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When the celebration had ended the tight knot of anxiety had loosened slightly. The tiny niggle that had held place in the back of his mind the whole day reminding him that someone in the vast crowd of people was there to end his life finally quiet. It was still there in the back of his mind, the knowledge that someone would come for him. But for a brief moment he felt relief.
The day had been enjoyable. Yoongi usually hated those sort of celebrations, where he, as the crowned king, was expected to revel in the festivities and applaud the people there to entertain. Usually he just wanted to retire to his room. Lock himself away from the crowd of onlookers. But that night, even with the threat hanging over him he had enjoyed it.
Yoongi had never wanted to be king. Never expected to be king. His older brother was supposed to take that title. Only life didn’t go to plan.
He let out a low sigh as he made his way through the quiet hallways of the palace. The memory of his brother still cutting too deep. His brother, who had died in battle. Died to keep him safe. All of it for nothing.
An assassin.
They would come. Sooner or later. He had assumed it would be during the celebrations, when he was out in the open, ripe for the picking. He wasn’t sure what he would have preferred. Maybe behind closed doors would be better, less messy.
***
He pushed open the door to his bedroom. The room bathed in warm lamplight. He was tired. The day had been long and as Yoongi slowly undressed, slipping into his nightclothes, he replayed it over in his head. One part in particular.
As the night had closed in, fires were lit in the courtyard casting an eerie orange glow over the dancers that stepped up to perform. Yoongi’s eyes had been drawn to the centre dancer in an instant. His powerful and graceful movements putting him in a trance. Eyes following every whip and snap of the fan in the dancers hand. The way he moved... Yoongi has been enthralled. A power and grace, so deadly that he had stopped breathing for a moment.
When the performance had ended Yoongi had been frozen, a pause rippling across the courtyard, waiting, waiting for his reaction.
His eyes had met with those of the dancer. An unwavering gaze matching his own.
Yoongi had startled at the sound of his advisor’s whisper.
‘My king?’
Yoongi had straightened up, suddenly aware of the deathly silence that had fallen across the courtyard.
Pulling himself together he began to clap, the crowd following in an instant.
Yoongi’s eyes had fallen to the dancer again. His piercing gaze still fixed on the king, a slight smirk teased at the edge of his lips and Yoongi had found himself averting his gaze. His skin suddenly a lot warmer than it had been.
His mind had been fixated on the dancer the rest of the night. He was the most beautiful person Yoongi had ever seen. For a fleeting moment he had considered asking his advisor to find the dancer, to invite him to Yoongi’s chambers for the night… but that wouldn’t have been a good idea. It wouldn’t have been perceived well if anyone found out. He pushed the idea from his mind.
As he sank onto his bed he felt a little regret. Another night alone, maybe he shouldn’t have worried about public perception. Maybe he should admit that wasn’t the real reason he’d pushed the idea away.
***
A gentle breeze fluttered across the room. Yoongi’s head turned at the feeling of it dancing over his skin, at the sound of the curtains rustling. A dark figure stood at the door to the balcony.
‘So it was you all along.’ He said slowly getting to his feet.
The figure stepped into the light revealing the dancer. His piercing gaze fixed on Yoongi. On the king he had came to murder.
‘You don’t seem surprised?’ The dancer said. A glint of silver catching the fire light, a flash of the blade that would end his life.
‘I knew there was a price on my head.’ He said.
The dancer smiled.
He really was beautiful. Still dressed in the silks he had worn for his performance. Yoongi wondered if he had become a dancer to cover his job or if the job had come after. It didn’t really matter.
‘Do I have time to settle a few things?’ Yoongi asked, walking towards his desk.
‘If you so wish.’
Yoongi sat down pulling a sheet of paper towards him. He would leave a letter for his advisor. He supposed most assassinated kings didn’t have this opportunity, he would take advantage of it.
He felt the dancer move, out of the corner of his eye he saw him approach the table with the fruit platter.
