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☾
Being the crown prince of a wealthy, prosperous kingdom had its perks. Jimin could roam the streets freely – there were no threats of thieves, nor pitiful beggars, as everyone earned enough to afford housing, food and clothes. The people were kind and cheerful, grateful for their king who had brought peace to the kingdom twenty-five years ago. His marriage to the queen of a neighbouring kingdom and the birth of their first child – Jimin himself – sealed the treaty between the two kingdoms. This treaty brought forth more working opportunities, more merchants from not only the two kingdoms, but also from faraway kingdoms overseas who had heard of the peace and deemed the harbours safe enough to anchor their ships filled with rare merchandise.
There were also downsides to it. Jimin was constantly burdened with anxiety about his future – what if he messed up the treaty his father had worked so hard for to set in motion? What if during his reign a sickness broke out and his people died? What if he would ultimately become the downfall of his precious people? There was only so much he could learn from his father – he needed to have the skills and insights to make decisions that would benefit the people the most, but what if one fatal blunder meant the end of it all?
On top of his regular what-if-I-ruin-the-entire-kingdom-anxiety, Jimin was also being slightly pressured by his parents to find a suitable match. He wouldn’t be young forever, his parents liked to remind him, and he had to settle down eventually if he wanted to inherit the crown someday.
His brother Jihyung couldn’t understand his worries – as the younger of the two, he had never been pressured the way Jimin had, never had to live with the fact that his decisions could ruin people’s lives. Jimin knew Jihyung tried his best to put himself in his older brother’s shoes, but all he would be in the end was a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. And that was okay – it was his burden to carry, after all.
In an attempt to lessen one of Jimin’s worries, the king had decided to organise a ball. “There will be many potential suitors,” his mother had whispered to him during breakfast on the day that his father announced his idea. “You can just get to know them. Maybe you’ll find someone you like, a possible match.”
Jimin got pulled out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. “Your highness?”
“Come on in!” Jimin got out of bed and put his robe on – the fabric was smooth, soft against his skin.
The door opened and Taehyung walked in, followed by two maids. They kept their eyes low as they walked to Jimin’s bathing room next door, preparing his bath and clothes for him. Taehyung walked closer and bowed, his armour clinging softly. “Your highness, I have brought a message for you. It is from one of the farmers at the outskirts of the city.”
Jimin frowned, confused. “And why is it directed to me?”
“His majesty delegated this duty to you.”
Jimin nodded, making a ‘go on, then’ hand gesture. His knight continued: “This farmer has been dealing with rosemary beetles and asked for help. It is too much to deal with on his own, so by the time he thinks he is done, new ones have already arrived, according to his letter.”
“So I just need to round up some farmers to assist him?”
Taehyung looked uneasy, avoiding Jimin’s eyes as he said: “It is harvesting season, your highness. All the farmers are busy with their own fields.”
Jimin sighed. Of course, how could he forget? When he looked outside his window, he could see rows and rows of fields in bloom – apples, carrots, corn, potatoes, rice, anything one might need to survive the cold season. During the harvesting season, farmers worked on their fields all day long, often having their families aid them. They’d be too busy to help during the day and too exhausted to help at night.
The maids left the room and Jimin entered his bathing room, still mulling over the question. He undid his robe, letting it slide off his body as he entered the bath. Taehyung was undisturbed – having grown up with Jimin, he’d seen him nude countless times, and Jimin had grown unashamed of bathing in front of him too.
Jimin breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of orange and cinnamon. His maids had outdone themselves today, he thought as his muscles relaxed. “Do we have any servants who have some time left on their hands?”
“No, sadly.”
“Kitchen staff? Stable boys?”
“No, your highness.”
Jimin sighed, closing his eyes and pinching his nose in frustration. “Do I have to go there myself to help out?” he grumbled.
“That would be a solution.”
Jimin’s head whipped up, staring at Taehyung in disbelief. “Surely you’re jesting?”
Taehyung shook his head. “If we do not help him, his crops will be eaten away. He has no relatives to aid him, so he will simply return here and demand payment.”
“Which we can afford, but which will not help him get his crops back,” Jimin said.
“Precisely.”
