Archive of Our Own ^beta

The air was heavy that day. The clouds failed to obscure the desperate cries of dying horses and dying men. The world was doused in dull shadows. Men were still fighting, desperate to avoid slaughter. Death was their fate. It was written. All that was left to such dead men was to bring as many enemies with them when their time came to fall.

Crouched in a dale, the youngest prince of Lan, barely twenty years old, thought of his lovely wife and their small child. His wife who’d clung to him and begged him not to go. Men died around him, but all he saw was his wife’s soft lips trembling in fear, her pleading eyes wet with tears.

His dearest heart had been right. What had they thought to gain?

They had thought the Empire of Jiang was still weak. That this was the best chance to take back what their Kingdom of Lan had once lost. Land that hadn’t belonged to Lan in decades. The young prince of Lan’s king father was an ambitious man, and there’d be no better opportunity. Jiang had been drained by years of fighting, their borders besieged on all fronts. There was a new Emperor on the throne—because blood had been spilled and spilled liberally. Jiang had lost many great men, both common and royal. The new Emperor’s father, brothers, cousins, uncles among them. Fewer had been spared than lost. Was it not a given that their forces were stretched thin, that their state affairs must be in disarray, and they would never anticipate being attacked by Lan.

The Kingdom of Lan would be restored to glory, and the King of Lan would be the one to do it.

But then the Emperor himself had come.

A rider fell to an arrow startlingly nearby, so close that when the poor soldier dropped off his horse, his body tumbled in a slump to where the youngest prince of Lan hid. Fear suddenly gripped the young prince of Lan. A fear he hadn’t known since the first time he’d ridden off to battle with his older brothers to quell a small domestic uprising. A fear deeper than that fear, because now he had a family and death beckoned like it’d never been before. He could die, but his beautiful, lovely, kind and gentle wife and their babe—he could save them. He would save them and then gladly fall on the sword himself.

He was on the dead man’s horse and galloping home before the thought had fully formed. He’d send them away. He needed to see them one last time. He needed to hold his wife one more time in his arms and apologise for being a fool, and thank her for the days they’d shared and pray fate would smile more kindly on their next life.

The ground flew by underneath him, and he swore on their ancestors that he would make this right. He would keep his young family safe.

Father!

The Emperor of Jiang broke through the dream with the cry parched on his tongue, like a drowning man gasping for air. The sweet scent of herbs washed away the stench of blood, and blankets clung to his legs instead of the weight of armour. An old dream. An old battle. He did not like dreaming of old battles. As he woke, fear became resignation and regret, and only commotion and that one word remained. Those had not been part of the dream.

“Father!”

A young man shoved aside stunned guards as he pushed his way into the room. Desperation drew his features taut and travel stained his clothes, dirt clung to wind weathered skin. The Emperor still smiled to see his son, even as sorrow prickled his chest knowing that he was the cause for his son’s distress. That smile softened while his sorrow deepened as a second young man chased behind, barely five steps apart.

“Your Majesty—”

“Rise,” the Emperor said. He forestalled their bows with a wave of his hand, but his adopted son had already dropped to his knees, his head touching the ground.

“Your Majesty, please forgive the Prince of Jing, the fault is mine and should be punished—”

The Prince of Jing and his seventh son, Zheng Taekwoon, stood just in front of the Emperor, frozen like startled game, his usually impassive eyes wide with fear. No, not fear. Worry.

His seventh son was tall, his shoulders broad, his eyes sharp. It was always strange to see any hint of unsurety in him, this boy who had grown into a strong man, brave and unafraid. A quiet child and a quiet young man, despite his intimidating appearance. The Emperor had entrusted the northern borders to him, and the Prince of Jing’s mere presence had become enough to keep them secure. The boy had done good work.

“Hakyeon, child, there is no fault here,” the Emperor said. He sat up slowly, willing away the sleep-weakness, and regarded his adopted son, Cha Hakyeon.

Hakyeon got to his feet, although his head was still bowed in deference. He was a contrast to Taekwoon in many ways—his skin darker, his eyes gentler, his build slim and willowy, but pity the man who underestimated Cha Hakyeon. The Emperor’s heart ached for this child, the one he had adopted as his own, who he’d styled as Duke of Yin, who was Zheng Taekwoon’s closest brother even if Cha Hakyeon was not the Emperor’s son by blood.

The guards bowed and retreated with a wave from the Emperor. He was not unduly surprised when a third young man strode through the door, his expression stern and severe, drawn by the commotion.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Here was the Emperor’s second son, Zheng Zhiheng, the Prince of Xu. He directed this question to the Duke of Yin, voice full of disdain and reproach.

Hakyeon’s eyes flickered toward Taekwoon and then back to Zhiheng. He lowered his head in a bow, but it was the Emperor who spoke first.

“Zhiheng, you are also here,” the Emperor commented. “As you can see, Taekwoon has made the arduous trip from the borders, likely because Hakyeon informed him of my brief illness. I am quite recovered now, but it is my joy to have such filial sons.”

“But Father, you said no one was to tell Taekwoon, to not distract him from his duty!”

“What has been done is done,” the Emperor said, firmly cutting off his second son. “Now, Taekwoon, your Lady Mother must have heard of your arrival. Go see her. We can speak tomorrow.”

“Yes, Father,” Taekwoon said, his soft voice a stark contrast from moments earlier.

“Hakyeon, you as well—she will be waiting for both of you.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Hakyeon said, bowing deeply.

Zhiheng stepped forward, and the Emperor suddenly felt very weary. Perhaps he was too dismissive when he waved his second son away.

“Another day, Zhiheng. Your father has things to do.”

“Yes, Father,” Zhiheng said. He bowed as well.

The three young men left the room as one, and the Emperor’s quarters again returned to silence.

It was the mid morning sun that the three of them stepped into. Zheng Taekwoon, Cha Hakyeon, and Zheng Zhiheng.

In the sunlight, the differences between the three were pronounced. While the Prince of Jing wore travel garb with light armour, and the Duke of Yin dressed in fine but subtle clothes, the Prince of Xu was resplendent in the red and gold of a prince. He held himself with assurance and barely glanced at the other two as they walked.

“You disobeyed the Emperor,” Zhiheng said coldly. He did not turn to Hakyeon as he said this.

“I deserve to be punished, your Highness,” Hakyeon said, bowing deeply this time.

“Hakyeon did nothing wrong—”

“And you are still a rash child who has learnt nothing,” Zhiheng said, turning to a bristling Taekwoon.

Hakyeon held out a hand to stop Taekwoon from stepping forward further.

“Do not blame the Prince of Jing, your Highness, it was I who disobeyed the Emperor,” Hakyeon said, voice firm and back straight. There was a slimness about his shoulders that was a contrast to Taekwoon beside him. Yet he carried himself with a poise no less commanding than those of the two princes. A quieter, more subtle command, like the insistent tug of a deep river instead of the overwhelming expanse of an open ocean.

For Taekwoon, it was also reassurance.

“Hakyeon did nothing wrong, brother,” Taekwoon said. He matched Zhiheng’s tone as he pulled his composure around himself. He had ridden hard for days, driven by panic. He’d taken that panic with him when he pushed into the palace, not knowing what he’d find. The panic had imbalanced him, but the sight of the great palace courtyard with its austere stone tiles reminded him of his role, his responsibilities.

“There is no need to argue,” Zhiheng said dismissively.

He swept his eyes over the length of Taekwoon’s body, and Taekwoon was abruptly and uncomfortably aware of how dirty his travel clothes were. There was mud on his riding boots and on his cloak. Strands of hair had come loose, and his hands were smudged with dirt.

But the second prince was right—there was no need to argue. Taekwoon had no feud with Zhiheng. There was little feuding among the princes. Zhiheng was some six years older than Taekwoon and Hakyeon, and he’d never stopped seeing them as children. Taekwoon watched Zhiheng leave without a word of farewell, his silhouette shrinking in the distance.

It was a long minute before Hakyeon spoke.

“I’m truly sorry for worrying you,” Hakyeon said. He offered Taekwoon a wry smile. “Perhaps I was too hasty, but it is difficult to call back messenger pigeons from mid flight.”

Hakyeon was not a hasty person. Taekwoon knew this. His father must’ve been truly ill.

“How is Mother?” Taekwoon asked instead.

“Well,” Hakyeon answered. The speed of his answer was calming. Hakyeon followed this with a smile, his eyes soft. “She’s missed you.”

Taekwoon flushed and began to walk down the steps.

“I did miss you,” Hakyeon said, falling into step with Taekwoon. He said this softly, soft enough that no one but Taekwoon could’ve heard.

Taekwoon’s heart had settled into its usual rhythm, but at Hakyeon’s words, it seized in his chest and he shoved down the feeling. He let his next step take him a little closer to Hakyeon, so that their sleeves brushed. Words, like they so often did, failed him. Hakyeon, as if knowing this, turned to Taekwoon with a small smile.

“There’s much for us to discuss,” Hakyeon said. “But come, there are things we must do before we can rest. First let us go visit your Lady Mother, and then I will hear from you over a bit of cool wine.”

Hongbin let the curtain fall. The fabric slipped from his fingers with the smooth slide of silk, and just enough disruption of silence to match his mood. The sun had long since set, and it seemed like he might spend tonight alone. It was night, but his rooms were well lit. The heat of summer stuck to his skin, something that still felt foreign despite the years of his life that he had spent entrenched in them. As he turned he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and, as always, for a moment, he paused.

He was a handsome young man—beautiful might have been the more accurate word. It was a raw beauty, a sharp one. In the mirror his eyes were a honey brown from the light, his skin ghostly pale despite the mellow gold of the lamps. He brought a hand up to his face, fingers pressed lightly against his cheek. With his eyes, he traced down the strong line of his cheekbones, the sharp angles of his jaw. It was late, and it seemed like he would be spending tonight alone, and so he tugged the ornaments from his hair, dragged his fingers through to loosen the strands, and shook his head until his hair fell against his back and over his shoulders, loose and unbound. Hongbin looked down at the ornaments in his hand. His eyes lingered on the longest hairpin, one end adorned with a bird rendered in delicate gold, the other long, slender, and sharp. He walked toward the table, turning away from the mirror, and placed the ornaments he had removed neatly into their boxes.

He could hear voices through the walls, and more faintly, he could hear the strains of a pipa. The plucked notes drifted into the night, no less bright than the lamps that lit walkways, or bobbed along unsteadily in escort. Perhaps they were notes played for a royal audience.

These were things that Hongbin knew, but could not see.

He had just finished undressing when there was a soft knock on the door.

Hongbin froze, fingers lingering on his sleeve. He had thought the Prince of Xu would not be coming tonight. He was no longer properly dressed, was wearing only a plain, loose gown, but to leave the door unanswered was unacceptable.

With a small grimace, Hongbin shrugged on a silk robe and hurried out of his inner chambers to the door. He thought to ask who it was, but unlocked and opened the door instead without a sound.

"Your Highness," Hongbin greeted.

Zhiheng nodded at him, and Hongbin forced a small smile as he shut the door again, waiting for the Second Prince to step further inside before he followed. Zhiheng's expression was stern, severe, and Hongbin stiffened involuntarily under that look, until it broke into an awkward easiness.

"You are still awake," Zhiheng said.

"Yes, your Highness," Hongbin said. He hastened to the brazier to set water for tea, but halted at Zhiheng's raised hand.

"No need," Zhiheng said. Hongbin immediately bowed.

"Yes, your Highness," he said again.

He followed Zhiheng to the low couch, sliding the Prince's jacket off his shoulders and placing it neatly aside. He stood by as the Prince sat, waited until the Prince gestured before he sat next to the Prince. He allowed himself a small distance but let his sleeve brush against the Prince's arm.

"Were you about to sleep?" Zhiheng asked.

Hongbin bent his head slightly. "It is fortunate that I had yet to, my Prince, and to now be able to see you tonight."

"In which case, I apologise for keeping you awake," Zhiheng said. He wrapped an arm about Hongbin, his hand large and firm against Hongbin's shoulder. Hongbin leaned against the Prince, the Prince's words overpowering the music outside that Hongbin had barely managed to hear in even silence.

"It is my honour, your Highness," Hongbin said. The next words he spoke were measured, hesitant. "Will my Prince be staying the night?"

"Would you like me to?"

There was no trap here, but Hongbin wished there was. It would make things easier if it were not a genuine question with the same earnest intention that endeared so many to the Prince of Xu. Instead, he only nodded, a slight motion. "It would be my honour, your Highness," he said.

An honour that any one of the other concubines in these gardens would fault Hongbin for having. But the years that Hongbin had spent here—and had it really already been so long that he could count the days in years?—had long inured him to the looks, the words, the slights that anyone would have been a fool to miss.

But that was something that would not matter until the sun had risen again, and the prince left these chambers. Tonight, Hongbin knelt by the Prince of Xu, and slid off the robes he'd dressed in only moments before.

When it was done, the prince liked to lie by Hongbin and smooth fingers through Hongbin's hair as if he was a favoured dog. It always made Hongbin acutely aware of how large the prince's hands were, especially compared to his own, small and delicate like a woman's hands.

"My brother returned today," Zhiheng suddenly said.

"Your Highness?" Hongbin's voice was scratchy and hoarse, and he wished he could grimace. He placed a hand on the Prince's arm instead.

"Taekwoon," Zhiheng said, like that was supposed to mean something to Hongbin.

It did. But the prince did not need to know that.

"The Prince of Jing? Was he away?" Hongbin asked. He dropped his voice to a murmur. "Forgive me, your Highness, we hear little here and Hongbin is ignorant."

"Mm. No fault of yours," Zhiheng said with a small chuckle. He pat Hongbin's hand. "Only a thought. His return was sudden. I didn't expect him to return for another month."

Hongbin hesitated a moment. "It is good?"

"He is my brother," Zhiheng said. He turned to Hongbin and smiled.

Yet you seemed less than pleased at his sudden return.

It was more than enough to pique Hongbin's curiosity.

He'd known that the Prince of Jing had been away—Zheng Taekwoon, the seventh son of the Emperor. Hongbin had never seen him but he'd heard of him. Even as a youth, before Hongbin had become part of Zhiheng's household, he'd heard good things spoken of him. A favourite of the Emperor—an Emperor who was ailing, as Zhiheng himself had told him. Hongbin had never seen him—it wasn't a surprise. From the little he knew, the Prince of Jing didn't seem to be the sort of man who'd frequent pleasure houses.

Yet, this was the first time Hongbin had heard Zhiheng speak of him.

"It is good for family to be together," Hongbin said. Tested. "Perhaps this is presumptuous of Hongbin, but this unexpected return must mean that my Prince had plans to receive him more properly than he was able to?"

"Yes, that is true," Zhiheng agreed.

"The Prince of Jing is honoured to have my Prince as his Second Brother," Hongbin said. A sudden idea struck him, and he rolled the possibility in his mind. Curiosity could be a dangerous thing, but what entranced him was more than the curiosity itself—it was the knowledge at the end of that curiosity. "Will you receive him here?"

"Receive him?" Zhiheng said.

For a moment, Hongbin's stomach plummeted at the sharpness in Zhiheng's voice before Hongbin registered it as only surprise. An almost expected surprise. He'd surmised as much.

"Did Hongbin speak wrongly?" Hongbin asked. He dropped his voice again.

"No, my dove, you speak a valid point," Zhiheng said. "Perhaps we should receive him here, I've overlooked it for too long. A small gathering for family. It must be dull for you and the others too."

Hongbin smiled shyly as if he wasn't cursing Zhiheng in his heart. Dove? He was no dove. Yet, at the same time, Hongbin couldn't help the brief moment of triumph buried deep within himself.

"Never dull, your Highness. We lack for nothing here, and my Prince is always kind with his presence," Hongbin said. Proper words, even as he sweetly told the lie.

"That's good to hear," Zhiheng said.

Hongbin said nothing, finally feigning sleep, although it was not so difficult to. The pipa had fallen silent. The Prince of Xu rarely asked Hongbin to play for him. Little surprise, when there were so many more skilled than Hongbin in the prince's harem.

The prince's hand was resting against the back of Hongbin's head again, as if a comforting touch. Sleep, Hongbin thought firmly to himself. Sleep, and when he woke he could place that touch firmly behind him in his dreams.

The back palace bloomed under the summer sun. Hakyeon had remained here through these months, but he saw the colours with renewed splendour through Taekwoon’s lingering steps. Hakyeon knew the feeling well. While the barren shadows of the border had surrounded Taekwoon, Hakyeon had watched buds unfurl on branches and flowers extend their petals under warm, blue skies.

It was here, within the walls where they’d grown up, that they’d know they’d truly returned from the battlefield.

Taekwoon had been gone for months, alone, and it was Hakyeon’s panic that had pulled him back. Panic and fear as deep as any battle. It was only just starting to crumble away from Taekwoon, and Hakyeon’s heart panged to see it.

The Emperor had recovered better than Hakyeon had feared, but Hakyeon was still glad to have Taekwoon back.

As was so often the case, they heard Jaehwan long before they saw him.

“Seventh Brother!”

Jaehwan’s loud, cheery voice echoed down the open pathway and bounced off the wooden beams of the hall’s roof from behind them. He came fully into view as he rounded the corner and jogged the last few steps across the small bridge.

Hakyeon barely kept himself from laughing at the face Taekwoon pulled. He grabbed hold of Taekwoon’s sleeve before the Prince of Jing could quicken his steps too far.

“Your Highness,” Hakyeon said. He sketched a small bow in greeting.

The Tenth Prince, Prince of Yue Zheng Jaehwan was another of the princes that had inherited their father’s height. His features were strong, yet at the same time possessed a delicate finesse that matched his constant expression of mischief. That mischief directed itself into exaggerated dismay at Taekwoon's stony stare.

“Tenth Brother.”

Taekwoon finally turned to face Jaehwan, expression still blank.

Hakyeon sympathised. Jaehwan’s exuberance was overwhelming. He needed a gradual reintroduction, like a particularly astringent piece of bitter melon or spicy dish, and Taekwoon had never been good with spice.

“What brings you into the palace today, your Highness?” Hakyeon asked, before Jaehwan could launch into his waiting tirade. “Were you visiting your Lady Empress Mother?”

Jaehwan’s face fell slightly, and his smile was wry. “Little Xixi is feeling poorly so I came to cheer her up,” he said. “And we heard news of my brother’s return, how could I not come greet you?”

“Jinxi is?” Hakyeon frowned. “Perhaps we should—”

He was interrupted by Taekwoon.

“Jaehwan. Did you know too?”

“Know what?”

“That Father fell ill? Did you?”

Understanding dawned on Jaehwan’s face. His eyes flickered to Hakyeon before back to Taekwoon, and Hakyeon’s stomach sank.

“If even Father’s favourite had been forbidden to tell you, do you really think I, who must still obtain approval to enter the palace, would’ve dared?”

“It was only so Hakyeon could care for Mother while I was gone.”

“Why’d I dare do what Hakyeon’s been denied?”

“Because—”

Where Jaehwan had puffed up like a bristling porcupine, Taekwoon had turned steely cold. This was a broad, open space, too easily overheard.

“Taekwoon. Enough.” Hakyeon touched Taekwoon lightly on the elbow to offset some of the sharpness of his words. A warning to one prince, and to the other, a bow of contrition.

Hakyeon may have been favoured by the Emperor, but it was Jaehwan who was the prince.

“We are going to look in on Lady Consort Fei,” Hakyeon said. “Shall we go together?”

For a moment, Hakyeon feared that neither brother would lower their hackles. Taekwoon turned away first, and Hakyeon’s chest loosened. Jaehwan was volatile—quick to anger but also quick to cheer. He was known for being easy-going and easy to get along with, for being fond of laughter and not solemnity, and for his preference of music and chatter over silent contemplation. Hakyeon could see the irritation still smoldering inside the Tenth Prince, but Jaehwan hid it with a broad smile.

“It would be good to see your Lady Mother,” Jaehwan said. He gestured down the path Hakyeon and Taekwoon had been walking. “Please.”

Hakyeon smiled at Jaehwan in thankfulness and received a mischievous grin in exchange. He’d grown even closer to the tenth prince through these lonely months.

There were many who thought Jaehwan little more than a cheerful fool, and Hakyeon would not fault them for it. The tenth prince frequently spoke without thinking and had a casual disregard for etiquette that barely bordered acceptable. But for all that Taekwoon’s reticence clashed with Jaehwan’s forceful joviality, Hakyeon knew that Jaehwan was one of the few princes that would stand firmly with Taekwoon. It was a sobering thought.

Hakyeon wished he could avoid such sobering thoughts, just for this one day. Taekwoon had returned and the weather was fair. The Emperor was looking better than he had in days, and the unexpected appearance of his seventh son seemed to have given the Emperor further strength. Hakyeon may have disobeyed the most powerful man in the Empire, but he hadn’t done the wrong thing. He’d become sure about it, more and more.

And when the time came, Jaehwan would be more important than he could know. Hakyeon was sure of it too.

The mood in front of him had changed. Taekwoon was now suffering in silence as Jaehwan talked loudly at him. It worried Hakyeon that the little Twelfth Princess, Zheng Jinxi, had once again fallen ill. She was a sickly child, more similar to Taekwoon in that regard than her full brother, the Prince of Xu. Their mother, the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress, had passed away bringing little Jinxi into this world. It was Jaehwan’s Lady Empress Mother who cared for her now, and the child wanted for nothing.

“I would like to see Xixi too,” Taekwoon was saying, voice quiet and hesitant. “If she… wants.”

"The little ones all love you," Jaehwan said with a dismissive wave. "You spoil them more than their own mothers do, and you know that after me, you're Jinxi's favourite brother."

The more Jaehwan talked, the more Taekwoon's ears had turned pink. Hakyeon found himself smiling fondly at the two.

It was true that Hakyeon himself had the favour of the Emperor, but nothing could change the blood that flowed through his veins. He was not a son of the Emperor. He was not one of the royal princes. But Jaehwan was. Jaehwan could stand where Hakyeon could not.

It was not an accident that Zhiheng had arrived when he had. Hakyeon couldn’t be surprised. If even the Lady Empress knew of Taekwoon’s precipitous return, then the Prince of Xu who had far more reason to know and care might’ve even known before Hakyeon. Although none could’ve predicted Taekwoon would ride straight for the palace without even stopping at home.

The Emperor was recovering, but time was relentless and age was an unstoppable beast.

Well. Hakyeon’s failed attempt to hold Taekwoon back had not been a particularly subtle chase through the palace. It’d been rather improper all around. Propriety had been less on his mind than his own direct disobedience of an Emperor’s command. Zhiheng would not take kindly to Hakyeon’s lack of punishment. He only hoped it wouldn’t fall on Taekwoon’s head.

Too many sobering thoughts for such a day. Taekwoon had returned well and whole. The sky was harmonious, and Taekwoon was by his side.

They were nearing the courtyard where he and Taekwoon had been raised, and the path always gave Hakyeon comfort. These were not thoughts for such a moment on such a day—although they were thoughts that could not wait much longer—and Hakyeon shook them aside as he listened to Jaehwan regale Taekwoon with all that he had missed while he'd been off cavorting with the barbarians.

“He is a very efficient military commander, your Highness,” Hakyeon said, quickly stepping up to Taekwoon’s side and rescuing him from Jaehwan’s one-sided conversation and before Taekwoon could do something rather untoward.

"Yes, well, there is still no civilisation out there," Jaehwan said with a huff.

"As you would know from your extensive time there?" Hakyeon mused, glancing at Jaehwan across Taekwoon. Jaehwan looked away, suitably chastised.

“Taekwoon’s more useful there anyway, since he’s the one who—”

“Jaehwan!”

Not thoughts for such a day, but the day seemed determined to bring those thoughts to them. Thoughts that should never be voiced aloud, especially in such a public place like this. Yet it was not Hakyeon’s place to voice such a warning in such a place either. It was hard to say who was more stunned—he or Jaehwan.

It was unexpectedly Taekwoon who broke the fragile silence.

“It is better for Jaehwan to remain in the capital. I don’t want to babysit him,” Taekwoon said.

Here was a strange atmosphere. Never before had Hakyeon carried such thoughts with him in this nearly sacred place of his childhood. This was not half-formed thoughts with Jaehwan over a chess board and tea. Nor was it the safety of Hakyeon’s own rooms, or the barracks of a distant battle field. Places where he’d pondered probing Taekwoon’s awareness of a nearing inevitability that Hakyeon couldn’t bear to raise. Taekwoon’s respect and admiration of his father was too absolute.

And now Hakyeon had cause to wonder if this was the answer. If Taekwoon was in fact aware of the delicate balance within the courts, a battlefield of words and posturing no less bloody and poised than the one fought with swords and command.

But how could Hakyeon ask Taekwoon such a thing? How could Hakyeon ask Taekwoon if he’d thought of the day when the era would undoubtedly change, when a different man would sit on the golden throne?

Hakyeon could only be sure that it would not happen in this moment, in this place.

“Come, your Highness, I’m sure that your Lady Mother is eager to see you,” Hakyeon said to Taekwoon. “I’ve no doubt that if the Lady Empress knows of your return, your own Lady Mother has been waiting for quite some time.”

“Do you think she’ll have those nut cakes?” Jaehwan mused, resuming their walk.

"Did you just come for the food?" Hakyeon asked, a delicately arched brow directed at Jaehwan as he ushered the princes onward.

"I will say nothing," Jaehwan said, cheeky as always.

"I doubt that," Taekwoon said. This time, Hakyeon didn't bother hiding his amusement.

It was as the Emperor had said—Hakyeon had yet to call upon the Lady Consort Fei this morning. She had been in good spirits the day before but there’d been sudden relapses in the past. He needn’t had worried—her colour was good as she swept out to meet them before their presence had been announced.

"Oh Taekwoon! You're back, let your mother look at you my child!"

The Lady Consort Fei Meiying was a beautiful woman, her features softer than Taekwoon's—delicate where Taekwoon was sharp, her skin as pale as snow. Deceptively soft—she may have been ill now, but she carried the martial blood of the Fei in her veins and had inherited every drop. She was the one who had first given the two of them metal blades instead of wood. Illness was a cruel, indiscriminate beast.

She swept Taekwoon into her embrace, urged him to his feet. Taekwoon hesitantly raised his eyes to meet hers, as if still a bashful child, coming in from playing having done something naughty.

"My clothes are dirty, Lady Mother," he said.

"Speak clearly child," Meiying admonished. She patted her son's hand. "Have you lost weight? Look at you, every time you go away you come back darker. Come, sit, all of you."

"Yes, Lady Consort Fei," Jaehwan said, echoed by Hakyeon.

"Do I not always tell you to call me mother?" Meiying shook her head at Hakyeon—but did not push it further.

"Yes, Lady Mother," Hakyeon corrected himself with a rueful smile. He glanced at Jaehwan, just long enough to note Jaehwan had the same cheerful grin as he not-very-subtly brought up the subject of snacks, as Taekwoon couldn't have eaten yet if he hadn't even bothered to change.

"It isn't so far from evening, perhaps we could eat together?" Meiying suggested, taking the seat next to Taekwoon. She'd already gestured for one of her handmaidens to bring snacks and tea. Hakyeon had no doubt that she'd been preparing both since she'd heard that Taekwoon had returned. She'd sorely missed Taekwoon.

"I think Taekwoon wished to see Princess Jinxi today as well," Hakyeon said, with a brief look at Taekwoon. "And he really does need a bath, don't you think so, Lady Mother?"

Meiying nodded, looked from Hakyeon and back to Taekwoon. "You must be tired, my child. That was inconsiderate of me," she said. Her voice had softened into the one she usually spoke, not so different from Taekwoon's. From her, it was almost girlish despite her age. It'd been a burst of exuberance at seeing her son that had raised her from the tranquillity that was the counterpoint to her son's tendency toward silence. She, however, spoke much more clearly than Taekwoon did.

"Tomorrow," Taekwoon promised. "I'll come tomorrow night, mother."

There seemed something more he wanted to say, but he only caught his lip between his teeth for a moment before he smiled at his mother, one of those rare smiles that Taekwoon ever seemed to allow himself.

It was good to see Taekwoon smile.

The formal invitation lay on the table, momentarily forgotten. Hakyeon leaned against Taekwoon, their backs against the side of the bed. The sticky heat of summer persisted this night, the cicadas' calls constant and unending.

Hakyeon's hand rested on top of his, the callouses comforting and familiar. Taekwoon had been away for a long time. It was almost with relief that Taekwoon noted this, that despite the months apart, this, at least, had not changed.

Taekwoon had fallen asleep the night before far earlier than he had meant to. It’d been a busy day with few chances to share a private moment with Hakyeon; there were reports to give and to receive, and he had spent the remaining time with his mother. The doctors had said she was doing as well as could be expected. Taekwoon could only but to trust them, but he was no fool.

The sun had long set on this lengthy summer day, and the soft knock on Taekwoon's door came in darkness. He'd opened it without asking. There was no one else it could have been.

"Taekwoon?"

His own name spoken in Hakyeon's voice was a gift. Until these months apart, he hadn’t known how treasured of one it was. Months apart with only: Prince. Your Highness. Now, he turned his hand so they were palm to palm. Enough for Hakyeon to know that he had heard.

"Do you know truly why I called you back?"

The question was spoken soft in volume, but in a tone firm enough that there was little question in it. Something in Taekwoon flickered into alertness.

"My father had fallen ill."

"Yes, he had," Hakyeon said. There was the sense of a sigh in the way his shoulders loosened, how the motion brushed against Taekwoon's sleeve.

"There is something else."

No immediate reply came. Hakyeon's fingers fit into the spaces between his, curled and gripped at Taekwoon’s hand, as firm as his first question had been. Taekwoon waited, and then he waited. He could be good at waiting when he needed to be.

"Your brother has invited you to his home," Hakyeon finally said.

"The first time."

"Yes," Hakyeon said again.

Most nights, Taekwoon cherished silence. Days were never silent. Only when the sun had set and there was a chance for solitude to settle in did silence finally come, but tonight, the silence between Hakyeon's words stirred unease. He matched Hakyeon's grip, their hands clasped.

"If something happened to your Emperor Father, you had to be here. Your brothers, the Prince of Mu, the Prince of Xu—they remain in the city, in the palace, for the very reason you must be present. I would disobey any order for you to have returned. And now he has invited you to his home for the first time."

"And you."

"Yes, and me. And if you had a Lady Wife, it would have been she."

"But—"

"Do you understand?" Hakyeon sat up, and although their hands were still clasped Taekwoon could no longer feel Hakyeon's warmth against his arm. It was difficult, Taekwoon suddenly found, to meet Hakyeon's eyes. It wasn't because Hakyeon's face was cast in shadow, while the lamp's flame flickered behind him.

"Must I?" Taekwoon's own voice was as soft as Hakyeon's had been; softer. It’d always been light in tone, and now it could only be described as 'small'. In that moment, he wished for Hakyeon's rich voice, for Jaehwan's bold voice, for Zhiheng's deep voice that almost seemed to echo. But with these words, it would not have helped.

"I wish you did not," Hakyeon said. As if he could no longer face the reluctance in Taekwoon's eyes, Hakyeon dropped his gaze. Hakyeon's next words were barely audible, a breath of a breath. A breath to breathe reality into something that Taekwoon knew he’d been born into, but never wanted to face.

"When a king dies, a new king is crowned."

The hush that fell over those words were too expected, too forced, that Taekwoon had no choice but to erase them.

"Hakyeon—"

"No, before tomorrow, you must understand why I had to call you back." Hakyeon looked up, and his eyes caught Taekwoon's in the suddenness. Hakyeon’s eyes were still shadowed, hidden from the light. It was easier to look into Hakyeon's eyes than at the light behind him, but it burned no less.

Taekwoon's cheeks drew tight, his lip caught for a moment between his teeth before Taekwoon finally spoke. There was no other answer Taekwoon could bring himself to provide.

"Because Father was ill?" An echo.

"Yes," Hakyeon said, and there was a pause and a space because he wanted to say these words no more than Taekwoon wanted to hear them. This time, his eyes did not waver. "And because your father is also the Emperor, and because you are his seventh son. Just as he has a first son and a second son."

"Yes," Taekwoon said, and there was a pause and a space in an echo. "I have brothers. What is different now?" Now that his father was ill.

Hakyeon's eyes fell shut. He leaned back to sit against Taekwoon again, never releasing his hand. It worried at Taekwoon as much as it comforted him, this solid reminder that Hakyeon was by his side. When Hakyeon spoke again, it was slowly, his words measured and careful.

"Zhiying is the first born. Zhiheng was born to the Empress." There was another pause here, a pause where Hakyeon's thumb rubbed against the back of Taekwoon's hand, and maybe the callouses were more faded than Taekwoon remembered. It was an audible breath he took before he continued.

"But you—we all know that he favours you. There isn't a person in this palace who doubts this."

"But you're his favourite." Taekwoon couldn't answer him fast enough.

"Yes," Hakyeon said, a wry twist of his lips. "I am his favourite. Because I am not his son, and he is not my father. And because I am not his son I can never inherit the throne."

The cicadas had fallen silent while they had been speaking; one of those brief silences that went unnoticed until the silence again ended. This was what filled the space after Hakyeon's words. The chirps of cicadas, and the sticky heat of summer. Taekwoon let his weight fall against Hakyeon. It was almost too warm to do so.

"Must we talk about this tonight?" Taekwoon spoke softly; perhaps he wished that if Hakyeon didn’t hear the question clearly, he’d let it go. But Taekwoon was no fool, and Hakyeon had grown up with Taekwoon, side by side, day by day.

"If we do not talk about this tonight, when will we talk about it? Tomorrow night? The day after tomorrow? Or will you continue to say that 'tonight is not the night'?" Hakyeon's words softened as he spoke, a tender sort of kindness, apology, marred the end. Taekwoon found himself shaking his head at it, although it wasn't the spoken question that he was answering.

"You are father's favourite," Taekwoon said instead. It had never seemed to matter to the Emperor that Hakyeon wasn't his son in blood—he'd never treated Hakyeon as anything but. Taekwoon wished he could say he remembered the day that he and Hakyeon had first met. Instead of that first day, all he remembered were hands sticky with sweets and sweat, and the roughness of tree bark against his palm while he held his other hand down for Hakyeon. Hakyeon had reached up hesitantly, but his grasp was firm.

Hakyeon was not the Emperor’s son in blood, but he was his son by adoption, raised by Taekwoon's mother alongside Taekwoon ever since the boys had been four. Hakyeon’s father by birth was a general the Emperor had been indebted to. But Hakyeon’s birth father fell in battle, and his mother had died young. That was all any of them knew. Hakyeon would only shake his head when asked, and said he didn't need to know when he had all he needed around him.

Hakyeon would've been any father's favourite. He was confident. He was skilled with the blade, he was skilled on horse, and he was skilled with the bow. His poetry was clever, his logic clear, and his tongue sharp when command was needed, and comforting when all else. He was handsome as well, and his smile was charming. He was kind, gentle, responsible, filial. When the time came, he’d have his choice of brides, perhaps even one of the princesses, but Hakyeon had already resolutely postponed marriage until Taekwoon had wedded and Taekwoon, unfortunately for Hakyeon, was not eager for that particular responsibility.

It was hard, Taekwoon had reasoned, when he was so often away. When he and Hakyeon were so often away from the palace.

Taekwoon had never wondered why Hakyeon was his father's favourite. It'd only ever seemed to make sense. Like it could've been no other way. There was no flaw in Hakyeon that he could be faulted for, and out of all Taekwoon’s brothers, there was no doubt in Taekwoon's mind that Hakyeon was exceptional in every way.

But now, at Hakyeon's words, he couldn't help but wonder if there’d always been something else. If it wasn't because only Hakyeon could be his father’s favourite.

"Because I am not his son," Hakyeon repeated. Softer, this time. "But you are different, Taekwoon. You are his son. You can inherit the throne. One day, this kingdom could be yours."

Taekwoon sucked in a sharp breath.

"Do you know what you are saying? You are speaking—"

"I am not speaking treason, Taekwoon. I am speaking the truth. The doors here are closed, and this is a truth for you only. And you must know this before we go."

"Before we go?"

The look that Hakyeon gave him bordered exasperation, yet Taekwoon was at a loss for what to say but to echo Hakyeon's words. It’d been late afternoon when Zhiheng's man had come with both a verbal message of invitation, and one written and signed in Zhiheng's own hand. Hakyeon recognised the man even if Taekwoon hadn't; an oversight that Taekwoon needed to rectify. He wasn’t Zhiheng's right hand man, but he occasionally accompanied Zhiheng on excursions which made him trusted enough that Taekwoon should have noticed him.

It had been odd and Taekwoon had stared at the messenger for several silent seconds, Hakyeon by his shoulder. It had been Hakyeon who'd accepted the invitation and took it into his hands, a slow, formal motion as if he was deliberately giving Taekwoon time to come to his senses.

"My brother the Prince of Xu honours me with this invitation," Taekwoon had finally said. "We will be more than honoured to visit his household."

It had been odd, but not out of place. Taekwoon had been away for some time. Zhiheng wished to gather with his brothers, something they had not done in some time. Taekwoon's return was as good a reason as any, and of course, Zhiheng had been remiss in not inviting Taekwoon earlier, but Taekwoon had always been so busy shouldering the burdens of the kingdom.

And now this.

Taekwoon squeezed Hakyeon's hand. "He is my older brother," he said.

"Bound by blood."

Taekwoon nodded in agreement. The lamp was beginning to flicker; he’d slept so early last night that he hadn't bothered to refill the lamp. Soon, it would gutter out and leave them in darkness.

"Can you stay?" Taekwoon leaned into Hakyeon. Their elbows knocked against each other.

"Still can't sleep without me?" Hakyeon glanced sideways at Taekwoon, the corners of his lips quirked in amusement.

Taekwoon huffed but leaned further against Hakyeon. "It was you," he said.

"Hmm, at first," Hakyeon conceded. "But we do have our own rooms."

"We had our own rooms then, too." But they'd been close enough for Taekwoon to have heard Hakyeon's crying, Hakyeon’s screams muffled in his blankets. Hakyeon had been annoying, he'd taken up too much of his mother's time, and of his father's time, and Xing'er was his little brother not Hakyeon's, and Song Qian was his big sister not Hakyeon's. Hakyeon stopped crying eventually; only some nights, and then only some weeks, and then barely at all, but Taekwoon still slipped out of his own room and into Hakyeon's every night, until their mother reassigned them to larger rooms when they were almost adults, and they had inconveniently no longer been side by side.

"Well—no, never mind. If it's what you want." Hakyeon's teasing mischief dropped away and he squeezed at Taekwoon's hand. Hakyeon had only gone to Taekwoon's room once—the time Taekwoon had been so sick that Hakyeon had been forbidden to see him lest he too fell ill. They'd been mostly grown by then. In the morning, their mother found Hakyeon sleeping by Taekwoon, with Taekwoon curled around him. She'd only swept them both into her arms and sent a sleep-groggy Hakyeon out with one of her ladies-in-waiting without a single word of reprimand.

They’d been mostly grown but still young. Now they were grown, with no one to tell them what they could or could not do. Taekwoon had been gone for a long while, and it was unclear who needed the other more.

More than excitement fluttered under Hongbin's skin until he was half sure that if he ran his hand up his arm, solid needles would prickle against his fingers. It was a good day, a bright day, and the vindictive glee that only he and Lady Princess Jian Chun would be at the gathering still hummed through him. It was difficult to help himself.

The estate had been a whirl of activity since before the sun had even risen. Years of habit had lead Hongbin to wake and wait for the first rays of dawn. He'd listened silently as servants crossed the yard with hushed, harried steps. There was food to prepare, furniture to be arranged, wines to be cooled, one last cleaning to be done. There was much to be done before even one prince was formally hosted—how much more when it was several? Only when the sun was fully above the edge of the sky did Hongbin begin to wash and prepare for the day. He sat in front of the dresser, running his hands over jewelled accessories, matching them with clothes in his mind. He could've waited for his attendants to do it but Hongbin had become used to being alone in these moments as a child, and sometimes still took comfort in habit.

It was well past morning and Hongbin was seated slightly behind the Prince of Xu on his left, Lady Jian seated on Zhiheng's other side. Zhiheng's other concubines had been excluded or forgotten and Hongbin felt a giddy sense of freedom of not having to see their faces even as a strange thread of nervous unease wound its way through the excitement. They were awaiting the remainder of Zhiheng's guests, but the one Hongbin had been most curious about had already arrived, as well as two others: the Prince of Jing, Duke of Yin, and Prince of Yue.

It was the Prince of Jing, Seventh Prince Zheng Taekwoon that first commanded Hongbin's attention. He was, after all, the reason for this gathering. He was the guest seated nearest Zhiheng—and so the guest nearest Hongbin. With his severe expression and cold eyes, it was difficult not to draw comparisons with Zhiheng. The Prince of Jing was six years younger and just as tall. There seemed to be more delicacy about the Seventh Prince than Zhiheng, skin paler, features finer—as if he'd be easier to break. But only a fool would think that. Everyone knew—as did Hongbin—that not only was he an accomplished military commander with a mind for strategy, he was one of the best fighters in the empire, descended from a long martial line on his Lady Mother's side. He was said to be aloof and efficient, but not cruel or unfair. Sneaking glances, Hongbin could easily believe the first, but had to depend on what he'd been told for the second. It was rumoured that he'd single-handedly slain a hundred men if not more in a single battle on only his second military expedition. It was also rumoured, even less believably, that he'd annexed a small nation into their own empire on that same expedition, although Hongbin had been told both were more than mere rumours. It couldn't help but frighten Hongbin a little.

If one knew of the Prince of Jing, then they’d undoubtedly heard of Cha Hakyeon, Duke of Yin. They were closer than brothers and where one was the other would always be. They'd grown up side by side by the Emperor's knee and loved equally while raised by the Prince of Jing's Lady Mother. He did not look like the other princes, because he was not. It was said he was the son of a general who the Emperor owed his life to, and the Emperor had sworn to raise that son as one of his own. The Emperor had not been false on his word, and had styled him as Duke of Yin. The Duke of Yin was as accomplished as the Prince of Jing if one was to believe what they had heard of both, yet a contrast in many ways. The Duke of Yin was dark where the Prince of Jing was fair, his features soft and kind where the Prince of Jing was sharp and closed. He seemed small next to the Prince of Jing or Zhiheng, his shoulders slender where theirs were broad, but he was not small. He was said to be the gentler counterpart to the prince of Jing's coldness, and Hongbin could easily see why with his warm smile and self-assured confidence. He had to be called compelling.

Hongbin had seen the Tenth Prince before, the only one of the three who he had. Zheng Jaehwan, Prince of Yue. The Prince of Yue was as different from his brother, the Prince of Jing, as one could be. He was unapologetically loud, fond of crude jokes, and seemed to be constantly in a good mood. He was handsome in his own way, his nose high and almost foreign and exotic looking. Zhiheng's younger sister, Twelfth Princess Zheng Jinxi was being raised by Jaehwan's Lady Empress Mother—the present Lady Empress. The Esteemed Graceful Former Empress had passed away shortly after Princess Jinxi's birth, and the Emperor had been so stricken by her death that over a year had passed before he'd promoted Lady Consort Yi Zhaoyun to Empress. The Prince of Yue would sometimes bring her on visits to her older brother who'd long reached manhood by the time she'd been born. She was a sweet child.

The Lady Empress's other son had come as well—almost a half hour past the agreed time. The Third Prince, Prince of Ji, Zheng Zhihan. He gave Hongbin a warm smile as he rushed in. He was barely a year younger than Zhiheng, yet with his sweet face, he looked even younger than Jaehwan. He tended to drop by unannounced, and Hongbin was somewhat used to his presence. With him was the Ninth Prince, Prince of Bing, Zheng Zhixing.

The Prince of Bing followed far more slowly and looked sheepishly apologetic. Both were somewhat shorter than the other three princes, and their features were softer in general. Zhihan and Zhixing were close and Hongbin had seen Zhixing on occasion when he dropped by with Zhihan. The Prince of Bing was on good terms with Zhiheng as well, but Hongbin suspected if anything were to ever happen, the Prince of Bing would choose Zhihan over Hongbin’s own prince.

Hongbin had never been able to place Zhixing. He'd exchanged greetings with him once or twice, because the Ninth Prince tended to wander when he and Zhihan visited, but nothing more. He was mild and absent-minded, attention often drifting away—yet he'd sometimes cut in with a witty or pointed comment that revealed he'd been listening after all. Zhihan, on the other hand, had been cut from the same cloth as Jaehwan in many ways.

"Did you start without me?" Zhihan asked as he and Zhixing took seats opposite of Taekwoon and Hakyeon.

"We should've," Jaehwan grumbled. Zhihan laughed, and there was a bit of a smile from Zhixing as well. But it was Taekwoon's hint of a smile at Zhixing that caught Hongbin's attention—Hongbin had been well on the way to convincing himself the Seventh Prince wasn't capable of smiling.

"I am hungry," Hakyeon said mildly. He turned to Zhiheng. "Your Highness?"

On equal footing indeed. But then again, what did Hongbin know—maybe some royal princes were just in the habit of addressing each other by title instead of name. It wouldn't surprise him one bit. They were a strange ilk.

The food was as splendid as any feast, with meat and fish and a crisp, clear delicacy Hongbin had recently learned was jellyfish. Dish after dish was brought and taken away by servants.

Three different wines had been brought over the course of the meal; this last one was soft and sweet, and tasted of fruit. It was Hongbin's favourite, and he'd only ever had it after he'd moved here. He couldn't remember the name—didn't know it. Had asked Zhiheng once, and had only been offered another cup. He couldn't help but wonder if it was purposeful but from what Hongbin knew of Zhiheng—and he had made it his purpose to know as much as he could—he doubted it to be the case. Zhiheng called it 'that wine you like'. Hongbin called it 'that sweet wine.' Many wines were sweet, but Zhiheng would always know which one Hongbin meant.

But it wasn't the food or drink that Hongbin had been angling for when he'd dropped a precarious suggestion, nor was it any sort of excitement of a gathering with the others—just the thought was enough for a mental grimace. No, it was the only one among them who was carefully silent even as tongues loosened and conversation flowed. Hongbin couldn't decide if the Prince of Jing was bored, or annoyed, but he certainly didn't seem to be enjoying himself very much. Instead, his attention was solely occupied on the snacks in front of him. When his plate was empty, the Duke of Yin carefully slid his over without comment, the motion somehow going unnoticed.

Hongbin couldn't blame the Prince of Jing. Hongbin remembered nothing of his own family, but he couldn't imagine it was like this—conversation so stilted that there was no semblance of brothers. Acting more like strangers than friends. Maybe they simply weren't drunk enough yet. Maybe it'd do the Prince of Jing some good.

But there was no ill-will or animosity Hongbin could find between the Prince of Jing and Zhiheng, nothing that would hint at why Zhiheng had mentioned the Prince of Jing's return in such an abrupt way. At least no more ill-will than the Prince of Jing seemed to have with anyone else. Hongbin was beginning to imagine he'd hallucinated the Prince of Jing’s smile at Zhixing. The Duke’s occasional poor attempts to include the Prince of Jing in the conversation was the only indication that the Prince of Jing was present at all. Perhaps not being present at all was exactly what the Prince of Jing wanted. Hongbin couldn't blame him for that either.

The conversation had turned away from the banality of the weather—Hongbin had heard the sudden storms and rain-less thunder discussed quite enough—and to a realm Hongbin was unwittingly more familiar with.

"It has been some time since Taekwoon and I attended one together," Hakyeon said. He gestured toward Zhihan. "We welcome your knowledged suggestions."

"We went to the opera just last month," Jaehwan said, leaning forward and frowning at Hakyeon. His brows furrowed further. "Two months?"

"One, I think," Hakyeon said, but he dismissed it without dismissing it outright, turning back to Zhiheng.

"And you, your Highness? Although it appears that your Third Brother is firm in his opinions."

"I find little need to go out these days," Zhiheng said. He turned to his Lady Wife with what Hongbin was sure would be a radiant, loving smile—and then to Hongbin so suddenly that Hongbin barely had time to demurely lower his gaze.

"Taekwoon, you must thank Hongbin for this," Zhiheng said, and Hongbin's heart pounded at his name and he looked up involuntarily—straight into the the Prince of Jing's eyes. His heart pounded, and then it stopped, seized in his chest, and only when he wrenched his eyes away from those cold black eyes did his breathing seem to return. But damn if the Prince of Jing wasn't intimidating. There couldn't have been a soft bone in his body. No wonder he was good at killing.

"Oh? How so?" It was the Duke. Not the Prince of Jing.

"He reminded me that I have been remiss in not formally receiving you sooner, and what better time than now, to celebrate your early return from the hinterlands."

There was a muffled snort of laughter from the end of the room—Jaehwan, Hongbin guessed. Hongbin was finding the ends of sleeves fascinating.

"I think the 'hinterlands' would be an interesting place to visit," Zhixing said, words placid. "But Seventh Brother is braver than I am A single day would be enough for me."

"Months and months?" Zhihan said. He left in a dramatic pause. "I would prefer the capital as well."

"I can imagine," Zhiheng said drily.

"You all are welcome to join us," Hakyeon said, amusement playing in his words. "Although I imagine your Highness Lady Jian would prefer being excluded, as would...?"

There was a pause, a long pause, before Hongbin realised that he was supposed to answer, that Zhiheng wouldn't answer for him, to fill in this lapse of forgetfulness of something so inconsequential.

"Hongbin, your Grace," he supplied. He chanced a glance up—contrary to Hakyeon's pleasant words, there was a sharpness in Hakyeon’s eyes as if to say he hadn't forgotten Hongbin's name at all.

"A pretty name for a pretty face," Hakyeon said, and then turned away from Hongbin in dismissal. It left Hongbin both seething and unsettled.

"You do us honour with your hospitality, and your Lady Wife is both lovely and capable," Hakyeon said. "The food and wine were splendidly chosen."

"Your Grace does me too much honour," Lady Jian said, voice sweet and gentle.

"I do wish we had some entertainment though," Zhihan suddenly mused. "But Second Brother said something about Taekwoon not being appreciative."

Jaehwan didn't bother hiding his laugh this time and the others all smiled, although Hongbin couldn't see why when the Prince of Jing looked fit to kill, like they’d be lying their with their throats slit before they knew it.

But the Prince of Jing didn't, of course. That would have been quite improper.

"Entertainment?" The Prince of Jing said—Hongbin nearly toppled over at how soft that voice was.

"Hakyeon can oblige us," Taekwoon continued saying, and Hongbin hastily processed that this tall, broad-shouldered, menacing man spoke not in a rough booming voice, but in a way that could almost be called gentle. The discrepancy... it was odd. Unsettling. Maybe frightening, if Hongbin first heard that voice and then seen the man, but if you could kill a hundred men in a single battle it didn't matter if you spoke like a delicate court scholar who wielded a brush.

A look of utter annoyance passed across the Duke of Yin's face before he spread his arms as if to say 'what can one do?'

"It has been a while, hasn't it been," Hakyeon said to Taekwoon. "It seems like Taekwoon would rather have me embarrass myself here than in the seclusion of our own home."

"It has been a while," Taekwoon agreed.

"Very well," Hakyeon said. He bowed lightly to Zhiheng. "If your Highness agrees, of course."

"It would be our honour, as you are our guest," Zhiheng said.

Hakyeon smiled, and his eyes drifted and lingered on Hongbin for a split moment, before he turned to the room at large. "I will be quite out of practice, but I would be honoured if you were to allow me," he said.

Just get to it. Hongbin bit back the retort. Was there nothing these people couldn't drag on into boredom? Hongbin was well acquainted with the rich, but richer than anyone these people may have been, royalty spread upon them an entirely different cloak.

"Hakyeon plays pretty on the qin," Zhihan suggested.

"If we so wish," Hakyeon acceded. This time, when he looked at Hongbin, it was with full purpose. "Although my own qin is quite far, and your lovely concubine must dance, your Highness? Perhaps if he'll oblige me, we can provide some adequate entertainment for us all."

Hongbin's eyes flashed wide, unable to hide what couldn't even be described as shock. Not fear, not surprise, but something so unexpected it took him too long to process that it’d slipped through his eyes. He matched the Duke's gaze for that slip of a second before he got hold of himself. The Duke's own gaze never once wavered.

"Hongbin will," Zhiheng said, and Hongbin bowed in agreement. Hongbin had no choice. His head spun as words formed too slow in his throat, the moment of vindication he'd felt this morning at the others' exclusion not worth this moment of confusion. Hongbin had always been the one that Zhiheng liked to keep for himself, like a caged dove, hidden away. And it had been a long time since he had danced. But a Duke had requested and his own Prince had required so all Hongbin could do was hope those long hours of practice were still embedded in his bones.

"It has been even longer for Hongbin, and my dancing has always been clumsy, but if your Highness, your Grace, will allow, then it will be my honour."

There was a light frown on Taekwoon's face as he watched Zhiheng's concubine depart. He turned to his left to find an utterly neutral expression on Hakyeon's face, with nothing except his usual mild and attentive smile. Zhihan and Jaehwan had gone back to chatting up a storm, while the other three were more than comfortable debating whether the tea grown in the eastern mountains or the ones a little further south were sweeter, and whether sweetness should be valued over warmth.

If the tea was good, then it was good tea.

It didn't take long for Zhiheng's concubine to return, and with him came one of his attendants, carrying a pipa that was presented ceremoniously to Hakyeon.

"It will be good," Taekwoon said to Hakyeon. It was Taekwoon's turn to maintain an entirely neutral expression in the face of Hakyeon's irritation. Taekwoon was sure he was the only one that knew, because Hakyeon's smile never once wavered. Of all the instruments that Hakyeon played he was easily the worst on this one, but nonetheless, Hakyeon settled the pear-shaped instrument in his lap and ran his fingers down the narrow neck, picking quietly at the strings. Hakyeon was good at anything he did and music was no exception. Besides, it was easier to carry than a zither and so it was a more sensible choice.

"You may tune it as you will, your Grace," Hongbin said. It was the concubine’s instrument. It would feel strange in Hakyeon's hands.

"It is tuned well already," Hakyeon said, smiling at Hongbin. He turned to Taekwoon, and Taekwoon had to struggle to maintain a straight face. Taekwoon blinked and looked away.

The boy was taller than Taekwoon had first thought, and he held himself with a certain poise that ought to have been relaxed. To Taekwoon's eye, he looked like a small animal tensed and poised to flee. Hongbin hadn't returned to his seat, but instead stood in front of Taekwoon, waiting, a sash draped lightly about his arms. He was a pretty young thing, but Taekwoon couldn't see anything in him to interest Hakyeon. His eyes had widened in surprise when Hakyeon had mentioned him, but that mask of serenity had come clashing down before anyone should've noticed. Taekwoon wondered if Zhiheng ever noticed.

But then again, Hakyeon had warned Taekwoon of Zhiheng, and there was nothing about Zhiheng that was strange either. His brother was as dour and stuck up as he always was, and Taekwoon couldn't find anything out of place in that awkward smile of his. Taekwoon had never understood what the girls saw in it. Hakyeon had a much nicer smile.

"One of the classics, perhaps?" Hakyeon suggested, as he continued fiddling with the unfamiliar strings. He looked to Zhiheng as he said this, but Zhiheng gestured toward Taekwoon.

"Unless Han'er, you had something in mind?" Zhiheng asked.

Zhihan shrugged and shook his hand at Taekwoon. "You're the guest of honour, little brother," he said.

Taekwoon pursed his lips and bit off a retort that he was taller than Zhihan now, even if he'd been smaller than Zhixing for a few months when they were children. But Zhihan and Jaehwan could be too alike at times. Taekwoon looked back to Hakyeon instead, an idea forming in his mind.

"The Seven Rivers," Taekwoon said to Hakyeon. He turned to Zhiheng’s concubine. "You know it?"

The last was said to Hongbin, but the small hushed sound of surprise came from his left.

"A lament for a funeral, not a celebration," Jaehwan said softly—a rare occurrence for him.

"I like it," Taekwoon said, but after a thought, he relented. "It is no longer spring."

"Plum blossoms on the high mountain, perhaps," Zhiheng suggested.

An old song. One that Taekwoon had heard often in his youth. Perhaps, something that Zhiheng had happened to remember.

Or simply one that Zhiheng knew Hongbin knew, because he looked to Hongbin as he said this and smiled—smiled at his concubine in what Taekwoon supposed was reassurance.

"I know it," Hakyeon said.

"If it so pleases your Highness," Hongbin said to Taekwoon.

The concubine’s voice might've been soft, but his eyes, when they met Taekwoon's were anything but. Like his surprise from earlier, it was a moment shorter than a heartbeat but this was no tame rabbit without a will of its own. Too quick and unexpected for Taekwoon to read anything in those eyes. If it was defiance, or if it was anger or hatred—because depending on where Hongbin had come from, a hatred of Taekwoon was not so far a possibility. Or if it was just an inner fire he hadn't been able to hide. Just for that moment shorter than a heartbeat, before the concubine was again pretty, quiet, and easy to control. Or so he appeared.

Taekwoon nodded, and gestured for them to begin.

Taekwoon's shoulders slumped the moment they stepped into the carriage. When Hakyeon sat down beside him a moment later, Taekwoon immediately leaned again Hakyeon's shoulder as if he were a child less than a third of his age.

Hakyeon wasn't surprised. Taekwoon tired easily in the company of others—one of his many contradictions, for he could spend the morning fighting and then riding hard through two horses to reach another city just to join the fight again, and at the end of it all, he'd still have the energy to brief the officers and strategise. Tireless in everything but socialisation.

Favourable in a soldier, less favourable in the court.

"Zhiheng's normal," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon quirked an eyebrow that Taekwoon could not see, though could feel.

"That's one way to put it," Hakyeon said wryly.

"His concubine?"

"Pretty, is he not?"

"Nngh."

"I'm not sure if that's a yes or a no?" Hakyeon laughed, and squeezed Taekwoon's hand.

"Yes, an interesting one," Hakyeon agreed. "Not half as docile as Zhiheng thinks he is."

If Zhiheng was right, then it’d been Hongbin who had suggested the gathering. Easy to dismiss; the life of a concubine was isolated. Any chance for some excitement would be jumped on. The excitement wasn’t what Hongbin had been looking for, Hakyeon wagered. Not when the concubine had done nothing more than watch the assembled royalty when he thought no one was looking—although perhaps he'd been simply tempted by the food. Hakyeon doubted it.

"I'd forgotten how noisy it tends to get when Jaehwan and Zhihan are in the same room. I wonder how their Lady Mother handled them both," Hakyeon mused. Taekwoon snorted and slumped a little further down in the seat.

"Parties are the worst," Taekwoon said.

"Oh come, Zhiheng did have some scrumptious new wines, no?"

"I guess. I want them. And the tea too."

"Not so much a wasted trip," Hakyeon said.

"Do you really think it's because Father never designated a Crown Prince?"

It was so sudden that Hakyeon bolted up and dislodged Taekwoon from his shoulder. He glanced towards the flimsy curtain that shielded the carriage from the street, and then forward towards where the driver and the horses would be.

"The stars cannot shine when there is sun," Hakyeon said softly.

Taekwoon caught his lip between his teeth, grabbed one hand with the other, and rested both on his own lap.

"Zhiheng is normal," Taekwoon said again, and then he sighed, a deep sigh, heaved from the frustration that was caught in the tangled vines of confusion in his chest.

"I would hope so," Hakyeon said gently. He placed a hand on top of Taekwoon's, and his eyes lingered a moment on the contrast of his hand against Taekwoon's long fingers.

"Why did you ask for the Seven Rivers?" It was something that had surprised Hakyeon even then. Concerned him. And not him alone.

"It's difficult," Taekwoon said. Mischief twisted at his lips and glinted in his eyes. Hakyeon's sigh was pure exasperation.

"Perhaps another day," Hakyeon said. It wouldn't be bad to call upon Zhiheng again at his home, now that a precedence had been set. Hongbin had been telling the truth when he'd said that it had been a long time since he'd danced—the movements were still perfect, still graceful, yet there was a tenseness there that shouldn't belong, and an awkwardness that should've gone easily missed, hidden by the gentle curtain of the sash. A pretty thing indeed.

"But why did brother choose that song?" This time, Taekwoon's voice was quiet.

An old song. One that they'd all heard often in their youth.

"Nostalgia, I suppose," Hakyeon said. "Or perhaps, simply a song he knew that we both would know."

"He used to play it a lot. So did she."

"Mm." But whatever Hakyeon could say about Hongbin's dance, his own playing had been no better. Hakyeon suspected it'd been even longer since he'd played this particular piece than Hongbin had last danced. It had been a while.

"Song Qian will be back in about a month, won't she?" Hakyeon eased them out of the silence he'd created. Every year, without fail, she would return to her childhood home at the waning of summer. The reason why Taekwoon would've returned within the month as well.

Taekwoon's older sister—their older sister. She'd been born the same year as Zhihan and Hakyeon had always wondered what it would have been like if their Lady Mother's first born had been a son, instead of the Second Princess. A new concubine's firstborn being a son—it would've done their Lady Mother good now.

But Song Qian was the best sister a boy could've wished for, and Hakyeon smiled just at the thought she’d be home soon, even if it would be only for a few short weeks.

"You'll want a nap as soon as we return?" Hakyeon asked. Taekwoon was already drooping, and he nodded at Hakyeon's words.

"You'll be alright without me?" Hakyeon was teasing and Taekwoon knew it and scowled at him, because they'd woken up with Taekwoon curled up around and clutching at Hakyeon—just like it had been when they were children.

It was a rare moment that found Hongbin in his rooms with someone who was neither his two attendants or the Prince of Xu. Hongbin sat perched on the edge of the table just because he could, while a bemused Wonsik looked on with pursed lips from a chair.

The sun had yet to rise but that had never stopped Hongbin before, and it was one of the few times he knew he would be left alone. It wasn’t unusual for Wonsik to visit Hongbin in the mornings first, before making cursory visits to each of the Prince of Xu's concubines to ensure none of them wanted for anything and that everything was in perfect order. Wonsik was one of the Prince of Xu's most trusted eunuchs, and despite his size and generally stern face, was gentle and had a good touch with people. He was a good man.

"He wasn't as big as I thought he'd be," Hongbin said. He scuffed his feet against the floor like a child, palms pressed against the desk.

"The Prince of Jing?"

Hongbin nodded and hummed in agreement as he thought back to the party. "He's a military man. I would've expected him to be bigger. He's not even as big as Zhiheng."

Wonsik barely hid a wince at Hongbin's words, but Hongbin knew he wouldn't tell on him to the prince.

"I don't think manhood has anything to do with size," Wonsik said.

"Or anything to do with manhood," Hongbin couldn't help himself from adding, and cackled at Wonsik's contorted expression that was somewhere between horror and amusement. If that comment had come from anyone but Hongbin, he suspected that Wonsik would've been straight up angry even if he’d never show it.

Even so, Wonsik just shrugged and let out a sigh a moment later.

"His deeds speak for himself," Wonsik said.

Hongbin thought back to the Prince of Jing’s eyes, that cold blackness that had trapped Hongbin's gaze, frozen him. But with it came an echo of the prince’s voice, soft and unassuming with none of the force that was plain in his eyes. The prince had instructed Hongbin to bring a pipa in that quiet voice—a voice used to being obeyed. Hongbin's personal attendant Xiao Jin had carried it for him, while Hongbin himself retrieved a sash he hadn't touched in years. He spent several moments too long alone in his room before he'd returned to the afternoon sun.

"He's close to the Duke," Hongbin commented. Wonsik nodded—he'd told Hongbin that himself, but it was one thing to be told and another to see it. There’d been something strange about the Duke, something unsettling. Hongbin couldn’t shake the feeling the Duke had been watching him. But it was more than that. The Duke had been watching the princes with those same mild eyes—but they hadn’t felt mild at all.

Yet, the Duke had made a show of dismissing Hongbin as below his attention. As something to be forgotten. Hongbin bit the inside of his mouth.

"They were raised together closer than brothers," Wonsik said.

Hongbin hummed. He thought of making a comment about how it'd be hard not to be closer than brothers, if that was how all the royal brothers were like. Or perhaps it was only the Prince of Jing, because Zhihan and Zhiheng seemed to get along just fine. Or perhaps, it was Eldest Prince Zhiying that the Prince of Jing was closest to. Hongbin dismissed the sudden thought as quickly as it'd come to mind. Wonsik would’ve told him something as important as that.

"His Highness has interesting taste in music too," Hongbin said. He settled himself further back on the desk, until his feet could barely touch the ground. He rolled back his shoulders, easing some of the tension, sleeves shucking up on his arms.

"What's that?"

Hongbin tugged his sleeve down until it almost covered his hand, but Wonsik was still staring hawk-eyed at the obvious, finger-shaped bruises which were evident despite his jade bracelet. There was a matching set on his other arm.

"I bruise easily." Hongbin tugged a corner of his mouth up in an attempt of a smile that he quickly gave up.

"Again?"

"What's it to you?" Hongbin snapped. He slid off the table to his feet, arms crossed over his chest. Hongbin wasn’t a short man himself and had never been intimidated by Wonsik. The anger in Wonsik's eyes was not for him, either way.

Wonsik's lips were pressed in a thin line; but the anger in him was pushed out with the next long exhale. "I don't like it," he said.

You and me both. "I just bruise easily, that's all," Hongbin repeated. His next words were softer, much softer—too close to a truth he'd already buried in his memories. "This is nothing, compared to." A shrug.

"Never thought I'd see the day where you would defend him," Wonsik said.

"You and me both," Hongbin said with a wry quirk of his lips, aloud this time. He let his arms fall back to his sides. The glow from outside the window was growing brighter but it still couldn’t keep his room from being bathed in shadow when he snuffed out the lamps.

Wonsik was the Prince of Xu's man, but he was also a man who kept his word and others' secrets. The reason why Wonsik was the only person Hongbin would even begin to trust in a place like this, even if Hongbin didn't know what secrets Wonsik was keeping from him. He'd rather not know.

"You were saying something about music?"

A small breath of relief that Wonsik would not press this.

"I guess royal princes aren't used to entertaining themselves," Hongbin said. "Entertainment was suggested, the Duke offered me up to dance, and the Prince of Jing requested a dirge." Hongbin showed a dry smile. Not strictly a dirge, but Jaehwan had been right. Even if it were a song performed often enough—because rare was the man who hadn’t wished for the soothing ache of sorrow.

"I don't know much about him," Wonsik admitted.

Hongbin stared into the darkness.

"More than me," he said.

Silence descended, this time heavy, as those words twisted leaving Hongbin's tongue. Sometimes, Hongbin hated the bitterness he couldn't hide from no matter how he tried, that it’d escape the moment the smallest gap cracked open the wall he'd been building since he'd been a child. Wonsik did not deserve this bitterness. And how could Wonsik know much about the Prince of Jing, when the man spent such long stretches away from the capital?

"You do more than enough," Hongbin said, a soft offering of an apology. He looked towards his inner rooms where there was the drawer wherein sat the sheaf of papers Wonsik had brought. Hongbin’s secret, that. It was Wonsik who’d suggested it, Wonsik who’d copy poems that Hongbin could recite by heart, neat brush strokes to match words Hongbin had been too proud to learn as a child. Hongbin himself didn’t understand why he kept it hidden—but maybe he just needed a secret to keep.

"If he was gone for so many months, anyone might feel a sense of longing," Hongbin added. "For people, for a place. Maybe not strange at all."

And then: "I guess you'll be going soon."

The sun had risen enough that it was the shape of shadows which stretched across the floor instead of a single blur of darkness.

"Yeah," Wonsik said, voice low and gruff. "Do you need anything else?"

Hongbin shook his head, walking towards the window. He caught himself rubbing at his wrist and placed his hands against the sill instead. He had questions but to ask Wonsik to answer them this morning would have been too cruel. Wonsik would've felt unable to refuse. Yet Hongbin would have to ask, and soon.

Wonsik was the one who'd told Hongbin about the Emperor's illness before Zhiheng had, and about the Eldest Prince's ambitions which Zhiheng had never mentioned—although such a thing was clear even without being said. It was Wonsik who’d told him that Fifth Prince, Prince of Song Zheng Zhixuan had been de facto banished, and the one who'd told him about the Prince of Jing’s favour. If Hongbin wanted to have any sort of control in the coming storm, Wonsik was the one person Hongbin could depend on. And there would be a storm. The Emperor was ill. There was always a storm.

But those questions were not for today. And so: "what else could I want?"

The silence that lingered might have been Wonsik thinking, or Wonsik unable to answer. Hongbin didn't know, and didn't need to know.

"Very well," Wonsik said.

Perhaps Wonsik bowed before he left, but Hongbin didn't turn even until after the door had closed behind him. He hadn't watched the door close in a long time. The space that the other man left felt heavier than the one that had smothered them minutes before and Hongbin took a few seconds to breathe, eyes falling shut.

Well over a week had passed since the Prince of Jing's return, and Hongbin's life settled back into its regular tedium. Some mornings when he knew he would be alone, he would wander through the gardens, always escaping back to his rooms as soon as the others stirred. There were times he longed for contact, but that longing would always evaporate into annoyance as soon as he saw their faces, leaving no chance for that longing to spiral into something far sharper.

A torrent of a storm had washed away some of the oppressive heat of summer, although it still bore down on them under the clear skies' sun. Hongbin pushed open the windows, wishing again that his rooms were airier; but the warmth trapped inside during the winters was enough of a balm that he didn't mind too much. There were still enough windows for the sun to flood his rooms once it had raised up the day. He didn't lack for light.

With the morning sun, Hongbin went about making himself decent, teasing his fingers through his hair as he wondered how he’d dress. There was an unfamiliar box on the dresser—he frowned at it for a moment before he remembered that it was a new hair ornament delivered to him the previous day, one of many favours Zhiheng was fond of bestowing on him. Perhaps he would wear it today.

"Hongbin? Will you have breakfast?" There was a knock on the door, followed by Xiao Yu's sweet voice.

"Come in," Hongbin said. He went into the front room to meet his attendant. She'd already set the food on the table, and stood by it as she waited for Hongbin.

Xiao Yu was a young girl—no longer so young, but he'd met her when she was barely thirteen and it was hard for him to not see her as a child. He waved for her to sit—he'd tried to convince her she didn't need to be so ceremonious with him but there were some points she wouldn't bend on. She couldn't be blamed. To her, Hongbin was one of the Prince of Jing's concubines and that was all that mattered.

"Where's Xiao Jin?" Hongbin asked. He served the rice into two bowls before Xiao Yu could protest, pushing it in front of her.

"Jiejie isn't feeling well today," Xiao Yu said. "I told her I could take care of you today by myself."

Hongbin frowned lightly. "She seemed tired yesterday," he said. He'd go look in on her later today. After.

"I'll take care of her too," Xiao Yu said. "But only if you'll allow me to?"

"Ask the cook to make up a healing tea," Hongbin said. He paused for a moment. "Tell her it's for me."

"Yes, I will."

The rest of the meal passed in silence, with Hongbin lost in untethered thought and vague plans for the day. He let Xiao Yu do up his hair with the new ornament. His attendant looked at the carved jade for a moment before she nodded, fixing it in with deft practice. She tidied up the dishes while Hongbin began doing the most cursory makeup, still finishing before Hongbin had finished applying the powder to his face.

"I'll go see jiejie now," Xiao Yu called out behind him. "Oh, and this was prepared extra for you, from his Highness."

Hongbin finished as quickly as he could, wondering what exactly Xiao Yu had left for him on the table before she'd slipped outside with a quick bow. It was a lacquered box that she must've brought in with the rest of the food. An arrangement of fresh fruit greeted him when he lifted the lid.

He stared down at it for a moment, irritation bubbling up inside his chest—but the fruit had done nothing wrong, and Hongbin truly did not bear any ill will towards the prince. A new jade ornament and a plate full of fruit.

No wonder the other concubines in the prince's harem hated him.

It was a clear afternoon and the sun streamed through the whisper thin paper screens of the windows. The soft light filled the sitting room where Taekwoon sat across a chess board from his father. Black and white stones carved out intertwining regions, paths winding side by side, complements and contrasts. Taekwoon's father had waved away the servants and their large fans, and now the better part of an hour had passed and the grid marked wood was more covered than empty, an almost even balance of dark and light.

Taekwoon held a stone between his fingers, the cool smoothness warming against his skin. Nearly two weeks had passed since he'd returned home from the furthest reaches of the kingdom. A ten days journey ridden in five, and then another five after that. It'd been reassuring to see the life and colour return to his father's face, the frailty retreat from his motions. His father's hand was steady as he placed a stone quietly on the board, one more point of white released from his fingers.

Like Taekwoon, the Emperor's hands bore the marks of war and battle.

"I read your recent report," the Emperor suddenly said, breaking Taekwoon's thoughts. When Taekwoon looked up at him, startled at his father interrupting the game with talk, he was met by mild amusement.

"I do not think you were thinking of the game regardless," his father said, and Taekwoon looked guiltily away.

"I apologise, Father," Taekwoon said, his words a quiet mumble before he remembered to correct himself.

"Do not apologise, I am afraid my own thoughts have strayed from the game as well," he said. The Emperor had picked up another stone from the bowl; he replaced it with these words, a quiet click as it fell. "And we do not often have time to converse."

"It is as you say," Taekwoon agreed.

"Your hand has greatly improved. It was a well written report about work done well," the Emperor said, and then paused. "You make me proud."

Taekwoon bit at his lip and flushed. "Thank you, Father," he said—he spoke clearly this time and looked straight into his father's eyes before he bowed his head in acknowledgement.

There was a long moment where the Emperor regarded this younger son of his. He had ruled for over thirty years, and he was proud of almost all his sons and daughters. Few men could claim such fortune. But as a father, he was especially proud of this one, brash and impulsive as the boy could be. A sense of regret settled over his shoulders like a cape of ash. The knowledge that Taekwoon would be content to continue as he was, to live and die as he had been living.

If only Taekwoon’s father was not who he was.

"You needed not to go to Nanzhou," the Emperor said.

Taekwoon's shoulders hitched and he swiftly bowed his head. "Your son apologises—"

The Emperor held up a hand. "I am not faulting you, son," he said. "I mention it only as a good thing. Last year, you did not need to personally handle the relief of the drought and famine, yet you rode to each town and garrison as you felt the need to ensure a fair distribution."

"Hakyeon as well," Taekwoon said.

"Yes, Hakyeon. Another son who never fails to make me proud."

Taekwoon paused at those words and thought of his brothers and thought of Hakyeon. His own chest swelled in pride of his father's trust in Hakyeon no matter what others might say. Taekwoon paused, and wondered what he could say to that—but there was little he could say, and they were not speaking of Hakyeon. The moment slipped by and in that pause, the conversation turned silently back to its original course.

Taekwoon paused again, as he wondered if he should continue, but it had to be said. "Money can drive even good men to corruption."

"It is as you say," his father said.

"In Nanzhou, I was only doing my duty. To know that there was a blight on the tribunal yet not to act... I could not ignore the injustice. And in Xijin—"

"Xijin? This was not in the report."

Taekwoon's eyes widened and his mouth shut as he recalled that yes, he’d omitted it. Not because it was wrong, but because it was once again unnecessary. Taekwoon's own silence stretched on in agony and he looked down at the board, thoughts distracted by what his next move would be.

"Before you again apologise, know that Commander Yi informed me of it when he returned. I cannot say it is a good habit to do the things you do without a word of acknowledgement, because it is not a bad thing to claim your own achievements even if you do not see them as thus."

"I understand, Father."

The Emperor chuckled. "You understand, but you will not act on it."

"Yes, Father," Taekwoon admitted after a moment. It didn't seem right to protest what they both knew was true.

"Taekwoon, do you know what I've always liked most in you?"

Taekwoon looked up, a wordless shake of his head.

"Your honesty. It makes you a good person, a good man, a good son." An expression that Taekwoon could not name passed across the Emperor's face, something that reminded him of sadness and discomfort all at once.

"Father?"

"I wish I could say that you remind me of myself when I was young," the Emperor said—this time a small sigh accompanied a smile and it almost reminded Taekwoon of Hakyeon. The Emperor shook his head, glancing down at the board. Taekwoon's gaze followed to the stones laid out in black and white. "But it is difficult to be a good king and a good man."

Hakyeon's words, soft in the darkness, shadowed and candlelit—they passed through Taekwoon's thoughts, echoed and then disappeared, but the impression those words left did not disappear so quickly.

It was mid-afternoon. The sun was high in a clear sky, as blue as a dream, as pure as a deep lake. There was no darkness here.

"Taekwoon."

"Father?"

"Have you ever thought of being king?"

It was true. Taekwoon was honest. Not because he was good, but because he did not know how to lie. He didn't know how to work words into phrases that spoke yet did not speak, that answered yet did not answer. He didn't know how to say what was not true, not without the truth being painted clear across his face. It was why he’d found solace in battle. He could have remained far behind the lines, with nothing more than his required ceremonial presence. But there was no place for honeyed words when a sword was in his hand. There had been a place for him there, when there had never been one at court.

And it was because of that, that Taekwoon could not simply say 'no'. He could only give an honest answer, stripped bare to awkward words.

"I don't know," Taekwoon said.

His father, for once, did not smile.

"Do I do what is best for my son, or what is best for the kingdom—a choice without a choice. I was unprepared. I don't wish my son to be."

His father could've been speaking about any one of Taekwoon's brothers. They were all the Emperor's sons. All, but Hakyeon. It had never mattered if Hakyeon was the Emperor's favourite, but for the Emperor to have paid so much attention to his seventh son—it was different. Zhiying, Zhiheng—Taekwoon's two oldest brothers had never been short of attention, but it was the proper sort of attention. The attention that an Emperor should pay towards his oldest sons; with Hakyeon, the Emperor had only treated him as a father would treat a child.

Pieces that Taekwoon had known, but had never drawn together on the same board.

Taekwoon couldn't find solace in the silence of the game forever.

"It is difficult to be Emperor. History tells us this." Taekwoon did not raise his eyes from the board, but his words were clear and firm. "And more difficult to be a good Emperor, but my Father has always been one, and the kingdom trusts a good Emperor. Your son knows this. Your son... I understand, Father."

There are always choices barred to us—by birth or by the will of the stars as the path of life winds on. Choices barred by other choices we are forced to accept, choices where there is no real choice. Choices barred because of other's choices, because no life is lived alone.

Taekwoon bows his head even though he hasn't raised it. Deference or fear—how many of our own actions do we know the true meaning behind?

But what Taekwoon does know is this: his future has been decided without him. In a few moments he will realise that he’d been playing better than he’d thought—in two more moves, father and son will stare at the board and come to the same silent conclusion as to who will win the game if they continue to play. The father will plead weariness, the son will return to a sun suffused afternoon.

No one will tell Taekwoon that just moments ago, another one of the Emperor's sons had stepped through those same doors, words overheard reflected on that son’s face—because the game has begun, and it is too early for some to choose sides.

It was a nice day. The weather was good. Too good to stay inside.

That was the only reason Hongbin found himself outside late afternoon, the sun still high in the sky. It was warm outside, but it was a pleasant warmth, gentle, not like the searing heat Hongbin had become accustomed to enduring during these summer months. The sky was clear and the air was clean, the dampness that preceded a storm absent.

Reluctance tugged him away from his rooms. Hongbin had meant to return immediately after seeing Xiao Jin and to while away the remainder of the day with a brush in hand, painstakingly copying half-learned words stroke by stroke. For some uncomfortable reason the thought of those closed doors was stifling, instead of the reassuring comfort he was used to associating with them.

It didn't mean he was unaware of the others. Only the most foolish would willingly venture out to one of those blistering afternoons, but if today was a day that had drawn even Hongbin out from his recluse, he would not be alone.

Hongbin'd already tried and failed to hide away once, but he'd been seen and called back to give his proper greetings by two of Zhiheng's less favoured concubines. The prettier one was younger than Hongbin, but she was the only one who’d given Zhiheng a child—a daughter. Hongbin wasn't sure if Zhiheng had ever slept with the other. Her personality was enough to assure Hongbin that he wouldn't, even if Hongbin had any inclination or possibility to sleep with a woman. He'd swallowed his bitterness and plastered on the most docile expression he could manage. Their disdain for him was plain—the new ornament Hongbin was wearing wouldn't endear him to them any more. The rapid changes in the weather were hard on Lady Jian and she'd been spending most of her time resting in her room; both of them seemed eager to take this chance and raise their own stations. It made sense. The Emperor was growing old. All that stood between them and becoming high ranking consorts in a matter of years was a First Prince that they were all sure Zhiheng would deal with.

The whole thing left a sour taste in Hongbin's mouth, but even that wasn't enough to keep him from venturing towards the garden.

A walkway zigzagged across the pond, bending in the middle to make room for a pavilion, a dark green roof set on six red pillars, the ceiling painted with a motif of birds, and a stone table resting under it. It was there that Hongbin was making his way to, because it was also just blocked from view by a stand of bamboo on the opposite shore.

Hongbin didn't get so far.

The sound of heavy footsteps unseen froze Hongbin in his tracks. There was only one person it could be. Zhiheng wasn't a military man, and guards remained outside the walls, not within. The servants all stepped lightly—the other concubines and the Lady Princess even more so.

The thought came as if a cloud in a haze, that perhaps this was what had drawn Hongbin outside that afternoon and not the weather at all.

Hongbin turned his steps away from the garden to trace back the path he had already walked. A mere moment later, Zhiheng appeared.

For all that Hongbin had grown used to the Zhiheng over the years, he’d never seen the prince in such anger.

It was anger, Hongbin had seen Zhiheng angry before, but this was an anger twisted by something too near to Hongbin's own heart, something he was too familiar with.

Hatred.

Twin emotions of glee and worry bound themselves around Hongbin's chest, and it was the latter that distressed him. There was fear as well, but it only numbed him in its familiarity.

"Your Highness?"

Hongbin stepped forward, making himself visible, drawing attention to himself. Hongbin flinched when the Prince of Xu turned towards him—his eyes bore into Hongbin with the weight of a thousand arrows, and he barely stopped himself from dropping to the floor in a full bow. That familiar fear flared around him, burned at his skin, his bones, and Hongbin knew that it’d be plain on his face. He was too dazed to hide it. And, Hongbin thought through the haze, it might be for the best.

Words spun in his mind: has Hongbin done wrong? or Hongbin apologises, your Highness or even Hongbin deserves to be punished without even naming his crime, but in the face of such anger, he couldn't bring himself to fully understand that he could not have been the cause of Zhiheng’s anger.

Zhiheng said nothing. Perhaps it was worse than saying anything at all.

The prince stared at him, silence stretching the seconds long between them. What would the Lady Princess have done? One of the other concubines? Someone who was not here merely to provide their prince with pleasure and comfort and nothing else, who had some purpose, some actual use?

But it wasn't Hongbin that the Prince of Xu was angry at, and the end of those seconds melted away with a slight smoothing of the prince's frown, a motion so forced it seemed like agony.

"You wear it well," Zhiheng said.

Hongbin's surprise was wholly real, as was the tentative touch he raised to his hair.

"It is too beautiful for me," Hongbin said, his voice steadier than he felt. The prince ought to have stormed away from Hongbin without a word. Instead, the prince stood in front of him. Hongbin had long learned the necessity of treading carefully, but perhaps it was this that made him bold, that gave him a voice to continue speaking. "The fruit this morning was sweeter than any I have had."

"I'm glad," Zhiheng said. The prince's own words were clipped, betraying his anger at something Hongbin could not fathom. The anger was still twisted by hatred, although the second had lightened its grip.

"This... This is presumptuous, but your Highness seems upset, and that upsets Hongbin because he cannot help your Highness with important matters, but if there is something else Hongbin can do, please, your Highness, it would be Hongbin's honour."

Hongbin had cast his eyes downward as he'd spoken, a habit. He raised them to the prince’s brows creased with more consideration than anger. Hongbin tried to not examine too closely his reasons for relief.

"It's nothing important," Zhiheng said. He gestured for Hongbin to step closer, and Hongbin did. "Walk with me."

Hongbin bowed his head in acknowledgement, following the Prince of Xu as he strode across the courtyard. He could feel eyes on them but he refused to look. It was an abrupt realisation that it was the Prince's own rooms they were going to.

Hongbin had never dared to venture here.

"Come." The Prince of Xu's voice was imperative, and it took Hongbin a second to register that he was trailing steps behind, his eyes open too wide at the building, like a peasant child seeing gold for the first time.

"Yes, your Highness," Hongbin said, and hurried after him blindly to a place he'd never gone before.

"Not going to say hello?"

Hakyeon raised his eyebrows at Taekwoon. The Prince of Jing had walked through the doors and straight past Hakyeon as if he hadn't seen him at all. Taekwoon froze. He jerked back in place and stared at Hakyeon like the other had appeared from the air.

Hakyeon heaved an affected sigh as he waved Taekwoon over to take the seat across him from the side table. This wasn't the main sitting room in Taekwoon's estate, but it was decorated just as splendidly; chairs carved from deep red wood, vases from the finest artisans, embroidered golden screens, a master's painting just to the side. It wasn't a room meant for entertaining, but it was the room that Taekwoon tended to pass through to get to his own when he returned home through the front gates. Hakyeon liked it because the decor was by his own hand, and it made for a pleasant place to read.

Hakyeon filled the teapot with freshly boiled water—a second steeping. He'd enjoyed the first by himself. But tea always tasted better when shared. Hakyeon rested his elbow on the table and propped his chin against his hand as he stared at Taekwoon.

"I'm home?" Taekwoon ventured.

Hakyeon couldn't help a small laugh because Taekwoon may have been twenty-five, but he was as cute as a child at times.

"Good to see you too," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon's face scrunched up in irritation and disdain, but it disappeared so quickly that Hakyeon decided he hadn't been wrong. There was something heavy enough on Taekwoon's mind he didn't want to share, not even with Hakyeon.

Pity for Taekwoon, Hakyeon was nothing if not interested in prying out every one of everyone's secrets.

"So? Where were you? You disappeared this morning without a word," Hakyeon said. He put a small whine in his voice.

"You weren't around," Taekwoon said.

"I woke up before you," Hakyeon said with a small shrug. He usually did. "Took care of a few things."

"Like what?"

Hakyeon waved his hand dismissively. "The usual. But you haven't answered my question, Taekwoonie. Don't think you can avoid me."

Taekwoon had always tended to be reticent with his words, especially when they were away from home. Even then, there were times when he would frown lightly, take a second or two before he spoke. This was different—seconds, not a second; hesitation, not silence. Hakyeon poured him tea, and Taekwoon picked up the small cup, turned it between his fingers even though it must have been hot against his skin. He stared at it as if searching for answers in his tea and Hakyeon glanced down at his own, the tea a translucent gold against the light jade of the cup.

"I went to see dad," Taekwoon said. "We played chess."

Taekwoon hadn't called his father 'dad' in almost twenty years. Hakyeon was sure of it. Yet Taekwoon didn't seem to notice, his eyes still fixed on the untouched tea.

"I hope you won," Hakyeon said, keeping his voice light.

"We didn't finish the game," Taekwoon said.

"Oh? Not like you to run away." Hakyeon quirked a brow at Taekwoon, but Taekwoon only frowned a little. Hakyeon didn't like it.

"There wasn't a point," Taekwoon said. Because he would lose? Win? Draw? Or something not about the game at all.

Hakyeon contemplated heaving an affected sigh, another whine, tease out whatever it was that Taekwoon was hiding. But, like Taekwoon's game with his father, Hakyeon suspected there would be little point. The reason itself didn't matter. Hakyeon regarded Taekwoon in the silence left behind in the wake of his words. Taekwoon still held the cup. When Hakyeon reached for his own tea, he wasn't surprised to find it still hot to the touch. Hakyeon cradled it in his hands and sipped at this second steeping, tasting the relaxed sweetness on his barely wetted tongue. The second steeping was always sweeter than the first.

"Hakyeon?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I would make a good Emperor?"

The instant of realisation was so crushing that there wasn't even time for Hakyeon to lose his breath. The Emperor had told Taekwoon what Hakyeon could only warn him the possibility of, because Hakyeon could see and observe all that was around them, but he was no seer who could glimpse into the future, nor was he a god that could shape its makings of. If Taekwoon's words had betrayed a sense of hesitation, his question was firm, the eyes that met Hakyeon's were steady and sure.

"It has begun, then," Hakyeon found himself saying. Whispering. The words barely heard, barely brought to life by a breath of a breath.

"It began a long time ago, didn't it?" Taekwoon still stared at Hakyeon, his cup finally placed back on the table, tea still untouched. "Only I didn't know it."

"No, it did not begin until you did know," Hakyeon said. A faint horror began to cloud within him at his own words. Hakyeon had been the one to bring Taekwoon into this. Hakyeon had rushed Taekwoon back, he had put the idea into Taekwoon's mind. Had Hakyeon done as he'd been told and not summoned Taekwoon home and Taekwoon had come home a month later as all had been planned—

"Are you blaming yourself?"

Hakyeon didn't know whether to smile or laugh or cry. He kneaded at his eye with the heel of his hand to ease some of the strain.

"Now why would I be blaming myself?" Hakyeon asked.

Taekwoon stared at him, so intense and unerring that even Hakyeon began to feel the stirrings of discomfort. But he understood. Hakyeon knew that Taekwoon hadn't forgotten what had brought him home early, nor had he forgotten that single night's conversation. Nor, Hakyeon suddenly recalled, had Taekwoon been as unaware as he'd feared. That first day in the palace when they'd met Jaehwan, and Hakyeon had been sure Taekwoon had known what Jaehwan had been all too close to saying.

Hakyeon shut his eyes. The cup was left on the table. He leaned back in the chair, letting the carved, shaped wood take his full weight.

Keep each other safe, their mother had once said. She'd wrapped them both in an embrace, one in each arm, held them to her chest as though to let go would be to lose them forever. That you will protect each other from whatever passes. Promise me, promise each other. Do you understand, my sweet children?

They couldn't have even been ten. They hadn't understood what she'd meant—not truly. But they were no longer children, and Hakyeon remembered that moment and understood it in a way that he hoped Taekwoon did not.

Hakyeon had been wrong. Taekwoon was right. The game had begun a long time ago; it had begun the moment Taekwoon was born.

"You've known this whole time." Taekwoon spoke softly, as if afraid of being overheard.

"That it would one day come to this?" Hakyeon's own words were resigned. The shake of Taekwoon's head left Hakyeon staring at Taekwoon with light creases between his brows.

"That my father had... Had chosen..."

That the Emperor had chosen Taekwoon.

"No," Hakyeon said, his heart pounding. "How could I have?"

"But that night—"

"It didn't matter if it was you, or anyone else, you had to know before—"

"Before Father died." A pall of silence filled the space after Taekwoon's words. The tea had cooled by now in the small cups. Hakyeon found his fingers unsteady as he picked it up, sipped at it, lukewarm. Still sweet.

"He was truly ill, Taekwoon," Hakyeon said. "It was not only for this..."

"This game."

"It's far more than a game."

A pause. A single beat of silence.

"Then it is a battle?"

A game or a battle.

"Can you tell me exactly what he said?" Hakyeon ran a finger against the rim of the cup and looked up into Taekwoon's eyes. He almost expected the hesitation he found there.

"He asked me if I'd ever thought about being king," Taekwoon said. His voice was barely audible. "That he waited too long to have children. That he'd been too obvious. That we were too young. And that... he'd been unprepared, but didn't want me to be."

"Ah." It was all Hakyeon could seem to manage in that moment. Too much to process, too much to decipher. Nothing to respond with. A failure on his part.

"Maybe I'm wrong," Taekwoon blurted out. "Maybe—"

"No, Taekwoon-ah. You're not."

"But why me?"

Hakyeon took a breath, small and slight, barely enough to brace himself for his own words.

"Because you are the best choice," Hakyeon said. "Perhaps... Perhaps this is why he never designated a Crown Prince."

Taekwoon had been struck silent by his first words, and the protest that would've followed was cut away by Hakyeon's supposition. Moments ago, he'd looked like he'd been about to flee; but Taekwoon hadn't gained his reputation for capable efficiency without grounds—the uncertainty was quickly fading away.

"Because he couldn't choose between Eldest Brother and Second Brother," Taekwoon said.

Or perhaps the Emperor wanted to choose neither. Hakyeon kept this to himself.

"He would always have to choose some day," Hakyeon said. He sighed, finally letting the tension from these few minutes slide away. He needed time. Taekwoon needed time.

Hakyeon stood, and then extended a hand towards Taekwoon, smiling at Taekwoon's slow blink of confusion.

"Let's talk about this later," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon opened his mouth as if to protest. Hakyeon shook his head and grabbed Taekwoon's hand instead. "Later. It'll be time for dinner soon. There are some documents that need your input, I'm afraid I can only do so much, really, all you need to do is pass a glance over them and sign off."

Hakyeon tugged Taekwoon to his feet and pulled him to the same door that Taekwoon had been trying to escape through what seemed an eon ago, when not even a full half hour had passed. Taekwoon shook Hakyeon off but kept pace with him as they left the sitting room and through the hall that brought them back into the late summer afternoon. The sky was still bright, but the sun was no longer noon high and shadows grew long.

"Later," Hakyeon said. He spoke softly this time—the light and the shadows dictated the sense of required discretion, even if they were in no more danger of being heard now than they had been moments before.

"You promise?"

"There is no choice," Hakyeon said. He kept his eyes forward. He didn't think he could meet Taekwoon's eyes, and the expectation in Hakyeon he would find there.

Yes, Hakyeon had wanted to answer. A thousand times yes. And Hakyeon was prepared to do anything to get him there.

There was no choice.

Hongbin followed the Prince of Xu through the prince's rooms at a dizzying pace, barely enough time to capture the barest details before they passed through yet another door. They finally stopped in a room on the upper floor, where there was a low tea table next to tall doors flung open to the summer air. The prince gestured impatiently at a servant who'd followed them the entire way as he sat down at the table, crossing his legs in front of him. Hongbin could tell she was as flustered and bewildered as he was. For all of Zhiheng's severe appearance, he was rarely angry—and never like this.

"No. Wait. No tea. Something stronger," Zhiheng said. He glanced at Hongbin as he said this. Hongbin couldn't help wondering what the significance of it was. The servant understood, because she bowed and retreated. Hongbin might've imagined it, but she'd seemed relieved. If only she knew how much calmer the Prince of Xu was now than when Hongbin had first come upon him.

"Sit," Zhiheng commanded. Hongbin nodded and sank down far more gracefully than the prince had, a careful distance apart, turned partway to the prince. At a look from Zhiheng, Hongbin shifted until he was next to him, close enough to feel the warmth from the prince's body.

Hongbin had been the one to offer himself to Zhiheng, but he found himself at a complete lack of words.

The silence stretched on. Zhiheng put his arm about Hongbin, far too gently. Hongbin let his weight fall against the prince. He was startled, but not surprised, when Zhiheng tugged Hongbin's hand onto his lap and slid Hongbin's sleeve up just far enough to reveal still vivid bruises. It had been only two nights ago; it would be several more days before they faded.

"It does not hurt," Hongbin said quickly. He didn't want another bout of pity, of an overblown attempt at amends. Not now. And it was true. There was no other physical reminder of it.

"I did not mean to," Zhiheng said. He let Hongbin's sleeve slide back down. Instinct overruled and Hongbin pulled his hand back, clasping at his forearm with his other.

But it wasn't an apology that Hongbin had come seeking for. Hongbin hadn't been seeking for anything if he were to be truthful with himself. It was fate that had brought Hongbin outside and into the Prince of Xu's path, and to not learn the cause of his anger would be beyond folly. Hongbin had nothing he could trust but himself. Himself and a few bruises, for whatever they were worth.

The sound of approaching footsteps bought Hongbin a few more moments of time to consider his words. The wine was brought on a tray and with two cups, not one. Hongbin's wide eyes darted first to the servant and then to Zhiheng, his breath catching in his chest as he finally understood Zhiheng's look earlier. Zhiheng meant for Hongbin to drink with him.

"Dismissed," Zhiheng said. For Hongbin, he had something approaching a smile.

Hongbin hastily sat up and poured the prince a cup of wine. Hongbin held it out to him. Zhiheng took it and nodded at the other cup, empty.

"It's the one you like," Zhiheng said.

Fuck. Hongbin could only pray that none of the servants here would report this back to the other concubines.

"I shouldn't," Hongbin said. "But if my Prince is allowing—"

"He is."

The words were blunt and sharp, a forgotten anger flaring up and Hongbin bowed his head in deference, his hands shaking slightly as he managed to obey. He could feel the prince's eyes on him the entire time. Relief trickled through him when the prince only leaned against the back of the chair, the wine cup dwarfed in his hand as Zhiheng drank it too fast to appreciate its soft sweetness. Maybe the servant should've brought him something even stronger. But alcohol fuelled rage, never calmed it.

"It was a good choice to take you with me," Zhiheng said.

Hongbin had no time to prepare for those words, or even begin to guess where they had come from. Zhiheng was not, Hongbin knew, referring to these past few minutes. Hongbin swallowed and hid it behind the gesture of reaching for his cup, shielding it behind his sleeve without drinking a drop. Zhiheng had more to say. Hongbin knew this too.

"Good for you too," Zhiheng said. Hongbin swallowed the truth and the lie in that statement. But he couldn't find the strength within him to force a false thankfulness, like any good concubine who'd once been a courtesan past his prime should've done. Zhiheng's eyes were fixed sharply on Hongbin, but Hongbin couldn't tell if there was anger or not in that look, or if it was even displeasure. He was suddenly reminded of the Seventh Prince—the way his eyes had pinned Hongbin down, stripping the breath from his throat. But there hadn't been the harshness that Hongbin was faced with now, a rough cut instead of a clean blade. Had Zhiheng not continued talking, Hongbin didn't know what he would've done.

