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The last 24 hours of the coronation are the most crucial. The palace fills the air of the country with an atmosphere of magic, a dreamy haze. The streets are filled with the colors of blue, purple, and red— royalty, aristocracy, the coming down of hope for the people.
Inside the palace, final touches are being done. Down to the infinitesimal details, to the darkest corners of the pews, attention is accorded to. The chatter of the men and women ordained with the privilege to be at the last rehearsal dies down, Donghyuck feels it, as he stands at the sidelines alongside the Queen Mother and Prince Jaemin— the juxtaposition of the anticipation bubbling among the few and the solemnity of the throne in front. The spotlight glides to the Priest carrying the heavy crown, the symbol of divinity, history, and blood of the men and women who stood in the exact same place in the name of the monarchy. The church dims and at last, there he stands. The gray hands of the priest carry the crown to the man on the throne, perfectly placed with the swiftness resulting from months of practice. The priest walks away and reveals the man standing under the divine, in front of his people. In this time tomorrow, the exact same routine will happen, and after the priest speaks and the lights narrow down to him , a King will rise.
Mark meets Donghyuck’s eyes from the front. The gold weighs heavy, pressing down on his head.
“I think we’re done,” Mark announces. The assistants come flocking to carefully remove the crown, and robe from Mark. The lights are turned back on illuminating the vastness of the cathedral. He sees his mother and the heads of the committee talking amongst each other, probably criticizing his posture, typical.
He scans the place and lands on the only person he’s been looking for since he woke up this morning. Resisting the urge to smile, he lowers his head and walks towards his family.
“Well done, my dear,” his mother exclaims, softly hugging him. Beside her is his younger brother carrying a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“You look dashing, brother,” says Jaemin.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Seeing you walk around with the god-awful uniform and that godforsaken antiquated crown? You bet,” his brother jokes.
Mark smiles. There are many things in the world that he was deprived of growing up, a private life, freedom of choice, a “normal” upbringing but one of the things he was luckily bestowed with is a loving family.
Emerging beside Jaemin is Donghyuck, his childhood best friend and conveniently his personal assistant and right-hand man. As the heir to the throne, whispers have surrounded Mark from the moment he could utter a word. Influence, temptation waiting to bite the young prince. Donghyuck was the reason he was protected. Donghyuck has many roles in the palace, and especially in the advent of Mark’s coronation, he has found the other frequenting one place after the other making sure everything is set, everything is perfect, and nothing is amiss for his Coronation.
“Your royal highness,” Donghyuck starts, bowing his head.
“Donghyuck,” Mark replies, softly like a whisper but before he can continue, his mother touches his arm and announces her departure with Jaemin. Their personnel leaves with the Queen Mother along with most of the key persons of the committee. Jaemin gives him a curt wink before assisting their mother to the doors.
Only Mark’s assistants and bodyguards remain, together with Donghyuck.
Donghyuck clears his throat, masking his face with a safe indifference both of them have perfected over the years and utters, “Prince Jaemin had informed me that you have a matter of great importance which you want to discuss?
“Yes,” Mark whispers, staring at him, not letting his gaze falter. Mark turns around and announces to the remaining people inside the cathedral, “Good work today, everyone. I have something private to discuss with Mr. Lee and it will be great if everyone could wait outside the cathedral. This won’t take long.” He presents them his most charming smile and waits until the inside of the church has cleared, muttering his thanks and well wishes to those who have helped him prepare for tomorrow.
When the last click of the door resonates in the nearly empty church, he turns around to see Donghyuck walking in the aisle towards the glimmering throne. He marches up and starts walking beside him. He sighs, momentarily letting go of the fatigue and tension in his body. Donghyuck chuckles beside him.
“This. This is it, your highness.” Donghyuck stops a healthy distance in front of the altar where the throne sits beside.
Mark wants to scream. “Hyuck. Don’t call me that.” He sits on the floor next to the throne, its shadow engulfing him.
Donghyuck stands still, alternating his gaze on the throne and the altar. “This is your destiny, Mark. It’s everything you’ve been preparing for all your life.”
