters of the royal guards. It was, he claimed, for Sunoo’s education, to draw him closer to the work of the kingdom, though in truth, it would be the first step into a world of intrigue and danger, far from the peace he had once known.

And so it was that every year, when the moon hung low and the forests whispered of challenge, the kingdom called forth all unmated Alphas. They gathered in the halls of the chosen realm, highborn and foreign, to partake in the ancient ritual of the Hunt. For seven days, they would ride into the forest, seeking the largest beast they could conquer. And when the forest fell silent and the horn sounded, the victors would return, to craft a gift from their prize, a token for the one they desired. On the night of the ball that followed, the chosen would wear this gift, and the court would see who fate had allowed—or denied—each alpha to claim.

Thus were the twins of Aristama, the boy from the ruins, and the alphas of distant lands bound to a cycle older than memory: ambition, desire, and the weight of blood and duty intertwined like roots beneath the castle stones.

Chapter Text

The countryside had been quiet that morning. Unnaturally so.

Birds stayed nestled in their trees, and the wind that usually danced through the fields held its breath. Sunoo stood beside the open carriage, arms folded. Scent tucked so tightly into himself that the air around him felt hollow. Even the horses seemed uneasy.

“You’ve gone quiet,” General Kim said, tightening the straps on the luggage. “Not like you.”

“I’m conserving energy,” Sunoo replied without looking up. “For the battle ahead.”

His father’s sigh was sharp. “It’s not a battle. It’s a shift.”

“To a castle that reeks of sweat, politics, and heat cycles?” Sunoo’s tone was dry. “Sounds like war to me.”

General Kim didn’t smile. “You’ll need to let your scent out eventually. You’re an Omega. They’ll notice when it’s missing.”

“They’ll notice more if I let it out.” Calm, measured. “They’ll want something.”

His father hesitated, then nodded once. “Just don’t let it become a crutch. You weren’t made to hide.”

“No,” Sunoo said softly as he stepped into the carriage. “I was trained to survive.”

---

The Kingdom of Aristama was a fortress disguised as a jewel. Its gilded arches and sapphire-glass towers glittered beneath the sun, but the guards lining its walls and the subtle scent-checks in the air betrayed its true nature.

Sunoo kept his presence locked down. No scent. No hint. Just hollow stillness.

Betas glanced at him, unsettled. Alphas ignored him—until they realized something was missing.

They sniffed again, subtly. Frowned. Moved on.

Exactly as he wanted.

“This way,” General Kim said, motioning toward the guards’ quarters.

---

At the stables, a young man waited—lean, sharp-eyed, watching Sunoo like a hound on an invisible trail. His black hair was neatly swept aside; his hazel eyes, polished stone. His scent— sharp cedar and hearth smoke… Alpha—reached Sunoo before he spoke.

“This is Jungwon,” General Kim said. “He’ll be escorting you for the foreseeable future.”

“Shadowing me, you mean,” Sunoo said lightly, stepping down. “Let me guess. My father’s eyes. Ears. Teeth, if needed.”

Jungwon didn’t blink. “Your father said protect. Didn’t say from what.”

“Smart man,” Sunoo replied, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “But you won’t trail me if you can’t even find me.”

“I’ll find you,” Jungwon said softly. “Even if the whole court can’t smell you—I will.”

Their gazes held. Neither moved.

“You’re territorial,” Sunoo murmured.

“You’re too quiet,” Jungwon countered.

Sunoo smiled. “We’re going to be such good friends.”

---

Later, at the monthly court gathering, the scent of Alphas thickened the air like smoke before a storm. Omegas were absent—many secluded in heat—but the hierarchy pulsed visibly across the hall.

Then the royal doors opened.

The Crown Princes entered—Park Jongseong, upright and composed, his confidence polished as onyx; and beside him, Park Sunghoon, sharp as winter, expression unreadable. They moved like twin blades.

Behind them, Jaeyun—Beta, boyish, bright—kept pace, waving at familiar nobles, shoulders loose despite the tension.

Sunoo lingered near a tapestry, hidden in scent and shadow. Then, without meaning to, he looked up—and met Jongseong’s gaze.

It lasted one beat too long.

The prince’s brow furrowed, nostrils flaring slightly. His gaze swept the air near Sunoo again, confused. Sunghoon followed the glance.

“…There’s nothing,” Sunghoon muttered. “Do you smell something?”

“No,” Jongseong said slowly. “That’s the problem.”

Jaeyun laughed. “Don’t start sniffing at ghosts again.”

But the princes’ eyes didn’t move from the quiet boy standing by the wall, scentless and unreadable.

---

Outside the hall, Sunoo exhaled as the last bell rang and the crowd began to disperse.

“You should’ve let your scent out—just a little,” Jungwon murmured. “You’re unsettling them.”

“Good,” Sunoo said. “Maybe they’ll be too busy sniffing the air to try and tame me.”

“You really think they’d try?”

“In this kingdom? I’m unmated, eighteen, an Omega—and new.”

Jungwon didn’t answer immediately.

Then, quietly: “You forgot to mention breathtaking.”

Sunoo paused.

“…I don’t like flattery.”

“I’m not flattering,” Jungwon said. “I’m warning.”

Chapter Text

Sunoo found it hard to sleep his first week in the castle.

The quiet here wasn’t like the countryside—the hush of trees, the sigh of wind. This was the stillness of stone, of watchful eyes, of corridors too clean to be comfortable.

He read to cope.

By the third night, he’d already finished three volumes on Aristaman law, two on ancient military strategy, and a slim novella about a cursed Omega who turned into a shadow beast. Ridiculous—but charming.

“You read like it’s a contest,” Jungwon noted one morning, watching him flip through a book as they walked the edge of the training field.

“I like to be prepared,” Sunoo murmured. “Knowledge is the only thing I don’t have to ask permission for.”

Jungwon hummed. “You know, you’re allowed to have fun.”

“I’m having fun,” Sunoo said without looking up. “I’m reading.”

---

It was Jaeyun who discovered Sunoo’s other hobby.

He stumbled upon him in the sparring yard during a rain delay, guards lounging under the overhang. Sunoo, barefoot and bored, had picked up a knife from the weapons bench and was flipping it through his fingers like a toy.

“Hey, pretty thing,” Jaeyun called. “That’s sharp.”

“I would hope so,” Sunoo replied, not looking up.

Jungwon was nearby, sharpening his own blade. He didn’t intervene.

“You know how to use it?” Jaeyun asked, intrigued.

Sunoo rose, eyes still on the knife. “You want me to show you?”

Five minutes later, Jaeyun lay flat on his back in the mud, a knife poised an inch from his throat.

The guardroom went silent.

“I—I yield,” Jaeyun gasped.

Sunoo smiled sweetly and stepped back, wiping his hands on his pants.
“You didn’t even ask me nicely.”

---

After that, the guards started calling him **Moonbite**—a teasing nickname that spread through the lower court like wildfire. No one could decide what he was. He had the posture of a noble, the mind of a scholar, the hands of a thief—and the scent of nothing.

The only one who didn’t laugh was Jungwon.

Because he’d seen it: the crack in Sunoo’s expression just before he struck.
A flicker of something dangerous—caged, restless, waiting.

He didn’t comment.

But he began standing a little closer.

---

One morning, Sunoo sat in the royal archives, surrounded by books and scrolls. A ribbon marked his place in a heavy tome titled *Alphan Command Strategies in the Eastern Border Wars.* His fingers were ink-stained; his hair, damp from training.

That’s when Prince Jongseong walked in.

Sunoo didn’t notice at first. He was buried in a passage about failed diplomatic tactics when a warmth drifted through the air—smoke, sandalwood, rain-soaked earth.

Jongseong’s scent.

Sunoo’s muscles tensed instinctively. But he didn’t lift his head.

Jongseong stepped closer.

“…I’ve never seen you in court,” the prince said finally.

Sunoo turned a page. “I’ve been.”

“You don’t speak.”

“I observe.”

“You don’t smell.”

Sunoo’s eyes flicked up. “Neither do old books. Doesn’t mean they’re empty.”

The silence that followed was sharp as glass.

Jongseong studied him—measured, uncertain, curious.

“You’re General Kim’s son.”

“Adopted son,” Sunoo corrected softly.

Another pause.

“You fight like a guard. You read like a noble. You act like…” Jongseong trailed off.

“Like what?”

“Like someone trying not to be seen,” he murmured.

Sunoo smiled tightly and stood. “I suppose.”

He brushed past the prince, scent sealed tight.

Behind him, Jongseong turned back toward the shelves—but not before glancing over his shoulder, one last time.

---

Later that evening, as Sunoo walked the upper corridors with Jungwon, he finally asked:

“Is it always like this here? Everyone sniffing, guessing, circling each other like wolves?”

“Yes,” Jungwon replied. “But you don’t run. That makes you interesting.”

Sunoo looked up. “Or dangerous.”

Jungwon’s smile was faint. “The court doesn’t know what you are.”

“Neither do I,” Sunoo admitted. “But I know I don’t belong to anyone.”

“You will,” Jungwon murmured. “Someday.”

They stopped at the door to Sunoo’s quarters. He looked up, unreadable.

“I didn’t ask for a shadow.”

“I didn’t ask for a moon.”

Chapter Text

The stables were quieter than usual that afternoon. Heat hung heavy and sticky, making even the most restless horses doze in their stalls. Sunoo wandered down the aisles, hands folded behind his back, scarf loosely around his neck—not to hide his scent, but because it annoyed people when they couldn’t tell whether he was hiding it.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted.

Books couldn’t hold him today. The guard yard was too loud. The garden swarmed with courtiers whispering things they thought he couldn’t hear.

He just wanted to ride.

He approached a stall—a chestnut mare. She shifted, sniffed the air, then backed away with a low, uneasy snort.

The next did the same. And the third.

By the fifth, Sunoo stopped, frowning.
“…I don’t smell that bad,” he muttered.

From the far end of the stables came a snort. Not nervous. Not afraid. Sharp. Challenging.

Sunoo turned.

There she stood.

Jet black. Sleek, muscled, fire in her eyes. A purebred Arabian, tail flicking with attitude and elegance. She paced in her stall like she owned the place—because, by all accounts, she did.

Her name came to him: Maeryn. Sunghoon’s horse.

The untamable one. Two guards had ended up with broken arms trying to saddle her. Three more wouldn’t go near her. Even Jungwon kept a healthy distance.

Sunoo’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re pretty,” he said softly, stepping forward.

Maeryn’s head snapped up, ears pinned. She stomped once—warning.

He stopped just outside the gate.

She stared at him, flared her nostrils… and blinked.

He pulled his scarf down just enough for her to see him. Not a scent. Not a threat. Just still, quiet, empty.

Maeryn sniffed again.

And then, with a grunt, she trotted over.

Sunoo slowly unlatched the stall.

Jungwon, outside the stable wall, sprang upright. “Sunoo—”

Too late.

The stall door swung open.

Sunoo stepped inside.

No fight. No flare. Maeryn nudged her head gently against his shoulder.

---

Fifteen minutes later, he was riding bareback.