"You were wasted at the Spring Jade," he said—Hongbin felt a pang of longing for his old home, even if—"They didn't know how to treat you well."

—those words were beyond true.

"I am grateful," Hongbin said. His voice wavered, but he still said the words. Nor was it wholly false. He'd always bruised easily. He'd told enough lies in his life that a half one said nothing.

"You've gotten quieter," Zhiheng observed, as if it were something he had only just noticed. "Calmer. You were angrier before." A pause. "There are times I miss that spark, but it's better if you are happier now."

Happier? This was happiness? The same anger that the Prince had said was gone roiled in his chest and threatened to choke him. But Hongbin had grown calmer. Better. Better at taking that anger and hiding it away. Even if it'd meant losing his spark.

There were no words Hongbin could speak.

Hongbin didn't know for what reason he'd been brought to Zhiheng this afternoon, but he couldn't imagine it was for this. Not even the Heavens could be this cruel. Yet life hadn't given him the luxury of silence at whims, and here was a silence that was Hongbin's to answer.

"If my Prince is happy, then Hongbin could want for nothing more," Hongbin said. How could he, when he'd been given honour, status, a home? Fuck it. At this point, what did he have to lose? It was a dizzying blend of brashness, and Hongbin hadn't drank a sip of wine. Hongbin pushed on, despite his self-preservation screaming at him to stop. "I'm glad that I've been able to help my Prince—even if Hongbin still doesn't know what upset him."

Anger, perhaps. Anger could do more handily what wine might achieve in excess. Hongbin wished he could delude himself into believing it was curiosity.

The twisted rage that Hongbin had first encountered rose in the Prince's hard eyes, but Hongbin's own anger had burned away the fear he should have felt to provoke this response. Hongbin braced himself, sure that he would be hit; his shoulders hitched when the prince lifted his hand, but it was only to rest it on a propped knee. Zhiheng stared at Hongbin. Hongbin's mouth went dry—he suddenly wished he’d drank the wine after all. As much of it as he could. He felt faint.

This was where Hongbin should apologise for angering Zhiheng. He knew this. Zhiheng knew this. It was all a damned script and Hongbin knew it too well not to follow. Just once—he'd always wondered what it would be like to break from it just once. Yet Hongbin had always known that one time was enough to ensure there would never be the chance for another time.

But here he was, eyes deferred downward but head unbowed.

Zhiheng was still staring at him and Hongbin wondered if the prince would be snarling if he were a dog. The prince wasn't—he was wholly a man, sharp, intelligent, shrewd. A royal prince. Even through the mix of anger and fear, Hongbin knew this. Could not have forgotten it.

"Yes." Zhiheng finally broke the silence. That one word still bled hardness. The choking hold around Hongbin's throat did not cease. His heart pounded.

"You think I am upset?" Zhiheng asked.

Did I not say that as soon as we met? Words Hongbin bit back.

"I do," Hongbin said. He was surprised that his voice did not shake.

Zhiheng scoffed, but the anger was melting again. And then he laughed. It was not a laugh of happiness and it left Hongbin bewildered, but it was still a laugh. Nor was it one of mockery, and Hongbin knew that despite everything, he would escape unscathed from this exchange. At least in this moment.

Hongbin did not get a chance for relief.

"Tell me Hongbin, what do you think of my brothers?"

Hongbin's mouth had already gone dry—but now it was as arid as a desert.

"You have many brothers," Hongbin said. It was too late for caution, but he could try. "And I have only met a few."

"And Taekwoon?"

Fucking hell.

Prince of Jing, Seventh Prince, Zheng Taekwoon.

After all, Hongbin thought faintly, the Emperor had never named a Crown Prince.

And so, the third player appeared.

A puzzle box that Hongbin had been half-heartedly solving out of mere curiosity was shoved open with that one name, the gem inside tumbling out and clattering into the space of Hongbin's thoughts. He'd been wrong. The piece he'd been fiddling at hadn't been the only crucial one he'd thought. They'd thought. One name and a moment of angered contempt, and Hongbin had learned something he should never have and there was nothing he could do but play dumb. He had spent years—the days, weeks, months could only be counted as years—crafting an image that he had smashed in seconds, leaving him nothing to hide behind if he could not salvage it.

Hongbin doubted he was imagining it; the critical scrutiny that bore down on him, impossible to ignore, so heavy it was palpable like the humidity of a choking summer day.

Silence was dangerous. Silence was an admission.

"He was...intimidating," Hongbin said. He left a bare pause as he considered what would be the best word, as much as it was a space for Zhiheng to hear, a hesitation that matched what Hongbin hoped was an approximation of timidity. Too late to salvage, but he had to try.

"Hm."

"He didn't say very much," Hongbin added when it became clear that Zhiheng was waiting for him to go on. "I'm sorry, I don't know very much, but— I'm sorry your Highness, I can't answer well."

Hongbin looked away, flustered—more than an act. It bothered him more than it should've. He didn't like feeling so unsure, so volatile. He'd been a fool to think he'd be able to have any semblance of control. Not in a place like this. Not when Hongbin was who he was. Not when the assumptions he'd comfortably made weren't so comfortable after all.

"You must've heard of him when you were still at the Spring Jade," Zhiheng said. Hongbin blinked once, furiously deciphering the meaning behind those words. He could not speak poorly of a prince. But it was never prudent to speak the truth.

"Only old gossip, nothing true, more stories than real, like gossip always is," Hongbin said, and hadn't he believed that gossip to be a mere story until he'd been told to believe should have been unbelievable? "But...he seems like a good man."

"No more?" Zhiheng arched a brow—Hongbin didn't have to fake cowering from that look. His heart pounded in his chest.

"Hongbin—Hongbin is sorry, your highness, I—"

Zhiheng laughed, loud and sudden. "Forgive me, my dove, it has been a while for you."

"Almost four years, your Highness," Hongbin said softly. Four years. So long. Too long. Volatile. It wasn't Hongbin who was volatile—it was the prince, and Hongbin was unprepared. Four years, and still unprepared. He suddenly recalled—not the eyes of the Prince of Jing—but the softer ones of the Duke. Only they hadn't been soft after all.

When Zhiheng pulled Hongbin close again, Hongbin accepted it the way a child might. When Zhiheng gestured at Hongbin's still untouched wine, Hongbin drank it, obedient.

So it had happened. It was happening. And Hongbin was duty bound to stand with someone who had always intended to rule, royal edict or not. He'd never intended otherwise, but everything had changed, even if that had not. There were three players, and even Hongbin knew that this third irrevocably altered the board.

Ever since Taekwoon had been a child, he'd found the stables to be a source of calm. Horses nickered softly, hooves pawed occasionally against the ground, sweeping aside and crushing loose straw. His own horse stood patiently as Taekwoon lay his cheek against his flank, stroking his powerful, muscular neck.

His name was Old Black, but the only part of the stallion that was black was a single sock on his rear hoof. Nor was he very old—barely seven years. Old Black was of that old stock sired by one the prized foreign horses, but its dam had been one of the northern steppe horses, tough and quick footed and sturdy. He'd been an unintentional breeding—a mistake—but a younger Taekwoon had taken to the ungainly foal with its too long legs, and had claimed him for his own. Hakyeon had called him Old Black as a joke, and the name had stuck.

Taekwoon had been forced to leave him behind on his breakneck ride south. He hadn’t wanted to risk riding Old Black into the ground, even if the gallant horse would’ve gladly done it for him. The stallion had arrived home a week after Taekwoon had and it was good to have his friend back with him. There was something calming about being pressed up against Old Black, feeling for that strong, powerful pulse.

Old Black's ears pricked back, a good second before Taekwoon sensed what Old Black had already noticed. He left Old Black with one soft, silent pat against his neck, grabbing his sword from where it was propped against the wall. He wasn't wearing his heavy boots today—his steps were silent as he made his way to the door of the stable.

Above—

Taekwoon leapt back, a sheathed blade slicing through the empty space that he'd occupied a heartbeat ago. He barely unsheathed his own blade in time for steel to clash against steel, the harsh sound of scraping metal ringing through the courtyard.

The woman was slight, a good head shorter than Taekwoon, but the difference in reach made no difference as she threw herself straight forward, blade pointed towards him. Taekwoon bounded backward and tried to parry, but she'd jumped up, her feet pushing against the flat of Taekwoon's blade to give her leverage to fly even higher. He was forced to make an ungainly retreat, rolled to the side to avoid her downward stab. Taekwoon grimaced and scrambled to his feet, but her expression was unchanged and almost blank.

Taekwoon settled into a loose, guarded stance, sword switched to his left hand. She mirrored him—also switching to her left. The two of them circled each other, eyes locked, the sun glinting off their blades as their blades moved in the smallest motions, testing reactions, the barest motion of fingers enough to redirect more than just light. A strange silence settled around them, stillness like a cloud, nothing in the courtyard but the two of them. If there had been birds, even the birds had stopped singing.

It was impossible to say who acted first.

Two silver arrows, a flurry of motion, but the two blades scarcely touched as they wove in and out of each other, sometimes a fingers breath away from catching flesh or at least cloth. She set a brutal pace and Taekwoon felt himself driven into a corner, barely able to keep up with her unending attacks. Every time Taekwoon tried to turn the tide, she turned it back on him with the next slash or twist or thrust.

Taekwoon jumped and imitated her earlier move, but instead of pushing up, he used that moment of contact to throw himself back—and back, and back as she chased him with no reprieve. Taekwoon was beginning to breathe harder, but she was as cool and collected as she'd been when she'd first attacked him.

The almost silent sound of footsteps flying over the roof sent a momentary breath of relief through him—Hakyeon.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and then the dance was again on. Hakyeon engaged her long enough for Taekwoon to circle around to her weak side, but, impossibly it seemed, she dodged underneath Hakyeon's flashing blade and it was only Taekwoon and Hakyeon's practiced sense for each other that saved them from mutual scarring. This time it was Taekwoon who pushed forward first, Hakyeon who jumped over to attack from her other side, but she was still too fast for either of them to land a single touch. At least, Taekwoon spared a moment to note, it seemed like she was finally tiring; and Hakyeon was still fresh.

Or maybe that tiredness was entirely a ruse—Taekwoon's blade was somehow twisted out of his grasp and clattered against the stone tiles. A few feet away, Hakyeon was similarly disarmed.

"I leave for a few months and the two of you have done the opposite of improve?" She finally sheathed her blade, and Taekwoon allowed himself a deep sigh of resignation and defeat.

Hakyeon was another matter.

"Jie! You're early!" Hakyeon rushed straight into her arms, wrapping her in a hug as if he were still a child. It was a very different picture now, because Hakyeon towered over her. One could believe that she seemed small and fragile, when she stood beside him.

"You are early," Taekwoon said.

"Is that how you greet your sister?" Song Qian patted Hakyeon on his arm and turned to Taekwoon, eyes narrowed in a glare.

Zheng Song Qian, Second Princess, and Taekwoon's full older sister, a good four years older. Who tended to announce her arrivals the way she'd done just now—entirely unannounced, and wiping the floor with both him and Hakyeon, single-handedly.

The truth was that Taekwoon wanted to run to her and hug her like Hakyeon had, but something held him back, the same something that had tugged him into similar reluctance of all things as he'd grown older. But Song Qian knew this, and didn't tease him further.

"It's not us, you just keep getting better," Taekwoon said. He let his sister pull him into a quick hug, while Taekwoon froze awkwardly in place.

"When did my cute baby brother get so uncute." Song Qian stepped back with a sigh. Taekwoon made a face at her, as sulky as a child.

"I agree with jie," Hakyeon said, straight faced. Taekwoon reached out to smack him, but Hakyeon grabbed his wrist and twisted, smiling serenely at his whine. Hakyeon’s smile was eerily similar to Song Qian.

"You're both terrible," Taekwoon said. He glowered at his older sister. "You were faking at the end, weren't you?"

She quirked her brows, a mischievous smile lifting the corners of her lips. "And you fell for it, baby brother," she said. "I'm staying in my usual room?"

"Where else?" Taekwoon said. Hakyeon had scooped both his and Taekwoon's swords from the floor, and tossed Taekwoon's at him. Taekwoon easily caught and sheathed it, walking through the gate and out of the courtyard.

"Maybe you've finally expanded and built something nicer," Song Qian said.

Hakyeon laughed. "Next time," he said. "Your things will be coming soon?"

"Mmhmm. I should wash up and change before I go see Mother."

"Can we go with you?" Taekwoon asked.

"Sometimes I forget you're all grown up," Song Qian said, shaking her head fondly. Presumably a yes.

"How has Mother been doing?" she asked after a beat, and shook her head just as quickly after. "No, we'll talk later."

"I'll have them bring some refreshments and water to wash with," Hakyeon said. "You're just like Taekwoon, jie, arriving faster than you should. But you're cleaning up before seeing your parents, which is a lesson Taekwoon could really learn."

Putting Hakyeon and his older sister in the same room together was a menace to himself—something Taekwoon was being quickly reminded of.

But Hakyeon had been right. Song Qian was a week early, and she hadn't sent word ahead. It niggled at Taekwoon, uneasy confusion marring what would should’ve been giddy happiness at his sister’s presence. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was just a coincidence that this was the year she'd decided spontaneously to leave her door a week early—because she lived less than a week away, and it couldn't have been because her road had been unusually smooth that she'd be here so soon.

But his sister was home, and Taekwoon quickly shook those thoughts out of his head.

It was good to have their sister home. She sat between them, the three of them perched on the railing, the stars bright and clear overhead. Taekwoon had dozed off, his head resting against Song Qian's shoulder—a feat, when she was so much shorter than him.

Their mother had been in good spirits lately and the surprise of having all her children home had given her more energy than Hakyeon could recall in months.

Hakyeon wished they could've said the same about the Emperor.

The Emperor had seemed well when Hakyeon had called on him with Taekwoon a few days ago, but Taekwoon had returned early the day before, brows slightly drawn. His father had been tired, he’d said.

Song Qian had only nodded when they'd been turned away. Taekwoon's distress had been almost palpable to Hakyeon. "So Father is ill," she'd said as they turned to walk back, and said nothing more.

It was a warm night, but not hot. Song Qian had shown up too late to prepare too rich a spread. They slaughtered and roasted a duck to round out their usual dinner fare, to mark the occasion. The wine they'd acquired after Zhiheng's party was brought out, followed by something much stronger to finish the night.

"I think he's already asleep," Song Qian said. Taekwoon didn't stir at her words, nor when his sister stroked his hair. Were he awake, he would have protested he was no longer a child.

"He never does well with strong liquor," Hakyeon said. He leaned against Song Qian as well, wishing she'd pet his hair too; he mentally chastised himself for those thoughts. He was too old for them. But right now, Hakyeon yearned for a time when he hadn't been.

"Looks like it," Song Qian said. A pause, and then a breath. "You should know, no one outside knows Father is ill. Not yet."

"You didn't?" Hakyeon frowned.

"No," Song Qian said. Hakyeon couldn't see her wry smile, but he saw it in his mind's eye.

"We thought it was why you'd come home early," Hakyeon said softly.

"You and Taekwoon both?"

"Well, I guess I don't really know for sure what Taekwoon thought," Hakyeon admitted.

"The two of you were always a package," Song Qian said.

"But if it wasn't for the Emperor, jiejie, why did you come home early?"

Song Qian laughed softly. She sought out Hakyeon's hand with her own, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I felt like I had to," she said. "Silly, but that's what I felt. I guess I wasn't wrong."

Hakyeon nodded to himself and looked down at their hands. His sister's hands looked more like his than their mother's, or any of the other princesses. Her palms had the hints of callouses. There was some scarring on her wrist, hidden at the moment from sight, and a single fine line on the back of her other hand. That one had been his fault, though.

"It feels like everyone but Taekwoon knew," Hakyeon said. He glanced toward his—his brother, his friend, his other half—Taekwoon. The Prince of Jing, Hakyeon reminded himself. The one who would inherit the throne, even if the crown was a heavy one.

"Knew what?" Song Qian asked, and then she breathed a quiet laugh. "He'll be caught up in it, won't he."

"He already is."

"Already? Did—"

"Whether or not the Emperor did, do you think his Second Brother would take any chances? And if not him, there's his Eldest Brother too, jiejie."

"You say that like Father already did," Song Qian said.

"From what Taekwoon said—" Hakyeon cut himself off with a heavy sigh. "Taekwoon asked me if I thought he would make a good Emperor. That he'd been asked if... he'd ever thought about being king."

"Nothing official?" Song Qian was calm, as if they were discussing dinner instead of what they were. Hakyeon did not feel calm.

"If there was, do you think we would be talking like this?" Hakyeon paused, and when he spoke again it was in a soft voice; trepidation, hesitation. To put thoughts into words held power, but their older sister was sitting between him and Taekwoon, and words always felt safer like this.

"I don't know how I'd keep him safe."

"Taekwoonnie isn't a helpless child, Hakyeonnie," Song Qian said. "You should know—you've been with him through most of it."

"Yes, but—"

"He's not a helpless child," she said again.

Hakyeon bit his tongue in frustration. "No, he's just too... too honest."

"And we aren't?"

"That's not what I'm saying, it's just—"

"I know." Song Qian cut him off yet again. Her arm wrapped about Hakyeon's shoulders, held him close. "I know, baby brother. I always wish I could just take you both back with me, leave this place."

"It didn't help jiejie though, did it?"

Song Qian froze at those words. Her eyes closed. The breath she took filled and then left her whole body, and Hakyeon felt it all.

"That was different, he... You'll—"

"Understand one day," Hakyeon finished. He sounded incredibly tired. "It isn't hard to understand that Brother-In-Law was killed. Or that you tried to pretend you managed to hide it from us. Taekwoon knows too. It's the one thing his father has done that he's never understood."

"And he never will," Song Qian said. "Not if I can help it."

"Didn't you just say we'll understand one day?" Hakyeon asked.

"He loves Father," Song Qian said.

"That's the problem, isn't it."

"The problem," Song Qian said softly, "is that he trusts people."

"And we don't?"

Song Qian laughed, ruffling Hakyeon's hair. "You brat."

"I try," Hakyeon said. He ducked his head and squeezed his sister in a hug.

"Don't go back," he added before he let go. "Don't say you have to, I know you don't."

"And how would you know that?"

"I know you hate it here," Hakyeon said quickly, "but for Taekwoon's sake."

"What do you think he'd say if he knew you asked his big sister to protect him?" Song Qian smiled wryly.

"You can do what I can't—"

"This again?"

"Don't, jiejie. You know that no one thinks I'm like them, not even them."

"Some of them do," Song Qian said. "Jaehwannie and Xing'er's never seen you as anything but. And then there's Father—"

"We both know that won't always be true."

A silence fell, as oppressive and heavy as the summer days. They did both know. It was why this conversation was happening, wasn't it? And Taekwoon slept on, unaware, held by his older sister, safe. What would Taekwoon think if he knew Hakyeon had asked Song Qian to stay for him? Taekwoon would be upset at him. Hakyeon knew that much. But it was better to have Taekwoon upset at him than—Hakyeon cut the thought off. This was not a thought he wanted to chase.

Taekwoon was no innocent. He trusted people, but not most people. He trusted his brothers. He trusted his sisters. His family, bound by blood. His friends. His own people. But Taekwoon knew there were people who he couldn't trust—ministers, bureaucrats, rich old men with too much power only because they had money. But he trusted his brothers.

Hakyeon could warn Taekwoon about Zhiheng all he wanted, but Taekwoon would only ever see Zhiheng as 'normal'.

Which was why Song Qian had to be here. Had to. She could see clearly where Taekwoon could not—or would not. And Taekwoon trusted her. He trusted her more than almost everyone.

"You're thinking too hard, baby brother." Song Qian's soft words cut right through Hakyeon's thoughts, and his brows smoothed from their unconscious furrow

"Sorry, jiejie." Hakyeon blew out a long sigh, and forced the worries out with that breath.

"What for?"

Hakyeon shut his mouth and then shook his head. He turned to his sister and smiled. "Let's get this one to bed," he said. He nodded toward Taekwoon.

"Your room or his?" Song Qian asked. Mirth twinkled in her eyes.

"Jie," Hakyeon whined. "We stopped sharing a room before you even left!"

"You never know," Song Qian said. She shook Taekwoon softly, and pushed him upright. Taekwoon whined. He wrapped his arms tighter about Song Qian's waist instead of letting go. Hakyeon and Song Qian shared a look of smothered laughter until they both started laughing loud enough that even Taekwoon stirred from his sleep, and Taekwon wasn't too happy about that at all.

Noise filtered in through the open window and up the stairs. Conversation bustled, and vendors hawked their wares, the sounds of the city. The soft aroma of tea filled this room set high above the street, carefully designed to let a summer breeze cool the inside without being disruptive to their most valued guests.

This afternoon, those guests were the Seventh and Tenth Princes, and Han Sanghyuk, cousin to the Second Prince and Seventh Princess.

Sanghyuk was a tall, broad fellow, still young, with cheeks round from childhood even though he was all but a man.

Taekwoon knew the boy well enough. Sanghyuk's mother was the youngest sister of the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress, so he could be called family in some ways. But more than that, he was Jaehwan's closest friend. Sanghyuk was four years younger than Jaehwan, only nineteen, but he was as clever as any of them. He could hold his own in whatever contest one could choose, scholarly or martial. The constant mischief in his grin betrayed his more boyish side—unfortunately, Sanghyuk and Jaehwan both drew that mischief out of each other to the fullest.

Sanghyuk was a good kid, even if he could be a bit much at times when Jaehwan was involved.

Taekwoon still wasn't sure why Jaehwan had insisted on dragging him out, but Jaehwan also ordered plates and plates of snacks as if he'd known Taekwoon would need to be placated. Still, it was good to see Sanghyuk. The boy had just returned to the capital. The time away seemed to have done him good. There was an undercurrent of maturity that hadn't been there when Taekwoon had last seen him, almost a full year ago. It was the longest Sanghyuk had been away.

Sanghyuk's father was the Minister of Ceremonies, one of the Great Offices and of the second rank besides. Sanghyuk seemed poised to follow suit and hold some important position once he'd accrued enough experience—the only question was which one. He'd been off to the east, all the way to the coast; military training, strategics, and most importantly, winning the respect of those that mattered. Taekwoon knew the drill well enough.

"You've been quiet, ge," Sanghyuk said.

Taekwoon blinked, the room coming back into focus. He shrugged and reached for his cup, wondering why Jaehwan had asked for tea when they could be having wine. Jaehwan usually opted for wine.

"Have I?" Taekwoon asked.

"Quieter than usual," Sanghyuk said. "Something on your mind?"

Sanghyuk looked at him with curious eyes, as if he could read through Taekwoon's uncertainties that way. Taekwoon simply shrugged again. He downed the remainder of his tea and reached for more.

"Something's always on his mind," Jaehwan said. He gracelessy pushed the teapot closer to Taekwoon, casual and crude. It was a habit that Jaehwan should fix, even if it was a private gathering. They were still in public.

"You've grown well," Taekwoon said to Sanghyuk. He ignored Jaehwan.

"Is that a compliment?" Sanghyuk grinned cheekily, but there was a flush of pride under that mischief that set Taekwoon's heart at ease.

"I suppose," Taekwoon said.

"A compliment from my Seventh Brother? Treasure it Hyukkie, you'll never get another!" Jaehwan slipped a glance toward Taekwoon as he crowed to Sanghyuk. Jaehwan knew he was pushing Taekwoon's patience, but Taekwoon didn't feel like sparing the energy to deal with Jaehwan today.

"Aw, just because gege never says good things about you doesn't mean he doesn't say good things about me," Sanghyuk said.

"Mean! No fair! Taekwoonie, why won't you be nice to me too?"

"Show some respect," Taekwoon snapped.

Jaehwan sobered.

They were in public. Even Jaehwan knew there were boundaries that couldn't be crossed. A moment's indiscretion for a commoner was one thing. A moment's indiscretion for a royal prince could be far more costly. Behaviour that was not allowed behind palace walls was no more permissible without.

It wasn't only Jaehwan who’d quieted. Sanghyuk stared down at the table, momentarily frozen. This wasn't the boy’s fault. It was Jaehwan's, although Taekwoon imagined that Sanghyuk had forgotten such rules himself in his long absence from the capital. It wasn't that the coastal cities were lawless but a certain amount of leeway was allowed. Especially for a young man who had no command, not even in name. And goodness knew there were those who behaved so terribly they ought to have been ashamed for their ancestor's sakes.

But this wasn't such a situation. Nor was it Taekwoon's place or responsibility to ease the sudden chill that had fallen over this tearoom.

"Order some wine," Taekwoon said.

But it didn't mean that he couldn't.

Jaehwan nodded, and seized the opportunity he knew he'd just been given.

"Staff!" Jaehwan yelled—the sound of footsteps fast approaching up the stairs, follow instantaneously by the appearance of the server. They would've been listening for that one command.

Taekwoon turned his attention back to Sanghyuk. The boy was still silent, still looking down. That wouldn't do—such weakness in character could be too easily exploited. Yet Taekwoon couldn't find it in himself to further scold the boy. It would do no good.

"You've grown darker," Taekwoon said instead.

Sanghyuk looked up at Taekwoon's voice, all sudden-like, as if he hadn't been expecting it at all. Something else he'd need to grow out of, being taken off guard like that. But he'd learn. Taekwoon was sure of it.

"I spent a lot of time outside," Sanghyuk said cheerily. "Uncle made me train more than Father ever does."

That was right—Taekwoon had nearly forgotten. Sanghyuk's uncle, his father's older brother, commanded a large garrison on the eastern coast. The uncle had no sons. Sanghyuk succeeding him there was a real possibility as well, if he preferred a military command.

"That's good," Taekwoon said. "As long as your studies were not neglected."

"You act like all I did was play," Sanghyuk said. Taekwoon raised his eyebrows.

"Of course I studied, I studied until my eyes were bleeding from studying. But what about you, I thought you weren't gonna be back until after I came home."

Jaehwan looked at Taekwoon, and Taekwoon looked at him, and then away.

"Family matters," Taekwoon said softly, as if his family was not what it was. Generals and soldiers could have unobtrusive family matters. Royal princes could not.

Sanghyuk was again caught off guard. His mouth was still slightly open and he blinked once. He was a sharp boy.

"Ah," Sanghyuk said.

"Where's the wine?" Jaehwan called loudly.

"Coming, coming!"

"Song Qian jiejie is back too," Jaehwan supplied, as the wine was set on the table. He dismissed the servers with a casual wave.

"Family gathering," Sanghyuk said. An easy smile was back as he poured all three of them wine. Taekwoon reached for his immediately.

"About as good as it gets, even for mid-autumn," Jaehwan agreed. They raised their cups to each other, and each took a small sip. This was a time for leisure, not for getting drunk. It was, after all, still afternoon.

"She's staying with me," Taekwoon said. Sanghyuk was young, a little too young to remember much of Taekwoon's older sister, but Sanghyuk knew her enough that he should be told.

Indeed, Sanghyuk hummed, acknowledgement. "I can't wait to see her," Sanghyuk said. It was all eerily similar to Jaehwan. "I haven't seen anyone in so long."

"Jaehwan is bad for you," Taekwoon said—he hadn't even finished speaking when Jaehwan squawked in protest.

"How do you know I'm not the one who's bad for Jaehwan?" Sanghyuk shot back.

"You're younger."

"Doesn't mean anything," Sanghyuk said.

"It does too!" Jaehwan pouted, and flicked a nut at Sanghyuk. It quickly settled into a good-natured bicker between the two of them. It left Taekwoon with the opportunity to lean back and drink his wine and nibble on snacks in peace. And think. Taekwoon was always thinking, there always was something on his mind, Jaehwan was right. It'd been a habit picked up as a child and honed mercilessly as a soldier, a war leader. There was no time to not be thinking.

It was different at home. When there was nothing and no one but Hakyeon, and he could truly feel at ease. Only then, could he let his mind fall blank.

But this wasn't a quiet room with only Hakyeon, and Jaehwan had almost physically dragged Taekwoon out while Sanghyuk waited in the carriage. Taekwoon wished Hakyeon was here, but Hakyeon had waved him off with an amused smile. Hakyeon and Jaehwan had shared a look, brief enough that it might've gone unnoticed, directed enough that Taekwoon, trained to notice such things, couldn't help but notice. Hakyeon must've known Taekwoon had seen. Jaehwan likely hadn't.

Taekwoon wondered how much Jaehwan knew—and then immediately hated himself for it. Was this what it'd be like from now on? Second guessing every action, every word of every person around him? But Sanghyuk—the boy hadn't known. He would know soon. If—if—it was all true about Zhiheng, everything, anything, then Sanghyuk would be as much a part of this as anyone. How could Sanghyuk not when his parents were so closely tied—no, when the entire Wang clan was so entwined with the royal family. When the Former Empress was Sanghyuk’s aunt, and did Sanghyuk and Zhiheng not share a grandfather as well?

It all made Taekwoon's head spin.

Had this, then, what that look shared between Hakyeon and Jaehwan meant? The boy—Sanghyuk?

Sanghyuk who still knew nothing, Sanghyuk who'd spent the past year away from home, his parents, his cousins, his friends. How unfair this all was, that an innocent child would be pulled into such a mess merely because his parents were who they were.

Taekwoon knew that well enough.

It'd been two days ago that he and Hakyeon had gone with their sister to visit a small shrine. It was high up on the slope of a mountain, an hour's trek up a narrow rocky path. It could barely be called a shrine. A stone plaque with a single carved name, housed under a roof of unpainted wood, a bowl of ashes in front. It looked out over a craggy stone precipice, a wide ledge where a young couple could comfortably sit, watching the river flow ceaselessly below. Maybe a pair of young boys might have accompanied them one day and it was also room enough to dance with a sword, flashing bright silver in the light. A memory of a song hovered in that place, reminiscent of the river below winding around trees, decorated with fallen petals, carried by a crisp spring air down from the mountains.

The three of them had looked out over that ledge, two men and a widow, instead of two boys and a girl barely old enough to be called a woman. Song Qian had put her arms around them both, although they had grown too tall for her to rest them about their shoulders. Libations had been poured and incense had been burned, and then the three of them had made their slow way down that narrow rocky path and told no one where they had been. There were those who knew, yet it was a thing, like many things, that could never be voiced.

Yes, Taekwoon knew well enough what it could mean when your siblings were who they were, when your parents were who they were, your parents' siblings, your parents' parents. They all did, did they not?

Taekwoon pulled his attention back to this clear afternoon, shrugging away the humid mugginess of two days ago. Back to Sanghyuk laughing like any innocent youth should be.

"Now that's not fair," Sanghyuk said. "You know Father doesn't like it when I spend too much time out."

"He really has you under watch," Jaehwan said. He laughed, but there was something dark to it—Taekwoon had the feeling Jaehwan wasn't particularly fond of Sanghyuk's father.

Taekwoon hummed, drawing their attention. "It's been a while since you came to our place," he said.

Jaehwan's eyes opened so wide they might have been dinner plates. "You never invite people," he said. "You 'don't like entertaining'—Hakyeon's words, not mine!"

"Huh, it's true," Sanghyuk said. "You're really inviting us over?"

Taekwoon found himself scowling, regretting extending such an invitation at all. But he couldn't withdraw it. "Yes," Taekwoon said. He hoped it didn't sound as sour as it could have been.

"Well," Jaehwan said, smile stretching a little too wide for Taekwoon's comfort, "I look forward to it."

"Well. That was very nice of you."

They were in Hakyeon's rooms, sitting across the table from each other, delicate jade wine cups set in front of them both. Lamps lit the room bright from the corners, shadows fuzzy and indistinct. Taekwoon squirmed at Hakyeon's words. He pushed at his cup with a single finger.

"I'm not allowed to invite my brother and the kid to my own house?" Taekwoon was petulant, although Hakyeon doubted he realised it. It'd taken two days for Taekwoon to tell him this—less likely to be out of embarrassment, and more because Taekwoon hadn't managed to find a way to do so. It wouldn't do to tease Taekwoon too much.

"No, no, of course you are!"

The kid, Hakyeon had quickly surmised, was Han Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk was more man than child now and had the height to prove it, but old habits died hard. Hakyeon also remembered a tiny Sanghyuk toddling around, chasing a laughing Jaehwan. Sanghyuk couldn't have been much older than three the first time him and Taekwoon had met the child—neither Hakyeon nor Taekwoon had yet been ten. Hakyeon remembered that clearly.

And now the tiny child was all grown up.

"It'll be good to see Hyukkie again," Hakyeon said with a wistful sigh.

"You could have come with us," Taekwoon said. Taekwoon paused, and prodded at the cup again. "That day."

"Yes, I'm very aware of what day," Hakyeon said dryly. Taekwoon's expression immediately soured. Hakyeon reached across the table and poured him more wine.

"Why didn't you?"

Those words were neither petulant or whiny—it was almost sharp, almost pointed, but couched in Taekwoon's soft tone, it'd be hard to decipher. Nonetheless, Hakyeon understood it for what it was, and it was a question that Hakyeon could not dodge, even if he tried.

"Because I had things to do," Hakyeon said. It wouldn't do to not try.

Taekwoon scoffed and picked up the now full wine cup. He stared at Hakyeon over it. "Nothing that couldn't wait for me," he said. “Or for you.”

"Ah, I suppose you are right," Hakyeon said. He lounged back in his seat. Taekwoon's eyes were sharp on him, and lesser men would and did quail at that sight. Lesser men had also not grown up with that unnerving stare.

Hakyeon quirked the corner of his lip, meeting Taekwoon's gaze evenly. He filled his own cup and raised it toward Taekwoon and drank. The sweetness of the plum wine washed over Hakyeon's tongue, but he found it difficult to savour. Taekwoon had yet to look away from him.

"I suspect you already know," Hakyeon said. Softer, this time, as if he couldn't summon the strength for anything more.

"Sanghyuk? He's only a boy," Taekwoon said.

"A boy? He's almost twenty—what were you doing when you were his age? Younger than him? Was it a boy that lead eight hundred men and killed two thousand enemy troops? Was it a boy that captured a capital city and forced the surrender of an entire nation? Taekwoon, you—"

Hakyeon cut himself off and slumped in the chair with a small breath that could have been a laugh. Without realising, he'd leaned halfway across the table and was nearly on his feet. Taekwoon's eyes had widened, but they remained focussed on Hakyeon.

"I forgot myself," Hakyeon said. He softened his tone again, quieting, calming. "But Sanghyuk is not a boy, and neither are you. Nor were you."

"You and Jaehwan."

"Mm? What ever does Jaehwan have to do with this?"

"You put him up to this," Taekwoon said.

It was accusatory this time. That same huff of breath from Hakyeon that might've been laughter. That same quirk of his lip that might've been a smile.

"I can assure you that I did not," Hakyeon said. "All I did was choose to not go. Sanghyuk just returned, as did you, and no doubt Jaehwan is eager to spend time with you both before you all rush off to who knows where and leaving him behind."

"You know where. You come with me."

"Yes, and Sanghyuk doesn't simply disappear either—that isn't the point."

Taekwoon looked away, aside, and then he looked down. Looked young. He'd looked young a lot lately. No, not young. Unsure. It was only that it’d been a long time since Taekwoon was unsure.

Hakyeon sighed and reached across the table. He placed his hand over Taekwoon's—for a moment, Hakyeon noted the contrast between their hands, but it was a familiar contrast, a familiar difference. The back of Taekwoon's hand was slightly cool as it always was.

"Why Jaehwan?" Those two words were soft. Even for Taekwoon.

Hakyeon thought of redirecting the question, of pushing it in a direction that they both knew was not the one that Taekwoon had meant.

"I don't know," Hakyeon said honestly. "I don't know why, but this was the only way. There was no way he could not stand on one side or the other. He is too... entangled."

Out of all of Taekwoon's siblings, Jaehwan, perhaps, had the most reason to stand with Zhiheng. Jaehwan's mother was the Empress, and cousin to Zhiheng's mother. Jaehwan's sister, Jinxi was raised by his mother, but had been birthed by Zhiheng's mother. Jaehwan's older brother, Zhihan, was Zhiheng's closest brother. Jaehwan's closest friend, Sanghyuk, was Zhiheng's cousin, and Sanghyuk's mother was the younger sister of Zhiheng's mother. Sanghyuk’s father undoubtedly Zhiheng's ally. And yet, Jaehwan seemed to had chosen the most dangerous choice, the most foolish choice. Unless—and Hakyeon hated himself for thinking it even before the thought had formed—unless it was all a ruse. But Jaehwan was too straightforward. It couldn't be a ruse.

Taekwoon's brows creased, his lips pressed tight, his hand tensing. Taekwoon would be thinking the same. When Taekwoon spoke, it was hesitant. His words as uncertain as his thoughts.

"Third Brother is close to Second Brother. Third Brother and Jaehwan's mother, what will it mean if her two children disagree? And Eldest Brother? He's still the eldest—I shouldn't be part of this Hakyeon, if there was ever a disagreement, of choosing sides, it should be between Second Brother and Eldest Brother—Hakyeon, this isn't right."

"Yet here we are," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon's eyes were open wide, almost pleading. He'd slipped his hand from under Hakyeon's and gripped at Hakyeon's sleeve, his knuckles white. Hakyeon placed his other hand over Taekwoon's, his throat tight. There was little else he could do.

"Father's making a mistake, he's—"

"Did you just say the Emperor was at fault?"

Taekwoon's eyes widened, and then squeezed shut. "I'll talk to him," he said.

"Don't turn away from the truth," Hakyeon said.

"But I don't want to. I'll talk to Second Brother—"

"Zheng Taekwoon! Do not turn away from the truth!"

Hakyeon could not raise his voice—Hakyeon assumed everyone in their household to be loyal, but it was impossible to know who might be listening at the doors, even if this room had no windows and only wooden walls. They were not here by chance. What did it say about him that Hakyeon had designed this room not long after they'd moved into this estate—Hakyeon's cynicism, his failure as a person, his refusal to trust, his willingness to subvert the truth. It was, Hakyeon had to remind himself, to keep all these things from tainting Taekwoon, to keep the person who was more than his brother, who was more dear to him than any future lover; to keep him from losing all that, to keep his heart good, honest, straightforward.

Hakyeon could not raise his voice, but he could still be forceful, like the thrust of a spear, pointed yet narrow. Taekwoon recoiled, but his grip on Hakyeon's sleeve only tightened.

"I don't want to," Taekwoon said again, but it was soft, resigned.

"I know," Hakyeon said. "I know, Taekwoon. We said we would talk about this later, and perhaps 'later' is now."

Taekwoon took a breath, his fingers loosened, his shoulders slumped. He'd been the one to ask Hakyeon to promise that they would discuss this later. They both knew this, and that it wasn't a question, that there was no 'perhaps'.

"Yes," Taekwoon said. Agreed. Taekwoon seemed to want to say more, but no words came. He was being careful, Hakyeon knew. Careful and unsure.

Outside, it must've been darker than ink. They weren't in the habit of having guards on patrol—there didn't need to be. Hakyeon could imagine it, could imagine that darkness bearing in around them on all sides, and there were only the lamps in the corners of this room to banish it.

But there was more than just darkness outside.

"You are right, there is still the First Prince. There will be those who support Zhiying. But it's Zhiheng who most will consider the rightful heir. The two of them both know it."

"And me?"

"And you. You have the Emperor's favour and... and the people's support, although I suppose that counts for little."

"Father's favour."

"Too weighty to be ignored, but Zhiying will. I don't think he'll even consider you a threat. But Zhiheng will fight it."

"How?" A pause. "He'll discredit me, won't he."

Hakyeon snorted—he couldn't help it. "That would be for the best. I'm more worried about him killing you."

To Hakyeon, it was obvious. To Taekwoon, it was the impossible. They'd studied the same history, knew how time and time again this story they faced had played out, and still Taekwoon believed it to be impossible.

"He wouldn't," Taekwoon said. "He's my brother, we're family."

"You're not the first to trust in that," Hakyeon said. The belief in Taekwoon's eyes was wavering, but was still too firm and trusting to fall. It wasn't wholly a bad thing.

"But perhaps you're right. Perhaps I'm overthinking things. Zhiheng is a good person." Hakyeon swallowed the half-lie, wishing he spoke the truth.

"He is," Taekwoon agreed. And he believed it.

A long silence fell between them. Thoughts entrapped both of them. Hakyeon could only ever guess at Taekwoon's thoughts—but at this moment, he could guess nothing. There was no noise, none of the sounds of summer; the wind could rage and they might not hear it at all.

But silence was never eternal.

"I think you will have the Grand Commandant on your side—you're the only military man among the three. The other generals... yes, except for a few, the military is more likely to stand by you," Hakyeon said, as if speaking to himself. Taekwoon clung to his every word.

"The Minister of Ceremonies—Sanghyuk's father—will no doubt stand with Zhiheng. Perhaps the Grand Herald as well, Zhiheng has worked closely with him in the past. I don't believe the Prime Minister will choose a side—he doesn't seem like such a person, but if he were to, he may see Zhiheng as the most legitimate. As for the others... I suspect Zhiying will have the Commander of Justice, the Director of the Imperial Clan, and the Treasurer. Zhiying will be the easiest to control." Hakyeon paused, that last list playing more slowly through his mind.

"That is quite a lot of people," Hakyeon added.

"So what you're saying is that I have no support among the officials or in court," Taekwoon said.

"I didn't say none," Hakyeon hedged. "But perhaps...less. And some will change allegiances more easily than others."

"And Jaehwan?"

"Yes, Jaehwan," Hakyeon agreed. "His position will be—it will be difficult. None of this is open yet, there is nothing clear, but I believe Zhiheng will act first, and Zhiying to follow. The Emperor will expect this. I don't think he'll openly declare his support for you, but I also don't think he'll favour one over the other." Another pause. "It is cruel for a father to watch his sons quarrel, but it's not only Emperors who do so. It's almost expected as a man nears the end of his life."

Taekwoon swallowed at the reminder of his father's mortality. Hakyeon almost felt sorry, but it was impossible to shy away from the truth.

"But there is more—we cannot consider only the Ministers and high offices. Be wary of Zhiheng's staff—I think Qiao Yi and Fang Huwei will err more with the prince than the Emperor. There is that eunuch of Zhiheng's as well. Now that it's come to this, there's no choice but to look into this further." Hakyeon blew out a long breath and stared into the darkness.

"If the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress was still alive, none of this would be happening, would it?"

"I doubt that," Hakyeon said dryly. "History has never respected that."

"This isn't history," Taekwoon said, but even he knew that it was a useless thought. One day, this would become history.

"At the very least, it'd still be difficult between Zhiying and Zhiheng," Hakyeon reminded him.

"This is—This is complicated," Taekwoon said.

"That's one way to put it."

"What do we do?"

"Well, we should decide on a menu for when Jaehwan and Sanghyuk come," Hakyeon said.

"That's it?"

"Mm? What's it?"

"We have no plan, we have no information—"

"I only said we needed to talk, not that we needed to plan an entire battle in one night," Hakyeon said gently. Taekwoon was still staring at him. He'd let go of Hakyeon and sat back, his hands folded in front of him. Hakyeon almost wished that he hadn't. From a distance, Taekwoon's eyes drilled deep into him.

"But I will begin to compile information," Hakyeon said. There were familial connections, and Hakyeon knew that Steward Zhu knew people, although Taekwoon remained ignorant of that particular fact. He smiled at Taekwoon, as best as he could. "You are right that we will need it. I will have... Lieutenant Jian Yi investigate—discretely—which commandaries feel strongly. Erzhu Yanming will know who among the staffs of attendants could spell danger. As for minor officials... who would be best?" Hakyeon wondered to himself.

"Jaehwan?" Taekwoon suggested.

Hakyeon blinked, making a show of slow consideration to hide his surprise. He had thought of Jaehwan but out of consideration for Taekwoon, Hakyeon hadn't named him.

"He will know more," Hakyeon agreed. "If you wish for me to make this request of him, I will do so."

"Why can't I?" Taekwoon asked.

"I..." Hakyeon hesitated.

"Don't you trust him?"

"Yes," Hakyeon said—if only because there was no other answer he could give. If only because he had no other choice. They desperately needed any information they could obtain, officials, advisers, eunuchs—Jaehwan knew people, had his own web, could ask the right people the right questions. Hakyeon had to trust that as well.

"When Jaehwan dragged me out, did he know you wouldn't come?"

Hakyeon pursed his lips. "No," he said slowly, "I don't think so."

"Then maybe it meant nothing at all," Taekwoon said.

"Jaehwan isn't stupid. I felt it would be better if I didn't go." A pause. "And why did you invite them? Out of boredom?"

"I... It felt right," Taekwoon said firmly. "It felt right, so I did it. And jiejie is here, it's about time."

"Whatever the reason, it'll be good to see Sanghyuk again," Hakyeon said. An easier direction. "Every time he goes away he grows up so much, and it's been almost a whole year."

"He has gotten big," Taekwoon agreed. "He's taller than Jaehwan."

"He better not be taller than me already," Hakyeon huffed.

"I don't know about that," Taekwoon said in that carefully flat tone that meant he was being horribly mischievous to anyone who knew him.

Hakyeon glowered at him and it drew a small smile out of Taekwoon. How Hakyeon had missed that smile.

"It's getting late. We should finish this and sleep." Hakyeon gestured at the half empty carafe of plum wine between them.

"It's not that late," Taekwoon said, but he reached for the wine. Between the two of them, it was gone within moments.

The storm had abated as suddenly and furiously as it had come. Broken tree branches were scattered in its wake, flowers bent or stems broken, the water awash with petals. Hongbin, no stranger to capricious weather, still found himself scared stiff as thunder had shaken his rooms, lightning so close it'd been like flashes of daylight.

It was over and the air had cleared, although Hongbin knew the mugginess would return in a day or two and fill the spaces with chokingly wet air. The servants were still cleaning the aftermath, hustling away the broken branches to be dried and used where it could, or burned as firewood. Others were tidying the flowers; nothing could be done for the dead or broken, but those that remained could still be arranged to face the world favourably.

Hongbin found himself on a path that was becoming discomfortingly familiar. He carried a covered bowl of cold lotus seed soup that he'd been requested to bring to his Highness, the Prince. Such requests had become too common, too quickly; the gathering of clouds, dark, a storm on the horizon.

The courtyard was too empty, too exposed, too bare. A wide expanse of stone tiles that echoed with Hongbin's steps no matter how quietly he stepped. It meant that everyone could see his increasingly frequent trips to the prince's private rooms. It was not making him any friends. Hongbin didn't need friends, he hadn't had any friends, but he could've done without the increased hostility from all sides. Except, surprisingly, the Prince's Lady Wife. Perhaps because she knew he'd never usurp her position and she'd been too weak lately from the fractious weather to spend much time with her husband. Better it was Hongbin, than one of the others. Even the servants seemed to care less for him. Not when the other concubines lined their pockets.

Hongbin bowed to the single guard by the door, too weary to even smile.

It was quiet when he entered. He stood unsure just inside the door. There was no one nearby that he could ask, an odd occurrence in itself—like everyone had been sent away. But he wouldn't find it odd until later—at this moment, he was only unsure where to go, the place unfamiliar and unsettling. He stepped hesitatingly inside, his steps brutishly loud to his own ears. Hongbin didn't know if he was even allowed to enter alone—he never had before. But he couldn't return having not completed such a simple task that he was honoured to perform. Hongbin allowed himself a long, quiet sigh, only because of the utter emptiness around him. He began to walk through rooms that he'd been lead through, going first to the sitting room the prince would often occupy when he was home, sorting through a pile of paperwork and documents. Hongbin had watched him once from a distance, hidden behind a curtain. He would make a good Emperor. The thought passed through Hongbin's mind and was just as quickly shut down.

The corners of the box’s wooden handles were beginning to wedge against his skin. There was only silence as Hongbin neared the room. Not even the rustle of paper, a shift of fabric came from inside. It unnerved him. If the Prince were not here, then Hongbin would be left with few choices, each worse than the last. To remain by this room with the hope that the Prince had merely stepped away for a moment. To leave with his task undone. Or to seek the Prince out inside.

Few choices, but there was only one open for Hongbin to choose.

Hongbin had been taken through more of this building than he'd ever thought he'd see but it didn't stop him from feeling more lost and unsure with every step he took. There was a small, private courtyard in the back where Prince would sometimes sit to watch the fish. It seemed as likely a place as any.

But when Hongbin traced the steps from his memory and to the vestibule that opened into the courtyard, it was echoingly empty. Like everywhere else. Too empty. As if everyone had been sent out. Away. The Prince was accustomed to Hongbin coming around this time.

There was no sign of the storm here. There were no broken branches or broken flowers, everything in its rightful place and nothing where it should not have been. It was as if the storm had left this space untouched, as if it had not dared to fling its fury so near to the Second Prince.

It was an absurd thought—this must have been the very first place the servants had tidied after the rain had cleared—but it was one that Hongbin could not shake. Perhaps because it was true.

He turned back inside. There were two fewer fish than there had been.

Hongbin hadn't been upstairs since the first time he'd been here. If they weren't in the Prince's sitting room or private quarters, they'd be in the vestibule or the courtyard itself that Hongbin was walking from.

The upstairs room was for receiving company or for meditating deep in thoughts. Not somewhere that the Prince would take one of his concubines without occasion.

What do you think of my brothers? The Second Prince's words echoed in Hongbin's mind as his foot lit on the first step. The memory of wine sweet on his tongue was cloying as he took the second. He stepped softly, hesitant. suddenly unsure of this choice.

There were voices. Hongbin halted, breath catching in his chest. It was Zhiheng, of course, and someone that Hongbin did not know. They were speaking softly but there was no indication that they'd heard Hongbin's approach. Speaking softly, but just loud enough for Hongbin to overhear.

"It is better to act first," the stranger was saying.

"Perhaps," Zhiheng said.

"If what you said is true—"

"I know what I heard, Uncle."

Hongbin clenched his jaw to keep from gasping—it could only be the Minister of Ceremonies that Zhiheng was speaking to. He should leave, announce his presence, but his feet were rooted beneath him, his body frozen in place.

"Then it is settled," the Minister said.

"I understand Uncle, but Taekwoon is still my brother."

"All the more reason," the Minister said. "There is no simpler way to handle it. If he is gone, then there is no contest."

If he is gone? There was an implication behind those words that Hongbin didn't want to even entertain. The Minister was speaking far too calmly for that implication to be true. An implication against the Seventh Prince. Not the First Prince.

Maybe, to Zhiheng, none of this had ever been about the First Prince.

"It is just very... drastic," Zhiheng said. He, however, sounded less calm.

"There are ways to handle such things, Zhiheng," the Minister said.

Hongbin didn't know if he could hear more, or even listen to more. The words he had already heard were enough to get him killed. He went down the stairs with steps as silent as a cat's, and up again with far more noise.

"Your Highness?" Hongbin called out well before he could hear them. He spoke loudly. Hongbin hadn't, he needed them to believe, heard them. He had no desire to flirt with death.

"Who is it?" Zhiheng spoke sharply and Hongbin froze. Hongbin feared that he had erred. But not even a second later Zhiheng spoke again, his tone steady. "Hongbin. Come here."

"Yes, your Highness," Hongbin said. He hurried up the rest of the steps and took in the stranger that the Prince was sitting across from. A moment, before he bowed. It was awkward with the box in hand.

"This is Hongbin," Zhiheng said, gesturing to him. Hongbin bowed deeper. "Hongbin, this is Minister Han."

"It is my great honour, Minister Han," Hongbin said softly.

"No need," the Minister said. He waved him upright.

"Thank you, Minister," Hongbin said. He turned back to Zhiheng, aware that the Minister's eyes were on him. "I was asked to bring this to you, your Highness."

He knelt so he could place the box on the floor and lift the lid. Zhiheng glanced at it, and then gestured it aside.

"A wasted trip," Zhiheng said. There was only a single portion.

"I can ask the kitchen to make another for your honoured guest," Hongbin offered tentatively, but Zhiheng waved that suggestion aside as well. Zhiheng motioned for Hongbin to sit next to him instead. Hongbin did.

The moment Hongbin did, his existence seemed to be forgotten. He refilled Zhiheng's tea when called for. The tone of the conversation had changed to imply that this was nothing more than a social visit.

Minister Han wasn't as old as Hongbin had first thought. He had only the one son and only the one wife if Hongbin recalled. A love match. The Minister was a kind looking man—it was frighteningly incongruous with what Hongbin had just heard. Hongbin tried to imagine him saying 'if he is gone, then there is no contest' with that unassuming smile in answer to Zhiheng's protest that Taekwoon is still my brother. It frightened Hongbin to the core. He'd long since learnt that cruel men did not often look cruel. But despite the smile, the Minister was broad shouldered and looked like a man one wouldn't want to cross. It made Hongbin wonder at his skill in combat, even though he wore the robes of a scholarly court official. If Zhiheng didn't agree to the Seventh Prince being... gone, would the Minister do so himself?

No, such things would be done in the shadows, in ways that couldn't be traced back to the men who'd issued the order. But if the Seventh Prince could kill two thousand enemies with less than half that number, if he'd killed a hundred himself alone, it would not be easy to make such a man go away.

The Minister stayed for only another ten, perhaps fifteen minutes. Hongbin accompanied Zhiheng to see him out, his skin crawling at what he was sure were eyes on him. Before Hongbin could worry about the Seventh Prince, Hongbin was increasingly aware that he might be the one to disappear first. Besides, Zhiheng would not agree—he and Taekwoon were still brothers, whatever they thought of each other, however Taekwoon stood in Zhiheng's way. Zhiheng wouldn't agree to something so drastic.

"I'm sorry, your Highness. Hongbin wasn't aware you had company," Hongbin said, once the great door had closed. He should not have met with company. If anyone did, it should have been Zhiheng's Lady Wife. Not him.

"Of course you weren't," Zhiheng said absentmindedly. Yet his gaze cut through Hongbin—as if he suspected that Hongbin had heard what he should not have heard after all. Hongbin looked away. It lasted all of one agonising second before Zhiheng began to walk, and Hongbin once again followed. Hongbin wished he'd be dismissed.

"Tell me, what did you think of Minister Han?" Zhiheng asked.

The back of Hongbin's throat tensed. "I... was not paying attention, your Highness," Hongbin said.

"Of course you weren't," Zhiheng said. "You know better than to."

"Hongbin does not understand," Hongbin said. His neck prickled, but he didn't dare stop. Didn't dare to guess at what the prince meant. He knew better to.

"Hm."

Hongbin waited for the Prince to continue speaking but Zhiheng walked in silence and Hongbin had to walk quickly to not fall behind. Zhiheng's back was broad and his shoulders stiff, and Hongbin couldn't read his mood. If he was angry. If he hadn't minded Hongbin's intrusion. If he knew that Hongbin had heard after all.

"Your Highness," Hongbin ventured, unable to stand the silence. "Shall I go to the kitchen and have something made?"

The Prince finally slowed and then stopped. His eyes were no longer cold and knifelike, nor had they adopted the softness that Hongbin knew he could draw out of the Prince even when the Prince was upset, and the two of them were alone. But there were other ways that Hongbin could quell upset—it was why he was here, wasn't it?

"No," Zhiheng said after a moment. "You may go. You may tell the others that I am not to be disturbed, if you see them."

Hongbin bowed. He'd never been more grateful to not have to look at the Prince.

"Thank you, your Highness," Hongbin said—and hated himself for how much he meant it.

Taekwoon had extended the invitation, but he hadn't realised how much work it would be. They weren't the sort to entertain. He and Hakyeon were away for at least half of every year and Taekwoon was known among his brothers as the reticent one, the cold one, the aloof one. Taekwoon's Eldest Brother, Zhiying—he was social, threw banquets, had beautiful dancer girls and foreign musicians and Taekwoon was incredibly grateful he'd been away on expeditions for the past two that Zhiying had held. Taekwoon wasn't the entertaining type, and he also wasn't the type to want to... be entertained. And then there was Third Brother Zhihan who spent both days and nights out, and younger Eighth Brother Lin'er who was no doubt spending every night out in a way that their Emperor Father did not approve of in the slightest. He, at least, was no longer in the capital. Taekwoon knew that Xing'er held his own quiet gatherings with friends, although they'd gone once on his brother's invitation and Taekwoon had found that they weren't quite as quiet as people thought.

Hakyeon, Taekwoon knew, was different. On the few times they did have guests, Hakyeon never failed to invite a wide circle of friends that Taekwoon hadn't even known Hakyeon had. Hakyeon would personally check in on the kitchens to ensure every dish was faultless, and would even hire outside chefs. He'd invite musicians, actors, acrobats, magicians, and for that afternoon, that evening, the manor of the Prince of Jing and Duke of Yin would come to life in an explosion of laughter and colour.

And then the morning after, Hakyeon would drag Taekwoon out of bed before the sun had properly risen and they'd ride out to a quiet lake with an old woodcutter's shack they'd fixed up years ago, and stay for at least a day or two.

This time, it was different. It was to be just Jaehwan and Sanghyuk, and their sister of course, although she could hardly be called a guest. Hakyeon had pursed his lips, looked at Taekwoon in a way Taekwoon wasn't sure he liked, and then declared that Taekwoon, for once, could be in charge.

"Or you could marry a lovely young lady to assist you," Hakyeon said when Taekwoon gaped at him in dismay.

"But I thought you liked doing this," Taekwoon had whined. Hakyeon wouldn't be swayed.

Apparently, even though it was only Jaehwan and Sanghyuk, Hakyeon was determined Taekwoon could take some responsibility. It wasn't going particularly well.

"Just give the cook a list of foods you like," Hakyeon said when Taekwoon came to him trying to figure out a menu. "You're choosing a tea, not planning a multi-pronged assault," when he caught Taekwoon staring at the wall. Or: "no, I am not going to send a messenger for you to arrange a time Taekwoon, you're perfectly capable of doing that yourself."

Taekwoon had probably deserved the absolutely withering look he'd received for the last.

Song Qian, to her credit, had worked tremendously hard not to laugh.

"I don't know how you survive a day without Hakyeonnie, baby brother," she said when she'd finally caught her breath.

"He doesn't," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon didn't even have a chance to defend himself.

But it would be a simple evening affair, quiet, just the five of them. Hakyeon, taking pity on Taekwoon, had quietly asked the servants to make up two rooms because he knew that Jaehwan and Sanghyuk would likely stay the night even if there were no plans to. Jaehwan's room would be the best of the guest rooms, of course. Although the servants would know even without his reminder. Taekwoon was another story.

"Lighten up baby brother, I don't know what you're so nervous about."

Taekwoon paused his pacing up and down the outside hall. Song Qian sat very improperly on the railing of the nearby bridge, while Hakyeon flipped through a book at the table under the pavilion.

"I'm not nervous," Taekwoon snapped.

"It's just Hwannie and Hyukkie," Hakyeon added, singsong. Taekwoon fought back the urge to sigh. Taekwoon forced himself to sit down, next to Hakyeon.

It wasn't that Taekwoon was nervous, but he was anxious. He'd been anxious about many things lately. It was absurd—Taekwoon knew. He hadn't been brought up to be like this, needlessly anxious, which made it all the more discomfiting. They hadn't discussed it since that night in Hakyeon's rooms. Taekwoon hadn't been able to bring it up and Hakyeon had avoided all mention of it.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun was merciless. Both he and Hakyeon were hidden in the shade under the pavilion but their sister seemed heedless of both the sun and the heat. She was dressed as pretty and delicate as any court lady but looks were deceiving, and pity the men who'd believed otherwise. Taekwoon was inordinately proud of her.

Under the table, Hakyeon placed a hand on Taekwoon's thigh, firm and reassuring. Hakyeon smiled at Taekwoon when Taekwoon looked toward him; Taekwoon felt his heart ease, his chest loosen.

Yet, it was just Jaehwan and Sanghyuk. Taekwoon had never been able to discern what Jaehwan was thinking—he knew there was far more than the cheerful, cheeky, and often mischievous personality most took for foolishness. And it was exactly this that put him on edge. Hakyeon trusted Jaehwan, and Taekwoon trusted Hakyeon even more than Taekwoon trusted himself.

But where was the boy in all of this? Sanghyuk, son of the Minister of Ceremonies, cousin to Zhiheng, and Jaehwan's best friend. Jaehwan, who Hakyeon had so far deemed the only one Taekwoon could trust. Every time Taekwoon traced out those same lines, threads tangled in his gut, squeezing and choking. It would've been better if Sanghyuk hadn't returned—if he'd stayed far from home for as long as this game would take. No, no game. A war.

It was high daylight and the shadows were sharp. Taekwoon shook it all aside as he got to his feet, giving Hakyeon's hand a quick squeeze under the table before he stood. Hakyeon and Song Qian watched him as he sat on the railing next to Song Qian. The sky was blue, clouds painted in white by a master's brush. Bright. They drifted in the breeze, a breeze so gentle that Taekwoon could barely feel it.

"The sky is blue, isn't it," Hakyeon commented. The book was placed on the table, his hands folded in front of him. Hakyeon stared out to the distance, somewhere beyond Taekwoon.

"Yes," Taekwoon agreed.

"It will rain," Song Qian said. She tilted her head back, looked up at the sky, at the wisps of clouds, at the unobstructed sun.

"There's no clouds," Taekwoon said. He frowned and looked up and tried to see what she saw.

"Soon," she said, "not now. If you ever spent more time with the Fei clan, you'd know it too. There's more to life than stabbing people with brute strength."

"It's not brute strength!" Taekwoon protested. Hakyeon laughed from behind him.

"We'll never match up to jie, Taekwoon," Hakyeon said. "Compared to her, we're the cultureless disgrace to our ancestors with no skills or talent to speak of."

"We trained there too," Taekwoon said. He may have pouted.

"Too superficial to count," Hakyeon said.

"Now, now children, let's not bicker," Song Qian said, laughing. She clapped her hands and hopped down, and landed lightly on her feet. "I think I hear the other children too."

"Our baby Hyukkie is here?" Hakyeon jumped to his feet in glee.

"I believe so," Song Qian said. She gestured for Hakyeon to go ahead.

"I don't get how you can hear them so easily," Taekwoon complained. He knew the answer of course—that Song Qian had all but grown up with their mother's ancestral family while Taekwoon and Hakyeon had grown up in the court. Grace and skills of another manner.

But first, Taekwoon decided as he firmly pushed those thoughts away, they would play.

They'd prepared for two guests, but three had shown up. It was this third that had ensnared Taekwoon's attention. The world could be burning around him and he wouldn't have noticed. It was a scrawny little thing, a mottled black and brown speckled with pure white streaks that reminded Hakyeon of a tiger. The cat was lying on its back, front legs curled around Taekwoon's arm as he pet the cat, and scratched under her chin.

"I think he likes her," Sanghyuk said confidentially to Hakyeon.

"You think?" Hakyeon said, his voice arched. Sanghyuk laughed at that, and leaned further back against the chair, one arm sprawled over the back. In the year or so that Hakyeon hadn't seen him, Sanghyuk had grown into a fine young man. He'd figured out what to do with his limbs, his shoulders were broadening, and he'd grown into his height and no longer shirked from it. Sanghyuk looked like someone who belonged here, instead of the awkward child he'd been.

They were all in the finely decorated inner entertaining room. It was a formal space, draped with golden curtains and furnished with intricately carved stone tables and delicate jade teaware. There was wine in a filigreed flagon engraved with birds—except instead of partaking in it, Taekwoon was on the floor.

Hakyeon sighed heavily.

"What will we do with him, Hyukkie," Hakyeon said to Sanghyuk next to him. "Does he look like a prince to you?"

Sanghyuk laughed and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. He gestured to Jaehwan who was lying on his stomach while he poked at the cat's tail.

"Better than that one," Sanghyuk said.

"Ah, you and I, Sanghyuk, are the only adults here," Hakyeon said. He said this loud enough for both Jaehwan and Taekwoon to hear. Only Jaehwan turned around and made a rude gesture at them. Sanghyuk threw back his head and laughed.

"Looks like the cat will be staying here after all," Hakyeon said.

"Yeah, Jaehwan said it'd probably work out best like this," Sanghyuk said. He settled back again, confidence in his every gesture. "Storm and her don't get along."

"Coming from you, Storm is a rather normal name," Hakyeon said with a laugh. Storm was Sanghyuk's new hunting dog, brought with him from the eastern coast. Still little more than a puppy but he was a good dog of good lineage, and would make Sanghyuk proud on the hunts. Sanghyuk pulled a face at him, all young child all over again.

"My big sister's husband named him," Sanghyuk said. "She didn't trust me to."

"I have to agree with her," Hakyeon said. Sanghyuk sniffed disdainfully.

The cat was now on Taekwoon's lap, and the two brothers were crowded so close it reminded Hakyeon of them as children. Jaehwan had been much smaller than Taekwoon back then—there was far less difference now. They were still different; Jaehwan more delicate, Taekwoon more sturdy. The difference between a brush and a sword. No longer the simple clothing of children, but the layers of silk jackets of young princes.

"Why don't you go play with them too?" Sanghyuk asked. He said this softly, clearly meant for Hakyeon only.

Hakyeon's brows creased and he turned to look toward the boy. "Why don't you go play?"

Sanghyuk shrugged again. "I've played enough with her," he said.

"I suppose I'll have enough time to play with her later," Hakyeon said. He paused, taking another moment to watch the two brothers. "It's been some time since Jaehwan and Taekwoon were together like this."

"Instead of Taekwoon yelling at Jaehwan and Jaehwan annoying Taekwoon?" Sanghyuk asked wryly.

"Something like that," Hakyeon agreed. There may not be such a time again, he didn't say.

"So are you gonna let Taekwoon name her?" Sanghyuk asked.

Sanghyuk peered at Hakyeon curiously, and Hakyeon was reminded suddenly how young Sanghyuk was. Hakyeon had scolded Taekwoon for thinking Sanghyuk to be a child, but here he was himself thinking the same. Sanghyuk was nineteen—a man, not a child.

Sanghyuk was grown now and no fool, Hakyeon firmly reminded himself. But Sanghyuk's eyes were so clear, so bright, so unsullied. He had never even seen death.

"Hmm, Taekwoon? That is worrisome," Hakyeon said. "But it's only fair, since I accidentally named his horse."

Sanghyuk laughed again, his cheeks creasing with the motion. "Old Black? Jaehwan said that was you, but I didn't think it was 'cause it's..."

"Like something Taekwoon would pick?" Hakyeon suggested. Sanghyuk slowly nodded his head, just once. "Well, here's a secret—can you keep a secret?"

Hakyeon dropped his voice into a low whisper and leaned closer to Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk's entire face scrunched up in a combination of irritation and confusion.

"I'm not a kid," Sanghyuk said, voice just as quiet. "If you have something to say, just say it."

"The secret is, Taekwoon and I aren't so different," Hakyeon said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sanghyuk frowned.

"That's just what it is," Hakyeon said. He sat back and smiled pleasantly at Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk's confusion amplified and it made Hakyeon chuckle. "Does a secret need to have a meaning?"

"You're mocking me," Sanghyuk huffed.

"I was telling you a secret," Hakyeon said.

"A useless secret," Sanghyuk shot back.

"No secret is useless," Hakyeon said, raising a finger. "It just might not be clear how. You still have a lot to learn, Hyukkie."

"Stop calling me that," Sanghyuk said. He made a face. "I'm too old for that now."

"Never too old in my eyes," Hakyeon said. Sanghyuk glowered but dropped his protest.

"How are you settling back in?" Hakyeon asked. "It must be difficult after being away so long."

Sanghyuk shrugged. "It's different," Sanghyuk said. Something in his eyes fell, grew solemn. Less childlike. "Every time I come back, it feels different."

"Every time you come back you're a little older," Hakyeon said. "And you were gone for a long time."

"I guess," Sanghyuk said. "My mother said I'd grown a lot."

"Taller than me," Hakyeon huffed. "You grew too much."

Sanghyuk laughed at this, loud and boisterous. "You're just small," Sanghyuk said.

"I'll show you who's small," Hakyeon said. He sighed, knowing that this was a battle he could lose if he weren't careful. His next words were gentler as he regarded Sanghyuk carefully. "You must be making your father proud."

Sanghyuk flushed and looked away at this.

"He hasn't been around much. I've barely seen him, but mother said the same."

"You're a good son," Hakyeon said. He looked toward Jaehwan and Taekwoon sitting side by side. Not so far away, but in a world apart with nothing but the two of them and a scrappy cat that had followed Sanghyuk home and wouldn't leave. They were all good sons. Good sons with difficult choices in front of them.

"So this is where you all were." Song Qian stood behind Hakyeon—he didn't know when she'd gotten there and he jumped at her voice.

"You scared me," Hakyeon said. He clutched at his chest.

"Your fault, little brother," she said. "Look, Sanghyuk wasn't startled at all."

"Nope, I saw you coming," Sanghyuk said.

Hakyeon sighed deeply.

"Such an inconsiderate child," Hakyeon muttered under his breath. But more than loud enough to be heard.

"It'll be dark before we eat if you don't come soon," Song Qian said, calling out to Taekwoon and Jaehwan. "Or we'll eat everything and leave nothing for you."

It was hard to say which brother stood faster, although Taekwoon clambered more awkwardly to his feet with the cat still in his arms. She yowled and scratched her way free, bolting under the table to Hakyeon's feet.

"Jie, you scared her," Taekwoon whined, looking piteously at the cat. He crouched down to see her better.

"You can't eat without us!" Jaehwan said.

He ran to Song Qian like an excited puppy, grinning like a child. Hakyeon and Sanghyuk stood as well, rising gracefully to their feet. They carefully brushed the folds from their robes before joining them.

"We will if you don't hurry," Song Qian said. "Taekwoon?"

"I'm coming," Taekwoon said, without moving at all.

Hakyeon sighed deeply and grabbed Taekwoon's wrist. "We're coming," he said, and dragged Taekwoon with him.

The silent crackle of lightning flashed through the room where they'd retired to. It briefly hid the crescent of the moon hovering undaunted above the clouds, but no rain or thunder accompanied it. The doors were thrown open and Hakyeon, Taekwoon, and Jaehwan watched as their sister showed Sanghyuk a stunning array of sword forms the boy had never seen before. The sky lit up and for a moment, the shadows of the night were banished and their two shadows were cast in sharp relief. Sanghyuk startled; the only one who did.

Taekwoon reached across Hakyeon for the wine. Jaehwan slid it to him across the table. He was being strangely considerate.

"Thanks for inviting us," Jaehwan said.

"Our honour to," Hakyeon said. He glanced at Taekwoon who just nodded. The cat had taken to Taekwoon and was sitting beside him, her eyes half open and claws part extended. For a moment, Hakyeon thought that Taekwoon would say something more but Taekwoon only offered them a small smile.

"It's been a while," Jaehwan said. His eyes followed Sanghyuk and Song Qian as he spoke, but his words travelled a different path.

"It has been," Hakyeon agreed. Song Qian was adjusting Sanghyuk's grip of his blade, the most minor of adjustments in the position of his fingers. Hakyeon remembered such similar lessons well. He and Taekwoon had been far younger than Sanghyuk was now.

"Third Brother and I had dinner with our Empress Mother the other day," Jaehwan said. His voice dropped in volume as if it were an offhanded thought. It was much softer than Sanghyuk and Song Qian's conversation some distance away.

"Oh?" Hakyeon propped his chin on his fist, still watching the pair.

"He brought up Eldest Brother," Jaehwan said. He left a space for silence behind his words, and Hakyeon let the tsk tsk zzzz of cicadas fill it instead.

"It was almost odd," Jaehwan continued after a moment. "But I guess we all know what it was about."

"Do we?"

Jaehwan grimaced at Hakyeon. "Don't pretend you don’t.”

Hakyeon had been avoiding it, hoping to be free just for tonight, but the world was playing the voice of reason. It'd been a week since that talk in a dark room and he'd done less than he'd meant to. He hadn't talked to Steward Zhu, hadn't talked to Song Qian—he hadn't talked to Jaehwan.

Jaehwan watched him with an intensity that was nearly out of place. He wondered if Jaehwan knew of what Taekwoon had told Hakyeon, of what the Emperor had said. Hakyeon doubted it. Taekwoon wouldn't tell Jaehwan about it unprompted and probably didn't know how to broach the subject anyway. But Jaehwan could've asked.

In many ways Jaehwan was tactless—not here.

(Not here. Not when there were lives at stake. Carelessness was deadly. Jaehwan knew this, almost as well as Hakyeon.)

So it would be Hakyeon, or not at all.

He trusted Jaehwan, he truly did. But Hakyeon still hesitated. He needed Jaehwan's help, but did Jaehwan need to know? Did anyone need to know? It gave Hakyeon peace of mind to do what he had to do, but telling Jaehwan changed nothing.

Jaehwan was watching him, eyes sharp as a hawk, waiting.

"Can you blame me for wanting to pretend?" Hakyeon asked with a sigh. He sat a little straighter, adjusted his position, thumb just brushing against his jaw.

"Not really," Jaehwan agreed. "But seems like Eldest Brother thinks he has a better claim to the throne than Second Brother."

"And the Prince of Xu believes he has the best claim to the throne," Hakyeon said.

What had the Present Empress thought, listening to this conversation between her sons? Had Jaehwan and his brother been laughing? Or had they spoke with the same terse energy Jaehwan carried with him now?

"Yeah," Jaehwan said. He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. There was a slight breeze and the exposed lantern flames flickered. Song Qian and Sanghyuk's shadows wavered in the night.

For a moment, Hakyeon felt his heart waver in his chest like the unsteady flame. He trusted Jaehwan, he did.

"And you?"

"You think I have a claim to the throne?" Jaehwan's eyes opened wide in mock disbelief. He laughed, a single huff, and his eyes fell solemn, the set of his mouth serious. "And how would you like me to answer, Older Brother?"

Brother. How rare for Jaehwan to call him that. Now that they were men and full grown.

"If I knew, I wouldn't have asked," Hakyeon said mildly.

Jaehwan's lips twisted in something close to amusement, but there was no mirth in it. Jaehwan's eyes slid off Hakyeon and paused before he looked outside once again.

"Whoever is best suited," Jaehwan said. "Eldest Brother or Second Brother—the one to rule should be the one most capable of leading the kingdom, don't you think?"

"Yes," Hakyeon said. That one word was spoken in a voice as soft as Taekwoon’s, but with a firmness and assuredness that belied the breath of relief in his chest.

Taekwoon still stared into the night as he had been doing the entire time, but the finger he'd been tracing around the lip of his wine cup paused, a brief stutter before the circle started again. Even without that barely perceptible motion, Hakyeon knew that Taekwoon had been listening all this while simply because he was Taekwoon. Would, Hakyeon suddenly feared, Taekwoon ask for Jaehwan's assistance himself?

"And Eldest Brother believes it to be himself, as does Second Brother," Jaehwan said, still staring into the night.

"Do you truly think he does?" Hakyeon asked, voice dropped to a contemplative murmur. "Or does he wish to rule, only to rule?"

"A question for the ages," Jaehwan said, "and yet the answer is never clear."

"Unless they do not want to rule at all," Hakyeon suggested.

"I guess that'd make it clear," Jaehwan agreed.

"And what does your Third Brother believe?"

"Is that a question?"

"I asked it, so it is one," Hakyeon said.

Jaehwan rolled his eyes. "Second Brother, of course," Jaehwan said.

"Of course," Hakyeon echoed. And then: "Sanghyuk is Zhiheng's cousin."

"He is," Jaehwan said.

Song Qian was tiny beside Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk was still young, yes, but he'd grown up well. He'd been even younger when Song Qian had left the city for good, was barely up to her shoulder. Now Sanghyuk could've picked her up with ease—although he'd be eating dirt before he had a chance.

"Sanghyuk's a good boy," Hakyeon said. "A good son."

They were words Hakyeon said not so long ago and they echoed on his tongue as he said them now, a reminder of early evening a few hours ago. Another flash of lightning froze the afterimage of the whirlwind of Song Qian with her blade extended against the night sky.

"He's not a boy," Jaehwan said, and this too was an echo, another echo of Hakyeon's own.

"You're right," Hakyeon acceded. "He hasn't been for some time. But he's still young—it is hard to forget that. Right, Taekwoon?"

Taekwoon nodded once. No startling, no surprise. He'd given no indication of listening but he had heard every word. Hakyeon had assumed, but it was good, he had found, to verify on occasion just how correct those assumptions were. Wrong assumptions lead to disaster.

"But not a boy," Taekwoon said.

There was something unspoken here between all three of them, a clear pool with a deep bottom where rocks cast would spread ripples but never cease to fall. If they could have dived into that pool in an attempt to search for that pebble, they might've found a longing there they were too afraid to face. Instead, they watched the reflection of the moon disappear under those ripples and could do nothing, even if they ached to rescue the moon like desperate monkeys. Success would always elude them, because the moon hadn't been in the pool at all.

But if there was something unspoken here between all three of them, there was also something that was known, and would one day have to be spoken. Hakyeon had always known that it would come to this, ever since they were too young to know such things. He'd known because he'd been favoured when it should have been Taekwoon who'd been favoured—and Taekwoon who couldn't have been favoured. He'd known because Zhiying had never even looked at Taekwoon, the seventh son born to a minor concubine, and he'd known because Zhiheng had been born to the Empress and in any other family it would be Zhiheng who would inherit it all. But they were not another family—they were the family ordained by the heavens and descended from dragons and there had always been precedence for the throne to go to the first born. And precedence for the throne to go to one much younger. It was simply easier to forget the latter and disregard it as an exception, no matter how many times that exception occurred.

Whoever is best suited, Jaehwan had said.

This was an assumption that Hakyeon would have to make, and not ask. Wrong or right, Hakyeon could only trust in himself. He would speak to Jaehwan. Before the night was done.

Taekwoon had heard those same words, had made the same assumption that Hakyeon had made, since it had been Hakyeon who'd suggested that assumption to Taekwoon. It hadn't been so long ago, but for Taekwoon it must've been another lifetime. This afternoon was the first time Taekwoon was truly relaxed since even before the day he’d ridden out through the city walls and left Hakyeon behind. Taekwoon couldn't have imagined this was what he'd come home to. The tension had returned to Taekwoon's shoulders, gripping him tighter in its hold as Hakyeon and Jaehwan had talked.

Yes, Taekwoon had been listening.

Hakyeon wrenched his attention away from Taekwoon and turned to the pair in the night. Sanghyuk was watching Song Qian with a heady mix of reverence and fear, and Jaehwan was watching Sanghyuk with fond affection. Sanghyuk caught Jaehwan watching and he flashed a wide grin. Still unaware.

Another flash of lightning, and this time it carried the quietest rumble of thunder. Quiet enough that Jaehwan didn't notice. Loud enough that Taekwoon turned, looked in the direction of a decorative cabinet off to his right. The cat shifted.

Song Qian glanced up but dismissed it as well. She showed Sanghyuk the same step again, and then again. How much weight to transfer from one foot to the other. The difference was minuscule but by the time the blade struck, it could be the difference between death and life.

"About time to come in!" Hakyeon called out.

"Just a bit longer," Sanghyuk said. Song Qian shrugged and gestured deference to Sanghyuk's determination.

"Did you decide what you'll name her?" Hakyeon asked Taekwoon.

"Probably something silly," Jaehwan said and laughed.

Taekwoon glowered, lips tightening. "Puppy," he said flatly.

Jaehwan crowed in laughter and clutched at his stomach. Hakyeon raised his eyebrows.

"Payback for Old Black?" Hakyeon asked. His lips twitched.

Taekwoon nodded, and stroked a hand down the cat's back. She lifted her head, mouth opened in a yawn that displayed all her sharp teeth, before she lay back down again, shifting so that her weight was pressed against Taekwoon's leg.

"Puppy," Jaehwan repeated in between breathless laughs.

"They're loyal," Taekwoon said.

"It's a cute name," Hakyeon said, to ward off Jaehwan. He topped up both their cups in an attempt to placate them. Jaehwan grabbed his immediately; Hakyeon had to prod Taekwoon's closer toward him before Taekwoon picked it up, still frowning.

"We might as well finish it since Sanghyuk plans on keeping jiejie busy for a while," Hakyeon said. He picked up his own cup and acknowledged them both before sipping at the wine. Taekwoon had chosen a smooth wine for the night, one that didn't burn the back of his throat. It wasn't sweet, and was pleasantly warm even though it had been kept cool in the storage. Unobtrusive and inoffensive—perfect for a guest who one knew little about. They'd drank enough with Jaehwan to know what he liked and what he didn't. Not so with Sanghyuk.

Taekwoon lifted the cup just to his lips, held between both hands, fingertips touching. He saw Hakyeon watching him and his lips twitched in a small smile that Hakyeon returned.

"It's going to rain soon," Taekwoon said. He nodded toward outside before he finally wet his lips with the wine.

"It should've started raining ages ago," Jaehwan said. He shrugged as he shifted to a more comfortable position. "With the thunder and all."

"Hasn't been very much thunder," Hakyeon said. "And lightning doesn't always mean rain."

"Clearly," Jaehwan said, unreasonably disgruntled.

"It's better that it didn't rain," Hakyeon said mildly, just lifting an eyebrow. "It would've made today much less enjoyable."

"Still not right," Jaehwan grumbled. "It's unnatural—don't give me your mystical 'you know nothing, Jaehwan' spiel." He cut Hakyeon off before a single word left his mouth.

"You know nothing, Jaehwan," Taekwoon said, face perfectly blank. Hakyeon snorted.

"You heard him," Hakyeon said. Jaehwan kicked at Taekwoon under the table and received a sharp kick on the shins back.

"That fucking hurt," Jaehwan snapped as he clutched at his leg.

"It was supposed to," Taekwoon said. He was on the verge of dissolving into laughter, the corner of his mouth just twitching.

Hakyeon sighed deeply. Some things about the two of them never changed.

There was another whisper of thunder and even Hakyeon, far less sensitive than Taekwoon or Song Qian, could feel the heavy imminence of rain. It was rolling in quickly, unseen under the cover of darkness. He thought of calling them in again, but a little water had never hurt anyone.

"Be gentle," Hakyeon admonished Taekwoon. "Jaehwan's never even lifted a sword, he's like a child."

"I resent that," Jaehwan said.

Taekwoon snorted with laughter.

"I'm simply refined," Jaehwan added with a huff.

"I think jiejie would have something to say about that," Hakyeon said.

"About what?" Song Qian snatched her sword she'd sent spinning into the air and sheathed it without a whisper of sound. The sweet smile she sent Jaehwan's way suggested she'd heard every word of the conversation.

"Something about swordsmanship being anathema for sophistication," Hakyeon said.

Song Qian laughed. She waved Sanghyuk over to go inside, and despite a reluctant protest, Sanghyuk walked over, damp with sweat.

"Generations of scholars would have something to say about that," Song Qian said as she walked in herself. "But I'm more than happy to refute that in their place."

Jaehwan shuddered dramatically. "I'll pass."

"In that case, pour me some wine," she said.

"As you say, Second Princess," Jaehwan said, as formal as he performed the task. It made them all laugh, even Taekwoon. Some of the tension seemed to seep from Taekwoon’s shoulders.

"What about me?" Sanghyuk plopped himself down next to Jaehwan.

"You're the baby, you do it." Jaehwan scowled and made a face at Sanghyuk.

"Don't be rude," Sanghyuk said, making a face back.

Taekwoon glanced at Hakyeon with an exasperated look on his face, but he reached over while Jaehwan and Sanghyuk were bickering and poured Sanghyuk what was left in the flagon. It wasn't very much.

"Do you want more?" Taekwoon asked Sanghyuk. His soft voice cut through Jaehwan's whining.

Sanghyuk shrugged. "It's alright," he said. "I'm kinda tired anyway."

Hakyeon nodded and then gently prodded Taekwoon under the table. Taekwoon sat straight up and looked at him, eyes flashing wide before his brows settled into a slightly confused frown. Hakyeon resisted the urge to cluck his tongue and delivered a gentle kick to Taekwoon's shins instead. They'd just discussed this but it still took a good second for things to click in Taekwoon's head.

"Stay the night," Taekwoon said, and Hakyeon almost sighed at the bluntness.

"I couldn't," Sanghyuk said. "My father won't—"

"You're a man, not a child," Jaehwan cut in hotly. "If you want to stay away one night, then stay away one night."

"You don't know what my father is like," Sanghyuk snapped. "He—"

"Wants it for your own good," Jaehwan finished for Sanghyuk. Something bordering anger flashed through his eyes. "Unreasonably strict. That's what your father is like."

Hakyeon met Taekwoon's quizzical glance, and answered it with a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"Jaehwan, let Sanghyuk decide for himself," Taekwoon said, before Sanghyuk could rally a scathing retort. He turned to Sanghyuk and his gaze softened. "You can tell your father I insisted."

"Ge..."

Taekwoon's lip quirked. "I'm a prince," he said offhandedly, like he was remarking on the weather, not reminding them of a rank he never liked to flaunt. Hakyeon's eyebrows shot up, Jaehwan's eyebrows creased—and Sanghyuk laughed.

"Alright," Sanghyuk said. "I'll stay."

Jaehwan had seen Sanghyuk safely home earlier, his friend still cheerful and bubbling as he'd waved Jaehwan off, Storm at his side. Sanghyuk’s father hadn't been home. They’d enjoyed a wonderful breakfast before departing his brother’s home. Taekwoon and Hakyeon employed some of the best cooks, even if they were often absent for half the year, and it’d be a pity not to avail themselves of that. Jaehwan held no illusions that the impeccable treatment was of Hakyeon's design and not Taekwoon's. His blood brother was good at one thing and one thing only—but he was very good.

Extremely good.

A blanket of clouds covered the sky despite the storm the night before, leaving the world below suffused in a dull grey light. Jaehwan had turned his steps toward the palace after a brief stop at home to change into something more subtle, something less eye catching than the deep blue he'd worn to his brother's house. It took only a glance to know he was rich—it was not easy to assume he was royal. Some of his siblings liked to make it known. He wasn't one of them. Neither was Taekwoon.

Neither, Jaehwan mused, was Zhiheng. Zhiheng didn't need to. He simply was. As if he'd been born to rule—and in some ways, he had been. Did it matter that Zhiheng was the second born if he'd been born only a year after Zhiying and was the son of the rightful Empress? Zhiying and Zhiheng—they'd both grown up with the same expectation. But not Taekwoon.

Yet Jaehwan had still all but given his word last night to stand by neither of them. Jaehwan had eyes, a mind, and a heart; he knew who among all the Emperor's sons would best carry their kingdom to greatness, and it was not the one who basked in his birthright, or the one who craved power for the sake of power itself. And Jaehwan had done more than that. Hakyeon's request had not surprised him.

Jaehwan was a fool. He knew.

With a sigh Jaehwan kept to himself, Jaehwan wandered more than sought a direction despite having one. It wouldn't do to arrive so eagerly. So he allowed himself to wander just as his thoughts wandered.

It was his own fault that he was caught off guard by a familiar voice calling out his name. Jaehwan paused, eyes falling closed too long to be a blink, and wondered at the coincidences in life.

"Ge!" Jaehwan called back cheerfully. Zhihan waved and jogged over to join Jaehwan, smiling just as brightly.

"I thought it was my little brother," Zhihan said. "Where are you going? I just came back from seeing Mother, I've got nothing else to do today."

"I was thinking of going to see Mother," Jaehwan said with a rueful laugh. "Guess we just missed each other."

"Ahh, if you'd told me, I would've waited so we could go together again," Zhihan said. He sighed, his shoulders rising with the effort. "We never spend time together anymore."

"Because you're busy," Jaehwan said. He pouted and let a small whine slip into his voice. Zhihan laughed and patted Jaehwan on the shoulder like he would when they were children, but Jaehwan was the taller one now.

"So are you." Zhihan motioned down the street in the same direction Jaehwan had been walking.

"Ah? I guess I am a little," Jaehwan said. They matched each others' strides easily even if it’d been a long time since they had walked together like this.

A moment of silence fell between them—Zhihan was thinking the same.

"You're coming with me?" Jaehwan asked.

Zhihan shrugged. "I'll walk with you," he said. "You should come call some day. I don't live so far, after all." This was followed with a small gesture toward the palace. It was true; Zhihan, Zhiheng, and Zhixing all lived in the same cluster of estates. Among the princes who stayed in the capital, only their Sixth Brother Zhiren and Taekwoon kept residences in other districts but both were often away. Jaehwan… well, Jaehwan simply needed space.

"Soon," Jaehwan promised. "But it's not like you're lonely."

"But you're my dear little brother," Zhihan said with a laugh.

"You have Xing'er," Jaehwan pointed out.

"That's different," Zhihan said. He waved his hand as if it would make his meaning clearer. Jaehwan just frowned and pouted again.

It was different, of course.

"Little Sanghyuk is back right?" Zhihan asked.

"Not so little anymore," Jaehwan said. "He's taller than me!"

"You all grow up so fast." Zhihan sighed. "You were both so small and cute."

"I'm not cute anymore?"

"You're taller than me," Zhihan said flatly.

"But you're very cute, big brother," Jaehwan said, grinning cheekily.

"Great," Zhihan said. Jaehwan laughed at his older brother's expression.

Zhihan looked much younger than Zhiheng, but Zhihan was older than Jaehwan by as much as Zhiheng was older than Taekwoon. Six years, in both cases. But Zhihan and Jaehwan were much closer than Zhiheng and Taekwoon were—of course, for they'd been raised side by side, even if Zhihan had moved out when Jaehwan was still a child. And not so long after Jaehwan had left, their mother was caring for yet another child, little Jinxi. Their mother was a kind woman and Jaehwan loved her with every bit of his heart.

If anyone deserved to have been promoted to Empress, it was her.

"How is Qianqian doing?" Zhihan asked.

Jaehwan turned to Zhihan more sharply than he should've. "Jiejie? She's doing good," he said.

"Hm, I should go call on them," Zhihan said. "She is staying with Taekwoonie as usual right?"

"Yeah," Jaehwan said. "I was just there yesterday."

"Ahhh, you should've invited me," Zhihan said. Jaehwan caught a mild tone in those words, the one that made them cooler, measured, hidden under all the cheerful posturing. Jaehwan knew it well.

"Little Sanghyuk was there too," Jaehwan said. Sanghyuk would be annoyed at him if he knew he'd called him little, but he'd never find out unless Zhihan told him. Zhihan wouldn't. Jaehwan was sure.

"An entire party without me." Zhihan sighed with exaggerated dismay. "I'll just have to have my own parties."

"Without me?" Jaehwan asked. He acted shocked when Zhihan nodded. "Then with who?"

"Zhiheng and Xing'er of course," Zhihan said. "Who else?"

"Of course," Jaehwan echoed.

They were no longer talking, Jaehwan knew, about parties. Like that night at dinner, they'd never been.

"How is Mother and Xixi?" Jaehwan asked after a beat.

"Much better," Zhihan said. "It's the weather this summer, it's just not natural."

"That's what I said!" Jaehwan nodded vigorously in agreement, and then he sighed softly. "Xixi's always been a delicate child. It's worrying."

"The last time someone got sick as often as she does was Taekwoon," Zhihan said. "But look how he turned out."

"I guess," Jaehwan mused. "Meanwhile Eldest Brother and Second Sister have never been sick a day in their lives."

"She'll be just like Zhiheng," Zhihan said.

"She looks more like Song Qian though," Jaehwan said.

"Only because Xixi's a girl," Zhihan said. "She's really more like Zhiheng. After all, they're both children of the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress."

In that moment, Jaehwan had never felt more like hitting his brother. Zhihan hadn't stopped walking and nor had Jaehwan but time froze when Zhihan's cool eyes met his. The smile on Zhihan's face meant nothing. Anger prickled at Jaehwan's shoulders. Jaehwan forced it down, forced himself to laugh a little.

"But we're all children of our Emperor Father," Jaehwan said.

"Of course." Zhihan scoffed.

A strange, rare silence fell between them, echoing against the chaos of the everyday citizens. They scurried about like mice, unaware of the world outside their tiny borders of home and hearth, the city walls, and maybe, if they were fortunate—or unfortunate, depending on circumstances—a city or village not so far away. A wise master had once asked a peasant to choose between the two kingdoms whose border his village lay on. The peasant had no answer. What did he care about who ruled from the palaces when he had a mother to support and a daughter to marry? That village had been lost to the slaughter within ten years.

"I think I'll stop by Zhiheng's place," Zhihan said. "You could come with me, Jaehwannie. Unless you have other plans."

Zhihan's voice softened as he called Jaehwan by his nickname, as if to ease the meaning under the question.

"I told Sanghyuk I'd drop by after I went to see Mother and Xixi," Jaehwan said.

Zhihan stopped, and so did Jaehwan.

"Sanghyuk, hm," Zhihan said. "Funny, because I may run into Minister Han at Zhiheng's."

The heat of anger from moments before was forgotten—a chill spike of apprehension ran down Jaehwan's spine.

"Give him my regards," Jaehwan said. He struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"Or you could come and give them yourself," Zhihan suggested. He met Jaehwan’s gaze. "After you see Mother and Xixi, of course."

"He may not even be there," Jaehwan said, lifting his shoulder in a shrug.

"But Zhiheng definitely will," Zhihan said.

"I suppose," Jaehwan murmured. He was a fool, he knew. But a fool was not a coward, and he would not be one. Jaehwan smiled, the same way Zhihan had earlier. His eyes did not.

"You know, I think I may have forgotten something at Taekwoon's. I believe I'll go there first."

"I was really hoping you'd come with me," Zhihan said. His face fell in disappointment, and Jaehwan couldn't decipher if the disappointment was true or false.

He knew Zhihan better than almost anyone else, but it still lay beyond him. But there was no surprise in Zhihan’s disappointment, and Jaehwan's heart was suddenly cold in his chest even if he knew there wouldn't have been.

Jaehwan was a fool, but if he was a fool, then he would be a fool to the end.

"Maybe another time," Jaehwan said. "I'll go now. I'll see you later, older brother."

"Of course, Jaehwannie. Come soon."

The series of storms disappeared as abruptly as they’d arrived. What Hongbin had been hoping would be a mild end to the summer had instead turned into sweltering days, with only an occasional breeze to brush aside the heat and leave a second or two of breathable space. Tempers tended to flare and patience tended to fray in such weather, the smallest inconveniences exploding like precarious bombs. Even with the servant’s fans and the coolest of drinks, the heat bordered on unbearable.

This was their second turn about the gardens. Hongbin was accompanying the Prince of Bing, Zheng Zhixing, as he waited for Zhiheng to finish up whatever it was he was doing. Meeting Minister Han, he thought—but Hongbin offered no possibility and Zhixing asked for none. Hongbin couldn't have been expected to know. The prince had gotten bored of sitting in the shade; it was a good thing it was Hongbin who was entertaining him as he waited and not Lady Jian, who was suffering greatly between the heat and the storms. It was because of her that he was here, with one of the royal princes.

"The more time I spend with you, the more I understand why my brother likes you so much," Zhixing said.

Hongbin flushed lightly and ducked his head—it was said so earnestly that he couldn't help it.

"I can see why you are one of my Prince's favourite brothers, your Highness," Hongbin said. He glanced at Zhixing with a slight smile.

Zhixing laughed—more restrained than Zhihan's loud laughter, happier and brighter than Zhiheng's. Hongbin had never heard Taekwoon laugh—he wondered if the Prince of Jing ever laughed at all. The thought came and passed like a blowing leaf, gone before Hongbin could catch it and tear it apart.

They paused on the crescent stone bridge and Zhixing leaned forward, arms resting against the railing.

"It's been an interesting summer," Zhixing said.

"Your Highness?"

Zhixing nodded. He leaned over until he was almost folded in half and could peer under the bridge. Hongbin watched with a mixture of bemusement and worry—but the Prince of Bing was a sensible man, he wouldn't topple over… would he? Hongbin had thought the Third Prince often acted un-prince-like, but the Ninth Prince seemed to have shed any pretension of it this afternoon.

"The weather. Taekwoon. Zhiheng. You." Zhixing ticked each one off on a finger, and when he finished his list he straightened and stared at his four outstretched fingers as if he were counting them for the first time. He gave Hongbin a lopsided smile.

"Me, your Highness?" The other two questions paled to this last.

Zhixing nodded again. He looked at his fingers one more time before he tucked his hands into his sleeves and stared out over the lake. "I've seen you more this summer than all the years you've been here. That's interesting. Don't you think so?"

Hongbin hesitated, scrambling for the appropriate words to give him time to work out the appropriate thoughts.

"You're very nice," Zhixing said. He smiled at Hongbin, and it radiated a kindness that Hongbin had long become unfamiliar with. It disappeared a few seconds later, replaced with serious musing. "But I don't think that's why my brother is spending more time with you."

There was a long pause before the prince continued. "I wonder what it is."

"Your Highness need not wonder," Hongbin said softly. He looked down at the surface of the water, the shadow of the bridge reflected on the tiny waves. "Hongbin doubts that your Highness speaks such words unknowingly."

"Ah, do you?" Zhixing let out a soft breath of laughter, and Hongbin was aware of Zhixing's eyes heavy on him. "You're more clever than my brother gives you credit for. Tell me Hongbin, what do you think of my brother?"

What the fuck. Hongbin froze like a rabbit under the shadow of a hawk. Zhixing might've seen Hongbin often this summer, but this was the first time they'd talked, and he had a way that'd put Hongbin at ease. Hongbin had been trained to put others at ease, but Zhixing's soft manner was natural and unpracticed. Which made the question ever the more unsettling. When Hongbin lifted his eyes, the Ninth Prince had the same unassuming smile he always did and the slow blink that followed reminded Hongbin of a placid sheep.