‘Please help yourself.’ Yoongi told him.
‘Always the gracious king.’
***
‘Can I ask who?’
The dancer had settled himself in the chair beside the fire, seemingly unbothered at Yoongi taking his time to write letters and orders for his staff. Yoongi had gotten to his feet, having finished the letters, leaving them neatly piled up on his desk. His last words.
He went over to the table, pouring himself a cup of water. The dancer’s eyes never leaving him. Yoongi looked at him.
‘Hm, I don’t see why not.’ He said, popping another grape between his plush lips. Yoongi followed the movement.
‘The Kim family feel they would suit the throne better.’ He told Yoongi.
The Kim family. Yoongi knew them, knew them quite well.
He had never cared for the head, a blunt and often cruel man. But his sons, Yoongi had spent many court events drinking and laughing with them. It had been a few years since he had seen them. After the death of his brother Yoongi had become more of a recluse, only coming back into the public eye when his father had passed away and he took the crown. He couldn’t imagine they had changed much. The eldest, Seokjin, Yoongi liked him. He had made him laugh, and seemed to genuinely care for people. He was a good man.
‘What’s on your mind pretty little king?’ The assassin asked from where he lounged, slowly picking another grape from the platter and popping it in his mouth.
Yoongi stopped pacing and turned to look at him. He hadn’t even realised he’d started pacing, an old habit he’d developed whenever he had something on his mind.
‘I have a job for you.’
‘A job?’ He replied, eyebrows raised in question.
‘You are for hire yes?’
‘I don’t come cheap.’
‘I don’t expect you do.’ Yoongi considered his fortune for a moment, he wouldn’t need it after his death anyway, he might as well use it to secure a better future for his people.
‘You said the Kim family hired you?’
The assassin nodded, a smirk creeping onto his face.
‘Once the new king has taken his seat I’d like you to kill him.’
‘Min Yoongi you are a curious little thing.’
‘You keep calling me little like you aren’t the same height as me.’ Yoongi said with a raised brow.
The assassin laughed, a pretty delicate sound. Yoongi wanted to hear it again.
‘You want me to kill your killer.’
‘Are you not my killer?’
‘Touché.’
‘If the new king is killed, his son will take the crown.’ Yoongi explained. He had settled himself into the other chair beside the fire.
‘That’s how these things usually work.’
‘His heir is a much better suited king.’
‘That I can agree with.’
‘So you accept the job?’ Yoongi asked. The dancer seemed to consider for a moment.
‘What’s to stop me just taking your money and running?’ He asked.
‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘Hm, okay then. I’ll do it.’
***
Yoongi wondered how long the assassin would wait.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he had appeared in his room. He was sure that these things didn’t usually take this long though. What was he waiting for?
‘I enjoyed your performance.’ Yoongi said after a while.
‘I know you did.’
That smirk was back, a knowing look in his eyes as he gazed at Yoongi. Yoongi wondered what would have happened if he had invited the dancer to his bed like he had considered during the celebrations. He shifted in his seat, heat spreading over his skin once again.
‘Have you always been a dancer?’ He asked.
‘Do you really want to know or are you stalling?’
Yoongi paused, why had he asked that? Did he care, or was he indeed stalling for more time?
‘I would like to know.’
‘I have danced since I was a child, my mother was a dancer. I followed her.’
For some reason the thought made him smile, the image of a small boy copying his mother’s dances, wanting to be like her. How did a boy who liked to dance become a killer?
***
The dancer got to his feet. Walking over to the large mirror that hung on the back wall he looked over himself, rearranging the pretty silks that hung perfectly over his body. Fixing his silver hair and wiping away the where the make up from his eyes had smudged.
He caught Yoongi’s eye in the reflection.
His time was up.
***
‘Do you have to do this?’ Yoongi asked as the dancer walked back over to him.