Wind in his hair. Arms loose. Eyes half-lidded with calm. Maeryn galloped across the training field like she’d been born to carry him. Guards stopped, mouths open. Stablehands pointed. Someone even dropped a bucket.

From a stone balcony above, Sunghoon leaned over the railing, eyes wide.

“She’s… letting him ride her?” he muttered to himself.

Jongseong walked up beside him, cup of tea in hand. “I thought she hated everyone but you.”

“She does.”

“She doesn’t hate him.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond, jaw tightening.

Below, Maeryn skidded to a clean stop. Sunoo hopped off effortlessly, patting her flank. She nuzzled him once, then walked calmly back to her stall—like nothing had happened.

---

Later that evening, as the sun sank low, Sunoo found someone waiting outside his door.

Sunghoon.

The prince stood with arms crossed, back straight, expression unreadable.

“Can I help you?” Sunoo asked lightly.

“What did you do to my horse?”

Sunoo blinked. “I rode her.”

“She’s dangerous.”

“So am I.”

Sunghoon stepped forward. “She doesn’t let anyone near her.”

Sunoo tilted his head. “Maybe she likes quiet.”

“You’re scentless.”

“Maybe she doesn’t care about scent.”

Sunghoon stared, caught off guard.

“Maeryn isn’t a possession,” Sunoo added, voice softening slightly. “She’s a creature. She chose. Maybe you should ask why.”

Sunghoon said nothing.

Sunoo smiled faintly. “Are you always this talkative, or did I break something sacred?”

“You’re strange.”

“You’re observant.”

Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“I grew up during war, Your Highness-" Sunoo spat. "-You’re just a boy with a crown and a sword.”

A tense silence.

Then Sunghoon turned sharply, muttering under his breath, and walked away.

Sunoo watched him go, then stepped into his room.

He didn’t notice Jungwon in the hallway corner, eyes hard, jaw clenched.

Chapter Text

The royal war chamber was rarely used outside times of crisis. Its stone walls were lined with banners from past victories, and the central table was shaped like the kingdom itself—a carved map of Aristama, complete with raised mountains and tiny golden figurines marking current troop positions.

Today, it was quiet.

Only three people were present.

King Park Minjoon.
Queen Seo Inhwa.
And General Kim Seokwoo.

“I hear,” the queen began, fingernails tapping slowly against the hilt of her goblet, “that Maeryn let your boy ride her.”

Seokwoo said nothing.

“She nearly killed her last handler,” the king added, tone lighter, but his gaze sharp. “And yet your son didn’t even flinch.”

“He’s not afraid of wild things,” the general said.

“Or Alphas, apparently,” the queen murmured. “Even the crown prince.”

“Which one?” Seokwoo asked calmly.

The queen’s smile was blade-thin. “Both.”

---

The king leaned forward, threading his fingers together.

“Let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s happening,” he said. “Since Sunoo’s arrival, the stables whisper. The guards whisper. Even my eldest son—who rarely takes interest in anything that isn’t sharp—is asking questions.”

“Your sons ask questions because they’re unsure of their footing,” Seokwoo replied. “And they don’t like being unsure.”

Queen Inhwa stood from her seat, walking slowly to the tall glass windows overlooking the eastern courtyard. Below, the guards trained, blades flashing in the late sun. A small figure, slight but quick, danced between two soldiers and disarmed them both.

“Is he doing it on purpose?” she asked. “Drawing attention? Keeping his scent hidden. Appearing when he wants. Making people talk.”

“He’s doing what I taught him,” the general said flatly. “To survive. To assess. To stay unnoticed—until he doesn’t want to be.”

“You trained him like a soldier,” the king murmured.

“No,” Seokwoo said. “I trained him like a target.”

The room went silent.

Queen Inhwa turned, eyes colder than ice.

“You brought an unbound, unmated Omega into the palace. Young. Unclaimed. Beautiful.”
She emphasized the last word like an accusation.

“You knew exactly what the court would do with that.”

“He’s not bait.”

“He doesn’t have to be,” the king said softly. “He’s already the spark.”

The queen returned to her seat. “People are watching him. So are the princes.”

Seokwoo didn’t flinch.

“We need to decide what role he plays in the coming weeks,” the king continued. “Before The Hunt begins.”

“Let him be,” Seokwoo said.

“Impossible,” the queen snapped. “He’s already changed the game.”

A pause.

Then the queen smiled again—softer, more dangerous.

“You said you trained him to survive, General. But can he survive a palace where even affection is a weapon?”

Seokwoo met her gaze. “He doesn’t need affection. He needs no one.”

The king exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. “Then you better pray he stays that way.”

“Because if he chooses someone,” the queen said quietly, “he’ll become a prize.”

“And a threat,” the king finished.

As General Kim turned to leave, the queen’s voice followed him.

“One more thing, Seokwoo.”

He paused.

“If your son ever decides to stop hiding his scent,” she said, voice like silk pulled tight over steel, “you’d better hope he chooses the right Alpha.”

Chapter Text

**The King and the Firstborn**

The king’s solar was quiet, save for the crackling fire in the hearth. Crown Prince Jongseong entered without knocking—he never needed to.

“Sit,” King Minjoon said, not looking up from the map spread across the table.

Jongseong obeyed, posture straight. The firelight danced across the sharp lines of his uniform, his calm, unreadable expression mirroring his father’s.

“You’ve heard the rumors about the Omega.”

“Yes,” Jongseong said without hesitation.

The king finally looked up, eyes sharp. “Do you believe them?”

“That he’s dangerous?” Jongseong leaned back slightly. “No. That he’s… different? Yes.”

King Minjoon studied him. “He interests you.”

“He interests everyone,” Jongseong replied. “But I’m not the one sniffing after him.”

“Not yet,” the king said quietly.

A silence fell.

Then Minjoon rose, walking slowly to the window. “You’re the elder twin. The firstborn. But your brother… he has your mother’s favor, her cunning, her tongue. You have my blood, Jongseong. Steel. Authority. Fire.”

“I’ve never forgotten that,” Jongseong said.

“Good. Because you’re not just fighting for a throne,” the king said. “You’re fighting to be the kind of king who keeps it.”

Jongseong’s brows furrowed. “And Sunoo?”

“Wild cards make excellent weapons,” Minjoon murmured. “Or distractions.”

“Do you want me to use him?”

The king’s eyes remained unreadable. “I want you to decide if he’s worth using.”

“And if he is?”

“Then make sure it’s you, not your brother, who reaches him first.”

---

#### **The Queen and Her Shadow**

Queen Seo Inhwa’s private garden smelled of roses, lavender, and the sharp, bitter tang of dominance. She sat beneath a white trellis, sipping tea from a black porcelain cup.

Sunghoon arrived precisely on time—stiff, quiet, like a blade sliding into its sheath.

“My son,” she greeted—not warmly, but intimately. “Sit.”

Sunghoon obeyed, folding his hands neatly in his lap.

“You’re watching the Omega,” she said.

“I’m watching everything.”

She smiled faintly. “That’s why I favor you.”

A pause. Birds chirped somewhere above.

“I don’t trust him,” Sunghoon admitted.

“You’re not meant to,” she replied. “You’re meant to observe. Study. Learn what he wants.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tensed. “He doesn’t act like an Omega. He doesn’t act like anything.”

“That’s what makes him dangerous,” the queen said. “And possibly useful.”

“I don’t want to use him.”

“Then you misunderstand the game.”

Sunghoon looked away.

The queen set down her cup. “You and your brother are two halves of the crown. He’s fire. You’re ice. He demands power. You hold it quietly. Which one does this kingdom fear more?”

“…Me.”

“Exactly.” She leaned forward. “Your father’s warhorse obeys the older twin. But the shadows of court, the secrets behind closed doors? They whisper your name.”

Sunghoon frowned. “If Sunoo is a threat—”

“Then tame him,” the queen whispered. “Or let your brother fall for him first, and tear him down when it matters.”

“I don’t want to play with someone’s life.”

“You don’t need to play, Sunghoon,” she said, standing. “You just need to win.”

———

Two twin brothers stood at opposite ends of the castle. Both had received their instructions. Both understood their place on the board.

And both, despite everything they had been told…
…found their thoughts drifting back to a boy with moonlight in his eyes, a knife in his hand, and no scent at all.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low over the castle training yard, casting long shadows on the stone. It was quiet—too hot for most guards to linger under the weight of armor and sweat. But Sunoo was already there.

He stood in the center of the ring, wearing a worn tank top and loose training pants, hair tied back, skin damp with effort.

He moved like a ghost through drills—knife, dodge, flip, strike. His hands were quick, clean, precise. No showmanship. No flourish. Just ruthless, practiced control.

But it wasn’t his skill that drew attention.

It was the scars.

Some were faint, whispers across his ribs. Others—deep gouges along his shoulders, collarbone, and the curve of his side—spoke of sharper things. Swords. Shrapnel. A life far harsher than anyone his age should have endured.

From a shaded overlook above the yard, Jongseong leaned silently on the railing.

“Did you know?” Sunghoon asked beside him, voice low.

Jongseong didn’t answer.

They both watched the boy who looked too ethereal to be hardened—and yet he cut through the air as if he’d bled on a thousand fields.

“He hides more than just his scent,” Sunghoon murmured.

Jongseong’s fingers twitched against the railing. “He’s not hiding. He’s surviving.”

---

Jungwon, stationed nearby, leaned against the fence, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Sunoo.

He’d seen these scars before. Helped treat some in the field. But watching the princes’ reactions… that was different.

He felt the shift in the air.

They weren’t curious anymore.

They were assessing a weapon.

---

Sunoo finished his final set and exhaled sharply, grabbing his towel from the rail. He didn’t turn toward the overlook—but he knew he was being watched.

“Is this part of the show?” he asked, calm but aware.

“Not everything’s about you,” Jongseong called down dryly.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sunoo muttered, dabbing sweat from his brow.

Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed. “Those scars… where are they from?”

Sunoo paused.

Then, slowly, he turned his head, meeting their gaze squarely.
“Some are from the last war. Others from the one before that. A few are from people who didn’t think I was worth saving.”

“And the rest?” Jongseong asked, eyes sharp.

A beat.

Sunoo shrugged. “Training. I was very… self-directed.”

Tense silence.

“Why hide it?” Sunghoon asked.

Sunoo smiled—not charming this time, but tired.
“Because no one likes being reminded that pretty things can bleed.”

---

Later, Jungwon approached while Sunoo rested under the awning.

“You shouldn’t have taken your shirt off,” Jungwon said quietly.

“I was hot,” Sunoo replied.

“They look at you differently now.”

“They already looked,” Sunoo’s voice was distant. “Now they see.”

Jungwon crouched beside him, eyes soft. He reached out, brushing a fading scar on Sunoo’s shoulder.

“You’re not alone either.”

Sunoo blinked slowly.

“…I know.”

Chapter Text

The royal garden breathed in moonlight.
Silver spilled over marble paths and the yellow and white heads of roses, each bloom trembling faintly in the warm breeze. The koi pond whispered against its stones. Farther off, the guards stood at their posts, shadows in the distance.