The echo of the question lingered, as if a hand wrapped about his throat, digging into the soft space under his jaw. He thought of answering with his own echo—which one?—but if it had been a precarious answer that first time, it was the spectre of danger that lingered now.

"Oh, I put you in a hard place," Zhixing suddenly said, as if the seconds of silence hadn't stretched on—and they hadn't; it'd merely felt like they had. "Second Brother is a little serious and not much fun. Even Seventh Brother is more fun."

Hongbin forced a small smile. "My Prince is very kind," he said. He tried to imagine the Prince of Jing having fun and failed miserably.

"I suppose," Zhixing said with a quirk of his lips that Hongbin didn't understand.

"It's a hot day, your Highness. Perhaps we should return inside and take some cool refreshment?" Hongbin suggested.

Zhixing looked at him, startled, and looked up at the sky as if he hadn't noticed the weather at all. "Ah, I forgot myself," he said with a rueful smile as he rubbed the back of his head. It was so normal a gesture that Hongbin believed him. "Let's go see if Second Brother is free," he said.

"Your Highness—"

"Just don't tell Han'er—it won't look good since I'm always telling him not to bother Second Brother too much. But it's not fair if he gets all the fun." Zhixing's eyes twinkled with mischief, and he started walking without waiting for Hongbin's reply.

"Your Highness!" Hongbin hurried after Zhixing and his long strides.

"Hm? It's alright, I'll take all the blame. Second Brother knows I can be a little headstrong at times. He'll know that even if you tried to stop me you couldn't, so you won't get into trouble."

Hongbin hesitated, because the Ninth Prince was certainly being 'headstrong'. It was also true, that even if Hongbin tried to stop this prince, and Hongbin was trying, he wouldn't be able to. All Hongbin could do was nod, and meekly follow behind.

Trepidation still crawled up his skin as they neared. Hongbin half expected the Ninth Prince to run inside noisily like he'd seen the Third Prince do once. Zhiheng had come out looking annoyed, but the frown had broken into that strange smile not even a second later. After all these years, and there were still things Hongbin couldn't understand about the man.

But Zhixing didn't, merely beckoned Hongbin forward with a conspiratorial smile. Hongbin offered a small smile back, one that he didn't feel but felt obligated to return. They walked quietly through the rooms—Hongbin was used to making no sound, but it surprised him how silent Zhixing's own steps were. Voices drifted over from the sitting room, their tones hushed. Before Hongbin had a chance to announce them, the Ninth Prince stopped Hongbin with a gentle touch on his arm, so gentle that Hongbin froze from that alone.

Any trace of a smile had vanished from the Ninth Prince's face and Hongbin realised that here, hidden behind a curtain, they could just hear the conversation in the room beyond.

"...make a move." It was Minister Han's voice. Hongbin wasn't surprised—a glance at the Ninth Prince made clear that the prince wasn’t either. The possible reasons frayed at Hongbin's nerves.

"I agree, Uncle," Zhiheng said. "It won't be difficult."

"Very impulsive boy, that one. The sooner it's done the better it is for us all."

"Then I'll leave it to you," Zhiheng said.

This was not a conversation they should be hearing. Hongbin could barely breathe, his heart hammering, but Zhixing's expression hadn't changed: mild, calm, and unsurprised.

If there'd been doubt in the Prince of Xu's voice the last time Hongbin had unwittingly heard such a conversation, there wasn't any now. Hongbin's heart pounded at the Minister's next words.

"Within the month. The Earl in Yangnan province has been making noises. A few words and silver pieces and an army will be raised. Always the same."

Treason. They were listening to treason. Inciting an entire province to rebel—

"An ambush a day out... It will be safe?"

"As long as we get him out of the gate, it will be a done thing," the Minister said.

Get him out of the gate. No, it was not treason. They were calmly discussing something more than treason. Very impulsive boy, that one. Blood throbbed in Hongbin's veins and darkness threatened to overtake him. A touch to his shoulder brought him back—Zhixing's lips pulled in a quirk of a smile and a half shrug of dismissal. As if to say what can we do? or this seems unfortunate. But the prince had heard the same thing that Hongbin had. The same thing and yet there wasn't a sign of upset in his expression.

Instead, the Prince of Bing smiled, easy and cheerily.

"Brother!" Zhixing called out, striding quickly forward. "I hope you are decent—Ah, Minister Han!"

Zhixing suddenly stopped and bowed in greeting. Hongbin hurried after him, his own distress wholly real.

"My Prince, Minister, I apologise, I—"

"You were taking too long," Zhixing said. He bowed again to Minister Han. "My Highness Brother didn't tell me he was meeting with such an esteemed guest," he said.

"Because I didn't expect you to act like Han'er," Zhiheng said. His face was cross as he got to his feet, but there was nothing that suggested the severity of their interrupted conversation—or any fear that they had been overheard. Hongbin bowed his head, and stared at the ground.

"No, no, we were just finishing up," the Minister said. He too got to his feet, and that supposedly kind smile dug poison into Hongbin's skin. It was impossible, what he had just heard. Impossible.

"Ah, Hongbin, is it? How nice to see you again," the Minister said. There was a tone in those words that Hongbin knew well from his life outside these walls and drew sickness and revulsion into his throat. Even sicker than he'd been from the words they'd heard alone. A flash of displeasure crossed Zhiheng's face.

"Sister-in-Law was feeling a little poorly, so she had Hongbin accompany me instead," Zhixing said, apparently ignorant of it all. Hongbin could almost believe him. "He's very pleasant company."

"Yes, his Highness chose well," the Minister said. His eyes lingered on Hongbin. Zhiheng's displeasure deepened.

"It is only the heat, your Highness," Hongbin quickly said. "She asked you not to worry."

Zhiheng nodded once—did he really not suspect that Hongbin and his brother had heard their conversation?

"Why don't you go see Minister Han out first, Second Brother? We will wait for you." Zhixing’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

We?

"As taken with my concubine as Minister Han?" Zhiheng asked wryly, but the displeasure was tempered now by dry amusement. It was easy to feel that in the presence of the Ninth Prince.

"As the Minister said, you chose well," Zhixing said with barely suppressed laughter. Zhiheng responded with a snort.

Had Hongbin not heard it with his own ears, he never would've guessed that moments ago, in this very room, they had been discussing how to kill the Prince of Jing, Seventh Prince, Zheng Taekwoon.

Hongbin spent the evening alone. He sent away his attendants when they came with dinner and told them he wasn't to be bothered. Sleep did not come easily to him and when it did, it was in fitful bursts of long-forgotten dreams—of a home he didn't remember, of brothers he didn't have, a life left behind. Nightmares he hadn't dreamt since he was a child, full of words and syllables he no longer understood, ones that woke him strangled about his throat, his heart racing, gasping for breath in silent screams. When they finally loosened their hold on him just before dawn, Hongbin was ready to crawl awake into the dark morning, but only then did his obstinate body tether him to sleep. It was noon before Xiao Jin and Xiao Yu dared to disobey Hongbin to enter his rooms. They found him still mired in a sluggish daze, curled under his blankets.

It was the heat, the doctor said, nothing more. Some mild stress. It would ease quickly, and quicker with the prescribed medicines.

Stress. Hongbin wanted to laugh, but he couldn't summon up the strength to do so.

Somewhere in the sleep that wasn't sleep, the wakefulness that wasn't awake, an overheard conversation settled on his chest in the guise of a dream haze. As if in doing so, Hongbin could be forgiven for dismissing it as an imagined conjuration, instead of the truth it was.

A truth that was both too sharp to be bearable and too unreal to be believable in those moments the prince was by his side. Hongbin had never wished more for true unconsciousness to quell the screeching discord in his chest.

If he did nothing—

If he did something—

Hongbin pressed his face into the pillow and pulled the blanket over his head, the summer heat fading into irrelevance.

A full night and a day passed before Hongbin found himself clear-headed enough to sit up and stumble out of bed to the table, as weak as a newborn foal. He fumbled in the dark to light the nearest lamp, shadows hesitantly banished in that one small circle.

Damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

Hongbin sat at the table and surveyed the accumulation of his life, all twenty one years of it. He could feel the low rumble of thunder but no rain fell against the roof; he barely registered that it must've been an hour since it had started. Trinkets. Expensive trinkets. Bracelets, earrings, hair ornaments. Clothes. A pipa, tucked into the corner. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until all he saw was the white nothingness of blinding star bursts. It was apt. What else was he but another trinket? Another pretty, useless piece, owned by a royal prince simply because he could? No family, no power, nothing to give—

I don't think that's why my brother is spending more time with you.

—nothing to want. The Prince would have to choose carefully who to elevate, who to favour, who to demand support from. Except Hongbin. A pretty trinket with no strings attached.

A laugh bubbled up in his chest but was caught in the silence. Hongbin swallowed it back.

With shaking hands, Hongbin pulled open the lower drawer and shifted aside a box of rarely worn jewelry. He slid open the false bottom and retrieved paper, a brush, and an inkstone. He held the last in his hand, rubbing his thumb against the rough surface, black faintly dusting his skin.

These, he placed on the table. These were his own.

A strange comfort worked its way through him as he smoothed his hand over the blank paper. There was no reason for him to have hidden them, but these were his, and his only. Had he asked Zhiheng, he knew that the Prince would have arranged the best tutors for him. Had he asked at the Spring Jade, it could have been arranged as well, but he had been too proud and too alone and it was easier to tell poetry than to write it, and so he hadn't.

Fuck it all.

Damned if he did, and damned to have blood on his hands if he didn't.

What, he suddenly wondered, would the Prince of Bing do? Perhaps Hongbin needn't do anything. Perhaps the Ninth Prince had known what he'd hear and had already decided. Perhaps the Ninth Prince had meant for Hongbin to hear.

The last choked him, tendrils of fear reaching about his spine. The top most sheet crumpled under his fingers and he hastily smoothed the paper. The wrinkles and folds refused to vanish. He'd meant for Hongbin to hear and to know. Hongbin placed his face in his hands, willing it all to go away, to have never caught attention, to have never come here, to have never been noticed by the Prince of Xu at a highly sought after pleasure house, to have never been at the Spring Jade, to have never—

To have never been. He hadn't existed until he'd been given as tribute; and in turn been given a name: Hongbin.

He was nothing. He would've been nothing.

But in some tangled superficial way, Hongbin, the concubine of Prince of Xu, Second Prince, son of the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress, Zheng Zhiheng—this Hongbin was something. This Hongbin had a place in this world, belonged to a family, and owed himself and his honour to that family.

It would break him as a person to betray the Prince.

Break the Hongbin who would've been nothing, hidden under that Hongbin.

A suffocating desperation bore down like a heavy, humid cloud, heart pounding, difficult to draw breath. Too difficult. Impossible. He couldn't breathe, gasped, clutched at the spiking pain in his chest. The lamp faded into dimness and was too overwhelming all at once. It hurt, his body ached for air but it found none, his chest heaving, but each breath was as smothering as if it were a mouthful of water, he would die without air but he was surrounded by it but even so, this was a punishment, breathe, it hurt to draw in breath, it hurt to swallow, it hurt to force air into his lungs and it was air, he knew it to be so.

His heart was beating too fast. Each beat a surge of pain. It hurt. His ribs. His skin. Destroy him from the inside. Break his bones until there was nothing. Hidden behind his skin. Unseen. Breathe.

The doctor's medicine had brought him out of dazed confusion but Hongbin already ached to return to it, to live in that space where real was not real, and false was not false.

A life of ignorance could be a life of happiness, and how he wished for that now.

He slowly unfolded himself, forcing his arms away from his chest, pushed himself to his feet, blood rushing through his legs as he straightened and stood in the corner of the room he'd somehow found himself in. Unsteadily, head blank and eyes blind, he made his way back to the chair and dropped heavily into it. His collar stuck uncomfortably to the back of his neck. His breaths were still shallow. Another low rumble of thunder pushed him closer to his senses and Hongbin rubbed at his eyes until vision returned and he could see a room utterly unchanged.

The brush and paper lay on the table, firm and present.

He didn't have to make the choice—he'd made it the moment he'd surfaced from the haze.

Inkstone ground against inkwell in a reassuring rhythm, water thickening to a pitch black. The lamp light wavered against the surface in puddles of gold. Hongbin picked up the brush, the smallest one, rolling the handle of treasured red wood between his fingers, feeling the soft rabbit fur against his skin. He held it, poised, just above the inkwell.

Words eluded him.

No, it wasn't the words—be careful or we need to talk or simply and explicitly: the Prince of Jing absolutely must not leave the city gates for fear of his life, as his brother has plans to—

Assassinate? Kill? Have designs on his life? Murder?

But it wasn't the words—it was the characters. Which strokes, what order, which ones. How did one write 'danger', or 'careful', or 'fear', when it was poems of love and longing and of the spring and the moon that he'd made a part of himself, and it was these words that he had traced into some weak approximation of memory. The autumn wind rises, a lotus is plucked from the southern river, in ice and snow hides pear and plum, the sorrow that blooms when dawn shines on the one remaining from a hundred.

The fate of mortality falls not solely to heaven.

Scattered lines of poems flowed down the page, each word painstakingly created, stroke by stroke. His brush paused, lingering a moment too long at the end of heaven, the ink blotting and gathering before he remembered to complete the stroke.

Doubt flooded him.

He shut his eyes.

The lamp would not stay lit forever and dawn would burn away his courage as sure as fire would consume paper. A wishful thought of hiding it in a poem itself, but the thought crumbled like the tip of a charred wick. With shaking fingers, he rested the brush against the inkwell and folded away the ruined sheet of paper. He held it over the flame until the edges curled black, ringed by orange. He dropped the ashes into the molten wax.

He dipped the brush into the ink, blackening the tip. It hovered only a second before four words glistened on the page in firm, steady strokes.

A pause, barely enough for the ink to dry, before he folded it with deft motions and dripped hot wax to form a seal. It stung when he pressed his thumb against it.

The flickering of the light warned Hongbin that there would be none soon, and he quickly hid the folded letter at the very bottom, under the thin books, the sheaf of paper, the still damp inkwell. He washed the brush by the unsteady light, again and again until the black was only in the water, and the brush was as clean as it had been before it had broken an unspoken pact that rested in every living being's soul. In this darkened room, the polished red of the handle wavered between a dull gold and a black not much lighter than the washed ink. The wood was smooth, and ran straight and true, and Hongbin knew that if he held it over the flame, it would barely char. The end was needlessly ornamented with gold inlaid on jade, too ostentatious for any serious scholar. They had been a gift from Wonsik, and Hongbin hadn't had the heart to refuse.

Wonsik. Would it be easier if Hongbin told him what he had heard?

He laid the brush beside its companions before the lamp could gutter out, with just enough time to extinguish it himself, before he returned to bed and slept until the awaited dawn.

"Do you trust me?"

Wonsik looked more taken aback than Hongbin had ever seen him, but he wasn't surprised. Had someone asked him the same, Hongbin thought wryly, he would’ve fled and never looked back. Wonsik didn't. Wonsik's expression slowly softened into mild concern.

"Yes," he said.

Hongbin sucked in a deep breath and sat down on his bed, his hands clasped, his elbows on his knees. He could feel Wonsik's eyes fixed intensely on him from where Wonsik stood, still by the door that Hongbin had had him close. Wonsik had done that without question. But the words Hongbin was about to say—

"Do you trust Zhiheng?"

A sharp intake of breath. "Hongbin, you—"

"No! No, Wonsik, please," Hongbin said, even as he cringed from Wonsik's burst of anger. He couldn't bear to look up. "Please."

"Give me one good reason, one, not to tell the Prince of Xu of this," Wonsik said, voice cold. Hard. He knew what Wonsik was thinking of him. He knew that Wonsik had immediately assumed the worst. Why else, Hongbin thought wryly, would someone ask one of the Prince's most trusted men such a question?

"You trust me?"

The long silence that followed told Hongbin all he needed to know. He understood.

"I would never harm the Prince," Hongbin said softly. "You know this. I swear on my ancestors, I would never harm the Prince. Believe me, Wonsik. You have to believe me."

"There are more ways to harm than you may believe," Wonsik said.

Wonsik was tall—he'd always been tall. Tall and broad shouldered and strong, but Hongbin had never minded, never noticed it more than a mere observation, like how winter would always blow in cold. Right now, like this, Wonsik standing over him, Hongbin did. Hongbin hunched his shoulders even further.

"I would never harm him," Hongbin said again. "He has given me a home, status, and honour."

"I have never once heard you want those in all these years."

"It is the truth, Wonsik," Hongbin said. It was. All of it was.

"Is this your reason?"

Hongbin put his head in his hands, wishing he could go back to two days ago—no, four days ago, and have never been brought to hear the Prince of Xu instruct the Minister of Ceremonies to kill the Prince of Jing. The Prince of Jing may have died, but Hongbin would've had a clear conscience, for he hadn't known.

"My reason... my reason is to save a life."

There were several long seconds of silence, longer than there had ever been between them ever since they had first met. Wonsik had always had a way of putting people at ease, reassuring and comforting. Hongbin had rended it to shreds in only a few seconds.

"Whose?"

Hongbin shook his head. "I can't say," he said, so soft he could barely even hear himself.

"You are not helping your case," Wonsik said. His voice was gruff, but it seemed to have lost some of the frigid anger. It didn't give Hongbin much comfort.

If only he hadn't asked the second question.

"I would never harm him, please Wonsik, I wouldn't ask you to do anything that would harm the Prince either."

"Yet you asked if I trust him," Wonsik said.

"I shouldn't have." Hongbin finally put his arms down, but still, he stared down at his hands. Pale, small, smooth. Clean.

"Yet you did."

"Yes, I did. And... and it reassures me," Hongbin said. "I needed to know that you did." He paused, and couldn't stop a hidden dry smile. "It would have worried me if you didn't."

"Then why did you ask?"

He got to his feet, his legs seemingly trembling with the effort, his head numb. Not so different from a few days ago, but Hongbin stubbornly held onto his own will and clawed away the panic that threatened to consume him and trap him in a black void he couldn't escape.

Pinned under Wonsik's gaze, Hongbin crouched down and pulled open the drawer and methodically removed everything one by one until he drew out the sealed letter. The impression of his thumb on the wax was his proof.

Hongbin stood as quickly as he could manage, but the linearity of time seemed to have disappeared, replaced by a thick, dull mud. The paper burned against his skin. He dropped to his knees in front of Wonsik in a bow, holding up the letter in his hands.

"All I ask is for you to deliver this to the Duke of Yin," Hongbin said, voice wavering despite his efforts. Within the month, he had said. "Urgently. If you trust his Highness, if you trust me, I beg you Wonsik, with my ancestors as my witness. Deliver this to the Duke of Yin."

His hands were unsteady and the letter trembled, the shadow it cast on the floor doing the same.

"If I trust his Highness," Wonsik repeated. "If I trust you."

"Yes," Hongbin said. "I would never ask you otherwise, but I have no one else—"

"You have his Highness," Wonsik said.

Hongbin forced himself to take a choked breath, for he was beginning to grow dizzy from the lack of air.

"You are the only one I can trust with this," Hongbin said. "Please."

"The Duke of Yin," Wonsik said slowly. "The Duke of Yin and the Prince of Jing."

"No! Only the Duke. It must be the Duke," Hongbin said. "It cannot be the Prince, it must not."

Wonsik was not a foolish man. Hongbin knew this. There were few matters that involved the Duke, the Prince of Jing, and Zhiheng.

"You are a fool," Wonsik said. "You dance with treason—but I will deliver a letter for you. But no more. I will do nothing else for you."

There seemed to be tears in Hongbin's eyes that he had to blink away. He could not stop them. The letter left his hands, his skin burning even more from the absence of touch.

Without another word, Wonsik left. The door shut, and Hongbin still bowed towards it.

Taekwoon felt giddy, drunk off of laughter and food and a dash of wine. The streets were bright and bustling and autumn seemed to finally be upon them, the evenings cool and pleasant even if midday was still hot. It was good to be outside, with himself and Hakyeon unremarkable in their commoner's clothes. They'd done this often as boys, slipping out of the palace when their mother and tutors were otherwise occupied—usually Taekwoon tugging an amused and willing co-conspirator out toward freedom. Taekwoon smiled to himself at the memory.

It'd been different once they were grown and had established their own residence, just the two of them. The illicit glee from their childhood seemed to have faded even before they'd left for the battlefields, and somehow, they'd both decided that playing out in public wasn't something proper men did. Foolish, but they'd been young.

It was evening, but it was early enough in the year that the sun was still golden even after they'd eaten. It cast a story-like glow over the city and warmed Taekwoon from the inside. Taekwoon had been away alone for months and it'd been winter when he'd left. And in the months before—Taekwoon blinked the thought away. He didn't want to linger tonight on the reason Hakyeon had stayed.

"Let's get candied fruit," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon laughed, shoulder bumping against his. "Ready for more already?"

"We didn't really eat," Taekwoon said. "We just... snacked."

"Snacked." Hakyeon snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement. "A full bowl of chicken legs is a 'snack.’"

Taekwoon pursed his lips and ignored Hakyeon, stalking off toward his favourite candied fruit seller instead. He stopped when Hakyeon tugged at his sleeve and frowned.

"Let's go another way," Hakyeon said.

"Why? I like that one," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon pressed his lips together, hesitating before he just shrugged. "They must've moved," he said.

Taekwoon frowned deeper, because the old man had been there for longer than they'd been alive, and he couldn't imagine why they would move elsewhere. Or—

"Where do you want to go?" Taekwoon asked. Or that one was gone.

"Mm, this way," Hakyeon said, leading Taekwoon deftly through the crowds. Taekwoon had to hurry not to lose him and he huffed in annoyance.

"You don't want to?" Hakyeon asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Taekwoon made a face at him and ran ahead until he realised he didn't know where Hakyeon had meant to take him. A different stall caught his eye and he pulled up short. Several flutes were displayed on a table, each made of bamboo fine as any he'd ever seen, rich wood, and even one of jade.

"How much is that?" Taekwoon asked pointing at the last. He looked up and the girl behind the table inexplicably blushed.

"Thirty thousand," she said so quietly that Taekwoon had to lean forward to hear.

"Now that's a little much, isn't it?" Hakyeon asked. He stepped up next to Taekwoon and gave the girl a winning smile. "Maybe if the price was a little lower, we might consider it."

She turned even redder and Taekwoon frowned in concern.

"I can't," she said. She picked up one of the bamboo ones and held it out towards Taekwoon. "But this one is only five thousand, and it plays just as well, if not better."

"Five thousand?" Hakyeon lifted his voice incredulously. Taekwoon stepped on Hakyeon's foot.

"You'll be here tomorrow?" Taekwoon asked. She nodded quickly and Taekwoon nodded back, satisfied.

"You were scaring her," Taekwoon said, as soon as he'd dragged Hakyeon far enough away. Hakyeon looked fit to burst laughing.

"I don't think 'scaring' is the right word," Hakyeon said, giving into his laughter. Taekwoon wanted to hit him. "And I don't think it was all me either."

"I didn't do anything," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon raised an eyebrow.

"She was quite pink even before I caught up to you," Hakyeon said. "If anything, I'd say she'll be rather looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow, Mr. Handsome."

Taekwoon took a long, slow moment to process Hakyeon's words before he turned as bright red as the poor girl.

"Hakyeon."

"Didn't you want candied fruit?" Hakyeon asked, sweet as anything. "I have a few in mind, we can do a taste test."

The thought of a whole handful of candied fruit was too tempting for Taekwoon to give up on so he nodded. Hakyeon beamed and hooked his arm through Taekwoon's.

"The night won't stay young," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon sighed, and let himself be dragged away.

Taekwoon ended up with one stick in each hand, and Hakyeon with another three. Taekwoon leaned over Hakyeon's shoulder and bit into one of Hakyeon's. He wiggled it all the way off the skewer with his teeth and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth, the candy sweet on his tongue. It took some effort to maneuver it into one cheek so he could crack the hard sugar shell with his teeth. Taekwoon winced, his jaw protesting as the sugar shell gave way and crumpled until Taekwoon could chew at the sweet-sour hawthorn inside.

"Good?" Hakyeon asked.

Taekwoon nodded, mouth stuffed too full to attempt to talk.

Hakyeon was smiling at him fondly, and Taekwoon couldn't help but smile back around the candy. It was good to see Hakyeon like this. Hakyeon wasn't like Taekwoon—he smiled a lot. All the time. He was friendly, and nice, and people liked being around Hakyeon. But Taekwoon had put a large burden on Hakyeon, asking him to stay home and let Taekwoon go alone. Hakyeon might smile a lot, but it was a rare moment when the smile wasn't a cover for the stress and worry and exhaustion—and this moment was one of them. The moon was only half full tonight and the sky was clear, the stars bright and shining. Light was sparkling in Hakyeon's eyes too, and it wasn't a reflection of the stars. It was brighter than the stars.

Hakyeon nibbled at his own more delicately, eating off the skewer rather than all at once. He caught Taekwoon staring at him. Taekwoon blinked and quickly looked away, wrapping his mouth around another candied fruit, the half-eaten one tucked in his cheek.

"Seems inefficient," Hakyeon said, barely holding back a smile.

Taekwoon, mouth even more full, could only glower at Hakyeon.

"We should start heading back," Hakyeon said. He glanced upwards at the sky, his eyes even brighter now that they held the moon. He made no motion to move, and Taekwoon was reluctant as well. He wanted Hakyeon's real smile to last a little longer.

As always, Hakyeon was the more responsible of the two. He grabbed all three skewers with one hand and threw an arm around Taekwoon's shoulders, steering them in the direction of home. Taekwoon chewed furiously at the hawthorn fruit so he could bite another one off of Hakyeon's sticks. Hakyeon, noticing what he was doing, just sighed and handed one to him instead.

"You already have two," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon shrugged, finally swallowing the two he'd been working at. "I like that one," Taekwoon said simply. And then: "but I like the ones we used to get the best."

"Not entirely fair when it wasn't in the comparative taste test," Hakyeon teased, but then he nodded. He looked over his shoulder, as if searching for a spectre. He smiled, wry and hidden. "Me too."

They'd somehow fallen asleep together in Taekwoon's bed. Hakyeon gently pried away Taekwoon's arms so he could get up without waking the sleeping prince. He'd be awake soon enough, and Hakyeon didn't see a reason to wake him earlier than he had to. A luxury they didn't have when they were at the border. Hakyeon went back to his own room to wash up for the day, and then to the kitchen for a light meal. Puppy was drowsing out in the garden—Hakyeon spotted a half eaten bird carcass some distance away, and let the cat be. She'd likely be scratching at Taekwoon's door once she'd finished her nap.

Something weighed heavy on his mind. He'd pushed it aside yesterday afternoon and evening, instead declaring that he and Taekwoon both needed a break. But a day had passed and it came back with an urgency as gnawing as the determination Hakyeon had banished it with the night before.

Hakyeon debated finding Song Qian, knowing their sister was probably awake. But he didn't want to worry her if it was nothing after all.

He'd come yesterday morning, early, and would see only Hakyeon. Zhiheng's man. Still young, but clearly loyal and trusted. Hakyeon's nerves had flared in suspicion, even more so when the man only handed over a single folded letter and said: "It is from Hongbin," and "I was never here," before he disappeared. Hakyeon hadn't had the chance to ask him any more.

Hongbin. Zhiheng's concubine. Another interesting one, full of fire and cleverness hidden neatly behind a veneer of demure docility. Hakyeon didn't trust him.

I await our meeting.

Four words, a stroke blotted, the ink not dry before it'd been folded hastily and sealed just as quickly. Only four words, when he could've sent Hakyeon a full letter. Reasons that Hakyeon could easily fathom.

Four words that he'd had delivered to Hakyeon and only to Hakyeon. Something that Taekwoon wasn't to know.

It intrigued Hakyeon as much as it worried him.

It worried him if it was from Zhiheng, as much as it worried him if it was hidden from Zhiheng, and it worried him that Taekwoon wasn't to know, whichever it was.

What Hakyeon did know was that they had to pay Zhiheng a visit, and soon. Within the week—within the day. He didn't want this to linger or fester. With a few quick instructions, Hakyeon had saddled his horse. There was something he had to do.

Ray was a calm bay mare, as tall as Old Black. Her dam had been pure bred, and Ray was only a year or two younger than the stallion. Hakyeon loved her almost as much as Taekwoon loved Old Black, and he leaned down to pat her on the neck as he rode out into the sleepy morning street. She tossed her head and Hakyeon smiled.

The streets were still calm enough that it was easy for Hakyeon to nudge her into an easy trot toward the palace. He could've urged her into a gallop, but he wanted a space of time to think—and to wait for Jaehwan to wake. Hakyeon certainly couldn't pay Zhiheng a visit alone and there was no reason why Taekwoon would visit Zhiheng, with or without Hakyeon. Jaehwan was different. And they had an understanding.

Thank god for Jaehwan.

The sun had risen into high morning by the time Hakyeon reached Jaehwan's gates.

"Please wake him if he isn't already awake," Hakyeon instructed the guards as he dismounted, patting the mare's neck. They knew him—but they still hesitated. Hakyeon wasn't in the mood. "Bring me to your master. Now. And Steward Wang, if he isn't already on his way."

"Yes, your Grace!"

Indeed, Jaehwan's steward was ready to greet Hakyeon by the time the gate opened and Hakyeon led his horse inside. Hakyeon immediately felt guilty for being curt.

"Good morning, Steward Wang," Hakyeon greeted.

"Have you eaten, your Grace? I just sent someone to wake his Highness, but you know how it is." Steward Wang shared a knowing smile with Hakyeon—Jaehwan could be difficult to wake.

"I did eat," Hakyeon said, following Jaehwan's steward. A mist too fine to be called rain had begun to fall, and his clothes were slightly damp by the time they were inside. Steward Wang sat Hakyeon at a table and waved a servant over to pour him tea, which Hakyeon gracefully accepted, as Steward Wang himself hurried off to chide Jaehwan out of bed, no doubt.

Hakyeon had been a frequent visitor during the months Taekwoon had been away. He wasn't used to being idle or alone, and Jaehwan was one of the few people Hakyeon could treat as a friend and equal. In those months, Jaehwan's doorstep had been darkened often by Hakyeon's shadow.

Now he came with more than boredom and loneliness, seeking more than a cup of tea or a game of chess. It wasn't even information. An update he’d never cherished asking for, because he knew it trapped Jaehwan in a difficult position. Even that would be preferable to the request Hakyeon would make today. Nothing about this letter felt right to him.

A note, not a letter.

It could just as easily be a trap. Hakyeon didn't doubt that it had passed from Hongbin's hands to the messenger's, but the message itself—and the insistence it be for Hakyeon only—could be from another.

Jaehwan finally appeared, just as the tea was nearly empty. A smile slipped across Hakyeon's lips as he took in Jaehwan's dragging steps and messy hair, his clothes slightly askew.

"Good morning, younger brother," Hakyeon said. He got to his feet and bowed in greeting.

Jaehwan's eyebrows rose.

"Brother," he said.

Jaehwan dropped down rather unceremoniously into the empty chair and Hakyeon sat as well. He poured Jaehwan the last of the tea; the empty pot was lighter but it sounded the same when Hakyeon replaced it on the table. Jaehwan squinted at Hakyeon as if he were struggling to stay awake. But he needed to. He knew that Hakyeon wouldn't have come otherwise.

"You're not here for information," Jaehwan said, cutting short Hakyeon's hesitation.

Hakyeon exhaled the approximation of a laugh. "Astute deduction," he said.

"What do you need?" Jaehwan spoke bluntly. From anyone else Hakyeon would feel cowed or offended, depending on the speaker. But Jaehwan was extraordinarily like Taekwoon at times. And there was still plenty of child in Jaehwan, not unlike Zhihan, his full brother. Hakyeon pushed this last thought out of his mind.

"I need you to bring Jinxi to visit her Second Brother," Hakyeon said softly. He didn't think they'd be overheard but habit grew paranoia like a cloak. Jaehwan's eyes bored into him, long seconds before he slowly blinked.

"And maybe Xixi wants to see her Seventh Brother too," Jaehwan suggested.

Hakyeon's silence was answer enough.

"You're not going to tell me why," Jaehwan said.

Hakyeon wished it was a question, instead of the foregone conclusion Jaehwan assumed.

"Not yet," Hakyeon said. "It may be nothing."

Jaehwan snorted, leaning back in the chair. He plucked his cup from the table, turning it between slender fingers, strikingly reminiscent of Taekwoon. "Nothing," Jaehwan repeated. "You think it's better if I don't know. I am full brothers with Zhihan after all."

"I trust you, Jaehwan." I have no choice.

Jaehwan let out a slow, deep breath, and then drank the entire cup of tea like a shot of liquor. "Sometimes I wonder if you trust anyone but Taekwoon," he said, reaching for the teapot. "Even yourself."

"Of course I trust myself." Hakyeon frowned. "Just as I trust you."

"That's exactly it," Jaehwan said. He shrugged, and gestured for Hakyeon to continue. Hakyeon raised a brow.

"There is nothing more for me to ask," Hakyeon said.

"There is something you have asked," Jaehwan said. His voice dropped in volume—Hakyeon understood.

"It is less urgent," Hakyeon said. "We can discuss another time—perhaps over some wine at our residence."

Jaehwan nodded. His gaze cast aside, past the doors.

"I wonder what Mother would say if she knew her baby girl was being used like this," Jaehwan said softly. "Nor will this be the only time, I think."

Hakyeon paused and toyed with the rim of his own cup, still half full. "It'll be good for her," he said, no louder than Jaehwan had spoken. "To play with her brothers. Both of them. All of them."

Before she can't.

The truth lingered in the space between them, reflected off the pale-gold tea, marred by ripples as Hakyeon raised the cup to his lips and drank it dry. It was good tea. It was always good tea.

Hakyeon watched fondly as Jinxi bounced with excitement on Taekwoon's lap, animatedly telling her brother of all the words she could write now. The carriage went over a small bump and Jinxi giggled when they all bounced with her. She'd shown them a picture that she'd drawn and was going to show Second Brother—of her, and all her siblings, even the ones who she'd barely met. It would be Mid-Autumn soon, and only their Eleventh and Fifth brothers would be away this year, with Eleventh Prince Zheng Zhifeng living far in the northern steppes, and Fifth Prince Zheng Zhixuan just as far out west. Cultural exchanges.

He dragged his attention back to Jinxi and the open smile on Taekwoon's face. Jinxi was a sweet little girl, full of energy and excitement. She seemed to have taken after Taekwoon in how often she took ill, especially at the turn of the seasons. It worried her mother. Jinxi was a girl after all, she couldn't be expected to have Taekwoon's iron blood.

"Tired?" Jaehwan asked.

"Taekwoon and I did go out last night," Hakyeon said. He patted Jinxi on the arm and whispered conspiratorially into her ear. "Next time we'll take you with us if you're good, Xixi. We had five whole skewers of candied fruit."

"I imagine Mother might have something to say about that," Jaehwan said wryly.

"It doesn't have to be at night," Taekwoon said. "Next time I'll bring you lots of sweets."

"Mother might have something to say about that," Jaehwan said.

Hakyeon laughed and held a finger to his lips. "It'll be our secret," he said.

"Really? Promise?" Jinxi asked, eyes sparkling.

"Promise," Taekwoon said solemnly. "At least one."

"Only one?"

"This is why Taekwoon is your favourite brother isn't it?" Jaehwan said, pouting. "Because he brings you sweets?"

Jinxi grinned. "Yup!" she said, and Hakyeon was struck in that moment how much she looked like Zhiheng in some ways.

Jaehwan sighed heavily. "Well if that's what it takes, I guess I can risk Mother's ire."

"Ire?" Jinxi asked, tilting her head.

"It means she'll be angry at him," Taekwoon supplied.

Jinxi immediately frowned and shook her head. "I don't want Mother to be mad at Hwannie ge," she said. "I'll like you just as much as I like Seventh Brother. I promise."

"What about me?" Hakyeon asked, teasing her with a poke to her round cheeks. Jinxi squirmed away, giggling.

"I'll like you best too!" she said. "I like all of you best!"

All three of them laughed, Taekwoon throwing his head back. "I like you best too," Taekwoon said, kissing the top of her head.

"You like me more than Hakyeonnie?" Jinxi asked, eyes wide.

"I do," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon sighed deeply as if hurt. "I guess if I lose to Xixi, it's okay."

Hakyeon lifted the curtain and peered outside. They were on childhood familiar streets, less than five minutes away. He leaned back, as Jaehwan and Taekwoon bickered over who should command most of Jinxi's affection. Taekwoon would be wonderful with his own children. Even if—if—he held the burden of the world on the shoulders. Hakyeon bit down on his lip. Not a thought for now. Not a thought for today.

No, the only thought Hakyeon needed now was how to speak in private with Zhiheng's concubine. The boy probably had his own plans on how to draw Hakyeon away as well. He was too smart not to have.

They drew up to Zhiheng's gates and Jinxi slid off of Taekwoon's lap. Her picture was rolled up tightly and clutched to her chest, like it was the most precious thing in the world. Hakyeon lingered a moment before he followed the other three out of the carriage. It'd been weeks since he'd last seen Zhiheng—and he'd yet to see him since Taekwoon had said the Emperor had all but chosen.

But there'd been no movement from the palace, no further mention by either the Emperor or Taekwoon, and no movement from either Zhiheng or Zhiying. As if they were all waiting for the others to act first. Well, Hakyeon mused, he was the same.

This note from Zhiheng's concubine could've been the signal they were all waiting for.

Zhiheng greeted them at the gate. He bent down to sweep Jinxi into his arms, his little sister giggling as she was tossed in the air. Jaehwan had sent word ahead that he was bringing Jinxi over, but he hadn't mentioned the two of them. There'd been no reason for him to.

"Everyone's here," Zhiheng said, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Xixi missed her other favourite big brother," Jaehwan said with a small shrug. "If Zhihan and Zhixing are free, we can have ourselves another party."

"I have quite enough on my hands," Zhiheng said.

Jaehwan laughed.

"We won't stay too long," Hakyeon said, referring to him and Taekwoon. "I'm afraid we have other matters to attend to later."

"You do?" Jinxi looked crestfallen.

"Sorry Xixi," Taekwoon said. "But your big brother is right."

Jinxi's mouth jutted out in a pout, but it didn't last long. She squirmed until Zhiheng put her down, and then ran ahead a few steps. "Can we play with the kite? The big one that looks like a bird?"

Zhiheng hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sky. The mist from the morning had stopped, but it was still grey. "It might rain," he said, "but until then."

"Let's go get it together," Taekwoon said. He held one tiny hand in his own, and Jinxi immediately reached for Zhiheng with her other.

"Don't mind us, we'll just be standing here!" Jaehwan called after them.

Zhiheng glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you can find your way around."

"We'll look for the giant bird," Hakyeon said, waving them off. A stroke of unanticipated luck. He turned to Jaehwan. "Let's go, shall we?"

"To do what you came to do?" Jaehwan stepped close to Hakyeon, the words spoken under his breath.

Hakyeon nodded once sharply, and gestured towards Zhiheng's expansive gardens.

"I could stretch my legs after that ride," Hakyeon said.

Jaehwan shrugged and followed Hakyeon's leisurely steps. Hakyeon looked about him, casual, appreciating the obvious effort that had gone into building this garden, from the spirit rocks to the flowers and the plum blossom trees shading a far path. It would be a few months before they bloomed, to signal the end of winter and the beginning of spring.

He should be aware of Hakyeon's presence by now.

Hakyeon lingered on a bridge, where he could see across the lake and to the buildings beyond. Jaehwan crouched by the shore, tossing pebbles into the water and scattering the gathered fish into the depths. A lone figure had slipped out of a building and into the courtyard at a casual pace—and then he noticed Hakyeon, and froze. Like a rabbit in the sights of an arrow, but Hakyeon wasn't the one drawing the bowstring.

Hakyeon hesitated but his heart was oddly calm. He glanced at Jaehwan, still skipping stones across the water, child like. Jaehwan stood at Hakyeon's movement with a lopsided smile.

"I'll go see what Xixi is doing," Jaehwan said.

"You don't have to," Hakyeon said, voice almost dropping to a whisper.

Jaehwan glanced into the distance where there was no one but a single servant in sight. He shrugged. "I think I will," Jaehwan said carefully. "I'd like to spend some time with my brothers and sisters for now."

A pang of loneliness stabbed through Hakyeon's heart; Jaehwan caught the slip in his words too late to take back. But it was the for now that carried the inevitability of the future, and the truth carried in their shared smile as Hakyeon nodded and waved Jaehwan off. Hakyeon himself stepped off the bridge, to situate himself somewhere less exposed. To his surprise, Hongbin was already waiting for him there.

"So we meet again," Hakyeon said. It was a pavilion, hidden neatly from view by a copse of bamboo. From the way Hongbin stood, Hakyeon surmised it was a place that Hongbin visited often.

Zhiheng's concubine was as strikingly beautiful as Hakyeon remembered, even without the dark makeup accentuating his eyes, and the heavily jewelled ornaments in his hair. Today, he wore only a single straight jade pin and plain gold earrings, and was dressed in an unobtrusive robe of pale blue. His hands, Hakyeon noted, were shaking.

"It is my honour and my pleasure for this coincidental encounter with your Grace," Hongbin said. His words were calm and steady where his hands were not. As if he'd noticed Hakyeon's gaze, Hongbin tucked his hands into his sleeves.

"Coincidental? I believed 'summoned' would be a better word... Hongbin." Hakyeon's words were too curt, but he wasn't in the mood to play the dance of words he so often enjoyed.

Hongbin hitched at being addressed so directly. He looked down.

"I told his Highness that we couldn't stay long as we have business to attend to, and it was quite true. So whatever business you wished to discuss with me must be to the point." Hakyeon’s eyes didn’t waver.

"To the point," Hongbin repeated softly. He turned about himself as if appreciating the view before he finally spoke. "Your Grace, the point is that the Prince of Jing must not ride out of the city, for danger of his life."

He met Hakyeon's eyes, and here was the flash of fire Hakyeon had barely caught in that first meeting. For danger of his life. Hakyeon's heart pounded. How could it not?

"Every time we ride out, it is in danger of our lives," Hakyeon said mildly. "Your concern is touching, but you could've written it in that same letter."

Irritation twisted across Hongbin's face—unexpected, yet not unnatural on those usually calm features. It surprised Hakyeon.

"Even that letter was a risk," Hongbin hissed under his breath. Hakyeon frowned at the vehemence, his heart skipping in an irregular pulse. "Yangnan. An ambush past the gates. That's all I can tell you. This is all I can do."

Yangnan. Hakyeon held that word in his mind, along with all the other words Hongbin had spoken—the ones that Hakyeon suspected were Hongbin's own, and not spoken as Zhiheng's concubine. But that was what Hongbin was.

"You are Zhiheng's," Hakyeon said. "Forgive me if I find it difficult to trust a word that you've said."

Frustration, anger. How strange to see it on this face that had been schooled to maintain a demure neutrality. Hakyeon may have said trust to be difficult—but it was not. This was the purest evidence for the truth. A myriad of emotions on the brink of breaking free.

Yangnan. Two days of hard riding eastward. Not far. Even as Hongbin's frustration was bubbling to the surface, Hakyeon forced his own emotions as deep and hidden as they would go. An absurd thought: he wished Jaehwan were here. Jaehwan who was quick to argue, quick to retort, and quick to anger. How much easier it would've been.

Hongbin drew himself up to his full height—he was as tall as Hakyeon, his anger made him seem taller. It was startling in someone Hakyeon had unconsciously dismissed as being young and small.

"Trust me or not, his blood will be on your hands. You're right. I stand by Zhiheng. But I cannot knowingly allow a good man to ride to his death."

Angry, but quiet. Hakyeon found himself unwittingly impressed. This was what was kept hidden, and it couldn't be an easy task. It couldn't have been easy to let it break through either.

"That was unkind of me," Hakyeon said. He didn't look away from Hongbin as he spoke. "If what you say is true, then you have done something no favour can ever repay."

Hongbin's jaw clenched as if to bite back a retort—that what he spoke was the truth. He held Hakyeon's eyes for several heartbeats before he swallowed and looked away. Hakyeon watched with amusement—and then sadness—as Hongbin pulled his composure about him, and folded himself into the small, quiet package that he'd been the first time Hakyeon had seen him. The one Zhiheng only saw. The one Zhiheng only wanted to see.

You don't need to, Hakyeon wanted to tell him, but it was no longer only Hongbin's hands that were shaking. Had the plum blossoms been in flower, one could mistakenly think that Hongbin was merely cold. They all needed a way to face the world.

Hakyeon smiled—he couldn't remember the last time he'd forced such an empty smile. But it had to be done.

"It looks like it will rain soon," Hakyeon commented.

"I know what I heard." Hongbin's voice was barely a whisper. He wasn't looking at Hakyeon. He wasn't looking anywhere at all. A bamboo leaf, stirred by the wind. He wasn't speaking of the rain.

"The little princess wanted to fly the kite today—shall we go watch?" There was no kite in the sky when Hakyeon looked up. Enough time seemed to have passed for it to be. But the passing of time was Hakyeon's own perception.

"I will take my leave now, if your Grace does not object," Hongbin said—he didn't wait for Hakyeon to object or otherwise, before he bowed a farewell and swept away in quick steps, as light and inconsequential as the wind, leaving behind a space that was barely even there.

"So this is where you went."

Taekwoon blinked in surprise. His sister was waiting for him just outside the palace gates. He stared at her until she beckoned him, and Taekwoon finally swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted. He patted Old Black on the neck in thanks.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Song Qian smiled. "Hakyeonnie said you were on your way here when I asked," she said.

Taekwoon lead Old Black through the palace gates, the gates opening for the two of them without the guards needing to be told. The Second Princess had been standing there for quite a while, after all, and it was already almost evening. She was a strange one, the guards would agree when they later conferred, but they'd all known that. It was different when you saw for yourself.

"He went home?" Taekwoon frowned lightly.

"No, he came to look over the military accounts and I was there," Song Qian said. "He always was a diligent child."

Taekwoon didn't know it, but a disgruntled pout was just barely noticeable on his face. Enough of one that Song Qian laughed.

"'You were too', is that what you want me to say?" Song Qian asked.

No, Taekwoon wanted to grumble, but he bit it back and answered his sister with silence.

Song Qian didn't push him, used to her brother's bouts of silence even if they'd been born out of stubborn childishness like this one had been. But under it had waited a pool of silence, and like a stone, it sank under the surface and was quickly enveloped and swallowed, disappearing under the dark surface. He'd never spoken much, as if overly aware of the constant presence of the watching world. Song Qian had once wondered if it was something he'd grow out of like he'd outgrown his children's clothes, but it had only deepened over the years.

The sun would soon fade and the buildings bathed the stone paths in shadow, leaving nothing untouched. The siblings walked through the grounds with quick steps, Song Qian matching her brother's longer strides. They'd once run through these same streets when Song Qian had cast the longest shadow compared to her two little brothers, Taekwoon and Hakyeon on either side, each tightly holding her hand. She hadn't been much older than them but to a boy of eight, their taller, smarter, better-at-everything twelve year old sister was more impressive than any adult.

Taekwoon tucked away a smile, as if he could see those three small shadows streak ahead of them, running so fast they nearly tripped over their own feet.

"Is that for Mother?" Song Qian gestured at the wrapped box Taekwoon was carrying.

Taekwoon nodded.

"That's why you took so long to come," Song Qian said. "If you'd taken any longer I would've gone home."

Taekwoon blinked, brows furrowed. He frowned at her.

"I was sure you would show up eventually," Song Qian said.

"Why?"

"Because Hakyeon said so."

"Did Hakyeon go home?" Taekwoon asked.

"I suppose he must have," Song Qian said.

"Mm."

They nodded at guards as they passed, and they all knew the siblings—at least Taekwoon—well. He wasn't directly in charge of the Imperial Guards, but the soldiers knew him by sight as well as they knew the Grand Commandant.

It was no longer summer and flowers had fallen out of bloom, but the place was otherwise untouched by the incipient autumn. Quieter, calmer, insulated from the chaos of the outside world.

Their mother was waiting for them, and Taekwoon's chest loosened as soon as he saw her. Her colour looked good.

"Lady Mother," the two of them greeted politely.

"I was beginning to wonder if the messenger had been wrong," she said.

"Forgive me, Lady Mother," Taekwoon said. "Jiejie was waiting for me—I arrived late."

"It is as much my fault for not sending word ahead," Song Qian said.

"What matters is you both came," Meiying said as she ushered them in. "I already asked them to prepare for two more for dinner, you two will have to stay."

Taekwoon and Song Qian shared a quick smile at their mother's direct instructions.

"Yes Mother," they said.

The three of them went into the inner sitting room where the curtains were flung open and the fast dimming early autumn sun lingered in an orange glow. Meiying's servants had already lit the lamps and they supplemented the light in the room, flinging away what shadows remained. They sat with Taekwoon and Song Qian next to each other on one side of the table and their mother across from them. Song Qian waved away Meiying's attendant when she brought a tray of tea and poured it for her mother herself.

"Golden chrysanthemum," Meiying said as Taekwoon picked up his cup. "Autumn winds are cold, and I worry about my children's health—even though Song Qian understands medicine, she still acts as if she doesn't."

"I'm very healthy, Mother," Song Qian protested.

"Thank you," Taekwoon said instead. He hesitated a moment before he placed the narrow package on the table and undid the cloth wrapping to reveal a box of lacquered wood. "I saw this, and hoped Mother would like it."

"You make me look bad, little brother," Song Qian said with a small laugh.

Taekwoon's mouth twitched into an annoyed pout that barely lasted half a second. Meiying chuckled as well and reached to pull the box closer and lifted the lid. In it was the flute he'd seen with Hakyeon. Like he'd told the girl, he'd gone back, this time without Hakyeon. She was a pretty little thing and looked even younger in the afternoon sun.

It was the bamboo flute.

"There was a jade one that was pretty," Taekwoon said, "but I thought Mother would like this one more."

At a glance, it was plain. It was unpainted, and the ends were made of wood, not bone or jade. No decorations hung from it, and the only marking was a small maker's mark at the bottom of the flute on the underside. But a gentle smile spread across Meiying's face when she held it in her hands, the smooth polished bamboo resting against her palms. Taekwoon watched her expression, the pure happiness there, and knew he'd made the right choice.

"The jade one was pretty, but this one will play better," Taekwoon said.

"You learned well, my son," Meiying said. She looked up at him, and there was suddenly a strange thread of sadness in that smile. "But I think this will be better in your hands."

An echoing hollowness resounded in Taekwoon's chest, and he didn't know how to answer, except with silence. The tea was still hot when it wet his tongue—it was sweet.

"Mother, I think my little brother means he wants to hear you play. It's been a long time," Song Qian said. She paused, and in that pause, Taekwoon could hear the fear that was loud in his own heart. The fear of the reason behind their mother's words. But like Taekwoon, she didn't voice it. Was afraid to. Knew not to. Wasn't able to. Instead, what she said was: "we'll come again in a few days, it takes time to learn a new instrument no matter how good it is."

Taekwoon nodded, and then he nodded again. "This one is for you," he said. He watched his mother's hands, watched for the moment of hesitation before her fingers curled, thin and delicate, letting the flute settle in the curve of her palms.

"Thank you, my son," she said. She held it a moment longer before she replaced it in the box, but she didn't replace the lid. She lifted it aside, the flute resting on the cushioned lining. She smiled, then, looking into Taekwoon's eyes until Taekwoon felt flush with the warmth. "Tell me, what were you doing that you made your sister wait for you?"

"I didn't know she was waiting," Taekwoon said, fighting to keep himself from whining.

"He didn't," Song Qian confirmed.

"Jaehwan came with Xixi, so Hakyeon and I went with him to Zhiheng's," Taekwoon said. He smiled, just thinking about his baby sister's gap toothed smile and her excitement when she'd seen them. She'd grown so big in the months he'd been away.

"And how are they doing?" Meiying asked. "Your brothers."

"Jaehwan is good," Taekwoon said. "Zhiheng... Zhiheng is good, too."

His own involuntary hitch of hesitation unsettled him—but worse, he thought he saw a flicker in his mother's expression, like she knew what he was thinking, like she knew about the seeds of doubt Hakyeon had planted in him. No, it wasn't Hakyeon. He'd planted those seeds himself.

But even if his mother knew, she only smiled and nodded. "That's good," she said. "It's been a long time since I've seen Zhiheng. He was always a serious boy. It's good to hear that he's doing well."

"He's busy," Song Qian commented. Taekwoon turned to her and blinked. Song Qian lips quirked. "I've yet to see him."

"You can all come together at Mid-Autumn," Meiying said. She gestured at their tea, urging them to drink. "Although Zhixuan and Zhifeng are still away."

"I haven't seen Fifth di and Eleventh di in years," Song Qian mused. "Zhifeng must be at least twenty."

Song Qian drank the entire cup of tea like a good child and obediently let their mother pour her more. Taekwoon grudgingly followed suit.

"Twenty two," Meiying said as she put the teapot back down with almost no sound.

"Already? Has he already been gone for four years?"

"It's been hard for Consort Jian," Meiying said. "To have her sons gone for so long."

Taekwoon and Song Qian shared a look, one that had Taekwoon frowning and Song Qian raising a brow, a look their mother seemed not to notice. Yes, it had been a long time since Fifth Brother Zhixuan had last been in the capital.

Of course their mother had noticed. She noticed everything.

The stretch of silence that followed her words—she noticed that too. Anyone would've.

Taekwoon fished for appropriate words, desperately wondering what Hakyeon would say if he were here. Something nice, probably. Taekwoon barely remembered their Fifth Brother anyway, even if he was only two years older. They'd never been close.

"It would be good to speak to Fifth di again." Song Qian finally broke the silence—and their mother gave her what seemed like, to Taekwoon, a nod of approval.

It was much better than what Taekwoon had wanted to say—he probably deserved it. Why else would the Emperor have him sent away and forgotten?

"You seem well lately, Mother," Taekwoon blurted, too obviously trying to steer away the subject. And then, because he'd always known how to make the situation better: "are we eating soon?"

As one, Song Qian and Meiying coughed up disbelieving laughter.

"Yes, my son," Meiying said, quickly regaining her composure. Laughter still twitched at the corners of her eyes and a smile slipped out when she met Song Qian's eyes. "We will eat soon. And thank you, I always feel well when you are here."

Taekwoon flushed, warm embarrassment flooding his chest. He raised his gaze, and his mother's eyes were full of the same warmth inside him.

"Then, for Mother, we'll be here as much as you want."

Mid-Autumn was always good.

Taekwoon couldn't help but find himself caught up in the festive mood, laughing as his Eighth Brother Zhilin regaled them with an incident involving multiple women and confused identities. It wasn't particularly funny and any other day might've found Taekwoon frowning in silent disapproval but surrounded by food and wine, his siblings and his family, it was impossible for inhibitions not to melt away. The main courses of the banquet had been consumed with vigour—and with a few of Hakyeon's portions ending up on Taekwoon's plate. The food had been exquisite; the duck crisp and tender, the soup clear and fresh, each bite a delight on his tongue.

It was a clear night. The moon was large and round and hung low in the sky, a pale gold. The rabbit under the cassia tree was a clear shadow across the golden disk, the stars around it faint from the moon's light. It was not cold and and it was not hot, and the wind was not strong nor was the air stifling. It was an easy night to spend gazing at the moon, appreciating the fullness, the perfect roundness, completeness.

Taekwoon’s expression melted into a soft smile as he swept his eyes over his gathered family. Eldest Brother Zhiying with his Lady Wife Shen Yipin, and Second Brother with his Lady Wife Jian Chun were regal and poised, dressed in rich, fine colours. And then there was Third Brother Zhihan, and Fourth Brother Zhiyan. Fifth Brother Zhixuan was too far to have returned to the capital, but Sixth Brother Zhiren had brought his new Lady Wife Lin Muyin for the first time. Taekwoon himself had already been needled for having yet to marry, although Zhihan had stepped in for him both times. Hakyeon, on the other hand, had been less than helpful.

"I'm afraid that I have resigned myself to being a desirable bachelor for quite some time," he'd said somberly. Taekwoon had turned bright red, and it hadn't even been because he'd consumed a cup too many of wine.

Growing up, Taekwoon had loved the treats, the candies, not appreciating that he and his siblings wouldn't be young forever, and just how absent his sisters would be once they were grown or how much distance his brothers' tasks and responsibilities would string between them.

They weren't all here. Taekwoon hadn't been close to many of his sisters as a child which made their absence even more keen when he noticed it, remembering little things like how Fourth Sister disliked orange foods, or the vaguest memory of Eldest Sister dancing like she was a slip of a breeze. He hadn't seen any of them in years—it was a blessing for his Song Qian jie to be sitting here with them, on the other side of Hakyeon.

The Emperor and his women were seated nearby. Jaehwan's mother, Empress Yi, was seated in the place of honour next to the Emperor. Although Taekwoon's own Lady Mother was not so far away.

"Something on your mind, your Highness?" Hakyeon murmured next to him.

"It is a clear night," Taekwoon said.

"That it is," Hakyeon agreed. A moment of a pause within which conversation swirled, quiet words between husband and wife, loud laughter between brother and brother.

"A clear night," Hakyeon repeated. A night without worries.

Hakyeon had been watching Zhiheng all night, eyes passing over where the Second Prince sat as he looked about the dining hall. Hongbin wasn't present, of course. Lady Jian sat next to Zhiheng, a wan, tired smile on her lovely face. She was still young. Hakyeon wondered what she knew.

Hakyeon forced those thoughts out of his mind. There'd be time for it later—tonight was a clear night with a full moon, and Taekwoon seemed blissfully unaware and content. He wanted to keep it that way.

Song Qian was engrossed in conversation with Zhixing beside him. Medical texts, Hakyeon gleaned from the brief moments he cared to listen in. Neither his forte nor his interest.

He tried to relax like Taekwoon had, pouring himself another cup of wine. Saffron wine from the southern rivers. Good wine that rarely made its way to the far borders.

He was finding it very difficult to relax.

"You've been quiet," Taekwoon said. It was so abrupt and absurd of a comment that Hakyeon couldn't help but laugh.

"Have I?" Hakyeon asked, smiling. "It is not so bad to listen to others talk now and then instead of talking yourself—something you seem to enjoy yourself, hmm?"

"I suppose," Taekwoon said after a long pause. Hakyeon arched an eyebrow but Taekwoon didn't rise to the bait, his expression still contemplative.

"It is nice to see everyone together and so happy. Have you spoken to Lady Lin yet? She is a very sweet girl." Hakyeon sensed a lull in the conversation beside him, and he turned to Song Qian. "What about you, jiejie?"

"Muyin meimei?" Song Qian said. "Only briefly. She seems a little overwhelmed. Taekwoon, come with me? Maybe a little quiet is what she needs."

"Ah—Hakyeon?"

"Go ahead. We shouldn't descend upon the girl like a cloud of locusts," Hakyeon said.

Zhixing chuckled from Song Qian's other side. "I have invited them over for tea tomorrow—we will all take turns to know her better. There is no rush."

Hakyeon watched as Taekwoon and Song Qian made their way over to Zhiren and his wife, each bowing in acknowledgement before Song Qian sat gracefully down on a low seat the servants hurried to bring.

"Jiejie is nice," Zhixing said. His words were placid and calm, and he raised his cup of wine to Hakyeon. "A cup to you for a harmonious night."

"As to you," Hakyeon said, doing the same. He turned away slightly as he drank, eyes drifting first to Taekwoon, who had just raised a cup to his brother and new sister-in-law, and then to Zhiheng who was engrossed in conversation with Zhihan. Hakyeon wasn't sure where Jaehwan was—he seemed to have wandered off, although it wasn't like him to depart so early so Hakyeon doubted he'd gone far.

"I wonder what Han'er is talking about with Second Brother," Zhixing suddenly said wistfully. Hakyeon blinked and turned slowly back to him.

"Would you like to go join them?" Hakyeon asked.

"Then you would be alone," Zhixing said. He blinked. "It would be strange if you were alone."

"Well, someone has to stand guard," Hakyeon said with a small laugh. "I don't mind, if you'd like."

Zhixing shook his head. "I see Han'er almost every day," he said. "Although lately Han'er seems to prefer Second Brother's company more than mine."

"I wonder why," Hakyeon mused softly.

"They've always had more in common," Zhixing said.

This made Hakyeon's eyebrows rise. "They do?"

"Well," Zhixing said slowly. "They're both the same age."

"Zhihan is younger," Hakyeon pointed out.

"Not compared to the rest of us," Zhixing said. He paused, his gaze swinging over to where Zhiying sat, an arm around Lady Shen. "And Second Brother and Eldest Brother have never been close."

Hakyeon nodded. After all, the circumstances of their birth had never allowed it.

But tonight was not a night for such thoughts, no more than it was for thinking about what Zhiheng's concubine had told him. Hakyeon, unable to help himself, looked first at Zhihan and then beside him to Zhixing—and wondered, again, what they knew.

Uncharitable thoughts.

Hakyeon allowed himself a sigh and a small, wry smile shared with Zhixing.

"It's good you're here," Hakyeon said. "I would feel lonely if you left."

Zhixing laughed, his single dimple lending him a sense of childish happiness. "Me too," Zhixing said.

"What were you talking about with Song Qian jie?" Hakyeon asked. "Although, it sounded very boring."

Zhixing's lips twisted into a smile at Hakyeon's exaggerated dismay, picking up his wine cup between delicate fingers and peering at the rim. "A little," Zhixing said. He took a sip, and then put the cup back down.

"Did you always have an interest in medicine?" Hakyeon asked.

"Hm, did I?"

"Not that I know of," Hakyeon said dryly. Zhixing laughed at that.

"Only a little," Zhixing said. "Han'er had a stack of medical texts on his desk, and that beat reading about merchant disputes."

"Thinking of following Song Qian?" Hakyeon asked.

Zhixing shook his head. His eyes took on a wide-eyed awe. It reminded Hakyeon of Sanghyuk. "I know she's studied with the best masters, but she answered every question I asked." He paused, his eyes staring out to the middle distance, as if seeing into another world entirely, mind slipping away as well. Hakyeon waited, used to Zhixing's spells of blank contemplation.

"You won't ask what questions I asked?" Zhixing finally said. He showed Hakyeon a lopsided smile.

"I did say it sounded very boring," Hakyeon reminded him.

"Less boring than merchants," Zhixing laughed. "Flowers. Orchids counter wind, tulips counter fire. Sometimes the roots. Sometimes the petals. Sometimes fresh. Sometimes dry."

"It seems like you covered everything," Hakyeon said.

"It is unusual for you to be so quiet," Zhixing said.

Hakyeon's brows creased, and then he looked up at the moon. "It's a busy night," he said.

"So you agree," Zhixing said.

"Why would I not?" Hakyeon found Zhixing's eyes unwavering and steady on him, and he shook his head slightly with a small smile. "Xing'er, I've known you your entire life and sometimes I still don't understand you."

"People say that about Jaehwan too," Zhixing said.

Hakyeon spread his hands, arching a brow in meaning, and Zhixing laughed, head tipped slightly back.

"Where is Jaehwan?" Zhixing asked, as if he'd only just noticed their younger brother's absence.

"Probably wandering—he's not very good at sitting still," Hakyeon said.

"Like Han'er," Zhixing commented, although at that moment, Zhihan was deep in conversation with Zhiying, of all people.

Hakyeon chuckled, because it always seemed to circle around to that comparison. But so much of Zhixing's life circled around Zhihan, it wasn't so surprising.

Zhixing's eyes drifted back toward Zhihan, and Hakyeon followed his restless gaze.

"You look like you want to join them," Hakyeon said with wry amusement. "Go on, I'm feeling a little restless myself."

As he spoke, Hakyeon got to his feet and after a moment of thought he held out a hand. He watched Zhixing's eyes widen a little in surprise before his face softened into a smile and he let Hakyeon pull him up.

"Leaving Taekwoon all alone?" Zhixing said, but the curl of his eyes made it clear he was only teasing Hakyeon.

"Jiejie is with him." Hakyeon nodded in their direction. Muyin was clearly relaxing in Song Qian's presence, and Taekwoon seemed content listening to the two of them talk. Hakyeon smiled at Zhixing with an offhanded gesture. "Mayhaps Jaehwan is the one who shouldn't be left alone."

"Mayhaps," Zhixing agreed. He bowed respectfully to Hakyeon and waited for Hakyeon to return the gesture before he floated off to join Zhihan and Zhiying. Hakyeon watched him for a few steps before he turned away and walked toward the extensive halls of the palace, the painted roofs and pillars hiding the moon full and round from view. In places, the world dipped into darkness, meant to be driven away by lanterns that Hakyeon didn't have. Never for more than a few steps at a time before it was banished by lamps, steady in their presence.

Calm and restlessness blended together in his chest with a clasping hold around his throat. Hakyeon let his feet carry him aimlessly, only half-heartedly guided by a memory of direction. It was the Hall of Azure Flowers his steps eventually brought him to. He paused by the door, a glance over his shoulder in hesitation before he pushed open the unlocked doors. The light from the hallway filtered weakly in through the open doorway and he let it be. A quiet flutter of feathers disturbed the silence of the night, woken by the sound of his own footsteps.

"Good evening," Hakyeon greeted.

"Evening, evening," followed by the chirrrp of the gray parrot that answered him. Hakyeon smiled as it hopped closer on its perch at Hakyeon's approach.

In the semi darkness, the parrot's eyes glinted like black jewels, light flashing in reflection.

"Still doing well, little one," Hakyeon said.

It trilled at him again. Hakyeon placed a finger near the bamboo wickers of the cage. It shuffled even closer until it could nudge at Hakyeon's finger with its beak.

"No treats today, I'm sorry," Hakyeon said.

"Sorry, sorry," it said. It knocked against Hakyeon's finger again, and Hakyeon remembered how Taekwoon would make a game of it—poking it through the cage and snatching his fingers back before the parrot could nip at him. Taekwoon didn't always win. Taekwoon would guiltily hide his hand behind his back when they went back home at the end of the day but their mother always knew. Not that the scolding ever stopped him for long.

"Do you remember me?" Hakyeon asked, and then he laughed at himself. Hakyeon hadn't been here in years. How could a parrot remember—

"Stupid Hakyeon. Stupid Hakyeon," it trilled in a young Taekwoon's voice. Hakyeon's eyes widened. The parrot hopped from one foot to the other, ruffling its feathers and settling in more comfortably. "Stupid Hakyeon!"

Hakyeon couldn't help it. He threw back his head and laughed and laughed. His shoulders shook and he clutched at his sides. His laughter rang clear and loud in the crisp, moonlit night, the parrot's accompaniment a chirped glissando.

He laughed so hard he almost didn't notice the footsteps.

"It still remembers me," Hakyeon said. He looked over his shoulder and met Taekwoon's eyes, smiling at his baffled expression.

"How did you end up here?" Taekwoon walked up to Hakyeon and then another step forward, bending toward the cage to look at the parrot.

"The same way you did," Hakyeon said. A smile softened Taekwoon's lips and Hakyeon looked back at the parrot as well. "Do you remember Taekwoon?"

The parrot clicked its beak and tilted its head, scrutinising Taekwoon. It seemed to think for a moment before it replied: "Young Master Taekwoon."

"Ah." Taekwoon blinked, and his smile stretched wider. "Still a smart bird."

"A bribed bird," Hakyeon said, dry and mock wounded.

"Fair game," Taekwoon said evenly. He sighed and straightened. "It must be at least thirty. It's older than us."

"They live long lives, these birds. They can outlive their masters."

Taekwoon fell silent and still at Hakyeon's words. There was a second of rustled feathers, and then silence and stillness filled the entire hall. Taekwoon shifted closer to Hakyeon, taking a half step feigned toward the bird.

"Hakyeon."

"Yes?"

"It's noisy," Taekwoon said into the quiet night. Outside, the moon was full and round and somewhere in the distance, under that bright moon, there was a gathering filled with noise. Hakyeon could feel the warm flush of alcohol in Taekwoon's words, and then the brief brush of Taekwoon's sleeve against his own.

"Shall we go home?" Hakyeon asked.

"Yes," Taekwoon said. "Yes please."

He wasn't prepared.

This was Hakyeon's first thought. A first thought before he'd even yanked the poor man back by the front of his shirt, that one word—Yangnan—ringing in his mind.

"What did you say? Where did you hear that?"

"Young Master—I, your servant only heard it said. Yangnan, they said—Yangnan has rebelled."

Yangnan. An ambush past the gates.

The chaos of the market disappeared. The man's eyes were wide in fear, his hands gripped instinctively at Hakyeon's wrist. With effort, Hakyeon released him, and the man, having done nothing wrong except to mention Yangnan to his companion as he'd walked past Hakyeon, stumbled backward and landed on the ground. The man's companion was just as terrified—Hakyeon barely registered it.

That's all I can tell you.

People pushed each other to get out of his way. Hushed whispers. Averted looks.

The first time Hakyeon had rode into battle, time seemed to slow and then stop as he pulled back his blade red with blood, a crimson spray following its arc, droplets freezing midair. The first time their Lady Mother had simply fallen to the floor, time had slowed and then stopped and Hakyeon had been frozen with it. The first time Hakyeon had been caught in battle unaware and he was the one who'd been caught in the molasses of time as glinting silver pierced unerringly toward him—

Yangnan. Yangnan. Yangnan. The word pounded in rhythm in his throat. Buildings, people, the streets flew by him.

He wasn't prepared.

He cursed himself for allowing Taekwoon to purchase an estate so far from the palace, and then he cursed himself for choosing the estate because it was far from the palace. He cursed himself for not having rode out on Ray, and then he cursed himself for not hailing a carriage. But though Hakyeon couldn't know it, he arrived home faster than any carriage could have brought him, and faster than even a rumour—for it was only that, a rumour—could travel.

It was the back wall that he came upon first. He couldn't spare the time to go around to the front. Unable to care, he forced his tiring muscles to throw himself over his own wall but landed so heavily it jarred his bones.

It also jarred him to his senses, although unbridled panic still clutched at his chest, the world still distorted, that same word still an insistent beat hammering against his heart.

An ambush past the gates.

This is all I can do.

The boy's face suddenly came to mind, lovely features twisted with desperate fear. Boy? He was no boy. The child was already twenty-one. Yes, Hakyeon thought, he had been afraid. How strange that Hakyeon hadn't noticed it at the time. He was right to be afraid.

An ambush past the gates.

How had Hongbin come to know such a thing? Hakyeon had worried at that thought in the week and a half since—had it really only been so long?—but there had been so much to worry at that it had fallen by the wayside. Even now, as he gathered himself up and strode forward, the image of Hongbin pulling his composure about himself flashing in his thoughts, he forced the question aside.

He was not prepared, but it was also wrong to say he hadn't prepared.

No matter what, he had to stop Taekwoon from going.

"Young Master! I didn't realise you'd returned!" Steward Zhu looked about him in surprise when Hakyeon pushed through the door that would lead to Taekwoon's rooms.

"Is Taekwoon home?" Hakyeon demanded.

"His Highness is in his study, Young Master," he said. "He asked us not to disturb him."

"Then he's still there," Hakyeon said, murmured to himself.

"Very likely so," Steward Zhu agreed.

Hakyeon nodded at him and strode quickly away, Steward Zhu bowing at his departure. Taekwoon would not have heard the slightest murmurings. Not yet.

It was this thought that pulled him short just before he pulled aside the door to Taekwoon's study. A sudden rush of clarity overcame him, the first since he'd heard that there was trouble in Yangnan. His hand fell to his side, and Hakyeon drew a deep breath.

He took a step back and stared at the ornately carved wooden doors, the decorated shelves, light streaming through the windows to fall against the floor in silver patches. Taekwoon had thought the doors were unnecessarily fancy when they'd first moved in. Once Hakyeon opened that door, he could never go back. This was a sparse room, little more than a hall, although they kept several wrapped scrolls on the shelves. None of them were so important, although a rare scroll on the secret techniques of firing Ning clay was stashed among them, as well as several uncommon music scores. Taekwoon had collected them as a youth.

Taekwoon.

Just beyond this door, Taekwoon would be sitting, reading and studying or perhaps poring over paperwork because there always seemed to be more paperwork to do. Paperwork that required Taekwoon's personal royal seal. Taekwoon who was unaware of why Jaehwan had called upon them that day with Jinxi in tow, and what words had been spoken between Hakyeon and his brother's concubine while he and his brother were retrieving a kite for their youngest sister. Taekwoon who would, without a doubt, insist on riding for Yangnan immediately, without delay, because his loyalty to kingdom and family ran so deep he'd never even consider the possibility that this was a trap.

An ambush past the gates.

It came upon him in a surge, a feeling that left his legs weak and his breath short. He had to keep Taekwoon from going, yet he couldn't keep the rumours from reaching him, and even less could he hide an official declaration. A faint unease, a sense that it was not an accident that word of trouble in a province some two days east had spread among the people sooner than it had reached the capital through imperial channels. A river could be dammed or diverted, but a lake couldn't be drained dry.

Hakyeon suddenly felt very, very afraid.

In the end, it wasn't he who opened the door.

"How long have you been there?" Taekwoon stood there frowning—his frown only deepened at Hakyeon's surprise. Hakyeon hadn't been able to hide his surprise.

"A while," Hakyeon said. He forced a small smile on his face, and then gestured past Taekwoon. "May I come in?"

"Since when did you ask?" Taekwoon asked. His expression wavered into uncertainty.

Hakyeon merely smiled.

He let Taekwoon close the door behind them before he let himself sit by Taekwoon's desk. Taekwoon had been going through paperwork after all. Complaints. Hakyeon picked a document at random and flipped it open. One lieutenant's suspicions that another was accepting bribes. They would have to look into it.

"It's a grudge," Taekwoon said. He dropped back into his seat, but after a moment, he slid off it so he could sit next to Hakyeon instead, their shoulders bumping against each other.

"Oh?"

Taekwoon nodded, pulling the document from Hakyeon and tapping one pale, slender finger against the name of the accused. "I know this man. He's a good man."

"Even good men may make poor choices," Hakyeon said, the words surprising even himself.

The look Taekwoon gave him was strange, critical, and one that could shred men to their bones. Hakyeon blew out a deep breath and sat up. His fingers lingered for a moment against Taekwoon's arm.

"I know the complainant too," Taekwoon said, words curt.

"I don't doubt your judgement," Hakyeon said.

A second of silence fell—a second where Taekwoon was waiting for Hakyeon. Hakyeon hid the wryness in his smile from Taekwoon by looking away, as if he were looking out of the closed window and into the courtyard beyond. Taekwoon's room was filled by the light from the windows. Especially in the winter.

"It's better if you hear it from me," Hakyeon said quietly. "There may be trouble out east."

"Trouble?" Taekwoon's frown which had melted away for those few seconds returned. It was clear that Hakyeon wasn't speaking this time of drought or famine.

"Yes, the trouble you're thinking of," Hakyeon said.

"I would rather you hear this from me," Hakyeon added, when Taekwoon said nothing more. "It is at Yangnan."

"There's never been trouble at Yangnan."

"There is now," Hakyeon said wearily. There was a strange sense of calmness in his words. Resignation.

"How are you so sure? I haven't heard—"

"News travels faster when it's not through an imperial messenger," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon's disbelief was palpable in the space between them. Hakyeon ached to hold Taekwoon to him. The more Taekwoon was unwilling to believe, the more earnest he would be to make up for his failings. Hakyeon knew this.

"So many rumours—"

"This one is not false," Hakyeon said. He cut Taekwoon off again; a prickle of irritation. He couldn't meet Taekwoon's eyes. He couldn't tell Taekwoon of what Hongbin had—

Couldn't he? Couldn't he tell Taekwoon, finally convince him that the Second Prince was more than Taekwoon thought, show him this proof, 'here, do you see now?' But Taekwoon would confront Zhiheng. Foolishly. Bravely. Trustingly. And then what? Zhiheng would talk his way out of it, would blame Hongbin, would blame Hakyeon.

It would ruin Hongbin.

Hongbin couldn't knowingly allow a good man to ride to his death, and Hakyeon couldn't knowingly condemn an innocent for such a thing.

He couldn't tell Taekwoon what Hongbin had told him.

"You know something," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon's lips twitched. Still, he looked toward the window.

"I know that I don't trust this timing," Hakyeon said—and that was true no matter what he did or didn't know. "It is days past Mid-Autumn. You could argue that it is because the court takes time to awake after a holiday, yet when else will all of us be gathered in the capital?" A pause. "When else will we be in the capital?"

"What does it have to do with you and I?" Taekwoon asked.

"It takes time to raise a rebellion; the timing cannot be a random choice. He will have only this one chance—is it not unwise to squander his chance when one of the kingdom's most eminent military leaders is only two days away instead of sequestered at the border?"

Taekwoon flushed. "Summer is hot, and winter hasn't come," he said. He pressed his lips together, and when Hakyeon glanced aside he found that Taekwoon's eyes had drifted to follow Hakyeon's gaze, as if searching for what it was that had so caught Hakyeon's attention.

"If only that were the case," Hakyeon said. A sigh followed, one that he didn't swallow, and this pulled Taekwoon's attention back.

"Tell me what you suspect," Taekwoon said. His words were blunt. "You think he wants more than treason."

"Oh, I don't doubt he wants treason," Hakyeon said wryly.

"And what else?"

"I think," Hakyeon said slowly, a pause drawing out behind those two words, "that just this once, it should be left to someone else."

"What?"

That one sharp word cut Hakyeon to the flesh, layered with something that could almost be called betrayal. Hakyeon opened his mouth to speak, but he had no chance, because Taekwoon had grabbed him much like Hakyeon had grabbed that unsuspecting bystander not so long ago.

"I'm not a coward," Taekwoon growled. His lips curled and had he been a dog he would've snarled. Hakyeon grimaced and gripped Taekwoon's wrist, squeezing until he finally let go, Taekwoon's tendons straining like iron cables.

"I didn't say you were," Hakyeon said. He fought to keep the heat from his own voice. "You just need to think—"

"That's your problem, you think too much," Taekwoon snapped. He yanked his wrist free from Hakyeon's grip. "Even something like this, you won't let me ride to battle? Because Zhiheng? You think it's Second Brother again?"

Yes.

"If it is or isn't, this is not the time Taekwoon! This is no challenge, let Zhitao take charge, Tao'er is showing promise and if he were to go with General Ouyang it'll be a done thing."

"You're afraid," Taekwoon said. "You don't have to come—"

"This isn't about me!" Hakyeon yelled. "This is more than you—don't be so selfish!" He shoved at Taekwoon, palm slamming against his chest and Taekwoon staggered backward, caught by surprise. A fleeting surprise.

The breath was knocked out of Hakyeon's lungs, eyes going blind, crashing backward, a dull, momentary blackness from the impact of his head against the floor. Even with the world dark, he could sense Taekwoon standing above him, breathing hard, but he lingered for a moment, even through his anger.

"You're the selfish one," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon forced himself up, eyes still blind, but before Hakyeon could do a thing Taekwoon was already at the door.

"Taekwoon!"

"I'm going to hunt down the truth," Taekwoon said, just before he wrenched the door open. "And you don't need to come!"

"Older sister?"

The door slid open, and Song Qian stood there with a frown so reminiscent of Taekwoon that it was hard for Hakyeon to shake the image from his mind.

"So formal," Song Qian said. She lifted her eyebrows as she stepped aside, gesturing Hakyeon in.

Hakyeon smiled, and it was so much of an echo that the echo itself felt ill. He didn't sit.

This was ostensibly a guest room, but with so few guests, it had become their older sister's room for the few weeks she stayed with them every year. She would be leaving soon—she rarely stayed longer than a week after Mid-Autumn. This was her room, and it wasn't. Half her clothes had never been unpacked from her trunks, pushed off into one corner. No knick-knacks or trinkets of hers sat on the shelves, and the decorations were little different than any of the other guest rooms. Tasteful, discreet, bland.

She'd been writing a letter, the ink still damp on the paper, brush propped against the rest. Hakyeon almost jumped when Song Qian placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You're too tall to stand," she said, as she walked past and retook her seat. Hakyeon should sit across from her, but uncertainty left him frozen.

There were often echoes in this world that spanned both time and space, places and people. And so it was that Hakyeon, in an unwitting echo, did not immediately sit. Instead, what he asked was:

"Older sister, do you trust me?"

A beat, and then another. The truth was, Song Qian and Taekwoon didn't look very alike at all. But at that moment, the look she gave him was identical to Taekwoon's; strange, critical, and one that could shred men to their bones.

"Why do you ask, little brother?"

"Because I am about to ask you to poison your dearest baby brother."

A beat, and then another. Yet this time, her eyes softened.

"You are just as dear to me, Hakyeonnie," she said. "But it's Taekwoon you speak of."

"Yes," Hakyeon said, head dipping in acknowledgement. Hiding his eyes.

"I do trust you—and I know you wouldn't ask without reason. Sit down first, and then we'll talk. Both of you really grew too tall."

Hakyeon laughed, a choked sort of laugh. But he did as she asked and folded himself into the chair. He watched her wash the brush until the water ran dark and the rabbit fur was white and clean. The half finished letter was folded and placed aside. She rested her hands on the table, and only then did she look at Hakyeon again. Her expression was neutral. She was waiting.

And here, here lay another echo.

"How much do you trust Second Brother?"

Song Qian laughed, a laugh that wasn't a laugh. "I trust you more," she said—an answer that wasn't an answer.

"But not enough to poison Taekwoon."

"You haven't told me why."

"Just... just to make him sick," Hakyeon said. He looked down at his hands. "Sick enough so he can't leave the city even if death itself compelled him."

"A dangerous task," Song Qian said.

"It will be more dangerous if it fails," Hakyeon said.

"You sound sure, little brother," Song Qian said. "How can you be so sure?"

"That death awaits him if he leaves?"

"If that's what you meant."

"I'm sure," Hakyeon said slowly, hesitantly, pauses drawing out between his words. "Because I don't trust Zhiheng."

"Ah."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What more would you like me to say?"

"I don't know," Hakyeon admitted. "But I wish I were wrong."

"Taekwoon would never forgive us for this," Song Qian said; even she looked surprised by her own words. Us.

"I would never ask you if I weren't sure," Hakyeon said.

"Because you don't trust Zhiheng. There must be more than that," Song Qian said.

Hakyeon hesitated. How much could he tell her? How much would she tell Taekwoon? Even if she said that he was as dear to her as Taekwoon, it was Taekwoon who was her blood brother. t was Taekwoon whom she’d held in her arms as a newborn, and it was Taekwoon who she'd watched take his first steps, speak his first words, read his first characters and then trace them out in messy strokes. Even now, Taekwoon's writing could only be said to be passable.

"They're luring Taekwoon out of the city," Hakyeon said. He sighed. "And it will work."

"And they will kill you both once you are away," Song Qian said.

"I suppose."

"This isn't a thing to say lightly."

"They've already incited treason—killing a prince can't be much more difficult."

"What?"

"Ah. That's right." She wouldn't have heard yet. They all would soon. "The Earl of Yangnan wishes to be a king."

Song Qian sighed heavily and then leaned back in her chair, all poise gone. "If it's you, I can't say no," she said softly. She wasn't speaking to Hakyeon.

"So Taekwoon will stay, and you will go alone."

"It will only be possible with you."

"Do you realise what you're asking of me, Hakyeon?" Song Qian’s eyes shifted to meet his, and she held his gaze, steady yet quavering. "You're asking me to poison one of my little brothers so I can send the other into death's jaw in his place."

"I know," Hakyeon said, and he could only hope that the conviction in his eyes matched that in his heart.

"It doesn't have to be you," Song Qian said. "Tao'er will jump at the chance to prove himself."

Hakyeon allowed himself a wry smile. "That's what I told Taekwoon," he said. "And then Taekwoon called me a coward. Selfish, and a coward."

"You are neither," Song Qian said quietly.

"Not in his eyes."

"It'll pass." And then: "You've told him none of this."

"Do you think I could?"

"I suppose not," Song Qian said with a soft laugh. "Either he wouldn't believe you or he'd go straight to Zhiheng. He's an idiot at all the wrong times."

"I don't think there's ever a right time to be an idiot," Hakyeon said. His lips quirked in amusement.

"Perhaps," Song Qian agreed. And then: "when would you like it done?"

Hakyeon's eyes closed, lids falling shut for the briefest of moments, barely longer than a blink. Relief flooded him, and then came something he refused to name as regret. The panic, strangely, was gone. It had never left him, not until this moment. It'd quieted when he'd spoken to Taekwoon—hid when he'd fought with Taekwoon. From the moment he'd left that room until now, it had been curtained by apprehension, by the dull beat of fear. Now that it was gone, it left a hollow emptiness within him.

"You don't have to answer now," Song Qian said. It must've shown on Hakyeon's face, because her voice was gentle, patient, one she'd learned only after she'd grown up and gone away for good. He didn't deserve her.

"It'll take time?" Hakyeon asked.

"A day or two," Song Qian said. "I can't risk it any faster."

"How long will it last?"

"How long do you need it to last?"

Hakyeon had no answer for that. He hadn't thought so far ahead. He hadn't thought further ahead than this, a plea to their sister because Hakyeon had failed to find another way, not in time. It had all happened too quickly.

"Enough for me to reach Yangnan," he said. "Or…"

Or until he would never reach Yangnan. They both understood. It didn't need to be said.

"We'll hear of the uprising tomorrow, and you won't be able to leave until the day after that at the earliest. If we could have another few days…"

"I'm sorry, jie. I should've told you sooner."

"You still had hope until today," she said, and she was right in a way Hakyeon would never admit.

Hakyeon clasped his hands beneath the table, his eyes fixed blankly on the floor. "Even good men can make bad choices," he said, a hushed whisper, another echo.

Song Qian didn't reply; and in that moment, Hakyeon didn't know if he was speaking of himself or of a prince.

In so many ways, she wished she was more surprised. She watched her younger brother leave with a straight back and stiff shoulders and not for the first time did she remember the quiet, frightened four year old who'd tried to shrink so far into himself he'd disappear. Her eyes passed over the letter set aside but not forgotten. She had no choice but to finish it now.

How strange. She'd begged to learn medicine because of how easily Taekwoon had gotten sick as a child; now she would take those same skills to make him as sick as he'd ever been.

As if in a trance, Song Qian found herself outside. She'd been in her room since shortly after the sun rose and the prickling brightness of the afternoon sun startled her. She'd asked Hakyeon, but even before he'd answered, she'd already known. When. How long.

She was only two years younger than Zhiheng but they'd grown up in such separate worlds that they might not've been siblings at all. Their father adored her mother, but just as much did he love and respect the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress. Song Qian was a girl. Zhiheng was the Second Prince and the Empress's oldest son. But Zhiheng had been kind. They'd grown up in different worlds but there had still been times when they'd play together, or when Zhiheng would wait for her if she was struggling to keep up with her shorter legs. But if she'd been born a boy.

A boy, the third son, only two years younger than Zhiheng. It would be her, not Taekwoon, caught between no choices but bad ones. Or perhaps not. Perhaps they still would've let her leave for the world of Jianghu, the world of her mother's family and of her own blood, the world where the Fei clan all but ruled, over the entire martial world of the kingdom. Perhaps it would've been preferred. Perhaps it would've been Taekwoon after all. Perhaps this had been his destiny.

She was only two years younger than Zhiheng, but she wasn't much older than Taekwoon either. She felt older. They all felt she was older. How she'd resented it at first when Taekwoon had been born. No longer the youngest—although by then there'd been so many more younger than her, no one expected anything to come of them. No one expected anything to come of Taekwoon either, except for their mother, and maybe her.

It hadn't been until Hakyeon had come. Hakyeon, an orphan with no family, with no brothers and no sisters—Hakyeon who she could be a sister to. And with Hakyeon came Taekwoon. With Taekwoon came Hakyeon. She'd been barely older than little Jinxi was now, but how much responsibility had suddenly landed on her shoulders. Responsibility that she'd gladly shouldered. Her two little brothers were too precious to ever leave. Too precious to ever lose.

She found Taekwoon where she'd expected him to be. He heard her coming but he didn't turn. Instead, he only hunched further back into the straw.

"Taekwoon."

"Did Hakyeon send you?"

"He didn't." A pause. "He was upset."

Taekwoon's fingers curled into fists. His heart beat an agitated staccato in his chest; not even the thick smell of musty hay and the soft nickering of the horses had loosened the feeling. He almost wished it'd been Hakyeon instead. His nails dug into his palms.

He deserves it. He didn't say this aloud. Swallowed it back instead. His sister's disapproval had been too clear in her voice. She thought that Taekwoon had done Hakyeon wrong, when Hakyeon was being a coward just like Taekwoon had said he was. Song Qian had brought tea, and she'd set the lacquered box on top of an old crate, the teapot and cups inside jarringly incongruous in the dusty stables.

Yangnan. Taekwoon didn't know Yangnan. He didn't know enough heading east. But he knew—without knowing how Hakyeon knew—that Hakyeon had to be right. Hakyeon was always right when it came to things like this. He never would've voiced it if he weren't sure that it was true.

But even so—

"He deserves it," Taekwoon said. He surprised himself with the vehemence he spat those words out. He shot to his feet and he towered over his sister, but Song Qian's expression was passive. His jaw clenched and he had to bite back a snarl.

"Tao'er, he thinks Zhitao should go, he thinks that child should go instead of us. Instead of me."

Song Qian said nothing. She only stared at him.

"Zhiheng? Second Brother? Because of some fantasy—"

"You discredit Hakyeon, little brother," Song Qian said. Her voice, this time, was as soft as Taekwoon's normally was, even as Taekwoon's own voice rose.

"You agree with him?"

"He is not wrong."

"What proof does he have?" Taekwoon asked. "What proof? Zhiheng's normal, and Hakyeon even went with me when we went with Jaehwan and Xixi, but now he thinks I should just hide behind these walls like a coward for the rest of my life?"

"Hakyeon wouldn't suggest it without reason."

"He thinks he has a reason!"

"And he is not wrong," she said.

Taekwoon swallowed. If it were anyone else, they would've withered under that look and the jagged anger and frustration in his eyes but Song Qian felt nothing, reacted with nothing.

"Do not pretend you don't agree with him, Zheng Taekwoon," Song Qian continued. "Or have you already forgotten your conversation with father?"

A murky afternoon. An abandoned game.

He hadn't forgotten.

"That's unimportant," Taekwoon said. They had spoken of it in a room with no windows, that’d be plunged into darkness even on the brightest days once the solid wooden doors were shut. Because only in that room did Hakyeon feel safe. He was no fool. He knew this.

"You are acting like a fool," Song Qian said, and Taekwoon's fists curled tighter. He hadn't even opened his mouth again when Song Qian's eyes flashed, and it was Taekwoon who felt pinned under that gaze, frozen. "You're no longer a guard—you're the general, whether or not you want to admit it."

"I'd rather be a soldier," Taekwoon hissed.

"That's not a choice," Song Qian said. She paused, and in that moment, Taekwoon wondered if it was pity instead in her eyes. "You weren't born with that choice."

"I can choose not to be a coward."

"You're choosing to be one right now by turning away from the truth," Song Qian said.

"The truth? I'll find the truth, and it'll be out east at Yangnan, where the truth is a traitor conspiring against the kingdom!"

"There are truths behind truths, and you know this!"

For the first time Taekwoon could remember—the first time in a long time—Song Qian was angry. A burning, fiery anger.

She'd learned early on, even before she'd slipped over to Jianghu, that emotions were a weakness. That a princess could show fear no more than she could show sadness, could show anger no more than she could show grief. It was a truth, a harsh, bare truth. And she'd learned to hide terror behind fear, to hide loathing behind anger, but a princess could only hide from being as human as a peasant girl for so long before that terror, loathing, grief—before it all exploded in this tiny, smothered blaze she struggled to contain.

"The truth is that he's a coward," Taekwoon yelled—it was punctuated by the sharp sound of a slap. It rang through the stable, cutting through the sound of horses. The silence that followed resounded between the walls.

A faint horror gripped at Song Qian's chest. She'd never hit Taekwoon before. Never. Her hand fell to her side and it echoed with a stinging hurt she'd never felt before.

"Never say that again," Song Qian said.

Her words were steady, soft, and calm. Her eyes, as she looked up at Taekwoon, belied that composure.

And then she was gone, disappeared into the dusty sunlight, leaving Taekwoon alone.

Not alone—Old Black was only a few wooden walls away, but for once in his life, Taekwoon felt alone. Alone and betrayed. He sank down to the ground, back sliding against the wooden wall.

The tea that his sister had brought was still on the box beside him and Taekwoon was struck with the urge to fling his arm out and knock it aside. Instead, he lifted the lacquered box off the crate and placed it down in front of him. He stared down at the delicate ceramic teapot inside, the fine, matching cups. His hands were shaking as he took the tray out and put it down on the straw covered floor; it was with effort that he steadied them enough to pour out one cup, and then another.

It was equal parts sweet and bitter, and unknowing of the truth behind the truth, Taekwoon drank it all.

Word came midday, and it came thundering through the city gates flung open wide, people scrambling away from dust thrown up by pounding hooves.

By then, Hakyeon was long gone, Song Qian was long awake, and Taekwoon had developed a slight cough and light-headedness he steadfastly ignored.

It came, to Taekwoon's surprise, in the form of Hakyeon, dressed in full riding gear.

"We'll go together," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon hadn't seen Hakyeon since he’d stormed out of his own study—since Taekwoon had called Hakyeon a coward and he'd meant it. There was none of that now. Nothing to suggest how adamant Hakyeon had been of letting their Twelfth Brother take charge, to leave it to someone clearly less capable instead of sending out some of the kingdom's best.

There was none of that now.

Taekwoon nodded. He didn't need to say anything else.

Hakyeon didn't need to know anything else.

Old Black was waiting for him next to Ray, right by the front gates. The two of them swung up into the saddles as one.

"Get!" Hakyeon kicked Ray into a gallop; Old Black only needed Taekwoon to give him his head before he thundered after them down the wide, stone-paved street. Taekwoon's heart pounded in his chest faster than the rhythm of Old Black's hooves. They cut a straight path through the heart of the city, and the palace gates opened for them like the city had opened for the messenger.

They were not the only ones.

Not so long ago, Taekwoon had shoved his way past the guards to see his father as Hakyeon chased after him; in a strange twisted echo the two of them were hurried into the inner hall.

"You've arrived." It was Zhiheng who spoke first with a coldness that almost froze Taekwoon in his tracks. Zhiheng's words were clipped.

"Taekwoon. Hakyeon." The Emperor was seated behind the grand table. Beside him stood the Grand Commandant and the Prime Minister. Generals Ouyang and Lin stood on the opposite side of the court and they bowed to Taekwoon and Hakyeon as they entered and dropped to a knee as one.

"Emperor," they said. And then, Taekwoon: "your son, the Prince of Jing, Zheng Taekwoon, humbly requests to be allowed an army to ride to Yangnan, Your Majesty."

"The Duke of Yin, Cha Hakyeon, requests the same," Hakyeon added.

"Rise," the Emperor said. His brows were furrowed as he regarded his seventh son and, standing just behind him, his adopted son who he loved just as much as if he'd been of his one blood and bone. He did not, he could not say, want them to go. Did he not have fine generals beside him, in this very room? Did General Ouyang not have more years of experience than Taekwoon had been alive, and had he not ridden with him, the Emperor himself, even before he had been crowned? And General Lin was as skilled as Taekwoon—he had proved himself both on the battlefields and off.

Yet, as his eldest son Zhiying finally arrived, he knew he could no more entertain a father's reluctance to allow his sons to leave his side than any other man. Especially not a seventh son.

Zhiheng did not comment on Zhiying's tardiness and merely acknowledged him instead.

The tableau was set.

The Emperor looked out in front of him, at Zhiheng and Zhiying standing next to each other on his right, at his generals off to the side on his left. The two oldest princes in fine court jackets of red and gold, his generals dark in their armour, broadswords at their waists. They contrasted each other like night and day, two sides of the same coin, no country complete without one or the other. And standing directly in front of him, a silk cloak draped over well-travelled riding gear, across broad, capable shoulders was his seventh son Taekwoon, expression unforgiving and severe, bearing refined and poised. There was one more, and together with his Prime Minister to his right and his Grand Commandant to his left, Hakyeon rounded them out to be nine, himself a balance to Taekwoon just as Taekwoon was a balance himself.

Exactly nine. A good number for stability.

The kingdom would need stability.

The Grand Commandant, in his time, had been a formidable man. He was older now, his beard more white than grey, and his own armour had been traded for the dark cloth robes of a court official. He still dressed simply, almost crude when compared to the Prime Minister on the other side of the Emperor. Stocky where the Prime Minister was slender; skin tanned and weathered instead of pale and untouched. It was impossible to know that the Grand Commandant, despite what he professed, knew the classical texts as well as any scholar—or that conversely, the Prime Minister could shoot a fleeing rabbit while on horseback from a hundred meters away. The Prime Minister's own sons didn't know. They didn't remember. Some of them hadn't existed.

Those had been different times, turbulent times, and it was with the men around him that he, now the Emperor, had calmed the kingdom into what would hopefully be the start of a long era of stability.

"A troublesome time," the Emperor said quietly. All of them knew why they were here. A briefing was unnecessary. He glanced at the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister bowed slightly to him.

"It is not as surprising as one might think," the Prime Minister said. "We have never kept a strong military presence in the southeast."

"We have been too lenient," Zhiheng agreed. Taekwoon bristled when Zhiheng's eyes passed over him to land on the Grand Commandant.