His father always taught him prevention was better than damage control – helping the farmer out would help him in the long run, as he’d earn more money selling his crops than receiving a one-time payment from the kingdom.
Jimin used a cotton cloth to wipe his body, cleaning it for the day ahead of him. “All right, I guess there is no other choice. Taehyung, prepare a carriage. I will go to aid the farmer after breakfast.”
“Certainly, your highness.” With one last bow, Taehyung left Jimin’s chambers.
Jimin finished cleaning up and got dressed – black, thick trousers to withstand the cold, a beige woollen tunic on top of it. He shouldn’t dress too lavishly, as he apparently was about to spend the entire day out in the field.
He combed his blonde hair, pulling it into a small ponytail so it wouldn’t get in the way of work later. His maids returned with various creams for his face and hands – he was prone to dry skin, and call him vain but he liked looking good and being pampered.
After getting ready for the day, Jimin left his chambers to go to the dining hall, where his parents and brother were already waiting for him. He had a bad habit of being tardy, something his mother always complained about. This morning was no different.
“Jimin-ah, dearest, we have been waiting for ages to be served,” she whined, pouting. Jimin was the same in that regard; he’d inherited his mother’s pouty nature and could easily be as whiney as her – if not whinier.
“Sorry, mother,” he apologised, kissing her on the cheek as a greeting. He sat down at the table, joining his family as the servants came rushing in with bread fresh out of the oven, different kinds of slices cheeses and meat, cut-up apples, grapes, boiled eggs, and the most delicious smelling pastries. They served everyone quietly before leaving again.
Jimin’s father took the first bite, as he always did, before everyone else joined in. The bakers had outdone themselves again – Jimin had to hold back a moan as he bit into a custard-filled pastry, covered in chocolate and finely chopped walnuts. His mother stared at him, most likely holding back her reprimand about him eating dessert before actual food, and Jimin grinned back.
“Jimin,” his father said. Jimin turned his head at hearing his name, acknowledging him. “I am sure Taehyung talked to you about your new task?”
“He did,” Jimin affirmed. “I will visit the farmer after breakfast and see how I can help out.”
“Good, good,” his father said, nodding along. “Ruling means you will have to do hands-on work as well. This will be good training for when you inherit the throne.”
“Of course, father.”
The rest of their breakfast was spent discussing the order of business for the upcoming masquerade. Jimin zoned out for most of it, instead focusing on eating his fill and pestering his brother by kicking his legs under the table. When he was excused at last, Jimin let out a sigh of relief and hurried towards the stables, where Taehyung was already waiting for him. He bowed when Jimin entered, loudly stating: “Your highness.”
The nearby stable boys turned around rapidly, staring at Jimin with eyes as big as saucers before bowing deeply. He understood the sentiment – Jimin spent most of his days either in his chambers or in the study, so most people working on the grounds surrounding the castle didn’t see him often.
“We prepared the carriage, your highness,” Taehyung said, pointing towards the exit at the back. “Shall we?”
Jimin nodded and followed him outside. It was sunny today, the last warm days before the harvesting season truly started. It would start raining one of these days and Jimin couldn’t wait to spend long days cooped up in the study, reading while listening to the raindrops fall on the rooftop and against the window. But for now, he was forced to go outside and help someone in need.
Taehyung helped Jimin in the carriage, then sat in the front himself. One of the stable boys came running towards them, stopping next to Taehyung to talk to him. They talked in hushed whispers and Jimin looked on curiously. To his shock, they parted with a kiss – Jimin had to look away, the moment too intimate for him to look at.
Taehyung took the reigns and waved at the boy before the horses trotted away from the castle towards the wide, open fields. They passed dozens of farms – some farmers greeted them, waving excitedly at the carriage, and others were too engrossed in their work to even notice Jimin passing by, wiping the sweat of their brows as they ploughed the fields or plucked fresh fruits. Jimin observed them as the horses broke into a gallop, speeding along the dirt road.
He could have sworn he only closed his eyes for a few seconds, but when Jimin opened them again the carriage had stopped and Taehyung was shaking his shoulder softly. “We’ve arrived,” he said softly, speaking a little more informally now that they were away from the spying eyes and ears of the castle.