Sunghoon stood near a bed of yellow roses, their thorns gleaming faintly in the dark. He had always questioned his mother’s choice for these…

He didn’t look up when Jongseong arrived

“You’re late.”

“You’re impatient.” Jongseong sat, his coat whispering against the stone bench. “And you called me here.”

“I don’t like waiting.”

“I don’t like being summoned.”

A silence settled — deliberate as any move on a chessboard would be.

“You saw them,” Sunghoon said at last. “The scars.”

“Hard to miss,” Jongseong replied, lounging back, though his gaze was sharp.

“…He shouldn’t be that broken.”

“And yet,” Jongseong said, “he’s still here.”

Another pause. The air between them felt warmer than the night should allow.

“He’s not what I thought,” Sunghoon murmured.

“You thought he was soft.”

“He looked soft.”

“He still does,” Jongseong said. “But softness isn’t weakness. Sometimes it’s the cover for something sharper.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “He doesn’t belong here. Not court-bred. Not made for this world.”

“No,” Jongseong agreed. “But he’s surviving it better than most of us.”

“You think he’s dangerous?”

“…Yes. But only if someone gives him reason to be.”

Sunghoon’s fingers brushed a rose stem. He didn’t flinch when a thorn bit into his skin. “Mother thinks I should use him.”

“Father told me the same.”

They looked at each other then — same blood, same ambition, same quiet hunger.

“You’re not thinking of courting him, are you?”

A faint smirk. “Would it bother you if I was?”

“…No.” The twitch in Sunghoon’s brow said otherwise.

“You don’t even know what he is,” Jongseong said.

“Neither do you,” Sunghoon shot back. “But that hasn’t stopped you from watching.”

“I don’t watch.”

“You look at him like you’re solving a puzzle you don’t have all the pieces for.”

No answer. Only the ripple of koi and the faint scent of crushed rose leaves.

“If this were anyone else,” Jongseong said softly, “we wouldn’t care. But it’s him. And neither of us knows why.”

“Maybe,” Sunghoon said, “because he doesn’t want anything from us.”

“No bowing. No flinching. No pretending.” Jongseong’s gaze lifted to the moon. “It’s unsettling.”

“It’s refreshing,” Sunghoon countered.

They both paused — surprised by the agreement.

Jongseong rose first. “Whatever he is, he’s not just another pretty thing.”

“No,” Sunghoon said, pressing his bleeding fingertip to his palm. “He’s something else.”

“Let’s hope the court doesn’t find out what… before we do.”

———––-––———

From behind a curtain of ivy, Jungwon had heard everything.

He had followed out of instinct. But now his hand rested on his blade.

The princes thought Sunoo was a mystery to unravel.

They were wrong.

Sunoo wasn’t trying to survive the palace.
He was testing it — brick by brick, mask by mask.

Jungwon knew Sunoo wouldn’t simply choose who stood beside him. 

But who would bleed.

Chapter Text

It was during breakfast, with his father and the guards, when the king’s personal assistant, Heeseung, called out the list of those chosen to attend the ceremony in three moons.

General Seokwoo.
Jaeyun.
Other guards blending into the background.

And Sunoo.

He looked up from sharpening his knife—the jaded blade catching the lantern light.

Heeseung nodded, pausing at the entrance. “Your majesty expects all personnel on the list to attend, dressed in their finest garments.”

Then he left.

A hush followed—not reverence, but calculation.

Guards shifted, eyes flicking toward Sunoo with thinly veiled surprise. Jaeyun paused mid-chew, jaw tightening, slower now as if digesting more than food.

Seokwoo cleared his throat. “Ceremonies like this are formalities. Nothing more. A chance to… display allegiance.” His gaze landed squarely on Sunoo.

Sunoo sheathed his blade. “I wasn’t aware I had an allegiance to display.”

No one needed to answer. Everyone knew what this meant.

Not celebration. A showcase. Three moons and the palace would become a hunting ground: Alphas sniffing for power, Betas for position, rare Omegas for legacy. Where the scent of an unclaimed Omega was not just temptation—it was leverage.

And the palace had one. One who shouldn’t exist.

---

Later that night, Jungwon found him seated on the terrace roof, legs dangling over the edge, a half-peeled pear in his hand.

“You’re going to go,” Jungwon said.

It wasn’t a question.

Sunoo tilted his head to the moon. “Of course.”

“They’ll expect you to be scented.”

“I won’t be.”

“They’ll seek it anyway.”

Sunoo turned, expression unreadable in the silver light. “Let them.”

---

Three moons later… the morning of.

The palace moved like a living thing: servants darting through corridors with bolts of silk and silver-threaded coats, court florists bickering over bloom placement, guards snapping into tighter formation around the inner hall.

In the East Tower, where sunlight crept across stone floors, Sunoo sat before his mirror.

Not dressed. Garments hung untouched. Gloves, freshly oiled, rested beside boots. Everything was perfect—except for one thing.

A veil.

Delicate. Hand-stitched, laced with silverleaf patterns worn by unbound Omegas at royal events—a marker of autonomy, modesty, protection.

And tonight, he would not be allowed to wear it.

He had asked. Carefully. Once.

General Kim’s answer had been a single line:
*“The King and Queen have made their decision.”*

---

“You want to wear a veil?” General Kim had asked the night before, quiet, unreadable.
“It will only make you more visible.”

“It will make them hesitate,” Sunoo said. “If they think I belong to someone—”

“They’ll test the boundaries harder.”

Silence. Then—

“They’ll scent me.”

“They already are.”

---

Now, alone, Sunoo stared at the veil, feeling its absence like armor stripped from a soldier.

His scent—though still suppressed—was thinner today. He couldn’t fully contain it. Not with the anticipation, the blood thrumming through his veins.

He was being presented. Not as a threat. Not as a person. As a possibility.

Three taps. A knock.

Jungwon.

He entered slowly, scanning the untouched clothes, the discarded veil, the boy seated with bare feet and unreadable eyes.

“They’re waiting.”

“I know.”

“They sent extra guards.”

“I noticed.”

Jungwon moved behind him, picking up the veil. Weightless in his hands.

“You wanted this.”

Sunoo nodded once.

“You could still wear it.”

“They would punish me.”

Jungwon said nothing. He placed the veil down, reaching instead for the robe. “Then wear this like armor,” he murmured. “And remind them what kind of war you are.”

---

The palace had never glowed like this before.

Glass lanterns floated like stars over the eastern courtyard, golden light across marble and silk-draped archways. Music thrummed—strings and wind, sweet and sharp as spun sugar. Nobles spilled into the garden, dripping in velvet and jewels, laughter bright, hollow, pointed.

At the center: the ballroom.

A stage. Not for music. For scent. For show. For power.

---

Guests arrived in waves. Alphas in tailored midnight suits, rare metal pins glinting. Betas cloaked in court colors, movements crisp and poised. Omegas, rare and cloistered, drifted like petals. All scented. On display.

At the far end, the twin princes. Jongseong in obsidian black, sharp and regal. Sunghoon in icy silver, unreadable. Neither smiled, neither spoke. Both scanning. Waiting.

And when he entered… the room tilted.

Sunoo: no crown, no crest. Clothes simple, deep navy, tailored within an inch of silence. Not flashy. Not rich. Devastating.

Scarf gone.

No scent. Just absence. A hollow echo in a room full of noise.

Whispers followed him. Alphas flinched, Omegas stared, Betas paused. No one knew what to do with the void in their midst.

Jungwon followed, distant, eyes sharp. Sword not ceremonial. Never leaving Sunoo’s back.

From the dais, Queen Inhwa tilted her head, lips pursed. “Bold,” she murmured.

The king said nothing. Studied.

Jongseong stepped down first. Sunghoon beside him. Opposite sides. They walked toward the center.

Sunoo didn’t flinch.

“You’re late,” Jongseong said softly.

“I was deciding whether to show up.”

“You’re causing a stir.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Sunoo replied. “That’s what bothers them.”

“You look different.”

“I’m not.”

“No,” the prince murmured. “Just revealed.”

Sunoo’s gaze drifted to Sunghoon across the room. Their eyes met. Silver jaw tight, but unyielding.

Jongseong noticed.

“Have you danced yet?”

“Have you?”

“No.” Slow smile. “I can lead.”

“I don’t follow,” Sunoo said, a hint of amusement.

“Then let’s walk.”

He offered a hand—not dominance. Not possession. Invitation.

Sunoo took it.

---

They stayed near the outer ring. Steps slow, smooth, unsynchronized. A conversation more than a dance.

“Everyone’s watching,” Jongseong murmured.

“I know.”

“They think I’ve claimed you.”

“Have you?”

“No. But I thought about it.”

Sunoo stayed close.

“They’d make you a crown.”

“I don’t want a crown.”

“Then what do you want?”

Jongseong stopped. Sunoo looked up. Music shifted—strings quickened. Alphas spun Omegas, Betas cut through pairs. Laughter rose like tension.

Sunghoon stepped in, eyes locked on Sunoo.

“May I?”

Jongseong stepped aside.

Sunoo hesitated. Then, slowly, took his hand.

The rhythm sharper. The prince’s hold firmer. Eyes harder to read.

“You let him dance with you.”

“I did. You asked.”

“I don’t ask often.”

“I noticed.”

They turned once, twice, pivoting like a slow storm.

“You smell like nothing,” Sunghoon muttered. “And yet I keep looking.”

“You’re not used to the unknown.”

“I hate it.”

“Then stop staring,” Sunoo said.

The prince stopped. Dead center. Eyes all around.

“You want power?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

A beat.

“Choice,” Sunoo said. Simple. Clean. Dangerous.

The room stilled—not for the word, but the moment after.

Sunoo exhaled. And for the first time, control slipped.

…his scent unfurled.

Not fully. Just a breath. Soft. Lunar. Wild. Cool as night air. Sharp as memory.

And then—it vanished.

Gone. But unforgettable.

Not nobles. Not the Queen. Not the King. Not the princes. Not Jungwon. Especially Jungwon. He’d smelled it before. Once. On a battlefield. The scent of something rare. Ancient.

---

From the balcony, Queen Inhwa leaned forward, knuckles white. “Well,” she whispered, breathless. “He just declared war.”

Sunoo scanned the room—not in panic, but for a way out.

He caught Jungwon’s glance. A nod barely given.

Jungwon “accidentally” bumped a Beta noble. A glass shattered. Heads turned.

Sunoo slipped into the background—simple stable boy, low-class, unmated Alpha. Away from prying eyes. Away from princes.

Chapter Text

Sunoo nursed his half-filled glass of champagne.
His scent had faded over the evening—overshadowed, forgotten. Perfect.

Until a new scent reached him: mint, with faint notes of sea grass. Clearly alpha, young, inexperienced—someone recently ascended to his status.

Sunoo turned to locate the source. There he was: a lanky alpha wearing the sigil of Yagitsuk, a foreign kingdom. Highborn, unmistakably.

Against his usual caution, Sunoo approached, curious to gauge the alpha’s stance in the court.

“I am General Seokwoo’s son. Kim Sunoo,” he said with a slight bow.