"Your Majesty." Hakyeon cut in too smoothly for Taekwoon to comment on Zhiheng's words. "We await your command. Grand Commandant, did the messenger say more?"

"He did, your Grace. All three garrisons in the province are under the Earl's command, but it is a feat he managed to reach us with the wounds he had sustained and could tell us so much in the first place."

So the messenger was dead. Taekwoon itched to glance at Hakyeon, but he'd have to turn behind him to do so. Taekwoon was too aware of his brothers' eyes on him, heavy with expectation.

"There doesn't seem much to discuss," Zhiying said. He was not a tall man but he had a solid body despite having the soft face of a court official. Out of all the men present, he was the least tense, hands tucked into his sleeves and a half smile on his face. After all, "Taekwoon has never failed us."

Taekwoon unwittingly flushed.

"Father, let me—"

"Wait." The Emperor held up a hand to stall Taekwoon. "We cannot act hastily."

"But Father!" Zhiheng had stepped forward—he stopped at Hakyeon's small sound.

"We should listen to what his Majesty the Emperor has to say before we act further, Second Brother," Hakyeon said, and at this, Taekwoon couldn't stop himself from turning around to stare at Hakyeon. Hakyeon wasn't looking at him. He was meeting Zhiheng's angry eyes with a calmness Hakyeon himself didn't feel—that Taekwoon could barely perceive. Apprehension crept into Taekwoon's chest. But Hakyeon wasn't done.

"I do not doubt the messenger and would never doubt his message; but it is not the way of the Empire of Jiang to kill needlessly. It is easy to kill, but it is not always wise."

"His Grace is correct, your Highness, your Majesty." General Ouyang was a usually taciturn man, deep voice a contrast to Hakyeon's gentler tone, and when he spoke, people listened, even when those people were the most powerful people in the kingdom. "Soldiers are men, but they will follow where their generals lead. To kill men that want to stand with the kingdom…"

"But they are traitors!" General Lin objected. "They've turned their backs on the kingdom."

The Emperor glanced to the Prime Minister beside him.

"If we do not give them a chance to prove themselves, we are no better than tyrants," the Prime Minister said, and the Emperor nodded in approval.

This was a good court.

"You all speak wisely," he said. "I understand your eagerness and willingness. We will first send a messenger in peace. Yangnan is not far, and it will not take long."

"Your Majesty speaks wisely." The Prime Minister bowed to the Emperor in acknowledgement. "Yangnan is not far and thus far they have not sent their own troops to attack the capital. The disgraced Earl traitorously wishes to become king, but he knows it is folly to take on Jiang herself. Yes, now that we are discussing this, I think it is not as urgent as it first seemed. Your Majesty, it is your servant's suggestion that we act immediately not with spears, but with goodwill. While it may fail, this court is a reasonable one, and the empire of Jiang will have seen us to act reasonably."

"Grand Commandant?"

The Commandant bowed to the Emperor. "I know war, not the court, but your Majesty and Prime Minister make reasonable points, and I can accept this. I only ask that we begin to prepare, despite sending an emissary."

"I agree," Taekwoon found himself saying. Somewhere in Taekwoon's mind came the thought that Hakyeon had known this would happen; the other part found himself persuaded. Agreeing. Wishing he'd thought of it himself.

"As do I," Hakyeon added. He stepped forward; now he stood shoulder to shoulder with Taekwoon. "It would be best if this were to end bloodlessly, but that isn't reality."

"If it will fail, then why wait with the army?" Zhiying said. His brows furrowed in impatience.

To Taekwoon's surprise, it was Zhiheng who answered, tone curt. "Have you not been listening, Eldest Brother? This kingdom is more than a country of bloodthirsty barbarians. Is that not right, Father?"

Taekwoon swallowed; his hand curled into a fist that he forced himself to relax. Of course. Of course Zhiheng would immediately turn face and gain the Emperor's approval. Zhiying was barely chastised. Father would not be approving of him.

These thoughts came to him through a haze, slow and piecewise.

"It cannot be done overtly," Hakyeon warned. "If the Earl of Yangnan finds it a ruse it will only fuel the fire."

Hakyeon glanced at Taekwoon, a look as brief as those traded when they fought back to back.

"Grand Commandant, Generals, if the Prince of Jing or Duke of Yin can be of any assistance, please let us know immediately," Taekwoon said. He acknowledged them each in turn, and then again faced his father. "Your Majesty, your son requests permission to withdraw to make his own preparations. Eldest Brother and Second Brother are more suited to assist with arranging the emissary."

"Very well," the Emperor said. "I feel assured leaving it to your capable hands. This is how it will be done."

Taekwoon bowed and Hakyeon bowed, retreating several steps before they turned to leave the grand hall. The world swayed for a brief moment as Taekwoon straightened, and there was the barest stutter in his steps, unnoticed except by a practised eye that had been watching for such a thing, and another that had watched every moment of Taekwoon's growth into the military commander he'd become. From one, it was noted with guilty relief. From the other, an inkling of concern revived from years past, an echo from a time the General had almost decided Taekwoon, with his health, would never be reliable enough.

Unfounded fears.

The sun was still high when they emerged—barely an hour had passed, if that.

The light was piercing, blinding, almost painful as Taekwoon squinted into it. A faint cough ached to push through his chest. Taekwoon swallowed it down.

"I think it will be good if General Lin accompanies us," Hakyeon said, still speaking quietly. They walked down the hall, the shadows from the roof easing the afternoon sun. "And if he desires, I see no harm in allowing Tao'er to ride with us as well."

"You expected this," Taekwoon said. The accusation slipped out without Taekwoon properly registering it himself; it wasn't until Hakyeon lifted an eyebrow at his words did Taekwoon frown. "Why?"

"Why?" Hakyeon echoed, eyebrow still quirked. "What benefit does it give us to ride in screaming to kill, razing our own countrymen down where they stand?"

"No. That's not it," Taekwoon said.

"Hm." Hakyeon would've tucked his hands into his sleeves had he not been wearing riding gear. Immediacy over, Taekwoon noted the strangeness of that as well. Hakyeon rarely wore anything but court robes unless they were out of the city.

"You thought we would leave tonight," Taekwoon commented softly. Hakyeon's lack of reaction was all Taekwoon needed to know that he was right.

The contradiction of the expectations nagged at him, but the more he tried to sort it out, the more tangled and incomprehensible it became. All his thoughts became.

"Taekwoon, are you okay?" Hakyeon's voice echoed in his skull and Taekwoon had to blink the world back into existence. They were already at the entrance and Old Black nickered softly and blew air into Taekwoon's face. It drew a small smile. Taekwoon patted Old Black on the neck.

"We should go," Taekwoon said.

"Do you mean the barracks?" Hakyeon asked. He swung into his saddle, but his face was troubled.

"I can go," Taekwoon said. It took him a moment longer than usual to mount Old Black.

"Perhaps we should return home first," Hakyeon said. His expression was painted with concern, his words soft enough that Taekwoon had to strain to hear, especially when Ray whinnied.

"No." Taekwoon kicked Old Black forward into a quick trot.

Hakyeon sighed as he nudged Ray to follow, the bay mare easily going. "I'll go with you," he said. There was a pause of several hoof-beats before he spoke again. "Jiejie will be here for Mother."

Hakyeon wasn't speaking of the barracks. Taekwoon knew this.

"We should visit Mother tonight," Hakyeon said. He rode up until Ray and Old Black were flank to flank. Taekwoon grunted in agreement. Taekwoon's heart twinged—he thought he'd have more time with her before he had to leave again. But this wouldn't take long. And Hakyeon was right. Song Qian was here.

"Or tomorrow morning," Hakyeon said. "It will be a long day."

"Time to prepare is good," Taekwoon said.

"Yes. It is fortunate the Emperor proposed what he did," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon frowned. "It wasn't Father. It was you."

"No, it was the Emperor. I merely put it into words. As did General Ouyang. As did the Prime Minister."

Taekwoon thought back. Traced the words. Remembered his father interrupting him, stopping him. Couldn't remember what he said. But Hakyeon was right. His father wouldn't have cut him off if he hadn't had reason to.

"You all knew?"

"A possibility," Hakyeon said. He glanced at Taekwoon. "It was always a possibility."

Reproach. Undoubtedly reproach. Hakyeon meant—he meant? Taekwoon frowned. He meant that Taekwoon should've considered the possibility too.

Always a possibility.

It was.

But Taekwoon hadn't seen it—he hadn't thought. Because. Because? The truth. He'd meant to find the truth. Trouble at Yangnan. Truth behind truths. Only one truth. A traitor. Treason.

They needed to ride out east. They—

"Taekwoon!"

Hakyeon's voice caught him. He'd slipped in the saddle. Hakyeon circled around. Old Black had pulled to a stop.

"We need to go home," Hakyeon said, but he didn't seem to be speaking to Taekwoon. Hakyeon looked... the word wouldn't come.

"The barracks," Taekwoon said—the sounds weren't quite right. Hakyeon pulled at Old Black's reins. Taekwoon tugged them back—Hakyeon's grip was firm.

Darkness. An unnatural darkness.

Tight.

Confined. Constricted. Caught.

Heavy.

Words, drifting. Thoughts. Words.

Not his words.

"I'll try." His sister? "I don't know."

"...not right." Hakyeon. Quiet. Far.

"I... quick... keep watch." Snatches of words. Exhaustion.

"Please, I'm leaving him to you." Hakyeon. Something there. Sorrow? Fear.

No. Hakyeon was fearless.

Dark. And then not dark. A door. Taekwoon blinked, and then blinked again, but his eyes wouldn't open.

"Hakyeon?" It came out as a raspy whisper.

"Just me," Song Qian said. That hadn't been what Taekwoon meant. Song Qian sat down next to him. They were in his room. Taekwoon didn't know how they were there. He was on his bed. The blankets were heavy. Trapped. He sat up—but he couldn't.

Song Qian lifted the blanket, just enough so Taekwoon's arm rested on top of it. His sister's fingers were cool against his wrist, both of them smooth yet calloused. His hand was on her lap, not a fine cushion covered with a handkerchief, and an odd sense of familiarity. Doctors—their fingers were always smooth.

He never knew what they were feeling for.

"Hakyeon?" he tried again.

"Shh. Stay still."

It was easy to stay still. Easier than moving. Hard to move. His eyes had closed. He didn't remember that. Darkness behind darkness.

Truth behind the truth.

A minute. Two minutes. Time.

His hand was trembling. No. Not him. Song Qian.

"Jiejie?"

"You'll be okay," she immediately said. "Hakyeonnie will be okay too. You'll both be okay."

Dark, but not dark. He opened his eyes again. Song Qian was a shadow looking down at him. Shadows, everywhere. Light outside. Beyond shuttered windows. Light, faint, through the paper screen of the door. The outside windows open. The inside door closed.

Important?

Everything was important. Hakyeon. Little things. He saw them. Knew them. Thought of them.

Why didn't he think of them? He was the one who was—

The prince.

Truth behind the truth.

Something. Had to be something.

He was... sick? He couldn't. He hadn't.

Yangnan.

His sister was murmuring something, her voice was calming. Soothing. She made him sit up, hand behind his head, just enough so he had to drink something. Tea. Medicine. It was bitter.

Sleep. She said. He thought. He couldn't. He couldn't.

He didn't want to. He had to...

...had to.

Hakyeon stood outside the door for several long moments, the afternoon sun drawing low as it slipped towards evening. Evening.

He thought he could hear Song Qian inside, but her voice was so soft that he might've been imagining it altogether. A part of him yearned to go back in, to wrench open the door and kneel at his feet and beg for forgiveness, but he couldn't face Taekwoon just yet, even if it was a Taekwoon barely conscious, if conscious at all. It'd all been too fast.

He'd never forget Song Qian's face as she met them at the gates, when Taekwoon fell out of the saddle more than dismounted. She hadn't expected it would happen so quickly. He hadn't either. It was a miracle that they'd gotten home with Taekwoon in the saddle at all.

They would need a miracle in the next few days. If nothing else, he'd bought them a few days.

Hakyeon pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and forced himself to stand straight, eyes forward. Forced a confidence he didn't—couldn't—feel.

He went to the barracks alone. Met with the commanders. Spoke to General Lin. Suggested that he prepare Prince of You Zheng Zhitao to join them and give him men to command. If he so wished. It would not be seen a failing on his part for him to abstain—advise the prince discreetly.

This was not the army Hakyeon was most familiar with, the commanders that Hakyeon knew the best. But these were the men of General Lin—and so they were well trained. Hakyeon liked leading well trained men. Less of them died. Hakyeon couldn't imagine what it was like to go into battle knowing that you were probably going to die. If not this, then the next.

He went through the preparations as if going through motions. This would be more of a rout than a real battle. A weak military presence, weak command, no combat—the soldiers commanded to rebel were only there to die. It was their misfortune to have been born or assigned where they were. That they were caught in a battle far beyond the one they were being forced to fight. He hoped their next life would bring them better circumstances.

It was late night by the time he was done. He'd spoken at length with General Lin—and had to explain the lack of Taekwoon's presence, stressing the need for secrecy. It wouldn't do for it to be passed about like common gossip; the men need not know until the army was ready to ride. There was a bit of an illness in the city, their Twelfth Princess had suffered it for a bout and the Prince of Bing was reportedly feeling poorly as well. It was unfortunate timing, but Hakyeon was more than aware of General Lin's excellence and his own personal skills.

Even the strongest men were weak to praise.

It was late night, but Hakyeon wasn't tired. He stood near the gates of the inner palace, but knew he'd never be allowed in, not at this hour. He was in the shadows, unnoticed by the guards keeping vigilant watch. He turned away. Walked along the wall. Had scaled it, and then another, before he could dissuade himself for doing something very, very foolish.

It was late night, but a light was burning, so Hakyeon knocked.

"Mother?" he called.

This was where Taekwoon got his silence, where Song Qian got her grace. Their Lady Mother opening the door and sweeping Hakyeon inside, the door locked behind them both.

Hakyeon wrapped his arms around her waist, and not for the first time, wondered when she'd become so small.

"Child," Meiying whispered. Hakyeon hugged her tighter, his eyes squeezed shut. The same perfume he remembered from his childhood, but the arms she held him with no longer so strong, so indestructibly safe.

She held him, this young man who towered over her, her son who'd grown strong and brave and tall. Their shadows were cast against the door, and Meiying thought that she should bring him in, sit him down, because the silhouettes told a false story some fools would want to believe. He was her son but he was still a man, and right now there was no place here for a man who was no longer a boy.

She couldn't bring herself to do it.

She held him until his unsteady breaths steadied, until his uneven heartbeat evened. She held him until Hakyeon was the one who straightened, who lifted his face from her shoulder, who stepped back and looked at her and she brushed aside a few loose strands of hair.

"My child," she said again. "It will be alright."

No; the childish word was on his tongue, and the magnitude of what he'd just done crashed into him with enough force that he nearly admitted the truth of that one word. Instead, he said: "Taekwoon is sick," when what he'd meant was "I think I made a mistake," and both came tumbling out one after the other so quickly it was hard to tell if it was one thought or two.

Meiying said nothing, but gestured for Hakyeon to sit in response. She'd been sorting through dried herbs and flowers, roots and leaves and other things Hakyeon couldn't identify. The smell filled the room.

"Your sister can do more with this than I can. Tomorrow when she comes, she can take what is useful," she said. "All your mother can do is make you a simple tea."

Hakyeon smiled to himself, a sad smile that Meiying didn't see—his mother knew no less than Song Qian, had lived a life and a half before she'd come to the palace, had once been as hot-headed and headstrong as Taekwoon, if not more. She'd never spoken of it, but her relatives in the Fei clan would reminisce to Hakyeon and Taekwoon what a loss it was for Meiying to be trapped behind city walls.

"Even that is enough," Hakyeon said, barely loud enough to be heard. But there wasn't a mother who couldn't hear her child's quietest cries for help.

"I always wished I could do more," Meiying said. She sat down next to Hakyeon and held his hand, hers pale and smooth over his dark and scarred. His scars came from carelessness.

Hakyeon bent his head and looked down at the table, at their hands. Her fingers were slender like Taekwoon's.

In the palace, rank was everything. Without rank, one could do nothing.

Air turned into water in Hakyeon's lungs, drowning pressure choking against his throat. Mother, I made a mistake. The words echoed in his thoughts, begged to be released. But Taekwoon was right. He was a coward.

"Why did you come, Mother?" Hakyeon asked. "Why did you not stay away, like jiejie stays away?"

There was silence because there'd always been silence. A question that a young girl could've answered without hesitation, a question that a young woman asked herself, a question that a mother had found an answer for, and knew it was right.

"If I hadn't, then there wouldn't be you," she said. "Your sister. Taekwoon."

"There would've been me," Hakyeon said.

"I would not have had you as my son," she said.

Hakyeon bowed his head, although he'd never lifted it. I do not deserve you as my mother.

'You said that Taekwoon is sick," she said. "It has been a long time since he was last sick."

"Older sister is with him," he said, and wondered if she could hear the tremble in his voice.

"She is more dependable than any court doctor," she said.

"I know," Hakyeon said. He wondered if she could feel the tremble in his bones, but maybe that was only his imagination.

"Sit a moment," she said, a reassuring press against Hakyeon's hand, and then the touch was gone. She’d stood and disappeared into the back rooms. The water was still being heated on the brazier, but she'd told him to sit, so Hakyeon sat and watched as the water slowly came to a boil.

He could hear little and a part of him marvelled at that silence, a silence he'd never achieve. The water was boiling when she emerged and she first paused to fill the teapot and carry the tray with her to the table. Hakyeon hastily stood to help her but was waved back down.

"Let me take care of you for once," she said.

"Thank you, Mother," Hakyeon said. He took the cup he was offered, small and fine. How many times had he poured tea for her, into these same cups. A briefest worry—the knowledge of what Song Qian had done; the briefest hesitation to drink. An unworthy thought and he felt disgusted with himself for allowing it. Disgusted, knowing what he'd asked his sister to do.

"You're putting yourself in danger again," Meiying said; a question, but a question with an answer clear as dawn. Hakyeon hesitated, began to nod, but stopped, eyes frozen on his lap.

"No more than usual," he said. Lied. He hated it, lying. He hated lying to his mother the most.

"I will not dissuade you," Meiying said. "Because I know you do not act blindly."

A wry smile. "Thank you for your trust," he said, and meant it wholeheartedly, because he knew his mother’s words were the highest praise.

"Did you come for something?" she asked, and Hakyeon shook his head.

"I just wanted to see you," Hakyeon said. "I wanted to see you…"

Just one more time. He bit the inside of his lip, swallowed.

Meiying sighed, a soft exhale. "No matter what silly thing you children will do, your mother will stand behind you," she said. "I cannot stand beside you when you fight, or even watch over you when you are sick or injured. But your mom will do what she can, and rest better knowing that you and Taekwoon have each other, and that my little Qianqian has grown up so well even if life has not been easy."

A guilty twinge seized at Hakyeon's chest. Yes, he and Taekwoon had each other, and Hakyeon would work to that until his last breath.

"Here." His mother took Hakyeon's hand, and when she drew back, a jade amulet was in his palm. It was warm, warmth from Meiying. It was about half the size of his hand, almost white, and Hakyeon didn't remember it being so small. A single character lan was carved in the centre with fine strokes, magnolia on the edges.

"You left this behind, but I think it's time it returns to you," she said.

Hakyeon swallowed, throat thick. Meiying curled his fingers around it until it disappeared from view. Hakyeon's fist clenched, the stone digging bluntly into his skin.

"You kept it," he managed to say.

"Of course I did," she said. "Don't cry, child."

She brushed away a tear from under Hakyeon's eye, and then another, and then another, and still Hakyeon didn't want to admit he was crying. Even when the tears were pouring down his face, when Meiying was holding him, when Hakyeon was clutching at her in a way he hadn't done in a very long time, like he would be forever lost if he were to ever let go, when it was his tears that were soaking through her clothes—even then, he didn't want to admit he was crying. A lifetime passed, and a life that'd been long eclipsed slipped through the cracks of memory.

"Mom," he choked out. "You're my mom."

"Son, don't cry, don't cry," Meiying murmured, her hand stroking down Hakyeon's back. "You are my son, my child. Nothing will take that from me. But do not forget the things that are important to you—that's not how your mother taught you to live life, is it? Face the truth, boldly and bravely, and remind Taekwoon to do the same—and trust that Taekwoon will do that too."

And then, words hushed and voice quiet: "your life is your own to live, my Hakyeon. No one but yours."

Later, she would watch her adopted son disappear over the wall and into the darkness, and wonder if those were words spoken too late. He carried with him a memento he'd purposely forgotten all those years ago, and left behind two admissions that sent coldness aching through her bones.

He knew. The moment he heard, he knew.

Jaehwan swore, frustration welling up like a boil. Things clattered off the table to the ground—paper, brushes, cups shattering against the stone, all swept aside with one, violent motion of his arm, and it took every part of him to keep from throwing the table itself across the room.

There were people outside. He'd sent them out. They wouldn't have gone far. They would've heard the crash. Jaehwan's jaw clenched, nails dug into his palm, chest heaving with the exertion of staying calm.

Yes. Of course Taekwoon would be sick. Of course he'd be sick after months and months of health, and of course it would be the day news of a rebellion arrived, a rebellion that Taekwoon would've ridden forward to quell like a furious horse dragging at his reins—and one that everyone would've expected him to attend to.

But instead, Taekwoon was sick.

And Hakyeon? He'd do just fine as Taekwoon's replacement.

Jaehwan swallowed thickly and stared down at the jagged green fragments nestled among the brushes. Hakyeon, what have you done?

This was the thing: the timing wasn't right. Jaehwan knew absolutely fucking nothing about battle, but even he knew it was monumentally stupid to waste your one chance when your enemy was concentrated barely over a day away. How fucking stupid would you have to be to launch a rebellion now? Maybe they didn't want to wait until winter, Jaehwan reasoned with himself. Maybe they didn't want to wait until after winter, either. Maybe they didn't view Taekwoon as a threat.

The last made him scoff aloud, the sound hidden by the rough steps of the carriage horse's hooves, the sounds of the city outside the carriage. Jaehwan knew Taekwoon, knew him the best of all their siblings except for maybe Zhihan. He was still struck by awe when he heard the stories people told of Taekwoon. The number of people he'd killed. The number of cities he'd captured. The countries he'd folded into their borders with no more death than necessary. Jaehwan had always suspected the last was Hakyeon with his clever tongue, but it was Taekwoon's deeds that gave Hakyeon's words power.

Would the Duke of Yangnan dismiss Taekwoon so easily? Or—and here, his heart dropped—could he be wrong, and they'd targeted Taekwoon long before and meant to send away his shadow and protector, that it was Hakyeon they were drawing away—but that thought was just as quickly dismissed, tossed aside like the things he'd thrown off the table, flung across the room. By the time he returned, it would all be righted and cleaned. Jaehwan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning back in the carriage. He took momentary comfort in the artificial darkness.

They arrived sooner than he would've liked with thoughts yet to be sorted, yet too much time had passed, leaving his emotions tangled and choking in his throat.

He was overreacting, Jaehwan decided. It was nothing. Taekwoon just happened to be sick. It was a coincidence.

But that thought dissipated like an afternoon fog the moment Hakyeon opened the great door, and the hesitant greeting told Jaehwan all he needed to know.

"Jaehwan—"

"What have you done?" Jaehwan grabbed Hakyeon's arm. His fingers tightened, hold iron, when Hakyeon jerked away. "What have you done?"

Hakyeon's lips parted in surprise, his eyes widened, and then came a flash of defiance, of anger—and then all too soon it was gone, nothing left but defeated weariness. The door shut behind them, leaving Jaehwan's men on the other side of the wall.

"What do you mean?" Hakyeon asked. His voice was light, his tone confused. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

"Don't play, Hakyeon. You know what I mean. You know exactly what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't, Jaehwan."

"What did you do to my brother?" It wasn't what Jaehwan meant. It wasn't what he wanted to know.

But it worked—it was Hakyeon. Of course it worked. Any semblance of composure cracked, leaving Jaehwan's adopted brother more broken and vulnerable than Jaehwan had ever seen. A brief, jagged shard of guilt cut through Jaehwan, shattering him into two.

"How do you know?" Hakyeon asked. It was soft, so soft, and for a moment it seemed Hakyeon would sink to the ground where he stood. He turned away instead and Jaehwan let him. Hakyeon stood with his back to Jaehwan, and then he took a step, and then another, and Jaehwan followed.

"I told him," Song Qian said, and Jaehwan hadn't noticed she'd been there, but when had he ever?

"It was you?" Jaehwan asked.

"It's good to know my messenger arrived safely," Song Qian said after a beat, and it was enough of a beat for Jaehwan to ask again:

"It was you."

It was less of a question than he would've liked.

"Our clever Hwannie," Song Qian said. She touched Jaehwan's arm as she walked by him, and then rested her hand on Hakyeon's shoulder.

"This is why you needed to go to Zhiheng's," Jaehwan said, and he knew he was right even before he'd opened his mouth. "This is why you needed to speak to Hongbin."

"I did say you could stay," Hakyeon said quietly. "It never needed to be a secret from you."

"Then why didn't you come to me? Ask me? Why'd you choose to do whatever fucking stupid thing you did without a word? I thought you trusted me?"

"Let's go inside," Song Qian said.

"I do trust you," Hakyeon said. "I told you that. But now that it's come to this, ignorance may be for the best."

"Because you know best," Jaehwan spat out. "You always know best."

"What else could I do!?" Hakyeon whirled around, throwing off Song Qian's hand. "There's no time! Do you think I want to do this? Do you think I want to drag jiejie into this? You didn't need to—"

"Taekwoon's my brother too! Did you ever think about that?" Jaehwan's chest was heaving. He'd taken a step forward, stared into the inferno that was Hakyeon's eyes, and his fist was clenched so tight he'd been moments from striking Hakyeon.

"Did you think I'd forget?"

And with those few words, Hakyeon once again sank into himself. Pulled a cloak of guilt about his shoulders, and Jaehwan hated it. Hated it.

"Take me to Taekwoon," Jaehwan said. "You'll at least allow that?"

"Don't be so unfair to Hakyeon, Jaehwan," Song Qian said. She nodded at Jaehwan and gestured for him to follow her. He did so, silently, and was aware of Hakyeon's long seconds of hesitation before he followed.

Jaehwan wanted to retort, but he couldn't find the anger in himself to do it.

Song Qian led them to Taekwoon's room—somewhere that Jaehwan, despite his long years of knowing Taekwoon, had never been. But Hakyeon entered as if it was his room too—it was. This was his house. It would've been stranger if Hakyeon had been stranger to it.

"How is he?" Hakyeon asked. He rushed past Jaehwan to sit by Taekwoon's bed, the curtains drawn aside. It looked exactly like Jaehwan would expect Taekwoon's room to look like—like it'd been furnished by Hakyeon, but for the large bow placed gently against a wall, the sword resting beneath it. It was royal. Undoubtedly so. Delicate furniture of deep rosewood, a shelf with scrolls Jaehwan wondered if Taekwoon had ever read, a shimmering phoenix carved against the back of a chair, so muted it was easier to miss it than notice it for what it was, but was mesmerising and impossible to look away from once you had. It had no flashy gold decor, no gilded ceilings.

What it had was Taekwoon lying on his bed, pale and still, when he'd been impossibly healthy just days ago.

"You'd know best how he is," Jaehwan said sharply. He immediately regretted it—he didn't meet Hakyeon's eyes as he walked forward.

"Doing well," Song Qian murmured as she stepped around Jaehwan and then pushed Hakyeon aside, so she could feel for Taekwoon's wrist.

Taekwoon didn't look like he was doing well. He looked like he was teetering on the line of their world and their ancestors', his breathing shallow, a thin sheen of sweat evident on his neck. He looked like he was in feverish pain, yet he also looked like he'd been drained of life and colour.

"What have you done?" Jaehwan asked hoarsely. "This is—"

"He's been worse," Hakyeon said, words weary. "Two years ago at the garrison, he was burning with fever and still he mounted his horse. I had never been more afraid for his life, but not another soul knew."

"You're afraid, now."

"Yes," Hakyeon said simply.

"Of what? What is it you're so afraid of that you'd do this to our brother?"

"You are no fool, Jaehwan," Hakyeon said. Song Qian had released Taekwoon's wrist, and Hakyeon immediately reached for his hand.

"'Doing well,'" Jaehwan echoed. He stared down at Taekwoon's pinched expression, consciousness bound away. "You mean that he's doing well enough he won't wake for some time."

"Yes," Hakyeon said.

"Fuck," Jaehwan breathed. He dragged a hand across his face, desperately trying to settle his thoughts, distorted and twisted with emotions, and worst of all was the thin silk thread of jealous guilt and then another of memory, knotted and pulled around it all.

"Won't it be clear—this is no illness, this is—"

"Poison?" Hakyeon suggested. "You are right, but for this having happened before. You were... much younger."

"Bullshit. I'm only two years younger than you," Jaehwan said. "Don't you think I'd remember?"

"The doctor thought it was poison at first although Mother insisted it wasn't," Song Qian supplied. She looked down at her younger brother, and brushed damp strands of hair away from his face. "Or he'd eaten something wrong. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't divine the poison—because there hadn't been any. He recovered after some time, no more worse for the wear than any other time he'd fallen ill."

"But this time..."

"It is what it is," Song Qian said. She filled in the silence left by Jaehwan's unwillingness to put truth to sound.

"Gege looks very ill," Jaehwan said; a chill touch ran down his chest. "He looks like—"

"We have to trust Song Qian jie." Hakyeon cut Jaehwan off, soft yet firm, although his hand tightened over Taekwoon's and it told more of Hakyeon's fear than anything else ever could. "And... who would ever expect Taekwoon's dearest older sister to do such a thing? If people believe it to be poison, they will look elsewhere. But I think they will accept it as it is—finally, his childhood habit of illness proves to be not wholly negative."

"And you?" Jaehwan asked. "What is your part in all of this?"

Hakyeon fell silent for long moments, his answer lost in a reluctance to look away from Taekwoon. Phantom answers hovered at the edges of Jaehwan's thoughts and he was equally unwilling to believe any one of them.

"My part," Hakyeon echoed softly. "I suppose it's what it's always been."

"You're a fucking idiot," Jaehwan said, but there was no vehemence left to force into those words.

"I suppose I am," Hakyeon said.

Jaehwan looked about him, about this unfamiliar room. He sat heavily in the chair, clasping the arms. What dangers lay beyond these walls that Hakyeon would go so far—that Song Qian would help him? His sister's eyes were steady when they met his, so strong and sure that Jaehwan felt ashamed for his own fear.

"Taekwoon will be livid," Jaehwan said.

"I imagine he will be," Hakyeon agreed.

"Hakyeon?"

"Yes?"

"What is Second Brother's part in all of this?"

Silence was merely the absence of noise. Filling the spaces. Carving them out.

Choking.

Hakyeon looked at Song Qian, and Song Qian looked at Taekwoon, and Jaehwan looked between all three, and never before had he felt so displaced, disjointed, distanced.

"I wish it were nothing," Hakyeon said, words barely above a whisper—could Taekwoon hear this? or was he too immersed in his false illness?

"But it was his concubine you met with, not Second Brother," Jaehwan said. "It need not be Second Brother at all."

"Sometimes you are so like Taekwoon," Hakyeon said.

"It isn't a bad thing." Song Qian's words slipped into the space after Hakyeon's, like an accompaniment, a reply of reproach.

"I do not think it is wholly Zhiheng," Hakyeon said. "But I also do not doubt his concubine's words. He was... afraid."

"Afraid? It could have been false—"

"Afraid to tell the truth."

"Or afraid because he was lying to you on Zhiheng's word," Jaehwan said. Hakyeon's stricken expression at Jaehwan's words mirrored his own—if that were the truth, it would be even worse than what Hakyeon was postulating.

"He did not implicate Zhiheng," Hakyeon said softly.

"But for Zhiheng’s concubine to know, he must be involved," Song Qian added.

Jaehwan dropped his head into his hands, and then lifted it just enough to see Taekwoon lying there with shallow breaths—and even knowing what he did, he couldn't help but fear for Taekwoon's life. It was a beyond convincing charade to bind Taekwoon from leaving his own home, and any who doubted it could see for themselves. And Song Qian would be there.

If this was meant to draw Hakyeon away from Taekwoon, they would still have to face Song Qian—not an easier task.

"Someone acting on Zhiheng's wishes. Or in Zhiheng's interest, at the least. Your next question is to ask: 'who?' isn't it. I will tell you honestly that I do not know—although, I suspect, Hongbin does."

Hakyeon glanced at Jaehwan, and then looked back down to Taekwoon, more dearly than a mother to a child, than a lover to their beloved.

"I don't like this," Jaehwan said. He wished he said it louder, wished he could've found the strength to speak louder. But maybe it was so he wouldn't disturb Taekwoon from his restless sleep. If it could be called sleep. "There has to be another way."

"I know," Hakyeon said, words drenched in misery. It made it hard for Jaehwan to yell at him, to demand answers of why Hakyeon wasn't finding another way—why he couldn't find another way.

"Gege... He'll be okay." Jaehwan said those words with more conviction than he felt, and when he stood, it was with his back straight and shoulders back. It was a far contrast from Hakyeon, small and hunched over Taekwoon, sitting next to him on the bed.

"Are you going back?" Song Qian asked.

Jaehwan hesitated, unwilling to look away from Taekwoon.

"Stay a while," Hakyeon said. He finally let go of Taekwoon's hand, although his fingers lingered a moment longer before he stood. There was a sort of smile on his face, barely there. Jaehwan found it painful to look at.

"I'll send for tea," Song Qian said, and left before Jaehwan could answer her first question. He supposed it'd been decided for him.

"Come, let's go outside," Hakyeon said.

Hakyeon sensed Jaehwan's hesitation, protracted silence stretching on behind him while Hakyeon stood at the door to Taekwoon's room. Jaehwan would be staring at Taekwoon, still frowning, words stuck in his throat that even Jaehwan couldn't bring himself to blurt out.

Hakyeon waited in the doorway, one second and then another, the space of ten heartbeats extending into the illusion of ten times that many. He waited for another ten heartbeats before he finally took one step and then another, a breath held within his chest only loosening when he heard Jaehwan stir. He didn't turn, didn't look behind him, only waited as Jaehwan's footsteps approached, slow and reticent, stopping a step behind and beside Hakyeon.

Hakyeon turned to draw the doors closed. "We should let him rest," he said.

"Taekwoon will be furious," Jaehwan said.

"I'm aware," Hakyeon said. He lead Jaehwan back out into the sunlight, and in that moment they both recalled an afternoon not so long ago, where Jaehwan had followed Hakyeon down the same halls.

It was much quieter, this time.

Song Qian met them at the table where Hakyeon had waited for Jaehwan and Sanghyuk to arrive, that afternoon not so long ago. She'd set the tea down but stood by the table as if she were a serving girl.

"Jiejie?"

"I think I'll go back, baby brother," Song Qian said—and for a moment, Hakyeon's stomach plummeted caught only by the startled reminder that Song Qian only meant she was returning to Taekwoon's side, not back home, far, far, far away from this damned city.

Hakyeon nodded, no words left to apologise for what he was making her do; beside him, Jaehwan bit back an acrid remark.

She walked away with calm steps, calmer than Hakyeon's heart beating in his chest. Jaehwan turned to watch her and Hakyeon took the moment to pour them both tea.

"Drink," Hakyeon said. And then with a wry smile for himself, he added: "it's alright, I doubt jiejie did anything to this tea."

"Is that what it was?" Jaehwan asked. His voice was strangely hoarse, his expression haggard.

"It is what I assume," Hakyeon said.

"She doesn't want Taekwoon to leave either. She knows what it is."

"She knows as much as I know, and it is enough to make both of us afraid."

"Second Brother," Jaehwan said, but his words trailed off. He held the teacup between two fingers, raised to eye level, and stared at the rim.

Hakyeon looked at his own but found nothing special.

"I hope I am wrong," Hakyeon said softly. "I hope that it is nothing, that Zhiheng's concubine was wrong. But even if it is wrong I can't take the chance. Not now."

"You have faith in our sister," Jaehwan said.

"Who else can I have faith in?"

"Me," Jaehwan said without a single beat of hesitation. "Wrong or right."

"You speak so surely," Hakyeon said. His eyes shifted from his cup to Jaehwan's, from Jaehwan's fingers to his eyes. There was fire there. Clear, burning fire.

"If Han'er can be sure, then I can be sure," Jaehwan said.

"And Zhihan is sure."

"Yes," Jaehwan said, resolute and certain and... sad.

A cloudy day hovered in Jaehwan's thoughts like a deep fog. Zhihan had asked Jaehwan to go with him to call on Zhiheng. Jaehwan had refused. He recalled Zhihan's unsurprised disappointment, asking Zhihan to pass his regards to Sanghyuk's father, and then it was Zhihan's retreating back—'come soon' Zhihan had said.

Come soon.

"If it is not Zhiheng," Jaehwan said slowly, "could it be..."

"Who do you suspect, younger brother?"

"The same man you do, I think," Jaehwan said, and this drew a smile from Hakyeon, bitter and unwilling.

"Politics and ambition can change a man," Hakyeon said, because Jaehwan was right, that they both meant the same man.

"I never liked him," Jaehwan said.

Hakyeon smiled at this too, because Jaehwan had always been fiercely protective of Sanghyuk.

"Perhaps you are right," Hakyeon said. "Yet it gives me no comfort—I fear he would do what Zhiheng would not."

"You fear for Taekwoon's life if he leaves these gates," Jaehwan said.

"I do."

"Was there really no other way?"

"If he is here with Song Qian by his side, my heart is calmer," Hakyeon said. The moment Hakyeon left these gates alone they would learn that Taekwoon had fallen ill, that Taekwoon remained in his residence—that Taekwoon was vulnerable.

For a moment, the fear in that possibility clutched at his chest. But a murder in the city would be too traceable and Hakyeon imagined the alternative, of Taekwoon riding out proud and tall and exposed. Danger blended into soldiers behind them. Archers, hiding and ready. Martial experts waiting in ambush.

There was too much they'd be helpless against.

Better like this, with the safety of roofs and walls around him.

Hakyeon's attention was diverted by a slip of movement; black and brown and white with footsteps so silent Song Qian would've been proud. Puppy walked slowly up to them and leapt into Hakyeon's lap without warning. Hakyeon almost jumped in surprise—Puppy was rarely affectionate with him.

"She's doing well," Jaehwan commented.

"I think she misses Taekwoon," Hakyeon said. She let out a loud sudden cry and rubbed her head against Hakyeon's stomach. Hakyeon smiled despite himself and ran his hand down her back. She'd filled out over the past few weeks, maybe because Taekwoon liked to sit next to her and feed her all manners of things. It was almost surprising she'd never gotten sick.

"Is Song Qian keeping her away?"

"I don't know," Hakyeon said honestly. "But maybe she just misses him awake."

Jaehwan's face darkened and Hakyeon braced himself for another barrage of rightfully harsh words that never came.

"What will you do now?" Jaehwan asked.

"Do what I should do," Hakyeon answered easily. "Charade or not, the rebellion is real, the raising of an army is real, and so the danger is real."

"There is more than one danger," Jaehwan said.

"Yes, you are right," Hakyeon said, "but I can only solve the one that threatens the peace and stability of the empire."

Jaehwan stared at him and there was no trace of the amusement or quirky playfulness that was so common for Jaehwan. Long seconds of silence stretched on and Hakyeon had to resist the urge to look away. With all that stripped away, what was left in Jaehwan's eyes was a haunted exhaustion that Hakyeon recognised too deeply from himself. Jaehwan may never have ridden to battle but he'd seen no less than Hakyeon, living in the gilded battles of both courtly politics and petty courts. They were the outsiders, the observers, younger sons and adopted kin. They were not the actors and the stakes were not their own, but the stakes were just as dear.

Yes, Hakyeon recognised that look, although it'd never been turned on himself.

"I am worried, brother," Jaehwan finally said. His voice was soft, almost hesitant and strained. He held up a hand before Hakyeon could interrupt. "I am worried about you. Worried and frightened, and you cannot blame me for it."

"It is not me—"

"I do not need to worry about Taekwoon ge because I know you would give your life to protect him, but who will protect you?"

"I do not need protecting," Hakyeon said.

"And no doubt Taekwoon would say the same of himself," Jaehwan countered.

"Even so, Taekwoon is who he is, and I am who I am."

"And this is why I am worried, brother," Jaehwan said. "I know you would give your life for his sake—but I'm afraid that you will give your life for his sake."

"And if that is the case, then it will be so."

Hakyeon answered Jaehwan's quiet words without hesitation. After all, Jaehwan was right. Hakyeon had accepted this.

Your life is your own to live. Without warning, his mother's words floated to the surface of his thoughts, conjuring up the image of a moonless light and tears in his own eyes. No one but yours.

Puppy's weight was warm and heavy in his lap and Hakyeon was reminded of it when she stretched her legs and rolled over onto her back, her mouth opening in a toothy yawn. Hakyeon rubbed her stomach and she wiggled until his entire palm covered her soft belly, rumbling with quiet, content purrs.

"I think she also misses you," Jaehwan said, his attention also drawn to the cat.

Hakyeon blinked in surprise. "I'm right here?"

"In a manner of speaking," Jaehwan said. Taekwoon would often say that he never knew what Jaehwan was thinking—at this moment, Hakyeon felt the exact same. It frightened him to a degree. Hakyeon was good at knowing what people were thinking even when those people were strangers.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Hakyeon said. "What's done has been done."

"Nothing, I guess," Jaehwan said. "There's nothing left to say."

"That's rare from you," Hakyeon said.

"There's much about me that would surprise you," Jaehwan said. His words were heavy and even the quirk of a smile couldn't crack the oppressive weight.

"I have no doubt," Hakyeon said.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do," Jaehwan followed it with, and this made Hakyeon's breath catch in his throat, the back of his hands prickle while his heart beat in guilt and regret.

"I think I know you as well as I do," Hakyeon said quietly. "Even if that isn't very much."

"That's rare from you," Jaehwan said, turning Hakyeon's words back on him.

Hakyeon choked out a laugh, a retort swallowed on his tongue.

"Treasure it," Hakyeon said drily. All the arrogance he had was forced into those words and it still didn't feel enough. Jaehwan stared at Hakyeon like he could see right through him, was picking him apart with that tired gaze. Like Jaehwan knew exactly what Hakyeon was thinking, even if Hakyeon's thoughts were a tangled mess to himself.

The sky was brightening, clouds overhead fading into shreds of nothingness. There was a question that'd been nagging at Hakyeon since Jaehwan had walked through these doors.

"Jiejie told you Taekwoon was unwell, but what made you so sure it wasn't mere illness?" Hakyeon asked. "It once wasn't uncommon for Taekwoon to fall ill."

"The timing," Jaehwan answered, and the echo of Hakyeon's own thoughts gave him a moment of pause, and then was cause for a wry twist of his lips.

"The timing? Of what?" Hakyeon prompted.

Jaehwan's brows furrowed as he stared down at the stone table, words buried under silence by concentration.

"The rebelling," Jaehwan finally said. "It's not a good time."

"Not yet winter," Hakyeon pointed out.

"Too soon after mid-autumn."

"If only Taekwoon could've seen it like you do," Hakyeon murmured. "But he is stubborn and I pushed him too hard. He no longer believes me."

"You blame yourself," Jaehwan said. His words were too quiet and settled as an accusation in Hakyeon's chest.

Hakyeon's lips stretched in a mirthless smile and it fell away as he blew out a sigh of weariness. "Taekwoon sees purely and I asked him to do otherwise," Hakyeon said.

"But he has to learn to if you are to succeed," Jaehwan said.

"It is not my place," Hakyeon said quietly. He looked down at his lap. The cat had curled into a ball, her tail caught between her two front paws, her breathing steady as she slept. "It will be with Taekwoon's own strength."

"Hakyeon."

Hakyeon looked up and met Jaehwan's eyes in acknowledgement.

"You're fucking pathetic."

Hakyeon froze as if Jaehwan's toneless words had physically struck him. Even his tongue wouldn't cooperate to give him voice to protest.

"You've given up, that's what you mean. You're planning to fuck off and be a martyr and leave me and jie to clean up your mess. You die, Seventh Brother lives, and then what? You leave us your will to get him to the top? Let's stop skirting around it, ge, you want him to succeed Father whether you live or die. Whether he wants to or not. Admirable, putting the kingdom before anyone, even people you care about. Taekwoon, Song Qian jie, your Lady Mother. Me."

Hakyeon's eyes opened wide while Jaehwan spat out word after word in the basest language Hakyeon had ever heard. Jaehwan's fists were clenched—the tiny teacup had cracked in his hand.

Hakyeon felt small. His breath twisted inside his chest, his heart pounded uselessly. Jaehwan had taken Hakyeon's fears and secrets and so effortlessly dragged them to the surface, clawing and grasping as they were ripped out of Hakyeon. Slashed out like the empty storms that'd plagued them all summer, thunder and lightning striking without warning.

"Does it feel better, having said all that?" Hakyeon asked. He fought for calm and composure, haughty coolness. Fought to keep his voice from cracking, like the cup that Jaehwan finally set aside.

"Someone had to," Jaehwan said. "You like talking about the truth, and this time this is the truth."

Hakyeon swallowed, tightness deep in his stomach. He looked away and to the last lingering threads of white clouds.

"Perhaps it is," Hakyeon allowed. "But it changes nothing."

"Because it is too late." Jaehwan's words were so quiet it was almost a question.

"I think," Hakyeon started haltingly, "I think if I had time there is more that could be done. But I don't think there was ever time. I do not think Hongbin delayed his message."

"Barely more than a week since then," Jaehwan said. A frown slowly overtook his face, that flash of anger replaced with something cooler, some needling thought that left him uncomfortable. "A week or two delay—that is still short of a month."

Hakyeon waited a few seconds until he was sure that Jaehwan had finished and was waiting for Hakyeon's answer. It was something that'd occurred to Hakyeon but he'd never voiced it aloud.

"A month is not enough time for such a thing to be done," Hakyeon said and Jaehwan nodded once in confirmation. "You mean to say that Taekwoon's opponent truly is not his brother, but another man entirely with his own plans and agendas, put into motion independently."

"It could be possible," was Jaehwan's cautiously tempered response.

The sky was almost clear. Hakyeon breathed out deeply, loosening fingers from fists he didn't remember forming, relaxing his jaw, tightness slipping from his shoulders.

"I have at least bought us another day," Hakyeon said.

"Aren't you needed to prepare?" Jaehwan asked.

"I attended to it this morning. I trust General Lin to handle the rest."

"Is it true that Tao'er will be going as well?"

"As long as he wishes," Hakyeon said. "And he has expressed his wish is to accompany us."

"Does he know about Taekwoon?" Jaehwan asked

"I don't think so. I... believe he is so far ignorant of it all. Tao'er is like Sanghyuk, often sent away."

"I knew it was jiejie who’d made him sick, once I knew it was she who told me," Jaehwan said. He spoke into nothingness but there was only Hakyeon those words could've been meant for.

It was as if Jaehwan was having a different conversation altogether. One that Hakyeon didn't know the other side of, yet it felt like he was the other side of. Hakyeon was so used to being in control—but confronted with Jaehwan and his words created from nothing, Hakyeon was the one who felt utterly lost.

"And before?" Hakyeon asked.

"I only knew it must've been you."

Hakyeon laughed drily. "As long as it was only you who had that thought," he said.

"No one would think you could do such a thing. No one knows you as well as I do," Jaehwan said. He paused, frowned. "Except Taekwoon."

Taekwoon.

"And how well do you know Taekwoon?" Hakyeon asked. A faint sense of dread was building inside him, Jaehwan's words stirring up the true roots of this conversation that Hakyeon had been so desperately pushing aside, so he could do what needed to be done.

"Not as well as you do," was Jaehwan's answer.

"As it should be," Hakyeon said with a hint of amusement. On his lap, Puppy was still and warm, a minute grounding presence.

"I do not need to, in order to do what must be done," Jaehwan added, and unlike Hakyeon's words, there was no trace of mirth in them.

Hakyeon struggled for words but his throat was too tight and his mind was too restless, and all he could do was look away from Jaehwan's steadfast eyes, and into a clearing sky.

Wonsik had been treating him coldly and Hongbin wished he could say he didn't know why. The seeds of suspicion had been planted and it'd be a long time before they wilted, even if nothing passed to make them grow. It'd left Hongbin lonelier than he'd expected—one of the few constants in his life gone, his only window to the outside world closed.

That last was what Hongbin tried to tell himself hurt the most.

After all, it wasn't like he'd seen Zhiheng's eunuch all that much in the first place.

The weather had grown pleasant and calmer, the storms abating, the heat subsiding. Mid-autumn had come and gone, and the moon was nearly new and dark again.

An emptiness sat hollow in Hongbin that he couldn't seem to fill, his days bare and desolate in a way he couldn't remember them ever being. It almost made him long for his old life at the Spring Jade and he had to work to remember the misery those days had brought him.

Zhiheng had not been wholly false—the life Hongbin lived now was better in so many ways.

Hongbin's attendants could tell something had changed, but not knowing what, there was little they could do.

Zhiheng still called for him regularly and Hongbin was almost relieved to know he still had a place, had duties that he could fulfil. There was the odd day where Lady Jian would ask for Hongbin's presence. He would accompany her for an hour or so, and sometimes played for her on his pipa. Most times she'd send for sweet iced desserts for him, even though summer was finally waning and she never had any herself. He'd developed suspicions of the reason behind the Lady's recent infirmity from the time he'd spent with the girls at the Spring Jade, but if she hadn't informed Zhiheng, it wasn't Hongbin's place to speculate.

But the restless energy had driven him outdoors and he'd spent more hours hidden under the shade of the gardens than he could remember ever doing in his years here. It only intensified when he learned of an insurgency out east, a full day or two after it'd become a full-blown rumour in the city outside—even though he'd known for weeks that this would one day happen. The news filled him with dread and fear—if the warning he'd risked everything for would be heeded or if, worse, was being dismissed as a lie or a trap because after all, Hongbin was only the Prince of Xu’s concubine.

With how frequent a visitor the Minister had become, Hongbin's fears only grew more fervent.

But it wasn't the Minister who'd appeared at the gates unannounced. It made Hongbin feel safer, with less of a need to hide from the Minister's eyes too reminiscent of Hongbin's former life. It made Hongbin's skin crawl.

Today it was royalty, the Prince of Ji, Zheng Zhihan, sweeping in with only a curt nod to Hongbin who'd been caught outside unawares. Zhihan was followed, as he often was, by Zhixing, the Prince of Bing. Zhixing’s usual implacable expression was a contrast to the Zhihan's stormy eyes. Still, Hongbin was relieved—the Minister and Zhiheng had spoken at length yesterday and the meeting had been tense. Hongbin hadn't needed to be present to know—seeing them leave had been knowledge enough.

Blissfully left alone, Hongbin continued his meandering walk, eventually settling down behind a twisted wall of scholar rocks, massive stones carved by nature into gnarled shapes with jagged windows smoothed through the years by wind and rain. The wall was formed by several stones and from some angles the view of garden and courtyard was both wide and clear between them, but Hongbin's perch was well hidden. He'd checked.

A stream linking two of the lakes wound before him, too shallow for the golden carps, the water bubbling over rounded stones. The rock that Hongbin sat on wasn't particularly clean or flat and he knew that his jacket would be dirtied when he returned, but captivated by the shining water, Hongbin found he couldn't care. There was soreness in his shoulders and an ache in the rest of him but the calm of this place eased the pain. The quiet sound soothed him, washing the worries from his mind, thoughts blanking into faint fog.

Sudden ripples broke the steady flow and surprised Hongbin out of his trance. He looked upstream for a fallen leaf—a small brown rabbit was frozen at the water's edge, eyes wide and tensed to flee.

Hongbin smiled, tension slipping from his shoulders.

"Keep drinking, little one," Hongbin said. A drop of water dripped from its whiskers and Hongbin's smile grew. The rabbit's nose twitched.

Maybe it understood Hongbin or it'd decided Hongbin meant no harm because it dipped its little head down and Hongbin could just see its pink tongue flicking in and out. It patiently drank its fill and then lifted its head. This time the rabbit looked at Hongbin more out of curiosity than fear.

"You don't come from here," Hongbin said. "Did you lose your way?"

The rabbit twitched its nose, still staring at Hongbin. It hopped a careful two steps closer and Hongbin laughed.

"Aren't you scared of me, little one?" On a whim, Hongbin plucked at a bamboo leaf from a nearby stalk and held it out at a careful arm's length. The rabbit stretched its neck forward to sniff at it. It was so close Hongbin fancied he could feel its little breaths puffing against his fingers. He laughed, delighted, when the rabbit nipped at the leaf and nibbled forward until it was entirely gone. Hongbin hastily let go of the stem in case it decided his fingers were part of the food. He drew his hand back and hugged his legs up to his chest.

"You're fearless," Hongbin said. The rabbit hopped closer and closer until Hongbin could've picked it up. It stood up on its two hind legs, nose wiggling at Hongbin.

"You want another?" Hongbin asked. He reached behind him and plucked off another leaf, which was delivered into the rabbit's waiting mouth.

"Maybe you're just hungry," Hongbin said but then his eyes widened because the rabbit had hopped so close it could place its two front paws on Hongbin's leg. It was Hongbin's turn to freeze and it took him far longer to relax than it'd taken the rabbit. He hesitantly held a hand out to it and again on a whim, smoothed a finger between its ears, marvelling at the soft fur. Hongbin did it again, and then he tried touching the rabbit's ears, sure that it would finally flee. The rabbit's ears twitched, a little flick, but that was all, so Hongbin took the moment to run his finger down it again.

Hongbin was just wondering if the rabbit would let him pick it up when the sound of a sweet bird cry startled it and it jumped away.

"Ah!" Hongbin got to his feet and followed it a few steps where it stopped not far away. It looked back at Hongbin as if waiting for Hongbin to come with it.

"If I were a fox you would have been eaten by now," Hongbin said with a small laugh. He crouched down and held out a finger for the rabbit to sniff. Its whiskers brushed against his hand and its nose was cool and moist. This time, Hongbin put his hand out flat in front of the rabbit—and to his delight, the rabbit hopped right onto it and let Hongbin pick it up and cradle it to his chest.

He was so absorbed with the tiny warm ball in his arms that he didn't notice the youngest concubine until her shadow was above him.

"What's that?" she demanded, looking down at him. One of her attendants was with her.

Lady Shi was a comely girl with pale skin and round cheeks, but the way she drew her hair back and ornamented it so heavily it was bordering on disrespectful made her face look pinched and haughty. Ever since she'd borne Zhiheng a child two years ago—even if it was a daughter—she'd become insufferable. A child was still a child.

Hongbin clutched at the rabbit, afraid to let it go.

"A rabbit, Concubine Shi," Hongbin answered. He should stand and bow but with the rabbit in his arms, he was sure it would flee.

"Let me see," she demanded.

"No." The word was out of Hongbin's mouth before he could stop it, and she looked as shocked as Hongbin felt. But what'd been said was said and Hongbin set his jaw and fought to keep his head unbowed. She was a mere girl—Hongbin refused to be afraid. If the rabbit still hadn't fled then Hongbin had no need to, either.

He still flinched at her slap, stinging against his face. Shame cascaded over him, the sound echoing louder than the pain. It wasn't much pain.

"You dare?" she hissed. "Know your place, you ingrate whore."

Hongbin swallowed, face still turned aside.

"Even whores don't resort to crude brutishness," Hongbin bit out. Her attendant audibly gasped and Hongbin counted it a small victory.

Concubine Shi was shaking in anger—but she was only a girl and Hongbin had little enough for her to destroy. She didn't have the power to throw him out.

"You dare," she repeated. She gestured to her attendant. "Get that and give it here."

"Don't!" Hongbin clutched the rabbit, holding it against its desperate scrabbling as Concubine Shi's attendant tried to snatch it away from him.

"It's too nice today to fight." The Prince of Bing’s voice froze them all in their spots. He waved away their bows as he walked closer, a curious half-smile on his lips despite his sleepy eyes. "But it almost seemed like I'd heard blows—it must've been my imagination because what is there to fight over?"

"He is being disrespectful, your Highness," the younger concubine said, voice sweet as sugar water. "He refused a reasonable request with such foul language."

Hongbin bit his tongue from lashing her with some truly foul language.

"Hongbin did?" Zhixing asked. He blinked slowly. "Perhaps my Lady simply misheard him, it seems much more reasonable. Ah, could that be the reason for the request?"

Zhixing gestured down at the rabbit in Hongbin's arms that'd inexplicably gone still and quiet again, only to bury its face in the crook of Hongbin's elbow.

"Yes, your Highness," Hongbin said softly. His heart pounded in his chest. "Concubine Shi tried to take this little one—"

"And what right does he have to refuse? Is it his rabbit?" Concubine Shi snapped. She immediately quieted, face gone pale, as she remembered the company they were in.

Zhixing only raised an eyebrow. "Is it your rabbit, Hongbin?"

"No, your Highness," Hongbin said. "It came to me just now."

"Then is it your rabbit?" Zhixing asked her.

"No, your Highness," she admitted.

"Then I think it should be Hongbin's rabbit, since it came to him and it seems to be happy with Hongbin," Zhixing said, smiling at them both. He glanced across the courtyard as if distracted before he turned back to them. "Wait here a moment."

"Tsch." The moment Zhixing was gone, Concubine Shi sniffed disdainfully at Hongbin. "Keep your disgusting vermin. Xiao Yin, come, I can't stand a second more of his disgraceful company."

The disgusting vermin is you, Hongbin bit back. Her attendant gave Hongbin as haughty a look as her mistress as they both swept past him. Hongbin wasn't naive enough to think that she clipped his shoulder with her hand accidentally but she couldn't know she'd jarred a bruise that was still a few days away from fading and Hongbin swallowed a wince.

Hongbin stood with shaking legs, his strength suddenly gone. This wasn't over—she was sure to tell Zhiheng and Hongbin feared what story she'd tell.

"You look like you need to sit down," Zhixing said. He'd returned with a servant carrying a large wicker bird cage lined with soft hay. At the prince's nod, the servant placed the cage down. Hongbin reluctantly handed the rabbit over to Zhixing who bent down and put it into the cage, latching the door and trapping it inside.

"We can find him something bigger later," Zhixing said.

"Thank you, your Highness," Hongbin said. He let the prince lead him back to where several smoothed stones served as natural seats, while the prince himself carried the rabbit in the cage by its handle. Hongbin felt sorry toward it—its captivity was his fault.

"Hm? Did Lady Shi leave?" Zhixing asked, abruptly noticing the pair’s absence.

"Yes, your Highness," Hongbin said.

"Ah, well then. I was looking for you anyway," Zhixing said.

"What for, your Highness?"

"I wanted to stretch my legs," Zhixing said. "You're fun to talk to, and Second Brother and Han'er are fighting without talking, it's very exhausting."

Zhixing sighed, his pleasant expression slipping for a moment into something drawn and serious. Hongbin swallowed and looked away down to his own hands resting on his lap, fingers clasped in an attempt to stop the trembling.

"Hongbin would like to apologise for the disturbance," he said.

"She hit you, didn't she?" Zhixing's eyes were stripped of amusement. Hongbin couldn't bring himself to lie, anymore than he could bring himself to answer.

"Hongbin's actions brought disgrace upon my Prince," Hongbin said instead. He was interrupted by Zhixing clicking his tongue.

"You don't need to pretend in front of me," Zhixing said. "I'm not a fool." His tone and eyes both softened as he nodded at Hongbin and then touched his own cheek.

"It is red," Zhixing said.

Hongbin wasn't surprised, but the knowledge that the redness was visible even through the powder on his face sent shame down his spine. There was nothing Hongbin could say to that.

"Forgive me for asking, but why is your Highness not with my Prince and the Third Prince?" Hongbin ventured, an attempt to steer the conversation away.

"Didn't I say? They're fighting without fighting," Zhixing said, and then he sighed heavily, deflating like a punctured bubble.

"Is it... serious?"

"Is the fight serious, or is what they are fighting about serious? Both and neither I suppose, but it is over something more serious than not," Zhixing said. "Maybe it's better to say it's a small part of something very serious."

"Does it have to do with... with the recent rumours?" Hongbin asked, unable to bring himself to ask about Yangnan or a rebellion. He had to remind himself that behind Zhixing's placid expression was the man who'd lead Hongbin to that poisoned knowledge in the first place.

Zhixing thought for a moment, staring out into the distance. "I would say so," he said, "if we are thinking of the same recent rumours."

"I heard the servants speaking of it," Hongbin said truthfully. "There is not much more I know."

"There is not much more anyone knows," Zhixing said. The prince had a habit of tilting his head slightly when his thoughts were snagged, and he was doing that now, his eyes searching Hongbin almost discomfitingly.

"It's very vexing," Zhixing finally continued. "Tell me what you think, Hongbin. See, Han'er is impatient but Zhiheng decided to agree with something even more impatient, while Zhiheng was the patient one at first but then he changed his mind."

"Or someone changed it," Hongbin ventured, thinking of a meeting the day before.

"You're sharp," Zhixing said. He nodded and hummed. "Han'er didn't like that. He'd liked the first idea, the patient one."

"Does... your Highness also like that one?" Hongbin asked.

"Me? I suppose," Zhixing said. "It would be better if there wasn't anything to fight over at all, but it would be much better if they would just fight while talking—I think they will soon, but it will be more like yelling. Although they agree on more than they don't—a day or two, is it really so much difference?"

"Is it possible it isn't the idea itself that the Prince of Ji is upset over?" Hongbin asked.

"You mean he's upset that Zhiheng changed his mind at all?" Zhixing mused. "That is a good thought."

Hongbin bent his head. It gave him opportunity to look down at the rabbit—it'd burrowed into the hay and seemed to have gone to sleep.

"I do not think," Zhixing began after a very long moment, and paused for another very long moment before he continued, "that Zhiheng trusts me very much."

"Why do you say so, your Highness?" Hongbin asked

"He tells Han'er things he doesn't tell me," Zhixing said. Then he gave Hongbin a mischievous smile. "But Han'er tells me."

Hongbin had no ready reply and Zhixing didn't ask for one, distracted by some faraway thought. Hongbin looked down at his hands, fingers still clasped. Unease began to trap him the more the silence grew, the clear sky under which they sat becoming a heavy cave of stone. He tried to piece the Prince of Bing's story together, worrying at it in his mind, if there was something in those words that the Prince of Bing meant for Hongbin to know. Because Hongbin was sure of it now—those words he'd heard barely half a month ago had been no accident.

Hongbin was surprised, to a degree, how quiet it'd been. No large troop movements when Hongbin had been sure the Prince of Jing would charge out the gates the moment the news arrived. He could only guess that the delay was unexpected—and it was a delay that the Minister was eager to rectify and perhaps already had. The Minister didn't want this chance to be lost to timing. Zhihan didn't approve of Zhiheng agreeing with the new measure—but perhaps that disapproval ran deeper, against the person who'd suggested the new measure himself.

Meanwhile, Zhixing was now staring at Hongbin and he'd made it patently clear to Hongbin that, if there was a side to pick, he was on a side Hongbin could agree with, one that didn't involve inciting an uprising for the sake of a single murder. A single fratricide.

"No use thinking about it," the Ninth Prince suddenly said. The abruptness surprised Hongbin out of his own puzzlings.

"Your Highness?" Hongbin asked.

"Lady Shi should be safely retired to her chambers," Zhixing said. His smile was mischievous, eyes twinkling. He stood and gestured for Hongbin to go with him, and then down at the sleeping rabbit. "We can go situate your new friend more properly, shall we?"

Zhixing was called away shortly after, but not before he'd procured a larger cage for the rabbit and a pile of leafy vegetables from the kitchens. Xiao Yu and Xiao Jin were delighted, holding out greens for the rabbit to nibble at, its nose twitching furiously as it hopped around.

Hongbin sat at the table, watching his attendants play with the wild rabbit and all he could feel was a pang of regret.

A larger cage was still a cage, and Hongbin was the one who'd trapped it there.

In hindsight, Hakyeon shouldn't have been surprised. It came for him in a dull way, turning into foreboding apprehension, settling in his lungs like ash. It was the viciousness, the cold calculation that jarred him, as much as it was the messenger from the palace pounding on his door just after the sun had set.

How foolish he'd been to think he'd wrested back some control—because that was what his naive conceit had wanted to believe. I have at least bought us another day, he'd told Jaehwan mere hours ago.

The peace envoys had been slain and their bodies mutilated, their horses sent back to the city riderless. The decapitated heads tied to the imperial saddlebags told Yangnan's message clearly enough.

There would be no peace and the first casualties had already fallen.

They would ride at sun dawn, their vanguard five thousand cavalry strong. Another five thousand would join them from the city garrisons. Enough soldiers to form a small city also carried their banners, marching on foot. Hakyeon would lead the charge—General Lin beside him where Taekwoon would usually be. Twelfth Prince, Prince of You, Zheng Zhitao would lead the second. He'd been disappointed—but a command was a command and the disappointment didn't last long. Hakyeon worried if it was a safe choice, if Zhitao was competent enough, if the burden wasn't too big, but Zhitao was smart and brave with a good heart, and he would listen to the experienced commanders riding with him. He didn't need to worry. He did wonder if Zhitao would sleep at all this night. Hakyeon knew neither he nor Taekwoon had all those years ago.

But Hakyeon knew that tonight, sleep would elude him as well.

Dawn would come too soon, and Hakyeon wanted to take in every second until then.

"You should sleep, little brother."

Hakyeon breathed a smile without taking his eyes off of the fading moon. It would be dark again in days.

Song Qian sat down next to him in front of Taekwoon's rooms and Hakyeon leaned against her instinctively, letting Song Qian wrap an arm around his shoulders.

"I have too many thoughts to sleep," Hakyeon said honestly. "I'm not ready to put them away yet."

"My baby brother has always been like this," Song Qian said. She ran a hand soothingly down Hakyeon's arm. "Once you've set your mind to something, you're sure it will be so."

"I try to make it so," Hakyeon said. "This time—"

"This time I hope it will not be so," Song Qian said softly. "And I do not mean Taekwoon."

"I'm not the important one," Hakyeon said, catching Song Qian's meaning.

"You are important to me and to so many people. You mean the world to Taekwoon—you are Taekwoon's world, and I don't think he'd want to see you like this either."

Hakyeon swallowed, throat suddenly thick. He was better than this. Stronger than this. Than the hot prickling at the back of his eyes.

"Taekwoon—Taekwoon will be alright," Hakyeon said. He fought to keep his voice steady.

"He will be," Song Qian said. She paused, her body stilling, as she tilted her head back to look at the pale sliver of moon. The stars in the sky were brighter for it. "I will be here. I already sent word home. Liying will take care of things. I'll be here for as long as I need to."

Liying was their younger cousin and Hakyeon remembered her as a spitfire of a child—"just like a young Meiying" they'd said. She'd be a full twenty years old now and Hakyeon smiled to think of her 'taking care of things'. It also reminded Hakyeon that Song Qian had a home that was not the palace, that was not the capital. That she had a life Hakyeon only knew echoes of. He may have been Fei Meiying's adopted son, but the secrets of that world were still closed off to him, the world over which the Fei clan reigned. Jianghu was clouded in mystery, shrouded in dreaded skill, a place where ability was power—and that itself was a testament to the strength of the Fei bloodline. A strength that Song Qian had wholeheartedly embraced, that Taekwoon didn't claim because the blood of the dragon ran through his veins—that their mother had given up and Hakyeon wished he could've better understood her when there'd still been time.

"Thank you, jiejie," Hakyeon whispered.

"Not because you asked," Song Qian said, "but because what sort of big sister would I be to hide while my little brothers faced danger head on?"

A breath escaped her and took something with it, a sound that wasn't quite a sigh.

"I was naive. I thought that as long as I wasn't here I could put it all behind me. After... After General Yue passed away I couldn't bear to stay, to breathe in this poison, even though my mother and my siblings drowned in it every day. But fate is fate, and not even heaven can steer away fate. Do you remember what you asked me the first night I returned? Leaving here and going back—you were right, it didn't help. Half of me always remained here and now I understand why."

"Because of us."

"Because of family," Song Qian gently corrected him.

"But you were with family," Hakyeon said.

"I was escaping my memories," Song Qian said softly. "As long as I was a widow I was allowed to live, but as long as General Yue's father's brother's son did as he did, General Yue could never be. How unfair—but Father was only protecting me, leaving me with memories in every corner haunting me of what could've been."

Song Qian paused for a moment and then breathed an apologetic laugh. "I shouldn't have said that all to you, not on a night when you should be resting."

An autumn breeze answered her silence, the dying moon hovering just within sight. Hakyeon had sat up without noticing, his hands clasped in his lap, leaning forward as he gazed into the darkness.

"Your little brother is thankful you trusted me enough to tell me," Hakyeon said after a long moment.

"I do not want to bear another loss." Song Qian exhaled the words in a single soft breath, almost too quiet to hear.

Hakyeon clasped his hands tighter, crushing his fingers like iron vices.

"But at the same time, I don't think it will be so," Song Qian said. "There is a hope."

"What hope? They will not let this go." The words were out of Hakyeon's mouth before he could smother the despondency. He looked down at his hands as if he could find an answer.

Song Qian paused in thought, the moment of silence heavy between them. She was the same age as Zhiheng—she refused to believe that he was as much of a monster as Hakyeon thought. She'd been allowed to know Zhiheng in a way that Hakyeon had never been. And that was her hope. But Hakyeon would never see it that way, the same way he knew Taekwoon would never see it his way, both too set in their beliefs to so easily change.

"Trust your big sister just this once," Song Qian said instead. She rested a hand on Hakyeon's knee.

"I'll try," Hakyeon said. "But—"

"But I think you should go sleep," Song Qian said, cutting Hakyeon off. She patted his knee once and then stood. "Be well rested."

In the darkness, it was hard to pick out the details of Hakyeon's expression, but from what she could discern, there was no trace of happiness in his wan, tired smile. There was no reason to be.

"Thanks, jiejie," Hakyeon said.

"Go on," Song Qian said. "Or do you need me to walk you to your room?"

Hakyeon laughed at this and he shook his head as he stood as well. But where Song Qian stood on the ground, Hakyeon stood on the walkway and he towered over her more than he always did.

"Good night, jiejie," Hakyeon said. There was an odd pause of hesitation after those words, one eased by a stiff bow.

"Sleep well," Song Qian said, and she watched Hakyeon go. She had no illusion that Hakyeon was returning to his own rooms—but if he could find any rest in what comfort he could muster, she could find some assurance. She didn't follow him—she had her own vigils to keep, and she would see Taekwoon in the morning. And Hakyeon, as well.

Hakyeon closed the door behind him, drowning the room in darkness. There was a window open and moonlight may have streamed through that gaping space on a different day. It could've painted the floor with silver frost, but tonight, only shadows filled the void. He picked his way through the room, footsteps familiar with the turns needed to avoid the table, to slip through the second set of doors, to walk just to Taekwoon's bed and stand there for a moment staring down at his shadow. Taekwoon was asleep—unconscious.

Because of him.

Hakyeon sank to the floor. His legs gave way as a shaking breath trembled through him, a desperate gasp of air turning into a mouthful of thick black fog. Hakyeon clutched Taekwoon's bed and grasped blindly for Taekwoon's hands, his steady heartbeat, anything to remind Hakyeon that Taekwoon was alive and well and present. It was his fault. This was all his fault. Jaehwan was right—there had to be something else, something that didn't end like this, that didn't end with Taekwoon lying still and unknowing while Hakyeon slipped away without ever hearing him say another word. What was it? What was the last thing Taekwoon had said? Had they still been arguing? Was Taekwoon still upset at him? He'd mumbled something when Hakyeon had carried him to his room but Hakyeon didn't think they'd even been actual words.

Hakyeon sucked in a deep breath of air, righting himself, the room coming into a hazy equilibrium. The darkness was smothering, disorienting—but light in this place at this moment would’ve peeled the skin from Hakyeon’s face with the wrongness of it. He forced himself to draw another breath, and then another. He had to. He had to breathe.

With trembling muscles, Hakyeon forced himself up to his knees. He leaned against the bed, his elbows digging into Taekwoon's blankets, and looked down at Taekwoon's face.

It'll be alright, Hakyeon tried to say. The words caught in his throat, unable to escape even as a whisper. The silence in the room was too thick, too opaque, and such a weak thought could never penetrate it.

Hakyeon reached out and brushed the back of his hand against Taekwoon's cheek, pale and cold, ghost-like in the dark. Taekwoon didn't stir.

How Hakyeon wished that Taekwoon would wake, so he could selfishly hear Taekwoon again just once more, so he could apologise for how much of a mess he'd made because of his own incompetence. Their mother had told Hakyeon to keep Taekwoon safe, to protect him, and Hakyeon was failing. If Hongbin hadn't warned them, if Hakyeon hadn’t been warned—even if he sensed that this rebellion wasn't right, there was nothing he could've done. He knew that. But there was his failing—he should've known.

Fuck. Jaehwan was right. He was fucking pathetic. He'd given up. He was leaving Jaehwan and Song Qian to clean up the mess he'd made and things hadn't even started yet.

But Jaehwan was wrong. It wasn't because Hakyeon cared about the empire. It was because Hakyeon cared about Taekwoon. Because in any other hands the empire, and Taekwoon with it, would suffer. Because Song Qian might've trusted Zhiheng but Hakyeon didn't, and he trusted the people around Zhiheng even less. Because Taekwoon was capable and competent and intelligent and the risk of leaving him alive far outweighed Taekwoon's own unwavering loyalty to his country. Because after everything, even if Taekwoon never forgave him for his betrayal, Hakyeon only cared for Taekwoon to live as well as he could. Because Hakyeon was selfish.

A shaky breath forced itself through its chest. Hakyeon swallowed it back. He clenched his teeth, bit down so hard his jaw ached, squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness—nothing could dissipate the stinging heat behind his eyelids. Hakyeon took a breath, and then he took another, and he reached for Taekwoon's hand under the blankets and clutched at it. He gripped at Taekwoon's limp fingers as if he could ground himself in it, as if begging Taekwoon to grab his hand, as if it would stop the tears from welling up and spilling over and falling unseen to stain a darkness that was too dark to colour.

But this time, no one else was here. No one but him and Taekwoon—and Taekwoon couldn't see him, couldn't hear him, couldn't judge Hakyeon for his foolish weakness. Hakyeon's tears trickled down his cheeks and he blinked them away. Still, the darkness wouldn't clear, the room as out of focus as it had always been. He bowed his head and let his tears fall, silent and invisible, even as desperate words clawed to escape his throat clamped shut. Hakyeon swallowed those back, swallowed away the noise. But there were the quiet whimpers he couldn't hide, that he had to bury in Taekwoon's blankets, already damp and wet and drawing Hakyeon's fears and guilt into itself, instead of letting it escape into the hollow night of this room.

Two words slipped out before Hakyeon could stop himself, quiet and reluctant yet echoing loudly in the empty silence. Hakyeon lifted his head, startled by the sound—the sound of his own words. He paused, still clutching Taekwoon's hand between his own, and repeated them this time while looking at Taekwoon's sleeping face.

"I'm sorry," Hakyeon said, barely above a whisper.

He sighed, a sad sort of sound, a choked exhale that had Hakyeon laughing at himself at how pathetic it was.

"You will be so upset with me," Hakyeon said. He smoothed a thumb over Taekwoon's skin, the knob of his wrist smooth and cold. "I thought about leaving a letter, but it didn't seem right."

"None of this seems right," Hakyeon added after a moment.

"I'll have to trust Jaehwan, and so will you. Jiejie... jiejie can only do so much. It's unfair isn't it, Taekwoon-ah? Just because jiejie isn't a man... But Jaehwan. I'm sure about Jaehwan. He is like you—blunt and honest, and if he has gone against his full brother Zhihan, then I think his intention to stand by you is real."

Hakyeon thought back to an empty spring and empty summer, where Hakyeon had darkened Jaehwan's doorstep with alarming frequency.

"Maybe Jaehwan's doing it for me," Hakyeon added softly. "But I'd like to think it is because he believes in you like I do."

It seemed impossible that it'd already come to this. This one final night. Hakyeon allowed himself to be honest for a moment, to acknowledge the truth that he'd always expected this. Just not so soon. A shaky laughed slipped out and Hakyeon dragged the back of his hand across his eyes, hot and wet.

"What do I do, Taekwoon-ah? How can I do this without you? You'd say I was being foolish, that what has to be done will be done. And then you'd do it. You'd be stupid about it because that's who you are—I wish I could do that. I know what I have to do but I'm still hesitating. At a time like this, I'm hesitating. Isn't that silly of me? But what is there left to hesitate over?"

Only silence answered Hakyeon. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile and he let his head fall forward again, to rest against Taekwoon's bed.

So this was how it was going to end.

Hakyeon had always said he didn't remember, that there'd been no Cha Hakyeon until he'd become the Emperor's adopted son, until he'd become Taekwoon's adopted brother. Taekwoon had asked him just once in the bored voice of a detached child, probing at a stranger intruding into his life. "What happened to your family?" Taekwoon had asked, and Hakyeon had heard in those words the question no one else would ask: how did they die?.

Hakyeon had taken a long time to reply, staring blankly at his fuzzy reflection in the inkwell, before he'd finally said I don't remember and Taekwoon had turned back to copying his own characters.

I don't remember, he told people again and again, until it'd become the truth, and the only thing he was left with was the numb pulse of regret as he'd watched the life disappear from his mother's eyes, her body hanging strangely from the ceiling like a broken doll. The wretched feeling lingered and he knew he hadn't cried, too dazed by the silent shock his mother had stared at him with before she'd slipped away forever. Hakyeon understood it now, understood why she'd sent him away without a word, that Hakyeon had seen something she'd never wanted him to see.

And then, Hakyeon had told everyone he didn't remember. They'd been glad of it, and Hakyeon had been glad of it, but at these last moments that one memory settled heavily over his shoulders, an inescapable shroud.

With trembling muscles, Hakyeon forced himself up to his knees. He looked down at Taekwoon's face and held a breath of hesitation before it escaped his chest. He climbed onto the bed, first one knee and then the other—and then, because that was how it'd always been, Hakyeon climbed over Taekwoon and lay down beside him.

He fancied he felt Taekwoon shift, but it was no fancy because Taekwoon had rolled onto his side and when Hakyeon turned his head, he met Taekwoon's closed eyes, squeezed a little too shut. Wrinkles formed between Taekwoon's brows and hair tumbled loose over his face. Unthinkingly, Hakyeon smoothed it back. He couldn't help the jump of alarm when he touched Taekwoon's burning skin.

He will be both hot and cold, Song Qian had said. There'd been pain in her expression. It will be terrible for him, but there's little choice with so little time.

Hakyeon touched Taekwoon's forehead with his own, Taekwoon alarmingly warm. He closed his eyes and listened for Taekwoon's breaths, falling in time with his own. Taekwoon's hair was damp with sweat and it stuck to Hakyeon's own skin but he couldn't bring himself to pull away, to lose this tenuous contact. To break this moment where the two of them made one.

Sleep tugged at Hakyeon, warm and insidious in the comfort that came from just lying next to Taekwoon. A reminder of the safety that Taekwoon had given to him as a child—a safety that Hakyeon could never repay.

But there would be no sleep for Hakyeon that night, only a restless energy that urged Hakyeon out the door long before the rooster's cries, and Hakyeon didn't dare steal one last look behind him.

Fog rolled over the hills, the sun not yet risen, the world hazy and grey. Horses' hooves clicked against the Imperial Road, trotting through the mirage of a stream rising to their knees. Banners waved, deep red emblazoned with black, their empire's name carried tall and proud.

Zhixing watched from the bulwarks as the army streamed out of the city gates below him, soldiers cloaked into anonymity by shadow.

"Are you upset?" Zhixing asked the empty morning.

"Why would I be?" The Prince of Ji and his third brother stood beside him, a sword length apart. He also gazed into a lightless distance.

Zhixing hummed. His eyes drifted to the very front of the column, now barely visible. Where there should've been two, there was only one—a slim figure encased in armour, sharp and striking as he rode for the sun.

"You aren't surprised," Zhixing said.

Zhihan hummed. His hands rested against rough stone bricks and he stared straight down below him. Zhihan caught Zhixing looking and lifted a shoulder in a self-mocking gesture. Zhihan had always been a little afraid of heights.

"I suppose not," Zhihan said. "Are you?"

Zhixing's only reply was a ghost of a mirrored gesture. "Are you disappointed?" he added after a moment.

"Should I be?" Zhihan asked.

"I can't answer that," Zhixing said candidly. "It's difficult to know what you are thinking these days, brother."

"I could say the same," Zhihan said, and he punctuated it with a wry laugh.

"Don't you always say my head is too empty to think?" Zhixing said.

"It's not true?" Zhihan asked, a sceptical upturn of his voice laced with amusement and Zhixing sighed out of habit, his lips pursing.

It seemed like this flow of men and horses would never end, like the entire city was emptying out through these gates, each indistinguishable from the other in identical, heavy armour. But the army was finite and it startled Zhixing that this was only a fraction of the soldiers in this grand capital. Outposted garrisons would add more weight to this heavy surge. There was stillness beside him and then there was movement, and there was a strange calmness in Zhihan's eyes, paired with a smile that left unease sinking its claws into Zhixing's shoulders.

"The trouble will be eliminated in no time," Zhihan said, and the corner of his smile twitched just that tiny bit wider. Zhixing tried not to think of the meaning behind those words. "This is a fine army lead by fine men."

Zhixing was still forming his words when Zhihan left him with a curt nod; the last had clearly been the Prince of Ji’s parting statement.

Zhixing lingered for another few minutes, watching the sun spring above the edge of the sky. The beat of five thousand horses' hooves was finally beginning to fade, although the sound lingered in Zhixing's bones. The city was awake by the time Zhixing made his way down from the city walls; court officials had trekked through the dark pre-dawn, hawkers had spent those same moments arranging their wares, labourers had begun the day's toil. He passed by a window, open to a class of young students reciting a text, unbroken voices blended into a droning unison.

He would, Zhixing decided, pay his seventh brother a visit. What exactly was it that had persuaded his quick-tempered hard-headed brother to listen to reason—if that was the reason for his absence at all. Zhiheng should know by now, a frantic messenger waking him with the news—or maybe Zhiheng was awake, and had already received the messenger.

It took time to make his way there on foot, but he needed that time.

To sort through his thoughts, mostly, although it came to him as a surprise that his thoughts were quiet. There'd been a strange feeling in his stomach when he'd woken that morning, long before the rooster's first cry. It'd been frozen in a dull haze as Zhixing bounced along in the carriage to the city walls, arriving even before the army's grand procession. And that was where he'd met Zhihan. "I thought you'd come," his third brother had said, and Zhixing was still too dazed by the early hour. He'd nodded numbly and stared at where the sun would rise.

His third brother had always known him well.

The feeling hadn't disappeared as the two of them stood there in silence—it'd morphed into something stranger, something more twisted and tangled when they'd heard the hooves and turned to look behind them. If Hakyeon recognised the shadows watching from above, he gave no indication, his eyes sweeping over them with the most cursory of glances.

And then had come the army. No one else.

He thought to the questions he'd asked Zhihan and now asked them of himself. He was neither upset or disappointed, but he also wasn't not upset or disappointed. More strange feelings.

Zhixing wished his thoughts were louder.

The world had swallowed itself into a fog as he'd walked and when he dragged awareness back to the present, he was startled to find that he'd already reached their district. Thoughts screeched through his mind like a carriage pulled by a frantic horse, tearing unsteadily down a crowded street.

What, Zhixing suddenly wondered, would he say to their sister?

He had no time to wonder because he'd come upon the front gates. He frowned a little to himself at the two guards at the door—not because they were there, Taekwoon and Hakyeon kept a nominal guard for the sake of appearance—but because of the grim, sharp look on their faces. Zhixing forced himself not to run the last few steps. Instead, he offered them a small smile as he greeted them good morning.

"Is your master home?" Zhixing asked, and then immediately realised his gaffe. The entire city knew the army had just set out. The entire city would assume the Prince of Jing and the Duke of Yin both had gone with it. "Or the Second Princess."

"Who are you here to see?" one of the guards asked sharply and for the first time all morning, Zhixing was taken aback. Could they have not recognised him?

"Tell the Second Princess that it is the Prince of Bing, Zheng Zhixing, here to see her," Zhixing said, any hint of gentleness gone.

"We are not to admit anyone," the guard said.

"I do not believe that was a request," Zhixing said. "Go, tell her."

The two guards looked at each other, and then at Zhixing, their thoughts racing. Zhixing was a prince. They'd just decided to convey the message as ordered when the door inexplicably opened. Song Qian stood in the narrow opening, his older sister more tired than he'd ever seen her.

"Let him in," Song Qian said. She nodded at Zhixing and then stepped aside to allow him to enter. As soon as he was past those gates, she pushed them shut and locked them.

But that wasn't what held Zhixing stunned and arrested. Not when bodies scattered the courtyard, when Song Qian's sleeves weren't patterned red with dye, but were ruined with blood.

"Taekwoon is fine, before you ask," Song Qian said. "Hakyeon isn't here."

"I saw him off," Zhixing said, unable to look away from the bodies. They looked still warm.

"Then you knew Taekwoon hadn't gone with him," Song Qian said softly.

"Hakyeon was alone," Zhixing said. He sucked in a quick breath and looked at Song Qian, searched her eyes for a hint of anything beyond the calm impassivity. "Jiejie, are you fine?"

"It was a warning," Song Qian said, as if she hadn't heard Zhixing at all.

"Taekwoon ge?" Zhixing's voice was breathless.

"Unharmed," Song Qian said, "although still ill."

"Ill?" Zhixing parroted.

"Why else do you think he wasn't charging out those gates by Hakyeon's side?"

Zhixing paused for a long moment as he examined the possibilities. He had no more than he'd had all morning.

"I don't know," Zhixing admitted. "I came to see."

"To see if your plot had failed," Song Qian said, flat and factual, although she quirked an eyebrow in question.

Your plot took a second too long to penetrate Zhixing's hesitant thoughts and when it did, he firmly shook his head. "Jiejie, it wasn't me, believe me—why would I ever want to hurt Taekwoon ge, or you?"

"What about Hakyeon?"

"Jiejie... you don't believe me?"

"It's hard to say," Song Qian said with a sigh. She lead Zhixing to a table and sat heavily, strength slipping away from her limbs for half a heartbeat. Zhixing waited a full second before he sat across from her, the stone hard and cold beneath him.

"Why did you say it was a warning?" Zhixing asked.

Song Qian stared at him searchingly, and in that moment Zhixing was reminded of his seventh brother when his eyes were idle, hungry and catlike, ready to pounce on any weakness, ready to cut deep and slice to the bone. On Song Qian's usually gentle face, that expression froze Zhixing in fear in a way that Taekwoon never had. That was simply how Taekwoonie gege was. But not their sister.

If Song Qian deemed him a danger, he'd be cut down and left among these bodies, blood and family be damned.

But Song Qian had known from the moment Zhixing had walked in, that the carnage in this front yard which belonged to neither of them was not his fault in the slightest. At the same time, she didn't think he was entirely uninvolved. She would sigh again but there wasn't any breath left in her and it was quite disgraceful for a princess.

"They were not sent to kill," Song Qian said softly. "They were sent to die, even if they'd been ordered to deliver death."

"They were weak," Zhixing ventured.

"They came only minutes before you arrived."

The threat was quiet, but it was there. There was a strange calmness in Song Qian's eyes, and that frightened Zhixing more than any anger.

"I have no part in this," Zhixing said, even as his own suspicions grew. His gaze settled on the manor wall. "They weren't sent for you."

"Nor for Hakyeon," Song Qian said, and the third was an answer neither of them needed to speak aloud. And with it came the question of who would've known that answer at all.

This was a rabbit's tail Zhixing couldn't bring himself to chase.

"Is gege very ill?" Zhixing asked instead.

"Ill enough," Song Qian said softly. "I am curious to know if our mystery benefactor knew that as well?"

Zhixing blinked, taken aback. Benefactor? He stared at his older sister.

"Or our provocateur," she added. Her smile held a hint of misplaced mirth. "A game is better played when all sides are playing it."

"Not both?" Zhixing blurted out before he could stop himself.

"That would be a dangerous thing to assume," Song Qian said, and the corner of her lips twitched.

Zhixing waited, breath caught in his chest. Should she ask what side Zhixing was on—he didn't know how he should answer.

But Song Qian wanted to hear his answer no more than he wanted to give it. Words lapsed into silence while Song Qian made no move to welcome Zhixing into a home she wasn't master of, nor offer more about her younger brother's condition. Zhixing felt it would be impolite to ask.

Maybe if the sun was higher, or if the sky was clearer. Maybe if there wasn't blood on his sister's sleeve.

Instead, what he said was: "you control the best assassins."

Song Qian shook her head.

"No, little brother, you misunderstand our world. My mother's family is powerful, but it is different from our courts. There is strength in honour, and no one is forbidden to turn their interests elsewhere." A pained expression passed over his older sister's face. "But stray too far and you can never return."

Zhixing considered her words and let them settle over himself. He'd never heard his sister speak of jianghu like this before—she rarely did, and Zhixing had known not to ask. Asking Taekwoon—that was a different thing. That had been an excited boy home from a place he idolised, telling tales that Zhixing had eagerly swallowed in. A year's difference could mean so much to a child.

Zhixing tried to shake these thoughts from his head. There were more important things to consider.

"You haven't asked to see him." Song Qian's words were as soft as they were sudden.

He paused for a long moment, rolling her words and his own in his mind. The air was damp and cool against his skin, heavy with the anticipation of rain.

"If gege is sick, then he should rest," Zhixing said slowly, drawing his own thought out. "He is sleeping."

The last should've been phrased as a question or a possibility—there was a spark of surprise in Song Qian's eyes before it faded into something more relaxed. Relaxed, yet weary.

"And how would you know that?" Song Qian asked.

"Or he'd be out there with Hakyeon," Zhixing said simply.

Song Qian breathed a short laugh, a sharpness returning to her eyes. "And that could never have been allowed."

"Jiejie?"

"You knew," she said, and Zhixing realised with a sickening lurch that Song Qian suspected it'd been him.

"Knew what?" Zhixing asked. He plastered confusion on his face. He hoped that Song Qian wouldn't press.

She didn't, only leaned back in her seat.

But did this mean she trusted him?

Or that she hated him?

If only she knew that this hadn't been his doing at all. That Zhixing had known what Second Brother had planned, and he'd done nothing to stop him at all.

He hadn't been brave enough. He could only hope.

"You're right not to trust me, jiejie," Zhixing said softly, down to the table. He wasn't good with words, with saying without saying. They were right about him in that way. He wasn't very clever. Not like Taekwoon, who spoke simply because he was blunt and straight and despised artifice.

Song Qian, always the most implacable of his sisters, looked as shocked as if she'd been slapped. A dry smile on his part, one that barely reached his lips and that was never meant to show in his eyes.

"I'm too close to Han'er and." He paused here so he could take a heartbeat of silence for himself, if he couldn't take a breath of apology.

"And I am not Jaehwan."

Those words would help no one and only sow seeds of dissonance. Speaking them was something Zhixing needed selfishly for himself, to dig that sharp stab of pain deeper and deeper into his chest.

This was wrong. This was all wrong.

Sitting here with his sister, a score of bodies still warm nearby—he remembered one night in a wine-house, something a poet had said to him, not knowing who he was. A father needs many sons, so he can kill them as he needs. The same, Zhixing mused, could be said for brothers.

"I have never doubted you, Xing'er, no more than I have ever doubted Jaehwan—"

"I'm not sure that's wise," Zhixing said. He couldn't control the slight twist of his lips, no more than Song Qian could control the slight widening of her eyes. This was strange territory for both of them.

"Are you speaking of Jaehwan, or yourself?" Song Qian asked softly.

Zhixing remembered with an abrupt lurch that they couldn't be alone—that there were guards just outside the gate, that there were unseen servants bustling about. But his words still bowled on placidly.

"Why would I be speaking of Tenth Brother?" Zhixing said, his half-smile never wavering.

Song Qian's eyes made Zhixing restless. He forced himself to hold still, to let his older sister peer at him as if she were diving into his deepest thoughts. She couldn't know.

Zhixing waited. One breath. Two breaths. He counted ten eleven twelve before hardness seeped out of Song Qian, as if finally, this was the last time. She was open, vulnerable, and trusting. Alone. She wasn't infallible or invincible. She was his older sister, a lofty legend—but she was still a mortal human who feared for her siblings and for herself.

"I don't want to see anybody hurt," Zhixing said. He thought to smile but instead it fell, and that would have to do.

Hongbin was learning there was a certain power in being dismissed.

It was heady, the things he could be party to, simply because Minister Han waved down Zhiheng when the prince tried to send Hongbin away. Well, Minister Han wouldn't be the first man who wanted something pretty to look at while discussing serious matters. These men were all the same.

The Prince of Jing, Hongbin had quickly learned, was alive.

That had been last morning. A whisper as he'd spent the morning pacing in his room, just enough to know that his warning had been heeded, to know that the Prince of Jing had not ridden out with the army. Hongbin had finally sat, hours after he'd slipped out of bed pre-dawn, too restless to sleep. The chilling echo had come mid-day when Hongbin had ventured to the prince's rooms, as Zhiheng had requested that morning. There had been voices. Minister Han's voice. Zhiheng's voice. And then two others that Hongbin, upon showing himself, discovered belonged to Zhihan and Zhixing. A gathering. A war council.

And that was how Hongbin had learned of a discreet assassination attempt on the Prince of Jing—a failed attempt. First Prince Zhiying had never taken Taekwoon seriously. They were surprised Zhiying was even acknowledging him at all.

No one had spoken of the planned ambush. Maybe they didn't want Hongbin to know of their own dirty work. Zhixing had been perfectly calm and placid, a little pre-occupied, and had only stopped by Hongbin to ask after the rabbit. That damn rabbit.

"You called them back?" Zhiheng asked.

Hongbin sat by Zhiheng, and couldn't clearly see the prince's face. But he could see the minister. Minister Han kept looking towards Hongbin—Hongbin could tell, even though his eyes were directed downward.

It was the Minister who wanted him here, but it was Zhiheng who hadn’t sent him away. It left Hongbin uneasy. It would’ve made sense for Zhiheng to wave him off. But maybe it was because no matter how one said it, the Minister was Zhiheng's uncle, and the prince's first instinct would be to obey. Until recently, Hongbin would've said that Zhiheng may have been cold, but he was still a good man, filial and respectful. He didn't know what he'd say now.

Hongbin dragged his attention back to the room. Thinking about it didn't change the fact that he was here.

"Yes," the Minister was answering. "There seemed no point."

Hongbin creased his brows without meaning to.

Zhiheng's eyes flickered to the side—to Hongbin. Hongbin bowed his head further. As long as Hongbin was here, Zhiheng would not speak freely.

"I see," Zhiheng said, careful and thoughtful. His words gave nothing away.

"A Duke in name only, it would not be worth it," the Minister said.

Hongbin had to stop himself from sucking in a sharp breath. By 'Duke', the Minister had to mean Duke of Yin, Cha Hakyeon. The one leading the army into an ambush meant for Prince of Jing, Zheng Zhiyuan. They were speaking of the planned ambush. With Hongbin right here. His heart quickened, pounding in his chest, as rapid as a frightened rabbit. Hongbin couldn’t say he liked the man, let alone trusted him, but he didn’t deserve to die—and in Hongbin’s immediate panic over the prince, he’d forgotten that the duke was just as much of a target.

The Minister had called the assassins back. But, Hongbin told himself, even if the Minister hadn’t and the Duke had been lost, it would not be he and the Prince of Jing both. That was all that Hongbin could’ve done. It was what he’d told the Duke. The Duke who hadn’t believed him.

Fleetingly, those cold, calculating, distrusting eyes drew a chill into Hongbin’s skin through sheer memory alone.

What was it Hongbin had told the Duke then? That he stood by Zhiheng.

Zhiheng who almost seemed disappointed that the Minister had called the assassins back, that the Duke of Yin had not died by their hands on that day. But the Minister said that it wouldn't be worth it—that eliminating the Duke wasn't worth the trouble. In Hongbin's eyes, the Duke was just as dangerous as the prince. But maybe the Minister had other pieces in mind on the board—Hongbin was ashamed that he'd begun to think of this as a game of chess. They'd allow the Duke to live, because it served them better. Or... did the Minister truly consider the Duke worthless—because his was not royal blood?

To Hongbin’s left, the doors of the vestibule were thrown open but the air was still stiff and heavy. It was well into autumn, and the summer heat had faded. The skies had been threatening rain since yesterday, and the longer it dragged on, the more ferocious the storm would be. It’d been just after a storm like that when Hongbin had first met the Minister.

“What was it you wished to discuss with me, Uncle?”

Hongbin’s mind was wandering. It’d be easier if he could see Zhiheng’s face, if he could know what his prince was thinking. He had to settle with studying the Minister. There was something like a smile on his face that almost made him look like a kind old man. The Minister shook out his sleeves, as if he were to raise his hands in acknowledgement to Zhiheng, but decided not to.

“I am afraid his Majesty the Emperor learned of the attempt on his son’s life,” the Minister said gravely.

“But Uncle, I thought he wasn’t to know,” Zhiheng said. Hongbin could hear the sudden, tense frown in Zhiheng’s voice. He didn't need to see it.

“It seemed prudent that he was informed rather than hearing of it through other means,” the Minister said. “There are many eyes and ears in this city and information is difficult to control.”