Jimin slowly sat up, straightening his back as he rubbed his eyes. Taehyung helped him exit the carriage and together they walked through the fields towards a little cottage. As Jimin looked around, he saw no other farms nearby – the farmer who had employed their help lived isolated from the rest of the kingdom. No wonder he had no one to help him with his insect problem, Jimin thought.
Just then, Jimin remembered the scene from earlier. “So,” he began, nudging Taehyung, “who was that guy earlier?”
Taehyung’s entire face turned red. He avoided eye contact with Jimin as he coughed, seemingly embarrassed. “That’s, uh. Well. We- That’s Jungkook. We’re seeing each other. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“It only happened pretty recently,” he clarified, “so neither of us have really confirmed that we’re in a relationship yet. But I’m asking him soon.”
“You should, he’s cute,” Jimin grinned.
Taehyung shoved him. “He’s mine, back off.”
Jimin laughed, nearly falling over, and Taehyung smiled.
As they neared the cottage, Jimin eyed the cosy home. To the left of the house bloomed a variety of flowers, all different colours and shapes – Jimin only recognised roses and sunflowers, and something that he thought were lilies, but he couldn’t be too sure. To the right, there were herbs and lavender – and that’s where he noticed the little troublemakers. Small insects with green and brownish stripes were crawling all over the herbs. There were too many to count and all of them were nibbling on the plants, leaving behind tiny bite marks.
Taehyung knocked on the door loudly. The sound of someone pushing over something followed – perhaps cups or bowls falling off a table – and then the door opened. Jimin had to take a double look to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, because the farmer in front of him definitely didn’t match the description his mind had conjured. Instead of an old, cranky man, there was a man around Jimin’s age standing in front of him. His skin was pale, unlike most farmers – long hours under the sun seemingly didn’t affect his skin, for it wasn’t tan as was so common with farmers. He was wearing dark brown trousers tied around the waist with a cord – they were obviously too big on him, and all the cord did was accentuate his slim waist. His black hair fell into his eyes, making him squint his cat-like eyes a little.
He was gorgeous, and his beauty made Jimin’s brain short-cut.
The farmer glanced between Taehyung and Jimin, a wary look in his brown eyes. “Yes?”
“We are here on orders of the king,” Taehyung announced. “We have come to help with the beetle problem.”
The farmer’s eyes widened before his face broke out into one of the most dazzling smiles Jimin had ever seen. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Yes, let’s get started. I think we’ll be finished by early afternoon if we hurry up. Here,” he turned around and back into the house, rummaging around before returning to the front door and shoving two sacks in Jimin’s arms. “To put the little bastards in,” he grunted.
Jimin stared at the farmer, then at Taehyung, who was fighting a smirk off his face. Did that beautiful farmer just push a sack into the hands of the crown prince? And curse in front of him?
“What do we do with these?” Jimin asked, speaking up for the first time. He lifted the sacks in the air for emphasis.
“Put the beetles in them, obviously,” the farmer snorted.
Jimin huffed, offended. How was he supposed to know how to deal with insects? He had people who did that for him – it wasn’t like he spent his days in the fields all day.
Taehyung put a hand on his shoulder, likely sensing an incoming temper tantrum. “So we just… pick them up? And put them in the bags?” he asked, wanting to confirm.
The farmer nodded. He closed the front door, then walked towards the problem area. “They can’t fly, so you need to check the soil too. That’s where they crawl up the plants,” he explained. “Just grab them and put them in the sack, easy as that. Make sure to get every single one. Don’t want them laying eggs and ruining my plants again during the next springing season.”
The farmer pointed at the lavender. “You’ll do this area,” he commanded, looking at Jimin. He turned to Taehyung, pointing at a different area. “You’ll do the thyme and sage. I’ll do the rosemary, that’s the area where most of these bastards are at.” He stomped towards the rosemary, then added as an afterthought: “I’m Yoongi by the way.”
Jimin would vehemently deny it afterwards, but the first bug he touched made him yelp. It was tiny, but the feeling of the bug trying to crawl its way out of his fingers disturbed him and he dropped the little thing immediately – only to regret it immediately after, considering he had to search the soil for it now. He thought he heard Taehyung snicker and was about to complain when Yoongi spoke up: “So, the king sent you?”