The alpha turned. “Nishimura Riki.” Bowing in return. Sunoo blinked. The heir to Yagitsuk.

Jungwon appeared from where he had slipped away earlier, standing at Sunoo’s side. “Good evening, Crown Prince Riki.” He straightened. “Hi, Sunoo.”

Sunoo offered a faint smile. Riki froze, a blush creeping over his cheeks.

“Nice… to meet you,” Riki said, snapping out of his momentary daze. “And you are?”

“Yang Jungwon,” came the quiet reply.

Riki frowned. He had never noticed this boy before—not a courtier, not a servant. And yet… something about him drew Riki’s gaze like a lodestar. When their eyes met, he knew, utterly, that this one was true.

“Ah…” Jungwon noticed the confusion. “I’m not of noble blood. Just a stable boy, your highness.”

“Really?” The words slipped before he could stop them. He covered his mouth, embarrassed. “I… you seem so…” Perfect wasn’t the word. Too soft. Too dangerous. Close enough to terrify.

Jungwon chuckled lightly. “I know, I don’t seem like a stereotypical worker.”

Riki flushed deeper, and Sunoo decided it was best to leave them there, walking toward the champagne dispenser, a small smile tugging at his lips.

---

At the dispenser, Sunoo spotted a fidgety Jongseong. The eldest prince was clearly upset—something that confused him.

“Prince Jongseong,” Sunoo greeted. Jongseong’s head snapped toward him.

“Sunoo, thank the moon goddess.” He hurried forward, voice tight.

Sunoo tilted his head. “Is everything… okay?”

“Listen, I know this seems sudden—because we’ve never interacted, and you’ve just arrived—but… for the final dance, I wanted to ask Heeseung to dance with me. And I don’t know how.”

Sunoo blinked. *What?*

Heeseung: the king’s personal assistant. His father’s closest aide.

“When?” Sunoo asked, incredulous.

“Since I was seventeen.” Jongseong’s blush spread across his ears.

“Five years?!” Sunoo gasped. “And you never tried—no gift, no word?”

“I thought about it,” Jongseong said. “But he’s always been asked by other alphas. He rejected each one, so I thought I should give up. But he’s never worn a veil, never shown disinterest. Just those before me.”

Sunoo chuckled. The prince’s blush deepened.

“So you want to try now. Five years later.”

Jongseong exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’d ask my brother, but he’d just say, ‘You’re overthinking it.’ Not helpful.”

“Then be bold,” Sunoo said with a shrug. “Go up to him and ask for the dance—like you did for me.”

“But that’s different—” Jongseong sputtered.

“How so?”

“Heeseung isn’t just anyone. He’s my father’s advisor. Composed. I don’t know if he’d say yes—or even want to.”

Sunoo’s eyes glinted. “Then it’s easier. Composed people wait for someone bold enough to break the ice.”

Jongseong groaned. “Bold is not my style.”

“Yet.” Sunoo tapped his nose. “But you’re here now. You asked me to dance, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And it went well.”

“Surprisingly well.”

“See? Be honest. Ask. Even just show you want to try. Better than worrying five years.”

Jongseong smiled, relieved. “Thanks, Sunoo. I might just do it.”

---

The ballroom’s golden light seemed heavier as Jongseong approached Heeseung.

The king’s personal assistant stood near a pillar, calm, eyes scanning the crowd but appearing unaware of the prince.

“Heeseung,” Jongseong said, voice trembling yet determined.

Heeseung turned, surprised, then smiled politely. “Your Highness.”

“May I… have this dance?”

A murmur rippled through the nearby courtiers.

Heeseung blinked, then bowed deeply, warmth flickering at the corner of his lips. “Of course, Your Highness.”

As they moved to the dance floor, all eyes shifted to the king on the dais. Lips tight, gaze sharp.

Jongseong’s hands found Heeseung’s—tentative at first, then steady. The music swelled. Heeseung moved gracefully, light on his feet. Tension softened into unexpected ease.

Above, the king’s glare darkened.

The queen’s lips curved into a faint, cruel smile, eyes cold.

“Well,” she murmured, voice like silk over steel, “even a prince can choose a folly to entertain.”

Jongseong’s face remained steady, though his grip on Heeseung tightened ever so slightly.

The king said nothing. Silence itself cut sharper than any rebuke. This dance—this choice—was transgression. Defiance.

---

As the final notes faded, Heeseung bowed lightly, a quiet smile at the corner of his lips. Without a word, he slipped from Jongseong’s grasp, melting into the shadows near the velvet curtains.

Courtiers glanced, whispered, but no one moved. They knew better than to chase the king’s personal assistant.

Jongseong’s gaze lingered, admiration and concern tightening in his chest. The queen’s eyes flicked once more, then away.

The king, seated, stared ahead, simmering beneath his composed facade.

In the darkness at the ballroom’s edge, Heeseung paused, fingers brushing the silk curtain, eyes sharp and calculating.

The game was far from over.

Chapter Text

Jongseong’s eyes flicked toward the shadows where Heeseung had disappeared, then landed on Sunghoon standing alone near the marble pillars. His silver cloak caught the lantern light like cold flame, every movement deliberate, controlled.

Taking a steadying breath, Jongseong wove through the crowd of whispering nobles, their gossiping tones fading into background noise as he approached.

When he reached Sunghoon, the prince turned, expression guarded but curious.

“You danced well,” Jongseong said quietly, voice low enough to escape the ears around them.

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You asked for advice. I’m here to hold you to it.”

Jongseong chuckled softly, tension still clinging to his shoulders. “I’m not sure if I was wise.”

Sunghoon’s eyes gleamed. “Wise isn’t always what the court needs.”

For a moment, the two brothers stood side by side—an unspoken alliance forming in the glow of the ballroom.

Then Jongseong’s gaze flickered back to the shadows where Heeseung had vanished.

“Heeseung won’t stay hidden for long,” he murmured.

Sunghoon nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Nor will the king’s wrath.”

---

Jongseong lingered, the music and chatter fading to a dull hum.

“I didn’t expect you to care,” Jongseong said, voice low, almost vulnerable.

Sunghoon shrugged, eyes steady. “I’m not as cold as you think.”

Jongseong smirked. “That’s… comforting.”

“But you should know,” Sunghoon added, “I’ll be telling Mother.”

Jongseong froze. “You won’t.”

“She already suspects. This will only confirm it.”

Jongseong’s brow furrowed. “She’ll be pleased?”

Sunghoon’s smile was thin, calculating. “More than pleased. She sees this as an opportunity. If you falter, I take the throne.”

Jongseong’s eyes darkened. “She’s playing a dangerous game.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Court games always are.”

“But she underestimates you,” Jongseong said softly.

“Maybe,” Sunghoon said, “but that means we both have to be careful.”

They exchanged a look—a silent pact amidst the glittering threat of the ballroom, a promise that neither misstep would be tolerated, and yet… that trust, fragile as it was, might be enough.

Chapter Text

The music had long since faded, but the palace had not quieted.

Sunoo leaned against the upper gallery railing of the western ballroom wing, partially hidden behind a velvet curtain. Below, the grand hall had thinned of nobles, but whispers lingered like smoke from a dying flame.

He wasn’t meant to be there. He never was. But from above, he could see everything—and that suited him. His role was never central, and he liked it that way.

Across the hall, near the arched exit to the east courtyard, two figures moved in shadow. At first glance, they seemed ordinary: late-night courtiers exchanging gossip or trivial intimacies. But Sunoo knew better.

The foreign prince and the stable boy.

Riki’s head bent slightly, one gloved hand hovering near Jungwon’s chest, but not quite touching. Jungwon’s face remained unreadable, stance anchored, unyielding—as though he no longer cared who saw.

Sunoo narrowed his eyes—not judgment, but calculation. He’d seen courtships ruin kingdoms before. This wasn’t one yet, but it had the scent of danger. And Sunoo had always been good at sensing storms before they broke.

---

Sunlight filtered through sheer ivory curtains in Queen Inhwa’s private chambers, laying gold across ornate tiles. Unlike the rest of the palace, her quarters were quiet, untouched by last night’s scandal.

She sat by the tall window in a night-robe of ash silk, hair pinned in a single coil atop her head. Sleep hadn’t dared disturb her elegance.

The door creaked softly as Sunghoon entered.

“Mother,” he said, bowing.

“You’re late,” she replied, voice mild but measured. “I expected you an hour ago.”

“I wanted to be sure,” he said simply.

She turned slightly, eyes still on the view—gardens, fountains, courtiers like ants below. “And?”

Sunghoon stepped closer, voice steady. “Jongseong danced with Lee Heeseung last night. In full view of the court.”

Queen Inhwa smiled, but not warmly. Precise, deliberate. “He finally acted, then.”

“You knew?”

“I suspected. You confirmed.”

Sunghoon said nothing.

She rose gracefully and crossed to a low table. Her tea had gone cold, untouched. “The king will be furious.”

“He already is.”

Inhwa’s smile deepened. “Good. Let him fume. Let the court whisper.”

She faced Sunghoon, gaze sharp despite the soft morning light. “You’ve always been the better fit for the crown.”

“Father doesn’t think so,” he said, voice neutral.

“Your father was a romantic fool once. He believed the eldest, the golden son, would save his line.”

“And now?”

“Now he will learn the weight of consequence.”

Sunghoon said nothing.

She stepped closer, hand resting lightly on his arm. “I never wanted the throne for myself, Sunghoon. But I want it for you. You are not distracted by love or idealism. You understand control. Balance. You won’t embarrass the bloodline.”

He clenched his jaw. “He’s still my brother.”

“He is,” she agreed. “But so were all the men who died to make kings. Don’t be sentimental.”

Sunghoon remained still.

“He’s stepped off the path,” Inhwa said. “We will guide him to stay off it.”

---

Sunoo leaned against the outer railing of the courtyard walk. Below, the stables were already busy, but one figure stood out: Riki, now stripped of his formal cloak, walking in soft layers meant for ease, not diplomacy.

Jungwon joined him moments later, leading two horses by their reins. Their glance was brief but telling.

So it wasn’t just a moment. Sunoo thought. It was starting.

The veil between position and desire was thin in this palace—and some were already tearing through it.

He pushed off the railing, hands in his coat pockets, turning away. People to warn. Or maybe just watch. The court was beginning to fracture. And Sunoo had no intention of standing beneath it when it fell.

---

It began as a parade.

One by one, Queen Inhwa’s hand-selected suitors arrived: omegas of noble birth, carefully chosen for lineage, beauty, and temperament.

“Only the most agreeable,” she had said. “You deserve nothing less than serenity in your future house.”

Sunghoon had said nothing. Not when she was certain she was winning. Privately, he set his own condition: he would meet each of them at the stables. If they couldn’t manage his horse, they couldn’t manage him.

---

**Candidate One: Princess Yula of Barelund**

White satin, diamonds, smiling like she owned the world.

Sunghoon led her to Maeryn—his black mare, tall, regal, and unyielding.

“She’s… larger than I expected,” Yula said, hesitating.

“She dislikes pretense,” he said. “Come closer.”