Hongbin had wondered about that—how did the Minister know of something that purportedly was not by his own hand, and had also been kept quiet. Where were his eyes and ears?

"It will spread no further," the Minister said, forestalling Zhiheng's comment.

"It could have been silenced," Zhiheng said, terse.

"You are correct, your Highness. It could have been done, or dismissed as one of many baseless rumours. But when a gift is given, it would be rude not to accept it," the Minister said, a slight smile stretching across his lips.

"I do not quite follow," Zhiheng said—neither did Hongbin.

"His Majesty would never sit idly by while assassins are sent after his pampered child," the Minister said.

Pampered? Hongbin had to bite back a laugh at thinking of the Prince of Jing as 'pampered'. Zhiheng bristled—as the Minister had intended.

"There will be some good news soon," the Minister continued. "I do not think we will need to wait long before it is proclaimed and announced."

That was not an answer. It didn't make anything clear. Hongbin swallowed down his frustration. This didn't concern him, anyway. It shouldn't frustrate him—he was only here to sit still and look pretty.

"Very well. If I will wait, then I will wait. It is within your grasp."

"I will manage it, your Highness need not worry."

"Tell me honestly—it was not your doing?" Zhiheng asked. He gestured broadly with one hand.

"Not mine. It would have been one aware of the Prince of Jing's... malady. Or perhaps one who caused it," the Minister said.

Hongbin's heart beat loud enough in his chest he feared the two men could hear it, or that it showed on his face. The Minister appeared truly concerned, too absorbed to notice Hongbin. To guess that Hongbin may have been the cause for the prince's illness.

"Poisoned, and then assassins to clean up the rest. Sloppy—our Second Princess is skilled both as a doctor, and in the martial arts," Zhiheng said. Hongbin thought he caught a thread of... reverence? Admiration? when Zhiheng spoke of the princess. It piqued his curiosity unnecessarily. This was Taekwoon's full sister. Hongbin would've thought that Zhiheng's animosity to Taekwoon would've extended to her. But even that animosity had been absent until this summer.

"The First Prince—"

"Underestimates them both. I am aware, Uncle," Zhiheng said. "But what is done is done."

"Indeed," the Minister said. He picked up one of the forgotten tea cups and turned it about to inspect it. In his large fingers, it was tiny and fragile.

"They are exquisite," Zhiheng said.

"Yes, such fine craftsmanship," the Minister agreed, and Hongbin knew that they'd finished with the real discussion. Now they would chatter aimlessly like two ladies at the market until the Minister finally left.

He didn't have to wait long.

The Minister saw himself out and within seconds, Zhiheng's posture relaxed and he beckoned Hongbin closer.

"That must have been terribly boring," Zhiheng said. He even sounded a little apologetic.

Hongbin let himself be pulled against Zhiheng, his weight falling against the Prince's side. Zhiheng wrapped an arm about Hongbin's shoulders and patted his arm.

"Hongbin was unworthy to be present," Hongbin said.

"Hm," Zhiheng hummed. "That is as well. Tell me, what do you think of the minister?"

A lecherous snake.

Hongbin couldn't say that aloud.

He couldn't be rude or speak badly of the Minister—would Zhiheng prefer praise, or a critical opinion? And why, Hongbin thought viciously to himself, did he keep finding himself in this situation, his opinion asked about someone he couldn't give an opinion on.

His hesitation lasted too long.

"You don't like him," Zhiheng said. Hongbin cringed, a protest nearly blurted out but stopped by Zhiheng's hand clasping Hongbin's shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture.

"I understand, my dove. He will not touch you, I will make it so. The Minister is a good man, you are just... very tempting," Zhiheng said. "Not that it is your fault."

"My Prince is too kind," Hongbin said.

"I am lucky to have you," Zhiheng said, and a bit of the old vitriol flared in Hongbin's stomach. He ached to wrench himself out of Zhiheng's grasp.

"The lucky one is me," Hongbin said. The reply rolled off his tongue like poisoned honey.

"But what is he planning?" When Zhiheng frowned, his entire body tended to tense. Hongbin felt Zhiheng's shoulders shift and his own muscles instinctively strained to get away—Hongbin forced himself to relax.

As the seconds of silence lingered, Hongbin understood that Zhiheng was asking him—asking Hongbin—for an answer. Had this been why Zhiheng wanted him to stay?

Hongbin hastily played through the bits and pieces of talk he'd heard over the past few days; the ones that Zhiheng knew he'd heard. One thing Hongbin certainly wasn't to know—

"Could it have been... the Duke of Yin, my Prince and the Minister were speaking of?" Hongbin ventured.

"The Duke—Hakyeon? Yes, we did mention him," Zhiheng said. Hongbin thought he could detect a trace of disconcerting hesitation in Zhiheng's reply.

"I did not follow very well, your Highness," Hongbin said demurely. He thought it wiser to leave the entire business with the assassins alone, lest he slip up and say something about the aborted attempt. Hongbin wasn't to know about that.

Zhiheng's lips parted as if he were about to speak, but he shook his head instead. He laughed softly, seemingly exasperated.

"It's difficult to scold you," Zhiheng said. He brushed a hand against Hongbin's hair, down to rest against the back of Hongbin's neck. There was no way Zhiheng couldn't feel the way Hongbin stiffened. Hongbin gave a quick prayer to the gods in thanks that Zhiheng didn't comment. He didn't know how he'd answer.

"Could your Highness be asking about the good news the Minister spoke of?" Hongbin asked.

"Yes," Zhiheng murmured, stroking Hongbin's hair again. Hongbin fought against gritting his teeth. He'd bear it. He'd endured this for so long.

When Zhiheng said nothing more, Hongbin involuntarily wet his lips with his tongue.

"Forgive me, but Hongbin does not understand why your Highness does not speak of this with the Lady Princess. Hongbin is unworthy for such solemn talk," Hongbin said.

"I don't want to unduly worry her," Zhiheng said. "Particularly now, with her bearing my child."

Hongbin's hand flew to his mouth in surprise. "The Lady Princess?"

Zhiheng sat up to regard Hongbin with amusement. "I thought you knew?" he said. "From what my Lady Wife told me..."

Hongbin deferred his glance to his hands. Had he really been so obvious?

"Hongbin did not want to assume," he said quietly, but then he raised his head and smiled—and surprised himself with how wholly real that smile was. "But this is wonderful news, your Highness. A thousand congratulations, your Highness! Heaven has blessed you and the Lady Princess."

"Yes, we are fortunate," Zhiheng said, and he too was smiling more genuinely than Hongbin had ever seen.

It was Lady Jian that Hongbin was happy for—and for her sake, he could bear anything the prince wanted. A man always had his needs.

It had been a quiet few days. Still and heavy, the air thick and smothering, like the worst parts of summer had returned to haunt them before being buried in sleep to await its proper turn. It was going to rain—it should've rained. Song Qian felt it in her very bones. Every moment the sky remained grey and free of rain weighed on her conscience.

Taekwoon hadn't woken up.

There was nothing wrong with him. His pulse was normal. The fever had disappeared last night. His breathing was regular. But he was still mired in a sleep so deep and entrapping that Song Qian had begun to worry. Irrational worry. If it'd been anyone but Taekwoon, she would've reassured the patient's family that sometimes the mind was as tired as the body, and all it needed was rest—especially when the rest had been sorely needed even before the illness. And that was exactly what Taekwoon needed.

It still made her worry.

Even with the doors and windows flung open to let in the air, Taekwoon's room was stuffy and Song Qian had fled outside, leaving Taekwoon in slumber, guarded by a scrappy cat. She'd found herself inescapably drawn towards the front gate. Bodies had fallen one by one in this courtyard, blood spilling over the stones, seeping into the cracks. The bodies had been removed and the blood scrubbed clean, but the back of Song Qian's neck prickled with the illusion of death spread in front of her.

Zhixing hadn't sent them. She knew that. She was sure of that. But if it was Zhiheng or Zhiying or someone else entirely. She didn't know. She wasn't good at these sorts of things. She was good at killing—how ironic, when that was what they said about Taekwoon. Never about her. Women weren't supposed to be good at killing. They'd forgotten, whosever work this had been.

The sun had barely topped the horizon when Song Qian stepped outside; she looked up and saw a bright ball behind grey clouds, hanging mid-sky. Too much time had passed. She should check on Taekwoon—but that wasn't what had tugged her out of dazed reverie.

"Who is it?" Song Qian called out to the approaching guard. They had a visitor.

"Your Highness, it is the Prince of Yue," the guard said uneasily—Song Qian had given strict instructions to refuse anyone Song Qian hadn't asked to see. "Should we turn him away?"

"No," Song Qian said without hesitation. "Let him in."

"Yes, your Highness." The guard bowed.

The door burst open and Song Qian let out a deep breath. She got slowly to her feet to stop the guard from sprinting back to hold back an unstoppable force. The force known as an agitated Jaehwan.

"Well, come in," Song Qian said. She hadn't seen him since the day before Hakyeon had left. Jaehwan hadn't needed to be told—and Song Qian wasn't master of this house in the first place.

"Did you hear!?" Jaehwan sprinted to a stop barely an arms length from Song Qian. "Is it true?"

Song Qian's heart dropped a beat, and then the world seemed to stop. Silence filled her ears. Jaehwan's expression was odd, like someone had taken anger and twisted it into worry and dragged it roughly across his face and it'd ended up as neither. His chest was heaving with the effort of breathing, his shoulders tensed. Coiled like a bamboo slat pulled bent and as likely to snap and break as it was to slap straight and true.

"Hakyeon," she breathed—and time started moving again. The bamboo was released slowly, confusion melted into Jaehwan's features, his brows furrowing into deep creases. And then it smoothed out—smoothed down, like soft resin pulled towards the ground. Now it was guilt, and Jaehwan had never been good at hiding his emotions and the exertion of it almost made her laugh.

It was not Hakyeon—Song Qian could breathe again.

Jaehwan had clearly forgotten about Hakyeon. His expression was pained.

"Sit down and tell me slowly," she said.

"It's just that, when he leaves—"

"Never mind that, what is it you nearly broke the door for that you wanted to say so badly?" Song Qian asked. She'd already started walking, somewhere deeper inside, she needed to get away from this front courtyard and knew that Jaehwan would follow her. She paused, and Jaehwan almost tripped over himself stilling his steps. "I haven't heard anything."

"You haven't left ge's side," Jaehwan said softly. His voice trembled with guilt and wretchedness.

Song Qian hesitated. "There is something for me to tell as well, but it sounds like you have news for me," she said.

She didn't bring them inside. She couldn't stand being inside. Instead, she brought them to where a crescent bridge crossed a shallow stream. She sat on one of the rocks and gestured for Jaehwan to do the same. There were as many rocks as there was water. The world needed balance.

Jaehwan hesitated. "Is it dry?" he asked doubtfully.

"It's dry," Song Qian said with a soft indulgent laugh. Hopefully, it wouldn't be, before tomorrow came. The rain had to come.

Jaehwan sat—how couldn't he, when a princess already had, without worrying if she'd get her clothes dirty. He was ginger about it, picking a rock that looked comfortable, but too short for his long legs when he sat. His grimace was petulant and Song Qian's lips twitched in a smile.

"Have you calmed down?" Song Qian asked. It was a joy to watch Jaehwan's expression flicker like a mask changing dance: confusion, annoyance, perplexed, anger, awe, worry, fear—fear?

It wasn't Hakyeon, but it wasn't anything good.

"Father has chosen a successor," Jaehwan said, drawing out his words slowly. He quickly shook his head to ward off Song Qian's disbelief. "Chosen, not announced."

"I don't—"

"No, that's not it," Jaehwan said, frowning. "It was announced that he'd chosen a successor. The next emperor. But it wasn't announced who."

"'Who'," Song Qian echoed softly. "Who announced it?"

She knew the answer even before she'd asked.

"Sanghyuk's old man," Jaehwan bit out, voice full of disgust. Song Qian had never quite understood why Jaehwan hated the man so much. But he was the Minister of Ceremonies. Announcing—and planning—such things was his job.

"Is that why you're so upset?" Song Qian asked.

"Just like that? Out of nowhere?" Jaehwan's eyes opened wide as he shook his head. "That the Emperor had chosen, that the edict had been sealed—just as Hakyeon leaves and Taekwoon..."

"What are they saying about Taekwoon?" Song Qian asked wearily.

"Sanghyuk told me people are saying it's poison," Jaehwan said. He tensed, body curling away from Song Qian, as if afraid. Song Qian wanted to laugh.

"They aren't wrong," she said, voice as soft as Taekwoon's. I am about to ask you to poison your dearest baby brother. Hakyeon's request lingered in her mind like a wistful spirit, clinging to her memory. She'd never forget the bitter sadness in his voice, the determination, but most of all, the apologetic guilt. It seemed to run in this family—that guilt.

"Do you think it's true?" Jaehwan asked. The brash youth who'd charged through the front gates was gone, and in his place was an unsure boy, looking to his older sister to sort out the world for him. But she had no more answers now than when they'd been children—and she no longer had the boldness to act like she did.

"If Father thinks there was an attempt on Taekwoon's life... he isn't a fool, Jaehwannie. He knows he is ageing, that his sons know he is ageing." She couldn't bring herself to say 'dying'. "What son wouldn't want to gain what he thinks is his birthright? Families have been torn by fortunes far smaller than an imperial throne."

"Sanghyuk is an only son," Jaehwan agreed.

"It will be uncomplicated," Song Qian said. Sanghyuk had an older sister, long married away, but there were no brothers. Sanghyuk was the only son who could inherit the Han family legacy. In their own family, there were thirteen surviving sons.

"Who do you think Father chose?" Jaehwan asked.

"I don't know," Song Qian she answered without hesitation. "And I don't want to guess."

Her words were firm. Jaehwan's head bobbed curtly. He wouldn't ask her again. It was best left alone, until the day it would become known. There was nothing they could do—the numb knowing of this was a cold weight in her chest.

"There is something you should know as well," Song Qian said. She clasped her hands together and stared across the water, to the bamboo grasses on the other side. There were no fish, nothing to disturb the surface except the passing wind. How she wished for the wide expanse of real lakes and rivers, the white sails of passing boats like clouds in a dream. True mountains, stark and ethereal in the distance. Not the symbolic landscapes trapped inside these walls.

She wanted to go back.

"Jie?"

Jaehwan's quiet voice pulled her back to her proper thoughts. Something Jaehwan had to know. A breath escaped her all at once and she let her shoulders slump a little.

"They sent assassins."

"What!?" Jaehwan shot to his feet, voice exploding in the hollow air. "Jie—"

"Not long after Hakyeon left," Song Qian said. She wished he hadn't been so blunt. "They either knew Taekwoon was here, or they were sent for me."

"But why you?" Jaehwan asked. Song Qian gestured for him to sit—you're too tall to stand—and with reluctance, he did, his body folding like a broken chair.

Song Qian nodded. "The only answer is they were prepared for Taekwoon to remain."

"No one knew," Jaehwan said, frown deepening. "No one was supposed to know."

"Xing'er came right after," Song Qian said. "He'd gone to see Hakyeon off."

"Third Brother was with him," Jaehwan said.

"He said he was too close to Han'er," Song Qian said.

"Zhihan had nothing to do with this," Jaehwan said, sharp enough to make Song Qian look at him. Jaehwan's eyes were fire.

"That's not what I meant," Song Qian said. She smiled wryly. "He also said that he wasn't you."

It took a second for it to sink in, and then Jaehwan sank into himself with it.

"I think Xing'er did know," Song Qian added, "but I also don't think it was him. But who told Hakyeon? Perhaps they are..."

"The same?" Jaehwan asked. He shook his head. "Before Mid-Autumn, Hakyeon came to me, and said he needed to go see Zhiheng."

"That time the three of you went with Xixi," Song Qian said.

"The only person Hakyeon spoke to was Hongbin," Jaehwan said.

"Zhiheng's concubine?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Jaehwan said, oddly bitter for a reason Song Qian couldn't understand.

"I didn't know they knew each other," Song Qian said. "And Hongbin is..." No, it'd been years since she'd last spoken to him. It wasn't her place.

"Hongbin's what?" Jaehwan asked the obvious question.

"Quiet," Song Qian settled with, and then shook her head. "No, the real question is, who knew about the assassins?"

"Zhixing," Jaehwan said without missing a beat.

"And the one who sent them," Song Qian said.

"But why?"

"The assassins didn't stand a chance," Song Qian said. "Taekwoon could've taken them one armed and blind-folded."

They both ignored the glaring fact that a child could walk up and slit Taekwoon's throat right now. Song Qian didn't think they'd be so bold.

"Let me look into this, jie," Jaehwan said. "Too much's happening all at once, all of it when Hakyeon's gone. When Taekwoon was supposed to be gone. And..."

Jaehwan hesitated, pulling his words. Song Qian glanced at him and then away. The air was stuffy even outside. She missed the world beyond these walls—beyond this city. She suddenly longed for her mother.

"Zhihan has been acting strangely," Jaehwan said. He caught his lip between his teeth and then let it go as soon as he noticed he was doing it.

"I don't suspect him either," Song Qian reassured him. Lies, at times, were not all bad. And Jaehwan believed her. He nodded.

"Maybe... all of this is connected," Jaehwan said. "The announcement, the assassins..."

"Two sets of assassins," Song Qian said.

"Have you heard from Hakyeon?" Jaehwan asked.

Song Qian shook her head, unable to look at Jaehwan. "No news is good news," she said softly.

"I think... it was Minister Han who suggested sealing the successor," Song Qian continued. "It doesn't seem like something Father would choose to do for himself. Perhaps he thinks it will limit the fight between his sons."

"That'll never happen," Jaehwan said. His lips twisted in bitterness.

"Better to do something than wishfully hope," Song Qian said. "And perhaps the name on that scroll is one amenable to all."

"You and I both know how unlikely that is," Jaehwan said. He stood, knees stiff, creaking upright like an old man. In him, it was not age, but hesitation.

"I'll walk with you," Song Qian said. "Taekwoon will be fine for a few hours. And he has quite a fearsome guard with him."

"Oh?" Jaehwan's eyebrows rose.

"Small but loyal," Song Qian said, lips quirking in a smile despite herself. "But come, I'd like to reach the palace before the day gets late. Oblige your old sister and escort me."

Taekwoon came awake in bits and pieces, awareness returning to his fingers, an odd ache in the hard bones of his knees, an itch low in his stomach. His chest felt heavy, warmth wrapped around him so tightly it almost hurt. His eyes were weighted and refused to open, his head disjointed as if it weren't a part of him at all. Taekwoon tried to take a breath—and spluttered. The only thing that he breathed in was fur.

Puppy whined her displeasure and jumped off of Taekwoon's face—he winced when her claws caught his ear—and settled haughtily right in the middle of his chest. Sitting up would only earn him another set of battle scars. He settled for spitting out cat fur.

The windows and doors were flung open and the room was bright. Beyond the fur, his mouth and throat were parched dry and swallowing was painful. He couldn't seem to move—the blankets constricted him. He lifted his head—there was a depression in the blankets, one that Puppy sat in, the perfect shape to fit her curled up form. He smiled. She'd made herself comfortable there before she'd decided on her usual rude awakening of sitting on his face.

"Did I neglect you?" Taekwoon asked. The words scratched against his dry tongue, and moistening his lips was no use. He needed water.

Puppy licked a paw and then walked forward. She butted her head against Taekwoon's face. He kept his mouth closed so she couldn't treat him to another mouthful of cat fur.

With a fervent prayer that she'd forgive him, Taekwoon began the very slow act of sitting up.

When he'd been very young, there'd be mornings and afternoons and nights where his body refused to obey him, when muscles fell limp and joints creaked and stuck like the door of the old storage room in the back of the library. He'd try not to cry, but sometimes the panic would overpower him, and Hakyeon would appear like a summoned spirit. Sometimes his sister, and then his mother—but always Hakyeon. Even if he woke in silence.

This time, there was no one.

It was an agonising process and the room disappeared under him, swung briefly back into focus and then vanished altogether. Dizziness overwhelmed him. He grit his teeth and through sheer will, forced numb and unfeeling limbs to maneuverer himself upright. The room was still blank and missing. Taekwoon let his head drop to his knees. Even through his socks, the floor felt cold. He used that to ground himself, one direction of firmness, of reality, even if the soles of his feet were as numb and blurry as the rest of him.

Beside him, Puppy meowed. She butted her head against his side and rubbed herself all over his arm. He reached for her blindly and a wave of comfort washed over him when she crawled onto his lap, fit herself under his chest and bowed head. She meowed again, loudly.

"Where's Hakyeon?" he asked the cat, like she'd have any answer for him. She only meowed again and pushed her head against his hand. Taekwoon buried his fingers in her fur, felt her rumbling beneath his palm, and waited until he could right the world.

It took longer than usual even with Puppy purring encouragement at him. The cat wasn't his sister, and definitely wasn't Hakyeon. No, because Hakyeon was—

Realisation shot through him like an arrow. Taekwoon scrambled to his feet so quickly that all he did was fall, knees buckling as he crashed heavily to the ground. He barely felt the impact as he struggled to stand. He fell again. Puppy bounded to the far corner of the room and yowled, an ear shattering sound that could bring the world down around them. And still no Hakyeon.

Hakyeon had ridden away. There was no sound loud enough to summon him.

Rushed footsteps rapidly approached and in the haze of his mind, Taekwoon briefly thought it was Song Qian—but the footsteps didn't sound right. It was one of the servants.

"Your Highness! You must not get out of bed!"

Taekwoon squinted, thoughts thick like pulled candy. It was Old Chang from the kitchens, her hair pulled back and streaked with grey. Taekwoon didn't have the heart to push her away when she lifted him like a sack of rice and pushed him back onto the bed. He didn't have the strength either, and nearly fell forward into her arms.

"Hakyeon?" Taekwoon asked, that one word hoarse and scratchy.

"His Grace is away," Old Chang said.

"Yangnan?" It came out as a croak. She nodded. Taekwoon's eyes shut, his heart sinking.

"Song Qian...?" Taekwoon trailed off, not wanting to sound needy.

"The Princess has been by your side the whole time these six days," she said. She patted him on the hand like she would a child. "This is the first time she has left the estate, her Highness will no doubt return soon. Now lie down, that's a good boy, you have a loyal protector in that cat, your sister will be overjoyed to know you've recovered, you must be thirsty—let me send for some water."

Taekwoon wasn't sure if it was the old woman's rambling as she made him lie back down, or if it was his own slow thoughts that slurred her words together.

He lay back down.

Puppy leapt from the table to the bed in one bound, and then padded to Taekwoon and curled up by his side. Absentmindedly, he stroked her fur, the cat settling into a series of pleased rumbles that warmed Taekwoon. His mind was racing and somewhere behind the haze emerged one single thought, clear as a mountain bell.

Hakyeon was at Yangnan. Song Qian wasn't here.

There was no one to stop him from riding to Yangnan.

Song Qian found her mother in the garden.

A thick cloak was draped around Meiying's shoulders and her hair fell loose against her back. A bench had been placed near the edge of the pavilion and she stared out past the railing to the green trees on the opposite shore. Fish writhed in the water, incandescent gold and orange and silver breaking the surface, waiting to be fed. Her mother still looked young from where Song Qian stood; her skin smooth and pale, her back straight, her hair black and thick, styled more like a serving girl's than an Emperor's consort.

She'd always loved that about her mother, how pretty Lady Consort Fei was even without the heavy makeup and ornamentation of the other women in her father's court. It'd taken Song Qian a long time to understand there was more behind that simplicity than her mother’s own preferences—that it was a form of protection. The Fei name commanded respect in a kingdom of swords, but little in a palace of flowers. Here, the wrong kind of attention was dangerous.

Meiying turned at Song Qian's approach—now Song Qian could see the lines around her mother's eyes, and that the paleness of her skin came from an absence of colour, drained away by lingering illness.

"Lady Mother, your daughter has come to pay her respects," Song Qian said. She bowed deeply. Meiying's attendants left without further instruction, and Song Qian sat down next to her mother on the bench.

"You are a good child," Meiying said.

"Mother, it is cold," Song Qian said.

"They insist I wear this, so I am not cold," Meiying said, gesturing at the fur lined cloak. Song Qian wasn't wearing even a light jacket. It wasn't a cold day, and mother and daughter both knew it.

"Hakyeon has gone," Song Qian said. Her voice was as soft as a ripple on the pond, carried by the light touch of a breeze.

"He is brave and smart," Meiying said.

"Taekwoon is..."

"We hear all sorts of strange rumours here—they keep it from me as best as they can, but the serving girls talk and they will tell me all sorts of things," Meiying said, picking up where Song Qian's words dried up. There was mischief in her smile that wouldn't have been out of place forty years earlier. Song Qian couldn't help her own smile.

"Baby brother isn't dead," Song Qian said with a small laugh. It quickly fell away. "His old problems flared up, perhaps the stress..."

"You do not refute the prevailing rumour?" Meiying asked.

Song Qian still remembered how her mother would always know if Song Qian was fibbing about pulling Taekwoon's hair, or skipping out on her lessons. Just one glance and her mother would know—she’d see all of Song Qian's secrets like Song Qian was made of clear candy, just pulled from the pan into a child sized sheet. As Song Qian had grown older, she thought she'd gotten better at hiding her truths—but as she'd claimed the mantle of womanhood she'd come to understand that her mother had never stopped seeing straight through her with that one glance, she'd simply let Song Qian grow.

Taekwoon had their mother's eyes, but their mother's look was softer. Guilt stabbed Song Qian in her gut.

What prevailing rumour? The words stuck in her throat.

She bowed her head. "Your unworthy daughter dare not speak untruths." Song Qian forced the words out. Hoping it'd ease her heart in a compromise.

The look of sorrow on Meiying's face twisted Song Qian's chest into breathless anguish. Waves of shame roiled inside of her, pushed by the wind of her mother's disappointment.

"Your mother is not disappointed in you, my daughter," Meiying said. It was as if she'd read Song Qian's very thoughts. "Life has given you many difficult choices, choices that not even Heaven knows the proper answer to. We on earth cannot begin to pretend we are correct in judging the choices of others."

"I fear I've made all the wrong ones," Song Qian blurted out.

"There is no wrong or right," Meiying said. "There are only the choices we made, and the lives we lead."

"To come here and stay—was that such a choice?" Song Qian asked, as if compelled by something greater than herself.

Meiying smiled, a dry, nostalgic warmth.

"That was so long ago," Meiying said. "I barely think about it these days."

"Mother..."

"Little Hakyeon asked me the same thing not long ago—as we near the end of our time on earth, our childhood memories seem to resurface at the strangest of times," Meiying said.

"You still have many years—"

"The very best doctors have all said there is no more than a year remaining," Meiying said. She paused, hand shifting as if to seek out Song Qian's before it rested again on her own lap. "Even your own teacher."

"I... don't believe that," Song Qian said. "Mother is strong, and lately you've been so healthy—"

"Separate what you know as my daughter, and observe as you would a doctor to a patient," Meiying said. "You do not need to speak your answer, but don't deny the answer in your heart, my dearest daughter. Sit closer to your mother."

Song Qian obeyed the last while she digested the earlier words. She rested her head on Meiying's shoulder, searching for her mother's hand under the warm cloak. The skin stretched thin over the bones in Meiying's hand, soft and fragile. Even from this loose touch, where Song Qian's thumb lingered over her mother's wrist, her fingers brushing gently against her mother’s lifeline—she knew the doctors were right. There was no other truth.

"My little girl has grown up into a strong woman," Meiying said. Song Qian flushed. "I know that whatever you do, you will succeed in. You were always a strong child, and you are even stronger as an adult."

"Your daughter is unworthy of such praise," Song Qian murmured.

"Yes, you are strong," Meiying murmured. She grasped Song Qian's hand with her other, Song Qian's hand pressed between her mother's palms.

"You loved General Yue," Meiying said.

Every fibre in Song Qian's muscles went rigid, anything to keep her from flinching at such abrupt words. General Yue. Song Qian fought to conjure up a memory of him, the way he looked when he smiled, or mounted his horse, or had his evening meal. Only the faintest impressions persisted. Yes, she'd loved him. She hadn't thought she would but her father had chosen a good man to be her husband, and now he barely lingered in her memory.

"I did." It was all Song Qian could manage to say.

"Then maybe you could understand my choice," Meiying said.

"Mother?"

"I had someone very dear to me when I was young—much younger than you are now. She visited us with her family, and she was not too much older than I. For some months she stayed in a town nearby. She was... she was beautiful, but she was also smart and kind and fun and she, almost a woman, allowed this small twelve year old child to follow her like a puppy at her heels." Meiying's eyes grew distant, a small smile softened her lips.

This was the first time Song Qian had heard her mother speak of this—speak of anything before her time in the palace. It tugged at Song Qian's chest, plucking at a string of emotion she didn't dare identify.

"She had to return to the capital eventually," Meiying said, and the wistful ache was palpable to Song Qian. "Not long after, she was married. Such a joyful occasion when she bore a child—a son—a year or two later. Your mother was barely more than a girl. When her letter expressed her loneliness... Your mother was a rebellious child. I came to the capital to become her lady-in-waiting."

"Mother, you can't mean—!"

Song Qian knew some of this—that Meiying had once been attached to the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress before the Emperor had taken Fei Meiying as a concubine. That this had all happened before her father had become Emperor.

"Junyu was the most wonderful person I knew," Meiying said, with a soft smile of understanding for Song Qian. Song Qian had never heard the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress's name spoken like that before, with warmth and familiarity—not from her father, not from her siblings, and it hit her with a cold shock. This was the Empress. Exalted and untouchable, as powerful in the back palace as the Emperor was in the world. And yet, her mother was speaking of her kindness, her loneliness.

Silence lapsed between them, Meiying momentarily lost in memory, Song Qian struggling to reconcile this with the reality she knew. The fish still burbled in the water, even though neither of the women sitting at the edge of the pavilion had cast down any food.

The former Empress had passed away seven years ago, bringing little Xixi into the world. Song Qian had been grown and married already, although she mourned the former Empress's passing with all the respect due of a parent. But in Song Qian's memory, the former Empress had always been a distant figure. She couldn't remember her ever treating Meiying with anything more or less than their positions demanded.

"Was she... upset that Father liked you?"

Meiying shook her head with a small laugh. "No, she was happy that we were more like sisters than we'd already been. She'd always treated me like her younger sister. But I understand what you are thinking, my dear daughter. She grew busy with A'Heng. We all knew he'd one day be crown prince."

"Zhiheng gege?" Song Qian frowned.

"Yes, your Second Brother," Meiying said. "You would play together at times when you were young, although you were probably too young to remember. Junyu was... the full demands of her position had only begun to weigh her down. It is hard work, being Empress."

"But Father never chose a crown prince," Song Qian said.

"He thought it wouldn't be fair, but as his sons grew, it was clear Zhiheng was more outstanding than Zhiying in every way—and his mother was the Empress," Meiying said.

"But Taekwoonie... The Empress..."

"My silly son," Meiying said fondly. She shook her head. "Taekwoon was only a babe, and there were enough children running about the back palace and peace to be kept among all your Father's ladies and the other girls. Junyu said she knew Taekwoon would grow up smart and strong if he was anything like you, and that one day Zhiheng might finally have an equal."

She must've been pleased that Taekwoon was always sick, Song Qian bit back even as she flushed under the praise. They were such unfair words and more than that, they were untrue. She'd believed the idle whisperings in the palace as a child, the other children, the servants, the other ladies of the palace.

"Zhiheng was an outstanding youth—it was the highest praise anyone could have given," Meiying said, smiling. "Junyu never lost her kindness, even though she had every reason to."

Because rank was everything in the back palace. And everyone in it knew that. And who else but the Empress held the highest rank of all? This was something Song Qian understood. This was the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress that Song Qian remembered.

Something nagged at her, something Meiying had said that'd gotten lost in the flow of unexpected knowledge of the Former Empress, and more than that, a side of her mother she'd never known.

"Mother, may your daughter ask a question?" Song Qian ventured.

"Always, my dear child," Meiying said.

"Did you love her?"

"As much as I was allowed to," Meiying answered. She spoke without hesitation. She again looked away into the distance, at the dull blue sky. "For as long as I was allowed to."

Did she love you? Song Qian knew she'd never know the answer to that question, nor would she ever ask.

So this was the answer, here was why the brash, spirited daughter of the Fei clan, the beautiful and brilliant Fei Meiying, had come to the capital and locked herself behind these palace walls.

"There is something else, Mother," Song Qian said slowly. Unwilling to destroy the nostalgic past her mother was submerged in. There was sorrow in Meiying's eyes—Song Qian knew as well as anyone could, the comfort such sorrow in memory could give.

But the past flagged in the presence of the future. "It's being said that Father has finally chosen a crown prince—no, a successor. It will only be revealed when... when the time comes."

"So the rumours of the back palace mirror those outside for once," Meiying said. She didn't take her eyes off that interminable distance. There was no hint of the surprise Song Qian had felt, or the agitation Jaehwan had come to her with. Acceptance—expectant.

"It isn't a rumour," Song Qian said. "It has been announced and declared by Minister Han. Jaehwan brought me the news, and Jaehwan wouldn't lie."

"I only hope it isn't too late," Meiying said.

"Mother?"

"If it had been sooner, perhaps we would not be faced with this scene," Meiying murmured. "If only Taekwoon..."

Meiying shook her head and pulled the cloak tighter about her shoulders. She released Song Qian's hand, and the sudden rush of cool air was shocking.

"If Zhiheng had been made crown prince...?"

"A simple court lady cannot begin to understand the thoughts and choices of an Emperor," Meiying said, "only watch the way the straws fall. Our dear Junyu was right—baby Taekwoon has grown to match Zhiheng in almost every way—except in temperament, perhaps. Your Father has been blessed with good sons. But only one of his sons can take his place, while the others support him."

Meiying paused and let out a deep breath.

"It has been a long time since the eldest son succeeded the throne," she said quietly.

"Second Brother is not the eldest," Song Qian pointed out.

"No, he isn't," Meiying agreed.

“If nothing had happened, I think Taekwoon would’ve been happy to support Zhiheng. But now… Even now—even now he might. That’s how our Taekwoonie is. But I… don’t think that Zhiheng would want his support.”

“And Zhiying?” Meiying asked, her eyes lifting.

Song Qian shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. They both knew that Meiying didn’t consider him a part of the equation either. By now, the only one who did was Zhiying himself—and the court officials that had gathered around him. But Zhiheng would take care of them easily. As long as Zhiheng lived, Zhiying would never take the throne.

It was a sobering thought.

“How is Taekwoon?” Meiying turned to her daughter to ask the obvious question that’d remained half-answered.

“He’s resting,” Song Qian said honestly. “He’s sleeping peacefully, all his vitals are healthy—or I wouldn’t be here."

"Jaehwan's news must've greatly distressed you for you to leave him," Meiying said with amusement.

Does it not distress you, Mother?

But it distressed Song Qian because of why she'd done what she'd done, because of what happened the morning Hakyeon had left—because Taekwoon still hadn't woken and Hakyeon still hadn't sent word. How she wished she'd sent a flock of pigeons with him and asked him for a message every day. Her mother knew of none of this—so there was no reason for her to be distressed.

"I'm worried," Song Qian said. It came out barely a whisper.

"Of?"

"If he means Zhiheng, why does Father not announce it?"

"And if he doesn't mean Zhiheng?" Meiying suggested gently.

"Then... then he could still announce it," Song Qian said.

"And if he does, what will that change?" Meiying asked. "Let him keep his peace, but also let the people know that his choice of successor was made with sound mind in good health, without the coercion of time at a sickbed. If it has been sealed and decided, then there is no use in petitioning the Emperor into choosing elsewise."

"Then you believe it was Father's own choice," Song Qian said.

"It doesn't do to speak of it like this, my daughter," Meiying said gently. "Your father is the Exalted Emperor and there are clever, experienced men for him to consult. It does not do his children credit for them to gossip about it like fruit sellers on the street."

"Your daughter understands, mother," Song Qian said, suitably chastised.

"I have something for you," Meiying suddenly said. Song Qian hurried to help her mother stand, and just as quickly stopped to do no more than a token gesture. Taekwoon didn't get his unwillingness for help from their father.

Song Qian walked with Meiying back to her rooms, her mother lightly clasping Song Qian's arm. Her mother lead her past the entrance hall and through the sitting rooms, and gestured for Song Qian to sit on her bed. Mother and daughter sat side by side. Meiying reached to the far side and pulled out a painted wooden box, locked with a clasp. There was no key—instead, Meiying pushed about a set of panels until the lid popped open. Meiying smiled at Song Qian's wide-eyed wonder.

"One day, I'll teach you," Meiying said. "If your uncle hasn't already."

"He hasn't," Song Qian said.

"Then there are still some family secrets your old mother can teach you," Meiying said. Inside the box was an assortment of jewellery, precious treasures. Meiying touched her fingers reverently to them, pausing before she lifted out a plain jade bracelet.

It was brilliantly white and clear, and the stone wasn't cold when Meiying drew Song Qian's hand onto her lap and slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. It was tight as it slid over the joints of her knuckles.

Song Qian lifted her wrist to her eyes and turned the smooth stone about it.

"It's pretty," Song Qian murmured.

"It was my mother's, and her mother's before her," Meiying said. "Your grandmother gave it to me when I left for the capital, but it made me ashamed to wear it."

"Because it was plain?" Song Qian hadn't thought her mother was the kind of person who'd care about something like that.

"No," Meiying said, light with amusement. She shook her head. Gently, Meiying held Song Qian's hand close and stroked the back of it.

"Because I was ashamed at myself for turning on my family," Meiying said, and suddenly there was more sadness weighing down her voice than Song Qian could remember. More than when Meiying learned of her own illness, more than when they heard the news of General Yue's accident, more than when the Esteemed Former Empress Wang Junyu had passed from this earth—and now Song Qian understood the true meaning behind her mother's sorrow. Even more than when Meiying's brother, Song Qian's youngest uncle, fell to his death in a riding accident. Even more than those heart-wrenching stabbing cries that only Song Qian had heard—the sadness Meiying carried on her shoulders now weighed even more than that. And yet, she sat with her back straight, her words steady, as if they'd been something Meiying had been prepared to say since the day she'd been handed that bracelet.

And Song Qian, instinctively, knew that was true, as the bracelet was warmed by both mother and daughter's touch. That afternoon, it was Song Qian who was held in her mother's arms as she cried. It would be much later at night, after Fei Meiying had watched her own eldest child leave, before tears would drip silently down the cheeks of the eldest daughter of the Fei clan, as she wondered when she would watch the back of the third and youngest of her children disappear from that doorway for the last time.

It took time for Taekwoon's head to clear, and even more time for him to order away the servants fussing about him. The more he was told his sister would return soon, the more Taekwoon fretted about leaving immediately. Something told him that this was his only window, that the moment Song Qian returned Taekwoon wouldn't have a chance like this again.

So thinking, he dressed quickly, fingers fumbling at ties and buckles. Puppy meowed at him in encouragement. He hoped it was encouragement.

They'd left him to rest in peace, so there was no one to see him leave his rooms and close the doors behind him. His steps were too loud against the floorboards—he couldn't decide between walking quietly or running quickly and settled into an awkward half jog for the stables. It made his head hurt.

His rooms were far from the stables—it was inevitable that someone would see him. Apparently, the entire damn household had been told to keep him bedridden.

"But Your Highness, your servant—"

"I don't care what my sister told you, you will listen to me," Taekwoon yelled. The serving girl cowered in front of him, unused to outbursts from their usually taciturn prince.

"Your servant understands," she said and then scurried away, leaving Taekwoon to storm forward.

Stay and rest. Rest and sleep. He didn't know how, but Hakyeon had worked some witchcraft on him that'd made him sleep, and that it'd been five days of sleep. To stop Taekwoon from going with him to Yangnan! But nothing had happened, Hakyeon was jumping at shadows, and not even the dead could stop Taekwoon from going to Yangnan.

That damn girl had gotten out of his way, but she'd summoned a handful of guards instead. Taekwoon could see the stables, could almost hear Old Black's whinnying, as ready to ride off as he was.

He and Hakyeon kept few personal guards, so Taekwoon knew every one of them by name. Gao Tong. Cheng Yifen. Sima Yin. He stared them each in the eye, eleven men total. Taekwoon grimaced—it was a sign of their training that the men barely quavered.

"Out of my way," Taekwoon said.

"Respectfully, your Highness, we have been ordered to see you protected," one of the newer ones—Meng Zeqing—said, and bowed.

"Protected. Protected from what?" Taekwoon said.

"Assassins," Sima Yin said bluntly. Older, more grizzled, had been with Taekwoon and Hakyeon from the start. His grave tone slapped Taekwoon in the face.

"And there have been assassins?" Taekwoon asked. His voice had dropped into its usual quiet without his notice.

"Her Highness fended them off," Sima Yin said. "Your servants respectfully believe your Highness should return to his rooms to rest until truly better."

Taekwoon could feel it—the ground swaying slightly beneath his feet—and he hated that it seemed like they could see it as well. Backed into a corner, Taekwoon did the one thing he knew how. He readied his sword—but kept it sheathed.

"There is nothing wrong with your Prince, and the Prince of Jing, Zheng Taekwoon, will leave for Yangnan or he is not a man, and there will be nothing that can stop him."

To a man, they braced for Taekwoon's charge and didn't hold back. Something Taekwoon would've admired on a different day if they weren't in his way. To carry out their duty? Admirable. But not now.

Taekwoon gritted his teeth, each impact jarring his body more than he'd expected it to. He lost a good few minutes fighting free of his own guards and dashed the remaining distance to his horse. Old Black reared up when he saw Taekwoon, whinnying loudly.

"We're both ready to go," Taekwoon said. He looked about him for Old Black's armour. But it needed two people, and Taekwoon knew there wasn't the time. Someone would've told on him to Song Qian by now. He half expected his sister to be standing there every time he looked over his shoulder.

Curse it. It'd have to wait. Taekwoon calmed Old Black down with a soft whistle, and tacked his old friend up as quickly as he could ever remember doing, hands going about the motions deft and practised, testing the straps, checking every buckle. He'd never risk Old Black.

As he worked, a problem came to mind. The front gate. It was heavy and barred. If his sister had impressed on Taekwoon's men strongly enough that Taekwoon needed to be shut away and watched like a child, they wouldn't be opening that door for him. But there was more than one door in and out of this estate. Taekwoon lead Old Black not to the main courtyard, but out the side. There was a smaller door here, the one where meat and produce were delivered, and all else needed to run a household but that weren't important enough to be brought through the front gates. It was locked, but Taekwoon kept a key to this door, among a select few others, in a hidden places around the estate, in case of emergencies like this.

Even in Taekwoon's own thoughts he had to pause. This wasn't any sort of emergency Hakyeon might've envisioned, but it was emergency enough for Taekwoon, and it was Hakyeon who'd put him into this position anyway. Old Black nudged Taekwoon's head—he was used to going the main way. Taekwoon shushed him as he unlocked the door. It was a well-used door, so it opened without sound. He locked it carefully behind him and then tucked the key inside his clothes.

Taekwoon had just mounted when the thundering sound of hoof beats crashed towards him. He turned in alarm—Song Qian was riding for him like the devil was after her. Her expression was grim and Taekwoon swallowed down barely concealed fear.

"Go!" Taekwoon kicked his heels hard against Old Black's flank but the stallion needed no urging to start the hard ride.

"Zheng Taekwoon, you stop right there!" Song Qian's voice pierced through the hooves of their horses striking heavily against stone, the racket of the market as people scrambled out of Taekwoon's way. Taekwoon didn't dare to look over his shoulder. He knew she was gaining—her path was clear, while Taekwoon had to pull Old Black sharply around a fruit cart to avoid a collision.

He was so close to escaping. Just a little longer and he and Old Black would be on the open road with nothing to stop them. But by a bit of bad luck, Song Qian rode up far enough to grab at Old Black's reins. Old Black knew Song Qian—knew her for as long as he'd known Taekwoon. He tossed his head, snorting, but didn't kick or buck.

"Jiejie let go," Taekwoon grunted, trying to pry her hand off. He didn't let Old Black stop, and the two of them careened dangerously down the street.

"There are people after your life!" she yelled. "Don't undo everything Hakyeon has done for you!"

Taekwoon swore under his breath and urged Old Black to go faster. Song Qian might be able to hang on—but her horse wouldn't be able to keep up.

Damn those guards, damn whoever had sent for his sister, damn whoever had found his sister and given her a horse.

"Stop being a stubborn child and listen to reason, or I'll drag you back by the ear like one," Song Qian said. Her fingers curled tighter around the leather reins, pulling at Old Black's head. The poor horse finally had enough and snorted. He shook his head free with a swift tug. Song Qian tumbled forward with a soft cry, yanked off balance. She was steady on her horse within a step, but Taekwoon had broken free.

"Let me worry about myself," Taekwoon yelled. Song Qian responded with something extremely impolite and Taekwoon would've been caught between being fascinated and horrified at what she was calling him, if they weren't racing hell bent for the city gates.

He was so narrowly focussed on that one thing that he didn't realise Song Qian was lagging behind until he charged past startled guards that didn't dare to block his way. Taekwoon let Old Black slow into a gallop and risked a look behind him.

Song Qian was furious. Her horse was winded. Taekwoon swallowed. He was dead if his sister got her hands on him.

"You big dummy!" she yelled, and threw something at his head that Taekwoon instinctively dodged and caught. At the same moment he realised it was a whistle, he finally looked up—to find a flock of pigeons bearing down on him.

Taekwoon didn't think he'd ever ridden faster in his life.

Autumn had no business being this stifling. Hakyeon dragged a hand across his face, wiping away the sweat while wishing he'd left his cloak back at the camp. His horse shifted under him as he surveyed the field from a small rise, far enough away that the enemy troops appeared to be ants in a line. If he'd had any doubt that there was someone behind this rebellion, it was being shredded to pieces the longer this campaign dragged on.

The rebels had entrenched themselves a mile or two from the city walls on high ground, their numbers nearly matched with Hakyeon's own. Hakyeon estimated the enemy had lost close to half their troops—a series of wide ranging skirmishes across the uneven land had left bodies strewn across the field. Despite the enemy's larger numbers, their battle strategy had been poorly thought out. The inexperienced soldiers had scattered and fled when death bore down on them, leaving their initial advantages of the high ground. And yet, there were still this many left. Hakyeon didn't know why he hadn't considered that the conspirators might provide more to the traitors than money and promises, or whatever he'd foolishly thought it'd been.

Although, Hakyeon admitted to himself, he hadn't been thinking very clearly at the time.

Hakyeon exhaled sharply. If the good general and Zhitao hadn't been here, he feared they might've met defeat instead of a stalemate. A sense of awed relief that he was alive at all still shrouded him even though he'd forced himself to shake it off. Resigned as he'd been that early morning, he'd still sent a contingent of outriders to sweep the flanks.

He had occasion to think of Song Qian's words: there is a hope, trust your big sister. Hakyeon wondered what it was Song Qian had known.

Despite the haze Hakyeon was now ashamed to have indulged in prior to their departure from the capital, he'd had enough presence of mind to gather a handful of men he trusted, some of whom he and Taekwoon had trained with as youths. It'd been one of them that'd caught a would-be assassin who'd lagged behind his peers—Hakyeon could believe him. They'd only extracted three pieces of information before the failed assassin had cracked open the poison in his teeth—one, that they'd been inexplicably called back; two, that they'd been sent after the Duke of Yin and Prince of Jing; and three, that he refused to say who he'd been sent by. Not that the last two surprised him very much. Even so, he'd been oddly gratified to know he hadn't been jumping at shadows—that Zhiheng's concubine had been unfortunately correct.

Hakyeon sensed a disturbance behind him and turned Ray around with a slight frown. Speak of the devil and the devil will come—the very man that Hakyeon had been thinking of was riding for him at a dead sprint. Hakyeon's frown grew deeper.

"Let's go girl," Hakyeon said to Ray. He gave her a soft tap on the flank, urging her into a gentle gallop. The other rider raised a hand in acknowledgement riding forward to meet Hakyeon.

Captain Xiu Ming was a capable leader in his own right, but ever since the incident with the archer, he'd asked for Hakyeon's permission to ride scout. Part of Hakyeon felt it was a waste of the captain's abilities, but Hakyeon hadn't brought him along to command.

"Trouble?" Hakyeon called out as soon as they were within earshot.

"No, your Grace," Xiu Ming said, riding up next to him. Hakyeon nodded back the way the captain had come, and they both turned their horses in that direction. The captain had a young face, round and sweet, and under the helmet he could've been mistaken for a boy wearing his father's clothes. But he was the same age as Hakyeon and just as capable a fighter. Pity those who underestimated him.

At this moment, the captain's face was furrowed into a look of deep consternation, and he glanced at Hakyeon out of the side of his eye. Hakyeon lifted an eyebrow.

"Well," the captain said slowly, "there's a single man riding our way."

"And?" Hakyeon urged when Xiu Ming paused. "A messenger? An enemy? What is so urgent?"

"The horse, your Grace. It's still far, but it looks an awful lot like the Prince of Jing’s horse. Not many horses with that shape and colouring. And, ah, birds."

"Birds," Hakyeon said flatly. A sense of apprehension was beginning to settle heavy in his chest.

"A whole flock of them," Xiu Ming said. The sight had left quite an impression on the soldier. "Of course, his Highness is—"

Hakyeon swore, and then he swore again, a little more quietly because the poor captain's eyes had widened in alarm.

"Damn that man," Hakyeon cursed one last time, and kicked Ray into a mad dash, leaving the bewildered captain far behind.

He bent low over Ray's neck, and the beautiful, lovely mare could cover the same distance as the captain in half the time, and so Hakyeon saw, in half the time, that the horse was indeed Old Black. That there were indeed a flock of pigeons, some clinging impossibly to the saddle. And that the rider was, without a doubt, Zheng fucking Taekwoon, Prince of Jing, Seventh Prince of the great Empire of Jiang, looking half dead in the saddle. Hakyeon was going to strangle him.

Taekwoon caught sight of Hakyeon at about the same time. His demeanour instantly changed and he kicked Old Black into a quick gallop. Two fine horses in a collision course with each other—if they'd been enemies in battle maybe neither would've survived. But both Ray and Old Black veered aside, heads tossing as their riders pulled them into a tight circle. Without warning, Hakyeon found himself knocked off his horse and landed heavily on the ground. Taekwoon had launched himself off the saddle, a dangerous fool move. Hakyeon grunted and rolled with the fall, his fingers digging into Taekwoon's unprotected shoulders. They grappled on the ground, neither gaining the upper hand for long—anger burned in Taekwoon's eyes but his face was pinched and drawn. Their horses circled them riderless, tossing their heads and whinnying like spectators.

Taekwoon had been in the saddle for two days and two nights, had spent days before that bedridden in feverish pain, had only stopped once at an inn for barely a few minutes because in his rush to leave he'd forgotten to pack rations—Hakyeon finally shoved him off and scrambled to his feet, panting for breath. Taekwoon did the same, not foolish enough to remain on the ground.

"What the fuck were you thinking!?" Hakyeon yelled.

"Me?" Taekwoon snorted. "When you fucking rode off after doing whatever you did to me?"

"I was trying to save your life!"

"I didn't need saving!" Taekwoon growled. He shot forward but Hakyeon caught his wrist before Taekwoon's fist reached Hakyeon.

Hakyeon gritted his teeth and punched Taekwoon in the face. Instinctively.

Taekwoon reeled back, stumbling. He was fury itself as he screamed wordlessly, charging at Hakyeon again. This time, Hakyeon held himself back from punching him—in the face. He drove his fist into Taekwoon's stomach instead, mouth stretching in a grim smile when Taekwoon nearly fell.

"You should've stayed home," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand, leaving a long streak of dirt against his skin. He glared at Hakyeon, teeth bared, as they began to warily circle each other.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," Taekwoon said.

"It was your choice to behave foolishly," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon didn't look too good. He looked exhausted. But alive. They were both alive. That was something. That was more than Hakyeon had expected. That—

Taekwoon's fist slammed against the side of Hakyeon's cheek with enough force that Hakyeon was thrown onto his back. It knocked the breath out of him and for a moment they were back in Taekwoon's study, but only until Taekwoon threw himself onto Hakyeon again. Hakyeon twisted desperately to the side, barely scrambling out of the way.

"Will you give it a rest?" Hakyeon rolled to his feet and quickly put distance between them. Taekwoon was a little slower to stand. It didn't look like he had any intention to stop.

The thundering sound of hooves pounding against the dirt made them both look up to see a horse bearing down on them. They both got out of the way. That was one did, when a thousand pounds of horseflesh was bearing down on you.

Old Black and Ray both reared, not taking kindly to the newcomer charging at their respective riders. Hakyeon grabbed for Ray's reins, pulling her back before she could attack Xiu Ming's poor horse, circling between Hakyeon and Taekwoon.

"Your Highness, your Grace," Xiu Ming said, acknowledging them both in turn. He quickly dismounted as well and lead his horse aside, although he remained clearly within distance to put himself between the two of them again.

Hakyeon exhaled, all the anger simmering out of him with that one breath. They both probably looked a sight. Hakyeon had bloodied Taekwoon's nose and Taekwoon's clothes and skin were smeared with dirt. His hair was loose and unkempt, strands falling over his face as he leaned forward to soothe Old Black. Taekwoon was still breathing hard, although it could've been from anger, not exhaustion. It was getting difficult to tell.

"Captain," Hakyeon greeted, holding tight to Ray's reins. He hoped he looked at least marginally better than Taekwoon. "As you can see, you were correct in your report. His Highness the Prince of Jing has travelled hard to join us. He is no doubt tired."

"I will make arrangements immediately, your Grace," Xiu Ming said, understanding Hakyeon's meaning immediately.

"Let him use my tent," Hakyeon said. He suddenly felt very weary. He glanced at Taekwoon who looked as uncomfortable as Hakyeon had ever seen him. Taekwoon couldn't have expected a third party to intervene, especially one he knew. He would have to deal with it. Hakyeon handed Ray's reins to Xiu Ming as he walked over to his long forgotten cloak and picked it up, stifling another breath of frustration. They'd both have to deal with it.

"Put this on," Hakyeon said curtly. He tossed it at Taekwoon who caught it without a word. It would hide some of the grime. Hakyeon preferred Taekwoon to appear with some dignity, not like a dirty beggar with a flock of birds.

The birds—how could Hakyeon have forgotten the birds. They were still circling overhead.

"And give me the whistle," Hakyeon said. He held out his hand, ignoring the perplexed look the captain was giving him. Taekwoon's expression had turned unreadable, his lips flattened into a thin line. But he wordlessly reached inside his jacket and pressed it into Hakyeon's palm as he lead Old Black past him. Taekwoon's hand lingered a moment, and Hakyeon couldn't resist the urge to squeeze it briefly in reassurance before stepping back. He watched Taekwoon swing up onto his horse with ease.

"Lead the way, captain," Taekwoon said. His voice was firm and calm—stifled, like Taekwoon was forcing something else down, and with effort. It'd have to do. Hakyeon took Ray's reins back from Xiu Ming and nodded at him.

"Go first. I will follow in time."

"Yes, your Grace!"

Hakyeon watched them ride off at a lazy trot. It wasn't until they were no bigger than his palm that Hakyeon leaned against his horse, sagging against her neck. Ray nickered softly, turning her head and blowing hot air into Hakyeon's face. It tickled, and it made him laugh.

He couldn't help it. He laughed again, a desperate laugh bubbling out from deep within his chest. He laughed until his legs went weak and his chest was tight, and collapsed to the ground. What had he been expecting—no one could hold Taekwoon back when he got like this. Unbelievably, maybe they'd stumbled onto the best possible situation. Hakyeon leaned back on the heels of his palms, staring up at the sky, towards the city. A single pigeon began to fly down. Hakyeon held up his hand for it to land on, and untied the message tube.

It was written in his sister's tight handwriting and Hakyeon swallowed, his throat thick and heat brimming in his eyes. You were right. That was the first thing he'd write back to her. He had to blink rapidly before his sight cleared enough to read.

Hakyeon, Song Qian had written. If this finds you, please send word back by this bird. If not, I promise I will watch over them for you. I hope whoever I have entrusted this bird to will bring back good news. Be well, little brother.

The thin sheet of paper trembled between Hakyeon's fingers. He put it away before he could read it again, and finally got to his feet. She'd had hope, but she'd known that hope might've still been false. Song Qian hadn't sent this specifically with Taekwoon—Hakyeon suspected Song Qian hadn't endorsed Taekwoon's trip at all. Taekwoon's general sense of unpreparedness, the lack of armour, his entire physical state of being—everything pointed to him leaving in a rush. Taekwoon fleeing from Song Qian certainly made the story fit.

But no matter the how, Taekwoon was here, and they'd somehow survived an incident Hakyeon had thought would be the end. It still nagged at him—why had the would-be ambushers been called back? Because Taekwoon had not left with them? Then they'd been watching—known from the first moment that Taekwoon wouldn't be stepping into their trap.

Hakyeon shook his head and exhaled. Maybe this would be good for Taekwoon. The battlefield was where he shined; a dose of it might give Taekwoon some clarity. Before that, they needed to catch each other up. Hakyeon fervently hoped that when he saw Taekwoon again, no one would be punching anyone in the face.

Hakyeon's clothes were a bit small for Taekwoon, but at least they were clean. It wasn't noticeable—but Hakyeon knew. It was just the two of them, shadows cast in the tent by the low light of the lamp. Their heads were bent close, their conversation muted. They'd already run through the essentials with the general earlier in the evening. Twelfth Prince Zhitao couldn't stop staring at Taekwoon in awed wonder. This was probably the first time he'd seen Taekwoon with even a strand of hair out of place—it did lend Taekwoon a bit of roguish charm, Hakyeon admitted. Same with the striking bruise on Taekwoon's face. Taekwoon's usual sharp demeanour combined with his quick grasp of the situation and apparently boundless military knowledge probably did nothing to help damp the boy's stark admiration. Any other day and Hakyeon would've felt proud—Taekwoon deserved to be admired—but he was still frustrated by Taekwoon's stubborn disregard of the reality that lay behind this battle, this entire rebellion.

At least he'd quickly come to the same conclusion as Hakyeon—someone was behind the Earl, providing both financial and military support. That drew a grim look.

Taekwoon look exhausted and Hakyeon's heart ached for him. Two days he'd been riding, and Hakyeon wished nothing more for Taekwoon than a good night's sleep—or several. But they needed to talk where there were no eyes or ears, and no one would think it strange if two of their commanders were up late into the night, poring over maps and stratagems.

"There was an ambush," Hakyeon said softly. "Zhiheng's concubine was not wrong."

Taekwoon reached for his wine cup without replying, running a finger along the rim. He was listening.

"I'm only alive because they want me to be," Hakyeon continued. Taekwoon looked up sharply at this, eyes piercing through Hakyeon's very core. Hakyeon lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

"There was an order to retreat but the attacker the men caught got to his poison before they could get out any more out of him—and yes, I trust the information. Xiu Ming was among them."

"It doesn't make sense," Taekwoon muttered. "Why orchestrate something on this scale and let it so easily fail? It could be unrelated—"

"Let's not fight over this again," Hakyeon said. "With Zhiheng's concubine as the linchpin, the most logical answer is that they are part of one and the same. I think there is more to it, not less."

Taekwoon nodded at Hakyeon's words, although his eyes had grown suddenly distant.

"Taekwoon?" Hakyeon said gently.

"I thought of something," Taekwoon said. "Something jiejie said as I was leaving."

Running away from home was more like it, Hakyeon thought to himself wryly. He'd already sent one of the pigeons back with a quick note that Taekwoon had arrived safely, and that he would write again soon. Hakyeon nodded and made an encouraging nose for Taekwoon to continue.

"There are people after my life," Taekwoon said blandly—he shot Hakyeon a glare that belied the softness of his words, when Hakyeon opened his mouth to speak.

"Our men said there had been assassins—"

The air choked in Hakyeon's throat, stuck between a gasp and a sharp exhale. Taekwoon glanced at him, but continued.

"Jiejie took care of them. I was... asleep. But she also said..."

Taekwoon trailed off and Hakyeon's frown deepened. He waited, and waited, but Taekwoon didn't continue.

"Jiejie said what?" Hakyeon finally prompted. He resolutely swallowed down the pang of guilt for not having the foresight to worry about leaving Taekwoon potentially defenceless. He couldn't keep excusing it to himself as having had too much on his mind. If Song Qian hadn't been there...

Taekwoon shook his head.

"Maybe... maybe we do need to be more... careful," Taekwoon said. He drew out the words reluctantly—it was as close to admitting Hakyeon had been right that Taekwoon would ever get. The situation didn't give Hakyeon much time or reason to feel smug.

"Assassins," Hakyeon said thoughtfully, pushing it aside. "They knew you weren't here, so they attacked you at home. If their ambush had succeeded in killing me, it would make it that much harder to kill you."

That, he had thought of. But roofs and walls afforded a protection open ground didn't—although Hakyeon had had that thought under the premise that Taekwoon wouldn't be helpless. The heavens had interceded once again to keep Taekwoon alive.

Taekwoon nodded, and then downed his cup of wine. He immediately made a face and coughed. Hakyeon stifled a smile.

"More?" he asked. Taekwoon nodded and glowered at Hakyeon when he only filled it halfway. Hakyeon sighed and topped it up.

"But they had to know that Song Qian was there," Hakyeon said. "And they couldn't have known that you were... unavailable."

"Mhmm."

"Indisposed," Hakyeon revised.

"Hmm."

Hakyeon bit back a sigh and pushed on, something important just at his lips.

"It's like they didn't want—" Hakyeon shook his head and cut himself off. Why would they send assassins and not want to succeed? That was absurd.

Hakyeon couldn't wrap his head around it. First the ambush planned for their departure had been recalled. And then the assassination attempt on Taekwoon at home had failed. Either it spoke of incompetence, or that Hakyeon was so entirely off the mark his arrow was flying towards the sun and not the target.

He'd also have to be blind to shoot at the sun. Or it'd blind him.

Taekwoon was still waiting for him expectantly with the expression that said if Hakyeon didn't start talking in the next ten seconds, he was going to find his sugar replaced with salt or bugs in his bed for the rest of his life.

"That they decided they didn't want you dead," Hakyeon said slowly. "That they're letting you off with a warning that this is what they can do."

"Warning me against what?" Taekwoon asked dryly. "Existing?"

Hakyeon snorted. "Who knows. Maybe getting in their way."

Taekwoon grunted, and this time it was the stubborn look that he got whenever he'd decided to do exactly the opposite of what someone wanted him to do.

And in that flash of a moment, Hakyeon knew that the tide of one battle had changed.

There were many thoughts running through Taekwoon's mind at that very moment, but almost every one was dragged along by the single swift current of anger. The exhaustion was wearing off even as the day's exhaustion was settling in. He knew he shouldn't be having wine, but the dull soothing of his ache was too tempting to resist.

His face still ached from Hakyeon's punch earlier in the day which he was secretly beginning to admit may've been deserved. Jumping out of the saddle like that was dangerous. He could've seriously injured both their horses, as well as both of them. But more than ever, Taekwoon felt sure that coming here—against Hakyeon and Song Qian's clear wishes—had been the right thing to do.

Taekwoon didn't like being left in the dark, and he definitely did not like people trying to kill him for no reason. If they were going to anyway, then he sure as hell was going to give them a damn reason. And that was going to start here. He was going to smash this damn city to pieces.

Taekwoon smiled grimly to himself as he surveyed the battlefield, already picturing the carnage in his mind's eye. A thousand elite troops led by Zhitao were preparing to ambush an ambush in the next valley over. The enemy reinforcements would find themselves quite cut off from the main camp. That had been a happy surprise—but from what the General and Hakyeon had told him about the initial clashes, Taekwoon could believe that they were being as foolish as it seemed. This pretender Earl needed a new strategist.

Attacking from multiple angles could be useful—but split your troops unwisely and they'd be snapped stick by stick like a broken bundle of dried kindling. Which was exactly what Taekwoon was going to do.

Hakyeon strode up beside him, dressed in fine armour, his helm held at his side. He was both handsome and fierce, and Taekwoon envied him and the easy confidence Hakyeon emanated, drawing people to him like moths to a flame.

"You surprised me, speaking up for Tao'er," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon nodded, pausing. "He'll do well," Taekwoon said.

"I thought he was just a boy," Hakyeon teased. Taekwoon scowled, but anything more was undignified.

"He's older than we were," Taekwoon said softly. "I think it's something General Lin forgot as well. And Xiu Ming will be with him, in case he does something stupid."

"Like I was with you," Hakyeon said. He glanced at Taekwoon mischievously. "Like I am with you."

Taekwoon huffed as discreetly as he could. Hakyeon was far less discreet with his laughter.

"Do you think he's there?" Taekwoon asked. He nodded towards the enemy camp. "Or is he hiding like the coward he is."

"I don't know his face," Hakyeon said. "But he'd lose too much face to ever rule at all if he weren't here, even he wouldn't be that foolish. He's supposed to be an aggressive man, besides."

"Good," Taekwoon said. "His head is mine."

"As the first one here, I think I should have first claim," Hakyeon said mildly. Taekwoon almost bared his teeth and growled—Hakyeon couldn't hold back a loud laugh.

"I don't need to know what he looks like if I cut off every head," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon's laughter died instantly. Taekwoon's words were bone-chillingly stark. It sent a frigid shiver down his spine.

"Don't take your anger out on those who haven't deserved it," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon jerked in place, and Hakyeon knew he'd hit straight at the mark. Hakyeon shook his head sharply before Taekwoon could round on him in protest.

"An arrogant man will make himself known," Hakyeon said. "Arrogance and ambition without ability—a dangerous combination. Perhaps he does have ability, but I still do not think he will be dressed like you."

Taekwoon looked resolutely away from Hakyeon, and from his own borrowed armour. Taekwoon had left his own behind, much like he'd left several other things. What's good enough for the men is good enough for me, he'd stubbornly said when General Lin had tried to offer Taekwoon his own. It would do. Taekwoon didn't need to look flashy to announce his presence. He'd do it with his sword.

The sun was settling into its mid-afternoon angle. Tao'er would be moving soon. The enemies may've been afraid to attack, but they sure as hell weren't. He nodded at Hakyeon.

"It's time."

There was nothing beautiful about war. The bitter, acrid stench of fear and death stained his skin in a way the blood of those he'd killed never could. Dirt churned into mud under hooves, wet with the blood and piss of dead and dying men.

Taekwoon was faintly aware of Hakyeon somewhere to his right. Just enough awareness to know Hakyeon was safe, that his sword stained dark flashed through the air, dealing death with every stroke. Taekwoon pushed on, ploughing through a knot of foot soldiers, felling them with ugly slashes of his own blade, either dead before they'd hit the ground, or trampled to death moments after.

It was easy to let the bloodlust take him. It surged through his veins, hot and frothing, burning away everything—pain, horror, exhaustion—and left behind only the single-minded need to kill. In the height of battle, after the planning, the leading, the only thing there was left to do was kill.

And so he did.

It was not a light, slender sword in his hand, meant to be quick and agile, deflecting and dealing death with movements as practiced and minute as the wind through a stream. Taekwoon was lethal like a tempest, a hundred waves clashing in raging squalls. Men who fought by him knew to avoid him. Men who fought against him—Taekwoon was the devil himself, dragging them to the depths of hell. But even those who'd seen Taekwoon fight before—they would agree, later, that there was something rougher, more raw, more... pure, in the Prince of Jing that day. More violent. Hakyeon, when he chanced a look, was brought back to a battlefield a decade past, when fear had burned through bravery and instinct rode on fear. Taekwoon fought the same way he'd fought then—with desperation. To kill was to live. To not kill was to die. It didn't matter that these were their countrymen; Taekwoon's sword cut through their bodies the same as it cut through barbarians, but at least the barbarians fought an honest war. Not a traitor's.

It'd begun with a single charge, an orderly mass of Jiang soldiers bearing down on the enemy lines. It gave the enemy time to prepare, to set up the lances that would fell the leading horses, to put in position the archers that would rain death like a god's vengeance. But then the troops of Jiang split like the branches of a river, the flanks riding hard to pull distance—to make them chase. A horn was blown—a signal for the enemy's second party to box them in, but that force became engaged in a battle far from where they were needed. Surprise, and inexperience. That was what Taekwoon was counting on. The lancers had changed directions, the archers' arrows landed in empty space. The Jiang forces peeled to the sides, leaving the centre open—an invitation. The confusion of battle had already taken hold.

The enemy charged.

"Kill!" The screams tore out their throats as they ran at their retreating foes, swords bared and raised. Commanders that saw and understood it was no retreat yelled orders to hold rank, but the first man had already fallen, and the second, and the tenth. The Jiang troops folded forward, pinching a pocket of men still breathing but already dead. They were dead the moment they’d yelled their war-cry and taken that first step.

The same drama was happening up and down the lines, the difference between green, untested troops and battle-hardened soldiers playing out in the most primal of ways. In war, numbers mattered. Two great armies crashing into each other—the bigger army, the one that would have the most men standing when the killing was done, that was the side that would win. But not always so. Not when the men on both sides were fighting desperately, but it was only on one side of that bloody river that the men who killed did so having killed before. Who’d watched men they knew killed, blood spilled from men they shared blood with. Not when only one side had full conviction in their purpose, and the other fought only because to not fight was death. A certain death, but it would've been a colder, kinder death.

What no one knew about Taekwoon was that he hated it. He hated the killing. He hated the bloodlust—no, that wasn't true. He hated how much he loved it. He hated how easy it was for him to kill a man in the heat of battle, as easy as spearing a fish or shooting a bird from ten paces away. Easier. It gave him more pain to shoot that bird than it ever would to cut a man's chest open with one heavy sword stroke.

In the same way, he hated fighting from horseback. Men feared the horse as much as they feared him. Old Black could kill a man without Taekwoon's help—a good kick in the head would crush a man's skull, ending his life as effectively as Taekwoon's sword severing his spine. There was even less blood—the helmet contained it. The man that Taekwoon had killed dropped like a stone, but his blood spurted into the air and came down in an arc of droplets. The next man had his armour shredded off with the force of the blow, and Taekwoon's sword cut into his gut, viscera spilling onto the ground, the man still alive until Taekwoon silenced his screams by jamming his sword into the man's exposed throat. The sound was sickening.

Taekwoon had fought on foot before, he knew the primal terror that was a sure-footed horse charging you down, that if you fell, if you did not kill that horse and that rider, you were a dead man. He had killed the horse. The horse was goaded on too fast to stop—it ran itself into Taekwoon's blade. Taekwoon had yanked the rider off and broken his neck, because he couldn't pull his sword out of the beast's chest.

This was different. The amount of power he could throw into each strike was staggering, his blade sweeping down to the ground, his horse carrying the slash forward faster than any man could swing a sword. It was hot. Sweat or blood—it didn't matter which was damp against his skin. One or the other. To feel it meant he was alive.

Another man fell to Old Black's hooves. The horse was a beacon of death himself. Taekwoon ran down another man, impaling him in the chest. He threw the body off his blade without looking at the blood spurting from the corpse's mouth. The next lost an arm. He'd die, or he wouldn't—fate would decide. Taekwoon pushed forward.

He could feel Hakyeon near him like the pulsing heat of a fire. It was always like this. Hakyeon was methodical with his killing. It was a beautiful, terrifying thing. There was blood on his armour, and Hakyeon's armour was fine, and none of the blood was Hakyeon's own. It was good.

They'd lead two adjacent charges, pinching in together, their respective companies slaughtering the enemy soldiers that'd been caught in the pincer. Their eyes had met in acknowledgement, and then they'd each turned forward, carving space out for their own men. In some places the battle went less well. Tides could change quickly in a place like this. In some places it was the enemy that pressed forward, a swell in blind courage and momentum—that was all it took.

Taekwoon couldn't do anything about that. Couldn't be in two places at once. Could rein Old Black about in the tiny pocket of space, finally close enough to urge the brave stallion into a mad charge at the nearest enemy horse. It felt better to kill cavalry than foot soldiers.

The enemy saw him coming—it was hard not to. Taekwoon's first blow clanged off of the enemy's sword. The impact jarred his arm to his elbow. Taekwoon swung with a backhand cut as he brought Old Black around before his nerves had stopped ringing and was rewarded with a clean cut across metal-guarded flesh. It didn't pierce the enemy's armour, but it didn't need to. All Taekwoon needed was that moment where the man reacted to the pain—enough of a moment for Taekwoon to run Old Black straight at him, and this time Taekwoon's sword plunged for the man's chest. He went down screaming, still caught in the reins. His horse bucked, riderless, dragging a body along the ground as it turned and fled. Taekwoon let it go. There was no reason to waste valuable horseflesh, and it was a horse that belonged to this kingdom. The horse had done nothing wrong. The last man's horse he'd killed because there'd been no other way.

Barely a tenth of an hour had passed between the two deaths, but Taekwoon didn't measure battles in time. It was impossible to know how much time had passed. It was easier to know how many men he'd killed—and that was impossible to count.

Taekwoon's breath came hard and ragged and he welcomed it. He welcomed the strain in his body, let it push the exhaustion out of his veins. It gave him strength. It sharpened his senses. It brought his sword up just in time to block a fierce downward cut just like the one he'd dealt seconds before. Taekwoon grit his teeth. Old Black danced back from the enemy rider. The rider was young. He was afraid. And because he was afraid, he was brave, and he charged Taekwoon again.

Taekwoon ducked under the boy's reaching blade and cut him off his horse in the same movement. This one didn't have time to scream. His blood soaked Taekwoon's sword, sprayed over Taekwoon, as his body fell backward, life gone before he could blink.

This had to end soon.

They could keep killing—they would keep killing, but Taekwoon didn't like it. This thought came just as he slid his sword into the unprotected space under an enemy soldier's chin, the force of the blow piercing through to the back of the armour. Taekwoon yanked it out wheeling his horse around, there was someone he had to find.

There. A man on a horse, his armour fine, well constructed, no gap between his helmet and shoulders that left his neck unprotected. Making efficient use of his blade. Rage roiled up inside Taekwoon at seeing his own men cut down. Not his own men—General Lin's men, but even if Taekwoon didn't know them, they were his men. Men whose comrades Taekwoon was leading.

Hakyeon had said it; an arrogant man would make himself known. Taekwoon didn't know if this man was arrogant, but he was something more. Something that could make things change. Cut the head off a snake and the snake would die; cut a leg off a horse and the horse would flounder—a three legged horse would not live for long. The anger hardened, folded itself into the bloodlust, forged into something sharp and vicious. It pounded inside him, filled his veins, his breath, his lungs. All of Taekwoon's senses were attuned to that one point on the battlefield. That one rider on that one horse.

Taekwoon raised his sword and a war cry tore out his throat. It was the last thing two men would ever hear as Taekwoon swept his blade low and charged forward. He left a bloody path behind him, strewn with blood and offal, slaughtered men, discarded horses. It was impossible not to see Taekwoon coming, and the other man did. What he saw was a common soldier riding like the devil, his sword, his armour, his horse all smeared with blood. But that common soldier rode steady and uninjured. He was a bringer of carnage.

"Are you the Earl?" Taekwoon yelled.

The other man said nothing, only circled his horse to face Taekwoon in the space that had suddenly cleared. His sword was heavier than Taekwoon's. Cleaving strikes that could split a helmet in two. Slower, but difficult or impossible to block. A sword that could cut a person in half, straight through the waist. He'd done that. A broken body of a Jiang soldier, but only part of him remained. There were no legs. Cold fire engulfed Taekwoon, burned against his skin—he welcomed it.

It was a wordless scream. Old Black reared, hooves kicking at the other horse—the same fighting urge that'd taken over his rider was in him too and the stallion knew, in the way that such war horses always seemed to know, that this other horse had to die. He hit the ground running, the momentum nearly throwing Taekwoon off but Taekwoon was prepared. He lay low against Old Black's neck, riding under a sweeping cut that Taekwoon deflected upwards carried by Old Black's momentum. The blow jarred his arm into numbness. In a flash, Old Black was turned the other way and Taekwoon's sword was in his other hand. The enemy hadn't expected that, had been ready to parry a blade coming the other way. Taekwoon's sword cut satisfyingly against solid metal, all he risked before pulling Old Black back.

"Are you the Earl?" Taekwoon repeated.

"That fool man?" The enemy soldier barked a laugh. "No, I am no Earl—but I am the man who will end your pathetic life, soldier."

Taekwoon's cheek twitched. The anger was rising in the other man too. A real soldier. Someone who could fight. In the back of Taekwoon's mind, he wondered who this man was. A noble son? A commoner who'd risen through the ranks by skill alone? A soldier that Taekwoon would've wanted in his own army, if they weren't circling each other on their horses like two wolves snarling at each other teeth aching to tear out the other's throat. Only one would be leaving alive.

Taekwoon wasn't a patient person. It wasn't in his nature. But he'd learned that most people weren't patient. That most people would act hastily, if he waited long enough. Taekwoon wasn't being patient. He was acting. The moment he'd swung Old Black into this trajectory, Taekwoon had charged headlong into the fight.

The other man didn't know that. The other man thought Taekwoon was still waiting to begin.

Taekwoon, just the tiniest amount, smiled. It was a cold smile, a twitch at the corner of his lips, dismissive and amused at something only he knew.

"Are you afraid?" Taekwoon goaded. The words carried, even without raising his voice. The world had narrowed down to this minute circle in the wide sea of carnage. Taekwoon could hear the other horse's breathing, rough and winded. Taekwoon refined his anger, his hatred, and watched as it engulfed the other man in an unsteady inferno.

No man liked to be called a coward.

Taekwoon nearly lost his head in that first pass, and only Old Black veering aside saved them both. Taekwoon trusted Old Black to be his legs, his other half. He switched his sword to his right, slicing low in a feint that ended with a sharp cut upwards. It was blocked, but the motion was rough and jerky and it was too easy for Taekwoon to read the heavy overhand blow that followed and Old Black danced neatly out of the way.

This was the difference a horse could make. Taekwoon and Old Black fought as one. The enemy's horse was fine, but they were a horse and a rider, two separate entities. The man wanted Taekwoon dead. The horse carried his rider, and went where it was told.

Taekwoon was lighter, quicker, and Old Black took him forward and aside, in reach and just as quickly out of reach. They fought in a dance, and even if Taekwoon's sword couldn't pierce such finely made armour, the man wearing the armour was growing equal parts enraged, exhausted, and frustrated. Never a good combination, and against a cool mind of icy focus, it was fatal.

Taekwoon's first blow hadn't pierced his armour, but it had hurt him, significantly. He could see it, how the enemy was always a little slower to raise his sword in that one direction, straining the hurt. So Taekwoon made him do it again, and again. It was taking a toll, and the other man knew it, and he knew what Taekwoon was doing. He was too good a soldier not to. With every blow, Taekwoon was taunting him. Sooner or later he would snap. He would break form. Taekwoon noted all this with a detached mind, his body fighting without him. It felt good. He would win.

It was routine. A standard technique. Now, Taekwoon was waiting. But it was an active waiting. Clang. Clang. Clang. Metal against metal. Taekwoon attacked again and again, faster and faster. He couldn't let up. Each time the enemy parried and struck out at Taekwoon, Taekwoon feared that it'd shear through his armour as easily as it'd sliced that poor soldier in half. It was a good incentive to keep moving. To keep attacking.

He almost missed it—that twitch, that change in gaze that just preceded his opponent breaking form. Charging.

Too fast. Taekwoon realised it a split second before Old Black. This was a desperation move. The enemy was driving his own horse straight at Old Black—he wanted to collide the two, sacrifice his mount and take down Taekwoon's, force the battle to the ground.

That bastard might not care about his horse, but Taekwoon wasn't going to let some weak piece of dogshit touch Old Black. It was a shame, he thought with some sorrow, as he jerked Old Black aside so Taekwoon could plunge his sword into the other horse's neck.

The sound of a horse dying was a terrible one. A horse who had its throat slit, even more so. A helpless, terrified scream as it collapsed, blood surging through the deep wound. The rider went down with the horse—and Taekwoon felt no remorse driving his sword, still hot from the horse's blood, straight down. It skidded off the side of the helmet, and straight into the man's face. There was a wet, crunching sound, bone caving under unyielding steel. Taekwoon didn't look as he straightened and pulled back, breathing hard.

Hooves pounded, shaking the ground, charging straight for him. Taekwoon wheeled Old Black around, the stallion just as winded but obeying in an instant—Taekwoon lowered his sword as Hakyeon galloped up to him.

There was even more space around Taekwoon than there had been. A space with Taekwoon, a dead horse, and a man with a ruined face. Hakyeon glanced down and his face blanched, but that was how war was. There was no beauty.

"It's over," Hakyeon called out as he rode up at a slow trot. His voice pulled Taekwoon back to the present, to a reality where death was a thing that shouldn't happen. Taekwoon clung to Hakyeon's voice as Hakyeon came up beside him. "It's over, Taekwoon."

And it was. If there'd been any doubt before, this last death, Taekwoon's last kill, sealed it. There'd been a slaughter as panicked men, knowing the battle was lost, began to run. Some dropped their weapons, hoping for surrender. Hakyeon didn't know how many had been cut down before he'd reined in their men, as General Lin and the other commanders did the same. Killing unarmed men was distasteful and unnecessarily cruel.

Now that Taekwoon had cut down their general, all the fight was gone from any that remained.

"He's not the Earl," Taekwoon said softly. He couldn't bring himself to look down at the dead man. He knew what he'd done, and he'd seen Hakyeon's expression when he'd seen what Taekwoon had done.

"I saw a man on the parapets," Hakyeon said. "He ran. I've assigned Tao'er to guarding all exits to the city. He did well."

Hakyeon was exhausted. He was sitting straight in the saddle, but with the posture of a man that wanted nothing more than to slump and lean forward, and let his horse carry his entire weight. Even more was the weariness of all that'd needed to be done after, and that which lingered from everything that'd come before.

Hakyeon had always been better at handling what came after.

"You should rest first, Hakyeon," Taekwoon said. He turned Old Black back towards where their tents still stood, but Hakyeon shook his head.

"No, the gates must open now," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon, reluctantly, knew that Hakyeon was right.

The city was much closer than it had been. The battle had pushed the enemy lines back, and by the time the two of them rode up to the city gates at a slow trot, the gates had fallen open, the soldiers who'd been guarding it knelt with their swords and armour tossed aside. Taekwoon nodded at Hakyeon. They would be taken care of.

It was a subdued victory. The people of Yangnan city were hidden away, the streets were empty. There was to be no more killing today. Even the execution, the cleansing, that could wait until tomorrow. The Earl had fled taking along only his first wife, leaving behind crying women and children, although his sons bravely defended their homes. They knew they would die either way—Taekwoon let them die in battle, with a sword in hand, and he killed them himself. The sins of the father shouldn't become the sins of the sons.

He and Hakyeon did what was needed, and then they left the rest to General Lin. Zhitao's troops had captured the Earl and his wife, and they were all locked separately away, with guards. His execution would be public—they wouldn't allow the deposed man to commit suicide. That was what the guards were for.

In the end, Hakyeon and Taekwoon went to an inn. Trembling serving girls helped them undress, brought them water to wash with, afraid because they were both royalty and conquerors. Taekwoon had wanted to dismiss them, but he suddenly found he was very tired, and it was good he had the help. Or he'd have slept on the floor, covered in blood, still in armour. Clothes was found for him as well, although the entire camp would soon move into the city, and Hakyeon had been better prepared.

Hakyeon had also immediately sent back a pair of pigeons. One for Song Qian herself, and one for the Emperor. Another pair of human messengers set off to deliver the missive signed and sealed by Taekwoon himself. Hakyeon had come to understand that Taekwoon's escape from the city had been rather dramatic, and Hakyeon was sure the Emperor knew that Taekwoon was here. So it was silently agreed that this was for Taekwoon, the Prince of Jing, to do. Hakyeon made sure to greatly commend General Lin and the Prince of You in the missive. Victory would've been impossible without them. And it was more true than Hakyeon wished to admit.

It was, after such a day, an anti-climatic end. Zhitao had been adamant about managing the men, about securing the city walls—and with Xiu Ming and General Lin to assist him, Hakyeon had acquiesced. Secretly thankful.

It meant he and Taekwoon could have this quiet night, away from the loud, boisterous feasting and drinking. The soldiers would be remembering fallen comrades as well, and know it was pure luck that had kept them on this side of the living. That deserved celebration. Both Taekwoon and Hakyeon preferred their own bubble of solitude, of a simple meal and simple wine. Hakyeon had been specific on that point. They weren't to be treated any different than any other patron of this inn. If the inn-keep thought it strange, he said nothing. Royalty and saviours.

Taekwoon was exhausted, but the lingering, pulsing energy that had driven him to kill—it was still there. Faint and residual, even as the adrenaline faded. It beat inside of him and Taekwoon pushed it down. He wasn't used to this. One battle, and then they were done. The monster had reared its head and now demanded to be sated with blood—Taekwoon swallowed it down. No second chance to slake that urge so he reached for the wine and knocked back the bowl, sloshing it over the edges and onto his shirt.

"Taekwoon," Hakyeon sighed. He pursed his lips levelling Taekwoon with a flat stare.

"Why did you do it?" Taekwoon asked. He put the bowl down, the wooden bottom barely making a sound as he rested it on the table. Hakyeon looked aside, and Taekwoon knew that Hakyeon understood what Taekwoon meant.

"I was desperate," Hakyeon said softly. "You can't understand—"

"You tried to make me understand," Taekwoon said. "But you don't understand why I couldn't not come."

"Your honour," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon shook his head. "Your pride."

"It's not about my pride," Taekwoon said.

"I think I do understand," Hakyeon said. His hand found Taekwoon's knee under the table and Hakyeon pressed down gently, as if he was trying to convey everything his words couldn't. For a moment, Taekwoon believed him.

Don't undo everything Hakyeon has done for you.

"Then why did you do it anyway?"

"For the same reason you couldn't," Hakyeon said. He smiled at Taekwoon wryly. "I think."

"You really think it was..."

Taekwoon trailed off. Hakyeon had summarily dismissed everyone. They weren't to be disturbed. They spoke quietly. The walls could still have ears.

Hakyeon's cheek twitched. "I do," he said.

Taekwoon's eyes fell shut. "Why do you think he did it?"

"I don't know," Hakyeon said—but even Taekwoon knew that wasn't true.

Briefly, ever so briefly, Taekwoon felt the bloodlust flare before it burned out for good. With Hakyeon's 'I don't know' echoing in his mind, Taekwoon helplessly gave himself to the exhaustion. It was easier than pretending he too, didn't know.

Everything seemed better after the rain. The air was fresher, the streets were clean, and the sky was clear. It lifted Jaehwan's spirits, almost as much as the most recent news had. Jaehwan hadn't known whether to laugh or cry when Song Qian stormed through his gates a few days ago just like he'd done to her—of course Taekwoon would pull off such a stunt. The image when Song Qian told him about the pigeons though, that'd nearly sent Jaehwan into a hysterical fit and it was only Song Qian's obvious agitation and Jaehwan's strong sense of self preservation that kept it at bay.

"If anyone will manage, it's Seventh Brother," Jaehwan had told her, but Song Qian wasn't any more at ease. "If he left like that, no one could scheme fast enough to do a thing."

Taekwoon had not only made it safe to Hakyeon at Yangnan, they'd destroyed the traitor's army as easily as Jaehwan knew they would. General Lin and Zhitao too, but Jaehwan knew it was Taekwoon and Hakyeon who'd really done it. It was like he'd said to Song Qian—if anyone could rise from his deathbed, lead a battle, and defeat the enemy general all at once, it was Seventh Brother, their Taekwoon. It'd be impossible for anyone else.

Jaehwan hummed softly to himself in an exceptionally good mood. The first of Song Qian's pigeons to arrive had left them both with heavy tension in their chests—winter turns the rabbit black Hakyeon had added at the end of a brief note, written with a brush so fine the strokes resembled silk. Hakyeon must've thought himself very clever with a warning hidden like that in case the message was seen by the wrong eyes. Winter; Minister Han. The rabbit month, the second month; Zhiheng. Jaehwan had soundly cursed out Hakyeon—but at least it'd made Song Qian laugh. Anything to lighten the lines carved deep around his sister's eyes was a good thing. She was too young to be so burdened.

Today definitely would. Today's pigeons brought nothing but good news. It was over, Hakyeon was safe, Taekwoon was safe—better than safe, the plot had been thwarted, and they'd all be home in no time. They were old hands at settling things with defeated cities and all that, Jaehwan figured it wouldn't take long at all. He'd been planning on calling on Lady Consort Fei already and was especially pleased to have good news to bring along with him. Jaehwan also had two boxes of sweet oranges, fresh from the fastest boats—one for his own mother, and he'd saved one for Taekwoon's and Hakyeon's as well. His mother was a better person than he'd ever be—she'd told him to hurry over to see Lady Consort Fei, and would Xiao Li go with him and bring this box of new tea to her as well?

If Xiao Li thought her lady's son was acting a little childishly, she was too well trained to say it, although she did sometimes wonder how her stately Lady Empress could have two such capricious sons. A child didn't get everything from his parents, it seemed.

"Today's nice," Jaehwan remarked to her.

"It is, your Highness," she said.

"Not too hot, not too cold," Jaehwan said. He didn't know if Taekwoon's news had been properly circulated yet; Jaehwan would rather not be known to have loose lips. But the weather, that was nice. The flowers had faded and some leaves had begun to change colour, but the palace gardens were still filled with a lively green, and the walkways hadn't taken on the barren emptiness that late fall would bring. It was the perfect weather.

Today, Jaehwan decided, was rather perfect all over.

It wasn't far to Lady Consort Fei's rooms and Jaehwan found himself walking up to the familiar gates with a somewhat unfamiliar feeling. He'd only come before tagging along with his brothers—this was the first time he'd shown up alone. Well it couldn't be helped—the two of them were off playing heroes and thwarting a plot.

He knocked at the gates, beaming at the Lady Consort's attendant who showed the two of them in.

"Please wait here a moment, your Highness," she said, and then leaned in and smiled conspiratorially. "His Majesty the Emperor is here."

"Father is?" Jaehwan felt his own eyes widen in surprise before it softened and a laugh bubbled up in his chest. So he wouldn't be the bearer of good news after all.

"We will be turned away if his Majesty is visiting Lady Consort Fei," Xiao Li said, frowning in worry.

"No, the Lady Consort isn't like that," Jaehwan said confidently. "And Father isn't like that either."

Xiao Li bit back a defence in her lady's honour—that the Lady Empress wasn't any worse of a person than the Lady Consort Fei or the Emperor—against her lady's son, who the Lady Empress would remind her could sometimes be a little too hasty with his words but never meant harm.

Jaehwan was oblivious to this. Jaehwan was too busy watching a butterfly alight on a chrysanthemum—the Lady Consort Fei grew and tended to them herself. He suddenly wondered if Song Qian grew flowers too but he couldn't stifle the grin at the thought of his boyish older sister working with something as delicate as flowers. Which wasn't very fair of him at all.

Just then, the Lady Consort's attendant reappeared.

"Your Highness may enter," she said formally, her eyes twinkling.

Jaehwan smiled knowingly at Xiao Li.

This was a place that bordered the line of too familiar to pay note to, but not so familiar he could've recounted it in his sleep. It lived in that middle ground where people drifted along day by day, uncaring that a single moment could alter it forever, or that it was being irrevocably changed with every cycle of the hours. Jaehwan knew the stepping stones and where the branches of a sheltering tree always seemed to catch on his shoulder. He knew, instinctively, how high he needed to step over the entryway and had a vague impression of the green in the painting on the left wall.

Most of all, it was a place of warmth and laughter, of quiet and softness.

The Lady Consort Fei was glowing when Jaehwan walked in.

"Emperor Father, Lady Consort Fei," Jaehwan greeted them both in turn. "Your son apologises for interrupting."

They sat at a table, not at one of the low couches, and it seemed like they'd been deep in discussion. A pot of tea sat on the table nearby, but the fine ceramic cups were empty. There were gentle smiles on both their faces, and comfort surged in Jaehwan's chest.

"Sit with us, Jaehwan," the Emperor said.

"Thank you, Father," Jaehwan said, and took the indicated seat. Unable to help it, a smile broke out on his face. "Father, Lady Consort, you have heard the news from my brothers?"

"His Majesty the Emperor has just informed me," Lady Consort Fei said. "I am thankful for their service to the kingdom."

"You should be proud, Meiying," the Emperor said gently—Jaehwan startled, and it took him a moment to remember that Taekwoon's mother's name was Fei Meiying, a detached fact.

"They are your sons too," the Lady Consort said and Jaehwan swore there was a hint of sly amusement in that smile, one that reminded him of Song Qian.

"And I am proud of them both," the Emperor said.

"I as well," Jaehwan couldn't resist adding. It made the Emperor laugh and the Lady Consort smile. Jaehwan finally gestured for Xiao Li to come forward. "Emperor Father, Lady Consort, these are sweet oranges from the south and it would be my honour if you could enjoy them."

Xiao Li bowed and placed it on the table, uncovering the box to reveal the fresh fruits. Beside it, she placed the box that Jaehwan's mother had asked her to bring.

"This is new tea from the islands that the Lady Empress thought the Lady Consort could have some use for," Xiao Li said.

"The Lady Empress is too kind," Lady Consort Fei said, standing slowly. "It would be dishonourable if we did not taste it now. Allow me to—"

She never finished that sentence, nor did she finish standing.

Too fast. Too slow.

Life seemed to drain from her body like it'd been taken by a spirit. She fell like a puppet with its strings cut. One hand hit the table. The chair bumped her elbow before the weight of the earth pulled her down. Chaos erupted. His father rushed to hold her. Her attendants rushed to her side. Xiao Li stood frozen beside him.

"Call the doctor!" Jaehwan yelled at her. "Quickly!"

How? How could it have been so sudden? She'd been so happy. She'd been glowing so brightly that Jaehwan had forgotten her illness for those few moments.

"Meiying! Meiying wake up. You must wake up!"

"Lady Consort, please!"

The Emperor's face was stricken. Distraught. Jaehwan thought he'd seen pain before, but in that moment he knew his father was feeling a pain more acute than Jaehwan would ever feel. Jaehwan turned away.

Servants had come running. Something in Jaehwan snapped alive.

"The court doctor, now!" Jaehwan pointed at two of them. He looked for the ones that seemed the most trustworthy, the fastest.

"You, send word to her Highness the Second Princess immediately! She will be at his Highness the Prince of Jing's estate or if she is not, find her or there will be the most severe consequences. You, send word immediately to Yangnan. The Prince of Jing and the Duke of Yin must return immediately! Go now, and not even heaven can help you if you delay!"

Jaehwan looked again to his father, to his brothers' and sister's mother. In his heart of hearts, he began to fear that the doctor would not arrive in time.

Hadn't this been what it'd been like that very first time? Hakyeon had told him one night when too much wine had been had by them both. So suddenly, with no warning. But that'd been months, almost years ago.

He forced himself to walk with steady steps back to the other side of the table—he didn't remember standing. One of the cups had been thrown to the ground and the pieces were shattered, scattered. Jaehwan stepped carefully over them.

"Father," Jaehwan said, his voice soft. The Emperor looked up at him, something that Jaehwan couldn't recognise in his eyes. "Let the servants help the Lady Consort to her bed."

The Emperor shook his head and wordlessly held her in his arms and stood. The Lady Consort's attendants were weeping and the sound grated in Jaehwan's ears. They trailed after the Emperor as he carried her to bed, and watched as he lay her down like a precious, fragile flower.

Only Jaehwan wasn't crying. Even Xiao Li had tears in her eyes.

"Go to my Empress Mother," Jaehwan told her, as gently as he could. "Ask her to send swiftly for the Second Princess, and to the Prince of Jing's estate to send for the Prince and the Duke by pigeon."

Song Qian's pigeons would find Taekwoon the fastest.

Xiao Li bowed in acknowledgement and nearly ran out the door. It was an odd sight. Jaehwan found it odd.

He signalled to the Lady Consort's attendants and sent them out for more water, to call for the doctor. Song Qian—Song Qian would be the best one to find and Jaehwan prayed fervently that she'd arrive soon.

Only minutes had passed.

The room was quiet again. Jaehwan stood, an outsider, as his father knelt by the bed of a woman he cared for—a woman he loved. Jaehwan could see that now. He wasn't meant to be here, yet he couldn't leave. He could only watch in silence, compelled by greater forces to bear witness in place of those who couldn't.

He didn't want to hear, but he couldn't not hear, that soft, one-sided conversation.

"It's too soon for you to leave me as well, dear one," his father said. "You and Junyu were as close as sisters, but Junyu will understand if she waits for you longer. Meiying, open your eyes."

Jaehwan swallowed. Heat prickled at his skin. He blinked, and then he blinked again. His vision was blurred. He heard without understanding, listened without listening.

"I know you do not care for me,"—Jaehwan started at those words—"but what of your sons? What of Taekwoon? Your dearest, smartest, most faithful little Taekwoonie?"

He'd never seen his father like this. He'd never heard his father speak of Taekwoon like this, so tenderly, so lovingly. His chest ached.

Yet still, Fei Meiying's eyes did not open.

"Will you not see the great things our Taekwoon will do? He will make you proud, our Taekwoon, he will lead this kingdom we have built together to even greater brilliance. Can you bear not to watch him?"

"Meiying, my clever Meiying. I am unworthy to face you, I did not do you proper honour—I will do better. For our Taekwoon, if not for me. Hakyeon, Song Qian. Our brave children. Please, Meiying."