Jimin wasn’t expecting small talk, but he appreciated the effort – talking might make the work seem easier, or the time pass by faster. “He did,” Jimin confirmed. In a way, that was true – he had come here after receiving the assignment from his father, although he could have searched harder to find someone to do the work. He just didn’t want to saddle someone with even more work when he knew how busy the entire city was now that harvesting season was nearing.
Taehyung glanced at him, a funny look in his eyes, but Jimin ignored him. “Do you always manage your farm alone?”
Yoongi nodded, scrunching his nose in a cute way as he picked up a beetle and put it in his bag. “My mother and I used to do the work together, me in the fields and she taking care of the flowers. But she passed away a couple of years ago, so now it’s just me.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Jimin said, avoiding eye contact. He had always been bad at comforting people – that was one of his brother’s strong suits, not his own. Ducking to check the soil for the beetles, he snuck a glance at Yoongi and saw him shrug his shoulders.
“It’s been ten years since then, ‘s okay,” he mumbled, his voice carried towards Jimin by the strong wind. “It’s never been a big issue until now though.”
“But you have us to help now!” Jimin chirped up. Yoongi smiled at him, nodding.
They worked in silence for a while. Jimin’s knees hurt from crouching down for so long and he could feel sweat pooling down his back, but he didn’t complain and kept working – what was one day of hard work compared to a life long in the fields, anyways?
After maybe an hour of work, Yoongi called for a break. He collected the sacks, grunting: “I’ll go dump these bastards in the forest. Feel free to go inside and grab a drink.”
“Thanks,” Taehyung grinned, waving as Yoongi walked off. When he was out of hearing distance, he turned to Jimin. “Let’s go inside, your highness.”
Jimin pretended his red cheeks were from his hard work and not from embarrassment as he strode inside the cottage. “It’s not like I’m hiding my status,” he grumbled to an amused Taehyung. “He just… Yoongi didn’t realise and I’m simply not reminding him. There is a difference.”
Taehyung hummed, staring at Jimin with a knowing look in his eyes. “Sure.”
Jimin ignored Taehyung’s sarcastic remark in favour of exploring the cottage. It was bigger than he would have guessed from seeing only the outside, but the entire house was most likely smaller than Jimin’s chambers – bathing room included.
He and Taehyung were standing in what seemed to be the living quarters. A small shelf on the wall held about five books, all of them worn from reading and re-reading, with a stack of candles and matches lying next to them. There was a small table with two chairs and a couch with a beautiful quilt. Jimin walked towards it to inspect it further, but when he reached out to grab it a voice interrupted him: “Please don’t touch that.”
He turned around, surprised, and saw Yoongi standing in the entrance with a scowl on his face.
“I apologise,” Jimin said sincerely, stepping away from the quilt.
Yoongi nodded in acknowledgement. “My mother made that. I don’t want to get dirt on it.”
Jimin stared at his hands, only now noticing how dirty they had gotten. He blushed, embarrassed.
It was silent then. Jimin couldn’t make eye contact with Yoongi, not knowing what else to say. Taehyung, fortunately, broke the awkward silence when he cleared his throat, holding up three cups. “Who wants some water?”
After taking a break for half an hour for a small lunch, the three men continued their work. Jimin still felt squeamish around the beetles, but he had at least gotten used to the feeling of holding one – plucking them off the plants came easy to him now. It had gotten cloudy and Jimin sent up a short prayer to the weather gods, relieved at not having to work in the sun for the rest of the afternoon.
Yoongi seemed to be in a better mood again, softly singing under his breath as he worked on his side of the farm. His voice was deep and raspy, not very different from what he sounded like when talking. Jimin didn’t recognise the song, so it must have been some sort of workers’ song, maybe a lullaby passed along through different generations. It was soothing, hypnotising in a way, because before Jimin even realised it, minutes turned into hours and he was finished with his work.
“The bugs are gone,” Jimin said proudly, standing up straight to look at Yoongi. “I have plucked them all.”
Yoongi was sitting in the shade near the cottage, leaning against the wall. “Took you long enough, I finished a while ago.”
Jimin huffed, crossing his arms. “And you did not think to help me?” he pouted.
Yoongi wiped his brow with his arm and squinted his eyes. He looked a little confused. “We divided the work, why would I need to?”
