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Jo Yeong is four years old, and the king is crying in front of him.
He knows there are rules and structures about how to speak with royalty, and despite his youth, this is still the king of Corea standing before him. But more important, in his mind, is the fact that this is a child like him, overwhelmed by a grief that is too big for his body, lost and traumatized and alone. And maybe he doesn't have the right language or the proper manners, but all he can do is tell him to stop crying. All he can do is try to take on some of the weight of sorrow, and maybe it works because at least the shock of it stops the king's tears for the moment.
And then there is a plastic sword in his hands and an iron promise in his heart, and his destiny is set in stone: he won't ever let his king cry like that again. He has found the place he belongs, and it is at his king's side.
---
Jo Yeong is eight years old, and he's bored and hot.
The past four years of being the Unbreakable Sword has mostly involved spending time with the king, keeping him company and occasionally making him laugh, and sometimes standing there while he talked through some kind of math problem. He's been spending every spare moment learning how to defend his king, how to fight and how to pay attention and how to look more important than he felt.
None of it feels like it's working yet. He can tell from the indulgent smiles on the adults around him, the way the various women on the king's staff coo over him when they think he's not listening.
He does his best to ignore it, trying to memorize and catalogue every sound in the room while his king has his newest suit tailored – "Another new suit already, he's growing like a weed, he'll be as tall as his father was!" -- trying not to fidget or rock on his feet or make a sound. This stillness is the hardest part of his training, staying calm and alert and steady, not letting his thoughts drift and slide away, trying to find the perfect balance between observant and distracted.
He sees the motion of the tailor's hands and he's moving almost before he registers what it means. He's not fast enough to prevent it, though, and the man touches his king's neck, barely brushing it as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. The tailor's movements are nothing but professional, but Yeong sees the flash of panic in his king's eyes, followed by a blankness like a door slamming shut; the way he flinches back jerkily; the sharp and desperate gasp barely stifled.
He pushes himself between the tailor and his king, back ramrod straight and arms crossed over his chest. "You are not permitted to touch his highness," he declares with all the authority he can muster. "You're lucky beheading is illegal."
The man in front of him stammers an apology, looking torn between amusement and actual chastisement, but more important is the soft, shaky laugh from behind him and the feeling of hands curling into the back of his shirt for a moment.
"I am inclined to be lenient, this time," his king says, voice mostly firm, his tone imperial with the ease of long practice. The hands in his shirt release, smooth out the wrinkles, and drop out of contact and Yeong steps aside, back to his place at his king's side, right where he belongs.
---
Jo Yeong is thirteen years old, and he is in love with his king.
His king is scribbling numbers and symbols on the wide chalkboard that dominates the wall of his study, dust across one cheekbone where he rubbed it absently, eyes sharp as they trace the long lines of numbers and letters that are intermingling incomprehensibly. His limbs are long and coltish from his most recent growth spurt, one delicate wrist exposed when he reaches to wipe away one set of numbers and replace them with a different one, apparently satisfied with the result. "What do you think, Yeong?" he asks, staring up at his equations. "It's not completely unified yet but I think I'm close."
Yeong has been completely lost since the moment his king started adding Greek letters to the numbers on the chalkboard. He stopped even trying to make sense of anything as soon as those Greek letters started getting extra lines, because an entire additional alphabet apparently wasn't enough. "Looks good, sire," he replies flatly, knowing full well that his king isn't actually looking for a real response, just a reminder that there are other people there for him to bounce off of.
"You're sure? No suggestions, not even going to check my math?" His king's voice is bright and teasing, relaxed in the way it always is when it's just the two of them, when he can put down the mantel of kingship for just a moment. He starts to step down from the chalkboard, crossing to him, and his foot catches on the stack of textbooks on the floor. It's one of his increasingly rare bouts of gracelessness, a reminder that his body has been growing faster than his mind can keep track of, and in a second, Yeong is there to steady him, one hand on his arm and the other splayed low on his chest. He can feel his king's heart beating under his palm, feel his breath on his cheek and for a moment he thinks his whole body is about to catch on fire.
"Are you all right?" It's a credit to the training he's been doing that his voice sounds level and calm even to his own ears, not flustered and caught off guard and distracted by the way his king isn't pulling away, apparently content to let his Unbreakable Sword carry his weight.
"You're forbidden to tell anyone this happened," his king says in response, finally straightening and standing on his own two feet again. "I have an image to keep up."
Jo Yeong thinks about how many times the press has seen his king fall off his horses when he's working on training them and just nods. "I won't say anything to affect your image, sire."
His king laughs, then tries for a stern look, wagging a finger at him. "I mean it. I can have you beheaded for spreading slander and lies."
"I would never lie about you to the press," Yeong promises, voice neutral, face blank. It's almost become a game, maintaining a deadpan expression while his king tries ever harder to get him to rise to the bait. His attention is the sun, and Yeong is desperate for it like a flower, reaching for something he knows he'll never be able to have.
He tries not to look reluctant as his hands drop back to his sides, his stance shifts back to rest. His king is already turning back around to continue his work, tangles of equations marching up and down the chalkboard in ways that only make sense to him, and Yeong is back to watching him, keeping a distance, protecting him.
Both of them in the place where they belong.
---
Jo Yeong is nineteen years old, and he is contemplating regicide.