Jaehwan did not see her lips part, he did not see the tremble of her lashes, and could not see the tear that dripped from the corner of her closed eyes. He only saw his father lurch forward. He felt himself take a step and must've taken several more, because her voice, so reminiscent of Taekwoon's, could barely leave her lips.

"Your Majesty is a man Taekwoon is honoured to call father. To Meiying...your Majesty has..."

And so, without opening her eyes one more time, Fei Meiying let out that last breath, empty, soundless.

Song Qian arrived moments after the doctors did. Jaehwan watched her run in, felt the air forced aside as she rushed past without seeing him. Sat and waited. Time trickled away. Jaehwan didn't leave. Couldn't leave.

He'd been away when the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress had passed, just like how Taekwoon and Hakyeon were away now. What a strange pallor he'd returned to, those seven years ago. But the Lady Consort Fei—no, the former Lady Consort Fei because she'd be granted a new title—she hadn't even had her children by her side in those last moments. Only Jaehwan, standing a world apart, frozen in the useless shell of his body.

It wasn't fair.

Jaehwan waited and listened to the eunuchs, the servants, the attendants, the weeping. She'd been loved by those who served her. When Jaehwan lifted his head, happened to chance a look inside, he saw his father standing, as stern and unmoving as a stone statue, like a tomb guardian from days of old. The Emperor, personally watching over the necessary ceremonies that followed a consort's death. Jaehwan looked away after that.

The message wouldn't have even reached his brothers yet. Even if it had, and even if they rode like the demons of hell had risen in chase, it would be a full day before their shadows would meet the shadows of the city wall. It was too long. It was too late.

Someone walked out, back straight, head held up high. Shoulders trembling. Small and fragile.

"Jiejie," Jaehwan said softly.

This time, Song Qian stopped. Her eyes stared hollowly at Jaehwan, empty of soul, and in those few seconds Jaehwan felt his last shred of composure wither. His body creaked slowly to its feet and he moved to her like a wooden jointed toy, a poorly made automaton. He wanted to run and hold her like a mother would a child, but her mother was gone and Jaehwan had been there and done nothing.

She stared at him like she didn't know who he was, like he was as much a stranger to her as the other people who'd filled and emptied and filled the room.

"Jaehwan-ah," Song Qian finally said.

Jaehwan sought for words. All he'd been able to do was watch.

"Father was with her," Jaehwan said. "Father stayed with her the whole time."

"He is still there," Song Qian said. She swallowed and Jaehwan noticed the redness still staining her skin, red lines still visible in her eyes.

"It... it was very fast," Jaehwan said and wished he could unsay it because it wasn't a right thing to say.

"I... I should have been here," Song Qian said. "I was going to come, later, because Taekwoon... Taekwoon and Hakyeon..."

Her voice broke and her eyes widened, her lips parted, the corners of her mouth twisted and something horrible passed through her thoughts, a frigid wave crashing down against her skin.

"I sent for them," Jaehwan choked out, words suddenly hard to form. "But they wouldn't have made it, they couldn't have made it—I tried, jiejie, I tried really hard, I prayed for you to come."

"Prayers are empty," Song Qian said. Her eyes fell blank again.

"I'm sorry jiejie, I couldn't do anything," Jaehwan said.

"What could you have done, little brother?" Song Qian asked. "You're not a doctor, and not even a doctor can give life to the dead."

The dead. The word jolted something alive in her and tears welled up. Jaehwan ached to tell her it was all right to cry but Song Qian was trying so hard not to cry. It seemed cruel.

Yes, her mother was dead. Forever gone. Nothing anyone could do. Nothing anyone could've done. Illness did not discriminate. Death was final and it would come for them all eventually, and death had marked its claim on her mother long before this moment.

"I have to go back," Song Qian murmured.

"Shouldn't you rest?" Jaehwan asked.

"This isn't a time for rest," Song Qian said. "Not for me. Not for the living."

"But you were leaving—"

"To get something for Father," Song Qian interrupted.

"I can get it," Jaehwan offered. Song Qian shook her head.

"It can wait," she said.

Jaehwan didn't stop her as she disappeared inside. He was powerless to. She had a vigil to keep and Jaehwan didn't belong here. He thought of going back to his mother but found that the idea was somehow unbearable and he'd never be able to face Song Qian. It didn't make sense, that feeling, he knew it and yet he still couldn't bring himself to walk that way. Instead he wished he could jump over walls like Hakyeon could—which Jaehwan knew from the occasional time Hakyeon had thought it'd be fun to visit in surprise.

He tried to imagine Hakyeon, Taekwoon, receiving the message. The messages. A sudden pang of guilt that they'd receive the news again and again because of Jaehwan's foolish desperation. Maybe they'd be gone by the time a second message arrived. He hoped it'd be so. But then they'd meet the messenger on the road.

He needed to be alone. Truly alone. Somewhere deep and indiscoverable. Far from this madness, from this cruel world—because that was what this was. Cruel.

And because it was cruel it couldn't grant him even this one wish.

"Jaehwan-ah?"

It was Zhihan. He stood in front of Jaehwan like an apparition. Twin flames of rage and desolation surged inside of him but only one of them flared and burned away, leaving Jaehwan only with a flood of sadness swelling in his chest.

Suddenly, Jaehwan very much wanted to cry.

"Gege," he said.

"I heard from Mother," Zhihan said. He stepped forward and gently touched Jaehwan's shoulder.

"What did you hear?" Jaehwan asked hollowly.

Zhihan shook his head and anger suddenly sparked in Jaehwan again, that his brother could be so cold and unaffected but wasn't it Jaehwan who was reacting too strongly?

"Taekwoon hasn't returned?" Zhihan asked.

"As you well know," Jaehwan snapped, and something his father had said in those last minutes suddenly whispered in his mind.

He will bring this kingdom we have built together to even greater brilliance.

Pain struck Zhihan's expression but Jaehwan couldn't—wouldn't—take those words back.

How could he when those words were now more than mere sounds to him, when the meaning was suddenly too clear. An insidious voice told him they were only words to comfort a dying woman but Jaehwan knew in his heart of hearts that his father hadn't been lying.

The Emperor had already chosen. Jaehwan knew who it was. The knowledge washed over him and Jaehwan saw Zhihan through a clearing haze. He was pitiful and Jaehwan hoped guilt was eating at him for his part in this, because Zhihan must've known the truth behind the rebellion and he'd done nothing, and that was why Taekwoon and Hakyeon weren't here. It was Zhihan's fault because he'd decided to stand with Zhiheng, but that meant Zhihan had already lost, they'd both already lost, because the Emperor had already chosen the winner. It wasn't Zhiheng. Somewhere in all of this Jaehwan had forgotten about Zhiying but he'd never had a chance. He'd never been close to competing.

Jaehwan stood a little taller.

"He'll be back soon," Jaehwan said. But it hadn't been soon enough.

Zhihan nodded at him and there was something immeasurably sad in that one movement. Jaehwan deflated, the bubble of empty hostility suddenly punctured. This wasn't the time.

"I was going to accompany Mother," Zhihan said quietly. "Will you come?"

"Let's go together," Jaehwan said. He stepped aside—he'd been blocking Zhihan's path as much as Zhihan had been blocking his—and turned back the way he came. There'd be a time to settle it later, to come to terms with what his father's words had meant, to reconcile what it'd mean for the brother standing beside him. It was disrespectful, and the Lady Consort Fei would've scolded them all soundly for it.

Taekwoon didn't remember very much of the ride, or very much of those first few days at all. It was a hollow daze, dream like, and all he'd recall was the overwhelming sense of guilt. Heavy in his chest like an immovable boulder, the only thing he could ground himself in, in those moments he was alone. He wasn't often alone. If it wasn't Hakyeon it was Song Qian and if it was neither of them it was Jaehwan who'd taken to hovering around the three of them like a particularly persistent dog. There was so much to be done and Taekwoon was her eldest son by blood, which meant there was so much only he could do. It kept him busy and he welcomed it along with the numbness, the only way he could function through the pain.

But the nights were different. The nights were when he'd see the white cloth tied around Hakyeon's head and that was the sharp reminder that none of this was a dream, that this was piercingly real, and that was when ice would sink into his bones and fire would crawl up his skin and knives of agony were buried in his shoulders his hands pinning his knees and something hot and wet would burn tracks down his face and Hakyeon would hold him and Hakyeon's tears would soak through Taekwoon's mourning clothes. Taekwoon would cling to Hakyeon as that boulder in his chest shattered into a thousand pieces and each one tumbled jagged in his veins and filled his throat until he couldn't breathe.

He should've been there. He hadn't needed to leave. He hadn't had to charge out those gates into danger like a fool. Just like Hakyeon had stayed when Taekwoon left, Taekwoon could've stayed when Hakyeon left and—

And it still would've happened.

Hakyeon reminded him again and again but all it did was drive the blade of guilt deeper into his heart, twist it like a barbed arrow. There was nothing that could've been done. There was nothing anyone could've done. All that was left to them was to mourn, to pay their respects, to properly carry out their duties as sons. Because, Taekwoon would remind Hakyeon, Hakyeon was no less her son than Taekwoon was. Nothing could ever change that. And Taekwoon had been firm on that even when the Minister of Ceremonies refused him, had insisted that Hakyeon was Taekwoon's equal in all things when it came to Fei Meiying. It was what their mother would've wanted—demanded.

At least, that's what Taekwoon assumed. He didn't know. He'd never know. There it was again, that guilt. The last time, Hakyeon said. Just days before, Song Qian said. But when was the last time Taekwoon had seen her? When was the last time Fei Meiying's eldest son had been by her side, had spoken to her, had been filial and obedient, had been respectful and understanding? That day, he shouldn't have left. That day was Song Qian's 'just days before' and it could've been Taekwoon's too. It should've been but he was a terrible, terrible person who'd rebelled just because he could and broken everything along the way.

He didn't care what Hakyeon said—Taekwoon was sure that if he'd been with their mother every single minute of every single day, something could've been done.

There had to have been something that could've been done.

Taekwoon clung to that thought like he'd cling to the edges of a cliff until the skin of his fingers was shredded raw and bloody, the joints swollen, but although it wasn't a long fall he refused to let go and was too afraid to let go for even the half second needed to be pulled up.

And Taekwoon hated himself for it. Hated himself for his childishness when Hakyeon—and even Song Qian—could proceed through each day, functioning like the adults they were supposed to be. Not crying for a past that couldn't be changed. He was weak in every way. He deserved to feel guilty—he was guilty. He was complicit.

He was weak.

If Hakyeon hadn't been with him every step of the way Taekwoon would've fallen, would've failed his duties as a son. The thought terrified him in its truth.

But it was strange how soon it was over, how quickly he was expected to return to his duties not as Fei Meiying's eldest son, but as Prince of Jing, Seventh Prince, Zheng Taekwoon. Not even a full moon had passed.

He almost welcomed being asked to deal with an out-of-season flood that'd swept through a cluster of villages, partway through the harvest. He could've done a better job but the villagers were thankful and his father rewarded him and the Prime Minister complimented his work. It was better than being complimented on killing.

"Taekwoon," Hakyeon said quietly. "It will all be all right."

Taekwoon looked up in the darkness, Hakyeon little more than a shadow. His eyes felt swollen and the straw prickled through his clothes, against his back. Even the horses were sleeping although one or two puffed breaths, disturbed by the human voices. When Taekwoon didn't reply, Hakyeon sat down next to him. The straw crunched, bent and broken.

Taekwoon didn't resist when Hakyeon looped an arm around his shoulders and pulled Taekwoon close. Even if it meant that Hakyeon could feel him trembling. How many times had he done this now? Cried while Hakyeon held him, Hakyeon always the stronger of the two.

"You are not at fault—I know you think you are, but you're not at fault. Our Lady Mother wouldn't want to see you like this."

"'Wouldn't want'," Taekwoon blurted out, the words not feeling like his own. "She's gone. You don't know."

His words shook like the failing leaves, dropping from branches to bare them for winter. It wasn't a fair thing to say because Hakyeon was hurting no less than he was, and the arm around his shoulder tightened, Hakyeon's fingers digging against his arm.

"But we can guess," Hakyeon said. "When we were away, we could guess—what would do her honour, what would make her proud, what would make her sad to see. I think you know that in your heart too."

Taekwoon swallowed, bit down on his lip, willing it to bleed so he could feel something. Something that wasn't this... this nothingness.

"It will be all right, Taekwoon."

"Is this what it was like for you?"

Hakyeon froze at Taekwoon's quiet words, barely rising above a raspy whisper. He knew what Taekwoon meant. How could he not?

"I don't remember," Hakyeon said. Repeated, like he'd repeated it countless times over the years.

This time, it was the truth.

Hakyeon sought for any memory, for any vestige of feeling, something to tell him it'd been real. Maybe it hadn't been real. He'd been so young. He didn't even remember his father, didn't know what his mother looked like. Every time he reached into the past, all he recalled was the Emperor's hands clasping Hakyeon's tiny shoulders, all he could remember was Fei Meiying sitting by his big, unfamiliar bed. The only smile he could remember was her smile.

Taekwoon shook his head, a minute disturbance against Hakyeon's shoulder. Even Taekwoon didn't know what he was denying. Hakyeon couldn't even guess.

"How?" Taekwoon asked. That one word hung in the silence for seconds, minutes.

"You," Hakyeon finally said, bluntly honest.

It’d been half a month. Half a month with one day blurring into the next, with two nights turning into three days, with three days turning into five. Through all of that, Hakyeon had watched Taekwoon crack and crumble, unable to do anything but let it happen. There'd been one evening—he knew it'd been evening because the underside of the clouds were an odd, faded pink like it'd been roughly brushed with fresh blood—when he found Taekwoon hunched over by the water. Taekwoon hadn't seen him because he was shaking with the effort of silence, the smothered whimpers of a broken man swallowed by the water's ripples. Hakyeon had sat down because if he didn't he would've fallen, his fingers clawing into the earth, his own tears silently soaking the ground as he bowed his head. Song Qian cried too but Hakyeon didn't know what to do except to sit by her. She'd lost her husband and now she'd lost her mother and Hakyeon couldn't bring himself to tell her it would be all right. He couldn't bring himself to lie.

But Taekwoon, his other half, his shared soul, Taekwoon was different.

Taekwoon could not sleep forever.

"Do you remember why you came back?" Hakyeon asked, not ungently. He let go of Taekwoon and made him sit up and even though it was pitch black and Taekwoon wasn't even a shadow, Hakyeon forced himself to move, to crouch in front of Taekwoon.

Taekwoon did. He'd never forgotten. Hakyeon was sure of it.

"You have enemies," Hakyeon reminded him. "They haven't gone away, and they won't take pity on you forever."

Taekwoon stayed silent for so long that Hakyeon wondered if he'd blocked Hakyeon out entirely. Hakyeon wanted to touch him, to reassure him, but that wasn't what Taekwoon needed.

He did move eventually. His lips parted and Hakyeon waited until Taekwoon said one word, devoid of any emotion.

"Zhiheng."

Hakyeon, reluctantly, nodded. And still he waited.

It was bitter and cold and empty of light, a void of absence, a darkness so complete even the darkness was gone. Taekwoon's voice. Taekwoon's eyes. Two hard sounds.

"Han Ming."

In that moment, Taekwoon ceased thinking of that man as Sanghyuk's father. In Taekwoon's mind, he was no longer a respected court official. Taekwoon had no proof, had only a gut feeling and Jaehwan's word—Jaehwan who'd always hated that man without reason. Yes, that man had visited Zhiheng even more frequently since Taekwoon's return. But that was not proof.

Some things did not need proof.

It should've scared Taekwoon how certain he was of all this. If that man was, by some impossible chance, not complicit then Taekwoon would bear the burden of guilt for a man wrongly accused. But Jaehwan had heard from Zhihan's own mouth that that man was involved. Zhihan had no reason to lie. Jaehwan was terrible at lying.

Anger flared in Taekwoon's chest. This was a man who'd convinced his brother to do things he never would've otherwise done. He was the enemy. In that darkness, Taekwoon's mind sharpened that thought into a flinty blade. Taekwoon didn't have proof, but he was right. He knew he was right.

If he needed proof, it was there in Hakyeon's silence. Hakyeon's quiet agreement. If Hakyeon believed it, then it was the truth.

If he thought of this as a battle, then the enemy had both struck first and taken the upper ground. They'd already scouted the land, moved into formation, and Taekwoon was walking in blind. It wasn't a favourable situation but Taekwoon had no one but himself to blame. Hakyeon had tried to play the voice of reason but Taekwoon'd refused to believe there was an enemy. Only a misguided sibling. Taekwoon didn't know what to believe any more. He couldn't deny that Zhiheng was an enemy—but he still didn't want to believe his brother had tried to kill him. It was a horrible thing to reconcile.

There was something else that worried him, something that Taekwoon suddenly recalled, surrounded by darkness, hay, and the pungent smell of horse. Something that Jaehwan had told him although the sounds hadn't even formed words in Taekwoon's mind at the time. The Minister of Ceremonies had announced that His Majesty the Emperor had chosen—but not declared—a successor. It'd been sealed and hidden in the Heavenly Hall, the Emperor's choice immutable. But if the chosen heir acted unfavourably or viciously the Emperor had no choice but to strike it down. He didn't wish to see his sons fighting.

It'd only hide it deeper.

Guilt rose sickeningly in Taekwoon's throat. He'd just decided to disobey his father's wishes. But Taekwoon refused to sit placid and unprepared, a pig ready for slaughter. Even if he didn't want the throne, he didn't want to die. Taekwoon felt that was very reasonable. On the other hand, killing anyone, enemy or not, left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wouldn't stoop to their level. They’d find a path not drowned in blood. Taekwoon wasn't good at this. He raised his head and looked at where Hakyeon was, a shadow within shadows.

Taekwoon licked his lips and swallowed. Neither of them could see Taekwoon's eyes harden. It was a manifestation of the blade of anger and fire forged into his heart melded with a smooth hilt and sheathed in a wooden scabbard. The violence tempered, but fury waiting to be unleashed. Taekwoon's eyes were hidden from Hakyeon by the shadows, but Hakyeon knew like the sword was sheathed in his own chest.

"Help me," Taekwoon said, and Hakyeon, without letting a single breath fall between them:

"Until my last breath, always."

It was the day after Taekwoon seemed to finally break out of the haze. Taekwoon's eyes were clearer, his movements less sluggish, and when Hakyeon spoke to him he responded with the sort of sharp bluntness Hakyeon had come to expect.

Hakyeon also began to plan.

It hurt.

He remembered every one of his mother's words—Fei Meiying's words—like they'd been carved into his skin, his bones, his mind. But what hurt most of all was:

My child, it will be all right.

It hadn't. Taekwoon was safe, Hakyeon was alive—but Taekwoon was also broken and shattered and nothing anyone did could make that all right.

Face the truth boldly and bravely, and remind Taekwoon to do the same. Trust that Taekwoon will do that too, she'd said with Hakyeon crying in her arms. She'd held him and soothed him, reassured him and comforted him. Left behind words for him that Hakyeon would cherish and live by.

And at the very end, the very last thing Hakyeon's true mother said: your life is your own to live, my Hakyeon. No one but yours.

This was what Hakyeon remembered in his own nights, when he hugged his knees to his chest and pulled the blankets over his head in a room with closed, heavy doors and no windows to let in the light of the stars and the moon. Your life is your own to live.

But what she'd really meant was: do not live for Taekwoon. That was something Hakyeon couldn't, wouldn't, obey. He'd long decided that to live for Taekwoon was to live for himself. It wasn't because he thought himself inferior to Taekwoon simply because Hakyeon wasn't the Emperor's real son. It was just right. It was meant to be.

Hakyeon picked himself up from the ground and opened his eyes to his surroundings; a wave of guilt immediately washed over him as he took in the lake pooled between streams, the shelter of the trees, the calm presence of Ray grazing nearby. The air was still, no breeze to lift the doldrums, but by the shores of the water it wasn't stifling. Not like it was in the city. Where he was supposed to be. Taekwoon was somewhere in the city.

Jaehwan had asked to speak with him today, outside the city. He was probably already waiting for Hakyeon at the wayside point. Hakyeon had lost track of the time. He wasn't holding together as well as Taekwoon thought he was.

Hakyeon always found it strange to see Jaehwan wearing drab clothes, trying not to call attention to himself. Anyone with eyes could see that his mount and tack were both too fine. It didn't matter—it sobered Hakyeon that Jaehwan wanted absolutely not to be overheard.

Still, it stirred something strange inside of him as Hakyeon rode up and he called out "Jaehwan," instead of 'your Highness'.

"Hakyeon," Jaehwan said easily.

"Did I keep you waiting?" Hakyeon asked. He was about to hop off when Jaehwan mounted. Hakyeon frowned.

"Let's go for a ride," Jaehwan said.

Hakyeon glanced around them—he couldn't imagine them being overheard. His heart pounded as he nudged Ray to ride up next to Jaehwan.

"I can't wait any more," Jaehwan said. His voice was barely audible above the click of the horses' hooves. "I know you... you and Taekwoon—"

"This is about Taekwoon," Hakyeon said. Jaehwan nodded slowly.

"Then it can't be too soon," Hakyeon said.

Jaehwan swallowed visibly and looked away from Hakyeon, eyes inexplicably red.

"I was there," Jaehwan said and then stopped. Hakyeon waited, watching him. Jaehwan looked resolutely forward as he continued. "At the end—I was there."

Jaehwan didn't need to say what end and Hakyeon didn't need to ask. He knew, they'd told him. It was hard on Jaehwan too. Hakyeon didn't rush him.

It was another minute or two of steady, plodding steps, the gentle rocking of their horses under them.

"It was just me and Father—I'd sent everyone out. And Father said something to your mother."

Hakyeon's heart dropped from his chest, tongue turning into ash. Something about Taekwoon.

"What did he say?" Hakyeon asked. The words were heavy in his mouth.

When Jaehwan spoke again, Hakyeon heard him not as the young prince, but as if they were words from the Emperor himself.

"'He will lead this kingdom we have built together to even greater brilliance.'"

Jaehwan had repeated those words to himself over and over, committing them to memory, sure he hadn't missed a single sound. There were other things, important things, and Jaehwan remembered them too, but this was something Jaehwan had to recall, every word in its proper place.

If they'd been walking, Hakyeon would've frozen in place. Unlike Jaehwan, he didn't think for a moment that they'd been mere words of comfort. The Emperor was not a man who lied.

Hakyeon suddenly recalled Jaehwan briefing him on things he'd missed in his absence. It'd stuck out to him even then, but now he had a context, a reason, about why Jaehwan had been so uncomfortable with it.

The Emperor had chosen his successor, but no one knew who it was—except someone did. Jaehwan did.

"No one else knows?" Hakyeon asked.

"I was the only one there," Jaehwan said. "Other than... other than the Emperor himself."

And the woman he'd said those words to. But she was no longer alive.

"Have you told anyone?"

"Just you," Jaehwan said.

"Song Qian?"

"I couldn't," Jaehwan said. There was something behind that sudden anguish, but Hakyeon didn't have the heart to pry at it.

"The Emperor?" Hakyeon asked, and hoped Jaehwan would understand.

"In that moment there were only the two of them—I don't think Father even remembered I was there."

Don't you understand what this means!? A voice screamed inside of Hakyeon, begging to be released. Directed at Jaehwan because Jaehwan was staring silently ahead.

Hakyeon opened his mouth and then closed it. Of course Jaehwan knew what it meant.

This should've changed everything—but strangely enough, it changed nothing.

"Tell no one," Hakyeon said. "Not even Taekwoon, not even Song Qian."

He saw Jaehwan nod, and it seemed like a nod of relief. Like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Like he could sit up straighter and when he looked back at Hakyeon, Jaehwan's gaze was firm.

"I understand," Jaehwan said.

"You were right not to," Hakyeon said. "It would've... complicated things."

"I understand Taekwoon, but jiejie?"

"Jiejie has enough to think of," Hakyeon said. "I've already burdened her by asking her to stay."

Isn't that why you didn't tell her either?

Jaehwan was silent for several moments before he nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Thank you, my brother," Hakyeon said. "I have something to ask of you. For the sake of this kingdom and the Emperor—"

"I am with you," Jaehwan said, anticipating Hakyeon's words. "For you, for Taekwoon—I'm with you. I already said, didn't I?"

"I ask for your word. Knowing now what the Emperor has decided, I can in good conscience ask for your word to support Taekwoon to the end."

"I don't know why you want it, but—I swear it Hakyeon. I swear on our ancestors that I will act loyally and follow Taekwoon to the very end."

"Thank you," Hakyeon said softly. "You are a better person than I will ever be."

"You only think of Taekwoon," Jaehwan said, and it sounded like he thought that was a bad thing. Maybe, to Jaehwan, it was.

"It's easier," Hakyeon admitted. "Especially now."

It gave him something to hold on to.

Hakyeon looked over at Jaehwan, the young prince staring at Hakyeon with furrowed brows. He jerked a little in place when Hakyeon's eyes met his.

"Jaehwan, I... I don't know if it's right of me to say this, but you're allowed to be sad. Family isn't only blood, and the Lady Consort Fei thought of you warmly—but none of that matters over your own feelings, and I think... you're holding those back right now."

He should've expected Jaehwan's next words but it still made him laugh.

"It's easier," Jaehwan said—he accompanied it with a bit of a smile. A sad smile. Hakyeon understood.

A word was not something easily given.

Jaehwan was not grief addled, nor was he being impulsive. He'd already acknowledged that he was foolish but an answer given without a word was lightly carried; what he'd sworn to Hakyeon was a heavy weight. It was lightened knowing that he was doing the right thing in every way. He wouldn't be going against his father, against imperial edict. Against the kingdom.

He knew that Hakyeon wouldn't have asked him otherwise. Damn Hakyeon and his sense of honour. Jaehwan knocked back another cup of strong wine, letting it burn down his throat.

Hadn't he already told Hakyeon that he could have faith in him? That Jaehwan was someone Hakyeon could trust? That he'd do what he could do whether or not Hakyeon was here? And still that hadn't been enough for Hakyeon—Hakyeon still wouldn't have held Jaehwan to it. Couldn't, in good conscience, even though Hakyeon himself had already dedicated everything to Jaehwan's seventh brother.

It was a dark night and Jaehwan welcomed it. Somewhere there was a moon, but Jaehwan didn't know if it'd set or been eaten. The sky was empty and dark. Clouds had moved in throughout the day and swallowed the stars. It'd gotten cold at night, cold enough that the brazier was burning hot in his room. But here he was outside in a dark, empty garden, as bleak as the night sky.

If Taekwoon had spent the past days in a dulled haze and Hakyeon had lived by fixating on Taekwoon—Jaehwan had woken each morning with a brittle sharp clarity. He had to, knowing what he did.

Jaehwan was sure that only he knew. Him, and the Emperor, but the Emperor had always known. And like Jaehwan had told Hakyeon, he didn't think the Emperor knew that Jaehwan now knew. And if he did, Jaehwan doubted the Emperor would care.

It had taken a toll on the Emperor. Jaehwan's memories were dulled by the years but he didn't remember his father being so drained when the former Empress had died. His father also hadn't been plagued by the intermittent illness of age. Not back then.

But now... Now Jaehwan had sworn he'd follow Taekwoon for as long as he lived. The days ahead wouldn't be easy. They'd be fucking hard, impossible. And Taekwoon had just lost his mother. Jaehwan drained another cup he didn't remember filling. Edict or no, Zhiheng wouldn't let Taekwoon go. He wouldn't risk it. If he knew that he'd been brushed aside in favour of Taekwoon... Jaehwan was afraid to even contemplate what would happen. All they had to do was keep Taekwoon safe until... until the time came. The thought made Jaehwan snort into his wine. Keep Taekwoon safe? Ludicrous. Taekwoon was a hurricane of danger—but he was human, not invincible. Song Qian bested him every time. Song Qian wasn't even the best of the best.

Jaehwan's thoughts chased each other until he was dizzy and he'd only had two carafes of wine. Three wasn't even a problem. Two meant it wasn't the wine. It was what Jaehwan was desperately trying to forget and Taekwoon was unable to forget. He wished it were the wine.

He looked into his empty cup and was struck with a strange desire to throw it. He stilled his hand with difficulty. Remembered a time when restraint had failed and countless things had broken against the floor. Why had he done that? Whatever it was, it was inconsequential compared to this.

Everything was inconsequential.

The cup hit the table with a quiet clink and rolled a few times before Jaehwan caught it. He didn't remember dropping it. He set it upright. It was good it'd been empty. Jaehwan put his face down in his hands, hands cold against his skin. Or maybe it was his face warm against his palms. Did it matter? Life or death. It came down to that.

Taekwoon killed people. The thought came suddenly to Jaehwan like a stone dropped in a pond. He killed lots of people. He'd just come back from killing lots of people. But Jaehwan didn't feel sad about them. No one did—no, those people were someone's sons. Someone would be sad about them. Yet death was expected as a part of war—a risk of being a soldier. It was all right if they died. Was that it? Then if someone fell ill. Jaehwan rubbed at his eyes, dispelling the half-formed thought. But when Taekwoon killed people those same people were trying to kill him. And they'd wanted to kill Taekwoon. They'd tried to kill Taekwoon. They'd sent assassins—Jaehwan shook off the thought that came with it. He'd told Song Qian he'd look into it. He'd looked into it. Looked into who sent assassins after Taekwoon. That made it all right to kill them? It would make people sad. It'd make Jaehwan's mother sad. It'd make their father sad as well but his father was already busy being sad. Could too much sadness kill a person? Jaehwan knew these were childish thoughts.

When this was all over, more people would die. Jaehwan didn't doubt that. The future stretched in front of him like a scroll being unrolled. He didn't trust Sanghyuk's father. There was a trick behind that edict. There had to be.

When this was all over, Jaehwan hoped that he would die.

That sobered him.

It'd make Sanghyuk sad, wouldn't it?

But it was for the sake of the kingdom.

For the sake of Taekwoon. Jaehwan had given his word.

Someone had to die.

Jaehwan raised his head, let his hands fall to the table. For a moment he wondered if the sun had risen, if he'd really whiled away an entire night, because the world around him had brightened. But it was with the silver chill of the moon which hadn't set at all. The clouds had parted. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was agreeing with Jaehwan before the thought had fully formed—

One more person had to die. And if it were by Jaehwan's own hands—he would welcome it.

After all, like he'd told Hakyeon all those weeks ago, Taekwoon was his brother as well. And Jaehwan was going to fucking prove it.

The palace was a subdued place, just as it'd been for weeks. The Emperor was frequently tired—it worried Jaehwan because Zhiheng had the court under his control on those days. It made it harder for Jaehwan to do what he'd been doing—no, it made him afraid to do what he was doing.

"Dismissed," Jaehwan said, waving away the court eunuch. He glanced at the sealed missive he'd been delivered and could feel a headache coming on.

This was the third such missive he'd received in the past week. A third list of names. Jaehwan broke the seal and skimmed over it. One or two gave him pause and forced Jaehwan to quickly reorganise his machinations, but it pleased him that his intuition wasn't far off the mark, out of a list of twenty.

He'd spoken with Hakyeon only once since that ride outside the city. A conversation in the safety of Hakyeon's rooms, shielded by Hakyeon's caution and windowless walls. Taekwoon had been oddly absent at first and Hakyeon's tension at Taekwoon's absence only became obvious when it melted away at a signalled knock on the door. Taekwoon had remained almost silent throughout; his brother and Hakyeon communicated entirely through glances and an occasional touch. Jaehwan felt eerily left out when by all rights it should've been Taekwoon.

Jaehwan had known them both his entire life. He’d known they were closer than brothers had a right to be, by blood or not. And that there was no one in the world his brother trusted more than Hakyeon. Those few months were the only time Jaehwan remembered the two of them apart; seeing them now, he didn't know how they'd managed. He'd always thought Hakyeon to be the clever one while Taekwoon wielded the blade; hadn't noticed Hakyeon's glances at Taekwoon as if seeking confirmation, decisions made for each other with wordless gestures. Yes, Hakyeon was clever, but Taekwoon was astute in his own way, once he'd grasped the situation that Hakyeon teased out from Jaehwan's disjointed threads. Like a flicker of candle light, the thought that it should've been Hakyeon's name on that hidden scroll—but although Taekwoon might've welcomed it, Hakyeon would've caved even with Taekwoon holding him up. They'd moulded themselves to fit around each other's habits, their thoughts, their very essences, and it would be Taekwoon who ruled or not at all, but it'd have to be with Hakyeon at his side.

He'd told Hakyeon a lifetime ago that he would do for Taekwoon what needed to be done, with or without Hakyeon—not because Hakyeon was the clever half, but because he steadied Taekwoon. They weren't halves of a whole; they were yin and yang personified. Taekwoon's right to rule was as much Hakyeon as it was himself.

It made Jaehwan wonder what it'd be like if Hakyeon had never been orphaned, if the Emperor hadn't adopted him, if he hadn't been raised with Taekwoon.

Maybe the choice would've been clear—because his Eldest Brother was not meant to rule.

Jaehwan pulled away from those treasonous thoughts and shook off irrelevant memories as he turned his attention back to the list of names. It took a second glance to notice the absence of a name. Jaehwan frowned and got to his feet. He walked toward the pile of apparently discarded petitions put off for a later that wouldn't come. It was near the bottom—a complete register of every court official, their rank, office, and standing. He flipped to the very end, running his finger down lines of neat, dark ink. It stopped at a rather minor official of the sixth rank under the Ministry of the Household, promoted from a provincial agricultural post several years ago, commended for being morally upstanding and of good character.

Exactly the sort of person that needed to be removed if they had the ear of cautious vice ministers that needed some persuasion.

The headache was very present.

Jaehwan swallowed a curse. He shoved the register back under the pile of documents.

It was still early in the day but he craved a warm cup of wine. The days were growing cold and the nights were colder. They'd all but come upon Taekwoon's birthday, the moon half full, but not one word of mention had passed. Jaehwan wouldn't be surprised if it'd been altogether forgotten.

He paced the length of the room, and then to the door, and then back to the table. Yes, a warm cup of wine. That was what he needed. A few hours at a music house with a pretty girl to pour him wine, or perhaps at one of the establishments favoured by the students where he could don an alias and trade verses well into the early hours of the morning with none the wiser as to the circumstances of his birth. Maybe even stay the night, share a bed with a willing partner, stumble home just as curfew broke and sleep until the sun was high. When had he last done that? A space of time to be someone other than himself, to step away from this crazy world he'd been born into.

And then he froze. For Hakyeon and Taekwoon, there was nowhere for that. No time for that. This latest missive was proof of that. Zhiheng had begun to move. At least he'd waited a few weeks out of respect for the dead, because it sure as hell wasn't out of brotherly consideration.

Everything had happened so quickly.

A year ago—a few months ago, Jaehwan would've thrown out the person who dared suggest his siblings were engaging in attempted fratricide, or simply thrown them in jail for treason against the crown. Yet here he was, wary of one, allied with another, and hoping he was mistaken about a third. He'd looked into a deadly matter like he'd promised and the answer was hard to swallow. They'd escaped an assassination attempt through the sheer grace of the heavens and sidestepped one that might not've been an attempt at all. A successor had been chosen—and Jaehwan was the only other person who'd known, until he'd spoken to his adopted brother. But before Jaehwan had gotten his own pieces into place, before Hakyeon had even had a chance to, drawn away from home, their enemies had made the first move. While grief still encased Taekwoon, weighed down their father, and Hakyeon pretended to have shaken off.

It was just him. It was just Jaehwan. And he wanted nothing more than to escape.

His steps had grown agitated as he crossed the room again and again. So Zhiheng had gotten rid of one of theirs. Then Jaehwan would get rid of one of theirs. Two of theirs. Taekwoon had a grand plan, Jaehwan would pick them off one by one. He could target the weakest links, or...

No, he couldn't ask Song Qian for that, not now. But if that'd give them access to someone inside, someone privy to Zhiheng's secrets... No. Not now. He couldn't do it. Starting small would be best.

In the mean time, he'd report this to Hakyeon and then chase down that cup of wine he craved. If all went well, Jaehwan would have even more to share by the time the night was done.

One of the girls had gotten with child. By the time they realised it, it was almost too late. But when they tried to get rid of the child—they'd gotten rid of her too. Hongbin had been young but he knew death. He'd stared death in the face and walked away, if not whole then at least alive. This was a different sort of death. She'd been loved, her friends mourned. She'd fallen victim to a sudden and violent illness—that was the story, and patrons composed a poem or two in her honour. And then, like any other courtesan who'd outlived her time, she was forgotten.

Hongbin knew the truth. He knew she'd been murdered.

He'd never met the woman they were mourning now. She had been the mother of the Prince of Jing and had been plagued by illness for months. This death wasn't unexpected.

What Hongbin didn't expect was how his own prince reacted to the news, holing himself up in the study with strict orders not to be disturbed. When Minister Han had come to pay a visit the day after he was brusquely turned away. The Prince of Ji, Zheng Zhihan, and the Prince of Bing, Zheng Zhixing, were allowed in, and a night was spent drinking bottle after bottle of wine while Hongbin observed the lights from his room. Hongbin drifted asleep sitting at the window, and when he awoke just before dawn their lights were still burning bright.

Zhiheng had called for Hongbin the next night.

It was not a night he liked to remember.

Neither did Zhiheng—he ignored Hongbin for days. Waiting for the reminders to disappear.

They'd finally faded enough to hide. Most of them. He supposed the other concubines finally got what they'd been hoping for, with the Lady Princess indisposed and Hongbin... out of favour. He'd spoken out of turn. It was his fault after all.

When Hongbin finally waited on the prince again, Zhiheng came at evening to his dark room and the room remained dark. Neither of them wanted to remember.

And then the very next morning, the Minister of Ceremonies stepped over their doorstep. Hongbin wasn't invited. He was happier holed up in his rooms with the doors closed, feeding vegetable greens to the rabbit.

One night, Hongbin had left open both the door to the rabbit cage and the door to the outside world. The rabbit had hopped to the doorstep, sniffed at the night air, and then did a turn around the room before bumping its head against Hongbin sitting on the floor, like the first time they'd met. They'd fallen asleep together, the rabbit lying against Hongbin's side—but just as Hongbin preferred to sleep in his own bed, the rabbit hopped back into its cage and burrowed into the straw. They weren't so different after all.

A cage, but a cage where they felt safe.

The second time Minister Han visited, Hongbin was dolled up and readied—a tip from one of Lady Jian's serving girls passed to Hongbin's attendants, and that was how he found himself at a formal meeting with the Minister in Lady Jian's place. Like her husband, she preferred Hongbin over the other concubines. Or maybe because of her husband.

Zhiheng was true to his word—he didn't let the Minister touch Hongbin, yet the weight of the Minister's eyes was as heavy as a bruising blow; but the former could not be blocked like he'd blocked the latter. Hongbin learnt nothing from that meeting, too distracted by his skin crawling to decipher the names being bandied about.

He'd have to ask Wonsik—

Hongbin snapped himself back to the present.

The pipa lay in his lap like a dead piece of wood, a stray slice of sun spilling over it from the half-open window. He didn't remember what he'd been playing, the memory of the song gone from his fingers. His fingers wrapped loosely about the neck but he lifted it only halfway before letting it rest heavily against his chest.

For years, music had been a source of comfort. He didn't have any particular talent, but his fingering was sure and he could lose himself in the colour of the landscape and that had always been enough. Zhiheng had gifted Hongbin this pipa when he'd stepped through the door, and only one person other than Hongbin had played it since that moment. How strange, that it'd taken months for Hongbin to realise—and that man could've died in those months.

Would've died, if not for Hongbin.

Hongbin got to his feet and returned the instrument to its customary place. He'd risked everything for that. Gotten nothing in return. But saved a man's life—it was return enough. But then the assassins. The Minister informing the Emperor of them. A sealed scroll.

Zhiheng's approval.

Except Zhiheng hadn't sent the assassins. Hadn't known of them. Wasn't brash enough to act so openly against his own brother.

Had they really come from the Eldest Prince? Hongbin had trouble believing it but there was no other answer. No other actor. Or was that only wishful thinking?

A cloud drifted over the sun, the light in the room dimming. Tonight, he might spend some time alone outside. He didn't have the presence of mind to play music right now, he might read until his attendants came with dinner.

Hongbin turned to his desk—the hair on the back of his neck rose. He tried to scream but there was a hand over his mouth. Fear pitched through him, ice shot down his skin, world turning grey. It hadn't been a cloud—a person. A person had blocked the sun. An intruder. An assassin. Hongbin tried to scream but there was no breath to draw. This was it? This was how he was going to die? Like hell—he'd been through far too much to have it end like this. Hongbin kicked at his unseen assailant but they didn't falter, didn't even flinch.

No, he refused—

"I'm not here to hurt you," his attacker said. It was a woman's voice. "Don't scream."

Something about it was familiar. He wanted to believe her. She let him go. He didn't scream. Only a second or two had passed but Hongbin's chest felt as tight and air starved as if it'd been minutes. It made him slow. The woman was much smaller than him. She walked past Hongbin and quietly closed the window.

"It's been a while," she said.

So she knew him. It was right to find her voice familiar. It had to be one of the girls from the Spring Jade, but when she turned back to face him he knew he was wrong. She was shorter than him, her clothes plain spun in a drab grey. But clean, not shabby. Her hair was fine and straight. She was pretty—stunning, beautiful, but not in the way the other girls were. She wasn't soft and approachable.

She smiled at him. It was a warm smile. And then she gathered her hair back, pulling it tight away from her face.

He did know her.

"Yue Song?" Hongbin mouthed.

"Hongbin," she said, acknowledging his answer. "I haven't been truthful with you."

"You're a woman," Hongbin said hoarsely, mind racing. "Your name's not really Yue Song either."

"No, but it's as good as any," she said.

"You never learnt to use the door," Hongbin said.

"The door was locked," she said.

Hongbin raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "I was careless not to lock the window too," he said.

"Old habits die hard," she said.

Hongbin looked at her, really looked at her, matching her with the memory he had of a young man he'd met long years before. She was smiling, but she looked tired and wan, a deep sorrow barely hidden in her eyes—like the first time he'd seen her. Hongbin had thought that the student Yue Song was just younger compared to the others, a bit smaller, more boy than man. He'd never guessed it was because she was more woman than boy.

"Why are you here? How did you find me?" and then, after a moment: "who are you?"

"So many questions," Yue Song said. She gestured for him to sit down, and he did so cautiously.

"You disappear and then show up in my room, through my window, and nearly smother me," Hongbin said. "Who wouldn't have questions?"

"It'd be stranger if you didn't," she admitted. Hongbin noticed she didn't refute the part about nearly smothering him. She still hadn't apologised for it either.

"Start answering them, or I will scream," Hongbin said flatly.

This made her laugh, just a little. "What a greeting for an old friend," she said.

"I don't think we've really met," Hongbin said. "Since you lied about who you were."

Her smile faded, and her eyes, suddenly serious, felt uncannily familiar, and not from a childhood memory.

"I have a question for you first," she said. She shook her head when Hongbin opened his mouth to fire back. "After you answer, if you still have questions, it will be your turn."

"Your question will answer my questions?" Hongbin asked sceptically.

Nothing could've prepared him for her next words.

"How did you know they were going to kill our Taekwoon?"

If Hongbin hadn't been sitting, he would've fallen to the ground. The blood in his veins turned to ash, strength deserting him, mouth gone dry. Sound rushed through his ears in waves of silence as he stared at this stranger, this phantom from the past. This was where he should beg for his life—but when he spoke, it was like the words weren't his own.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hongbin said.

"Don't lie to me," she said, voice terse.

So Zhiheng had found out after all. Who had it been? Wonsik? The Duke?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hongbin repeated. He held her gaze evenly, although the world itself had hazed over. A cold, unforgiving fear was still there. It pulsed under a layer of recklessness, of... of exhaustion.

None of this felt real. The past few months weren't real. Zhiheng's unnatural favour, the words Hongbin had heard, everything that'd happened with Zhixing, and now this. It'd been the year before Zhiheng had appeared in Hongbin's life—a young man appearing at his window and then later as a patron who'd occupied Hongbin's nights with nothing more than music and talk. And then he'd vanished, Zhiheng appeared, and Hongbin hadn't had cause to think of him—of her—until she'd come in through his window and almost smothered him.

"I would like it if you would leave," Hongbin continued. Calling the guards might do more harm than good, but if he were lucky it'd be ones that weren't privy to Zhiheng's secrets. Like this one. It was impossible for her to be here without Zhiheng's knowledge. The estate of the Prince of Xu wasn't like the Spring Jade, a place to waltz in and out of without notice.

"Answer me, Hongbin," she said, entirely unfazed. "How did you know?"

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about!" Hongbin snapped—and shocked himself into silence. But she was just as taken aback, and that was all Hongbin needed to regain his composure.

He was tired. He was tired of it all. Tired of being jerked around like he was a pawn, a pet, even if that was exactly what he was. Tired of being put on display, tired of knowing Zhiheng was keeping his promise of not letting the Minister touch him but it only needed keeping because Zhiheng let the Minister do just as much to Hongbin with just his eyes. He was already a dead man walking—that day when Wonsik had found him wallowing in self-pity and wishing for the end of his miserable existence, it was as true as it'd been false. Hongbin could beg and plead but if they wanted him gone then he'd be gone, faster and quieter than any attempt on the Prince of Jing. Just like moments ago, when he'd nearly resigned himself to fate before he'd thought to fight back. She said she wasn't here to hurt him and he'd believed her because she could've killed him before he even knew he'd been killed.

"Even if I did I wouldn't tell you," Hongbin continued, pushing on. "Even if you hurt me, I wouldn't tell you."

The fear under the exhaustion and defiance was making itself known. Hongbin pushed it back. Pushed it away. It was too late for fear. Fuck the Minister. Fuck Zhiheng and all the princes who'd dragged Hongbin into this, and fuck the Duke too. The vitriol of his own silent thoughts burned with surprising anger. He tried not to examine it too closely. He doubted he was getting out of this alive.

"I won't hurt you," she said, quiet, tired, crushed, a weary surrender that Hongbin couldn't understand.

He understood her next words even less, and could only watch in shocked silence as she knelt in front of him.

"Thank you for saving my brothers," she said, and bowed.

Bowed to him.

Her brothers?

He'd asked her three questions. Maybe she wasn't here to kill him. Maybe she hadn't been sent by Zhiheng. Maybe no one else knew she was here.

Three questions she said she'd answer with her own question.

Who are you.

Why are you here.

How did you find me.

"Your... Highness," Hongbin said, the words barely air in his mouth.

"I'd rather you call me Yue Song," the Second Princess said, straightening. Her smile was wry. "Even if that is not the name I was given."

"Your Highness," Hongbin repeated, at a loss for words.

"Since you can't call me gege anymore, how about jiejie?" the Second Princess suggested. "So few people call me 'your Highness' I might think you're talking to someone else."

She was still smiling and it softened her words as she upended Hongbin's entire life as easily as a bag of marbles. He didn't think she was telling the truth, but also didn't want to anger her, so he nodded mutely.

"Hongbin apologises for speaking out of turn," he murmured.

She clicked her tongue and Hongbin's eyes widened at the impropriety. Her eyes were narrowed slightly and he suddenly remembered why that heavy gaze of hers earlier had been so familiar—it'd reminded him of the Prince of Jing.

"I prefer the old you," she said.

"The old me is dead," Hongbin snapped. He froze in horror.

"I think he's very much alive," she said, her eyes soft. But she shook her head and Hongbin's heart sank because her smile had vanished.

"Answer me, Hongbin. How did you know they would try to kill them? Our Taekwoon."

"How do you know it was me?" Hongbin asked, already knowing the answer.

"Hakyeon came to me for help," she said, but something in her words told Hongbin she wasn't telling the full truth.

It was hard for him to accuse her now that he knew she was the Second Princess. How the fuck had he missed something like that?

Not knowing she was a she was probably part of it.

"I told him," Hongbin admitted. She already knew. There was no point in denying it. Some strange tension seeped from her—relief? Maybe she hadn't known. But she'd guessed. Would've known.

"That couldn't have been easy," she said. She gestured next to Hongbin. "May I sit down?"

Hongbin raised an eyebrow. "I can't stop you," he said—and had to stop himself from slapping his hands over his mouth. It just made her laugh, and that felt good, even if it made Hongbin feel uneasy. Still, he nodded. "Please," he said. It'd be my honour. He kept the second part to himself.

He knew her name. He knew all their names, but he especially knew her name. It was hard for him to think of her as 'Song Qian', even though it was just as difficult to reconcile her with 'Yue Song', and even more alienating was knowing she was the Second Princess. The only one who'd really consider both the Prince of Jing and the Duke of Yin as her brothers.

Song Qian. He rolled the name on his tongue but couldn't say it. Maybe she was right. He could still call her 'Yue Song', or 'jiejie' as she'd suggested.

The Second Princess sat beside him and Hongbin was struck by how small she was. She wasn't small compared to the others, or to the Lady Princess, but she was smaller than Hongbin remembered and it wasn't because he'd thought at the time she was a young man. He was the one who'd grown in these four... five years.

"I do need you to tell me the truth," she said, glancing at Hongbin before staring out over his room. "Did Zhiheng tell you?"

"No! I would never betray His Highness's trust—"

"Then who did?" Curt and terse again. Do not lie to me.

Who had it been? He'd heard it from Minister Han, from Zhiheng, but he never would've known the deadly details if not for Zheng Zhixing. He’d lead Hongbin straight to a poisoned well.

"No one," Hongbin said. Shaky, but honestly. "I... I heard them talking."

"Them?" she prompted.

Tell me the truth.

Hongbin shook his head. "I can't say," he said.

"You won't betray Zhiheng," she said softly. "But what about who he was speaking to?"

Hongbin's head jerked up. It was like she already knew the answer.

"The Minister of Ceremonies?" she suggested. Hongbin remained mute but something must've given him away because she just looked down, and then looked far into the distance, and then she said "so he was right," in a quiet, resigned voice.

"Does he know you're here?" Hongbin asked after a long moment.

"Zhiheng?" Yue Song had always been good at guessing what Hongbin meant; the Second Princess was just as good. She gestured silence. "If you screamed I'm afraid it'd be over for me."

"You snuck in?" If Hongbin sounded a bit incredulous, no one could blame him.

"I wasn't particularly sneaky," she said lightly, "but if you mean I didn't use that front door... I've never been good at that, have I?"

"No," Hongbin agreed.

"Who else knew?" she asked, steering them back to her questions. Questions Hongbin couldn't answer. She seemed to know the answers anyway.

"What about Zhixing?"

Hongbin stared at his hands.

"Zhihan?"

"I don't know," he said without thinking. Yue Song had always done that to him too. Made him speak without thinking.

"I think I understand," she said. "Thank you for your honesty."

"How do you know I'm not lying?" Hongbin said.

Song Qian only smiled.

"He did know—the Prince of Ji," Hongbin said, suddenly remembering the aftermath. "And an assassination attempt. Another one. But not them. It wasn't—"

"It wasn't Zhiheng," she agreed. "It was too sloppy to be him."

Hongbin fell silent again.

"I shouldn't have told you," he said aloud.

"You were very brave," she said. "You were braver than you know. If Taekwoon... If you hadn't told Hakyeon, if Hakyeon hadn't acted, I don't know if we'd be having this conversation."

"We wouldn't," Hongbin said. It was the wrong thing to say. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but it did. If Taekwoon had died. That was what she couldn't bring herself to say.

"I might have done something I would regret." A pause. And then much quieter: "I would have blood on my hands."

She would've gotten revenge.

Yue Song had been gentle. This woman in front of him looked gentle. Looks were deceiving. She was more lethal than her brother, the Prince of Jing. Hongbin pushed it out of his mind.

"My attendants will come soon," Hongbin said.

He didn't want her to leave. What a strange thought. It came to him when she stood, her back in front of him.

"You live a quiet life," she said. "I wish I could stay longer."

"You shouldn't be here," Hongbin said.

"I may not be able to come again," she said. "It was good to see you are well."

In the face of Hongbin's silence, her eyes faltered, and there was the wrongness again, the sense she wasn't telling the whole truth. That she could see through him, that she questioned if he was well, that 'quiet' meant 'lonely', and she'd be more right than wrong. Hongbin swallowed, but the words still didn't come.

"Be well and stay safe," she said. She opened the window and the evening sun flooded in, dousing her in muted red. Hongbin was going to watch her leave with his eyes wide open, as capable of stopping her as a dead statue.

"Jiejie," he blurted out and she froze, a shadow in the window, too vulnerable to be seen. "I am... sorry for your loss. For your Lady Mother."

Seconds slipped by. She remained motionless, but a wind made her hair flutter. "Thank you, little Hongbinnie."

And then she was gone, leaving Hongbin to his quiet life.

She hadn't even asked him to help her. He wouldn't have agreed anyway, he told himself, but she would've known it was a lie.

"You did what!?"

Hakyeon stared at his sister, not quite believing his ears.

"I went to see Hongbin," Song Qian repeated. "It was the most direct."

"But now Zhiheng—!?"

"Is none the wiser. I won't be found if I don't want to," Song Qian said pointedly. Hakyeon swallowed and sat back down. He stopped himself from asking if she trusted Zhiheng's concubine wouldn't report her visit to him.

Song Qian took a seat across from him.

"You were right about Sanghyuk's father," she said. She looked down at the laid out chess game. None of the pieces were in the right places.

"Explain," Hakyeon said. He was feeling very tired lately, and it was far more curt than he'd meant. Song Qian knew him too well to take offence, but Hakyeon still felt guilty.

"He was reluctant to implicate Zhiheng although he said plainly he'd overheard a conversation. Between Zhiheng and Minister Han. I don't know if Hongbin went to Zhixing first, but Zhixing also knew of Second Brother's—or the Minister's—plans," Song Qian said.

"The Minister," Hakyeon agreed. "When we arrived at Yangnan it was clear it wasn't the work of a week or two. More than a month—there aren't enough men in that region to amass them quickly, not if money had to change hands. I don't think Zhiheng would have risked so much so early."

"The Minister was sure Zhiheng would act," Song Qian said.

Hakyeon nodded.

"If Zhixing knew why didn't he say anything?" Hakyeon asked aloud.

"He is not the only one who knew," Song Qian reminded him. "There is also Han'er."

"You are sure?"

Song Qian hesitated a moment during which she looked down again at the board and picked up one of the wooden pieces. She turned it over, glancing at the thin strokes of ink, and then put it back down. It wasn't where it had been. Hakyeon resisted the urge to correct it.

"I am sure," she said.

"I was hoping it would be different," Hakyeon said.

"Zhixing is like Jaehwan—there's no side he can choose that is better than the other," Song Qian said.

"I could still hope," Hakyeon said wryly. "It is hard to believe he didn't care whether Taekwoon lives or dies."

"He cares," Song Qian said, firmer than Hakyeon would've expected. His surprise must've shown. "But he's not reckless enough to act."

Hakyeon stared at her, at her composure, the detachment she carried herself with so unlike the emotions that constantly threatened to overwhelm him.

"Jiejie, the night before I left, you said that you had hope," Hakyeon said. "What was that hope?"

"It's unimportant," Song Qian said. She didn't quite meet his eyes. "What matters is that you returned to us."

"Was it Xing'er?" Hakyeon asked.

"I wish I could say," Song Qian said.

"So we will have no help in that corner," Hakyeon said to himself.

"Did you expect any?" Song Qian asked.

"You trust Hongbin is telling the truth?" Hakyeon dodged her question. Song Qian seemed to accept it, as she picked up another chess piece.

"He had no reason to lie," Song Qian said.

"He could be lying for Zhiheng!" Hakyeon was overcome with a sudden urge to snatch the piece back. He didn't want her to put it in the wrong place again. It was like she knew his thoughts—she let it click against the board, wood against wood, the same cross she'd removed it from.

"He would not betray Zhiheng, but there is still too much honour in him to outright lie," Song Qian said.

"Still?" Hakyeon echoed. Song Qian swallowed—it was barely noticeable, but it was something she hadn't meant to say. But she had, and followed it with a small, self-deprecating smile.

"We've met before," she said. "Years ago. He's a good child who's been handed a shorter stick than most. He knows that, but I don't think he understands how short."

Hakyeon knew he was staring, but not once through all these years had Song Qian given any indication she knew Zhiheng's concubine—although it wasn't something that would have ever come up. But if she knew him...

"I will not ask him to spy for us," Song Qian said, before Hakyeon had even finished formulating the thought.

"Jiejie—"

"His life is hard enough as it is, do not ask me to push him any more than I already have," Song Qian said.

"But what if this happens again? What if we could've known earlier!? What if something else happens to Taekwoon?"

"Hakyeon! Did you not hear what I had to say?"

"Then why did you go find him in the first place?" His heart pounded in his chest and from the hard look in his sister's eyes, Hakyeon knew he'd gone too far.

"It is hard to watch your siblings kill each other," Song Qian said, keeping her voice even with effort. "The least I could do was to know where they stand."

"No one will die," Hakyeon bit out. "Taekwoon will not stoop to senseless killing and he has new resolve, he won't let himself be eliminated so easily."

"And you? You were—are—willing to die for him, do you think we don't know? Do you think we could bear another loss?"

Hakyeon looked down, silent.

The loss Song Qian spoke of ached inside of him. He'd been able to see her one last time, but he wished it were the other way around, that their mother still lived like it was meant to be. Even if it was only one more day.

Seconds ticked on and the lamp light flickered. If he used candles, wax would've been pooled heavily around the base.

It was Song Qian who broke the silence.

"I do not like how much influence Minister Han seems to have over Zhiheng," she said.

Her face was impassive again as she spoke, a sturdy mask that not even Hakyeon could peer behind. Perhaps it hid anger.

"It's still Zhiheng in the end," Hakyeon said. He tried to pull himself behind a mask of his own, but cracks formed before it'd been half assembled. "I don't know what Minister Han has been promised or what it is he expects—but by doing this, there's no choice for him except to have Zhiheng succeed. But Zhiheng isn't like their Eldest Brother."

"If Minister Han tries to control Zhiheng, he will certainly have his hands full," Song Qian said with a sly smile.

"He isn't foolish enough to do anything without Zhiheng's approval," Hakyeon said.

"No, he's not a foolish man," Song Qian agreed. She paused, and looked again around the room.

"But where is Taekwoon?"

Hakyeon almost laughed. "Zhixing might not be reckless, but we have one who is."

"Taekwoon?"

"For once, no," Hakyeon said.

Song Qian's face fell. "Jaehwan," she said.

"Taekwoon's gone looking for him," Hakyeon said. "You just missed them."

Jaehwan's moods were as evident as Taekwoon's, but also far more volatile. Not a problem given his mood was usually good—like it'd been when he'd walked in through these doors—but a bit more of one when that mood was anger. He wasn't truly angry, Hakyeon didn't think, but Hakyeon had been a bit harsher than he'd needed to be.

"Is what he did bad?" Song Qian asked.

"No more than you," Hakyeon said, smiling a little to take the edge off it. "But he's much less careful and far more brash."

Taekwoon had burst into Hakyeon's room almost as soon as Jaehwan had stormed out and he'd been about ready to send Taekwoon right back out because Hakyeon didn't think he could deal with more unpredictability—but it was only because Taekwoon wanted to know why Jaehwan had stomped past him training in the yard, muttering angrily under his breath the entire way.

It really wasn't that bad. Hakyeon had over-reacted. First with Jaehwan and now with Song Qian. He was no good at this.

Song Qian was still waiting for an explanation. Hakyeon didn't know if he had one. It was just the two of them so he let his shoulders slump a little, kneaded at his eyes, futilely willed the throbbing headache away but it persisted, like it'd been for the past hour or so. Maybe he should follow Taekwoon's lead, practice with the fine sword, or maybe with no sword at all. Ask Song Qian to spar with him. He'd lose, but he'd have given his all to do it.

"Hakyeon?"

Hakyeon startled, room slamming back into focus. His dull, windowless room with a secret door and hidden papers, always lit by clear and steady lamps until it was brighter than day. His sister in front of him across from a chess game that wasn't a game at all. A game where the nature of the pieces was concealed underneath, and were only soldiers and chariots by name.

"My thoughts wandered," he admitted.

Song Qian paused, catching herself, a hesitant silence before she continued. "How have you been doing?" she asked.

The one question Hakyeon could never answer.

"I have been a bad son," Hakyeon said instead, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Because as much as he could, he held the reality at a distance, as if there was a place where the world was the same as it'd been a month ago, instead of the reality where the world had been irrevocably changed. So that was all he could say—he was a bad son.

The grief was locked deep inside of him, scrabbling at the fragile shell he'd sealed it in, as sharp and desperate as Puppy's tiny claws. They were sharp, but could only scratch out fine, thin lines with no hope of breaking free. That was, at least, what Hakyeon hoped he'd done.

Song Qian's silence was damning.

What about you, jiejie? The words stuck in Hakyeon's throat. When he could finally look up again, Song Qian wasn't meeting his eyes, and a hint of tears remained.

Hakyeon stood up, and guilt and regret immediately flooded into his chest. "I need to meet someone," he said—and it was true. But Hakyeon still felt like a horrible coward as he took his leave from his own room.

"He's unbelievable," Jaehwan fumed. "First he asks me for help and then he says I'm doing it wrong?"

Taekwoon nodded and hummed a little. He sympathised with Jaehwan, he really did, because living up to Hakyeon's impossible standards was exhausting. Jaehwan had never worked with Hakyeon before and Hakyeon relaxed was a very different person than Hakyeon with his exacting demands. Taekwoon kept easy pace with Jaehwan despite his younger brother’s rapid pace. If Jaehwan was trying to shake him off, he should’ve known better than to try.

The city swirled around them, lively and noisy as always. People cleared the path for Jaehwan. His anger billowed outward like a visible cloud of smoke. Even without his rich dress, Taekwoon thought the people would do the same. When Jaehwan got like this, he was a powder keg waiting to blow.

"I don't see what's wrong, why's he the only one who can decide who should go and who shouldn't," Jaehwan continued, saving Taekwoon from answering. "Doesn't he trust my judgement?"

"It isn't about judgement," Taekwoon said.

"Then what is it?" Jaehwan snapped.

Taekwoon looked about himself—this wasn't a good place to have this discussion, out in the city where anyone could overhear. But it was so noisy and there were so many conversations, a chance overhearing by the wrong people wasn't so likely. Unless they were being tailed. Difficult, when Jaehwan had stormed out the way he had, and Taekwoon was sure he hadn't been followed.

"His plans," Taekwoon said.

He hadn't been followed, but the sense of a shadow hovered over his shoulder. Not a good shadow. Not a familiar shadow.

"Jaehwan," he murmured quietly. Jaehwan snapped about to stare at him, but something in Taekwoon's eyes kept him quiet.

"The tea-house, through the side," Taekwoon said, gesturing at the building. There was a small stable in the back, and either he was wrong or they could borrow a horse. It'd lose anyone going by foot.

"I could do with a snack," Jaehwan said, a little loud for Taekwoon's taste. Taekwoon grimaced.

He hoped Jaehwan was joking, although now was really not the time.

They peeled off from the crowd, their pace unchanged. They were greeted at the gate but Taekwoon cut them off with a curt nod. Jaehwan's brows were furrowed, his face slightly pale as he grasped that Taekwoon was serious. And that they weren't here for tea.

"Where are we going?" Jaehwan asked, hushed and under his breath.

"Nowhere," Taekwoon said.

"But—"

The whistle of a blade splitting air.

"Get down!"

Taekwoon yanked Jaehwan toward him but the knife clattered to the ground already red with Jaehwan's blood. Jaehwan froze, too shocked to make a sound. Taekwoon shoved Jaehwan behind him and turned to face the man who'd thrown the knife. The man’s shadow loomed in the entrance—he wasn't going to let them escape. People screamed and scrambled out of the way. Horses whinnied at the commotion.

"Ge?" Jaehwan clasped his arm, blood soaking through his clothes. Another knife appeared in the assailant's hand, identical to the one that should've pierced Jaehwan through the heart. This was what happened when he meddled.

Taekwoon hated being right.

He reached for his sword, but he'd been in such a rush he wasn't carrying it. He wasn't carrying any sort of weapon. He didn't know how many knives this strange man who seemed hell bent on killing Jaehwan had. Enough that he threw this one, straight and unerring, yelling in a language foreign, yet familiar. Jaehwan moved but far too slow. There was hate and anger in the assassin's eyes—they'd come for Taekwoon. Not Jaehwan. They realised their mistake the same moment Taekwoon grabbed the closet thing, knocking the knife out of the air with a heavy shovel.

The fucker had hurt Jaehwan. His next knife flew straight for Taekwoon and was followed immediately by another—Taekwoon dodged one, and smacked the other out of the air. They were good, but not nearly as good as he was. Another two knives, but this time the assassin came straight for Taekwoon, switching his grip as he rushed for him. Taekwoon bit down a curse. The shovel was heavy and unwieldy—it was over before Taekwoon fully registered it. He knew the sound of a skull caving in better than he'd like.

Taekwoon took a moment and stared down at the dead man. There was no doubt the man was dead. He threw the shovel toward the corpse. His heart was still pounding when he ran to Jaehwan, sitting on the ground like his legs had given out under him.

"How is it?" Taekwoon asked.

There was horror in his brother's eyes. Taekwoon shifted so he was directly in front of Jaehwan, between him and the dead body. A shattered skull wasn't the cleanest way to kill.

It jolted Jaehwan out of his trance. He was in shock, but at least he was looking at Taekwoon. Taekwoon reached for Jaehwan's arm and gently peeled his hand away. Jaehwan's hand was covered in blood. It'd cut deeper than Taekwoon would've liked but there was a greater concern.

"Jaehwan, how is it?" Taekwoon repeated, more urgently.

The bystanders in equal parts gawked and fled—the remainder scattered with one glance from Taekwoon. Cowards. Taekwoon barked at them to bring around a carriage, and quickly or they'd answer for it. He hastily bandaged the wound with a clean strip of cloth. It'd do for now.

Jaehwan grimaced. "Alright," he managed. He stumbled getting to his feet and Taekwoon hurried to support him.

The wound itself wasn't the problem, it was what might've gotten into the wound. Jaehwan stood shakily, face pale. As soon as Taekwoon was sure Jaehwan wouldn't fall, he bent down to look at the knife. Blood coated the rippled edge and Taekwoon swallowed a curse at the slight discolouration. He reached for the other, picking it up gingerly by the hilt, holding it through his sleeve. He wasn't an expert but he could tell when a blade had been coated. It shone differently when he tilted it in the light.

"He thought I was you," Jaehwan said, unable to bear the silence.

Taekwoon made a sound of assent as he also stood.

"Do you think he was sent by..." Jaehwan trailed off, but Taekwoon could guess well enough at who Jaehwan meant.

He shook his head, looking over at the dead man. He regretted killing him a little—not because he deserved mercy, but because there were questions Taekwoon wanted to ask.

"Gaoli," Taekwoon said. "He waited a long time for revenge."

From what Taekwoon could remember of the man's face, he'd been young—seven years ago, he'd still be a child. A long time for revenge.

Jaehwan seemed all right, but he needed to be seen by a doctor soon. He walked over to Taekwoon and stared down at the man who'd attacked them, eyes steady despite his initial shock. It could've been worse, Taekwoon supposed. He could've split his head open entirely.

"Sir, a carriage!" A young stable hand ran up to them, keeping his eyes averted from the dead body.

"Will you be all right by yourself?" Taekwoon asked Jaehwan softly. Jaehwan hesitated, and Taekwoon quickly changed his mind. "No, I'll come with you. The city guards should have arrived by now."

"City guards?" Jaehwan asked.

"They will stop anyone from disturbing this," Taekwoon said. "Until Hakyeon comes."

Taekwoon waited for Jaehwan to turn away before he wrapped one of the knives up with a cloth and carried it carefully with him as he followed Jaehwan into the carriage. Only cowards used poison—cowards, and those with a grudge who'd do anything to ensure the kill. The ride was silent, Taekwoon watching his brother's face carefully. Despite Jaehwan's rapid pace, they hadn't gotten too far on foot, and short minutes later saw them at Taekwoon's gates, although he directed them around to the side entrance instead of stopping. The same one he'd escaped out of a few weeks ago.

"Where...?" Jaehwan asked, his face looking decidedly paler than it had been a little while ago.

"Home," Taekwoon said simply.

Song Qian met them almost at the door and Taekwoon easily relinquished him to her hands. Hakyeon immediately took off, as Taekwoon knew he would.

As for himself, feeling rather useless, he went to the emptiest courtyard. Puppy was dozing on a table in the sun as Taekwoon guessed she'd be, and the cat cracked a golden eye open at Taekwoon's footsteps.

What he'd give to be a cat, unburdened by the worries of men. He sat down next to her, the stone chill and cool even through his clothes. Puppy uncurled with lazy movements and stretched, claws extending as she reached out and then arched her back. In one unhurried motion she jumped down onto the bench, and then settled into Taekwoon's lap like she belonged there.

A smile flitted across Taekwoon's lips. He buried his hands in her fur—and found them stained with blood. From when he checked on Jaehwan. But if there'd really been poison on that blade... Taekwoon pulled his hands back and hid them in his sleeves. Puppy glanced up at him, pupils dark slits in the sun, unhappy about the loss of warmth. When Taekwoon didn't move to pat her again, the cat huffed and then buried her face in her own paws, shifting her weight to settle more heavily against Taekwoon's stomach.

He could feel her breathing, the steady rise and fall of her lungs expanding, each inhale and exhale. Her ears twitched now and then, listening for danger. She'd filled out since she'd first come to live with them but she was still lean, a vicious hunter in a tiny body. He'd seen her leap from a tree and land with a bird in her mouth, its neck broken and bloodied before she'd even touched ground. She'd be still as a rock and then kill a rat in one strike before the beast even knew she was there. And here she was, as calm and harmless as a babe, resting on his lap.

His fingers itched to pet her but he worried he'd get blood on her, and then she'd lick it off when cleaning herself, and Taekwoon wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something happened to her out of his own carelessness.

It was all right to just watch her like this. Calm and peaceful, unlike moments earlier.

Taekwoon didn't like to kill outside of war.

He hadn't meant to. He didn't have to. He could've controlled his own strength. A far lighter blow would've sufficed to incapacitate. He'd lost control of himself for a moment. Because of Jaehwan.

"Why did he go for Jaehwan?" Taekwoon asked aloud.

Puppy's ear perked up and swished her tail once. Hakyeon sat down beside Taekwoon, face grim.

"Likely a mistake," Hakyeon said.

"I think he was from Gaoli," Taekwoon said.

"I wish you hadn't killed him," Hakyeon said, like Taekwoon didn't know.

"Why now?" Taekwoon asked.

Hakyeon rested his hand on Puppy's back and the cat let out a pleased purr, rumbling against Taekwoon's lap.

"A dead man can't answer," Hakyeon said.

"He tried to kill Jaehwan," Taekwoon said. There was a hint of distress in his voice.

"Perhaps he thought you were the servant," Hakyeon said—and it was true. Dressed like they had been, Jaehwan was the obvious choice if one were looking for a prince. Hakyeon always scolded Taekwoon for rushing out improperly dressed but this was the first time it'd mattered.

"Jiejie says Jaehwannie will be fine," Hakyeon said, stroking Puppy. His fingers were clean as they rubbed at the scruff of her neck. She purred steadily, her eyes still closed, her claws extending and retracting as Hakyeon pet her.

"It was my fault," Taekwoon said.

The words hung in the silence between them.

A stiff breeze pushed through the courtyard, leaves from distant trees rustling, an involuntary shiver skimming across Taekwoon's skin. The night was still far off but Taekwoon wished the day would end quickly so he could wake up with everything fixed right. Puppy, unaware of the world outside these walls, rolled onto her side and stretched all four limbs, wiggling until her belly was directly under Hakyeon's hand.

"Zhiheng may know of this already," Hakyeon said.

"I wasn't followed," Taekwoon said.

"There or back?" Hakyeon asked, absentmindedly rubbing Puppy's belly. "It doesn't matter—you cleaned it up swiftly but I'm afraid word will still travel swiftly."

"You really shouldn't have killed him," Hakyeon said again, like Taekwoon didn't know.

Taekwoon wanted to wash his hands, but he didn't want to dislodge Puppy. She'd twisted onto her front again and Hakyeon pulled his hand away. She stayed like that, sprawled across Taekwoon, legs dangling off his lap. Taekwoon wanted to hold her.

"It was an accident," Taekwoon said, words barely audible.

But in that split second, he'd wanted it. He'd wanted to do far more than just smash in the attacker's skull. Anyone who touched Jaehwan deserved far worse. A split second of cold, hard bloodlust. A moment's bloodlust that he couldn't control, because it was the lack of control that made it dangerous—no, he could've sealed it away, but he hadn't wanted to. He'd wanted him dead. Privately, Taekwoon had to accept that.

"What's done is done," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon's cheek twitched as he pinned down the strange feeling in his gut as guilt—guilt because of Hakyeon's clear disappointment. And only that.

"Did Jaehwan make things complicated?" Taekwoon asked.

"We can work with it," Hakyeon said after a moment.

"Don't be so hard on him," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon stifled a laugh. "The hardest one on him has always been you," he said.

"Jaehwan is trying," Taekwoon said, pushing through Hakyeon's comment. "And it was helpful."

"It was reckless," Hakyeon said.

"It—"

"Reckless," Hakyeon repeated, cutting Taekwoon off. "Even more reckless than your actions."

Taekwoon thought to protest, but the memory of his own behaviour on the eve of the battle shamed even himself.

Perhaps taking pity on Taekwoon, Hakyeon softened his tone. "It was dangerous for him as well and you know as well as I do that Jaehwan does not lie well," he said. "He could have sent one of his men to make connections and gather information, some way that would not be traced back to him."

"He did do that," Taekwoon said sullenly.

"As well as put himself in danger," Hakyeon said. "But it is more than that. He had two minor officials with leanings to Zhiheng commit suicide. Far too bold a move, even against a perceived slight."

"Jaehwan is quick to react," Taekwoon said.

"You're defending him because he was attacked in your place," Hakyeon said. His smile was grim.

"It should not have happened," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon's laugh lasted barely more than a breath, not enough time for Taekwoon to understand the meaning behind it. Still, Taekwoon stood when Hakyeon stood, Puppy jumping off at the first hint of movement.

"Come, we'll go look in on Jaehwan," Hakyeon said. "I had a message sent to his steward to inform him that Jaehwan was remaining with us for a little while."

"Didn't you say jiejie said he'd be fine?"

"He will be," Hakyeon said, a look directed at Taekwoon to quell his too obvious panic, a tone like he'd use to calm a horse. "Poison is still poison, and a wound that deep is easily infected."

Taekwoon stopped. Hakyeon took another step forward before he realised, and turned to look at Taekwoon, one quizzical eyebrow raised.

"What aren't you telling me, Hakyeon?" Taekwoon asked.

For a moment, it seemed like Hakyeon would shrug it off—but his expression slipped into wry resignation.

"How do you always know?" Hakyeon asked. The corners of his lips twitched upwards in an attempted smile. "Wash your hands first, and then we'll all discuss together."

"Including Jaehwan?" Taekwoon asked.

"Yes. Including Jaehwan, if only so he won't do something like this again."

The day was brisk, but the sun was bright and warm enough that Sanghyuk shrugged off his jacket as he chased Storm around the courtyard. The big hunting dog bounded easily ahead of him, the tattered cloth ball clamped tightly between his teeth.

"C'mon boy, that's not fair," Sanghyuk complained. Storm finally stopped running and turned about in place, not winded at all. Sanghyuk swore the dog was laughing at him. Sanghyuk, on the other hand, was easily out of breath. He sighed and slowed to a walk, watching the dog run about him in excited circles.

Storm let out a delighted bark, dropping the spit-covered ball at Sanghyuk's feet.

"That's gross," Sanghyuk complained. Storm tilted his head back and barked.

Sanghyuk sighed and made a face. It was wet. Storm was running circles again, waiting for Sanghyuk to throw it—and shot after it, fast as an arrow, the moment it left Sanghyuk's hand. Sanghyuk watched him with fondness, and then sat down rather unceremoniously on the floor. What Storm really needed was to be taken out on a good hunt, but every time Sanghyuk brought it up with his father, his father promised they would, later. His father was busy. There was Taekwoon gege—but Sanghyuk couldn't bring himself to ask anything of Taekwoon right now.

Besides, Taekwoon was busy too.

He'd run into Taekwoon once, near the palace. His father had decided it would be good for Sanghyuk to see the inside of the court more often. Taekwoon had rushed past them, oblivious to Sanghyuk's presence. Sanghyuk's half-hearted greeting died. He'd somewhat hoped that Hakyeon would be there too, because Hakyeon was better at noticing other people, other people like Sanghyuk, but Taekwoon only had a scribe with him and a lieutenant of the city guard rushing behind.

"Is the Prince of Jing here a lot when he's in the city?" Sanghyuk had asked.

Minister Han had given Sanghyuk a stern look and Sanghyuk shrank back, bowing his head in contrition. He shouldn't speak out of turn.

Sanghyuk sighed again. He pulled himself back to the present as he lay back on the stone ground and stared up into the clearing sky. His father was out as usual and his mother was calling on friends, so Sanghyuk was quite alone. Well, there was Storm, but even Jaehwan had been scarce. Even his best friend wasn't available.

He wasn't bitter about it—he just wished that he wasn't being left behind like an annoying child that didn't understand anything. Jaehwan had sidestepped the question when he'd flitted by last time, so Sanghyuk still didn't know what Jaehwan was busy with. What he did get out of Jaehwan was:

"Give Taekwoon gege some time. It'll all make sense soon."

The click-click of dog claws against stone rattled towards him at a dizzying pace—Sanghyuk braced himself. Almost four stone of pure muscle landed on his chest, any remnant of air in Sanghyuk's lungs pushed out. And Storm still wasn't full grown. The dog still thought it was a puppy that Sanghyuk could carry easily in his arms, but now Storm could probably carry Sanghyuk.

Sanghyuk opened his eyes and wasn't surprised to find Storm staring down at him. Also wasn't surprised when the soaked ball was dropped onto his face. It hit his cheek and then rolled off, leaving behind a wet trail of dog spit.

"Yelch," Sanghyuk groaned, wiping it away.

Storm whined and stuck his nose against Sanghyuk's face, licking him helpfully.

"Oh no, don't do that." Sanghyuk turned his face away and then again and then just gave up and resigned himself to his fate because the hunting dog was treating licking Sanghyuk's face all over as a game. Sanghyuk squeezed close his eyes and mouth and hoped Storm would get bored soon.

He bet Taekwoon never had a dog use him as a cushion before. No wonder his father was disappointed in Sanghyuk.

Ever since Sanghyuk had come back from the seaside, his father had been more distant than usual. He was busy, his mom explained, and then asked him questions about the classics and maths that quickly stumped him, and earned him an afternoon with a tutor to 'make up all the learning you lost'. His mother was a lovely woman, but like almost everyone else in his life, treated Sanghyuk as if he was half his age, and considered any place outside of the capital to be uncivilised or worse, lawless.

Maybe that was what Taekwoon had to deal with, but Shencheng wasn't like that at all. There wasn't any real war, most of the foreigners—and there were many of them—only passed through the harbours to sell their goods and then buy more to sell somewhere else. Bolts of silk, gold and iron, spices, musicians, horses, slaves, books, tea—anything that Sanghyuk could've thought of and even more. It wasn't just a constant flow from foreign Jilin across the sea, but those that'd travelled great distances over roads from the west, with strange metals and perfumes, amber, gems, and the loveliest girls and boys he'd ever seen. Some of it stayed, some of it traded hands, and the journey continued. It'd been eye opening, far more than the military and naval garrison and the stronghold of troops. Sanghyuk had expected more, something like what Taekwoon told him.

It was nominally a military command, but there wasn't any fighting. It was all supposed to be peaceful—and Sanghyuk understood that it was good and that it hadn't always been peaceful and it was only busy and bustling the way it was now because it was peaceful, but it'd also been boring.

Sanghyuk heaved a dramatic sigh and gave Storm a gentle shove. "You're heavy," he complained. Storm sat up and settled himself more comfortably on Sanghyuk's stomach. Sanghyuk winced when the dog's claws dug into his chest.

"I bet you could do with a good fight too," Sanghyuk said.

Storm tilted his head.

"You're a good dog," Sanghyuk said. Storm whined in agreement.

The city had been boring, but at least there'd been his sister and his brother-in-law and—it was a guilty thought—his father hadn't been there to control his life. Even if his uncle was strict on him, there was always a freedom Sanghyuk had when he was away from home that he only noticed when he was back. It'd just never chafed so badly.

Unreasonably strict. That was what Jaehwan called Sanghyuk's father. Sanghyuk knew that his father just wanted the best for him, but there'd been times when Sanghyuk found himself agreeing, just the barest amount, with Jaehwan.

But it wasn't like his father had forbid Sanghyuk from going out. His father just preferred Sanghyuk study harder, and that wouldn't happen if Sanghyuk was out making a fool of himself like the other young men who'd never amount to anything in their lives, even if they'd been born with everything.

Sanghyuk always suspected his father meant Jaehwan.

Maybe he could visit Jaehwan.

The idea wasn't even fully formulated before Sanghyuk heaved Storm off his chest with a grunt, the great dog tumbling off like a silly puppy.

"Do you want to come with me?" Sanghyuk asked the dog. Storm bounded to his feet, panting at him happily. But Jaehwan's place wasn't close and Sanghyuk would have to take the carriage or at least a horse, if he wanted to get back before curfew and his father. His mother wouldn't mind. As long as Sanghyuk did his work, she encouraged his other friendships.

Storm seemed to understand without Sanghyuk telling him. He flopped back down onto the ground, tongue lolling out and tail hitting the stones in rhythmic thumps.

"That means you're not interested, huh.”

Storm put his head down on his paws and closed his eyes.

Sanghyuk laughed, crouching down to give him a good scratch behind the ears. Maybe he was being too soft on a hunting dog, but if they weren't going to be going on that many hunts, Storm deserved to be a little spoilt.

He ended up tacking up a horse instead of taking the carriage—his mother was out with it. Sanghyuk didn't have a relationship with any of the horses like Taekwoon and Hakyeon had with their mounts. Lately, Sanghyuk had been riding a grey mare he didn't even know the name of, but he'd taken to calling her the little grey one because she was rather small, especially compared to Taekwoon's and Hakyeon's horses. But she was a good, steady horse, sure footed and much faster than she looked.

Sanghyuk set out at a slow, lazy pace, the way to Jaehwan's residence a familiar one. He'd met Jaehwan at a young age. He'd met all of the royal princes—at least the ones he knew—at a young age. His mother's sister was the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress after all, and her cousin was Jaehwan's mother. That was how they'd met. His mother bringing Sanghyuk and his older sister along on a visit. His sister had gone to play with the other princesses, and Sanghyuk had been left with Jaehwan—Zhiheng had been much too old to be with them. Taekwoon and Hakyeon had been there too, because Jaehwan had been with them.

He didn't remember very much of that first meeting because he'd been young, but what little he did remember was warm and comfortable. It'd been Taekwoon's mother—the former Lady Consort Fei—who'd taken to the young Sanghyuk, bringing him snacks, calling over his cousins to include Sanghyuk in their games. Sanghyuk did remember the terror he'd faced every time he was left alone with Taekwoon, because it'd taken years for it to fade away. By then Jaehwan was already his closest friend.

The memory made Sanghyuk smile, a smile that just as quickly fell away. He'd still been a child when the Esteemed Graceful Former Empress had passed and only had a faint recollection of his mother's sadness. It was different to witness the devastation it'd left on even Jaehwan, and how hard Taekwoon and Hakyeon tried to hide it. Especially Taekwoon—always strong and stoic and imperturbable, showing any sort of emotion... It'd been chilling.

Sanghyuk shook those thoughts away as he neared the gates of Jaehwan's residence. It was a fair size, bigger than Taekwoon's and Hakyeon's, but still much smaller than his own. But the Han residence had been passed down through generations, had survived through changes in dynasties. Sanghyuk stood to inherit a bloodline that had outlasted the power of fallen princes.

The thought chilled him.

"Hyukkie? What are you doing here?"

Sanghyuk pulled short at the voice.

"Hakyeon?"

It was Hakyeon, leading Ray toward him from around the corner. Sanghyuk stared at him a moment too long before he swung down from his horse. This was the first time Sanghyuk had seen him in days, and he was struck by the gaunt hollowness in Hakyeon's face.

"You're visiting Jaehwan too?" Sanghyuk asked. Hakyeon's reply was silence and an expression on his face Sanghyuk hadn't ever seen before. It didn't last very long. It was gone so abruptly that Sanghyuk could've pretended he'd imagined it. It'd be easy to, when it was replaced with Hakyeon's usual, easy confidence.

"Jaehwan isn't home," Hakyeon said. He patted his horse's face and then gestured at Sanghyuk and the way he'd come from, swinging into the saddle.

Sanghyuk hesitated before he mounted again, his horse snorting at having a rider again so soon. Hakyeon's mare seemed to be looking at him disapprovingly. Sanghyuk hadn't ever felt so judged by a horse before.

"I didn't know if he'd be," Sanghyuk admitted, avoiding the horse's eyes. "Why were you looking for him?"

"I wasn't," Hakyeon said, with an air of finality that left Sanghyuk wordless. Hakyeon pushed Ray into a quick walk, and Sanghyuk's little grey mount followed, struggling to keep pace. He hadn't told Sanghyuk he couldn't follow—instead, Sanghyuk felt like Hakyeon expected him to follow.

Hakyeon was going home, Sanghyuk quickly realised. He wasn't nearly as familiar with this route and rarely came this way—even Jaehwan didn't visit Taekwoon often—but Sanghyuk recognised enough of it to know. That wasn't all. It was Hakyeon. Hakyeon was assured, but there was a nervous energy that was unnerving Sanghyuk. He'd glance in Sanghyuk's direction, but not at Sanghyuk, as if he was watching for something else beside him, or maybe behind him. He'd made a decision he wasn't sure of, but he was confident.

Sanghyuk's own confusion deepened. Both at his own rapid assessment, and at the why. Ray had a saddle bag. It was stuffed full. Where had Hakyeon come from? It hadn't been from Jaehwan's place, because there wasn't even a side door the way Hakyeon had come.

"What's in there?" Sanghyuk couldn't resist asking. He immediately recoiled and cowed under Hakyeon's sharp look, as hard and brutal as his father's disapproval. Now, like then, Sanghyuk knew he wasn't to ask. But unlike Sanghyuk's father, Hakyeon's expression softened. Later, Hyukkie, Sanghyuk imagined him saying.

Questions swarmed Sanghyuk's thoughts. It wasn't long past noon—if he went home now, it could be like he'd never left. His parents wouldn't know. But having too many questions was always Sanghyuk's weakness.

The residence of the Prince of Jing was small.

Compared to Jaehwan, compared to his own. Compared to his father's.

It was harder this time to put the thought aside.

Hakyeon was silent as he lead Sanghyuk in, gesturing for Sanghyuk to relinquish his horse to one of the servants, as Hakyeon did the same with his. The quiet did not surprise Sanghyuk in itself—Taekwoon was not a loud person and Sanghyuk had always assumed him to run his household with a military like efficiency—but the quality of it, thick and stifling. Reminders of mourning surrounded them, and Sanghyuk felt a guilty pang for intruding.

Why had he even come?

"You don't need to be frightened," Hakyeon said.

Sanghyuk nearly jumped out of his skin. He eyed Hakyeon, a little flame of indignation burning in his chest.

"Why'd I be frightened?" Sanghyuk asked.

Hakyeon's smile was knowing, like he'd not only seen through Sanghyuk, but also knew more than Sanghyuk could even articulate. It made Sanghyuk feel very small.

The last time he'd been here—every time Sanghyuk had been here—it'd been a lively place. Song Qian had greeted them here, smaller than he remembered her being, and even more cheerful and confident than Hakyeon. The staff had bustled about, greeting Taekwoon as he'd appeared. Now it was empty with no one interrupting their path as Hakyeon lead Sanghyuk straight through the grounds. Sanghyuk wasn't frightened—but he was uneasy.

"Is Jaehwan here?" Sanghyuk asked.

Hakyeon's steps stuttered.

"What's the big secret?" Sanghyuk jogged the last two steps and circled around to face Hakyeon. His eyes were hard as steel and Sanghyuk's blood ran cold. He waited for Hakyeon's easy smile but Hakyeon only walked past Sanghyuk, a curt gesture for him to follow. It choked the last of Sanghyuk's questions.

The answer became clear enough when Hakyeon knocked on a door. He waited a second and then pushed it open. Sanghyuk walked in and Hakyeon closed the door behind them.

"Jaehwan!?"

The man in the bed turned his head, and Sanghyuk didn't know if he should freeze in place or run to his friend, and his feet moved as if they were encased in mud without him knowing. It was Jaehwan, of course it was, but his skin was pale and pallid, his expression gaunt... and angry.

"Why're you here?" Jaehwan's eyes flashed. His words were hoarse and raspy, but it didn't stop the anger from bleeding through. If Hakyeon's eyes were hard as steel, Jaehwan's were the colour of fire.

"I..." Sanghyuk trailed off, still a few steps away.

"He's a smart child. He would've poked around and come up with the wrong answers, jump to the wrong conclusions. It's better to set it straight," Hakyeon said.

Hakyeon wasn't angry, but his words were lifeless.

It fit.

The room was only half-lit, and that was why Sanghyuk hadn't noticed Taekwoon curled up on a chair in the shadows, barely stirring in his sleep. Jaehwan was wearing only his underclothes, most of his body tucked under a blanket. He was propped up on a pillow and there was a tray on the table nearby with a half empty bowl of still warm porridge. It took Sanghyuk a moment longer to notice that Jaehwan wasn't wearing the other sleeve, because his arm was wrapped in thick bandages that had Sanghyuk gaping.

"What happened?" Sanghyuk asked. "Who did this? Why'd they attack you?"

"Wrong conclusions," Hakyeon said quietly. He walked past Sanghyuk to nudge Taekwoon awake, the prince blinking his eyes open sleepily.

"I'm fine," Jaehwan snapped.

"You don't look fine!" Sanghyuk retorted. "You look horrible!"

"I'm fine, and you shouldn't be here," Jaehwan said.

"I went to your place and Hakyeon said you weren't there," Sanghyuk said. "He was right."

"I went to get a few of his things," Hakyeon explained. Taekwoon was still sleep bleary—he'd sat up but was staring at Sanghyuk without registering his presence. He also looked... not good, but it was the look of a man teetering on the edge of exhaustion, not injury and bodily harm.

"It went okay?" Jaehwan asked. He sat straight—or tried to, his fingers clutching at the blankets, craning his head around to look at Hakyeon.

"I recommend increasing your security," Hakyeon said shortly. Whatever that meant, it made Jaehwan laugh, although it was more of a pained chuckle.

"Sanghyuk?" Taekwoon finally noticed him, and Sanghyuk gave him a weak smile.

"Hello," Sanghyuk said. A strange sense of fear trickled down the back of his neck and through his spine. Taekwoon wasn't angry, he just... looked at Sanghyuk, his expression a little confused, but otherwise cool and dispassionate. Disapproving. Sanghyuk's already weak smile faltered.

"I went to find Jaehwan and ran into Hakyeon," Sanghyuk explained, gesturing at the other two. "And then Hakyeon said—but not really said—to follow him, so... I'm here."

Taekwoon mumbled something to Hakyeon that sounded like "meddling," but Sanghyuk was too far to really hear. He wrenched his eyes away from Taekwoon and focussed on Jaehwan instead.

"They weren't attacking me," Jaehwan said.

"That looks like an attack to me," Sanghyuk said.

"If we answer your questions you'll go?" Taekwoon asked. It was phrased as a question, but there was only one acceptable answer and Sanghyuk nodded.

"He thought Jaehwan was me, he used poisoned knives, and he was from Gaoli," Taekwoon said, a detached list that had Sanghyuk reeling with every point.

"But we're at peace with Gaoli," Sanghyuk found himself saying. It was true. He'd met their traders all the time.

"Not always and not well," Hakyeon said with a meaningful look at Sanghyuk, the look that said Sanghyuk should know better.

"He was a child, Hakyeon," Taekwoon said. "You can't expect him to remember."

"I'm not a child," Sanghyuk said. It was a reflex. Hakyeon gave Sanghyuk a triumphant look, but then he let out a long exhale and looked toward Taekwoon, and then past Taekwoon.

"I suppose you could say Taekwoon had something to prove," Hakyeon said—he was interrupted by an aborted sound of protest from Taekwoon that felt incredibly out of place to Sanghyuk. Taekwoon was silenced by a sharp look from Hakyeon.

"He killed a lot of people," Jaehwan supplied. "A lot."

"But it's peaceful now," Sanghyuk said, thoughts slow and stuck. He knew he was saying something wrong.

"Peaceful because of Taekwoon and because he had something to prove," Hakyeon said. "The tributes continue, and the Prince of Jing is hated in the border provinces like few others."

Taekwoon looked away.

"How'd he know it was you? How'd he think Jaehwan was you?" The questions came out before Sanghyuk could stop them—he bit his tongue.

"It isn't nearly as difficult as you think," Hakyeon said. "A tall handsome prince coming out of the Prince of Jing's residence—who else would be the most logical thought?"

"You," Sanghyuk blurted out.

One of Hakyeon's lips quirked in a smile.

"I don't suppose they have much love for me either," Hakyeon said—but he did not wear the royal colours, and he never had. Was that it?

Sanghyuk caught his lip between his teeth and stared down at the floor. This coward would've liked to kill Hakyeon too.

"And the poison?" Sanghyuk asked quietly.

"I told you I'm fine," Jaehwan said.

"Our Song Qian jiejie is taking good care of him," Hakyeon said, far more gently than Jaehwan. "We were lucky Taekwoon recognised it."

Or we would be twice in mourning. The thought hung there, taking form mid-air, a semi-corporal cloud of grief and sadness. Jaehwan had slumped back onto the bed like his strength had left him and lay part way on his side.

"What happened to the assassin?" Sanghyuk asked.

"You have a lot of questions," Hakyeon said, with a quirk of amusement that had Sanghyuk flushing.

"I killed him," Taekwoon said. It was devoid of emotion, but Jaehwan visibly flinched.

It made sense. Taekwoon wouldn't have let someone like that live. Sanghyuk wouldn't have either.

"Then how do you—" Sanghyuk cut himself off. No more questions.

"A guess," Taekwoon said. "I don't think he was sent by—"

"He was likely acting by himself," Hakyeon said. He spoke over Taekwoon, hiding from Sanghyuk whatever he'd been about to say.

"Who would he have been sent by?" Sanghyuk asked.

"Go home, Sanghyuk," Jaehwan said, and it wasn't only the weariness of illness or injury, but also what Sanghyuk had become accustomed to when his elders thought Sanghyuk was getting underfoot. When they no longer wanted to deal with Sanghyuk.

Sanghyuk, being an obedient and filial child, would always bow his head and take his leave. This time should've been no different.

He shouldn't be stomping his way over to Jaehwan, shouldn't be glaring at Hakyeon and Taekwoon, shouldn't be swallowing down petulance.

"Stop leaving me out. I'm not a child anymore." His voice had deepened over the past year and his shoulders had grown broad. Jaehwan's eyes opened, and there was a barely perceptible twitch of Hakyeon's eyebrows. Taekwoon watched him coolly. For once, Sanghyuk didn't feel afraid.

"It's about Taekwoon gege isn't it?" Sanghyuk asked. "About him and Zhiheng gege. It's what people are talking about, with His Majesty saying he's already picked but no one knows who. Mother even warned me not to talk about it, but everyone thinks it's going to be Zhiheng gege anyway—"

"That's not true."

It was Jaehwan.

Sanghyuk snapped around.

"Not everyone," Jaehwan said. He'd sat up again.

"Jaehwan," Hakyeon warned.

"Not everyone," Jaehwan repeated, "which I know because I heard it with my own ears, and there are even more who may change their minds with the right persuasion. Don't look at me like that Hakyeon—"

"Hakyeon's right," Taekwoon cut in. His voice was a soft contrast to Jaehwan getting more and more excited, but it silenced Jaehwan as effectively as a gong.

"Don't you side with him," Jaehwan said. "Either you ask for my help or you don't."

Taekwoon's eyes fell level and calm on Jaehwan. "Then I don't."

Sound rushed out of the room.

Sanghyuk swallowed, and wished he could leave.

"You're fucking unbelievable!" Jaehwan surged up with his anger and he almost made it off the bed. Sanghyuk rushed forward in alarm to keep Jaehwan from crashing to the floor, but Jaehwan's eyes cut daggers at Sanghyuk and stopped him in his tracks.

"If I hadn't given my word—"

"Who asked you to do that?" Taekwoon asked.

Hakyeon made a soft sound at the back of his throat. His eyes flickered toward Sanghyuk without meeting Sanghyuk's eyes, and neither did Taekwoon's or Jaehwan's when they followed Hakyeon's. Or maybe it was Sanghyuk who couldn't meet their eyes. That made far more sense.

"Come," Hakyeon said. He stood quickly and was by Sanghyuk's side before he knew it. Sanghyuk was too stunned by the intensity of Jaehwan and Taekwoon's wordless argument that he didn't resist when Hakyeon lead Sanghyuk out. As soon as the door closed, Jaehwan's voice rung loud and clear behind them. Hakyeon ushered Sanghyuk along before he could pick out any individual words.

Taekwoon's silence was more frightening.