He came to a stop between Yoongi’s legs. That flash of silver glinting in the firelight once more. He toyed with the blade in his hands, it wasn’t big or fancy. Quite ordinary, unlike its master. Yoongi’s eyes flitted to his sword which rested up against the wall beside the door.
‘Give me a reason not to.’
‘I don’t want to die?’
The dancer laughed, his expression weirdly fond.
‘You don’t want to die, but you don’t want to be king either.’
‘How-’
‘I’ve been watching you for a long time Min Yoongi.’
‘You have?’
The idea of the man before him watching him sent a spark of something through Yoongi. He shouldn’t have liked the idea, but the thought that he had had the man’s attention…
‘Why do you think I don’t want to be king?’
‘It’s obvious, you hate the attention, hate the responsibility. You hide yourself away. Your advisor doing most of your kingly duties. Your generals taking care of the others.’
‘I was never supposed to be king.’
His brother, his brother was supposed to be king. His brother was everything a good king should be; strong, charismatic, smart, and caring. Yoongi was none of those. Yoongi was quiet, and liked to be alone. He liked to listen to music and read. He tried, he really tried to step up. To take the place that had been made for his brother. He tried, but he was never meant to be king. He wasn’t made for that role.
‘You’re a good king.’ The dancer said, seeming to read Yoongi’s mind. He stepped closer, Yoongi looked up at him. He wasn’t afraid to die. He didn’t want to die but he wasn’t afraid to.
Yoongi sat up straighter, closing his eyes. It was time.
He waited.
***
When he felt the dancer climb onto his lap, straddling him his eyes shot open. He looked down at Yoongi, a curious expression on his face.
‘Are you so ready to die?’
Yoongi swallowed hard. He felt the cool metal of the blade against his cheek.
‘I’m not afraid to die.’
Fingers brushed against his skin, pushing his hair back. The long ice blond strands that made him so noticeable.
‘Pretty little king, ready to die on his throne.’
‘This isn’t my throne.’
Another laugh, Yoongi loved the sound of it.
‘You said you didn’t want to die.’ He reminded.
‘I don’t.’
‘Then why don’t you fight?’
‘What’s the point? If you fail they will just send another. If I am to die, at least this way I die with a beautiful face before me.’
‘You think I’m beautiful?’
‘The most beautiful person in the world.’
The dancer cocked his head to the side, eyes scanning over his face.
‘I can’t be the most beautiful person in the world.’ He said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m not you.’
He felt plush lips against his. His eyes fluttering closed as the dancer kissed him.
A distant sound of the knife hitting the floor as the dancer’s other hand cupped his jaw. Yoongi’s hands coming to rest on his waist as he edged closer. Pressing himself further into Yoongi as he licked at the seam of his lips, Yoongi opening up to him instantly.
He deepened the kiss, swallowing the quiet moan that escaped Yoogni’s throat as the dancer slowly, teasingly rolled his hips.
***
Yoongi sank back into the soft pillows, breath heavy and heart pounding in his chest. He looked over at the man beside him, at the expanse of smooth golden skin. He met Yoongi’s gaze and smiled. A hand reached out, brushing back Yoongi’s hair.
‘So pretty.’ He murmured.
He was, pretty and beautiful and everything Yoongi could have ever wanted. Yoongi couldn’t stop looking at him as he lay beside him.
He knew nothing about him, and yet he wanted to see that sight every morning when he woke. It was crazy, he knew that. An impossible and ridiculous dream.
***
Gentle fingers traced over the scar that marred his face.
‘How?’
Yoongi’s mind went back to the day he’d received that scar. His heart hurt.
‘After my brother died, I was angry. I went after the men who did it.’
Yoongi had never been a violent man. He was never a soldier. The rage he’d felt when he found out what had happened to his brother had been overwhelming. His brother died in battle, had died to protect his king, his country, his little brother. That’s what everyone believed, but Yoongi knew the truth.
His own men had betrayed him. Had turned on him, killed him to turn the tide of the war for their enemies.