“This is why no one else helps you,” Jimin muttered softly. He wiped the grass from his clothes, then stared at his hands in horror – they were covered in dirt, his fingernails even filthier than before their lunch break. “Can I wash my hands somewhere?”
The farmer grunted and got up from the ground. “Follow me.”
Jimin trailed behind Yoongi, walking around the cottage to the backside. There was a clay pot, about half the height of Jimin himself but twice as broad. It was filled to the brim with water.
“You can use this.”
Jimin nodded and started scrubbing his hands. Yoongi disappeared and returned again. He was holding a bar of soap and offered it to Jimin quietly.
“Thank you,” Jimin sighed, taking the soap to wash his hands more vigorously. It smelled like lavender, the scent floating up to Jimin’s nose as he scrubbed his hands.
Yoongi joined him, standing next to Jimin. There wasn’t much space, so he brushed Jimin’s side when he took the soap back. It shocked the prince, his head snapping up to glare at Yoongi – but the farmer seemed unaware and simply continued washing his hands.
“I made it myself.”
Jimin tilted his head, frowning. “Excuse me?”
“The soap,” Yoongi clarified. “My mother taught me how to make it with the flowers and herbs from our garden. I sell the soap in the cold season.”
Jimin hummed. That made sense – it was hard to survive the cold season for farmers, especially when their crops failed, so most of them did other jobs after all the harvesting work came to an end. “It has a nice fragrance,” Jimin complimented. He snuck a glance at Yoongi and saw him staring at the soap. His hands had stilled, but there was a tiny, proud smile on his face.
“Thank you,” he said eventually and he finished up washing his hands.
When they returned to the front of the cottage, Taehyung was waiting for them. “We should head back.”
Jimin nodded and turned to Yoongi to say his farewell. The farmer seemed a little sad, but he plastered a polite smile on his face when he and Jimin made eye contact.
“It was an… interesting day,” Jimin began, “Let us hope the rosemary beetles will leave your garden alone from now on.”
Yoongi nodded. “Thanks for your help, you too,” he added, looking at Taehyung who smiled and nodded. “Have a safe trip home.”
“We will,” Taehyung assured. “Shall we?”
Jimin nodded reluctantly. “Goodbye, Yoongi,” he said, giving him a small wave.
“Goodbye, I– I don’t know your name,” Yoongi admitted, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks turned rosy. Jimin realised he and Taehyung hadn’t even introduced themselves.
“Sorry, that is our fault,” Jimin apologised, “I am Jimin and that is Taehyung.”
Yoongi cleared his throat and smiled, bashful. “Goodbye, Jimin.”
As Jimin and Taehyung walked through the fields back to their carriage, the prince ignored the not-so-subtle glances Taehyung was throwing at him. “So… Jimin, huh?”
Jimin groaned and pushed Taehyung, nearly causing him to fall in the weeds. “Be quiet.”
“But now he still doesn’t know–”
“Yes, I know. I could hardly tell him who I am right before leaving, now could I?” Jimin grunted. “That would have gone well. ‘Oh, also, just so you know, I am crown prince Jimin’. He would have appreciated that a lot.”
Taehyung linked their arms together – a gesture only done when there weren’t any spying eyes around, looking for gossip and rumours. “You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”
Jimin leaned his head on Taehyung’s shoulder and sighed. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
They reached the carriage and Taehyung helped Jimin inside. “Rest. You’ve worked hard today,” he said gently. Now that Jimin was hidden from view, Taehyung stretched his arm to card his fingers through Jimin’s hair – another rare gesture.
Jimin hummed and closed his eyes. Taehyung’s hand vanished and the door of the carriage was slammed shut. He was out like a light before Taehyung had even grabbed the reigns.
✩
A week after the beetle crisis was solved, there was a knock on Yoongi’s door. He had just finished breakfast, the sun barely rising over the horizon, colouring the sky hues of pink and purple.
He set his now empty bowl of porridge aside and opened the door. In front of him stood two men – both of them taller than him, he begrudgingly noted. One of them was in armour, wearing the royal colour – purple – so he must be part of the royal guard. The other one wore regular brown trousers with a white dress shirt, the top buttons open despite the cold morning wind. His coat was a vibrant red and of high quality – a merchant then, or maybe someone from the inner court.