Sanghyuk wasn't surprised when Hakyeon lead Sanghyuk back the way they came. He was still shaken by his own outburst, and felt shame radiating in the face of Hakyeon's sure disapproval. Hakyeon was going to show Sanghyuk out the door, and probably never talk to him again. The weight crushed Sanghyuk's chest. What if he came to see Jaehwan, wouldn't Hakyeon let him—

But Jaehwan didn't want to see Sanghyuk. Had been angrier than anyone to see Sanghyuk. That wasn't the Jaehwan that Sanghyuk knew. It should've been, Jaehwan had been angry before—even angry at Sanghyuk once or twice, but this was a different sort of anger, and it was an anger that made his blood run cold.

What if Jaehwan never wanted to see Sanghyuk again?

Without realising it, Sanghyuk froze in place, steps dragging to a stop. Hakyeon stopped because Sanghyuk had stopped—and that was how Sanghyuk realised he'd been the one to stop first. He opened his mouth to... to apologise, to plead forgiveness, but sound wouldn't come. The void of silence was severed by Hakyeon.

"Your lady mother is right," Hakyeon said.

Sanghyuk stared at Hakyeon's back, and then at Hakyeon's feet when Hakyeon turned to face him.

"Why shouldn't I talk about it?" Sanghyuk hated that his words were barely a mumble.

"Consider your family," Hakyeon said, and Sanghyuk knew he was right. Of course Hakyeon was right. Hakyeon was always right.

And Sanghyuk had considered it, fleetingly, and but what about Jaehwan almost made it out of his mouth. For the first time all day, he managed to keep that thought from taking shape in the world.

Zhiheng was his cousin.

Taekwoon was not.

His father's face suddenly flashed in his mind. It was a very particular memory. It was a week or two before Mid-Autumn when his father had come into the room. His mother was having him practice on the qin and her disappointment in him was palpable when his fingers stuttered. She'd greeted his father and then left the room, leaving Sanghyuk alone with his father. Sanghyuk remembered flushing with praise—his father saying he'd raised Storm well, that he showed great talent in the scholarly arts, and that Sanghyuk's uncle had sent along a message that Sanghyuk had done well and would be welcome at any time. And then Sanghyuk had said: "Father, I want to be like Taek—be like the Prince of Jing, and go on border excursions."

The Minister of Ceremonies, Han Ming, looked at his youngest child and only son with such coldness that words died half spoken in Sanghyuk's mouth.

Coldness, anger, fury, and contempt. A series of emotions Sanghyuk had never seen before from his father, freezing the image like a bug trapped in amber, long after his father was gone and Sanghyuk was alone.

That was what came to mind unbidden, when Hakyeon told Sanghyuk to consider his family.

His father's contempt.

A shiver fled down Sanghyuk's spine and he struggled to unclench his fists, to raise his eyes, to find his voice.

Jaehwan was his friend, but he wasn't properly family. Neither was Taekwoon. They were not his brothers or his cousins, and Taekwoon only tolerated Sanghyuk because Sanghyuk was friends with Jaehwan. And Taekwoon only cared about Jaehwan because Jaehwan was friendly with Hakyeon. And Taekwoon with Hakyeon...

When he finally found his voice, his voice was small. Sanghyuk forced the words out through his dry mouth. "I understand."

"Good child," Hakyeon said—Sanghyuk was struck with the inexplicable urge for Hakyeon to pat him on the head as he said that like he would've ten years ago, but also his usual protest that he wasn't a child.

Sanghyuk raised his head.

"You will tell me if Jaehwan takes a turn for the better?" Or the worse.

"I will," Hakyeon said. "If you need me to, I will swear it."

Sanghyuk swallowed and hastily stopped him. It wasn't that serious. But the atmosphere had grown serious.

All he'd wanted to do was pass some time playing around with Jaehwan, but instead he'd irreparably broken a friendship. Sanghyuk hadn't known that Jaehwan could become so angry—at him.

It was a sobering reminder.

"Don't treat Taekwoon and Jaehwan's words too seriously," Hakyeon said. It was as if he'd read Sanghyuk’s thoughts. "Taekwoon blames himself for Jaehwan's injury, and Jaehwan... he doesn't like that."

That wasn't the only reason Jaehwan was lashing out. Hakyeon didn't need to say it for Sanghyuk to know. He bit at his lip, and looked behind him at a closed door. They'd gone too far to hear Jaehwan's yelling.

"Hyukkie," Hakyeon said. Sanghyuk turned back to him, frowning first at the tentative nature of Hakyeon's voice, and then the hesitation on his face.

"Ge?"

"This is unkind of me to ask, but how is Minister Han lately?" Hakyeon asked.

A cold, hard lump formed inside Sanghyuk's rib cage.

"Father?" Sanghyuk watched carefully for any hint that Hakyeon was speaking of someone else, but of course none came. It was hard not to look away as he answered. "Father is busy and rarely home. If he's home he's with my mother, not me."

Sanghyuk hadn't meant to sound bitter, he wasn't bitter, but there was the tiniest shadow of a smile on Hakyeon's lips.

"Then it is all right," Hakyeon said, so softly it had to be to himself. Sanghyuk strained to hear it—it was not meant for him.

"Why?" Sanghyuk asked.

"I don't think he needs to know about Jaehwan," Hakyeon said. To Sanghyuk this time.

"That Jaehwan's hurt? Why?"

"I don't think Jaehwan wants anyone to know," Hakyeon said. A pause. "But particularly him."

"Jaehwan doesn't like him," Sanghyuk admitted.

Another thin smile. "No, he doesn't," Hakyeon said.

Do you? The question hovered on Sanghyuk's tongue. He didn't know if he wanted to hear the answer. Better to leave it unspoken.

"I should go home," Sanghyuk said.

"Someone will bring your horse," Hakyeon said.

It wasn't until Sanghyuk was outside and mounted, that he thought to ask—"can I come again?"

"It will be best if you do not," Hakyeon said, and it hurt Sanghyuk to hear it, but not as much as it hurt to see the pain on Hakyeon's face. "Only for now, Hyukkie. Just for a little while."

Sanghyuk's last conversation with Hakyeon weighed on him like a sack of sand. His mother commented on his sluggishness, and he was scolded by his tutors on his lack of attention to detail. The only person who didn't seem to notice was his father. But he rarely saw his father, and on the occasions he did, Sanghyuk bowed his head and made himself scarce in case he said something inopportune. Like anything about Jaehwan.

Even Storm seemed to have picked up that something was wrong. He nuzzled constantly at Sanghyuk until Sanghyuk had finally sent him outside and locked the door, because his thumping tail had knocked the inkwell over for the third time that day. The hunting dog's whimpers filtered through the wooden door and it took everything in Sanghyuk not to give in.

His mother had set him to copying scriptures as penance for disrespect. Sanghyuk's fingers were already sore, and he grimaced as he squinted at the half-filled page. It was beginning to grow dark, afternoon slipping into dusk, the world growing grey. He'd have to light the lamps soon, and his mother would scold him for being wasteful when he could've finished his work far earlier. A lamp was not an expense they could not afford, but there was no need to waste what did not need to be wasted. She'd drilled that into Sanghyuk often enough as a child.

But either he lit the lamps or his writing become so illegible he'd have to begin his copying all over. Sanghyuk exhaled and carefully placed his brush down.

Storm was sleeping just outside the door, head resting on his paws. The dog's tail thumped rapidly against the ground as he slept. He wasn't much of a guard dog—didn't open his eyes or even stir at Sanghyuk leaving. Sanghyuk shook his head fondly.

The household was strangely quiet, and Sanghyuk couldn't find their steward to ask where the fresh lamps were. He made a face to himself, only because he was safely alone. His mother probably knew Sanghyuk was going to dawdle, and was waiting to scold him. Well, she'd have to wait, Sanghyuk thought defiantly. There was somewhere else he could get light.

A grin stretched across his face, full of the mischief he was about to get into. Scampering down the path, Sanghyuk looped behind a building and then between two more, testing a particular storehouse door he knew was usually kept unlocked. This one was full of old artifacts, the decorative sort, but that wasn't why Sanghyuk was here. Inching his way through the darkness to the back of the room, Sanghyuk found the shelf he was looking for by touch. He crouched down and felt along the bottom shelf, heart thumping triumphantly when he pushed down along a depression and heard the tell-tale click. The wooden panel beside the shelf swung open when Sanghyuk pressed his palm against it. In seconds, he'd scrambled through the low secret doorway and emerged into one of the most sacrosanct places in the entire household—his father's study.

Sanghyuk held his breath as he peeked around the heavy painted screen that hid this side of the secret door from view. It was quiet. His father's study was connected to an entire room of scholarly supplies, and was one of the few places his mother didn't keep a close tally of—something she would complain about good naturedly whenever the occasion arose. Sure that the room was empty, Sanghyuk stepped out and looked around him. He hadn't been in this room in ages, but it had barely changed since the days he was little more than a babe and would sneak in to watch his father work. Pristine as always, papers neatly organised, brushes hanging clean and in order. The large, low desk with the high backed chair, the wood a rich mahogany red. The brazier, burning low and warm, always ready for tea. It wasn't fully dark yet, and the room was bathed in the soft light of early evening, filtered in through the large windows. Only a few scrolls were placed on the shelves in view—most of his father's books were in another hidden room, opened by twisting one of the decorative wall carvings. His father had shown him that one. A memory pushed through Sanghyuk like a chill wind, and he suddenly saw his father sitting at that desk—and himself, no more than five or six years old, standing next to his father with brush in hand, as his father patiently guided Sanghyuk's clumsy hand and corrected missing strokes. The vision disappeared as quickly as it'd come, and Sanghyuk shook himself out of the inexplicable daze.

Sanghyuk had just opened the storeroom door when he heard voices. His father's voice.

Of course—the brazier was on. His father was here.

The voices were getting closer, and Sanghyuk's heart pounded in his chest, filled with dread. He wouldn't make it out. Not through the front door unless he wanted to run into the tiger's jaws, and there wasn't time to find the switch for the hidden door. He didn't think—he shoved himself into the small room and pulled the door closed after him.

He really should've just gone to find his mother.

The door to the study opened, and it suddenly became very difficult not to overhear. Even if he managed to get out of this without alerting his mother, Sanghyuk was going to do an extra two copies out of guilt.

Sanghyuk didn't recognise the other voice, and he didn't really want to. All he had to do was wait for his father and his guest to leave—it had to be dinner time soon—and then he could escape the way he'd come. In the meantime, he settled himself in to try his hardest not to overhear a mundane, adult conversation.

"The payment will still be in full?" the stranger asked. The two men walked very near where Sanghyuk was hiding, Minister Han having carefully closed the study door behind them.

"The terms must be fulfilled by all parties," Minister Han said.

"A bad bit of business," the stranger said.

The stranger had an accent that Sanghyuk couldn't place. It wasn't familiar, and Sanghyuk had spent several months becoming familiar with accents around the world and beyond.

"It was unfortunate," Minister Han agreed.

"Pity the poison didn't finish the job," the stranger said.

Sanghyuk swallowed his thudding heart—what kind of mundane, adult conversation would bring up poison? He'd heard a rumour of some corrupt officials being forced to drink poison, but that seemed to have done the job rather well.

"It is possible it was a weak constitution, not poison," Minister Han said. It sounded like he was scolding the stranger sharply, and the stranger must've bowed and said something quiet in apology.

"I dislike poison," the stranger said.

"It has its uses," Minister Han said.

Ice dripped down the back of Sanghyuk's neck—his father was speaking of poison having its uses so coldly. But of course it did. Corrupt officials were corrupt, but shouldn't be denied a comparatively honourable death.

"The timing of that woman's death is... convenient," the stranger said.

A frigid silence hung in the space after those words. Sanghyuk's breath caught in his chest, waiting for his father's response.

"You imply things on a matter you know nothing of," Minister Han said.

"I did not mean to imply," the stranger said. He passed in front of the door and through the crack, Sanghyuk got his first look at him. Nothing about him was remarkable or stood out at the least, and he could've been an innkeeper or a cloth merchant or anything in between. It might've struck Sanghyuk a bit unusual that it wasn't any sort of official—or at least he wasn't dressed the part. He still could've been. It wasn't like Jaehwan stopped being who he was just because he wasn't wearing fancy clothes. Or maybe Taekwoon—Jaehwan was almost always wearing fancy clothes.

Sanghyuk bit down on his fist to stop the sudden burst of hysteria.

"Then it would be wise to more carefully consider your words," Minister Han said. Sanghyuk was surprised his father hadn't offered the stranger a seat or tea. Hopefully this meant it would be a short conversation.

There was a pause, perhaps some sort of silent exchange, before the stranger spoke again.

"It is confirmed, the Prince of Mu?"

"Nothing is confirmed, but his Highness has not denied the rumour, as rampant as they have been," Minister Han said.

A shiver ran down Sanghyuk's spine before his mind processed the chill fear it'd been caused by. The rumour, when it came to the Eldest Prince and poison, could only mean the Prince of Jing's sudden indisposition at the precipice of a short-lived rebellion.

"Well," the stranger said, the one word laced with an odd sour taste, "his Highness may have saved the Prince of Jing's life."

Silence from his father.

"Was it wise to leave alone that man? The order surprised the men—perhaps the head of the snake escaped but we could have severed the tail."

"Tell me," Minister Han said, "have you ever faced a wounded boar?"

"It is my fortune that I have not, although I have seen brave men gored," the stranger said.

Minister Han made a sound of approval. "Then you understand—if a clean blow could not be dealt we would have an angered lion on a rampage, and even a three legged lion is a fearsome beast. You remove his right hand, but stoke his rage."

Whatever was spoken next disappeared into a self-made silence. A ringing, hollow emptiness.

His death grip on the wall struts was the only thing keeping Sanghyuk from falling.

Was...

Was his father... speaking of...

His mind went blank. His teeth dug into the skin near his knuckles, leaving deep imprints on his clenched fingers. Even the pain felt dreamlike. Intangible.

There was no air in his lungs.

Nothing to join together the thoughts, each one there and within reach. He knew who they were speaking of. Or he thought he knew. Thought he knew who was supposed to have poisoned Taekwoon. Thought he knew who 'that man' was. Who else could it have been?

So the Prince of Mu had poisoned Taekwoon, and Minister Han had spared Hakyeon's life—but only because they couldn't kill Taekwoon.

That stranger had wanted to kill Hakyeon. His father had tried to kill Taekwoon.

What had his father said? Poison has its uses? But not against Taekwoon. His father hadn't poisoned Taekwoon. His father had stopped the stranger and his men from killing Hakyeon. His father had stopped them from killing Hakyeon. His father had saved Hakyeon.

Sanghyuk clung to that thought like a drowning man to flimsy driftwood, the act of standing almost more than he was capable of. His father could've been lying. After all, Taekwoon was well and alive, Hakyeon was well and alive. Only Jaehwan—

He used poisoned knives. Jaehwan's pale, pinched face had been haunting his memory, and now it overwhelmed him, accompanied by Taekwoon's quiet voice.

And Hakyeon had told Sanghyuk not to let his father know of Jaehwan.

It had to be a misunderstanding.

Hakyeon had warned Sanghyuk against jumping to the wrong conclusions. This had to be one of them.

Gaoli—Taekwoon said the attacker was from Gaoli. Sanghyuk's father had no dealings with them. Sometimes envoys from Kangju—once, his father had even courteously invited the ambassador from Kangju to their home. The ambassador had spoken flawless Chinese. Kangju which lay at the western reaches of the world, not their neighbour to the north and east, where Jaehwan's attacker was supposed to have come from.

It couldn't have been his father.

But without a doubt, his father had been speaking of Hakyeon.

Did Hakyeon know? A sudden dread of 'Hakyeon is in danger' crashed over him like the waves from a winter ocean and Sanghyuk nearly burst out of hiding to warn Hakyeon before his thinking mind slammed that fear down. Even if it were a legitimate fear, the threat was in the past. If there was a future threat, it wouldn't be from his father.

That last thought, as soon as it passed by unobtrusively, caught Sanghyuk by surprise by the surety of it. What business did he, still a child in everyone's eyes, have commanding authority in the affairs of adults?

He'd stopped himself from rushing out, but by the time Sanghyuk had quieted himself enough to notice the world around him, he found that he could've done so in all safety. It was silent. The stranger was gone, his father was gone—his father had yet to return. But he would return.

So Sanghyuk, clutching a fresh lamp, ran back to his room and feigned illness for the first time he could remember.

Hakyeon was worried. It was his own fault as it often was, but he was still worried. He'd expected to see Sanghyuk again in a few days, a week at the most, but two entire weeks had passed and the boy had darkened neither his nor Jaehwan's gates. Jaehwan had gone home, with strict instructions from their sister that he was to rest, unlike some other princes they knew. Taekwoon had pointedly ignored them.

But Taekwoon's life had never been in danger—not from the illness. He wondered how much Taekwoon knew.

The four of them had come to some agreements, although Hakyeon guiltily acknowledged to himself that there were some parts of it he wouldn't be able to keep. His sister had looked at him like she knew.

But she didn't know why there were whispers linking the Lin clan to the Eldest Prince, Prince of Mu. She believed them as much as anyone, and it only made sense that the Prince of Yan, Sixth Prince Zheng Zhiren, had been seen calling on the Prince of Mu, his Lady Wife Lin Muyin at his side. The Prince of Mu believed it as well—and why wouldn't he, when a few select officials cautiously distanced themselves from Prince of Xu, no longer sure where the balance lay. It seemed to make no difference that the Emperor had chosen.

Taekwoon didn't know either, but there were things Taekwoon was keeping from Hakyeon as well. He'd disappear for hours at a time with no word on where he was going and return without a word hours later, expression so inscrutable that even Hakyeon couldn't guess what he'd been doing. It was alright though, he trusted Taekwoon.

The incident had shaken Taekwoon and Jaehwan both in different ways, but Hakyeon was grateful it'd tempered their volatility. Somewhat.

He only hoped it hadn't shaken Sanghyuk too much.

Sharply aware he was no better than Song Qian, Hakyeon pressed himself low against a nearby roof and hid himself in the dark, overcast night. It'd taken him some time to locate Sanghyuk's room and with winter upon them, Hakyeon was colder than he'd like to admit. Enough so that he was wondering if he should've cast caution to the wind and walked up to the Han estate's front door and risk being greeted by Minister Han. It was unlikely as the man was rarely home, but the thought of the Minister knowing Hakyeon had visited his home unsettled him.

But waiting was prudent, and in an unintentional echo of his older sister, Hakyeon found an unlocked window and slipped inside. The questioning snuffle of a dog made both human occupants of the room freeze, but only one of them yelped before he could cover his surprise.

"Not much of a guard dog," Hakyeon said softly. He'd met Storm once before, and the great big dog had padded back to his corner beside the brazier to lie down. He merely lifted his head at Hakyeon's voice without otherwise stirring.

"He's not supposed to be one," Sanghyuk said, oddly petulant.

There was only a single lamp in the room, just bright enough to read by, which was what Sanghyuk had been doing when Hakyeon had let himself in. Hakyeon shut the window behind him, and with that done, stepped into the room where his shadow couldn't be seen.

Sanghyuk was watching him—of course he was—with nothing but trust in his eyes. Trust in this intruder. Hakyeon would've been far less trusting.

"Aren't you cold?" Sanghyuk asked. "You look cold."

Hakyeon laughed at that. "Not so cold," he said. He waited. Sanghyuk stared at him, all awkward child and none of the young man slowly coming into his own. It worried him.

"Do you want to sit?" Sanghyuk gestured at the low seat and immediately flushed because there was only the one. In many ways, this was still a child's room.

"I won't be long," Hakyeon said.

"Why're you here?" Sanghyuk finally asked. That should've been his first question; it set something in Hakyeon at ease to hear it.

"I only said not to visit for a little while, not forever," Hakyeon said. It was a gentle teasing that Hakyeon didn't mean much by, so he was surprised when Sanghyuk stiffened, tension locking his body in place and his gaze to some corner of the floor.

"Hyukkie?" Hakyeon prodded at Sanghyuk's silence. "Is everything okay?"

Sanghyuk turned away. "You didn't say how long," he said. "You said not to come."

"Jaehwan went home," Hakyeon said, as if those words could answer something.

"You didn't tell me," Sanghyuk said, and Hakyeon realised with a drop of his heart that he hadn't. He'd told Sanghyuk he would, but these weeks had been... busy.

"Jaehwan didn't want to see me either," Sanghyuk continued. "I thought you wanted me to stay out of the way."

"Sanghyuk—"

"No one tells me anything," Sanghyuk said, and Hakyeon, with a jolt, heard the slight waver in Sanghyuk's voice.

"It is better this way," Hakyeon said. The words slipped out, barely audible, before Hakyeon could stop them.

"Gege, have you..." Sanghyuk started to say, before the strength seemed to leave him and he walked to the end of the room. Like he was escaping Hakyeon.

"Yes?" Hakyeon asked.

"You've killed people," Sanghyuk said.

Words failed him. Hakyeon opened his mouth, and then merely stared. He waited.

"Is it hard?" Sanghyuk asked.

This was a question Hakyeon could answer. "No," he said.

"Taekwoon gege too," Sanghyuk said.

"I do not think it is easy," Hakyeon said. For him.

"He killed the person who attacked Jaehwan," Sanghyuk said.

Hakyeon exhaled. "He shouldn't have."

"Have you ever poisoned someone?"

"Hyukkie?"

"Have you ever poisoned someone?" Sanghyuk repeated, words clipped and clear, like he thought Hakyeon hadn't heard him the first time. Sanghyuk turned back to face him, but it was difficult to see his face. He'd stepped deep into the shadows.

Hakyeon may have stayed quiet for too long, before he finally said the quiet "no."

"Would you ever?"

"Sanghyuk, why are you asking this?" Hakyeon stepped forward, but all it did was cast deeper shadows across the boy, and Hakyeon couldn't see him any more clearly than when they were a room apart.

"I just want to know," Sanghyuk said. "Is it true? Was Taekwoon gege really poisoned by the Prince of Mu?"

"I do not know," Hakyeon said, and hoped the words weren't as empty and soulless as they felt. That there was a conviction in them that would belie the lie.

"But he was poisoned?" Sanghyuk insisted.

"I don't know, Sanghyuk. Why are you asking this?"

"I need to know!”

"No, you don't," Hakyeon said.

"But someone tried to kill Taekwoon!"

"Someone is always trying to kill Taekwoon!"

Hakyeon felt bad for the boy, he truly did, but this wasn't the time to be coddling him. At least, that was what Hakyeon told himself, as he hoped fervently no one other than the two of them had heard his outburst. They'd have some explaining to do, otherwise.

It was true, though. It'd just never been brought so sharply to bear. From the look on Sanghyuk's face—and it was enough of a change even in the half-dark—the boy had realised it too. He'd always been so far from it all.

Something seemed to settle in Sanghyuk, a quiet resolution, and Hakyeon knew in the way a father might, that instinctive twist in his gut. Maybe it'd been Jaehwan's injury, maybe it'd been Jaehwan's fight with Taekwoon, maybe it'd been Hakyeon driving Sanghyuk away. Sanghyuk thought himself an adult already. This was the moment he was becoming one.

But even so, Hakyeon didn't expect Sanghyuk's next words. How did one expect something like this?

"Tell me honestly Hakyeon—is Father one of them?"

Yes, Hakyeon supposed, that would be enough. To think something like that. To even begin to wonder something like that. And again, Hakyeon couldn't reply without hesitation. Couldn't reply honestly, either. Those few heartbeats of silence were honest enough for Sanghyuk.

To Sanghyuk's credit, this time his expression did not falter. It strengthened, but without hardening. Without the sort of quiet anger Hakyeon was used to seeing in Taekwoon when he encountered such moments. Or the flashing volatility in Jaehwan. In Sanghyuk, it was acceptance.

Acceptance that his father was trying—had tried—to kill Taekwoon.

Sanghyuk would become a man worthy of respect.

Hakyeon shouldn't have come.

"The Minister, like many, supports the Prince of Xu," Hakyeon said, picking through his words carefully.

"They are not all trying to kill Taekwoon," Sanghyuk said.

"It would be difficult if they were," Hakyeon said.

"But my father is," Sanghyuk said.

Hakyeon, being neither brave nor honourable, turned his back to Sanghyuk, and looked instead at Storm. The dog still drowsed.

"I do not know," Hakyeon said again, and it wasn't untrue—he had no fast evidence. Even his sister's visit to Hongbin was not undeniable proof. It was, in the end, only a guess.

A guess that may be more true than false—especially if something had lead Sanghyuk to the same.

"What did you come for?" Sanghyuk asked. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Such a thing is not for me to tell," Hakyeon said. He should face Sanghyuk again, but he suddenly found himself unable to face his eyes. Hakyeon didn't want to know if there was hatred in them.

"And it is not for me to know," Sanghyuk said softly. "That's what it is. I was not to know. It's okay for Jaehwan, but it's not okay for me. So you lied to me."

"I have not lied to you," Hakyeon said, and this time he could fill it with the hard truth. The truth in this, at least. It was enough that he could look at Sanghyuk again, and look at the change these few minutes had made.

No. It must've been days.

There was no hatred there. Sanghyuk wasn't capable of hatred. How could he, when he was still asking Hakyeon if it was hard—if killing someone was hard.

"Or maybe you don't know," Sanghyuk said—and maybe there was no hatred but only the disappointment from the loss of faith. "You can't be sure."

"There is very little we can ever be sure about, Sanghyuk," Hakyeon said. "That is something you will learn."

The rebellious set of Sanghyuk's lips was nearly childish at that, but his refusal to let it sway him spoke to the change.

"Like who attacked Jaehwan, or why, or who—things we can't be sure about."

Hakyeon, with a sinking heart, began to understand. In a strange way, Sanghyuk was just as protective of Jaehwan as Jaehwan was of him, and Hakyeon knew that anything he said to dissuade Sanghyuk would serve no one well.

Still: "Jaehwan is well now, and in need of a friend," Hakyeon said. He paused. "And, I might think, so are you."

"Is that what Jaehwan thinks too?" Sanghyuk asked.

Hakyeon exhaled. "I think you need to ask him that yourself."

They said their goodnights because it was late and Hakyeon left through the door, but sleep would be difficult tonight. There was the curfew but Hakyeon hadn't grown up in this city for nothing. Like many who didn't count themselves among the ordinary citizens, he knew the ways to navigate the city at night unknown and unseen. But for all the places he thought to go, Hakyeon still went home.

Nor was he particularly surprised to find he was not alone in being awake.

"Young Master, do you have a moment?" Steward Zhu was waiting for Hakyeon on the path leading to his rooms.

"You've been waiting long," Hakyeon said, bowing in apology. The nights truly had grown cold and mornings saw thin sheets of crystal spidering across open ponds in delicate lace. Steward Zhu was a disciplined man, but no amount of discipline could disguise winter chilled skin. It was hard not to respect the older man and Hakyeon had enough of it not to ask why he had not waited for Hakyeon inside. Excepting Hakyeon, he was the only one with every key for every lock—even Hakyeon's rooms.

They entered with the slow measure of dignity and were plunged into darkness as soon as the door shut behind them. Either of them could've brought a light, but there was something about this moment which made Hakyeon need the comfort of the dark.

"All has been done," Steward Zhu said.

"Was there any trouble?" Hakyeon asked.

"His Highness remains unaware," Steward Zhu said—even though that wasn't quite what Hakyeon had asked. It humbled Hakyeon to know he'd been so easily seen through.

"And the Prince of Song?" Hakyeon asked.

"We have yet to receive word, but the distance is far. As for the rest, Young Master need not worry. The water has been muddied, and Young Master need only wait for the fish.”

"You have been more helpful than you could know," Hakyeon said softly in thanks, head bowed.

"We have not failed yet, Young Master," Steward Zhu said. "Have heart and trust in his Majesty, may he live for a thousand years."

Hakyeon smiled weakly, and was glad for the darkness. "It is as you say," he said. He bowed slightly, knowing he was little more than a blur of shadows, a whisper of fabric. "It is late, Steward Zhu, please retire to rest."

"If Young Master does so as well," the older man said.

"Soon," Hakyeon said, and the steward acknowledged him, knowing Hakyeon's 'soon' would be some time yet.

But all the steward said was: "some light, perhaps," before retreating.

Hakyeon exhaled and did as Steward Zhu had suggested, vision flaring briefly from the sudden brightness, every shape in the room outlined by sharp edges and nothing more. He should sleep. Instead, he brought a candle to his desk, and began to write a letter.

Taekwoon didn't know why he hadn't told Hakyeon—but he felt like he needed this time for himself. It wasn't like it was a secret. At least, Taekwoon didn't think it was, he was sure people knew. Tongues wagged, rumours spread, eyes and ears were everywhere. Hakyeon reminded him of the last quite frequently, a sort of nagging incessant reminder that Hakyeon repeated more for his own comfort than for Taekwoon to hear. It probably didn't hurt that Taekwoon sombrely took it to heart. If Hakyeon had a reason, it was probably a good one, even if Taekwoon didn't fully agree with Hakyeon's paranoia that not even their own residence was safe. He wasn't foolish. He knew why Hakyeon insisted on having their most sensitive discussions in his own private rooms, where no doors or windows lead directly outside.

All of this meant that every time Taekwoon climbed the stairs in one of the palace gardens, a tiny seed of guilt was planted in his chest. He knew how hard Hakyeon was working for his sake, on top of all his other more mundane, regular duties. Taekwoon didn't have the heart to ask Hakyeon to stop, either. Couldn't find it in him to tell Hakyeon about his quiet insecurities for this whole thing.

That the real reason his father was spending so much time with Taekwoon was to make up for passing the throne to a different son. Not Taekwoon.

"Your Majesty?" Taekwoon bowed deeply, even if the Emperor had yet to turn. It was afternoon, the warmest part of the day, but it was more winter than fall and without the heater it would be truly cold. The hall overlooked the lake, a peaceful vista spread below their feet. It was built on a small mountainous feature, and the rock face dropped off sharply where the floor of the hall ended. The green of summer was long gone. Only the pines remained in colour. Taekwoon was somewhat surprised to see the chess board laid out on the table—the cold was hard on his father's hands.

The Emperor smiled to see his seventh son, and beckoned him closer. "Come sit with me, Taekwoon," the Emperor said.

"Yes, your Majesty," Taekwoon said.

He sat across the table as he always did, although he looked out into the same distance as his father, wondering what parts of the landscape so caught his attention. The lake, maybe, big enough to sail a small boat. The distant mountains, the crooked bridges, the multi-level pavilion. Or the shelves of rock that could hide an archer, twisted trees for an assassin's perch, an obscured area of wall that assailants could gain entrance, unseen by the guards. His father wouldn't be thinking of that.

"Your hands must be cold," his father said. Taekwoon startled at the hand-warmer passed to him. Bewilderment had him hold it, unsure how to refuse something already in his hands. His father smiled at Taekwoon's awkward shuffle. "The coals may need changing soon, but it should still soften the chill—and do not say you do not feel the cold just because you are young. Your father has lived long enough to know that young men also feel cold."

With those words taken from him, Taekwoon hesitated, with nothing else to say. But the warmth was soothing against his bare palms and he accepted it, even though habit and ritual demanded refusal. Only the two of them were here. Taekwoon sensed that his father was not in the mood for games of formality.

"We are alone," his father said.

Taekwoon caught the surprise within himself that his father had somehow read his thoughts. But the Emperor's words carried the weight of cautious thought, and it was too reminiscent of Hakyeon broaching his deepest fears. So Taekwoon knew to brace himself, to hold his shield ready, his body prepared to absorb the impact. He did all this, knowing that it would still resonate in his bones.

It was some time before his father spoke again which did nothing to put Taekwoon at ease. Even the metal of the hand warmer felt colder as Taekwoon sat tense. As he waited for his father's soft exhale, and the words which accompanied his next breath.

"Your mother was ill, yet your father still sent you away in the name of our country. When your father grew ill, Hakyeon brought you back. Yet once again, your father sent you away without thought for duty to your mother—will you forgive your father, my son?"

"There is nothing to forgive."

Those words came to existence without a doubt or thought, for they were true and unfettered. They surprised Taekwoon as much as they surprised his father, but while Taekwoon accepted it to be the truth, it only added to the burden his father had been carrying for these few weeks.

The Emperor was tired. Great men were often tired after leading the lives they'd lead. The weight of decisions made, of choices avoided, of lives ended. It was not right to let that weight fall at times, to leave it to another, having made the choices he'd made, but the relief on those days where he left the court and came to the garden outweighed the inevitable guilt. He had thought of abdicating, of guiding his son through the first few months—or if the heavens were kind, years—but it did not seem right and the Prime Minister agreed. He loved all his sons dearly, for that was what a father did. Yet it was not a secret to any, even himself, that some were more dear in his heart. He did not know where the ambitions he'd had as a young man had gone, but he could see it in his sons. He hoped that would not be their undoing.

All he wished for these days was peace. Peace and rest.

And forgiveness, but his seventh son would not be giving him that, in his quiet voice that was so reminiscent of his mother. He did not blame him.

There was so much of Meiying in Taekwoon. All that was good in him came from his mother. His honesty, his loyalty, his trust and his belief. Some of her stubbornness as well, and that made him smile. He'd become the Emperor succeeding his father before him, but he'd still been a young man with a young man's petty desires. There'd been something in her eyes that Taekwoon had inherited, a quiet yet piercing fire that vanished only when she laughed. She would laugh when she was with Junyu, and he had taken that laugh from her. But she would smile, and it was a smile full of warmth and forgiveness.

Taekwoon no longer smiled.

"There is so much to forgive," the Emperor said. There was more to say, but that same weariness sapped his will and he merely looked out into the winter bare garden, and think it fitting. He'd meant to impart what wisdom he could to his son, but the year was almost over and he'd managed to teach him so little. It would be the winter solstice soon. It would be time to honour those he would soon join.

Taekwoon bowed his head, and clutched unknowingly at the hand warmer with its cooling coals. There was a heat in his eyes that betrayed his weakness and it meant he did not see that far away look in his father's eyes. What followed was more silence, a silence neither father nor son felt able to fill. The cold and stillness and emptiness carried it away in time, until the silence became merely the absence of words, easily disturbed by a deep exhale. By then, Taekwoon's breathing was no longer shaky, and the Emperor's eyes had regained their clarity.

"Shall we play a game?" the Emperor asked. This was familiar ground for all, and an odd wave of relief washed over Taekwoon when his father slid to him the basket of stones. They were white.

"Humour me," his father said, reaching for one of his own black stones. He placed it in the very centre—the seat of heaven, some said. Taekwoon stared at it, that unassuming black stone that favoured neither side.

Taekwoon played the corner.

His father played the opposite one.

"You were very young when you refused a handicap," his father said.

Taekwoon picked up a stone, and then looked at his father.

"You lost badly—bad enough your tutor sought an audience with me, because he did not know if it was right for him to win a teaching game, but you refused to let him play anything but his best."

Taekwoon didn't remember this—after a moment, the third corner went as well to black.

"I caused trouble for you," Taekwoon said.

"Perhaps—you were very defiant as well and refused to admit you were in the wrong which frustrated me more than anything else. I wonder, Taekwoon, if you remember the reason."

"It was too long ago," Taekwoon said. He hesitated, and then after a moment, played a white stone along the edge, perfectly in line with the black stone in the centre. If it surprised his father, his father did not show it.

"You said you would win only if it was even—to win when you'd been given an advantage wasn't to win."

Taekwoon didn't remember it, but his father's words conjured the image for him and what a silly image it was. He hadn't been a particularly small child but if it was from a time he could no longer remember, he wouldn't have been very big either. A small child, defiant to the Emperor. An odd image.

"I still believe that," Taekwoon said.

"You do," his father said.

Neither admonition or affirmation, only an acknowledgement of the truth. Black played the fourth corner, and Taekwoon placed his stone with a soft click, white marking a point two squares away. The game began in earnest.

It was a balanced game. It'd been a long time since Taekwoon needed a handicap against anyone. His father had once commented that most people were afraid to win against the Emperor, and Taekwoon was one of the few people who would. Zhiheng was another. Taekwoon'd been almost surprised.

Zhiheng. The future Emperor. It left a heavy weight inside Taekwoon, this uncomfortable knowing. It was more than the knowing. The fact itself opened within him a deep yearning, a horrible disappointment. A mixed and unsteady guilt of betrayal. But more than once had his father mentioned the importance of support between brothers and if that was what his father wished, then Taekwoon would put forth his full effort in supporting Zhiheng. It would disappoint Hakyeon, but it was the right thing to do.

The battle in this corner was even—black and white having each carved out territory, the boundary formed by pockets of mutual life. Taekwoon turned his attention elsewhere.

"Life is not a game," his father suddenly said. Perhaps Taekwoon was taking too long to think, but he'd long learned that these games were less than games but were instead places of time for his father. To gather his thoughts, to spend moments with his favourite child—Taekwoon knew that was true, as uncomfortable as that made him.

He looked up to meet his father's eyes, although his father faced not him, but into the distance as he was often wont to do. Taekwoon hadn't yet picked up a stone. Now he placed his hands in his lap as he waited.

"No, life is not a game, and any advantage you can gain is one you must take. Anything that can be used must be used—even if you find it difficult, Taekwoon, and I know you will."

"If it is something that your son can perform in duty for his father, your son will obey," Taekwoon said.

"It will not be for me—but for the sake of the kingdom. You must promise me this, Taekwoon. Anything done must be for the sake of the kingdom, and anything can be done for the sake of the kingdom." The Emperor paused and finally looked towards Taekwoon, and his eyes were full of an immeasurable sadness. "Some things will hurt us and some will hurt those we least want to hurt, but some things will still need to be done."

"Yes, father," Taekwoon said. He bowed his head. Had his father seen through him?

It was still Taekwoon's turn to move, and he decided to take control of the centre.

"They say the great Emperor Yao invented this game for the sake of his son," his father said.

"His son did not succeed him," Taekwoon said. He knew the story. Emperor Yao had been an Emperor of absolute quality, yet his son had been lacking in the same—the game was intended to teach him patience and strategy but fate, in the end, had still prevailed.

"Yes. I did not rule as well as the great Emperor Yao, but have still been blessed with strong sons I can trust this seat of heaven to," his father said. He countered Taekwoon's move with a strong one. Taekwoon pondered a moment, and then connected with that stray stone. It would prove useful after all.

It was still early in the afternoon and the sun was still high. Some days it would be nearing evening before they left. The shadows of the bare trees barely reached past their roots, clinging for purchase through the rocky shores. The quiet rustle of the lid replaced on the basket of stones brought Taekwoon's attention back. His father had not played his move, and made it clear no more would be played that day.

"I think the cold has begun to find me," his father said.

Taekwoon started and quickly fished the handwarmer off his lap where he'd forgotten it, but his father only held up a hand and stood. Taekwoon hastened to support him, something his father indulged.

"I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to your old father ramble," his father said, as they began to walk back. Taekwoon trailed half a step behind.

"It is your son's honour," Taekwoon said.

"Yes, and that is the problem," the Emperor said. It did not seem to be meant for Taekwoon, and Taekwoon did not know how to answer.

The pines in the distance swayed in the wind, and the shadows they cast, for a brief moment, lengthened.

It had been a long time since Hakyeon had been summoned, and summoned alone. He was not afraid of the Emperor although he knew some of the royal princes to be. Hakyeon was close enough for the princes to speak to but still other enough that they would speak to Hakyeon what they wouldn't speak of to their own brothers. Hakyeon respected the Emperor—as a ruler, as a man, and as the adopted father figure he was. Perhaps it was because the Emperor had never disciplined Hakyeon like he would his other sons. Busy though he was with duties, he'd never been absent in his children's lives and had always been reasonably strict. Harsh at times, but Hakyeon understood why he couldn't practice leniency.

Hakyeon had never given cause for discipline. How could he, when it was to the Emperor that he owed his life?

There was still unease within him as he climbed those steps. It was evening but well before curfew—night simply fell early as winter deepened. He had been asked to come alone, and although he doubted that excluded servants, he chose to take this walk in relative darkness. This had once been his home, and he knew the paths even without a servant to light his way. Hakyeon could've carried his own light, but perhaps it was better to be unobtrusive.

But his shadows crossed behind him, stark and unfailing, in this final approach. Just as Hakyeon knew of Zhiheng's comings and goings, he was sure that the Prince of Xu would know of this. The Emperor hadn't asked for Hakyeon to come in secret, and so Hakyeon had not.

Hakyeon gathered his wandering mind as he came to the great doors. The guards, recognising him and having been given instructions, allowed Hakyeon wordlessly in, beyond the ritual greetings. He was met by one of the Emperor's personal eunuchs—not the one who had sent for Hakyeon—but one that Hakyeon somewhat recognised.

"Eunuch Zhang is working hard tonight," Hakyeon said.

"It is my honour, your Grace," he said, too clearly pleased that Hakyeon knew who he was. Hakyeon breathed an inward sigh of relief that he hadn't been wrong.

Hakyeon was lead, somewhat to his surprise, deep into the Emperor's personal sitting room.

"The Duke of Yin has arrived," Eunuch Zhang announced at the door.

"Enter," the Emperor said, and the door was opened for Hakyeon. Hakyeon stepped in, bowed, and the servant who'd opened the door for Hakyeon bowed to them both and retreated, the door shutting quietly behind him.

It had been a long time since he and the Emperor had been alone.

The Emperor placed aside the book he'd been reading as he waved off Hakyeon's bows and beckoned him to sit.

"Come, share a cup with me," the Emperor said. "Have you eaten?"

"I have, your Majesty," Hakyeon said. There was a flagon of wine on the table and two cups, both unused. Hakyeon carefully poured first for the Emperor and then for himself, and then he waited because he felt inexplicably like a child at a table for men.

"We've never done this before, have we," the Emperor commented as he considered the wine. "Only the two of us."

"No, your Majesty," Hakyeon said.

"We do not often have the chance to speak, you and I," the Emperor said. He drank the wine and nodded in appreciation—Hakyeon still hadn't touched his cup and he hastened to remedy it, but the Emperor didn't seem to have noticed.

"It may not be to your taste," the Emperor said—and those words registered a half second after Hakyeon swore fire was burning down his throat. So. He had absolutely noticed.

Hakyeon coughed, eyes watering, unable to stop himself. "It... It is strong," he managed, as he struggled to regain his composure. He eyed the wine warily. What was it?

"Good for the cold nights," the Emperor said. "Although it can be difficult to acquire, and I am rarely able to indulge."

"I am unworthy of this honour," Hakyeon said, wondering what mythical origins this liquid fire could have. He could still feel it on his tongue, and Hakyeon was no stranger to strong liquor.

The Emperor laughed, a quiet chuckle for a private amusement. "Difficult to acquire because it is a peasant soldier's drink, and who could I ask to drink with me, with such low class a palate?"

Hakyeon smiled ruefully to himself and picked up his cup, staring into the clear, distilled liquid.

"It is a good thing," the Emperor said softly, "that I have sons who will indulge me."

And like every time, Hakyeon's heart froze a guilty beat, and he looked down as his chest lurched.

"You have never thought of yourself as my son," the Emperor said. He drank again, and put down the empty cup. "But I cannot fault you, not when those who should be your brothers would not do the same."

"It is not the fault of—"

"I did not ask you here tonight to assign blame, Hakyeon," the Emperor said. He refilled his own cup and drank again. Hakyeon sipped at his cautiously, finding the burn was easier to handle in small, paced amounts. If Taekwoon were here, he'd no doubt be gulping it down just to match his father's pace, even if he was absolutely no good at strong liquor.

Wandering. His mind was wandering. Easier to let it wander. The Emperor seemed to be waiting.

"What did your Majesty ask me here for tonight?" Hakyeon asked.

"Forgiveness, perhaps," the Emperor said.

The Emperor was a big, severe looking man. He'd been a fearsome warrior in his prime. He was not a soft man, and he did not have a soft voice.

In that moment, the last was no longer true.

In his heart of hearts, perhaps Hakyeon had been prepared for this, the moment it was just the two of them alone. This was for them, and no others—not even Taekwoon.

Hakyeon bowed his head.

"There is nothing to forgive," Hakyeon said, because he knew the Emperor didn't mean for Hakyeon to beg for forgiveness, and to pretend otherwise would be the crudest artifice.

The silence that followed was heavy and Hakyeon felt unable to lift his gaze. Nor could he begin to guess at the Emperor's thoughts, to know that the Emperor was reflecting not only on the past some twenty years gone, but on the mirror this was of mere days ago. So much, in the end, seemed the same.

"The two of you are so very alike," the Emperor said, and Hakyeon's head spun.

Perhaps it was the wine.

"Your Majesty, there—"

"You will not call me father, even to indulge me?" the Emperor asked, and there was something in his voice that made Hakyeon look up, that stirred in his chest the hidden pearl all men have, holding their deepest secrets. The Emperor looked into Hakyeon's eyes, and wondered at the answer there.

"You hate me—"

"No! Never! I owe you my life," Hakyeon blurted out, cutting the Emperor off in his haste. It was true. It was all true.

"Perhaps it is finally time to tell you the truth," the Emperor said, and the sadness and pain in his eyes was one that Hakyeon had never felt, one that went even beyond the past few weeks. Hakyeon couldn't begin to imagine what could cause such pain.

"I should have told you much sooner, but perhaps it was I who was afraid. But it would be wrong to hide it from you, only because you were too young to remember."

"I do remember."

Hakyeon had been young. He had been very young. There was so much he did not remember, but what the Emperor was about to tell him—Hakyeon think he did remember. If not the moment, then the fact.

He did remember, and, just as much as the Emperor, could not bring himself to put it to voice.

Relief or disappointment—Hakyeon couldn't know what it was that the Emperor hid behind another drink of that strong wine. Hakyeon drank as well, and the pain had lessened to just a mild fiery burn. The warmth spread through him, and he understood why it was good for cold days.

"A heavy burden for one to carry from so young," the Emperor said. "Yet you have grown admirably into the finest young man I would be honoured to call a son. The great Emperor Yao himself may have passed the throne to you even if the great Emperor Shun had existed. I have ruled for only thirty years, but can still see that truth."

"You honour me too greatly," Hakyeon said, bowing his head.

"It is abrupt—but there is a second matter I wished to discuss," the Emperor said. Hakyeon was dizzy with how fast he looked up and he schooled his features desperately into neutrality.

"You know, as do all, that I have already made my choice of successor and sealed it away. You may also know that many believe it will be Zhiheng. Which was why it was difficult to choose, but I can see no other to lead this kingdom to even greater brilliance."

Even hearing Jaehwan's words echoing in his mind: he will lead this kingdom we have built together to even greater brilliance, the reality and the tacit admission from the Emperor himself froze Hakyeon.

"It will not be the Prince of Xu," Hakyeon whispered, unable to state the answer outright.

"You do not seem surprised," the Emperor said. Hakyeon wanted to laugh, the sort that overcame one in bouts of hysteria, but he swallowed it, as he did so much.

"Jaehwan—his Highness the Prince of Yue, he informed me... that time..." Hakyeon trailed off, unsure how to put that pained memory into words, knowing that it was equally pained for the man in front of him.

"I remember now, Jaehwan was there," the Emperor said. "Where you and Taekwoon should have been had I not made the foolish choice to send you away."

"Jaehwan spoke truthfully?" Hakyeon asked. He couldn't think of the rest. Couldn't think of where he and Taekwoon should or shouldn't have been.

"He is a truthful child," the Emperor said. "I would trust him to repeat everything said, even that which might've escaped your father's memory. So yes, he must've spoken the truth."

"Then my heart is at ease," Hakyeon said.

"Twice tonight you have lifted the burden of my confession," the Emperor said. "All there is left to do is to ask of you what you have already decided."

Hakyeon drew himself taller, placed his hands together deliberately, and then bowed. "Cha Hakyeon, Duke of Yin, swears upon all his ancestors to stand by and support Prince of Jing, Zheng Taekwoon until the end of time, and as—as he reigns one day as the Emperor of Jiang, may that day not come for ten thousand years. This, I swear."

"Good," the Emperor said, and in that one word tension and relief bled out, and he sat easier. "Good. This gives me ease, but there is one more thing I must ask of you, Hakyeon."

"I have seen good men corrupted by power, and swayed by those who wished for their own gain. It makes my heart heavy to think that may ever befall my sons—so I ask of you to be the guard of Taekwoon's honour, and if he ever acts in harm for the kingdom, swayed by corruption, I ask that you will steel your heart and strike him down."

"This, I swear."

Hakyeon spoke those words without consideration, knowing that such a day would never come to pass. Not Taekwoon. Perhaps the Emperor knew as well, because he understood his seventh son and all the ways he resembled his mother and not his father, but like Jaehwan had remarked to himself as well, Hakyeon and Taekwoon had grown to be Yin and Yang, and theirs was a balance that would extend equally both ways.

The Emperor did not doubt that Hakyeon would carry out what he'd sworn to do, just as he did not doubt his seventh son would not stray. What a burden this life had been for young Hakyeon, but fate had brought him here for this balance, to complete Taekwoon and to be completed in return. Heaven rarely dealt a fair hand, but the Emperor could only hope that all this would come to a peaceful fruition.

"You will not tell Taekwoon of this," the Emperor said.

This surprised Hakyeon, but then he understood. "I will not tell anyone," he said.

"That will do," the Emperor said. "This will be another thing for only you and I to know."

"It is Hakyeon's honour," Hakyeon said.

"No, it has been my honour," the Emperor said—and this was the Emperor, the Heaven chosen, the greatest of all men, honouring Hakyeon. It was difficult to process.

"While we partake of low-born wine, you can indulge me as well in a game," the Emperor said. He lifted the lid from a box Hakyeon hadn't paid any mind to, and inside wasn't the chess of scholars, but the game that the soldiers were fond of—and Hakyeon as well.

"I was never meant to be an Emperor," the Emperor said when Hakyeon stared at it for a second too long. "I spent my youth fighting alongside the men and the nights drinking and playing their games. You have always reminded me of those years—do you know how to play?"

For the first time all night, Hakyeon smiled. He filled the Emperor's cup with wine and then his own, and picked up one of the wooden pieces, carved and painted with general. It was of plain wood, so foreign in this room with rich lacquer and gilded hangings.

"I am familiar with the rules," Hakyeon said, and played a game with the Emperor for the first—and last—time.

Though the tortoise lives long, its time is not endless. Though the serpent rides the mists, it too will return to ash. The old war steed rests in the stables, though his heart longs for the plains. And while the great warrior wanes in his years, his heart never falters and upholds that greatness.

So it was the truth that in the thirty-first year of his reign, the Emperor of Jiang, Zheng Wuxu, left the mortal realm. It was unexpected in the way death is always unexpected, but acknowledged for the years had stretched long.

For the fate of mortality falls not solely to heaven, but a life not immortal will always find an end.

↽ ☰ ⇁
S1 END
↼ ☯ ⇀

Moonlight scattered from its feathers as the bird soared into the sky, a grey shadow cast across a silver disc. The boy who’d bid it aloft watched as it vanished into darkness.

He knew his would not be the only message born by rapid flight that night.

He glanced behind him, a nervous habit his cousin always chided him for. He had other senses—he should use them. His eyes were useless in the dark.

But no one seemed to have noticed his absence from the barracks. A young, undersized recruit out from the country that no one quite believed was eighteen, but his skill on the horse and bow was undeniable. It was a hard line to balance—remain unnoticed, keep his place among the elite.

He was all but eighteen, but his face was soft and round and when he smiled he looked even younger. He’d made it a point not to smile.

There hadn’t been much to smile at. Not with the Emperor dead. Not with the news the pigeon carried.

It made his heart hurt.

His task done, there was nothing else for him this night but to sleep. This fight was not to be his, no matter how he wished.

No, tonight the birds flew, and he would sleep.

⚍

SEASON TWO
UNTIL THE STARS DIE IN HEAVEN

⚎

It was many days before he came back to himself. The winter solstice had passed and his father was buried, and the kingdom mourned the loss of a great man. For Jaehwan, it was the first time he'd known loss. Little Jinxi hadn't yet grasped all that would change, only that change would come. It was strangest to see on Hakyeon who'd been made one of the family without being family, with both who'd spoken for him no longer of this world. Hakyeon passed through the world with tight lips and hard eyes, and Jaehwan watched him go like a wraith untethered to the happenings of time. He was discovering a truth that many had learnt and time would ensure many more would: it was easy to mourn and difficult to grieve, and it was the latter that swallowed him in a cloak of paralysis.

It was on one of those days, after he found his place in the world again, that he understood just what a mistake he'd made.

He'd known it to be a ruse. He'd said the same all those weeks ago, before the world had turned itself over and again. Yet as he knelt, listening to the final proclamation of his father's words, knowing that if he'd run up to that bastard and snatched away the once-sealed scroll, he would see his second brother's name written in his father's hand. And all he'd get for it was steel in his neck.

He would, he decided, wait for them to come to him. Maybe out of frustration, or vindication, or because he felt that Hakyeon and Taekwoon needed time and space to do what the two of them did. But fate did not like being predicted, and it was a different visitor that Jaehwan found himself face to face with.

"I'm not even surprised," Jaehwan said. That was also a lie. His heart had nearly jumped out of his chest and was only beginning to settle back into his throat. Song Qian looked up as if just seeing him, and gestured for him to sit. Hakyeon had done this before, waiting for Jaehwan in his own home, in his own rooms. Jaehwan had been fit to kill that time, and Hakyeon had been all sorts of smug. There was none of that now, not even the attempt at a smile.

It'd been a long day, and Jaehwan had been planning to spend this evening alone and in silence and well warmed wine, but it didn't seem right to call for someone when his sister was in the room. He suspected she wasn't here for an idle chat over tea. If this was in the past, they'd be preparing for the new year by now. He doubted it was that.

His fears were validated by her next words.

"Are we alone?" she asked.

Jaehwan gave her a one shouldered shrug, a vague gesture around them. "Alone enough," he said.

"You trust your people?" she asked.

This made Jaehwan frown. "I'm not Hakyeon," he said, and then fixed her with a look. "No one will listen in."

I wish you were, Jaehwan could almost hear her say. She barely reacted at all.

"Someone has interfered," she said instead.

Jaehwan bit down the growl bristling in his throat. Anger exploded in his veins and gripped his shoulders. Interfered? Someone? Like they didn't all know. He nearly leapt to his feet, spitting curses, but Song Qian silenced him with a look.

She did know.

Of course she knew. She was just more tactful. Jaehwan was not tactful. He didn't think this was a time to care about tact. But cursing wouldn't help. His jaw tightened with the effort.

"I didn't think they'd send you," Jaehwan said.

Song Qian frowned. "No one sent me," she said shortly. "I'm here because I am the one who wants to speak to you."

"I wanted to speak to them," Jaehwan blurted.

A strange look passed over her face and Jaehwan almost flinched at the words he was sure to get. They didn't come.

"It was supposed to be Taekwoon," Jaehwan said.

"I know," she said.

"How'd you know?" Jaehwan asked.

"Hakyeon told me," she said. Her gaze drifted past Jaehwan, towards the closed door. Jaehwan resisted the urge to pivot and check behind it.

"He said not to," Jaehwan blurted.

"The situation has changed," Song Qian noted, and yes, it had changed. Their father was dead, and the wrong brother would be emperor. Just thinking about it made him shake in rage. How could Zhiheng be so shameless? How could he go so blatantly against their father's wishes?

All of a sudden, Jaehwan found himself blinking heat from his eyes. Song Qian had the same distant expression. His sister hadn't been particularly close to their father either, not the way Taekwoon—or even Hakyeon—had been. But now she was both an orphan and a widow. How could she bear so much?

"I'm going to leave soon," Song Qian said. It took Jaehwan a moment, a few seconds, to register the finality of her words. To understand she didn't mean this room. Jaehwan's home.

"Why?" was all Jaehwan could find to say.

"My place isn't here," she said.

"But why?" Jaehwan repeated. He cursed himself, feeling his shoulders tremble.

"It's the right thing to do," she said quietly, "just like how being here the past few months was the right thing to do."

"I don't want you to go," Jaehwan said, rather childishly. Song Qian's eyes pitied him, and that only made Jaehwan's throat tighten even more. He swallowed, unable to stop the rising shame. But he didn't. He didn't want her to go.

"You understand why, don't you?" Song Qian asked.

"No," Jaehwan shot back, but then he relented with a slow nod that ended with him staring at the floor.

"I wonder if Hakyeon expected this, because we had spoken of this... before."

"I should've," Jaehwan said. He should've expected it. He didn't need to ask what it'd been 'before'. "I knew it."

"Knew or not, we do now what we must," she said. "Life doesn't end because misfortune has come. We cannot change what fate has already done, but that doesn't mean we can't fight it and change what will come."

"It's not fair," Jaehwan said.

"Life isn't fair, little brother," Song Qian said. "Nothing in life is fair."

"I know it should've been Taekwoon. It was supposed to be Taekwoon. Not... Not this."

"But if we don't act, this will remain the reality," she said. "And that is why I must go."

"Go home," Jaehwan said. "This was never your home."

His sister looked around them, as if she could see beyond the safe, solid walls of Jaehwan's home, and into the city beyond. The capital of their great kingdom bustling with tens and hundreds of thousands of people from the world over, filling the streets and houses with their lives. A city where people would lie and cheat, bribe and manipulate, but it was still the place Jaehwan called home. Jaehwan had never lived elsewhere, had never strayed from the capital except for short excursions, for stays at the summer palace, having never even accompanied his father on those tours around the kingdom. Taekwoon had. And Hakyeon. The favoured sons.

"This will always be my home," Song Qian said, still speaking into the distance. "As long as my family is here, this will be my home. But there is nothing more I can do here and while the world of jianghu has always been a world apart and won't take part in imperial affairs, we may find support from other corners."

"You and Hakyeon spoke of this?" Jaehwan asked. "What about Taekwoon?"

"Taekwoon is..." Song Qian's expression tightened as she looked back at Jaehwan. "Taekwoon is stubborn."

"What do you mean?" Jaehwan asked.

"Once he gets something into his head it's almost impossible to change his mind, and it's happening again," she said. "I think... this past month has been hard for him. This new situation isn't making it easier, but he'll come around."

It'd been hard on Taekwoon, but it'd been hard on all of them. It'd been hard on Jaehwan.

He didn't say this.

"When are you leaving?" Jaehwan asked instead. He knew, before she spoke, that he wouldn't like the answer.

"Tomorrow," she answered without hesitation. She looked at him kindly, and Jaehwan understood.

"You've been ready to leave for a while," he said.

"There was not much I needed to prepare," she said.

"But you'll be back?" Jaehwan asked.

"Heaven willing," she said. It wasn't very reassuring. Perhaps it showed on his face. "It will be safest like this for all."

"So you came to say goodbye," Jaehwan said.

"There's a bit more than that," she said. "I know you and I aren't very close, younger brother, but we are still family. You've given your word to Taekwoon, Hakyeon, to help however you may—but remember that they are your older brothers, and they will help you however you ask. And it is all right to ask."

Jaehwan couldn't help the dry smile that twisted his lips. "They said that, did they?"

Song Qian exhaled, long and weary. She knew as well as he did that those words were unlikely to ever cross Taekwoon's lips, and Hakyeon might think Jaehwan would've known to. Jaehwan didn't think that Hakyeon didn't care, at least.

"You will also always have me," Song Qian said, and Jaehwan realised with a start that he did. That she was his older sister. That they were related by the shared blood in their veins.

It was a strange realisation. She was his sister just as much as Taekwoon was his brother. She wasn't only Taekwoon's occasional guest, or someone who happened to share a father. She was really and truly family. And just as Jaehwan finally understood this, she was about to go away again.

It was a loss so sudden and wrenching that Jaehwan almost wished he hadn't understood, that the surface knowing of the fact hadn't gone beyond that. It was a loss not so different from the one still fresh and raw, an open wound Jaehwan had spent the past few days trying desperately to hide. He was so very tired of losing. He was especially tired of losing what he'd never truly had—because that was what this was. The loss of something never present, but that could've been present if only he'd been given a chance. People were saying his father had been a great man—but when was the last time Jaehwan had really talked to him? He had faint recollections from his childhood of a man that now seemed larger than life, but Jaehwan hadn't been much of a priority. He was there, one of thirteen surviving sons and twelve daughters. Neither particularly bright or talented, but not a disgrace that was better unseen. No, he just was. Which left him mourning for a man who'd been his father but one Jaehwan barely knew.

He understood, then, the sorrow that poets were so fond of.

We all will, will we not, with the passing of time and the inevitable progression of our lives? If we are fortunate, those days are still far off.

And there was fear. He wasn't so proud that he was unable to admit it to himself, even if that thought would never pass his lips. He was afraid he'd watch his sister go with eyes wide open, and do nothing to stop it. And then she'd be gone, melted into the mists, disappearing into a world Jaehwan wasn't and would never be privy to. And Song Qian may have been his sister, may have been family, but he was afraid that time would dull the memory of this moment, the sharp, aching knowing that gripped deep inside his soul.

It didn't matter. She would leave tomorrow, their father was still no longer of this earth, and the wrong man was about to be handed the throne. Which brought it all back into sharp focus, and Jaehwan was finally able to meet Song Qian's steady eyes.

"You will be back," Jaehwan said, with a forceful firmness like his determination would make it so. Would set the future's course.

"Yes," Song Qian said, and there was something in that one word that weakened Jaehwan's hope. It didn't last. Her expression was too strong. "I will."

Taekwoon's dreams were often splattered with blood, his vision clouded by a red spray, splashed in front of his eyes like a poorly made visor. He never remembered the contents of the dream, of what he saw beyond the blood, and only took with him into the waking world the faint yet pervasive scent of unease. It followed him wherever he went and whatever he did, and by its very nature Taekwoon could never shake it off.

They were shackles of guilt, and they were of his own making. And like shackles, they tethered him to the ground. To reality. It made it easier to face Hakyeon. Awake, he saw no blood.

"We won't speak more of this," Taekwoon said. He tried to keep his voice low and neutral, but irritation still clawed its way through. He stood just by the door, closed and locked behind him. He could leave and Hakyeon wouldn't stop him.

No blood in his vision, just Hakyeon standing there, dusted red with a hint of anger, marring that steady composure he was so well known for. Lit by lantern because they were in Hakyeon's dungeon of a room, closed and sealed from prying eyes or ears. It seemed darker than usual.

"Yes. We will," Hakyeon said. His words were steel, and he was fighting to keep away the fire. He paced a step or two and shadows crossed his face for a moment, as he passed between Taekwoon and a lantern. "Don't be a fool. This is wrong. You know it's wrong. I know it's wrong. We all know that—"

"That isn't true," Taekwoon said. "It is to be Zhiheng, as it should always have been!"

"It was not supposed to have been Zhiheng," Hakyeon said. "It was to be you!"

"You don't know that. How could you know that?"

"Because he told me."

The finality in Hakyeon's words frightened Taekwoon in a way all their arguments hadn't before. And they were arguments. If they were in the same room, scarcely a moment went by without one. Rarely so overt, for any sign of treason was deadly and Taekwoon knew it better than Hakyeon. They had gone over it any number of ways, but the truth and reality was the same.

Zhiheng was to be Emperor.

It was as it should be. He should've been the Crown Prince by all rights, as he'd been the first born son of the Empress. His father had known this, and he'd known that it could've been difficult for Taekwoon to swallow and had warned him, but if this was how it was to be, he would accept it. Even if Hakyeon wouldn't.

Taekwoon had told his father this. That he would do anything for the kingdom, even at the cost of himself or those he least wished to hurt—and who else could his father be speaking of but Hakyeon?

"He told me different," Taekwoon said.

This seemed to catch Hakyeon by surprise because Taekwoon caught a brief moment of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was quickly gone, only to be replaced with a fire, harder and stronger than ever.

"I don't believe that," Hakyeon said, "and it cannot be true. It's been tampered with, do you not understand that? Maybe I should've told you this earlier but I was afraid of what you'd do—it was meant to be you."

"Afraid of what I'd do?" Taekwoon asked. A derisive breath of laughter escaped. "You didn't trust me."

Something akin to disgust passed across Hakyeon's face. "Difficult to," Hakyeon muttered. They both knew why.

Hakyeon wasn't done. He walked closer to Taekwoon, eyes never breaking contact. It was unnerving—even for Taekwoon. But he held that gaze. He had to hold that gaze.

"The Emperor would never lie to our mother," Hakyeon said, low and steady. "Never."

"What does our mother have to do with this?" Taekwoon asked. Something trembled in his chest, squeezed his throat. He cursed himself for his weakness, for the sudden heat in his eyes. There was red in Hakyeon's eyes.

"It was the last thing he told her," Hakyeon said.

"You can't know," Taekwoon said. He was shaking, and he was surprised to find some anger there, that Hakyeon would turn to something like this.

"You forget Jaehwan was there," Hakyeon said. His face was grim.

"I did not."

"Jaehwan also would not lie—and I believed him," Hakyeon said.

Here it was, a dawning realisation that this was something Taekwoon had been purposely left out of. It rankled him, even though he understood why it'd been so. But it changed nothing.

"Yet it is Zhiheng who was chosen, written and sealed in the Emperor's own hand—"

"Do you really believe that is the only truth?"

An echo. Another room. Another voice.

A truth behind the truth.

Taekwoon breathed in, long and slow. There had been another truth, and he was coming to understand how close he'd been to losing Hakyeon, simply because he'd been a stubborn fool. He couldn't make the same mistake.

He wanted to turn around and walk out that door, but he also desperately felt like he couldn't leave. So he walked past Hakyeon and sat down beside the brazier. It was warmer there. He hadn't noticed how cold his hands were until he held them near the whisper of heat. The warmth was painful against his skin. He didn't turn to look at Hakyeon.

Hakyeon was watching him, he knew that, could feel his eyes on him. Waiting, perhaps.

Another truth.

There were two things he knew:

His father meant for Zhiheng to succeed.

Hakyeon would not lie.

Two things, yet they did not fit together.

But then there was that man. That man, who was determined to make Zhiheng the next emperor. It'd been tampered with, Hakyeon had said. But if his father had chosen Zhiheng, if it was as that man wanted—what could he have tampered with?

He heard Hakyeon come to sit beside him and felt the rustle of fabric as Hakyeon knelt. Hakyeon's eyes lingered on Taekwoon's profile. It was long moments before the silence was broken.

"You've lost your determination," Hakyeon said softly.

A curse and a protest was sharp on Taekwoon's tongue but it died even before he had the thought to push them down. He could protest and he could curse, but Hakyeon was right.

It was different, now that they were already readying Zhiheng for the official ascension.

"Nothing has changed," Hakyeon said, like he'd heard Taekwoon's half-formed thoughts. Taekwoon thought of glancing Hakyeon's way, but he merely stared into the glowing coals.

"If you don't want to die, you fight," Hakyeon said. "And even you aren't so naive to believe all will be let alone."

But that is not Father's will. Taekwoon thought these words, and then cast them into the flames.

"I heard Eldest Brother had a riding accident," Taekwoon said. He'd always spoken quietly—now, mind occupied, his voice was barely more than a murmur.

It seemed to surprise Hakyeon. There was a second of extended silence.

"As did I," Hakyeon said. "He lives, although he may not for much longer. Nor should he have survived—is what the whispers say."

"I'm not as foolish as you think," Taekwoon said.

"Then you have no regard for your own life."

"That is unfair." The familiar anger was rising.

"You will put your perceived duty over what is right," Hakyeon said, pushing forward. "Know this—we don't have time to wait until you come to your senses. We don't have the luxury of time."

"You have no regard for your own life," Taekwoon said, reflecting Hakyeon's words back at him, only half-expecting denial.

"Perhaps so," Hakyeon said—and there was the other half Taekwoon expected—"but I will not sit back and watch wrongness transpire without lifting a finger. I'm not alone."

"I know," Taekwoon said, and he did, and that was why he didn't want to speak of this any more. "It's the real reason jiejie is going back. That, and it will be safer for her."

"You fear for her life, but not your own," Hakyeon said.

A thought that had no place until Hakyeon cemented it in words. So many drifting thoughts in Taekwoon's mind, all waiting for Hakyeon to give voice to them. Taekwoon wished he could protest.

"I won't run," Taekwoon said. "I don't intend to die, but I won't run from the... from reality." From the truth. He didn't say it, but Hakyeon seemed to know it all the same.

Hakyeon's face, when Taekwoon finally looked at him, was half in shadow, half in the faint light from candles, the warm heat of the brazier softening the angles, colouring Hakyeon's golden bronze skin. Taekwoon yearned for Hakyeon to turn his head, to chance to look away from the brazier at the same moment Taekwoon did, but Hakyeon didn't stir.

"You are choosing to be foolish," Hakyeon said.

"I am choosing honour."

"Honour means nothing when you are dead—when the people around you are dead," Hakyeon said.

Jaehwan. There was Jaehwan. It came out of nowhere, that realisation. Song Qian would be beyond reach, once she reached their ancestral home. Jaehwan would be here, in the capital, his allegiance all too clear.

Taekwoon was no fool—Eldest Brother's riding accident had been no accident.

His chest tightened with the effort to remain silent, to make some retort about how it was Jaehwan's own fault, getting involved, but that was neither fair nor true. It would make him feel better for that half second, and be followed with a lifetime of remorse.

He knew what Hakyeon wanted of him. Taekwoon didn't think he could answer to that. He didn't think he could descend to treason.

"It is not treason if it is to restore the truth," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon hadn't said a word aloud. But that was how it always been. He breathed in, settling his soul.

"I want proof," Taekwoon said. "Without proof, I will not challenge Zhiheng as Emperor."

"And if you have proof?"

"Then we will."

It wasn't that Hakyeon didn't understand Taekwoon's plight. It was still difficult not to grow frustrated at Taekwoon’s stubborn inclinations, even as Taekwoon stared straight into his own eyes. But it was because Hakyeon understood it that it frustrated him—he might've done the same.

Yet Taekwoon had agreed easily to something he thought of as treason, perhaps because he thought Hakyeon wouldn't find the proof. And that was also true, for Hakyeon didn't know where to start looking.

No, he knew who he'd like to start with, but it was too dangerous, too risky. Hakyeon had encountered Minister Han since the Emperor's passing, although Hakyeon suspected he'd soon be more than just the Minister of Ceremonies. The man had looked at Hakyeon with a clear mixture of superiority and disdain, lips twisted briefly into a smirk before it was replaced with the blank and courteous official mask. The one that led so many people to trust him.

There was the other problem. Whatever doubt had been cast over Zhiheng was soothed by the capable Minister, and no one would dare speak up no matter their beliefs. Similarly, any attempts at `treason' might be reported out of hand. What little headway they'd gained was all but lost, control ripped out of their hands.

At least Taekwoon could be made to see reason.

Hakyeon glanced away a moment into the brazier that'd so entranced Taekwoon, clasping his hands in his lap. It'd been a cold day and it was a cold night, and if the situation wasn't what it was, he would've been greatly comforted by the warmth, sitting quietly with Taekwoon at his side. The only thing they lacked was a placid cat, lying on the floor between them. But the safety of his room was a comfort and one that he wouldn't take for granted.

"I will find you your proof," Hakyeon finally said, "but we can't do nothing until then, it'll be too late."

He thought Taekwoon would protest but he merely looked at Hakyeon with enough acknowledgement for Hakyeon to know he agreed. Perhaps it was the very real danger to his own life that convinced him, but Hakyeon knew it to be a perverse sense of honour.

If what Hakyeon said turned out to be true, then to not prepare now would be the same as failure when the time came. Taekwoon would not fail, not when the stakes were so high.

"Then Jaehwan will continue as he had been," Taekwoon said, in that soft voice of his. But there was no hesitation and that reassured Hakyeon more than he'd thought possible.

"It will be dangerous," Hakyeon said, but that was something Jaehwan knew as well as any of them and he'd shown no sign of faltering from the risk.

"The westward emissaries should reach him soon," Taekwoon said, and then he paused, a familiar sadness settling in his eyes.

"The messenger as well," Hakyeon said, filling in what Taekwoon couldn't say. "It is hard to say who will find him first."

It was long seconds before Taekwoon continued, and Hakyeon could've sworn he felt Taekwoon lean towards him but just as soon leaned away.

"Do you think the Fei clan will help?" Taekwoon asked.

It was a worry they all had, and Song Qian the most of all. It was also Song Qian most adamant about pursuing that front.

"They understand honour," Hakyeon said softly, like he had so many times before. "We can only hope."

There was another piece, the one that Hakyeon had never told Taekwoon—hadn't told any of them. A secret bundled within a secret—a secret that all assumed Hakyeon didn't know. Not even Steward Zhu himself. Hakyeon was sure of it. The secret bundled within a secret was his for now, but Hakyeon knew the time would come when he had no choice but to use it.

He hoped that Taekwoon wouldn't hate him too much when that time came.

"But until you have proof, I will not act," Taekwoon said. The stubborn set of his eyes meant his mind would not be changed—and nothing would proceed if Taekwoon refused. Hakyeon could single-handedly slay both the Minister and Zhiheng, and hand Taekwoon the crown—but he was sure that damn fool would turn around and hand it to anyone but himself. Maybe even to Hakyeon.

Hakyeon wouldn't do that, though. It'd be an act of revenge and this wasn't to be about revenge. This was for truth and honour and duty to the kingdom. The last, most of all. For Taekwoon. He couldn't let Taekwoon make that mistake. If they lived, it was a mistake that'd haunt him for his entire life.

But for Hakyeon, all he needed was for Taekwoon to live. And he'd do anything to make that so.

What Hongbin missed the most in the palace was that damn rabbit. He didn't mind the rest. His rooms were unfamiliar, but they were bigger. He'd never been in the palace before and now he was to live here, although he didn't foresee much change in his own life. Hongbin preferred keeping to himself.

The way it'd happened was this: Hongbin left the doors open, and this time the little creature hopped out of its cage, nuzzled against Hongbin's knee, and then dashed through the open doors into the empty night beyond. Dark swallowed it in seconds, and Hongbin's constant companion for the past few months vanished with only the most perfunctory of goodbyes.

He was alone again.

He was also the Emperor's concubine.

Him. Hongbin. Born a slave child not meant to survive, and now an Emperor's concubine, living in the great palace.

Lady Princess Jian Chun was now Empress Jian Chun, and both Lady Qi and Lady Shi were consorts of high rank. His Majesty the Emperor Zheng Zhiheng would have more consorts in time. There were already whispers of a political marriage although no rumour could decide on who or where. It was simply assumed to happen.

Hongbin had been forgotten. It wasn't a bad thing, this solitude. He still had Xiao Yu—Xiao Jin had been released from service to return home and marry. She was still young but Hongbin didn't begrudge her it, and Zhiheng hadn't the mind to care. Nor did Lady—nor did Empress Jian.

The Empress was very clearly pregnant and no longer asked for Hongbin's company. Given her state, the role of leadership fell to Consort Qi, for her family came of the fourth rank, while Consort Shi's family was of the fifth and younger besides. But ranks within the palace could be quick to change and all it would take was a boy child. The Empress's pregnancy was ever more important.

He'd seen Wonsik several times—not because he'd come to see Hongbin, but because one of Hongbin's windows opened onto a path that the eunuch frequented. It was then that the spectre of loneliness would sink its claws into Hongbin's shoulders and drag him back into the room.

Hongbin still had the poems, read and copied so many times the corners of the pages were beginning to fray. He couldn't understand why he still hid them, but had tucked them away where they wouldn't be found during the move. Habit, perhaps.

So much had changed, yet so much was still done out of habit.

The rabbit may have tired of captivity, but Hongbin found himself content enough with it, with no real urge to see what was in the world beyond. He was happy enough alone here in his gilded cage.

Which was why it so surprised him when, a few days before the new year, Xiao Yu brought in a visitor.

He'd been playing music again and nearly dropped his pipa when he saw who it was.

"Won— Eunuch Jin," Hongbin hastily stood, still clutching the instrument.

Wonsik dismissed Xiao Yu and his attendant vanished, closing the door behind her and leaving the two of them inside.

"Put it down," Wonsik said, indicating the pipa. Hongbin replaced it on the stand, still too stunned to say a word.

He turned to see Wonsik retrieving something from his sleeve, and took the book that was given to him in both hands. Hongbin looked at it, and then at Wonsik, and then took it and bowed, barely remembering to speak the prescribed thanks.

"Why are you frightened?" Wonsik asked as Hongbin straightened.

"I'm not," Hongbin said, curt in his surprise.

Wonsik didn't react, and Hongbin didn't move. They stared at each other—Hongbin in defiance, Wonsik with an expression quickly approaching concern. It was the eunuch who finally broke the silence.

"I treated you unfairly," Wonsik said.

"Is that what this is?" Hongbin glanced down at the book and then back to Wonsik. He was being disrespectful, he knew this, but something about this situation drove away any fear that might've enforced respect.

This, Wonsik didn't answer. He looked around the room instead, no doubt taking in the size. Hongbin had wondered whose room this'd been before his, but he'd found himself no longer caring. Now, he wondered if Wonsik knew. If Wonsik had been here before.

"You play?" Wonsik asked. It took Hongbin several moments to register where Wonsik's gaze was directed; the heavy chess board delegated to a corner, nothing more than decoration.

"I did," Hongbin said, remembering childhood hours with smoothed stones held between his fingers. He hadn't touched a piece in over four years—because chess was a game for two and Hongbin was only one.

"You no longer play?" Wonsik looked back at Hongbin, and it was as if the past few months hadn't happened at all.

It didn't seem fair that Wonsik had seen Hongbin at his worst, had tossed him aside, had once looked at Hongbin with eyes of disdain and disgust, and could now act as if none of that had transpired, that Wonsik was still the closest thing Hongbin had to a... a friend. It didn't seem fair, but life simply wasn't fair, and Hongbin understood that and had accepted that so long ago but at this moment he was angry. Angry, and he'd gone beyond caring if it showed.

He stopped short at flinging the book back in Wonsik's face, part out of a lingering sense of decorum, but also because he wanted it, and wasn't going to let a moment of childishness take it away from him. So he turned his back.

"I have not played in years," Hongbin said, speaking into the emptiness. The chess board, so innocuous for all these days, suddenly drew Hongbin's attention more surely than a moth to flame and he found himself unable to look away. It wasn't his—he supposed it belonged to him, but it wasn't something he'd ever laid claim on. Yet it still rankled something inside him to see Wonsik walk over so casually and reach for the pieces, sitting down in front of the board.

"Neither have I," Wonsik said.

Hongbin understood this for what it was—Wonsik extending overtures of friendship, and Hongbin being fool enough to ignore it. He tried, at least. Ever since the move—no, ever since the Second Princess had appeared in his room, something had shifted inside him. Had shifted back.

Anger.

Zhiheng had mentioned it a lifetime ago, had said that it'd gone from Hongbin along with some 'spark'. It'd never left, but he wouldn't deny that he'd stifled it under endless days of reclusive monotony. He'd welcomed it at first, as glad to be away from that place as they were to be rid of him. But as weeks extended to months he found himself missing the bustle of his old home with solitude blending with loneliness. It changed in time and the loneliness eased, as he'd come to know his personal attendants and as Wonsik became a constant, intermittent presence.

Until Hongbin's mistake—but it hadn't been a mistake. He knew it now. He'd done what needed to be done and asked the questions he needed to ask, and Wonsik was trying to make it right again, damn the man.

The right thing for Hongbin to do was to face Wonsik, sit down, and take what he'd been offered. And after several agonising long seconds he did—first walking into the inner rooms and deliberately placing the book on the table. He could almost hear Wonsik's silence behind him.

"Is your time so idle you can spare it on someone like me?" Hongbin turned just in time to catch the hurt pass across the man's expression. He couldn't bring himself to care, but he also refused to take any pleasure in it.

"Consort Shi cancelled her plans for today," Wonsik said.

"Too cold to go shopping?" Hongbin asked mockingly, although Wonsik's brief discomfiture told Hongbin he'd been close enough to the mark. He sat down quite heavily, foregoing any grace he might've assembled. It was just Wonsik, after all.

Hongbin's stones were black.

As if following a memory, he picked up a stone, and very carefully reached across the board and played it in the corner. His sleeve brushed against the wood as he drew back, a sigh akin to silence as it wiped away the ghost of pieces not yet played.

Wonsik met Hongbin's eyes as if he wanted to respond, but the only sound was a smooth, white stone slipping softly from Wonsik's fingers.

It'd been years since Hongbin had played, but some things one could not so easily forget.

They settled into a rhythm, just awkward enough to give him pause, to understand that Wonsik was telling the truth on how long it'd been since he'd played. The moves were clumsy and amateurish, although Hongbin had never been good even at his best. His playing was just passable enough to entertain clients and occasionally himself. He recalled the latter particularly well when he removed, piece by piece, a field of white stones that Wonsik had played as carefully as everything else.

"You're not going to ask if there's anything I'm lacking?" Hongbin asked as he placed the last captured stone onto the neat pile. He looked back to Wonsik as soon as this was done.

"If there was a need to," Wonsik said, "but I didn't think there was."

"Good," Hongbin said, more viciously than needed.

Wonsik seemed to want to look away, and only real effort kept him meeting Hongbin's eyes.

"I said I treated you unfairly, but I do not think unduly so," Wonsik said steadily. "In that situation—there were things you were not aware of—"

"What's changed?" Hongbin said, quick like a striking viper. "Is his Majesty ascending the throne so different?"

"Yes," Wonsik said. "And I believe you know so."

"Do I?" Hongbin lifted a hand, gesturing to the room about them.

"You are the Emperor's concubine," Wonsik said.

"I suppose I am," Hongbin said. "A rather unnecessary one, it seems."

Wonsik's expression turned pained at this.

"His Majesty has been busy," Wonsik said. "I assure you that you have not been forgotten."

"That wouldn't be so bad," Hongbin said. "It's what I'm used to."

"I did not forget you," Wonsik said wearily.

"I wasn't speaking of you," Hongbin snapped.

"I do not know if I should believe you," Wonsik said.

"And how would you know that—when you just... Just left."

"I..." Slow realisation passed across Wonsik's face and Hongbin hated how weak it made him feel. Vulnerable.

But that was it, wasn't it? That Wonsik had seen him like that at all when it hadn't been for him to see. And then Wonsik had just walked away. It turned Hongbin's eyes cold, this thought. Wrapped its icy steel tendrils around him.

"If you were going to leave, you shouldn't have come," Hongbin said. "Not then and not now."

"I'm not going to leave, Hongbin," Wonsik said. "You must understand that it was your attendants who found me—who pleaded with me to have you see reason."

"And you took it upon yourself to do just that," Hongbin said.

"I saw that you lived, which was enough," Wonsik said, and Hongbin was struck by the chilliness he'd first seen in Wonsik that fateful morning when everything had changed. This made Hongbin's lips curl.

"It would be a mark against you in his High—in his Majesty's eyes," Hongbin said. "If something happened to one of his concubines under your watch."

"Do not insist on being difficult," Wonsik said, warning clear in his voice.

"I prefer being forgotten," Hongbin said.

"I don't think that's so, but if you insist then I will leave you alone," Wonsik said.

"Until it suits you," Hongbin said. "Or until it suits his Majesty."

"Do not speak of his Majesty in this manner," Wonsik said.

"You'll have me punished otherwise?" Hongbin asked, full of a defiance he didn't quite feel. "You'll have me beaten? Or will you do it yourself this time—"

"Stop."

Hongbin did, more of the old fear left in him than he'd thought. His heart pounded in his chest, eyes locked with Wonsik's. But whereas Hongbin's eyes burned with fear and anger, Wonsik's eyes held nothing but pity, which hurt Hongbin most of all. He didn't want pity.

It was Wonsik who looked away first, who looked back at their forgotten game. It'd always been a pretence, nothing more, and Hongbin wanted nothing with the dead stones. Looking at Wonsik, Hongbin was struck by a lingering question, a dangerous curiosity.

"What happened to the Prince of Jing?"

The strangest part, Hongbin would reflect afterwards, was how little this surprised Wonsik, as if the eunuch had been waiting for it all this time.

"Nothing," Wonsik said. "The Prince of Jing is not my concern."

"And the Duke?"

"The man you had me deliver the letter to," Wonsik said.

"Yes," Hongbin said.

"Then, the same," Wonsik said.

"And nothing will happen to them?" Hongbin asked.

"That, I do not know—nor will I ever," Wonsik said. "And I would tread carefully, if I were you."

"As you said, I belong to his Majesty and no other," Hongbin said.

"As do I," Wonsik said, words measured and deliberate. After a moment: "you don't ask after the Prince of Mu?"

"Should I?" Hongbin asked. "If you wish it of me, I will. What happened to the Prince of Mu?"

"A riding accident," Wonsik answered. "It is a wonder his Majesty's respected elder brother has survived, as the doctors have said."

"An accident," Hongbin murmured to himself. He doubted—and Wonsik knew he doubted—that it was any sort of accident. The only accident may have been the survival itself. It seemed to be a nasty habit, that survival. Hongbin kept this to himself.

Wonsik was waiting for his questions. This was Hongbin's chance. His chance to know, to understand, to wrest back some of the control he'd once so craved and so desperately needed. Or he would, if he at all still cared. Hongbin wasn't sure if he did.

He did care. Damn him, but he did.

"Tell me. What else has changed?" Hongbin asked. "It's what you said—things have changed with his Majesty's ascension. I want to know what."

Hakyeon had wrapped the jade pendant his mother had given him in a scrap of cloth, closed it in a small wooden box, and tucked it deep into a shelf. It now lay on his palm, the morning light diffusing from the nearly white stone. He hadn't meant to make a habit of it, but every time he carefully removed it from its shadowed place he could recall the late Fei Meiying's voice, her touch, her kindness, the warmth the cold stone had exuded when she'd placed it in his hand, much like it did now. It was always difficult to put away, but it was equally difficult to hold it, to see the magnolias carved into the stone with delicate strokes.

He always did put it away; wrapping it in the cloth, closing it in the box, sliding it to the back of the shelf, behind everything else.

Someone was approaching so he did it now, every movement firm and deliberate. Hakyeon stood, fast enough that his vision went dark, although it didn't hinder him striding out and opening the door to his quarters just as Jaehwan arrived. The guard who'd brought Jaehwan—Meng Zeqing—politely withdrew as soon as he saw Hakyeon. Surprise was clear in Jaehwan's eyes, although by this point Hakyeon couldn't fathom why. Still, he invited Jaehwan in.

"I was wondering if you would come," Hakyeon said. He shut the door behind him as Jaehwan took his customary seat in the sitting room. He'd no sooner sat before he stood again. The restless energy that vibrated in him was too strong.

The Prince of Yue paced the length of the room as Hakyeon watched, and then again as Hakyeon himself sat down. He stopped halfway through the next and finally sat, although the effort to remain there was clear.

"So jiejie's gone," Jaehwan said.

"Yes, she left some time ago," Hakyeon said. "The morning after she went to see you."

"She said that," Jaehwan said. There was a bluntness to Jaehwan's words that unsettled Hakyeon, although he couldn't say why.

"That's not what you're here to talk about," Hakyeon said, words weighted with weariness. A weariness he hadn’t meant to slip.

Jaehwan glanced at Hakyeon, his gaze sliding past him to the door of the inner chambers. Hakyeon nearly told Jaehwan not to bother, but there was the weariness again. Hakyeon refused to give in to it.

Hakyeon stood and Jaehwan followed. The light in his room still burned.

"You didn't sleep," Jaehwan accused him.

Hakyeon had, just before dawn, but not purposefully and so he'd never turned the room to darkness. He wasn't sure why he'd forgotten when he rose, barely an hour or two later. He didn't answer Jaehwan, but he did light two more lamps until it was nearly as bright as the morning outside. He preferred the light.

"He might listen to you," Hakyeon murmured to the lamp.

"What's that?" Jaehwan stepped closer.

"Taekwoon, I mean," Hakyeon said, speaking clearer this time. He gestured for Jaehwan to take one of the low seats before sitting across the table from him. It didn't seem so long ago they'd done this before and at the same time it felt like lifetimes had passed. There'd been Taekwoon that time, though, reassuring by Hakyeon's side. It was hard, not having him there.

"Will he come?" Jaehwan asked. It took Hakyeon aback—as if Jaehwan had known his thoughts—before Hakyeon remembered he'd spoken Taekwoon's name not seconds ago.

"I do not think he will," Hakyeon said slowly.

"He believes it," Jaehwan said.

"Yes," Hakyeon said. He didn't know what else to say. He stared past Jaehwan into the light, until his vision started to blur from the brightness. Jaehwan was waiting for him to say more, but all Hakyeon could summon was an overwhelming sense of failure. Maybe if he'd told Taekwoon the full truth all those weeks ago they wouldn't be facing this situation. If Hakyeon hadn't been so sure of himself, so confident that he could do it, that whatever challenges arose he'd lead them through it, like he'd done so many times before. But all those times Taekwoon had been there too. Taekwoon had known everything Hakyeon had known. Hakyeon had brought this failure on himself.

"That's all?" Jaehwan's brows creased. "You always have a plan."

Hakyeon's lips quirked involuntarily, the start of a desperate laugh. "Perhaps this is beyond me, Jaehwan," Hakyeon said.

"Nothing's beyond you," Jaehwan said with so much conviction that Hakyeon almost believed it.

There was so much beyond him. Hakyeon thought to the pendant wrapped and hidden safely away.

"What would you have me do, Jaehwan? I cannot do anything for Taekwoon, if he does not want it himself—"

"I thought you didn't want him to die." Jaehwan spoke bluntly like he always did. It still took Hakyeon aback. How couldn't it?

"I don't," Hakyeon said and it was just as short, but in Jaehwan it only stirred a strange sort of self satisfaction.

"Then you have a plan," Jaehwan said—and was that it? Did he have a plan?

"Before anything, I want Taekwoon to believe," Hakyeon said. He shoved all else away, deep into a hole behind the wall. Past everything on the shelves.

"But will he?"

"Perhaps, if you speak to him," Hakyeon said.

"He only trusts you," Jaehwan said.

"He trusts jiejie," Hakyeon said, and his voice was quiet, so quiet.

"You always have a plan," Jaehwan insisted, like a particularly persistent bloodhound. But then he faltered, the hint of a frown. "Or I thought you did. Between you and Seventh Brother, I always thought you had the plan."

"I was the strategist?" Hakyeon asked, voice arched with an amusement he didn't quite feel.

"Yes," Jaehwan said plainly.

"I wonder how many people think the same? But I am much better at killing than planning—Taekwoon is good at both, I suppose."

"But he's not now," Jaehwan said.

"The ends for his plans differs from mine," Hakyeon said softly. "I have often wondered if there can ever be a plan so complete that there is no chance for failure. A shield that no spear can break, or a spear that no shield can stop. What do you think, Jaehwan?"

"Yes," Jaehwan said, with more conviction than Hakyeon would've ever thought. He straightened, his body tense with the unexpectedness of it. Jaehwan's brows creased further, lines etched deep between his eyes. For all his thought, there was a finality to his answer Hakyeon could never hope to replicate.

"Stay alive," Jaehwan said. "That's the best plan—and don't give me that bullshit about honour. It's not honour—it's reputation, it's what other people think of you. It's selfishness."

"It's not—"

"If you really think you can do it, if you think you can change things, do you think you can do that if you're dead?"

"It is better to die with honour—"

"Don't be in such a hurry to die," Jaehwan snapped. "Once you do, it's over. A lifetime, a hundred lifetimes, it doesn't change anything in this one, and it's this one we're living in right now. So yes, gege, there is an infallible plan. Stay the fuck alive."

Hakyeon laughed, a small, helpless bubble that burst through in a sad sound of defeat. "You say it like it is easy," Hakyeon said.

It was always like this with Jaehwan. These outbursts, blunt and simple, delivered without warning. Stay alive. Jaehwan wasn't wrong, but he was wrong about Hakyeon. Hakyeon didn't know if he could change things. In that same moment he remembered that final night, the last time he'd seen the former Emperor of Jiang Zheng Wuxu, and Hakyeon remembered crude wine burning in his throat and the weight of heavy words on his tongue.

This, I swear, Hakyeon had said. He'd sworn to stand by Taekwoon, and to stand by Taekwoon as Emperor. He'd sworn to do it not for the sake of Taekwoon but for the sake of the kingdom—and to guard Taekwoon's honour if that pervasive rot of corruption were to ever take hold. Hakyeon had sworn it because he'd known Taekwoon would never stray, but here Jaehwan was asking for Hakyeon to contemplate straying himself. But it would be for the sake of upholding his vow.

Hakyeon was so very tired and it was unworthy of him to even allow that thought, even more when Jaehwan was in the room with him and looking at Hakyeon like he might have all the answers.

"It's not easy," Jaehwan said. It was soft and hesitant and everything Jaehwan usually wasn't. "But you knew this wouldn't be easy. We all knew. Seventh Brother knew as well."

"He will do the honourable thing, and to him that means suffering the same fate as the Prince of Mu if that is how it will be," Hakyeon said. It'd been so bright outside, a clear, vivid brightness unique to cloudless mornings. Hakyeon longed for it. But he couldn't give up the safety of this room. He needed it.

"You asked for an infallible plan, not the path ahead—and I don't think that's the one you will choose," Jaehwan said. A moment of thought passed and then another, but that small frown of consideration was still there.

It was something Hakyeon had learnt in his many years of leading, that the best order to give was sometimes silence. Now, he allowed Jaehwan his silence.

It was a long silence, strange when it came to Jaehwan. Hakyeon glanced at Jaehwan's hands folded on his lap, although his fingers fidgeted hidden in his sleeves. This was a Jaehwan rarely seen; he was known to be brash and bold in his duties, and cheerful and open among his friends. This was neither of them—no anger but no jest, just a quiet contemplation, the weighing of balances Hakyeon knew very well.

"I'll talk to Seventh Brother." Jaehwan ran a finger along the edge of the table, his gaze tracing its path. "But not because you asked me to. And I don't think he trusts me more than he trusts you. But it's right, because... because I think you made a mistake."

A mistake? Hakyeon didn't voice it, but the pause was enough.

"I should've told Seventh Brother right away," Jaehwan continued. "It's too late now. But he needs to know. I don't know if it will help or make things worse, but that is what I will do, gege. I won't interfere with your plans, because... because I think you'll make a plan."

"You have much faith in me," Hakyeon said. He wished Jaehwan would look up, would look at him, but at the same time he was glad for Jaehwan's downcast eyes because it meant Hakyeon didn't have to confront what Jaehwan had said. What he'd said about Hakyeon's mistake.

"Not really anyone else to," Jaehwan said, regaining some of that irreverent joviality. It made Hakyeon smile, a twitch of one hidden so fast it resembled a grimace—but it still drew a cheeky grin from Jaehwan.

"Very well," Hakyeon murmured. Perhaps, with Song Qian gone and Taekwoon stubborn, Jaehwan was more right than he could know. Or perhaps he did know, and that teasing mischief hid sombre disappointment. Taekwoon would need trusted advisers, just as his father before him had been guided by the old General and Prime Minister. Bonds forged in war and through death, while he and Taekwoon had been fortunate to come of age in relative peace. But while Taekwoon's father had come to rule from loss of brothers meant to inherit the crown, Taekwoon's blood brothers remained, if not healthy or whole then alive. It was an old thought for Hakyeon—at least Taekwoon had Jaehwan. One that returned to Hakyeon time and time again, each time like new with the faint hint of dreamlike memory. Each time, he was surprised that Jaehwan had chosen to stand with Taekwoon at all.

"You came to ask what I know," Hakyeon said. He straightened as he did so, pulling composure and strength from his soul and through his blood.

It was nearly the turn of the year and still undoubtedly winter. Barely an hour had passed and Taekwoon's fingers ached, feeling it in his joints. Puppy seemed impervious to the cold. The cat basked on a sun warmed rock, acknowledging Taekwoon stroking her fur with an occasional lazy blink. She'd flexed her claws several minutes ago and they were still part extended as she rumbled with content purrs. He'd seen her maul a dog twice her size with those claws, kill one fox and blind another, but not once in the past few months had she turned them on Taekwoon, even in gentle annoyance. She was docile and affectionate and aloof in turns, her mood as volatile as the weather. Taekwoon found himself envious at time, despite knowing such frivolity had no place with a royal prince.

Especially one, that Hakyeon would have him believe, had been meant to be Emperor.

It was an uneasy thought.

Taekwoon had little time to dwell on that thought, because footsteps approached and in moments the main door to Hakyeon's quarters opened. Puppy finally stood and stretched her legs with a wide yawn. Taekwoon watched fondly as the cat hopped off the rock and sauntered across the path, pausing briefly to wind about Jaehwan's legs before disappearing into the brush.

"Was your discussion fruitful?" Taekwoon asked, following after Puppy. Unlike the cat, he took only a few steps towards Jaehwan.

Jaehwan's eyes narrowed. "Were you waiting for me?"

Taekwoon looked towards where Puppy had disappeared, and didn't answer. He began walking, knowing Jaehwan would follow.

"I wanted to talk to you, Seventh Brother," Jaehwan said. He drew next to Taekwoon with quick steps, his voice low and formal.

"Hakyeon sent you, I suppose," Taekwoon said.

Jaehwan made a sound of annoyance. "I do what I want," he said. "And not everything with Hakyeon is about you anyway."

Taekwoon glanced at Jaehwan sidewise, as if to ask and this time? Jaehwan looked away uncomfortably, which was all the answer he needed.

It was cold, and Taekwoon rather wanted to be inside. But being inside had its disadvantages, because if others could not see them, then they could also not see others. There was a pavilion extending partway into the pond that would do. The brazier would be a great help. Taekwoon walked towards it in quick strides, and gestured for Jaehwan to take a seat before he himself sat.

