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You were twenty years old when the hope of a nation barged into your quiet temple and casually wrecked your equally quiet existence.
"Your highness." You fell on your hands and knees, stricken by a surprise who raged like lightning.
You said 'your highness,' and meant 'your majesty,' for he was already a king in heart, body and soul, if not in title. A golden prince of eighteen summers whose smile could shake cities, whose word moved armies, whose will shaped lives. Those strong shoulders carried the pillars of a country, that assured mouth spoke the voices of thousands. Heavy is the weight kings carry, yet he walked as if he didn't notice the burden at all.
How could you to be in awe? You were no one, a modest priest of no importance among countless others, and he was the sun itself. At the time, his highness looked like a man who couldn't possibly fail, even to you, who knew all about failures already.
Or so you thought.
"I heard your fortune telling skills are unparalleled," the prince said, golden eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Your highness honors this humble priest," you managed to croak in answer, voice coiled in your throat.
"Tell me of my fate, I'm curious to hear it," he casually demanded, in the tone of those who didn't believe in fortune telling but found the concept interesting nonetheless.
He was a king already, but he was a king of little faith, this reckless prince of theirs. It showed in the way he marched in the place where you lied down your devotion, without reverence, without care. It showed in the way he offered his hand nonchalantly, convinced your eyes couldn't possibly see any further than his did.
Your fingers tentatively hovered over the lines of his fate, all maped down on his palm. It was potential divinity in the making that you were daring to touch. There was an irony in that. This man who was made to ascend didn't care much for gods. You knew this, the same way you knew the sun would rise tomorrow, the same way you knew you would never forget of the prince made of sunlight. The imprint of his hopeful confidence would remain under your eyelids as long as you lived.
"Don't be shy," the prince smiled indulgently at your hesitation. "I'm not going to bite you."
"Your highness walks a path blessed by Heaven itself," you said, bravely pretending you weren't blushing. "His fate is excellent indeed. Exceptional."
His eyes turned misty and his powerful grin indolent. Boring, he thought loud enough for the word to ring outside the privacy of his mind. Tell me something I don't know.
"However, blessed it may be, it's not without tricks or dangers," you added as you forgot your place and grasped his hand. "The higher the raise, the lower the fall. Be careful which steps you take, your highness."
For a whole country will fall with you if you stumble, you read within his lines. And how dark the abyss underneath is.
The prince blinked. Stared. Laughed. "You've got guts, little priest. I like you. Come with me to the Royal Palace."
"A-ah?" You tripped over your own tongue in shock. "I-I don't-"
"How come you didn't read this in your own fate?" He smirks teasingly. "I need to get myself a religious advisor. Clearly you are perfect for the job."
And he picked a barely known fortune teller of humble background instead one of the high priests in the Royal Palace? If this wasn't the biggest 'fuck you' to authority you ever heard…
"Forgive this servant's boldness, your highness, but I don't think I have the required competences for such a noble task…" you point out.
The competences to get thrown in a pack of wolves, that was it. You doubted anyone would be pleased by their prince's unexpected choice for an attendant and 'religious advisor'.
"Nonsense." He dismissed your protests with a casual wave of the hand. "If I say you're perfect for the job, then you are." Then, softly, he said: "You truly love gods, don't you?"
You thought of the warmth in your heart when you left offerings. You thought of the comfort it brought you to know someone out there was guiding you, pushing your back, securing your falls. "I do."
"Then you can teach me all about it. I'd rather have someone sincere around me than another sycophant pushing for their own selfish agenda," the prince said, his smile warm as a summer afternoon, until it shifted back to mischievousness. "Why, I'll even call you Shizun."
"Please don't." You cried out behind your sleeves in a foolish attempt to hide your embarrassment.
Shizun. What a preposterous idea. You would die on the spot if a future king, the holiest mortal there could be in their Wu Yong country, ran around calling you such a respectful title. You could barely believe he was talking to you at all. You still doubted you weren't asleep still, dreaming of a beautiful boy in too fancy robes and too bright fate holding your hand and dragging you out of your comfort zone.
"You'll get along with the others just fine, Shizun," he declared buoyantly, ignoring your reluctance. "By the way, do you know how to play cards?"
"...no?" You breathed out. Why would you know how to play cards?
"Well, you'll learn." The prince patted your shoulder. The touch was brief, a sunshine brushing quickly over the outer layer of your clothing, yet left trails of fire all over your skin. "Eventually."
In the end, you did learn. You learnt how to lose. Over and over and over. You learnt to roll on your back and allow destiny to trample over your dreams. You learnt that this love you couldn't control, couldn't kill, couldn't embrace would never be returned, for you weren't worthy, too weak, too cowardly. You learnt how to accept the inevitable.
Jun Wu never did.