Maeryn reared, snorting directly in Yula’s face. The princess shrieked and stumbled back into Sunghoon’s chest. He did not flinch.

“She smells of sugar and oil,” he murmured. “Maeryn hates both.”

---

**Candidate Four: Prince Taehyun of the Southern Coast**

Delicate-featured and quiet. Bowed deeply. Complimented Maeryn’s coat. Recited poems—none mentioning war, history, or duty.

Sunghoon offered a bland smile. Maeryn bit Taehyun’s sleeve before the fourth verse could finish.

---

**Candidate Seven: Princess Myari of Sylvon**

She tried commanding Maeryn with perfect posture. The mare turned her back. Sunghoon did not intervene. He handed her reins to the steward and walked off.

---

Over days, the pattern persisted. No suitor held Sunghoon’s attention for more than ten minutes. All were beautiful, soft-spoken, obedient—but none questioned. None challenged. None burned with the spark he demanded. They were air: fragrant, weightless, impossible to hold.

---

That evening, Sunghoon sat across from the unswept saddle, tunic undone at the throat, hair damp from his ride. His mind was restless. He had tried, endured, smiled, tolerated—but a hollow gnawed at him.

Sunoo.

He whispered the name silently, as if it were poison. Not hatred—just obsession.

The memory of Sunoo’s first week replayed: unimpressed, unintimidated, listening more than speaking. Watching him, as though Sunghoon himself were the puzzle.

He exhaled sharply. “No,” he muttered. Sunoo would not undo him. Not now. Not ever.

---

Sunoo sat on the upper courtyard ledge, elbows on the stone railing. Below, another suitor failed at the stables, flanked by servants as Maeryn sniffed disapproval. Sunghoon turned away, silent, unmoved.

Still, Sunoo smiled.

He never admitted it—but he enjoyed watching Sunghoon. Not the title, not the throne. The fire under the ice.

“He’ll never admit it,” Sunoo murmured. “Especially not if it’s me.”

And somehow, that was exactly how it should be.

Chapter Text

The training grounds were mostly empty, save for the clang of steel and the muted thud of fists on dummies. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the sand.

Sunoo stepped into the ring, shrugging off his coat and tossing it onto the bench. The sleeveless shirt clung with sweat; scars traced uneven paths down his arms and back. Some were shallow, some deep, some layered like stories unfinished. He didn’t hide them—and he didn’t explain them.

Jaeyun was stretching, practice blade in hand. He looked up. “You’re late.”

Sunoo raised a brow. “You’re early.”

“That’s new,” Jaeyun muttered, stepping into stance.

Their first strikes were measured, rhythmic, neither aggressive nor cautious—just familiar. Sunoo moved like water, deliberate and clean. Jaeyun pressed harder, seeking an opening.

“You’ve been in a mood lately,” Jaeyun said, blade clashing against his.

“I’m always in a mood,” Sunoo replied, twisting the strike away.

“You’re just more honest about it now.”

A smirk flickered across Sunoo’s mouth as he pivoted, ducking under Jaeyun’s arm and tapping the flat of his blade against his ribs.

“Sloppy.”

“Distracted,” Jaeyun corrected. “You’ve been watching Sunghoon again.”

Sunoo paused. Half a breath, just enough to acknowledge the truth.

“Only when he makes a fool of himself.”

Jaeyun hummed, circling back into position. They fought in silence after that—charged, not tense. Every swing, every clash, every breath in sync.

Later, leaning on their blades, catching their breath, Sunoo glanced toward the stables.

“Maeryn likes me more than half this court,” he said.

Jaeyun grinned. “You say that like it’s impressive. That horse hates everyone.”

“Exactly.” Sunoo bent for his coat. “She has taste.”

---

Jaeyun dropped onto the bench with a groan. “I’m getting old.”

“You’re twenty-three.”

“Exactly.” He patted the space beside him. “Come sit, you brooding tree.”

Sunoo gave a look but settled beside him. The breeze was warm against his skin; he didn’t bother putting his coat back on.

“You don’t talk much anymore,” Jaeyun finally said.

“I never have,” Sunoo replied.

“Fair. But lately, it feels like you’re holding back. Waiting for the palace to fall in on itself.”

Sunoo traced the clouds with his gaze. “Maybe I am.”

“Do I need to be worried?”

“No.”

“…Does anyone need to be?”

Sunoo’s eyes met his, unreadable but not cold. “Not yet.”

Jaeyun nodded quietly. “You’re not alone, even if it feels that way.”

Sunoo exhaled. “I’m not trying to be cryptic.”

“You’re closed off.”

“I’ve always been.”

“Yeah, and it’s exhausting. You’re allowed to talk about things that aren’t strategy, stables, or which noble’s head is furthest up their own ass.”

Sunoo chuckled faintly. “Not sure that list has an end.”

“Start smaller. What’s on your mind?”

Sunoo was silent for a long moment. Then: “I don’t trust this place.”

Jaeyun deadpanned, “I’m shocked.”

“I mean… I don’t trust what it’s doing to me.”

“And what’s it doing?”

Sunoo flexed his fingers against the bench. “It’s making me care. About people I shouldn’t.”

“Is that so bad?”

A small, tired smile. “I haven’t decided yet.”

---

Queen Inhwa snapped her fan shut. “He dismissed them all?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lady Hamyul replied. “By midafternoon, none were deemed… compatible.”

The Queen’s lips thinned. “Five noble omegas. Two foreign heirs. A prince trained in six languages. And my son sends them away like children at the wrong door.”

“Perhaps he seeks something different,” Hamyul suggested.

“Different?” Inhwa hissed. “Someone less… delicate. More spirited. An omega with fire is dangerous.”

“Not if it burns for the right cause,” Hamyul said.

Inhwa’s gaze narrowed. “No one Sunghoon has met inspires that fire. Which means…”

Her eyes fixed on the family portrait. “Find out who he’s been watching. Who he’s not rejecting.”

Hamyul bowed. “At once, Your Majesty.”

Inhwa returned to the window. She had played this game too long to lose now. If her son wouldn’t take the crown… she would place it on his head herself.

---

Sunoo walked behind the training grounds, jacket loose, the heat of sparring lingering on his skin. The stable loomed, ivy-draped, half-shadowed. Horses whinnied softly.

Jungwon perched on a crate by Maeryn’s stall. “You’re late,” he called, tossing an apple.

Sunoo caught it. “You said midday. It’s barely past.”

“Midday,” Jungwon said, smirking, “meaning ten minutes early.”

Sunoo leaned against the gate. Maeryn nudged him softly. “You missed me, huh?”

“She likes you,” Jungwon said. “Still won’t let me braid her mane.”

“She lets you feed her,” Sunoo countered.

“Only if I don’t look her in the eye.”

Sunoo chuckled. “So. You said it was important.”

“It’s Riki,” Jungwon said finally. “He asked to see me alone again.”

“And?” Sunoo asked.

“I said yes. I think I might really like him.”

Sunoo studied him, then nudged him gently. “Then see him. Just be careful. The court feeds on fear—but not on something real.”

---

Later, the stable emptied. Sunoo brushed Maeryn, braid after braid, her tail swaying lazily.

“You like being pampered,” he murmured. “But only on your terms.”

Her ear flicked back. *Don’t we all?*

He finished the final braid, smoothing her forelock. “I’ll ride you into the mountains again. Just us. No balls. No silk.”

---

The stable doors creaked. Sunghoon entered—boots crunching, silver hair tied back, dark jacket. Less a prince today, more a soldier returning home.

He froze. Sunoo. Braid swinging over one shoulder, sleeves rolled, hands deft on Maeryn. She stood calm beneath his touch, tail swishing.

“You braid her like you’ve done it before,” Sunghoon said, voice cool.

“I have,” Sunoo replied, calm and unreadable.

Sunghoon reached for Maeryn. “I was going to handle her myself.”

“She was restless,” Sunoo said. “Didn’t seem fair to leave her waiting.”

A tense silence. Then Sunoo stepped back—not submission, but careful respect. “She’s ready for you now.”

Sunghoon blocked his path, just slightly. “You enjoy watching others fail. You smile like it’s a private joke.”

“Maybe it is.”

“I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

“I don’t leave horses anxious.”

Close now. Not touching. Sunghoon noticed the faint scar under Sunoo’s collarbone. Barely visible. But he noticed.

“You don’t like your mother’s omegas because they don’t fight back.”

“You’re not like them.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

Sunoo brushed past, steps unhurried. “I’m not theirs to win.”

Maeryn snorted behind him, stamping once. Sunghoon exhaled, hands on her bridle.

And something inside him tightened. He didn’t know if he wanted it to stay that way—or to change.

Chapter Text

The war room was dark, lit only by two lanterns and the low fire crackling in the hearth. Maps were spread across the oak table, pins scattered like stars. But tonight, no campaign was being drawn.

The king stood at the head of the table, hands pressed flat against the continent’s map, though his eyes saw nothing of it. Rage was coiled tight in his jaw, a rein on a wild horse.

Queen Inhwa arrived late, as always. She swept in silently, robes trailing like frost. No greeting. No bow. She never did.

“You summoned me,” she said, moving to the far end of the table.

He didn’t look up. “You saw them dance.”

“I did.”

“And?”

Her gaze sharpened. “You’re angry. Predictably.”

“He’s his father’s secretary. A servant, Inhwa.”

“Heeseung,” she corrected, calmly. “Has more influence than most of your council.”

The king’s eyes snapped up. “That boy will ruin everything.”

Inhwa smiled faintly. “Only if you let him.”

“If Jongseong pursues him, he forfeits his claim. You know that.”

“Then perhaps you should have chosen a different favorite,” she said smoothly. “It was always short-sighted to name Jongseong heir when his heart is so… soft.”

“You would have me name Sunghoon instead?” he asked, incredulous.

She said nothing. She didn’t need to.

The king stepped back from the table. “Sunghoon is dangerous.”

“Good.” Her eyes gleamed. “He’ll need to be.”

“You’d hand him the crown over your firstborn?”

“Over your firstborn,” she said quietly.

He stared at her. “I should have married someone less cunning.”

“You should have married someone less disappointed.”

The room went cold. Silence stretched, sharp as a blade, broken only by the fire’s quiet pop.

Finally: “If Jongseong goes through with this—if he offers Heeseung a gift after the Hunt—he will be stripped of title and inheritance.”

“And if he doesn’t?” she asked.

“He’ll still live under a father who knows he was willing to give it all up—for a man like that.”

Inhwa stepped closer to the map, slender fingers on the capital’s marker. “Then make your move. Call him in. Warn Heeseung. We both know what comes next.”

The king turned away. Jaw clenched. He said nothing. Because they both knew she was right.

---

The summons came just after the courtyard bells rang for second meal.

A royal guard found Heeseung outside the council chambers, bowed stiffly. “His Majesty would like a word. Now.”

Heeseung didn’t flinch. Bowing, he replied calmly, “Of course.”

As he followed the guard through the marble corridors, a cold coil slid down his spine. Not the first private summons—but never after something like the ball.

The heavy doors opened with a groan. Inside, the king stood by the window, crown absent, presence intact. Silence thickened like smoke.