It was years later when Yoongi found out the truth. His own father didn’t even know. No one but Yoongi.
The men had begged, had cried, pleading for forgiveness. Yoongi had not given it.
‘They deserved it.’ He said.
‘Did they?’
Yoongi had been plagued with guilt after. The scar that had been left a constant reminder of what he had done.
‘Some people deserve to die. To pay for their crimes.’
‘Do I deserve to die?’
The question hung heavy in the air above them.
***
‘How long?’
The question had been lingering at the back of his mind. He felt weirdly comfortable laying in bed beside the dancer.
‘A year or so.’ He said as he wrapped the sheets around him. Shielding his bare skin from the cooling air of the room.
That was a lot longer than he’d expected. A year of watching Yoongi, of learning his habits and daily life.
‘Why now?’
‘You seemed ready.’
‘Ready to die?’
‘Ready to go.’
***
The bells rang out over the kingdom. The people lined the streets, whispers flitting between them.
The king was dead.
***
The sheets were stained red. He picked up the single red rose that was left on the pillow. It’s thorns pricking at his skin painfully. It was over. The reign of the Min dynasty finally ended.
‘My lord.’
‘Clear this out. I want it gone. All of it.’
‘Yes my lord.’
‘And it’s your majesty now.’
‘O-of course your majesty.’
***
The sun was bright overhead as people began to gather in front of the palace steps. He moved between the chattering crowd, head dipped low, avoiding any wandering eyes. The sound of the drums drawing attention. It was starting.
The new king stood before his subjects. A stern man looking man. It had been six months since his coronation. He stood before them now, ready to begin the celebrations. His youngest son had come of age. He had three sons, they stood beside him now. Tall and handsome, unlike their father. They would soon become the most powerful brothers in their nation.
‘Welcome, today we celebrate the coming of age of my youngest son.’ The king greeted. All eyes turned to the youngest.
‘Taehyung.’
He stepped forward at his father’s request, bowing deeply to his father, his king and then to the people. The crowd cheered and applauded. A wide grin spreading over the young man’s features.
His brother’s smiles reflected his as he returned to their sides.
Those smiles vanishing as the arrow found its mark.
***
‘They say King Seokjin is settling into his role well.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘Hm, maybe I had some doubts.’
‘He will be a good king.’
‘You were a good king.’
Yoongi looked at him, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
‘It’s your fault I’m no longer king.’
‘Hm, maybe so.’ Jimin walked over to where he sat on the balcony. Their small house on the outskirts of the city bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.
‘Your hair is getting long.’ He said running his fingers through the black strands.
‘You can cut it in the morning.’ Yoongi said as the dancer settled on his lap. He pressed a soft kiss to his jaw.
He remembered the first time Jimin had cut his hair. Cutting away the long blond, cutting away his identity. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Yoongi had never wanted to be king. Jimin had given him a way out.
The single rose left on his pillows, the assassin’s calling card. The sheets stained with blood from the cut Yoongi had made in his own flesh.
There had been no body.
The stained sheets proof enough.
Only Yoongi’s closest advisor knew the truth, had found Yoongi’s letter detailing his departure. His goodbye. The advisor had tossed the letter in the fire before calling the guards. Alerting the palace that the king was dead.
Jimin had led him through the dark streets. To the very edge of the city. To the small house they now lived in. It didn’t feel real. He had sat on a chair in the middle of the kitchen as Jimin had cut away his long blond hair. A tear had slipped down his cheek as he cut away his identity, the last remaining indicator of his family name. The inky dye massaged into his hair, staining his hair pitch black. From that moment he was no longer a Min. The only thing left behind as a reminder of his former life, the sword that lay propped up against the small fireplace.
‘You never told me your name.’ Yoongi said as they lay in the dancer’s bed after. The moonlight filtering through the open window.
‘Jimin, Park Jimin.’
Yoongi smiled. Park Jimin. His would-be assassin.
Park Jimin, his saviour.