"I'm technically on a date, you know," he tells his very drunk king, who is hanging off his neck, stumbling through the back streets in the tiny town they were stationed in for the next few days. Officially, there was some kind of trade dispute between these two border towns, but unofficially it's because there is a small, private shooting range owned by their captain's cousin, and his king is many things but a competent shooter is not one of them. "I'm on a date with an incredibly hot man, who will probably never speak to me again because you threw up on his shoes. He can bench press me. I know he can bench press me because he did it when he asked me out."
"I could bench press you if I wanted," his king replies, sounding slightly sulky about it. "Here, look."
Yeong cuts his king's attempt off before he can even start to get a grip. His responsibilities as the Unbreakable Sword have never been formally codified, but he's fairly sure 'Don't let your king throw his back out trying to lift you' is high up on the list. Certainly it's an unspoken rule of being in the king's guard at the very least. "I believe you, sire," he says instead. "You can just go to bed and rest."
"You can't have a date," his king says, apparently flitting back to that conversational stream. "He lost the drinking contest, you can't date him. I order you not to date him."
"Jun-seo isn't the one who threw up," Yeong points out. "That means he wins by default."
"That doesn't sound fair." His king sighs heavily and tilts his head against Yeong's. "I'm changing the rules of drinking contests. By royal decree."
"I'll call the palace for you in the morning," Yeong promises.
There's a long stretch of peaceful quiet as they make their way back to the hotel cleared for their shore leave, Yeong nodding professionally to the members of the guard that are on duty tonight and waving off their offers of help. He gets his king into bed, comfortable under the warm sheets; sets a bottle of water on his bedside table; and curls his hands into fists briefly instead of gently brushing the hair off his forehead. "Sleep well," he says quietly before turning to leave.
His king reaches a hand out and catches his fingers for a second. "Yeong. Lieutenant Kyun is...nice. Go get a goodnight kiss. Your king orders it."
There is a band of something hot and spiked around his heart, squeezing tighter with every beat. "Yessir," he says instead of pointing out that he's already done a lot more than kiss Jun-seo; that this wasn't their first date, just the first one his king had seen them on; that coming back to the hotel didn't mean his night was over.
That the appeal in Lieutenant Kyun Jun-seo wasn't just in the fact that the other man was strong enough to carry him, but also – mostly – in the fact that he can touch him without the weight of years of duty getting in the way.
He shuts the door firmly behind him. "Keep an ear out in case he gets sick," he instructs the guard stationed outside his king's door. "And he'll definitely need the hotel's best hangover cures in the morning." He returns the guard's salute, then heads down the hall to Jun-seo's room, already undoing the top buttons on his shirt, ready to make up for the disastrous middle of their date. Tonight, he's going to let himself just be Jo Yeong, spending the night with his hot shipmate. Tomorrow, he'll slide back into being the Unbreakable Sword, standing at his king's side, where he belongs.
---
Jo Yeong is twenty-nine years old, and he is exhausted.
This isn't a new sensation – he sometimes feels like he's spent his entire life with some level of exhaustion – but there's certainly been an uptick in the last few years. His king has more public events than he cares to count, and a habit of sneaking out of the palace to go god-knows-where and do god-knows-what besides. Luckily, Lady Noh has a sixth sense for when the king is about to cause trouble, which means Yeong only has to worry about gathering a handful of guards to subtly follow his king from a distance without being noticed, instead of also having to find him. He's learned to be grateful for the smallest of mercies, and not having to mount a twenty-four seven watch on the windows of his king's study certainly isn't small.
Despite the exhaustion pulling behind his eyes, he forces himself to read over the schedule for tomorrow one last time, just to make sure it will stick. A suit fitting, boring but simple. Exercising Maximus, which is sure to put his king in a good mood. He'd need that boost, since a meeting with Prime Minister Koo is scheduled right after that, which would be sure to sour everyone's mood except hers as she blatantly flirted with his king without noticing (or caring) that he hasn't once shown the slightest bit of interest.
(He'd once made the mistake of complaining about it to Min-jun one night in bed, grumbling about the way she shamelessly tried to touch his arms and lean closer than propriety really allowed.
"You could sound a little less jealous of her when you talk to your boyfriend," Min-jun had said, in that tone of voice he used when he was upset and trying to joke about it instead, and there hadn't really been anything he could say that wasn't at least half a lie at that point.)
The rest of the day is sure to be better, though. His king is scheduled to read a fairy tale to some schoolchildren, and luckily that will be a built-in excuse to keep his meeting with the Prime Minister short. And the day will be capped off with a rowing competition, which his king is sure to win, and that will bump his mood up further.
He double-checks the guard roster for tomorrow one last time, going over the maps of the routes and the emergency escape plans, the backup schedule for when something goes wrong and everyone gets delayed, and the backup of the backup for when things go really wrong. There's enough paperwork for one short day to give anyone an ulcer, and Yeong's extra lists and lists of his lists and checklists for each list certainly doesn't help anyone other than himself.
With one last look at the files, and a half-hearted attempt to shuffle everything together into a neat pile, he shuts off the light and crawls into bed.
At least he can comfort himself with the thought that, as busy as tomorrow was going to be, at least it was a simple kind of busy, straightforward and uncomplicated. He'll spend it the way he always does: in his place, at his king's side. Where he belongs.