“Your Majesty,” Heeseung said, bowing low.

No response.

Then: “You’ve been with me how many years?”

“Ten, Your Majesty.”

“And I’ve trusted you all this time?”

“You have.”

“I welcomed you into this court, my inner circle. I gave you a place—one most betas only dream of.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And this is how you repay me?” His voice didn’t rise; the weight in it was worse than shouting. “Dancing with my son—my heir—in front of the court like some… suitor from a second-rate house.”

Heeseung remained still. “It was only a dance.”

“You know what they’re saying. That you’ve been courting him. Manipulating him. Seducing him.”

“I haven’t—”

“I don’t care!” the king barked. “Do you understand? I don’t care whether it’s true.”

Heeseung fell silent.

The king stepped closer. “You forget your place. You are not royal. Not noble. You serve at my pleasure.”

“I never forgot.”

“Then act like it.”

Tension drew a blade-thin line between them.

“You will keep your distance from Prince Jongseong. No dances, no conversations without a court member present.”

Heeseung said nothing.

“If I hear a whisper—any whisper—of impropriety again, you won’t just lose your position. You’ll leave in disgrace. Do you understand?”

A long pause. Then Heeseung bowed—deeply, perfectly.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The king turned back to the window. Conversation dismissed like ash.

Heeseung left, expression calm—but inside, something had cracked. Not fear. Fury. Heartbreak.

---

Before sunrise, the palace grounds rang with steel and hooves.

The Hunt was days away, yet preparations were meticulous: tents raised at the forest edge, wagons inventoried, hounds tested, steeds run through drills until flanks steamed.

At the center stood General Seokwoo. Unflinching. Immaculate. Dark uniform, fur-lined cloak, gold insignia gleaming like fresh blood.

He didn’t raise his voice. His authority carried. “Perimeter established at dawn on day two. No one goes beyond the riverbend. Any Alpha who breaks formation will be disqualified—or worse.”

Eyes swept over the young nobles, second sons, minor heirs, and the crown princes.

Sunghoon stood silent. Jongseong adjusted his mount, never looking at their father. General Seokwoo seemed unconcerned.

He addressed the scribes. “Double the arrows. Last year three came back empty-handed. Overconfidence kills.”

Sunoo watched from the armory tent, arms crossed. Respect, not distance—Seokwoo commanded here. Not Sunghoon’s father. Their eyes met. A small nod: You’re ready.

Sunoo turned to the blades, fingers tracing the spine of a hunting knife.

Younger alphas boasted loudly. “A dire elk!”
“No, white tusk by the eastern ridge!”

Sunoo exhaled, unimpressed. Half would return with a rabbit, someone else having taken the real prize.

Sunghoon approached. “He’s not hunting this year.”

Sunoo shook his head. “Not unmated. Doesn’t make sense to claim a prize you wouldn’t offer.”

“That never stopped half of them,” Sunghoon said, eyes flicking to the forest.

“No. But my father’s not them.”

General Seokwoo raised his voice again. “All court-eligible alphas assemble at first light tomorrow. Targets will be recorded. The gods do not bless liars.”

Sunghoon flexed his jaw and turned. Sunoo didn’t miss the tension in his posture—or the way Jongseong stared toward the treeline, chasing more than prey.

Chapter Text

Sunghoon had a problem.
This was the year they expected both princes to find a noble omega to court and mate with. In his opinion, no one could say he wasn’t trying — because he was. Constantly putting up with entitled or just plain boring royals with no personality or goals in life should count for something, at least.

If Sunghoon weren’t a prince, the pressure to find a mate and produce an heir wouldn’t be looming over him like a ghost that never stopped whispering.

He adjusted the clasp of his cloak, silver threads catching morning light as the palace courtyard stirred to life. It was the day of *The Hunt* — the sacred tradition that Aristama had kept for centuries.

Every unmated Alpha of noble blood would ride into the forests beyond the kingdom walls, where they would hunt for a week and bring back the most powerful kill they could. From its remains, they would craft a courting gift — something to offer the one they desired at the ball that followed.

In theory, it was about strength and skill.
In truth, it was about dominance, pride, and politics.

Sunghoon looked across the courtyard to where Jongseong stood beside his horse, head bowed slightly as the King fastened a ceremonial crest to his saddle. The King’s voice was a low murmur, words meant for his heir alone.

At the other end of the courtyard, the Queen’s eyes followed Sunghoon — proud, possessive, and sharp as glass.

Sunghoon forced himself to smile, the trained smile that belonged to her son, not himself.

The Hunt was supposed to prove worthiness. To the King, to the gods, to the people. But Sunghoon knew it was really a test — a chance for both princes to show who would bend, and who would bleed.

———––-––———

The horns sounded.

A ripple of sound rolled through the courtyard as the gates opened, and the alphas — both native and visiting — rode out beneath banners of gold and crimson.

Jongseong led near the front, the morning mist curling around him like smoke. General Seokwoo rode ahead, his presence commanding even the most arrogant of nobles to silence.

The Hunt had begun.

———––-––———

Back at the castle, the silence that followed was almost eerie.

Heeseung watched from the upper balcony as the riders vanished into the distance. The courtyard felt larger without them, emptier.

He should have been relieved. As a Beta, he was not expected — nor permitted — to ride with the Alphas. But something in him twisted at the sight of Jongseong disappearing into the forest mist.

He didn’t know if it was fear, or something far more dangerous.

Queen Inhwa’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You look troubled, Heeseung.”

He turned, bowing his head. “Only thoughtful, Your Majesty.”

“Thoughtfulness doesn’t suit everyone,” she said lightly, stepping closer. “Some wear it like armor. Others like a wound.”

Heeseung said nothing.

The Queen smiled. “Tell me — do you believe fortune favors the brave, or the obedient?”

He looked up, meeting her eyes. “Neither, Your Majesty. I think fortune favors the survivor.”

Her smile sharpened, approval and menace intertwined. “Then you’ll do well in this court.”

———––-––———

The forest swallowed the riders whole.

Branches creaked overhead, the scent of pine and damp earth thick in the air. Sunghoon rode in silence beside General Seokwoo’s men, his bow strapped across his back.

No one spoke much after the first few hours — the woods demanded silence, demanded respect. Aristama’s traditions said the gods watched from the shadows here, waiting to judge.

And for once, Sunghoon believed it.

A glimmer of movement caught his eye — the flick of a tail between the trees. Too large for a deer. Too graceful for a boar.

The murmurs began to ripple through the hunting party.

“The tiger,” someone whispered.

———––-––———

*The tiger of Aristama — the sacred beast, the forest’s guardian, the omen of balance.*

*It was said that when the gods still walked among men, they took the form of a white tiger to judge the worth of kings. To see it was a blessing. To harm it was a curse.*

———––-––———

The animal stepped into the clearing — pale fur gleaming gold beneath the sunlight. Its gaze was ancient, unflinching.

Every Alpha bowed their head. Even the horses seemed to still.

Until one didn’t.

A young Alpha from the southern houses raised his bow, arrogance shining in his eyes. “A kill like that,” he murmured, “would make me immortal.”

“Don’t,” Sunghoon hissed.

But the arrow flew before anyone could stop him.

It struck the tiger’s shoulder — not deep, but enough. The sacred beast roared, a sound that shook the air, and vanished into the trees.

The silence that followed was worse than any scream.

General Seokwoo’s face was carved from stone. “We return,” he said. “Now.”

———––-––———

At that exact moment, back in the castle, Sunoo gasped — his hands clutching at the edge of the table as the pain hit.

Jaeyun rushed to his side. “Sunoo—”

“I’m fine,” he tried to say, but the lie fell apart on his tongue. The heat built behind his ribs, his scent thickening in the air despite the suppressants.

He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth, fighting the wave of dizziness.

Jaeyun’s voice steadied him, low and certain. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Outside, thunder began to roll.

———––-––———

The Hunt returned at dusk, the alphas grim and silent. The wounded tiger had vanished, leaving only traces of blood in the snow.

No one spoke of omens. No one dared.

But when Sunghoon dismounted, the Queen’s face was already pale beneath her painted calm.

A single servant whispered what all of them knew: *the sacred beast had been injured.*

That night, torches burned lower than usual.

And in his chambers, Jongseong found Heeseung waiting — his expression quiet, but his eyes storm-dark.

“Something’s changed,” Heeseung said softly.

Jongseong didn’t ask how he knew. The whole castle felt it — as if the forest’s heartbeat had stopped, waiting.

———––-––———

When a tiger bleeds, the forest remembers.

And when the forest remembers, kingdoms fall.

Chapter Text

The forest still smelled of blood.

The hunters had returned before dawn, their laughter carrying down the marble halls long before the servants could scrub the mud from the floors. By noon, Aristama looked untouched—banners hung high again, goblets refilled, and the courtiers’ smiles sharpened to perfection.

The Hunt was over.
Now came the week of waiting—of gifts, intentions, and lies.

---

Jongseong hadn’t brought anything back.

His bow had stayed clean. The others had trophies—antlers, hides, claws—each displayed proudly on polished wood, offered to the court as proof of their worth.

He’d only watched.

When the others aimed, he’d seen nothing but movement and fear. When the others cheered, he’d flinched.

He left early, the forest’s silence clinging to him.

---

Sunghoon did not flinch.

He’d killed a stag—the largest anyone had seen that year.
The court called it noble.
The Queen called it a promise.

Its antlers now framed her seat in the hall, adorned with ribbons of silver and red. When she looked at them, her eyes gleamed the way they did before war councils.

Sunghoon stood beside her at the ceremony, face composed, posture perfect. The courtiers bowed as his name was praised.

But when he turned, he caught sight of Maeryn through the open gates—her head bowed, mane tangled, mud still crusted along her legs.

He looked away first.

---

Whispers filled the corridors that evening.
The kind that moved like wind under a door.

The younger prince is his mother’s weapon.
The elder is his father’s shame.

By nightfall, the King drank in silence.
The Queen didn’t need to.

---

Sunoo woke to the sound of bells.

The fever had broken sometime in the night. His sheets clung to him, damp, and the air still smelled faintly of herbs.

Jaeyun sat at the edge of the bed, reading something—a small, worn journal. When Sunoo stirred, he closed it quietly.

“You should be resting,” Jaeyun said.

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Sunoo gave a faint laugh that hurt his throat. “It’s close enough.”

Jaeyun dipped a cloth in cool water, wrung it out. “The Hunt ended yesterday. You didn’t miss much.”

“I always miss much,” Sunoo murmured, closing his eyes again.

But something flickered at the edge of memory—wood smoke, laughter, a pair of hands guiding his smaller ones around a carving knife.

The sound of someone saying his name—soft, in a language he hadn’t heard since childhood.

When he opened his eyes, Jaeyun was gone, and the light had changed.

---

The castle was too quiet that evening.

The courtiers had scattered into corners, whispering about gifts and expectations. Servants ran back and forth, polishing what was already shining.

Jongseong wandered the corridors until he found himself at the western balcony. Below, the gardens stretched dark and green, and beyond them, the stables—lanterns swinging in the wind.