Mark caresses the coldness and roughness of the throne. “ I don’t know what my destiny is Hyuck. I don’t even know who I am. I’m too—.” He chuckles, messing up his hair.
“What are you saying?” Donghyuck looks at him for the first time with so much intensity.
“Maybe what people are saying is correct. Maybe I’m too young. Maybe I’m too naive and stupid to be King. Hyuck, I am not my father. I’m just. I’m just the stupid boy who lost his dad without warning,” he softly confesses.
Donghyuck kneels, leveling himself to face Mark.
“I don’t understand how a brilliant person like you could be as equally stupid,” Donghyuck starts, placing a careful hand on Mark’s cheek. “ You are not your father, because you are you. You are Mark. You are Minhyung. You are the prince and tomorrow my King. But before all of that, you are the annoying know-it-all who insisted to befriend the royal secretary’s son 20 years ago, you are the boy who kissed my cheek and caressed my back when I fell ill in university, you are the man who stood by your family, your mother, your brother, and held the monarchy steadfastly when your father passed.” He placed his other hand on the other cheek and held Mark’s face in his hands. Fully lowering himself, he smiles mapping every intricacy of his prince into memory, every mole that connects to a beautifully crafted constellation. “But most importantly, you are the only man that I have ever loved,” Donghyuck whispers, fighting the tears threatening to pour from his eyes. “You are beautiful, kind, and good,” he emphasizes. “This country will be lucky to have you as King, darling. Believe me on this one.”
Mark beams, drowning in his beloved’s words. “I don’t want to lose you, Hyuck,” he says, lowering Donghyuck hands and cupping them with his.
“You won’t. You will never lose me. Whatever form it takes. I will always be by your side.”
“You are my confidence, my hope, and my strength, you know that right?” Mark says which only receives a grin from Donghyuck in reply.
Mark kisses their intertwined fingers and stands up, pulling Donghyuck with him. Smiling, he says, “Take a seat.”
Donghyuck scrunches his brows in confusion, “Where?”
Mark directs his gaze to the throne.
“Absolutely not,”
“Why not?” Mark moves, patting the seat.
“Mark Lee. Are you out of your mind?” Donghyuck looks around him, making sure no one is around.
“I thought I was your Royal Highness?” Mark Jokes, “Please, no one will know. You’ve been standing all day working for this coronation. The least I could do is let you sit and rest.”
“In the pews possibility, not in there you royal idiot,” Donghyuck argues.
Mark has fallen deaf it seems. He begins to maneuver Donghyuck towards the seat leaving him no room to resist. He figures the man has endured the stress of his coronation for the past few months, he’ll let him have this moment, it’s only theirs to remember anyway. Donghyuck lets go of Mark’s hand and sits comfortably on the throne.
“Your mother would have a heart attack if she sees me here.”
Mark laughs, finally looking like the 25-year-old man that he is. The transition to the throne has made both of them age so fast, succumbing to the pressure and stress of the responsibilities. Mark tried to hide all of his anguish behind his smile but Donghyuck knows that until now, he is nothing but a son, still mourning over the death of his father. The crown doesn’t permit that, however, for thrones are for kings and queens, not for feeling and grieving beings.
Mark kneels then, after collecting himself, facing the boy he has loved in his childhood until now and the years to come. “I love you, my dear. I wish I could parade you outside of this hall and show you to the world. You deserve that and more.” Mark caresses Donghyuck’s hand, slowly, softly.
“I don’t need that. I just need you. I only have eyes for you, my darling. No one else matters to me,” Donghyuck replies tightening his hold on Mark’s hand.
Mark’s face slowly crumbles with sadness. “But tomorrow, you’ll have to share me with the rest of the country. I will be King. I will belong to everyone. I don’t. I wish…” he looks at his side. “I just wish you didn’t have to. I wish I was only yours,” he finishes his confession.
Finally letting the tears dance to his cheeks. Swallowing the sadness and acceptance in his throat he kisses Mark’s cheek and whispers, “That’s tomorrow, my prince.” He smiles, “Not tonight.”
Mark softly presents him a smile, a smile that he will never forget, painted with tears. “Not quite,” the future king confides.
“Not yet,” both of them whisper.