“Hello,” the maybe-merchant greeted, giving Yoongi a charming, heart-shaped smile. “We have come here on the king’s special orders. He would like to place an order for flowers.”
“Oh,” Yoongi stammered, trying not to show how shocked he was. The king? How did he even know of Yoongi’s existence, let alone his flowers? “Yes, of course. Uhm. Do you– do you want to come inside?”
“We will not stay for long,” the knight suddenly spoke up. He had the broadest shoulders Yoongi had ever seen, but his smile rivalled the maybe-merchant’s one.
Yoongi nodded but didn’t know what to say. The other men seemed to notice because one of them took the lead and said: “I am Hoseok and this is Seokjin of the royal guard. May we have a look at your flowers?”
“Of course, yes,” Yoongi nodded, gesturing for them to follow him. He closed the door behind him and led the men to the flowers. “I am Yoongi.”
“We know. The king – and by default us too – was told wonderful things about you.”
Yoongi blinked. Who would even talk about him to the king, of all people? His two helpers from the week before might have – Taehyung and Jimin, he remembered – but were they in the king’s inner circles? Or did word travel from them to the king through other people? Yoongi was perplexed but wouldn’t question his good luck – providing his flowers to the castle might make him enough money to live through the cold season.
“I still have some sunflowers, roses, tansies and carnations left from the blooming season. If the king needs the flowers soon, these are still an option,” Yoongi began, pointing at the flowers in question. “More harvesting season flowers will bloom soon as well. I have pansies, asters, violas, and dianthus.”
To Yoongi’s surprise, it was the knight who spoke up this time: “Could you turn these into bouquets? We have about twenty vases to fill.”
Yoongi nodded fervently, eager to show off his skills. His mother had trained him in flower arranging, so he knew which flowers complemented each other well, in terms of visuals and odour. “I could make one right now and you could show it to the king and see if it’s what he’s looking for? Like a sample,” he suggested.
Hoseok clasped his hands together in glee. “Wonderful!”
After making three different samples, Hoseok and Seokjin left with polite bows and a promise to return as soon as they could. Yoongi spent the rest of the day tending to his garden, still a little dazed about the weird encounter from that morning. He did his daily tasks automatically, his body performing the familiar movements while his mind was miles and miles away, daydreaming of a pretty eye smile and small, fairy-like hands.
Hoseok and Seokjin returned three days later to tell Yoongi two of his samples had been approved. He was to come to the palace in another two days’ time with twenty bouquets and the entrance approval letter Seokjin handed over to him – he needed it so he wouldn’t get stranded in front of the gates, the knight informed him.
Yoongi went to the city centre after his two guests left, trekking through the fields and over sandy paths to reach his destination. It took a couple of hours on foot, but he needed special wrapping paper for the bouquets and he had run out weeks ago.
The city was vibrant as always – children running around, merchants yelling about the wares they were selling, girls giggling as they gossiped about the up-coming masquerade. He heard snippets about the crown prince, hushed whispers speaking of the prince’s beauty. Yoongi had never seen him before – the royal family only visited the city during big events and Yoongi had never bothered going to see them in the flesh. That would change soon, though – he’d be in the palace in two days, so it was entirely possible that he caught a glimpse of the royal family.
Yoongi finished his errands and visited some of his regular customers, writing down new orders. He didn’t come to the city often, so he liked to finish up as much as he could during his visits.
He returned home with a sense of fulfilment, his hands full with gold-coloured wrapping paper and a smile on his face.
Yoongi went to the castle two days later, pushing a cart with the bouquets in front of him. He had pocketed the entrance approval letter, checking multiple times during his trip if it was still there. Nerves had almost made him stay home, but his sense of duty had been stronger – he’d made an agreement, so he’d fulfil his end of the bargain.
The castle was as imposing as ever, towering higher and higher over Yoongi the closer he got. When he arrived at the gates, he had to crane his neck fully upwards to see the top of the castle.
Two castle guards awaited him, a bored look on their face. Yoongi couldn’t imagine just standing there for hours – the biggest threat they currently faced was teenage girls trying to sneak in to catch a glimpse from the prince.