Jungwon was there, brushing Maeryn down. The horse turned her head sharply, nostrils flaring when she caught his scent.

“She remembers you,” Jungwon said without looking up.

“She remembers everyone,” Jongseong replied.

“Not like that.” Jungwon smirked faintly, a rare thing. “She’s temperamental. But she knows sincerity when she sees it.”

Jongseong’s gaze drifted toward the palace again, to the faint glow of the upper windows. One of them belonged to the king’s study.

Heeseung would be there now, sorting letters, handling petitions, keeping the kingdom from collapsing beneath its own weight. Always close to power. Always in danger of it.

“Jungwon,” Jongseong said quietly, “do you ever wish you could forget where you belong?”

Jungwon didn’t answer for a while. He ran the brush down Maeryn’s flank, slow and steady.

“No,” he said finally. “Forgetting makes you soft. Remembering keeps you alive.”

---

Later, when the halls emptied, Jongseong found Heeseung outside the council chamber.

The advisor’s posture was flawless as ever—shoulders straight, expression unreadable, ink still smudged faintly along one finger.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Heeseung said without looking up.

“I needed to speak to you.”

“That’s rarely wise.”

“I’m tired of being wise.”

Heeseung’s mouth twitched—something almost like amusement. “Then be quick about it.”

Jongseong hesitated. The words felt too heavy, too loud. “Everyone came back with something. I came back with nothing.”

“That’s not true.”

Heeseung looked up then, eyes sharp, glinting in the lamplight. “You came back with yourself intact. In this place, that’s rarer than gold.”

For a long moment, neither moved.

The hall was quiet but not still—candles fluttering, footsteps somewhere far below, the low murmur of life continuing around them.

“You’ll get yourself killed, speaking to me like this,” Heeseung said softly.

“Then let me die honest.”

That silenced him.

Heeseung’s breath caught—barely—and he glanced away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Maybe I do.”

Heeseung turned, already walking toward the council door. “Then pray no one else does.”

He paused once at the threshold. The light from the chamber framed him in gold.

“Go back to your quarters, Jongseong.” His voice was steady again. “The world watches you far more closely than it watches me.”

Then he was gone.

Jongseong stood alone in the corridor, surrounded by candlelight and silence.

From somewhere outside, Maeryn whinnied—a low, echoing sound, almost mournful.
It carried up through the halls, soft but unmissable.

Like something in the castle had started to crack.

Chapter Text

The court awoke to silence.
The kind that never meant peace.

No servants gossiping. No clatter of trays in the hall. Only the measured echo of boots against stone.

Something had shifted. Everyone felt it.

---

By midmorning, the whispers began.
They slipped beneath doorways, folded themselves into greetings and glances.

*The King knows.*

No one said what he knew.
They didn’t need to.

---

Jongseong stood in the training yard, bow in hand.
Each arrow struck too close to the last—until the target’s center had become one dark wound.

He hadn’t slept.

Heeseung’s face lingered behind every breath: the quiet defiance in his eyes, the faint tremor in his hand the last time they spoke.

The wind shifted. Jongseong felt the weight of someone watching.

He turned—and found his father across the courtyard.

The King’s expression was carved from restraint.
Two guards stood behind him, too still to be anything but deliberate.

“Walk with me,” the King said.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

---

They crossed the marble courtyard in silence.
The scent of iron hung faintly in the air—old blood, old laws.

Inside the council chamber, sunlight fell sharp and unforgiving across the floor. The King stopped before the throne, but did not sit.

“I’ve heard troubling things,” he began.

Jongseong said nothing.

“Things that suggest your loyalties no longer lie where they should.”

The words landed like stones.

The King stepped closer, voice hardening. “You forget what you are.”

Jongseong met his gaze. “And what is that?”

“My heir,” the King said, each word clipped. “Not a fool. Not a boy. And not someone’s indulgence.”

Jongseong’s jaw tightened.

The King turned away, his robe dragging across the marble like a dark tide.
“Affection,” he spat, “is a luxury reserved for men who have no throne to inherit.”

He paused at the threshold, voice colder now.
“You will end this. Whatever he means to you—ends today.”

---

Heeseung was taken before noon.

Two guards. No explanation. No audience.

It happened quietly, in the corridor outside the council hall.

Sunghoon saw.

He had been carrying a stack of scrolls when he caught the movement—Heeseung standing still, wrists bound without protest.

“What’s happening?” he demanded.

Neither guard answered.

Heeseung turned his head slightly. Their eyes met—steady, calm, unreadable.

“Stay out of this, Your Highness,” one of the guards said.

“On whose order?”

“The King’s.”

The words struck like a blow.

Sunghoon took a step forward—only to freeze at the sound of his mother’s voice.

“Let them go.”

The Queen stood at the end of the hall, her expression composed, her presence as cutting as glass.

“Mother—”

“We cannot protect what your brother chose to love.”

Her tone was quiet. Final.

Heeseung was led away.

Sunghoon didn’t move until the sound of boots faded. Then he turned to her, voice trembling.
“You knew.”

“Of course I knew,” she said. “It’s my duty to know.”

“What will Father do?”

She smiled faintly—too cold to be cruel, too real to be kind.
“What kings always do.”

---

General Seokwoo heard before sunset.

When the messenger delivered the order, the general’s expression did not change.
He dismissed the soldier, then closed the war room door behind him.

Outside, Sunoo waited.

He had seen the tension ripple through the corridors, the way servants averted their eyes.

When Seokwoo emerged, Sunoo stepped forward. “What happened?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“That’s not true,” Sunoo said sharply.

It was the first time he had ever spoken to his commander that way.

“Tell me,” he pressed. “Who did the King order taken?”

Seokwoo hesitated. Then, quietly:
“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me.”

The silence stretched.

Finally, Seokwoo exhaled. “It’s the King’s justice.”

---

Night came heavy.

The corridors glowed with lamplight, but no one lingered in them.
Dinner passed uneaten. The palace seemed to hold its breath.

Jongseong sat alone in his chambers, hands still, eyes fixed on nothing.

When the knock came, he already knew.

The guard didn’t meet his eyes as he recited the decree.

“By royal command—Lee Heeseung, son of no house, stands accused of treason against the Crown.”

The words blurred into a low drone.

“Execution at dawn.”

When the door shut, the silence returned, thicker than before.

Jongseong’s hand hovered above the table, trembling just enough to send a ripple through the candle flame.

The kingdom did not sleep.
Neither did he.

Chapter Text

The corridors of the castle were emptier than usual, echoing each step like a warning. Jongseong moved through them without purpose, without pace, as though the very air had hardened around him. He avoided the stables, the gardens, the balconies—every place Heeseung might have been, every place he might have gone.

Messages arrived, small slips of paper carried by silent attendants. Heeseung’s handwriting curled across the page, polite, careful, restrained: *I cannot see you. But I am here.* Jongseong stared at the words until the ink blurred, until the paper seemed like a cruel joke. The King called it “closure.” Closure. Heeseung’s absence, a wound dressed in etiquette and duty.

---

Sunghoon was quieter, his laughter gone, replaced by precise steps and measured words. The Queen had been watching him closely. Each hesitation, each faltering glance, each sigh when he looked at the empty stables or the stillness of the garden—she noted it all. Her interventions were small but sharp, a word here, a glance there, a reminder of obligation, of guilt.

“You cannot forget what he chose,” she said once, voice low and calm. “But you can serve what remains. Do not fail me again.”

Sunghoon nodded. He had no words. His chest ached, a hollow that Heeseung’s absence had carved out and left bleeding.

---

Sunoo lay in the small chamber that had become his refuge, the world reduced to the muted light of a single lantern, the scent of wax and dry timber, the low, even breaths of Jaeyun at his side. He had slept fitfully, feverish, torn between heat and cold, between memory and the pressing present.

In his dreams, he was back in a place he no longer recognized. Smoke curled in the distance, black as tar. The sound of splintering wood, the crack of fire consuming everything he had known. His parents calling his name, over and over, laughter caught and broken in the roar of destruction. Hands too small to fight, feet too quick to outrun everything—until he was alone. Until Seokwoo had found him.

---

Jaeyun’s presence was steady, unspoken, grounding. Sunoo clung to it without knowing why. The touch of his hand on Sunoo’s arm, the quiet murmur of his voice, the warmth of a shoulder pressed to his side—it brought fragments of something long buried. Something like home, like safety, like being allowed to exist without constant calculation.

“You’re alive,” Jaeyun said simply. “That’s enough for now.”

Sunoo’s lips moved, but no sound came. The fever made his thoughts stutter, memories collide. He saw the house in flames, his parents’ faces, the way the soldiers had moved, methodical and unyielding. The day he had learned that survival demanded more than courage—it demanded the surrender of everything he had ever been.

---

Seokwoo entered quietly, cloak brushing the floor. Sunoo’s eyes, fever-roughened and unfocused, fixed on him.

“I was ordered,” Seokwoo said, voice low, “to kill you.”

Sunoo’s breath caught. He shook his head, unable to process the weight of it.

“I did not,” Seokwoo continued, stepping closer. “Not because I thought you deserved mercy. Because obedience is a choice, and… I chose differently.”

Sunoo felt the world shift, the walls of the castle, the certainty of his place, the cruelty and the schemes—all of it. Survival had not been random. Survival had been calculated. Hidden beneath loyalty, beneath secrecy, beneath strategy, there had been mercy.

He closed his eyes.

---

When he opened them again, the chamber was still. Jaeyun had not moved. The lantern’s flame flickered, shadows stretching long across the walls. Sunoo rose slowly, unsteady, each movement deliberate.

He went to the small shelf by the window, retrieved a candle, and struck it. The flame sputtered, caught, and steadied. Heeseung’s absence was a presence now, a hollow filled with everything unsaid, every moment stolen by duty and cruelty.

Sunoo whispered into the quiet, the candlelight shaking with his breath:

“You were too kind for this kingdom.”

The words lingered in the air, between shadows, between walls, between the life he had lost and the one he had survived.

And for a long moment, he allowed himself to feel the ache.

Chapter Text

The castle was quiet, but it felt heavy.

Sunoo sat on the edge of his bed, the candle between his knees flickering like it could burn away the shadows in his mind. His body ached—not from the Hunt, not from the week of preparing gifts—but from the heat he had carried alone, the ache of waiting, of wanting, of surviving.

He could feel it now, the pull of something older. Smoke. The screams. The smell of burned wood. Faces half-remembered, laughter lost to the ash. A boy on his knees carving wood by a fire, hands small, precise. Parents, so kind, so alive, vanished in a night that had been too cruel to explain.

He pressed his palms to his face, and for the first time in years, let the questions rise.

“Why did you save me?”

The voice came out a whisper, almost swallowed by the walls. But he didn’t wait for silence to answer. He wanted it. He needed it.

“Sunoo.”

Seokwoo’s voice was steady behind him. Calm, commanding, familiar. The father he knew, or thought he knew. Sunoo didn’t turn.

“You were supposed to die.” The words were sharp now, no longer a whisper. “You were left to burn. And you—” He laughed bitterly, bitter and low. “You survived. Why?”

Seokwoo stepped closer, slow, measured. “I didn’t have a choice. Orders were given, yes. But…” His voice faltered, just a fraction. “I didn’t. Not completely.”

“Not completely.” Sunoo’s hands clenched into fists. “Do you have any idea what that means? I spent years hiding. Surviving. Hiding my scent. Learning every trick. Every cruelty of war. Every betrayal. Because I thought… because I thought it was my fault I lived.”

“You weren’t ready,” Seokwoo said softly. “You were a boy. You—”

“I was a child,” Sunoo cut him off, voice breaking. “And you took me from them. From Laureth. From everything I knew. You made me… strong. Independent. But at what cost?”

Seokwoo’s eyes met his. Dark, unflinching, and somehow full of guilt he could not name. “I kept you alive, Sunoo. I protected you. You—”

“I didn’t ask to be protected!” Sunoo’s voice cracked. He pushed to his feet, the candle tilting dangerously. “I wanted to be free. I wanted to… to be me. Not someone molded to survive your wars. Not someone who lives in the shadow of your mercy. I wanted my parents!”

Silence filled the room. The candle flickered, threatened to die. Sunoo’s chest heaved, sweat and fever making the world around him tilt.

Seokwoo stepped closer, hand outstretched. “You are… who you are because I could not leave you to die. You survived because I could not—”

“Because you felt guilty? Because your orders were twisted?” Sunoo laughed bitterly. “Don’t speak to me like I owe you anything. You didn’t save me for me. You saved me for yourself. For your conscience. And now…” His voice dropped. “Now I’m trapped here. In this castle. With kings and princes and a world I do not belong to. And I have to watch them destroy the people I care about.”

Seokwoo said nothing. He couldn’t.

Sunoo sank back onto the bed, hands trembling. “I am not weak. I never was. But I am tired. And I am angry. And I… I…” He buried his face in his hands, whispering, “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Seokwoo knelt beside him, not touching, not offering comfort he might reject. “You are stronger than I will ever deserve,” he said quietly. “And maybe… maybe that is the only truth we can hold onto.”

Sunoo lifted his head, eyes bright, fevered, furious, and broken. “Truth? My truth? Or yours?”

The candle burned low. Outside, the castle slept. And Sunoo realized that survival had always been mercy—but a mercy that came with chains.

Chapter Text

Jungwon moved through the stables with careful, deliberate steps, the smell of straw and horse thick in the twilight. The day had drained him—training, chores, the quiet weight of everyone watching him for any sign of weakness—but now the night was his alone, if only for a moment.

Maeryn stirred softly in her stall as he passed, but did not call out. Jungwon exhaled. Some things were predictable. Some things were steady. And Riki—he was neither, and yet… he had learned the rhythm of these stolen nights, the secrecy that made each meeting pulse with urgency.

He checked the note tucked into the folds of his tunic again, smoothing the edges. *“Meet me by the west tower after the last guard rotates. Only fifteen minutes. Only if you’re sure.”*

Jungwon’s pulse thrummed, a quiet drumbeat of anticipation and fear. He had been meeting Riki like this for weeks now. Since the first ball. Since that night when the music had faded and the court’s eyes had turned elsewhere, leaving them a sliver of stolen time. Every meeting had been a risk. Every look, a temptation. And yet… he had never felt more alive.

The west tower loomed ahead, shadows pooling at its base. He paused, listening to the wind in the trees, the distant echo of hooves, the low murmur of the castle settling into night. And then he saw him. Riki, tall, lean, and impossibly deliberate, moving from shadow to shadow with the ease of someone accustomed to slipping through scrutiny.

“You came,” Jungwon whispered, and even that was dangerous.

“I never don’t,” Riki replied softly, his voice brushing against the cool night air like a secret. He stepped closer, careful, careful. Always careful. “I didn’t know if tonight would be… safer.”

Jungwon swallowed. “Nothing is safe,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “Not here. Not with them. Not ever.”

Riki’s hand brushed against Jungwon’s sleeve—light, fleeting, but enough. A spark jumped between them, quiet but alive. It was always enough. Always more than enough.

“I’ve been thinking,” Riki said, his eyes tracking the edge of the tower, “about the ball, about the Hunt… about every stolen moment we’ve had.” He hesitated, as if weighing his words against the danger of the night. “And I keep asking myself… how long can this last?”

Jungwon’s heart clenched. The words were heavy, and yet… familiar. He stepped closer, until the warmth of Riki’s body brushed against his own. Not enough to touch fully, not yet, but close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest, the small tremor of his hands. “As long as we can,” he said. “Even if it’s just fifteen minutes. Even if it’s only in shadows.”

Riki’s breath caught. He leaned slightly closer, eyes searching, desperate, and Jungwon wanted to close the space entirely, to erase the years of whispers and distance and danger that had kept them apart. But the castle would notice. The consequences were sharp, unforgiving.

“Jungwon,” Riki murmured, “do you ever think… that in another life—”

“I do,” Jungwon interrupted softly. He pressed his forehead against Riki’s shoulder, just for a fraction of a heartbeat. “I do. Every day.”

They stayed like that, pressed together in the darkness, letting the sound of each other’s breath fill the silence. For a moment, it was enough. For a moment, the world outside—the guards, the princes, the endless rules—did not exist.

Jungwon’s hand found Riki’s, fingers curling instinctively. He could feel the pulse in Riki’s wrist, the subtle warmth that was his alone to touch. He wanted to memorize it, every detail, every inch of stolen time, because he knew how easily it could be ripped away.

“Don’t leave,” Jungwon whispered, voice almost a sigh. “Please. Just stay… for a while.”

Riki’s lips curved faintly, a mixture of sadness and something tender, dangerous. “I have to,” he said finally. “If we’re caught…” His words trailed off. The unspoken consequences hung between them, heavy as iron.

Jungwon let his fingers linger, brushing against Riki’s hand until the shadows claimed him again. “I’ll wait,” he said. “I always will. Even if the world doesn’t let us exist.”

Riki stepped back then, reluctantly, a shadow slipping into another shadow. “I’ll see you again,” he promised. “Tonight, tomorrow… before the Hunt, after the Hunt… wherever I can.”

Jungwon watched him go, fingers trembling slightly, as though the mere act of letting him leave was a wound. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the hollow ache of longing, and whispered, “In another life… we wouldn’t have to hide.”

The wind stirred, carrying the faint scent of foreign forests, of distant kingdoms, and Jungwon closed his eyes. In the darkness, he could almost feel Riki’s warmth lingering, impossible, fleeting, and yet the only thing that mattered.

The stars above the castle were cold, indifferent, silent witnesses to a love that could not exist openly. And in that silence, Jungwon felt the first heavy, bitter taste of what it meant to love someone too dangerous, in a world that refused to forgive desire.

Chapter Text

The castle had grown quieter in the two weeks since the Hunt, but not peaceful. Silence now carried weight—the kind that pressed against the walls and made every step echo.

Sunghoon moved through the halls with Maeryn at his side, her dark coat glinting like oil in the lantern light. He rode her not to parade, not to show skill—he rode to feel steady, to anchor himself in something real when the world felt so impossibly fragile. His hands rested lightly on the reins, but the tight coil of guilt in his chest refused to loosen. Every glance toward the throne room reminded him of the absence, the gap Heeseung’s death had left behind.

Jongseong had not been seen in the public spaces for days. He kept to the western gardens, the shadowed corridors, anywhere he could hide from the court and, sometimes, from himself. His hands were always clasped behind his back; his gaze rarely lifted. The memory of the execution, of Heeseung’s calm eyes and the rope that had fallen, haunted every corner of his mind. He blamed himself for leaving the Hunt, for chasing a love that could not exist under the king’s iron rule. And yet the memory also burned with clarity: he had chosen to pursue truth, however fleeting, over obedience.

---

The Queen had grown colder in her absence. Sunghoon could feel her eyes everywhere—calculated, watching, leashing him with guilt rather than guidance. Her whispers in the council hall carried like poison. “We do not coddle weakness,” she would say, “nor tolerate hesitation.”

Sunoo had retreated to the quiet of the guard quarters with Jaeyun ever present. The heat that had struck him during the Hunt lingered now as a dull ache in his chest, a reminder of a body still alive, still tethered to pain and memory. Feverish dreams took him to Laureth: the smell of smoke, the crack of firewood, the hands of a mother who had sewn blankets under lantern light, the hands of a father carving wood that would never see the castle floor.

He had confronted Seokwoo in the aftermath, demanding truth. The general had admitted fragments—truths half-buried under orders and obedience. “I was told to kill you,” he had said quietly, voice heavier than any sword. “I did not. That is the only mercy you have.”

Sunoo’s hands clenched the edge of the table. Mercy. That word was slippery, bitter. But even now, he felt the weight of loyalty and protection in Jaeyun’s presence—a grounding force against the cruelty of the kingdom he had been forced into.

---

Jungwon lingered near the outer walls, eyes straying to where Riki had been forbidden to set foot. The weeks since the Hunt had stretched long, and their stolen moments in the shadows had become more precious, more desperate. Each touch, each whisper, each glance across the courtyard was now threaded with risk and heartbreak.

“Why does it have to be this way?” Jungwon muttered to himself, running a hand along the stone wall. He could feel the pulse of the castle, the weight of rules, of bloodlines, of whispered threats in every corridor. Riki’s absence was a wound pressed into his chest, raw and unhealed.

And yet… he remembered the secret smiles, the brush of hands beneath the moonlight, the soft laugh that had come once, in a corner no one else could see. Those memories were small fires, impossible to snuff, impossible to ignore.

---

The Great Hall opened for the weekly council, and the tension within it was nearly unbearable. Nobles shifted in their seats, eyes darting to one another, measuring loyalty, measuring fear. Rumors that had begun in whispers now carried weight, threading through conversations:

*“The younger prince is still fragile. His grief is weaponized by his mother.”*
*“The elder prince—his guilt grows, but he will not act.”*
*“The guard boy… he watches everything, knows too much.”*

Sunghoon’s hand brushed the hilt of his dagger beneath his cloak. Jongseong remained absent from the hall, but his absence spoke louder than any proclamation.

Maeryn snorted behind him, a living reminder that he could still care for something, even if the court could not be trusted. His fingers absently stroked her neck. “Control,” he whispered again—not just over the horse, but over himself, over the grief that threatened to unravel him at every step.

---

By evening, the castle felt smaller. Hallways echoed with soft footsteps, rooms held only fragments of the people who had once filled them. Jungwon lingered near the stables, tracing the spaces where Riki should have been. Each shadow was a memory, each empty corridor a reminder of stolen possibilities.

Sunoo watched from the edge of the guard quarters, Jaeyun beside him. The kingdom continued to move, breathing and scheming, while they remained tethered to grief, memory, and the faintest threads of connection. He could not yet name the ache in his chest, but he recognized it—the ache of survival, of loss, of loyalty tested beyond endurance.

And somewhere, beyond the castle walls, the world continued. But for those within Aristama, the kingdom had grown colder, sharper, and infinitely more dangerous.