He greeted them and was easily allowed inside when he showed them his letter. The gates led to an inner court: a big fountain in the middle of the square served as a centrepiece and Yoongi got caught up staring at it. He was shaken out of it when a familiar voice greeted him.
“Yoongi, hi!”
He turned around quickly, wide eyes taking in the man in front of him. Taehyung was clad in armour, the purple cape on his back flapping in the wind. “You- you’re a knight?”
Taehyung grinned at him. “I sure am.”
Huh. So a knight helped him out over a week ago? Did that mean Jimin was a knight too? He must be, right? He had the same stiff posture as Taehyung, back straight and shoulders pulled back. And he looked like he could be a knight – not that Yoongi had been staring, of course, he had simply noticed the way Jimin’s thighs looked when he crouched down, or his strong arms when they stood next to each washing their hands.
“You’re here for the flower delivery, right?” Taehyung asked, nodding towards the cart. Yoongi nodded. “Follow me.”
They picked the bouquets out of the cart, holding two each so the flowers wouldn’t get squished. Taehyung led him through different corridors until they arrived at what looked like the main hall. It was gigantic, probably ten times the size of Yoongi’s entire house. Maids were lighting candelabras and cleaning the long, purple carpet leading up to the throne.
“Just put them in the vases,” Taehyung said, pointing towards several small tables with empty vases lining the walls of the main hall. Yoongi nodded and did as he was told.
They worked like this until all the vases were filled, walking back and forth to the cart to fetch the bouquets – Yoongi had asked why they couldn’t just take the cart inside with them and Taehyung had pointedly stared at the dirty wheels. Yoongi had blushed while Taehyung chuckled.
“So where’s Jimin?” Yoongi asked after putting the last bouquets in the vases.
Taehyung raised his eyebrows at him, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. “What? Is my company not good enough for you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Yoongi quickly said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
Taehyung snorted. Yoongi thought it was very not-knight-like, but kept his mouth shut. “He’s preparing for the masquerade.”
Yoongi felt a pang of disappointment but tried to ignore it. From the look Taehyung gave him, he guessed his facial expression gave it away anyways.
“You know what,” Taehyung started, looking around sneakily again, “how about you come to the masquerade tonight? I have an extra invitation.”
“What?” Yoongi’s asked, perplexed. He stared at the knight, but he seemed serious. “Taehyung, how in the world will they even let me in here? I don’t have clothes fitting for a ball.”
“Leave that to me,” Taehyung grinned, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.
☾
“So, have you found anyone yet?”
Jimin turned to look at his mother. She looked younger than her age, the excitement from the ball pulsing off her in waves. She smiled conspiratorially and he noticed she was trying to keep back delighted laughter.
“I have not,” he replied, looking over the crowd. There were many people who pleased the eye, but none of his dance partners had been interesting enough to keep his attention.
“He will find someone eventually, your highness. Just give him some time,” Namjoon spoke up from behind the queen. He winked at Jimin.
The prince smiled at him. Namjoon had recently been assigned the position of personal adviser to the queen and he had already helped Jimin tons – he was a voice of reason, often reminding the queen to be patient with Jimin.
Namjoon suddenly strode forward and turned around, facing Jimin. He bowed deeply and asked: “May I have this dance?”
“Certainly,” Jimin smiled, taking Namjoon’s hand and following him to the centre of the crowd. When they were out of hearing distance from his mother, he whispered: “Thank you for saving me again.”
Namjoon chuckled, pretty dimples visible. “You are most welcome, your highness.”
They danced to one song, as was proper, and Jimin picked a new dance partner at random. It was a girl, much shorter than him, who kept giggling – most likely because she was dancing with the prince. Even with his mask he was recognisable: he had picked the same one ever since he was a child and people had started to notice quickly. He couldn’t help it – he loved his deer mask, couldn’t pick a different one even if he tried. The thin, elegant antlers at the top of the mask, the little flowers that were gracefully twined around the antlers, the soft green and brown colours – it made him feel magical.
The song came to an end and Namjoon bowed, turning around to find a new dance partner. Jimin felt someone tap his shoulder and turned around, ready to smile politely and excuse himself.
But then he saw who was standing in front of him.
The same black hair. The same pale skin. The same cat-like eyes, boring into his through his mask – a beautiful mix of wildflowers and leaves, complementing Jimin’s own mask.
The man bowed, stretching out his hand. “May I have this dance?” Yoongi asked, his voice a deep murmur.
Jimin took Yoongi’s hand, in shock. What was a farmer doing here? And why did it make Jimin so happy?
They started dancing and Jimin was surprised once more – how did Yoongi know all the steps the dance? He was a little stiff, but he led Jimin perfectly, not once stepping on his toes or bumping into someone else.
“I do not mean to be rude,” Jimin began, “but where did you learn to dance?”
Yoongi grinned at him, a smile so uninhibited and carefree that it took Jimin’s breath away. “Taehyung taught me this afternoon.”
Jimin gasped. “That traitor knew you were coming here!”
“He invited me, actually,” Yoongi corrected and he winked at Jimin. Winked at him!
Jimin ignored the fluttery feeling in his stomach. “You sure have become cocky since we last met.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Yoongi wondered. He twirled Jimin around in a move that was not common at court, before pulling him back and holding him close, chest to chest. Jimin’s cheeks turned pink – these moves weren’t appropriate for court.
When Jimin didn’t reply, Yoongi decided to cut him some slack. He slowed their dancing to match with the rest of the people dancing, then asked: “Was it you who spoke so highly of me to the king?”
“Maybe?” Jimin muttered, shy. He definitely was the one, not that he would ever admit that. He had spoken of nothing or no one else than Yoongi for a week straight after his visit to the farm. His mother had just smiled as he talked of the farmer he met and the beautiful flowers he grew, a knowing look in her eyes. At the time, Jimin hadn’t known what exactly his mother knew, but now he realised – he had caught feelings for Yoongi. It only took one day with the farmer to start dreaming of him, either asleep or awake, and Taehyung had begged Jimin on more than one occasion to stop talking about Yoongi.
“Well, I should thank the person who did,” Yoongi teased, “because thanks to them, I’m here dancing with you.”
“When did you get so charming?” Jimin whined. He avoided eye contact with Yoongi, scared he would start blushing again.
“Since I realised I’m interested in you.”
Jimin’s eyes widened and his head snapped up, checking if Yoongi was serious or not. They made eye contact and Jimin resisted the urge to look away. “Do you even know who I am?”
“I know Taehyung is a knight, so I assumed you were one too. But now I’m not sure anymore – you’re not in uniform like the other knights.”
Jimin gulped. This was it – time to see if Yoongi would be scared off by Jimin’s status or not. “I’m a little… higher in rank,” he said slowly. Yoongi nodded, urging him to continue. “I’m the prince. Crown prince, actually.” He chuckled nervously.
Yoongi’s eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at Jimin. His movements stilled – they were the only ones not dancing, drawing more attention the longer they stood still. “I’m not sure if I can still you call you Jimin then.”
It took a second to sink in, but then Jimin giggled, eyes scrunching up in glee. He fell forward, losing control over his body because of his laughter. Yoongi caught him, though, a soft smile on his face. He kept his hands on Jimin’s waist. “I don’t know if that means yes or no?”
“Yes,” Jimin giggled, “you can still call me Jimin.”
Yoongi gulped, before moving closer and whispering: “I’d rather call you mine.”
“Yoongi,” Jimin laughed, slapping his arm. “You flirt!”
“Your flirt,” Yoongi corrected, squeezing Jimin’s waist softly.
Jimin hummed. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Yoongi’s cheeks turned rosy, his smile widening. “Go ahead.”
So Jimin did, ignoring all the people around him who were most definitely staring. All he could focus on was the feeling of Yoongi’s lips, so soft and warm. Yoongi pulled him closer, one arm creeping higher until it was resting on the side of Jimin’s neck. His fingers were cold and Jimin shivered, leaning closer, wanting to fill any possible gap between the two of them.
They spent the rest of the night dancing together. Jimin didn’t care about protocol – he only wanted to dance with Yoongi, no one else. He had finally found his match and he wasn’t planning on letting go soon. He was still anxious about the future, anxious about somehow screwing up and leading the kingdom to doom - but at least he would have Yoongi by his side. Things already seemed less scary.