"If you knew, why didn't you join us?" Jaehwan asked, settling himself gingerly on the cold stone.

It was Taekwoon who turned his gaze aside this time. He didn't think he could conceal his thoughts. Hakyeon has been hiding things from me, and perhaps he wanted to speak to you in private, without me. He couldn't know how untrue both those were, nor would he.

"Not gonna answer huh," Jaehwan muttered. "I guess that's all right."

"I think you should leave," Taekwoon said. It came out in a rush, all the careful reasoning Taekwoon had prepared vanishing in the face of urgency. The shock he felt was mirrored on Jaehwan's face, seconds of silence passing before either of them found their voice again.

"Leave? Leave where?" Jaehwan's voice rose even as his expression settled into stone.

"Leave the capital. Your actions have put you in danger—"

"Have they? I'd say you're the one—"

"Do not speak like that," Taekwoon snapped.

"Are you giving me another lecture on respect?" Jaehwan asked, voice rising. "Because we're past that. Respect doesn't matter if you're dead, and that's where you're heading. Seventh Brother, between you and Hakyeon—you both want to die so badly? Leave me out of it, but not by sending me away. Do that with little Hyukkie, I won't stand for it. It won't help. Send me into exile—and what then?"

"Are you done?" Taekwoon said, although it was clear Jaehwan had only paused for breath. His younger brother's expression was cold even as his words seared with anger. So much anger.

"No," Jaehwan said tersely. "But that's not what I wanted to tell you."

"I am listening," Taekwoon said, careful and cautious. The creases that furrowed Jaehwan's brows were now in thought and not anger, although the latter simmered barely contained. These were the times when Jaehwan was most dangerous, when he smothered his feelings to speak of something else, as if he resented the world for it but had no choice if he were to say his piece.

"You may close your ears and shut your eyes to it, but our father meant for you to succeed him," Jaehwan said, and a chill skittered across Taekwoon's skin at Jaehwan's quiet resolve, rushing in to fill the hole as that anger vanished and left behind a gaping emptiness.

Yes, he recalled Hakyeon reminding him—Jaehwan had been there.

"It would seem otherwise," Taekwoon said quietly.

"You trust that?" Jaehwan said, with a derision that made Taekwoon bristle—it was intended to make Taekwoon bristle. "Where is the man who conquered countries? Who was praised for his strategy? Did he never once see through deception?"

"Don't—"

"I am not done," Jaehwan snapped. "Hakyeon might coddle your feelings but I won't stand for it. If I'd known you to be a coward I'd have thrown in my lot with Zhiheng, or better yet, no one at all. At least he's no coward, his spine's made of bone and not paper."

"You would have a coward rule?" Taekwoon asked softly.

"No, I would have the man I thought my seventh brother to be, not the fool and coward that's taken his place. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps we were all wrong. Maybe Zhiheng will do a fine job. Maybe Han Ming has good intentions. Maybe we can trust a man who would incite treason to kill his brother, and the snake that did it. But I do not. I refuse to see our empire, our father's sweat and blood, be ruled by one incapable of something as fundamental as filial respect. I cannot trust such a man to rule fairly or carefully, or any of the things our father wished for, when he chose you.

"You and Hakyeon—Hakyeon said something about wanting you to believe. I don't give a fuck about that. There's no time to care about what you want. You listen to me Zheng Taekwoon, if you don't do something, then I will, I swear it with our ancestors as witness."

Neither breath nor wind broke the silence that fell. No strike of lightning. No winter birds.

Emptiness followed Jaehwan's rush of words. It held even him captive. Taekwoon could only stare, could only watch with unwavering eyes as his younger brother shoved aside all grace and propriety to force it all out, wishes and hope and disappointment and anger, everything he'd been holding back for all this time. A flush rose in Jaehwan's cheeks even as cold drew the colour from his skin and winter painted him pale.

Taekwoon's fingers were ice. Words formulated on his tongue died in his throat.

"Now I'm done." Jaehwan tucked his hands into his sleeves. His eyes didn't leave Taekwoon's. There was no breath in his words.

Taekwoon waited, and then he waited again, but Jaehwan said nothing more and moved only to look out over the water. It was as if he imagined it a lake, tendrils of frost branching out from fragile fragments of ice, stretching to where earth met sky.

"What action will you take, Jaehwan?"

"I'll do something," Jaehwan said. Now, his eyes didn't leave the horizon. "Something reckless."

"Hakyeon is the one who fears your recklessness," Taekwoon said. He stood, the rustling of fabric louder than his voice, his robes brushing against the seat. He didn't wait for Jaehwan to finish his protest, turning to leave. There was no more to discuss between them.

Still, he paused.

"What you have said—I will consider."

Jaehwan could see himself out.

Quite simply, Taekwoon didn't want Jaehwan to die.

If Jaehwan chose to do whatever reckless thing he'd threatened to do, he would die.

If Taekwoon continued on this path, Jaehwan would act true to his word.

And then there was Hakyeon.

Taekwoon didn't know what to do about Hakyeon.

There was an easy, obvious answer—and he wasn't avoiding it out of cowardice.

The memory was there, nestled among so many others, the words faded leaving the mid-afternoon sun and a badly played game of chess behind. Words that he himself had repeated to Hakyeon, and the memory there was Hakyeon's face in shadow and the quiet 'it has begun'. His father commending Taekwoon on his honesty, that it made him a good person, a good man, a good son—maybe it was that. He couldn't falter now and fail his father's trust, because where would that leave him now?

A foolish coward shut in his own study, staring blankly into the heat of the brazier. He wondered which Song Qian would call him if she was still here. A fool for choosing honour, or a coward for choosing not to act. What would his sister say—who Taekwoon increasingly believed was complicit in the Yangnan incident—when she found Taekwoon frozen with indecision. Or would she be on his side, and acknowledge him for being honest, for being careful. He could send her a bird with a carefully worded message, but all that'd accomplish was worry.

She'd only tell him what he already knew. That he had no choice but to reclaim the throne. It was difficult to be a good king and a good man, and it was a balance he'd already failed to meet. His father had been a great emperor. Taekwoon would never compare.

But if Zhiheng sat on the throne by Han Ming's hand, then a man who had lead good men to slaughter now held the strings of the empire from the shadows. Han Ming was Zhiheng's uncle by blood—Zhiheng would never dispose of him, nor would he disregard his words.

Yet Zhiheng was Taekwoon's brother by blood, and nothing could erase Taekwoon's guilt of turning against him and the official edict, no matter what the truth of the edict may be. What would his father say if he knew, for had he not urged Taekwoon to support his brothers?

Taekwoon could lie to Hakyeon—he could no longer lie to himself that in those final days, his father had acted for anyone but Taekwoon to succeed him.

It was instinct, and he knew the value of instinct. More than that, he knew the value of Hakyeon's instinct and it'd never guided him wrong. He'd ignored it once for his own stubborn pride, and had paid for it dearly. He didn't wish to make the same mistake again.

Taekwoon wanted to hit something very hard and scream.

Honour means nothing when the people around you are dead, Hakyeon had said. Taekwoon really didn't want them to die.

He hadn't told this to Jaehwan—because Jaehwan hadn't given him a moment's breath to—but he'd done as he'd told Hakyeon. Waiting for Hakyeon's proof before he acted would put anything after as too late. Hakyeon was making his own preparations, even if he hadn't told Taekwoon a word. A handful of Jaehwan's spies had been disposed of by Han Ming, but Taekwoon's own resources remained untouched. He didn't like the gossip surrounding Sixth Brother and was concerned for Lin Muyin, and was even now uncertain if her family's support for Eldest Brother had been truth, or rumour and fabrication. At least she did not yet have any children.

Zhiheng was still consolidating his power. The shuffle of divisions and ministers was only to be expected. More would come with the new year—the first new year of a new emperor's rule. If he knew Hakyeon, there would be at least one of theirs mixed in, whether by his hand directly or directed through Jaehwan. Taekwoon had never been very good with the courts.

He needed action.

Not for the first time did he wish to have been born common, so he could live an honest soldier's life. The hazy memory of a stable and his sister's voice: you're no longer a guard, you're the general—you weren't born with that choice. She'd be home by now, in a world that Taekwoon longed to belong to. But that wasn't his fate.

Proof or not, Taekwoon's path was clear. He'd demanded proof of Hakyeon once and fate had punished them for his doubt. What good would proof do? It would set Taekwoon's heart at ease, it would fuel his righteous justice, but it was as Hakyeon had been saying all along. Nothing had changed. They'd lost a battle, but it didn't mean they should give up the war.

The new year passed with little incident, but in the coming days or weeks or even years, Han Sanghyuk would never understand what had driven him to knock on the door to his father's study. Why he'd chosen that day, if it was out of duty, honour, or revenge, how he'd summoned up the courage to do it at all. He hadn't fully expected his father to permit him an audience, and a wave of nausea hit Sanghyuk when he stepped into the room. The walls spun around him, the memory of fleeing this space clawing him with talons of vertigo. But he was a year older now.

His father sat at his desk, face stern and impassive. Sanghyuk searched for any kindness or warmth but found none. His father was busy, Sanghyuk reminded himself. It didn't stop his heart lurching with fear.

"I do not have much time," Han Ming said. Sanghyuk bowed respectfully, and the motion gave him space to restore his sense of being.

He'd never get another chance.

"Father, your son has something to confess," Sanghyuk said.

Han Ming signalled for Sanghyuk to continue.

"I... I heard rumours," Sanghyuk forced out. "They sound false and your son should not pay them mind, but Mother has always said it is important to understand the truth."

Sanghyuk swallowed dryly. He braced for his father's reaction, but it didn't come. He stood straighter, back stiffening, hands still clasped in acknowledgement. He'd cut himself a few days ago taking a tumble off of a new polo horse. The scratches were half healed and scabbed over, and now peeled under his touch as his thumb trembled against the back of his knuckle. He could feel the skin crack and bleed but it grounded him, gave him the courage to face his father with the strength that'd driven him to even conceive of doing this. Or, at least he could try. It was difficult to summon, now that he was standing in the same room as his father.

Yet, he was here, and there would not be a second time.

Courtly formality could only do so much.

"Your son begs for forgiveness in advance for his bluntness. Was it you who had designs on the Prince of Jing's life?"

At this, Han Ming finally showed reaction. Just enough for Sanghyuk to know his father had heard, and that Sanghyuk had managed to speak anything aloud at all. The second of silence that followed was excruciating.

"Has Jaehwan been putting ideas in your head again?" Han Ming said.

Sanghyuk found himself mutely denying it, but he forced himself to still. Silence, on his part, would not do. If he were to do this then it would be properly or not at all, and the latter was no longer a choice. He found his voice, and with it the resolve that'd been seeded in his heart all those weeks ago. The resolve that Hakyeon had seen in him, and from it known that Sanghyuk had crossed the line of boyhood.

"It was not the Prince of Yue," Sanghyuk said. He drew strength from prescribed rigidity, and saw the bemusement plain on his father's face. "Where I heard it from does not change the what, father."

"Who put you up to this?" Han Ming pushed.

"No one," Sanghyuk said. A faint hint of hysteria pulsed through his veins as his eyes wandered past his father, to the hidden door behind him Sanghyuk had scrambled through all those days ago. Fleeing.

His father suddenly smiled. It took Sanghyuk a moment to notice, because it was a cold, mirthless smile that didn't reach his father's eyes.

"Of course it was that boy," Han Ming said. "Always putting ideas into your head."

"It was you!" Sanghyuk blurted out. "I—I heard you. I didn't mean to. I know you're the one that saved Hakyeon ge."

"Hakyeon? Him?" Han Ming laughed, a sound even colder than his smile. It scared Sanghyuk. It scared him so much, he forgot his fear of defiance and fear of the consequences. He forgot his fear of his father.

"Yes, Cha Hakyeon, the Duke of Yin," Sanghyuk said. "The companion of the Prince of Jing, who you tried to eliminate because you feared he would stand in the way of my cousin, the Present Emperor, may he live ten thousand years. And what your son fears is that his father will make—will act in a manner our ancestors may not have condoned, and it is your son's filial duty to respectfully present this to his father."

"You are afraid—afraid—I will have Zheng Taekwoon killed?" Han Ming said. "Foolish boy, do you not understand I am doing this for you?"

"How?" Sanghyuk cried. "How could any of this be for me?"

"All of this will be yours," his father said, with a sweeping gesture of his arm. "Do you think the Han clan has stood this long without a few sacrifices? A man knows what is important and what is not, and until you can learn that you are a mere child."

"My friends are important," Sanghyuk said. "People's lives are important."

"Lives are important? Yes, they can be, you are right. You cannot deny that that woman's death was not useful. That boy was so invested in his mother's life that he and his little friends lost sight of their goals. You, as well," Han Ming said. "I do not regret it—I merely hastened the inevitable."

Sanghyuk's breath thudded in his throat, clogging it shut. He stared at his father, not daring to speak his confirmed suspicions. He'd dismissed the possibility but he could no longer deny that his father undoubtedly had a hand in the passing of the Former Lady Consort Fei Meiying. Sanghyuk would be crying, if anger hadn't spread so thoroughly in his blood.

"You are fond of him, aren't you? You and Jaehwan both. He visited often with Jaehwan when the Prince of Jing was away," Han Ming mused. "Cha Hakyeon. The orphan boy. You say I saved him?"

"Did you not?" Sanghyuk found the words to utter.

Han Ming chuckled. "You misunderstood, son. What use is it to anyone if he is dead? He was taken in as a pity case, what does he matter? Without the title the August Former Emperor benevolently bestowed on him he is nothing. Perhaps we'll have the Present Emperor strip him of just that. Yes, it would do."

"Why would you do this, Father? Why do you hate Hakyeon gege like this?"

"I do not hate him," Han Ming said mildly. "The Present Emperor is too self-righteous to eliminate the Prince of Jing directly, but stripping your little friend of his title will be a useful gesture—and a warning. For you as well."

"You plan to use Hakyeon to guarantee my behaviour," Sanghyuk said with dawning horror.

"A useful idea," Han Ming agreed.

"You aren't worried I will tell him? That I will tell him about... about his mother?"

"The Prince of Jing's mother? You may tell him for all the good it will do," Han Ming said. "If that is all, I suggest you reflect on your disgraceful behaviour today. You shame both I and your mother in your actions today, but she has been too lenient with you lately. Do what you will, but do not bring further shame to this family by acting rashly. I have given you enough of my time, Sanghyuk, and have no more time to humour you today. You may leave."

"Yes, Father," Sanghyuk said numbly. He bowed and retreated, shutting the large doors as he went, his father disappearing from view behind the austere wooden panels. All Sanghyuk knew was that he needed to be anywhere but there.

The New Year had passed, and winter still clawed at Hakyeon's bones. It didn't stop Hakyeon from sitting outside at night when the day was done, with the cold freezing the weariness coursing through his veins. The moon was half dark, the sky clear, and the wind gusting over ice-smoothed water was sharp and frigid. Taekwoon had grown distant, and he often spent his evenings poring over historical military texts after days spent drilling green recruits who weren't aware of who he was. Hakyeon was surprised Taekwoon was permitted even that. He himself had been relieved of his duties with the city guard. Perhaps Zhiheng—perhaps the Emperor felt Taekwoon's use outweighed any danger he currently presented, and had other things to attend to.

It was a quiet night, and it was exactly because it was a quiet night he heard the hooves thundering down the paved stones. Instinct and premonition drove Hakyeon to his feet. He did not run but nor did he dawdle, hurrying to the door.

He was almost there when the knock came. It was broken and desperate, and the premonition darkened in his heart. The guard on duty drew to attention.

"Sir!"

"Open it," Hakyeon said. The knock repeated, and Hakyeon could just hear the boy's ragged breaths.

"Understood!"

No sooner was the door opened did Hakyeon bundle Sanghyuk inside, pulling the horse's reins from Sanghyuk's clenched fist and passing it to the guard. The horse was breathing even heavier than Sanghyuk—he'd ridden her hard.

"Come inside first," Hakyeon said. He shrugged off his own coat and draped it around Sanghyuk's trembling shoulders. Hakyeon didn't think it was only the cold Sanghyuk shook with, but Sanghyuk was wearing no coat, and the wind would've cut easily through his clothes.

"I'm sorry, gege," Sanghyuk said.

"We'll talk inside," Hakyeon said again. It was cold.

There was an empty guest room nearby, but after a glance at Sanghyuk, Hakyeon lead him through a second courtyard, cutting across to his own rooms. It would be warmer. The lights were also on.

Taekwoon had a habit of piling cushions and shedding cloaks next to the brazier, using them as impromptu blankets and a place to snatch a few moments of rest in the warm pocket of space. That was where Hakyeon gently guided Sanghyuk to now, grateful he'd never gotten rid of Taekwoon's mess.

"Gege, I'm sorry," Sanghyuk repeated. "I'm sorry."

"Calm down and then you can tell me everything, gege will listen," Hakyeon said, soothing Sanghyuk like he'd soothe a child. There was something distinctly childlike about Sanghyuk at the moment, a vulnerability, a shattered trust. There was half a bottle of wine he quickly heated, and then passed Sanghyuk a cup, keeping a second for himself.

"Your parents don't know you're here, do they?" Hakyeon asked. He gestured for Sanghyuk to drink. It would help calm him somewhat, and thaw the chill in his bones.

Sanghyuk hesitated, and then mutely indicated no.

"Then that's all right. You can stay here for the night. We can talk tomorrow morning if you—"

"No. I don't want to wait until tomorrow morning," Sanghyuk said.

He was calmer. The minute of stillness had returned a part of his senses. He looked down at the half empty cup and then downed the rest in a single swallow. It'd be burning in his chest.

Hakyeon drank his own more slowly. The cold fell from Sanghyuk like chips of shattered ice, and with it that childlike vulnerability. Not all of it, but still enough.

"My father may suspect where I am, but I don't think he cares much, as long as I stay out of his way," Sanghyuk said.

"Why here and not Jaehwan?" Hakyeon asked gently. "You are welcome here of course, but—"

"I'm not running away, I came to talk to you," Sanghyuk said. A pained expression crossed Sanghyuk's face, even as his voice grew stronger and more certain of himself. As he met Hakyeon's eyes, and found a mountain of strength.

"Does it have to do about your father?" Hakyeon asked.

"And you," Sanghyuk said. There were two things Sanghyuk had come to say, and he'd run those two things over and over in his head as he'd ridden here, tumbled about like stones in an ocean storm. He picked the easier one in hopes it'd give him the courage to speak the other, because it was the other that Sanghyuk knew he'd never keep secret. It wasn't a secret meant to be kept, either.

Hakyeon sat down across from Sanghyuk. Unlike Taekwoon's nest that Sanghyuk was enveloped in, Hakyeon's seat was unadorned and bare. He wouldn't like what Sanghyuk had come to say—this, he was sure of.

"My father has threatened to strip you of your title," Sanghyuk rasped out, face contorted and words forced, as if the very speaking of them caused immeasurable pain.

"Is that all?" Hakyeon asked, keeping his own voice light. "I thought he may have brought judge jury and executioner to my door, but this is nothing to worry about, Hyukkie."

"It's not all," Sanghyuk said. "He said that if I act out of line..."

"Ah, you feel sorry that your behaviour will strip me of my title, is that it?" Hakyeon asked, quickly putting Sanghyuk's broken words together. He leaned over to pat Sanghyuk on the knee. To reassure Sanghyuk, but also to calm himself and the dull dread rising in his throat. "It will happen or it won't, and it won't be because of what you do or don't do, whatever your father says. If it is useful to them, then it will happen. At least it isn't my life they are threatening you with."

"That's just it," Sanghyuk said softly. "He didn't kill you because... because without your title you're nothing."

"More trouble dead than alive, am I? Does he fear Taekwoon taking revenge on my behalf?" Hakyeon's lips quirked with amusement.

The same couldn't be said about Sanghyuk, whose face immediately fell.

"He said that," Sanghyuk said. "I heard him say that. He said... killing you would be like setting loose a wounded boar, a three legged lion."

"I suppose it is good he still fears Taekwoon," Hakyeon said. He forced his smile wider even as his heart thudded in his chest. Anything to lift some of the burden overwhelming young Sanghyuk.

Sanghyuk's answering smile was weak. His eyes turned empty as he cast his gaze downward, his fingers clasped tight. Hakyeon didn't rush him. He didn't know if he wanted to hear Sanghyuk's next words. Not if they so clearly tortured him.

"Could I have some more wine?" Sanghyuk asked.

"Of course," Hakyeon said. He brought an entire flagon to keep warm, and let Sanghyuk pour for himself. The boy did, knocked it back, and immediately poured another. He put it down after that, looking to Hakyeon for disapproval. Hakyeon only had concern, and Sanghyuk drank the next cup more slowly. There was colour in his cheeks again, whether from the wine or from the lack of cold.

"You'll hate me for this," Sanghyuk said, almost to himself. He wanted to reach for more wine, but stopped himself at the last moment. He stared into his empty cup instead. "You'll hate me and never want to see me again and it's going to make sense."

"I will never hate you, Sanghyuk" Hakyeon said. "You're our precious little Hyukkie, so good and handsome and smart. We could never hate you."

"What if... what if I say it was my father who killed your mother?"

The loss had been excruciating—Sanghyuk's words shattered the fragile casing and dug the pain out fresh anew. Sanghyuk's face was contorted in dismay, and that was the only thing keeping Hakyeon from collapsing in on himself.

The Lady Consort Fei Meiying had left this earth, peacefully from illness.

The Lady Consort Fei Meiying had been murdered.

If they lived in a world where the latter was true, the gods were far crueller than reason.

"Your... He may have said that only to provoke you," Hakyeon suggested. His throat was rough as dry sand.

"No, he said it was to shake you up—to shake Taekwoon gege up, and that it worked," Sanghyuk said. "I'm too scared to tell Taekwoon gege—but you had to know the truth."

"You did a very brave thing today," Hakyeon said. He left his cup where it was and shifted his seat until he was next to Sanghyuk. He called Sanghyuk little, but when Hakyeon pulled Sanghyuk close, he was reminded that Sanghyuk no longer was. The young man still let Hakyeon hold him and soothe him as if he were a boy less than half his age.

"You don't hate me?" Sanghyuk's voice was very small. "Even though it was my father?"

"Taekwoon says it often—the sins of the father are not the sins of the son. Taekwoon will also not hate you," Hakyeon said.

"He will," Sanghyuk said. "It was my father. My own father."

It was a lifetime ago that Sanghyuk had asked him if he thought Han Ming was among those who'd tried to kill Taekwoon. A question Sanghyuk knew the answer to now, likely from the man himself. This was a breaking that could never heal, one where Sanghyuk had lost his father in his own way. How cruel, when Sanghyuk hadn't done a thing.

"You are not your father," Hakyeon said. He held Sanghyuk tight, as if Sanghyuk was again a child. But Sanghyuk wrenched himself out of Hakyeon's grasp and shrank into himself.

"Do you think my mother knew?" Sanghyuk asked.

"It isn't something I would know," Hakyeon said.

"He said it was for me. He said he was doing this for me."

"That still doesn't make it your fault," Hakyeon said.

"Aren't you angry? Aren't you upset?" Sanghyuk asked.

"I am, but not at you," Hakyeon said, but it was as if Sanghyuk hadn't heard it at all.

Sanghyuk's eyes had been rimmed in red, barely illuminated by the lamp light. Now there were tears glistening on his cheeks. Hakyeon ached for him.

So he poured him more wine, draped another cloak over his shoulders, and carried him to bed.

Hakyeon hesitated before he knocked, and after a moment of silence, he let himself in. Taekwoon rarely locked the door when he slept although sometimes Hakyeon wished he would. By the time Hakyeon entered Taekwoon's inner rooms, Taekwoon was sitting up, silhouette blurred by the drapes. The light from the half dark moon spilled in through the window, just enough to see by.

"Hakyeon?"

"It's me," Hakyeon said. "Your door was unlocked."

"I know," Taekwoon said, voice raspy with sleep. He made to get up, but Hakyeon stopped him.

"Stay there," Hakyeon said, and crossed the room in quick steps.

Taekwoon did, motionless, although it seemed like he'd topple over into bed at any moment. Despite himself, Hakyeon smiled fondly. He leaned against the wooden frame, and found his words had suddenly dried.

"Why're you standing?" Taekwoon asked.

Hakyeon gestured to his clothes. He was still dressed in his formal outerwear. It earned him one of Taekwoon's flat stares. Hakyeon blew out a quiet huff of laughter and undressed, draping it somewhat carelessly over a chair. He would deal with it in the morning. No sooner had he done so than Taekwoon pushed aside his blankets, a clear invitation.

Hakyeon sat on the edge of the bed. Taekwoon made a questioning noise.

"Sanghyuk's here," Hakyeon began with saying.

He had to begin somewhere.

"Here?" Taekwoon looked past Hakyeon, as if the boy was hiding behind the door.

"He's asleep now, in my room," Hakyeon said. "I think he... fought, with his father."

This jolted Taekwoon awake, as surely as an arrow whistling in through the air. As Hakyeon knew it would. He hadn't come to bring Taekwoon comfort. Perhaps this could've waited until the sun had again risen.

But it was Hakyeon, this time, who needed.

"I'm frightened, Taekwoon," Hakyeon admitted.

"For him?"

"For all of us," Hakyeon said.

"Why?" Taekwoon asked, and it was a question as genuine as any that Hakyeon didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

"Sanghyuk... confirmed what we knew," Hakyeon said. "It was Han Ming who tried..."

"To kill you."

"You," Hakyeon emphasised. "He thought I wasn't worth it—now I know why they were called back. He is afraid of you, but I'm nothing in his eyes."

"You are not—"

"He's not wrong," Hakyeon gently stopped him. "Any power I might have has been granted—"

"Earned."

"—and is not my birthright."

"You aren't nothing," Taekwoon repeated.

"I find myself agreeing," Hakyeon said, a hint of teasing curling his lips. It fell away soon enough, even more when Taekwoon grabbed at his hand. "It's still why he spared my life, even if it was only to avoid angering you. It was his mistake, but our boon, and I won't turn away from it."

Taekwoon's grip of Hakyeon's hand tightened, his entire body tensing at Hakyeon's words. They were frozen like that for several long moments, and when Taekwoon finally exhaled, letting some of the stiffness in his muscles go, he still held Hakyeon's hand so tight it felt like his bones would break.

"He wouldn't lie to Sanghyuk," Taekwoon said softly. "Not about something like this."

"No," Hakyeon murmured in agreement. He wouldn't tell Taekwoon of Han Ming's threat to Sanghyuk. He feared Taekwoon would do something rash.

But telling Taekwoon what he'd already known—that wasn't what'd driven Hakyeon here, tonight, to wake Taekwoon when he'd already retired for the night. That wasn't what clamped Hakyeon's heart in a vise so tight he wasn't sure he could breathe, or even speak the words that needed to be said. Hakyeon only noticed the tears in his eyes when he registered Taekwoon's hand rubbing soothing circles against Hakyeon's back.

Sanghyuk had been afraid to tell Taekwoon because he'd been afraid that Taekwoon would hate him.

Hakyeon was afraid to tell Taekwoon because he was afraid it'd break them both.

How did one word such a thing?

"Your... Our Lady Mother's passing was not natural."

That, Hakyeon supposed as the words formed in his mouth like marbles of sand, was as good as any. It was too late to change.

Nor did it matter, because Taekwoon hadn't heard them. He'd heard Hakyeon's message, but the words themselves vanished the moment that message seared itself on Taekwoon's heart.

His mother had died.

His mother had been killed.

She could've been alive.

"I think the timing was planned, all of it," Hakyeon barely managed, swallowing back a broken sound that still bubbled up. He forced himself to look at Taekwoon, to see his stricken face. And that one look was all he needed—all Taekwoon needed—so Hakyeon was ready to catch Taekwoon in his arms, to hold him tight as he said "it's not your fault, it's not your fault," over and over again until Hakyeon didn't know who he was saying it for.

It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not my fault. It's not—

Taekwoon was an echo heralding the past, but now the truth haunted those same words. "I should've been there. I could've stopped it."

"It's not your fault," Hakyeon said hoarsely.

"I could've stopped it, Hakyeon. I could've done something." Taekwoon tried to pull away, tried to sit up, but Hakyeon just wrapped his arms tighter, held him closer.

Like a broken automaton: "it's not your fault, Taekwoon, it's not your fault."

"I could've done something."

It's not my fault.

Grief pounded in Hakyeon's chest, the same raw, unadulterated grief that'd washed over him for the first time just a few months ago. He'd held Taekwoon like this, clinging to Taekwoon like it'd also anchor himself.

I could have done something.

Grief, and guilt. It was always the guilt. The grief sank heavy in his heart. The guilt choked him like a rope around his neck.

Why didn't I do something.

Taekwoon was crying and Hakyeon knew that everything Hakyeon was feeling, Taekwoon was feeling too. He was crying and Hakyeon knew because he could feel Taekwoon's tears even as his breathing stilled, his trembling calmed. He cried for long minutes and Hakyeon let him, because it gave him time to blink his own tears back, to swallow down the old grief, to hide away the useless guilt.

It was all useless.

Do you believe me now?

What did this change? It didn't bring back Fei Meiying. It confirmed Han Ming to be the ruthless, cold-blooded bastard they'd known him to be. It made him wonder how much Zhiheng knew. How much the Present Emperor knew. If he endorsed it. If he agreed. If he agreed to the murder of his brother's mother.

And if the Present Emperor did not know, would he mind if he became aware of this fact? Would he censure his uncle, a man who was rumoured to be the next Prime Minister, or would he commend him?

Should they tell Song Qian?

What would that change?

Minutes passed, and Taekwoon sat up, pulled away. This time Hakyeon let him. His own arms fell limply to his sides.

"I want to kill him," Taekwoon murmured. "I've never wanted to kill someone before. I want to kill him."

There were so many things Hakyeon wanted to say, like: you've wanted to kill people before or you've killed people before or I won't stop you. Or me too. He said none of these.

"I think Sanghyuk should stay with us for a few days," was what Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon was silent in response. Shock, perhaps. Disbelief that Hakyeon would so abruptly change the topic.

"That's wise," Taekwoon said. And then: "he shouldn't go back."

"You mean Sanghyuk shouldn't go home?" Hakyeon frowned, but he couldn't be surprised. Taekwoon was as protective of Sanghyuk as if he were his own younger brother. Taekwoon, with rightful reason, also hated Sanghyuk's father. Hakyeon was sure that if Taekwoon had a choice, he'd stop Sanghyuk from ever seeing Han Ming again.

"That is still his home," Hakyeon said quietly. "That is still his family, and it will be Sanghyuk's choice to make. And I... I think he will choose to return, and I don't think it unwise."

"Hakyeon. You don't mean to use him—"

"We can't make the choice for him," Hakyeon said. He was unwilling to hear Taekwoon finish that thought. He was afraid to hear the denouncement in Taekwoon's voice.

But he couldn't deny it. That it wouldn't be an edge. He smiled wryly.

"I think Han Ming will be more cautious with his only son, whatever will happen," Hakyeon added. He certainly wouldn't speak to Sanghyuk of his plans.

"You said you were afraid," Taekwoon said suddenly. "Was it this?"

"All of it, Taekwoon," Hakyeon said.

The moon was gone. Not gone—faded. Dark. When Hakyeon needed its strength more than ever.

Without his notice, a breath slipped out and with it the words: "I am afraid of dying." A choked laugh. He heard how it sounded. It was the exhaustion. "Jaehwan said something wise. That the only infallible plan is to not die. I swore to your father that I would stand by you—and I can't protect you if I'm dead. I will, even if my body lies in a grave, but there will be little I can do. And that frightens me."

"I'll protect you," Taekwoon blurted out. "What I mean is—"

"You will try, and that is enough," Hakyeon said. He sighed and slumped over sideways before Taekwoon could say another word.

Their mother had been murdered.

"I'm tired," Hakyeon whispered, like the deep of the night had suddenly overtaken him. The bed was firm beneath him, and his eyes began to close unbidden.

Gentle hands lifted him to lie on the bed, the blanket pulled over him encasing him in warmth he hadn't realised was lacking. Taekwoon's voice, barely audible.

"It's my turn to protect you."

Sanghyuk woke in a strange bed, in a strange room, with a lamp burning in the middle of the night. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, staring at it. His mother would scold him for being wasteful again.

He was halfway across the room to extinguish it when he remembered where he was.

Why he was here.

He found his clothes and dressed quickly, and went outside to be greeted by the mid day sun. A servant tidying the courtyard noticed him and hurried over, a pleasant smile on her young face. She was rather comely, and Sanghyuk found himself smiling back.

"Good morning Young Master. Your servant will fetch the Duke and have a meal prepared," the servant said. She gestured towards Hakyeon's rooms. "Please, his Grace will be upset if you refuse his hospitality."

"What may I call you?" Sanghyuk asked, still a little dazed from the unfamiliarity he'd woken up to.

"Your servant is called Xiao Zhao," she said, ushering a bemused Sanghyuk inside

The wine from the previous night had been cleared, and there was fresh water and tea leaves set out in the sitting room. Sanghyuk freshened up as he waited, and then sat stiffly in one of the chairs.

His head was pounding, and his skin was numb and dry. He'd never really been in here before, and there was a stark contrast between the room he'd woken up in and the one he sat in now. Where Hakyeon's own room was almost bare and somewhat small, this one was well lit and tastefully decorated, and not at all claustrophobic. A small potted tree was framed by one window, its dwarfed branches knotted and twisting beyond the edges of the tray it was planted in. Hakyeon probably raised it himself. Maybe from seed. Sanghyuk could see him trimming and shaping it as clearly as if he was there in person.

The morning chill was already gone, replaced by the softer cold of day. It'd given the room time to grow warm, and Sanghyuk was comfortable even without his coat.

He'd forgotten it during his frantic escape.

Escape.

Was that the right word? If there was anything Sanghyuk wanted to flee from it was himself with his memories and all the wrong choices he'd ever made. Inescapable things.

He'd still fled, and hid from the night in Hakyeon's room. He didn't know where Hakyeon was—Sanghyuk had not only imposed on the man, but had driven him from his own room as well. His mother would be so disappointed.

His mother... he shook that thought away. He'd have to face it later, but he couldn't handle that now.

He didn't think he could handle anything now. He wasn't brave enough, or strong enough. Last night hadn't been courage—it'd been fear. The fear pulsed in a dull ache, and despite his wakefulness Sanghyuk suddenly felt the need to fold into himself and collapse.

He'd told Hakyeon almost everything last night, because he'd known he wouldn't have the courage to say a word today. He could only hope that Hakyeon had already spoken to Taekwoon. That Hakyeon wasn't expecting Sanghyuk to speak to Taekwoon.

Sanghyuk would've fled on the spot. Flee to... He didn't know where, but he'd run. Anything but face Taekwoon. How could he when his own father...

"Sanghyuk?"

Hakyeon's voice floated gently through the door and Sanghyuk jumped to his feet. He bowed deeply when Hakyeon walked in.

"Sanghyuk apologises for last night," he said.

"Don't be so formal, here you look like you'd be hungry—Xiao Zhao, please leave the meal over here, thank you, I'll set it out, no need to trouble yourself," Hakyeon said, fussing about so normally it made Sanghyuk smile. Xiao Zhao had one of her own for Sanghyuk, as if they were co-conspirators.

Hakyeon peered critically at Sanghyuk and Sanghyuk fidgeted under the scrutiny. He must've satisfied whatever it was Hakyeon was looking for because the young duke nodded, and then pushed Sanghyuk towards the table.

"Oof," Sanghyuk grunted, when Hakyeon grabbed Sanghyuk's shoulders and forced him to sit.

"There now. It's almost time for the noon meal so I took the liberty of joining you, although this is the first meal of your day," Hakyeon said. He lifted several dishes out from the boxes in quick succession, Sanghyuk's stomach rumbling at the smell.

"Growing boys need to eat," Hakyeon said approvingly. Sanghyuk flushed, mortified that Hakyeon had heard.

He was hungry, and although the fare was simple it was delicious and he inhaled it as if were air. Taekwoon spared no expense when it came to eating, he recalled Hakyeon telling him, because for half the year there was nothing good.

The moment Sanghyuk thought of Taekwoon, the food turned to ash in his mouth and his hand fell limp.

"Sanghyuk? What's wrong?" Hakyeon paused his stream of one-sided conversation that Sanghyuk hadn't been paying mind to, and peered into Sanghyuk's face.

"Did you tell Taekwoon?" Sanghyuk whispered. He didn't mean to whisper. It just wouldn't come out any louder.

Hakyeon placed down his chopsticks deliberately, and his gaze grew appraising.

"You don't need to be afraid of Taekwoon," Hakyeon said.

Sanghyuk looked down at his bowl, at the half-eaten food. "I'm not afraid," he said quietly.

"I talked to him last night," Hakyeon said. "And he agrees you should stay, a few days."

"Agrees?" Sanghyuk frowned. "What do you mean, agrees?"

Hakyeon winced, not fully hiding it. "I spoke to him," Hakyeon said carefully.

"And?"

"He doesn't hate you," Hakyeon said gently. "He's worried about you even if he won't say it, and doesn't want you to be hurt. So you're welcome to stay with us as long as you need to. Or would like to."

"Taekwoon gege said that?" Sanghyuk asked.

Hakyeon exhaled, staring at a point beyond Sanghyuk's head. "He thinks you should stay with us," Hakyeon repeated. Sanghyuk frowned as he tried to parse that. It meant Taekwoon hadn't said anything about not hating Sanghyuk.

Sanghyuk looked down at his food, his appetite gone.

"Do you think," Sanghyuk began slowly, the thought forming as suddenly as a flash of summer lightning, "that my cousin should not have become—"

Hakyeon hissed a warning. Sanghyuk froze. Hakyeon glanced towards the door.

He'd just stopped Sanghyuk from speaking treason.

His heart thudded, his stomach dropped. Careless. So careless. How could he have been so careless?

His father had been right. It wasn't only Taekwoon his father's actions had shaken. It'd shaken him as well.

"If you've finished eating, we can set you up in one of the guest rooms," Hakyeon said, not ungently. "I think some of Taekwoon's spare clothes will fit you nicely, and a warm bath is in order once your room itself is warm. We don't want you falling ill, your mother would never forgive us—that's right, should we send a message to your mother? She must be worried—"

"No!" Sanghyuk blurted out. He immediately swallowed in shame. "No, I don't want to get gege and Taekwoon in trouble."

Hakyeon's gaze pierced through Sanghyuk for a second before he silently assented.

"A room, fresh clothes, and a bath," Hakyeon said. He stood, clearly expecting Sanghyuk to follow. The cold wind slapped Sanghyuk in the face as soon as he stepped outside, and he was grateful for the cloak Hakyeon handed him.

"A cold winter," Hakyeon said, smiling at Sanghyuk. "Follow me."

The odds were incredibly unfair, but at least Taekwoon never left home without his sword anymore. If he had, he'd be long dead.

He was bleeding. The world narrowed down so it was just him and the unreasonable amount of steel all aiming to slit his throat—or cleave his head clean off, if Taekwoon hadn't dropped to the ground to avoid that fate.

There were people in the streets, or there had been, but it hadn't stopped the assassins. He'd narrowly missed the volley of arrows, although his men hadn't been so fortunate. That was when the screaming started. It'd also been the start of Taekwoon's current nightmare.

His chest heaved. His sword was slicked with blood, and there was blood on both hands. He didn't know if it was his or wasn't. He moved slowly in a tight circle, warily tracking his attackers. Only their eyes were visible, their faces masked. Taekwoon had already killed five or six of theirs, bodies littering the street. He was in danger of becoming one of those.

He had one advantage—everyone was an enemy. The enemy had to avoid killing each other, or make Taekwoon's job easier in the process. But these weren't amateurs. They knew it. They were waiting. They knew better than to charge blindly.

Taekwoon didn't.

"Yaaaaaaaaaaa!" Taekwoon screamed. He swung wildly at the nearest enemy. They parried his blow and Taekwoon's sword slid harmlessly off the enemy's blade in a screech of metal. Instinct had him grabbing his scabbard with his free hand and blocking a sword thrust from behind. Steel whistled too close, and Taekwoon wrenched his sword down but couldn't deflect the slash across his chest.

"Nghk—"

He grunted, clutching instinctively at the wound. He didn't have time to worry about the smug look in the attacker's eyes, because he had to parry another cut up high. Taekwoon managed to disarm another when they stepped too close to him, trying to run him clear through.

Without his own sword, it was easy for Taekwoon to gut his attacker. For good measure, Taekwoon slammed the man's own sword piercing through his stomach and to the ground below. The spray of blood soaked Taekwoon’s sleeve, the blood hot against his skin. If Taekwoon didn't want that blood to be his own, he'd better move.

At a glance, it was still ten of them and one of him. He'd injured a few, but Taekwoon knew his own leg was dragging, a wound burning down his thigh. He'd faced entire armies before. He was not going to fall at the hands of ten men.

But he had neither armour nor Old Black, his constant companions on the battlefield. No gloved hands, so the best he could do was push the flat of the blade away after he threw his scabbard at an attacker. It'd done the job—the man stumbled in surprise and that was all Taekwoon needed to slash his throat. Blood gurgled through the wound, the man's eyes opened wide, and then he was dead on the ground. Still ten more. Taekwoon didn't even have time to relish the sensation of flesh and blood yielding to his blade as he yanked it free.

No matter how many he killed, they never seemed to end. And while Taekwoon had a long slash on the back he'd narrowly avoided being fatal, several of them were still fresh. Taekwoon hadn't managed even a scratch. Only the very real threat to his life kept Taekwoon standing.

If only his Fei cousins could see him now—they'd laugh him out of the village and across the sea.

At the thought of his littler Fei cousins, energy again coursed through his blood, and Taekwoon stood a little straighter. He was the son of Fei Meiying, the aunt that Taekwoon's Fei cousins loved and admired, and Taekwoon wasn't going to fucking die without taking revenge. Even if he gave up on himself, he had to see that through for them and for Hakyeon.

Taekwoon drew in a deep breath, grasping his sword with both hands. He was backed up against a wall, and he pointed the blade at his attackers, circling him like wolves around a lamb. Half a year ago and the city guard would already be here. Now, he had no choice but to hold his own, for as long as he could.

They were waiting for him to move, just as he was waiting for them to move. He locked eyes, and abruptly realised there were only five of them. He barely had time to dodge a blade thrust from above as an attacker leapt down from the roof.

Fuck.

It'd taken him straight into the attack of one of the wolves. Taekwoon twisted desperately away, kicking at the man's stomach. His attacker stumbled back. It gave Taekwoon a precious second of reprieve, get the wall behind him, steady himself. Keep watch above him. Two of his men had fallen—he hoped to all hell that whoever escaped had found Hakyeon. Or anyone. He couldn't die here.

A breath to get his bearings, and then he knew where the other half of the attackers had gone. The circle of swords was replaced by long spears and staves. Swords were short—with Taekwoon backed against the wall only two or three could come at him at a time. Staves—they had range, and they had space. There was no time for him to be on the defensive. But if he were to attack it would leave his back vulnerable, he wasn't fast enough, he'd tire sooner. If he went low there was less of him to attack and he'd cripple their legs, but he didn't have the strength to spring back once that was done.

The analytical thoughts poured through him like syrup as he barely blocked a strike. He would die like this. He had to run. He should've run. It was too late to run. With a curse, he threw himself forward, ducking underneath their weapons and got halfway past their circle when a wooden stave smashed into his shoulder. He heard a crack, and then he felt a crack when he rolled onto his back and threw up an arm to shield himself from a heavy blow. He grunted in pain, his arm falling useless and broken. This wasn't just another attack. This wasn't just men being sent to overwhelm him. This was someone who hadn't underestimated Taekwoon, and needed him dead.

There was only one person who had the will and the means. They'd failed before, and were ready to make it right.

His clothes were soaked through with his blood. He switched his sword to his right hand and cut wildly at legs and ankles, his grip slipping, hand drenched in his own blood. He managed to fell one, or two, or just enough space to get free. He could barely stand. There was blood in his eyes. His broken arm hung limp at his side. Unsure when he'd taken another slice at his leg. After everything, he was going to fail Hakyeon.

"Taekwoon!"

Taekwoon knew men heard things, saw things, in their last moments. Taekwoon didn't want to think he was that close to dying. How else could he explain his brother, his partner, his other half flying to appear in front of him, to stand between Taekwoon and the men who wanted him dead?

So he really had failed. And it was on that thought that he finally fell unconscious, pain overtaking him like a pack of wolves.

He was always the last to find out about anything. Jaehwan fumed the entire carriage ride over, staring at the closed curtains. Always. And as if it weren't insulting enough, Sanghyuk was his friend.

Although Jaehwan had yelled at Sanghyuk. They hadn't really talked since. Not even with the New Year—although there'd been other reasons for that.

Hyukkie is here, Hakyeon had scribbled on his reply like an afterthought. If Jaehwan hadn't written to affirm that one of the two, preferably his adoptive brother, would be present to receive him, then he probably never would've found out. Hakyeon had also commented on vegetable sellers, which Jaehwan took to mean he ought to go by the side door. He also rode in a plain carriage, wearing plain clothes. He'd learned his lesson. They all had.

It was a cold day. All the days had been cold. It was colder in the mornings. He pulled the cloak tighter around himself. Jaehwan didn't like the cold.

They rattled to a stop—he peeked through the curtain to see they'd arrived. He didn't wait to exit, startling the servant ready to help him down.

Hakyeon must've been waiting because the small side door immediately opened and Jaehwan was ushered inside. It wasn't Hakyeon, though. Just one of their household soldiers. Jaehwan squinted at him.

"Please, his Grace awaits," the soldier said, greeting Jaehwan with a bow.

"And my brother?" Jaehwan asked. They walked briskly down the hall, the soldier's boots heavy against the wood in contrast to Jaehwan's much lighter steps.

The soldier's lack of response unnerved him.

They came, strangely enough, to one of the guest rooms. Sanghyuk paced before the door. He'd grown broader these few days, weeks. Jaehwan hadn't seen him since the end of the funerary rites. But the grin that spread across Sanghyuk's face when he saw Jaehwan was all boyish exuberance—until it disappeared far too quickly.

"Your Highness, your servant will take his leave," the soldier said, and bowed, leaving Jaehwan alone with Sanghyuk.

Sanghyuk wasn't quite meeting Jaehwan's eyes. He stepped back when Jaehwan walked forward. Something was very wrong.

Jaehwan attempted levity, hitting Sanghyuk playfully on the arm. "Was I never gonna find out you picked Hakyeon over me?" he whined.

"You have it wrong," Sanghyuk said. His voice was low and steady, a contrast to Jaehwan's failed efforts.

"You're not still mad I yelled at you, are you?" Jaehwan asked.

Sanghyuk blinked, brows furrowing. He'd forgotten. It was Jaehwan who hadn't let it go.

Jaehwan waved it aside, and then gestured towards the guest room. "Never mind that, has Hakyeon renovated this into a new sitting room?"

"It's not that," Sanghyuk said. "Gege's inside."

"With Taekwoon?" Jaehwan frowned, following Sanghyuk inside and closing the door behind him.

"Yeah," Sanghyuk said. He hesitated, and in that hesitation his steps paused. He didn't turn back to Jaehwan, and Jaehwan had to lean forward to hear his hushed words. "He was attacked yesterday."

"What? This isn't something to joke about Hyukkie, if you're trying to get back at me—"

"It's not a joke!" Sanghyuk snapped. "People attacked him, and now the two of them are being stubborn inside so Hakyeon sent me out to receive you."

"Stop joking," Jaehwan flung back. "This isn't funny—"

"Please lower your voices." Hakyeon strode into view, his expression grim. Jaehwan and Sanghyuk both murmured chastised apologies and shared a guilty look.

"Sanghyuk is correct," Hakyeon said. He turned sharply on his heel, clearly expecting both of them to follow.

Walking into the room, Jaehwan knew if he'd looked even a quarter as bad as Taekwoon did now, Sanghyuk had had every right to act the way he had, all those months ago. From what Jaehwan could see, his brother was covered in bandages and red was seeping through the one around his head. Most of him was under a blanket, although he’d had shoved half of it aside in an effort to free himself. Hakyeon had tucked him in tight.

"Well isn't this familiar," Jaehwan said dryly. "Was it our lovely Second Brother?"

Hakyeon silenced Jaehwan with a look to freeze ice.

"The attacker from Gaoli—it's known," Hakyeon said softly. "Someone took advantage of it. Weapons and armour were specifically brought, to be seen."

"Was this in broad daylight?" Jaehwan gaped in shock.

"I'm here," Taekwoon spoke up. His voice was raspy. "Don't talk like I'm not."

Wordlessly, Hakyeon reached for a small bottle on the table behind him and held it to Taekwoon. Taekwoon turned away, and did not take it. Hakyeon scoffed and tossed it to Jaehwan instead, gesturing for him to put it down.

"Pain medication," Sanghyuk explained, under his breath.

"Stubborn bastard won't take it?" Jaehwan asked.

Taekwoon glared at him. Jaehwan didn't care much if he'd heard. Taekwoon was a stubborn bastard, and he wouldn't lie.

It was a small guest room with barely enough chairs, and with Sanghyuk having taken one and Jaehwan claiming the other, it left Hakyeon perched at the side of Taekwoon's bed. Where he'd probably be, even if there were a room full of seats.

"I have things to discuss.” Jaehwan spoke directly to Hakyeon. He tried to ignore Taekwoon's steely gaze but he could feel it against his skin. Hakyeon glanced towards the door, arching an eyebrow and Jaehwan silently confirmed it—things to discuss in Hakyeon's dungeon of a room.

"I suppose there are things you should know as well," Hakyeon murmured. He looked inexplicably at Sanghyuk, who glanced at Jaehwan and then immediately away.

"I. Am. Here," Taekwoon forced out through gritted teeth.

"And you will stay here," Hakyeon said. He nodded brusquely at Jaehwan as he stood, and then to Sanghyuk as an afterthought. He hadn't taken two steps before he stopped, and turned to look back at Taekwoon.

Jaehwan didn't want to leave Taekwoon defenceless either. Song Qian wasn't here.

"Are we going somewhere?" Sanghyuk asked. He had the blessing of relative ignorance.

"I like it here," Jaehwan declared, dropping heavily back onto his seat. "Lots of light."

"A little chilly for my liking," Hakyeon said. He hadn't sat back down, and now moved towards the door, words trailing behind him as he disappeared from view. "I'll have Steward Zhu bring some more charcoal, heat the outer room as well. It's not good for Taekwoon to be cold."

"We're not going somewhere?" Sanghyuk sat more slowly, looking between Jaehwan and the empty doorway where Hakyeon had left through.

"So is someone going to explain what happened while we're waiting for him?" Jaehwan asked, turning to face Sanghyuk. If the situation weren't what it was, Taekwoon's futile attempt to silently get Jaehwan's attention would be hilarious.

Sanghyuk drew in a deep breath, glancing at Taekwoon. "A... lot of people attacked when gege was on the way home. They acted like they were from Gaoli—like they were the same people who hurt you—but Hakyeon said he recognised some of them."

"Hakyeon was there?" How many people was 'a lot'?

"From the dead men," Sanghyuk clarified. "A few got away, but Taekwoon gege..."

"They killed my men," Taekwoon growled.

"Two," Sanghyuk said. "By the time one of them got the message to Hakyeon..."

"Taekwoon was already like this," Jaehwan finished for him. Sanghyuk's silence was answer enough. "Where were the city guards?"

"I don't know," Sanghyuk said. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe they were told to stand down."

"Weren't those your men?" Jaehwan asked Taekwoon.

"Haven't been," Taekwoon said. His face was pale, and every time he shifted his jaw twitched, like he was holding back a grimace of pain. He probably was.

"Hakyeon recognised some of the attackers from his summers," Sanghyuk added.

From their maternal ancestral home. Men of jianghu. "Hired men," Jaehwan said.

Footsteps approached and all three of them looked towards the door, abruptly falling silent. It was Hakyeon, alone, carrying a tray with covered dishes.

"We shouldn't be interrupted," Hakyeon said. He placed the tray down on the table and lifted the lid, steam from the rice porridge and soup floating up as well. Taekwoon's eyes lit up—at least he hadn't lost his appetite, even if Hakyeon had to spoon feed him. Embarrassing for Taekwoon, especially in front of his younger brother, but better than being hungry.

"What's wrong with your hands?" Jaehwan asked. It was a stupid question, and he realised it as soon as he blurted it out. The bandages weren't just for show.

"The good steward is ensuring we won't be overheard," Hakyeon said, ignoring Jaehwan. "I believe there were about twenty assassins, Taekwoon dispatched eleven and wounded a few that escaped. Two who weren't committed suicide. I would've chased them, but. Cowards."

Hakyeon spat out the last word with a vehemence Jaehwan wasn't used to from his adoptive brother. But Hakyeon couldn't have gone after them when Taekwoon was bleeding out beside him. Jaehwan understood that well enough. They'd been serious, and they'd been close. Jaehwan knew that well enough just by looking.

Jaehwan swallowed, steering his mind away from the ending this could've had. "So who goes first?" Jaehwan asked, as glibly as he could manage.

Hakyeon's breathing settled and he glanced at Sanghyuk. "Sanghyuk, will you?" Hakyeon asked gently.

Sanghyuk's cheek twitched but he didn't falter. Taekwoon turned away even as Sanghyuk looked towards him.

"I spoke to my father because I was afraid he would try to kill Taekwoon gege again," Sanghyuk said. "But I didn't think he actually would."

"What!?" Jaehwan shot to his feet. He knocked over the chair, wood clattering noisily against the ground. Outrage roared in his chest—and vindication. He'd known it. He'd always known it.

"That's not what Hakyeon wants me to say though, Jaehwan. My father is the one who killed their mother."

Jaehwan couldn't know how much Sanghyuk's heart ached to say those words. How many times Sanghyuk had repeated them to himself, hurting just as much each time, guilt sinking into him each time, resolve solidifying each time. It was no easier now for Sanghyuk than it had been just a few nights ago, but time had given him the strength to understand and accept the truth.

For Jaehwan who was learning this for the first time, his heart seemed to stop in his chest. His first instinct was to look at Taekwoon—still facing away, and then at Hakyeon who briefly met Jaehwan's eyes before casting his gaze downward. Jaehwan had been there. He'd seen her fall. He'd seen her take her last breath. And all this time he'd never once thought she'd been killed. Killed when her sons were away on a contrived battlefield.

"I'll kill him," Jaehwan muttered. "I don't fucking care if he's your father, I'll kill him."

"Speak carefully," Hakyeon warned him.

"Why? I thought we wouldn't be interrupted?" Jaehwan snapped.

"Don't speak words you can't follow with actions," Hakyeon said, and damn the man for being right. Jaehwan had never killed a chicken, let alone a man.

Silence fell and while Jaehwan's rage didn't subside, his breathing did calm, his pulse did steady. Taekwoon hadn't moved since Sanghyuk had spoken, and Hakyeon was staring at the wall. Only Sanghyuk noticed Jaehwan, and when he did, the boy's lips pressed together in barely suppressed sadness. For all Han Ming was a bastard, Sanghyuk really had admired his father. Jaehwan wondered if he still did.

"You said you had news?" Hakyeon prompted—and would they really ignore what Sanghyuk had just said?

"I can go wait in my room," Sanghyuk said, catching Jaehwan's critical stare.

"Only if you want," Hakyeon said. "Stay if you'd like."

"You aren't afraid I'll take what I hear back to my father?" Sanghyuk asked dryly.

"That's not like you. But if what Hyukkie says is true..." Jaehwan frowned, brows furrowing. There was an implication here he didn't like. That he was afraid of. He shook it off and pushed on.

"Several court doctors have been disposed of," Jaehwan said. "I had assumed it was because they'd spoken in favour of the former Prime Minister, but that's probably not all it was, if what Hyukkie says is true. It was the Present Emperor's order, claiming negligence in the treatment of the August Former Emperor but we know who truly governs."

"You think they were involved in our Lady Mother's passing," Hakyeon said.

"Now I do," Jaehwan said, "although there could've been other things to hide. And also... the former Prime Minister privately voiced suspicions as to the legitimacy of the succession scroll."

"Privately?" Hakyeon placed the spoon in the bowl with a soft clink, almost masking his hushed voice.

"He told you?" Taekwoon asked.

"No," Jaehwan said. "He spoke to General Ouyang."

"And the General found you," Hakyeon finished for him.

Jaehwan dipped his head in acquiescence.

"Your allegiance to Taekwoon is known," Hakyeon said.

"I'm worried that word of the Prime Minister's private musings has found its way back to certain parties," Jaehwan said, choosing his words carefully.

"Suspicions on what basis?" Taekwoon spoke up.

Hakyeon's expression immediately tightened. Taekwoon was still asking for proof.

"This isn't enough?" Jaehwan snapped, gesturing at Taekwoon himself.

"There are other reasons," Taekwoon said, voice level. "I may be worth eliminating for other reasons."

"Unbelievable. Put the damn pieces together," Jaehwan said. "Or are you too proud to admit you're wrong?"

"Suspicions aren't evidence," Taekwoon said.

"Don't give me—This is useless. I shouldn't have come." Jaehwan's fingers clenched into fists. This argument was too fucking predictable. It'd get them nowhere.

"Be careful, Jaehwan," Hakyeon said. "If they're willing to so openly attack Taekwoon, it's hard to say who else they'll go after. An official decree will bring on too much scrutiny but something more subtle—we've seen their work several times."

"I'm not dead yet," Taekwoon said, just under his breath.

"Yes, and let's keep it that way," Hakyeon gritted out.

"I'm not a child," Taekwoon said, mouth tightening.

Sanghyuk shifted in his seat, catching Jaehwan's attention.

"It's been like that since Taekwoon gege woke up," Sanghyuk said softly to Jaehwan. Hakyeon and Taekwoon had locked gazes, and from where Jaehwan sat it was clear Taekwoon wouldn't be giving in any time soon.

"That sounds about right," Jaehwan said.

"Jaehwan, I want to ask you something," Sanghyuk said.

Jaehwan raised an eyebrow, gesturing for Sanghyuk to continue. Sanghyuk glanced at the pair, and then moved closer to Jaehwan, his voice lowering.

"Do you really think it should've been Taekwoon gege? That... that the Prime Minister's suspicions are correct?"

Shit. Sanghyuk wasn't supposed to be part of this. A hundred replies ran through Jaehwan's mind, each excuse more contrived than the last. He froze too long. Sanghyuk had come to whatever conclusions he'd need and now sat back, not quite meeting Jaehwan's eyes.

"So you think that too," Sanghyuk said. "You'll leave me out as well, lock me out of everything. Although I can't really blame you, not when my father is the one who. Who..."

Sanghyuk swallowed, unable to finish that sentence.

"I know what he did. You don't have to say it," Jaehwan said. His eyes narrowed as he considered Sanghyuk, his closest friend, more than just a younger brother or a little cousin. He'd never hid things from Sanghyuk before—but he never had to.

Jaehwan's brothers were still engaged in a silent battle, ignoring Jaehwan and Sanghyuk's hushed conversation. Jaehwan didn't know if they'd heard.

"It's for your own good," Jaehwan said and immediately cringed.

"That's what my father said, too," Sanghyuk said.

Jaehwan filed that away, too many questions around it he wanted to ask. Instead, what he asked was: "if Han Ming asked you a question, would you lie?"

"No," Sanghyuk said softly.

"If we asked you for information, would you betray his trust?"

"No," Sanghyuk said again, his voice even softer.

They'd both known the answer to Jaehwan's two questions even before Jaehwan had asked it. After all, it was for Sanghyuk's own good.

"But I can help," Sanghyuk suddenly said. "He won't ask—he doesn't trust me. There has to be something I can do. If right now is wrong, I want to help right the wrong."

"'Righting the wrong' is also treason," Jaehwan said lightly.

"I don't agree," Sanghyuk said. "And I don't think you do either. Or Hakyeon gege. Or even Taekwoon gege."

Hearing their names, the pair finally turned.

"Only if you have—"

"Proof," Hakyeon finished for Taekwoon, cutting him off. "Yes, we all know—even Sanghyuk. Now you, sleep. Sanghyuk, please find the good steward and have him bring me the accounts. He'll know the ones. And Jaehwan—thank you for coming."

"Yeah, sure." Jaehwan waved it off, uncomfortable with Hakyeon's apologetic tone. "I'll show myself out."

"Stay to eat," Hakyeon said. "Sanghyuk knows his way by now to the kitchens."

Jaehwan smiled wryly—Hakyeon knew he wouldn't say no to food.

As if finally accepting the turn of the year, the cold released its hold and the weather turned mild. There was no snow to speak of, no rain, nothing much coming from a sky turned pallid grey. It suited Hakyeon just fine. It was calm, a dull calm that carried oppressive quiet.

The house was quiet. Sanghyuk had reluctantly left, citing how much he missed his dog in response to Taekwoon's displeasure. Even bed-ridden, Taekwoon made it quite clear he didn't want Sanghyuk returning to the Han residence. Taekwoon was also quiet. Ever since his father had passed away—no, ever since their mother had been murdered even if they hadn't known the truth of it then, Hakyeon struggled to understand what Taekwoon was thinking. With or without the pain medication, Taekwoon spent most of the time asleep or drowsing. He woke to eat, for medicine, and when his bandages needed to be changed. The entire city had to know of Taekwoon's condition by now but he still insisted on being quietly treated by a field doctor retired from his military days. Brusque, no-nonsense, and with the sole goal of fixing someone up, not making them comfortable, and he'd spent decades doing it. The doctor had set Taekwoon's arm with an efficiency that made Hakyeon wince while watching. But it was good.

And now, Hakyeon didn't know if he could trust anyone else. Since Jaehwan's revelations. He couldn't know who'd been involved.

So it was the old army doctor or Song Qian, over half a week away. Hakyeon had warned her from returning—and that even though she was at home, she should watch her back. Warriors of jianghu held no allegiances but men could always be bought. He prayed she'd heed his warning. That she wouldn't come charging back because someone had laid a hand on her precious baby brother. He'd told her as much, plain as day.

He also couldn't have her interfere with his own plans.

Steward Zhu was waiting inside the sitting room of Hakyeon's chambers as instructed. He'd even locked the door behind himself without Hakyeon needing to ask.

"Young Master," Steward Zhu said. He stood and bowed as Hakyeon walked in.

"Thank you for coming," Hakyeon said. The cold had lost its teeth but Hakyeon was still grateful for the warmth of indoors as he took a seat across from the steward.

A small smile slipped across the steward's face before his expression returned to his usual solemnity. "Young Master did not invite your servant just for tea," Steward Zhu said, even as he poured tea for Hakyeon.

Hakyeon's lips now curled lightly, accepting the small cup. "No, I did not," he said, speaking down to the light golden liquid.

"Nor is it the usual," Steward Zhu said. When Hakyeon quirked an eyebrow, the steward glanced towards the locked again door.

"To have you wait outside—no, you're right. It isn't the usual," Hakyeon said. The steward wasn't in the mood for games of courtesy and neither was Hakyeon. To continue would be an insult to the steward.

Hakyeon downed the tea like a cup of wine, the tea scalding hot down his throat. It hurt. It gave him something to hold on to as he looked into the steward's eyes.

"I need to get close to Zhiheng."

The steward fell silent, contemplating Hakyeon's declaration.

"You wish to become close to the Present Emperor?" Steward Zhu confirmed.

"Yes," Hakyeon said, and then stopped. The steward refilled Hakyeon's tea in his pause of hesitation, and Hakyeon again marvelled at how fortunate he was to have a man of such capabilities in his employ. Even more so because he hadn't been born to be a steward.

"I never did ask why you came to us," Hakyeon said. "If it was the August Former Emperor who asked you, or if it was of your own will."

"Will it satisfy Young Master if I say it was both?" The steward asked after a moment's thought.

"I do remember," Hakyeon said, his voice small. "I remember enough."

"Ah."

"I was young," Hakyeon said, "but it's difficult to forget something like that. To forget the man who was sent to rescue you."

"Rescue?" Steward Zhu frowned, and Hakyeon wondered when the steward's hair had grown so grey. "I took you from your home."

"I remember you were gentle as you lifted me onto the biggest horse I'd ever seen, and you kept me from falling as we rode for days—it felt like days," Hakyeon said. "But I don't think it was."

"Barely a day, and only until we reached the carriages."

"I don't recall much of that," Hakyeon said truthfully. And then: "I also know you were supposed to rescue my mother."

And in that speaking lay the breaking of a tacit agreement, a mutual trust, a facade of make-believe to hide the ugly truth. The betrayal of that secret expanded the silence, and Hakyeon's skin and tongue and lips grew numb with it, as if the silence itself carried poisonous spores. But with the breaking came a sense of ease—for Hakyeon, an easing of a lie. For Zhu Xin, the easing of a burden, carried for two decades.

"I failed the August Former Emperor's trust in that," the steward said, "yet not once have I felt the Young Master's hate."

"I would never hate you for that," Hakyeon said.

A knowing smile. "But there is something else," the steward said.

"No," Hakyeon said, but perhaps he waited too long a heart beat to deny it because the steward only glanced away from Hakyeon, stared at the light filled window.

"Steward Zhu. I won't hate a man for obeying orders when those orders were just, no matter the consequences," Hakyeon said.

"You were only four—yet you still recognised me," the steward mused.

"I looked into your past when you came into our employ," Hakyeon said, smiling slightly to himself. "Both out of prudence, and because I found you familiar—it wasn't until I knew you had once been the August Former Emperor's loyal retainer that I truly recalled."

"Then you remember all of it?" Steward Zhu asked, his voice dry. "Who you really are?"

"I am Cha Hakyeon," Hakyeon said without hesitation. "At present the Duke of Yin, although for how much longer I cannot say. I am the man who swore to the August Former Emperor when he still lived, that I would see his seventh son to the throne, and guard his honour as he ruled over this empire. I am that seventh son's friend and brother, closer than blood. That is who I really am, Steward Zhu, and I say all this not to lay blame, but because I intend on seeing Taekwoon reclaim his throne with his own hands and I must know that you are not following out of guilt.

"Because if it is guilt, know that you have repaid it a thousand times over. I will not fault you for rightfully vanishing to live the peaceful life you have earned. I don't wish to use the past to hold you, just as I refuse to be held by the past."

The steward smiled. A true smile, tainted by memory and nostalgia. "You are truly your mother's son," he said, looking into Hakyeon's eyes. "You resemble your father, but you and her, you are so very alike."

"Yes," Hakyeon said quietly. "So I have been told."

"He told you then, in the end," the steward said. "He always said he would, to apologise, although I cautioned the past should be left in the past—but I see it is I who still live in the past.

"You ask if it is out of guilt—Yes, I admit it was guilt that lead me to watch over you for all those years, and then approach you, unfairly perhaps, hiding my identity. But you have grown from a boy to be protected to a man I am proud to follow. So know this: I, Zhu Xin, swear to you my loyalty for as long as I live, and to return the throne to the rightful heir, and a man who will be an emperor I will be proud to serve."

Hakyeon stared at the steward with his head bowed and clasped hands raised in formal allegiance. "You believe me, then?" Hakyeon asked.

The steward slowly lowered his hands and looked up at Hakyeon. "That it is his Highness who was meant to inherit the throne? You were not the only one who the August Former Emperor sought out, Young Master."

Hakyeon breathed out a slight laugh, a single quiet sound. "Then this simplifies things," he said.

"If your worries have been eased, may I ask why you wish for access to the Present Emperor?" Steward Zhu asked, as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

But that was what had always made him so capable.

"Before the 'why', there is 'how,'" Hakyeon said. "I came to ask for your thoughts, if there is anyone you know."

"You misunderstand me, Young Master. Is it that you need his trust, or is it for another purpose? I presume you are concerned primarily for his Highness's safety, given the timing of your request," Steward Zhu said.

"His trust," Hakyeon said. "I... I suppose you could say that."

"You cannot have both his trust and that of his Highness," Steward Zhu said.

And that was the problem, wasn't it.

But no matter how Hakyeon schemed or planned, this was the best way to safeguard Taekwoon's life. And if they did not have that, then they had nothing. He hadn't told Taekwoon because he knew Taekwoon would protest. Whatever his objections, it didn't change that too much depended on Taekwoon being alive and Hakyeon's own guilt wasn't enough to deter him from making choices without consulting the man himself. He needed to convince Zhiheng that Taekwoon wasn't a threat. To do that he needed Zhiheng to believe him.

"I know," was all Hakyeon could say.

"You are serious about this, Young Master? It will not be easy."

"I considered a trade," Hakyeon said, "but there's nothing I can provide him. If it helped I would offer myself, but as long as that man has control, my life is as good as useless to them."

The steward grew thoughtful. The tea had long since cooled, Hakyeon's cup still full. Light faded as a cloud passed the sun outside.

"You speak of Young Master Han's father?" Steward Zhu asked.

"Yes," Hakyeon said.

"A trade. Yes, a trade may work. Of course there is no meaning in forfeiting your own life as you said. It will be most convincing if you yourself speak to the Present Emperor. Then the question is, what will be a worthy trade?"

Hakyeon swallowed and looked down at his cooling tea. His cold tea. He picked the cup and held it. Felt the fine ceramic against his skin. The painted lines. The coolness of the tea within.

"There is another way, but even you may oppose it," Hakyeon said slowly. When the steward didn't stop him, Hakyeon inhaled and then exhaled and then drew breath again. "To truly betray Taekwoon, and the August Former Emperor."

At this, the steward fell silent. A still silence. A silence which the cold expanded, a silence which the cold held. An almost familiar silence.

"What will that true betrayal be, Young Master?" the steward finally said.

"To help Zhiheng. To help stabilise his rule. To advise him and to fight for him—but in exchange, he will let Taekwoon live. He will send Taekwoon away, far from this city, to a place where he will not be a threat. I can't tell Taekwoon of this, and it may very well fail if I succeed too thoroughly in that betrayal. If the empire under the Present Emperor becomes too great. But it will keep Taekwoon alive. It will give us time."

There was more, but there were some secrets—some sins—that Hakyeon meant to keep. Hakyeon couldn't speak the truth aloud: that keeping Taekwoon alive, that alone, would be enough for him. That whatever else happened, even if the future which was a failure came to pass, Hakyeon would be satisfied. He'd have broken a vow but he could only hope that the August Former Emperor and his ancestors would forgive him, or that if they cast him out they would at least not look unkindly on Taekwoon. Even if the future was bleak and the empire fell, to know that Taekwoon lived would be enough. Even if Hakyeon remained in the capital and never again left, never again saw Taekwoon in this world or life, the knowledge that Taekwoon lived would be enough. It was selfish. He knew it was selfish.

Steward Zhu knew none of this. He knew that what Hakyeon spoke was true, and what was proposed might succeed. Like Jaehwan had said days or weeks earlier, the most foolproof plan was simply to stay alive, no matter the cost. No matter the cost.

And he knew that Hakyeon, who he'd watch grow from the babe he'd whisked from his home to boy then youth then man, he knew that Hakyeon thought the same. That this would be accomplished, no matter the cost.

"Then the question changes—not how do you have the Present Emperor guarantee his Highness's safety, but how will you convince the Present Emperor of your betrayal of all you stand for?" Steward Zhu said.

"All I stand for," Hakyeon repeated.

"I admit, a task as daunting as moving a mountain, but if your servant may be so bold, I have a suggestion that may spare us the shovels."

"I don't think there's time to move that mountain by shovel, or that the gods will be swayed to move it for us," Hakyeon said, "so I would hear your suggestion."

"You thought to trade your own life but understood it to be futile. Now the question has been reframed, perhaps Young Master may consider offering a trade in good faith," Steward Zhu said. And then, after a moment wherein Hakyeon abruptly understood what Zhu Xin was about to say: "you are not the only one who will give everything to right a wrong. And there is a wrong that must be righted."

Hakyeon sat there, stunned—not from the suggestion, but because he hadn't thought of it himself. Here, in front of him, sat a man who had spied for Taekwoon. Who had spread rumours for Taekwoon. Who had planted and coerced men and women for the sake of information.

And who was Hakyeon's own faithful steward. It would go against everything Hakyeon stood for.

A hefty cost.

It must be accomplished.

Yet:

"I will think on it," Hakyeon said.

He was weak. He could sense the steward's disappointment, but Hakyeon was too weak. There would be another way.

Steward Zhu bowed his head. "As Young Master wishes," he said.

"I should look in on Taekwoon," Hakyeon said. He stood, and then bowed deeply in acknowledgement to the steward. "Hakyeon thanks you for coming, and... I will think on it."

"As Young Master wishes," Steward Zhu said again, standing as well.

The tea was cold, but Hakyeon drank it anyway before he left.

Hongbin was truly tired of people showing up in his room.

"What reward would I get if I turned you in?" Hongbin asked, rather scathingly he'd admit. Although Hongbin thought it was altogether deserved—he was very tired of people just appearing in his room. "Your Grace."

And he didn't give a damn if it was a Duke.

"I would rather you not," the Duke of Yin said.

"First the sister now the brother," Hongbin said. "Should I expect the third?"

A pained expression crossed the Duke's face—Hongbin had struck a nerve. He had heard that the Prince of Jing had been attacked by agents of Gaoli. Maybe it was more dire than he thought.

"Song Qian did mention her visit," the Duke mused. "But mine is unrelated. I see you've dropped the act—it's refreshing."

"So have you," Hongbin retorted. "It's rude."

"I was under the impression you didn't care for that," the Duke said.

"What if I say I do?" Hongbin asked. He didn't of course. And the Duke knew that.

He probably also knew that Hongbin spent most of his nights alone and they wouldn't be bothered. Hongbin was beginning to enjoy that, almost looked forward to the nights instead of dreading them. But this family seemed intent on ignoring Hongbin's desire for solitude. He felt a very strong desire to curse.

Instead, Hongbin threw himself down on the pile of cushions he'd assembled on the couch. It was a somewhat foreign habit, from one of those barbaric countries maybe somewhere up north or out west, but one he'd come to enjoy and find comfortable. The Duke could stand for all Hongbin cared. He didn't, of course. He seated himself on one of the ornate chairs, acting for all the world like he owned it.

"I suppose I should begin with thanks," the Duke said. "Without your warning, we'd be in a very different place."

Hongbin bit his tongue so he wouldn't spit out that the Duke himself wasn't supposed to have survived. But it'd be a lie to say that Hongbin was disappointed the Duke had survived.

"Your sister already did that," Hongbin said instead.

"I am not surprised," the Duke said softly. As if to himself.

"If you're done, I was planning on sleeping," Hongbin said. Although he knew this wasn't what the Duke had come for, and he hadn't been planning on sleeping soon at all.

The Duke's lips quirked in suppressed laughter, before his expression grew serious and there was a cutting look in his eyes that screamed danger. Maybe Hongbin had gone too far.

"If you've grown tired of cross-stitching, I have a proposal," the Duke said. His eyes scanned the room, no doubt taking in the miniature potted trees scattered around, before they returned to Hongbin. "Or of gardening."

Hongbin pressed his lips together. He was rather proud of some of them. "I have enough to occupy myself with," he said—which was another lie.

"Oh? Even though you've lost the Emperor's favour?" the Duke wondered.

"What would you know of that?" Hongbin snapped.

"Enough," the Duke said, and Hongbin found himself believing him.

"Fine. Let's say I am. What's your proposal?" He'd probably regret asking but Hongbin had been feeling a little reckless lately. He was suddenly reminded of another night-time visit, the time when Yue Song—when Princess Song Qian had barged in. The old me is dead, he'd told her at the time. How wrong he'd been.

The Duke smiled like he'd known all along that Hongbin would want to know. Probably thought Hongbin would agree to whatever fool proposal he had too. Smug bastard.

"To accommodate your interest in the literary arts," the Duke said. "Why work by yourself in secret, when you can be tutored by some of the best?"

Hongbin didn't even bother asking how the Duke knew. Spies, informants, maybe Wonsik was secretly an agent for the Duke. Hongbin doubted it, but what did he know.

He stood, walking over to the closed window. It was colder there, the winter night seeping in through the shuttered cracks.

"And that'll be you, will it?" Hongbin asked. "I'd think Zhiheng knows you well enough not to trust you in the palace."

"Me?" The Duke laughed. "I am far from one of the best, although I'm flattered you think so. An appropriate tutor will be found, as long as you request one. Perhaps through... what was his name? The one that used to be in charge of this little harem."

"Wonsik?" Hongbin's lips twisted, turning back to the Duke. "So you've gotten to him too."

"Hm? No, he's too loyal to his Majesty," the Duke said. "I suggest him for your convenience. From what I know of your character, you won't tell him the reason for finally changing your mind—nor will you tell anyone."

"You're full of yourself," Hongbin said.

"I'm confident," the Duke corrected. "I will begin making arrangements on my end."

"You—I have not agreed," Hongbin forced out through gritted teeth. He resisted the urge to yell.

The Duke quirked an eyebrow and then stood, bowing very slightly to Hongbin. "I bid you goodnight and will take my leave," he said.

"Not going to leave through the window?" Hongbin asked.

"Why would I do that?" the Duke said, striding to the door like he had every right to be here. Hongbin didn't stop him. If he got caught, he got caught, and that was one less worry for Hongbin. The Duke suddenly stopped, a few steps before the door.

"One last thing," he said, without looking back. "I enjoy raising trees as well."

Hongbin stared at the door as it closed, speechless. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? And what was wrong with Hongbin's trees?

There were a handful of them, now that he and Wonsik were on speaking terms again. Wonsik had delivered a rather stunning potted tree shortly after that first visit to 'brighten the room' and 'improve the aura' but Hongbin knew a peace offering when he saw one. Ever since Hongbin had expressed a mild interest, the eunuch had gone from bringing him books to bringing him young trees and saplings. He couldn't say he minded. The Duke was right, Hongbin had long grown tired of cross-stitching.

Nursing miniature trees wasn't exactly like caring for a rabbit, but he made do.

His eyes passed over the youngest cuttings—scrawny things, more sprout than branch, to land on the winter plum he'd been working on. The silver pine Wonsik had first given him needed a little trimming, or it'd lose its peculiar shape that had unexpectedly entranced Hongbin, reminiscent of drifting clouds,. Maybe Hongbin was imagining it, suspicion planted in his head by the Duke, but the plum seemed lacking in energy.

"More trouble than that stupid rabbit," Hongbin muttered as he leaned closer to inspect it. It'd have to wait until the crisp sunlight of morning—the shadows at this hour were too deep even when he picked up the entire pot and held it closer to the light. It was too young to bloom this year but even if it had, the petals would’ve already fallen. Hongbin had spent an entire day under a winter plum tree, the pink petals falling around him like rain, the ephemeral herald of spring. Full sized trees, not the miniature ones with stunted twisted limbs like the ones Hongbin was raising—or hoped to raise. It'd take years.

He couldn't imagine himself in years. Couldn't even fathom his existence. Still clutching the pot, Hongbin folded himself onto the couch, perching at the edge with the tree in his lap. Hopefully he'd at least see this child bloom.

If Hongbin acted on the Duke's proposal, there was a good chance he wouldn't. Damn the man, Hongbin should've just let him die. Let them all die. The Prince of Bing too—if he hadn't lead Hongbin to that poisoned well, Hongbin would probably be living blissfully ignorant as a minor concubine to the Emperor without any of the subterfuge and intrigue he'd been thrown into.

He'd hated the Emperor's uncle since their first encounter—he hated him more, now that the former Minister of Ceremonies was on the verge of being proclaimed Prime Minister. A natural step. At least he hadn't bothered Hongbin since the ascension. But there was something wrong about him, even beyond what Hongbin known he'd done. Like he'd done worse, or could do worse—and that Zhiheng knew it all. The future Prime Minister was power hungry, and would've seized the throne for himself if he could. But he couldn't, and so he'd rule through Zhiheng.

At least that was what Hongbin thought.

Because if that was who the Duke's proposal would hurt... Maybe Hongbin could accept that. Hongbin hated him. So he could accept that.

If Hongbin's part in any of this was found out, he held no false hope in preserving his life. All he hoped was to be spared a common death. If the Duke instead succeeded—and the Prince of Jing, Hongbin supposed—then Hongbin was liable to meet the same end, as a member of the Present Emperor's household.

Or he could have no part in this and perfect his trees until he wilted away from old age and boredom. The thought was so ludicrous Hongbin snorted, nearly dislodging the one in his lap.

If not the Duke, there'd be someone else. Hongbin wouldn't be left alone.

In this lighting, his winter plum seemed to be doing alright. He'd know better in the morning. His trees were doing just fine—the Duke's condescension had gotten deeper under Hongbin's skin than he would've liked.

"If you wilt I'm feeding you to a horse," Hongbin warned the plant as he replaced it on its table. He narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the room. "That goes for all of you."

The cuttings needed watering tomorrow. Those tiny buds would grow into leaves, or Hongbin would make good on his threat. It'd serve them all right.

The change in era had been good to Zhixing. The Present Emperor had increased his allowance without increasing his work—which had been nominal at best. He was thinking of moving from the capital to somewhere more provincial, somewhere calmer. Maybe he was getting old.

"Before you call yourself old, think about who you're speaking with," Zhihan grumbled, cracking a seed open with his teeth.

"I'm speaking with you," Zhixing said. Zhihan flicked the shell at him. It bounced off his arm, and he plucked it from the floor to deposit with the rest of the refuse. There was a tidy pile of empty shells in the centre of the table. Zhihan had come to drink the night away, but there'd been more eating than drinking, the two of them sprawled on the floor of one of Zhixing's sitting rooms.

"I won't stop you going off to be a monk," Zhihan said. His cheeks were already faintly flushed. "Just don't think I'll go with you."

Zhixing hummed, picturing the two of them in a temple, maybe with their heads shaved and tonsured. He couldn't imagine Zhihan without hair.

"Not a monk. Poetry. Music. Out in nature," Zhixing mused. "It'll be different. Mm, maybe some girls."

"You, my little brother, are a romantic," Zhihan said.

"Oh?"

"Life's not how drunk poets tell it. Running away to the mountains won't fix things," Zhihan said.

Zhixing considered this for a moment. "Maybe not the girls."

"I dunno if that's what you were supposed to take from that," Zhihan said pointedly. He hooked a finger through the handle of the flagon and pulled it towards himself, ignoring that it was technically Zhixing's. Zhihan had brought his own wine, citing his younger brother’s poor taste—but apparently his taste wasn’t poor beyond redemption. Zhixing sipped from his cup and smiled.

"Poems exist to express nature, it's enough to write them even if no one hears them," Zhixing said.

"Not that either," Zhihan said. More sombre, this time, because he knew his younger brother understood.

Zhixing's smile turned wry. He could fool most people, but he'd never fool Zhihan. "I'd miss Han'er too much.”

"Good, I knew you'd understand," Zhihan said triumphantly.

"It would be less chaotic, though," Zhixing said.

"Without me?" Zhihan asked, mock hurt. And then, after months and months, he finally asked the question Zhixing had put out of his mind: "are you disappointed?"

"I don't think so," Zhixing said.

He sat up just enough to pour wine into his cup, and then fell back against the floor again. He stared up at the ceiling. No, he didn't think he was disappointed. It'd worked out well for him. He supposed. A small distance away Zhihan mirrored his movements, his hands clasped over his chest.

Their second eldest brother had inherited the throne. Their eldest brother had sustained a serious riding accident, and was crippled but alive. His seventh eldest brother had miraculously survived an attack by foreign assailants, although no one could explain how they’d infiltrated the city guard and prevented their interference. Zhixing had heard several officers had been beaten to death. He wasn't surprised.

"Are you pleased?" Zhixing asked after a moment.

"Mm, I suppose," Zhihan said. "What's there to not be pleased about?"

"Nothing," Zhixing answered.

Zhixing had always found his third brother to be quieter when it was just the two of them. Even with Zhiheng—when Zhiheng hadn't been the Emperor or the heir apparent—Zhihan tended to be louder, chattier, quicker to laugh. Zhixing didn't mind the silences, it was how it should be.

"I haven't seen Tenth Younger Brother lately," Zhixing mused aloud. "He seems to be busy."

Zhihan sat up and propped his arm on folded knees. Somewhere beyond the closed window was the moon, partway full, partway dark. Spring marched forward with each cycle, dark and light and dark again, the days warming and the nights following behind. Despite the cold, buds emerged from bare branches, hints of red preceding the unfurling green. Just as a cycle or two ago, buds had formed on winter plums and showered the world in a pale pink storm. A herald of spring, falling away with its job done.

"Or avoiding me," Zhihan murmured, barely audible. Zhixing couldn't be sure if it was meant to be audible.

There were still times when he found he no longer understood what Zhihan was thinking, what Zhihan meant. There were times when he missed the times when he did.

"I think he's busy," Zhixing repeated, as if he hadn't heard him at all. It would begin to rain soon. Not the torrential incessant rain of the summer, but the rain which followed a dry winter, loud and jarring in its own way.

"Maybe," Zhihan said. He exhaled loudly as he flopped back down, staring up at the same ceiling as Zhixing. As if also waiting for the rain.

Lately, it seemed like they were always waiting for something.

"The rabbit," Zhixing suddenly said aloud. He blinked. The thought had come to him all at once.

"The rabbit?" Zhihan echoed.

"I wonder where it went," Zhixing said. "Hongbin's rabbit."

"Hongbin... You took quite a shine to him," Zhihan said. "He's not even that pretty."

A laugh bubbled through Zhixing as he shut his eyes. "He's fun," he said. "He had a rabbit. I haven't seen him since."

"Hongbin or the rabbit?" Zhihan asked, humouring him.

"Both."

"If you're looking for an excuse to pop into the palace, I can think of better ones," Zhihan said sceptically.

Zhixing laughed again. "I don't think I need to. We just need to ask nicely.”

"Were you going to?"

"Seventh Brother is at home—I haven't seen him in some time either," Zhixing said.

It was Zhihan's turn to laugh, after a fashion. He sat up, drained his cup, and lay down again. "I doubt they'd let me in, no matter how nicely I ask," Zhihan said. "Maybe you. I don't blame them though. If I were Hakyeon, I'd do the same."

He could play dumb. He could ask Zhihan what he meant, ask him why Hakyeon would be unhappy to see Zhihan, but might want to see Zhixing. Zhixing could pretend he didn't know who'd paid for the men he'd seen lying dead in their own blood, so many months and lifetimes ago. He could, but him and Zhihan, they'd decided to put it behind them, what'd happened those months and lifetimes ago. Quietly, wordlessly, but they had.

"I could bring a message," Zhixing offered.

He opened his eyes to find Zhihan looming over him, like some vengeful spectre. He blinked slowly but Zhihan didn't disappear or vanish. His brother put a full cup of wine on the ground next to him.

"Drink," Zhihan said. "Drink first, and then talk."

Zhixing smiled ruefully but obeyed, propping himself on an elbow. He inspected the cup critically for a moment, and then downed it in one mouthful. Not the way it was supposed to be drunk. Lots of things weren't the way it was supposed to be. Without asking, Zhihan refilled Zhixing's cup before sitting back.

"I'd like it if Seventh Brother lives," Zhixing said to himself. "He was hurt badly."

Zhihan didn't reply, like Zhixing knew he wouldn't. Strangely, Zhixing felt at ease with it.

"I don't think I'll visit them," Zhixing said next. He looked towards Zhihan this time. "You don't want me to."

"Since when has that ever stopped you from doing anything?" Zhihan asked. Enough of an answer.

Zhixing felt at ease with it but it also saddened him. How couldn't it?

"I don't regret it. But maybe I am disappointed."

"I wondered about that. You never approved of any of it," Zhihan said quietly.

"I don't think I could approve," Zhixing said, pursing his lips.

"You think I was wrong?"

"No, but I also don't think you were right. I don't think I was right either," Zhixing said. "I don't think there was a right."

Zhihan blinked slowly, eyelashes framing his large eyes. Zhixing had always thought Zhihan had nice eyes, the sort girls liked to titter over. Zhixing's brothers were all rather handsome. Sometimes he was envious.

"This is what's right," Zhihan said.

Zhixing wondered what it'd be like to have that sort of conviction. He sipped at his cup, slowly tipping it back until it was empty. The warm blurriness had settled in. There was more red on Zhihan's face too.

"It was my fault," Zhixing said. He frowned to himself, because that wasn't quite it. "Why Taekwoon didn't die—I think that was me."

"Your fault?"

Zhixing lay back down, his body falling heavily against the floor. "Maybe. Why gege didn't go."

"Hakyeon went," Zhihan said.

"You were there," Zhixing said. And then: "but you already knew that."

"I did suspect it was you," Zhihan said. He raised his arm, and stared at the back of his hand as he lay there. As if he’d blocked the moon from his sight before plucking it out of the sky.

"And you didn't tell on me," Zhixing said.

"Bit late to bring it up now," Zhihan said. He'd plucked the moon and now he slowly lowered his fist, eyes still fixed on his hand.

"You didn't want gege to die either," Zhixing said. "And you're not happy with how Minister Han acted either—or maybe. Maybe Hongbin was right when he said you don't like Minister Han?"

Zhihan choked out a dry laugh. "Zhiheng's concubine said that?" he asked. "To you?"

"I asked him," Zhixing said simply. He rolled onto his side, his cheek pressed against the cool wooden flooring. From under the table, he could see Zhihan closing his eyes and then opening them and then closing them again in a slow steady rhythm too spaced out to be a blink.

It was the way Zhihan looked just before he fell asleep. Zhixing let his eyes close.

"I didn't want gege to die, but I didn't do anything either," Zhixing said into the empty air. "I wanted someone else to do something. That makes me a coward, doesn't it, Han'er?"

"You did something," Zhihan mumbled. Yes, he was on the way to sleep.

"I didn't stop it," Zhixing said. "But neither did you. But you didn't want to. You tried to do it yourself—no, a warning, that's what she said. A warning."

A courtyard of bodies, blood on a sleeve, blood on the stones.

Only a string of miracles had kept blood from being on Zhixing's hands.

"It turned out the same," Zhixing mused aloud. With Zhiheng on the throne, like it should've been. Zhiheng on the throne, and no one dead. Even if Zhixing had thought of doing something only not to do it. Even if his favourite Han'er had sent men to finish what Zhixing had stopped—had sent men to die. Had Zhihan told those men that Taekwoon was indisposed, that the job would be simple? Had they gone knowing they would die? Had Zhihan known they would die?

If Song Qian hadn't been there—

No use now thinking these things, Zhixing told himself firmly.

"Never any use thinking of anything, if it's you," Zhihan said, words slurred with drowsiness.

Zhihan's eyes were also closed.

Had he said that aloud again?

There was the summer palace, and hadn't his friend said his friend had constructed a vast retreat with scholar gardens and hunting grounds and would he like to visit—Zhixing could remind him, and say yes, he would. A vacation.

Somewhere far from death.

Sanghyuk had said he'd had to come home because of Storm, but the truth was he really had missed his big, silly dog. His mother had barely said a word when he'd returned like a mutt with its tail between its legs, and Sanghyuk wondered how much his father had told her. Storm had sprinted circles around Sanghyuk in excitement. At this moment, he was content to let Sanghyuk hug him, as he buried his face in Storm's fur. Sanghyuk had also let Storm onto his bed—something he'd be soundly scolded for.

"Am I grown up?" Sanghyuk asked Storm, still hugging his neck. He didn't think Storm heard at all—but a dog wouldn't know about being 'grown up'. That was something his mother had said—that Sanghyuk was beginning to grow up. Was becoming a man. Was an adult. Hakyeon had said the same thing—he'd heard Hakyeon say it to Taekwoon and say it to Jaehwan, and it always sounded like it was a bad thing. Sanghyuk had bristled at the time but his mother's withdrawn appraisal left him with a renewed sense of unease.

He sighed deeply and finally let go of his dog.

A week had already passed since Sanghyuk had left Hakyeon and Taekwoon and he hadn't heard a thing since. Not from Jaehwan either. Sanghyuk avoided his mother where he could and he'd yet to speak with his father since that night. With his tutors absent, Sanghyuk's only communication was with the servants with almost cursory conversations. He read, mostly. He'd borrowed some books from Hakyeon and was slowly working his way through them, although he couldn't see how some of it would ever be useful—digging irrigation channels wasn't in his future.

Sanghyuk didn't know what was in his future. As the only son of the main Han clan. But he could guess what his father wanted.

Maybe he'd go call on someone. Maybe Jaehwan. Or maybe he'd see if some of his old friends were available—they rarely called on him anymore. They knew Sanghyuk would sadly refuse when they invited him. He was afraid to risk it more than ever—do not bring further shame to this family by acting rashly was his father's demand, while holding Hakyeon's life over his head like a hostage.

But speak of the devil and the devil would come. Not even hours later found Sanghyuk called to the front gate to be greeted by an exuberant and infectious laugh, and a wide mouthed grin that hadn't changed in years.

"I thought you moved!" Sanghyuk said, ushering his friend in. "Have you eaten?"

Lu Cai was as tall as Sanghyuk, and the intervening years had turned childhood mischief into roguish charm. He slapped Sanghyuk on the back as he walked in, handing off his horse.

"And travel on an empty stomach?" Lu Cai asked, eyes creasing as he laughed. "But I'll join you for dinner—all you have to do is ask!"

It was Sanghyuk's turn to laugh. "I'd be honoured if Young Master Lu spared me his company for the meal," Sanghyuk said, mock formal. He bowed slightly, gesturing to his room. "Please, this way."

"I ought to pay respects to your Lady Mother," Lu Cai said. The pained look that crossed Sanghyuk's face must've been more noticeable than he'd thought. He glanced at Lu Cai, startled by his abrupt silence, to find a light crease between his brows.

"My mother may have retired for the evening," Sanghyuk said. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder, as if she'd appear at any moment. His friend knew enough not to ask, and they walked the remaining few steps in companionable silence.

"Same room?" was the first thing Lu Cai said when they stepped inside.

"Yeah," Sanghyuk said, suddenly uncomfortable with how painfully obvious it must've been that this was still a child's room. He shifted his weight, eyes passing over at the familiar room. "I'm not here so often."

"Sensible." Lu Cai paced around the room, an awkward silence falling over them. They weren't the sort for awkward silences, but it had been a long time.

"I don't have wine for you," Sanghyuk admitted as the servants busied themselves with setting out fresh tea.

"I thought not," Lu Cai said. His grin grew wider as he reached inside his cloak. "You think I wouldn't come by with a gift? That would be rude of me, little Hyukkie."

"Why does everyone still call me that," Sanghyuk grumbled, but he eyed the flask with interest.

Lu Cai ignored Sanghyuk's griping and popped open the bottle. He snagged the cups meant for tea and deftly filled them both. Sanghyuk sighed dramatically at his familiar antics.

"Have a drink with an old friend," Lu Cai said. "Aren't I your guest?"

"Yes, yes," Sanghyuk said. He picked up one of the tea cups and raised it to Lu Cai in acknowledgement. He paused, just before he was about to drink. Sanghyuk sniffed at it, eyes flicking up to find his friend looking at him with mischievous anticipation.

"Poison is no way to greet an old friend," Sanghyuk said.

"You wound me," Lu Cai said. He made a show of drinking his own—and immediately grimaced. A laugh burst out of Sanghyuk.

But when he finally sipped at his own, fire burnt down his throat and he suspected, through the coughing, that his expression was no more suave than Lu Cai's had been.

"Warms you right up," Lu Cai said, apparently ignoring Sanghyuk's distress. "Call it a souvenir."

"You bastard," Sanghyuk said, once his eyes stopped watering. "Set a match to this and it'd burn!"

"Yup," Lu Cai said happily. "We'd do that all the time. That's how you know you got a good batch."

Sanghyuk had questions, but the servants had come with enough food to feed five, and he waited until they left.

"I'm still waiting to hear why you're here," Sanghyuk said. "Instead of—" he waved his hand vaguely in lieu of clarification.

"We were called back," Lu Cai said simply. The smile had slipped off his face. "By the Prime Minister elect."

By Sanghyuk's father.

"I suppose his Majesty does need loyal, capable men," Sanghyuk said. A pall of silence fell over them.

Sanghyuk was so used to it, it took him a moment to register how wrong it was, and more than that, how wrong it was for this to happen with his childhood friend when this was the scenario with Jaehwan and the others. Sanghyuk's brows creased, even as he urged Lu Cai to eat.

"A boon for your father to be so honoured," Sanghyuk said. "I'll drink to that."

Lu Cai picked up a piece of meat and chewed it thoughtfully.

"A boon," he repeated. "Not bad, being back in the capital. Almost missed this chaos."

"I thought you missed me," Sanghyuk teased.

"Of course! Why else would the wind have blown me through your door?" Lu Cai sipped at his cup and immediately made a face.

Sanghyuk laughed.

"You don't like it much either," Sanghyuk said.

"No, your palate just isn't refined enough."

"How long have we known each other? You think Lu Cai could ever fool the great Han Sanghyuk?"

"Fine, fine, I wanted to see your face. Happy?"

"Hope it was worth it," Sanghyuk grumbled. But by his third or fourth taste, Sanghyuk found it growing on him.

They made small talk as they ate, about old friends neither had seen, about new polo horses, that the Lady Empress was due soon and of the little prince or princess that would come, and Sanghyuk exulted Storm, which lead to musings if this coming summer would see the same storms of empty thunder. Or if the past year had simply been an omen. A poor omen.

They waited until the dishes were cleared and it was just the two of them, with a full cup each of the liquid fire, that Sanghyuk finally pressed. He picked up the cup, and turned it in his hand.

"You returned to the city because of your father's post, but you haven't answered why you chose to visit me, so unexpectedly and so close to curfew."

"Curfew," Lu Cai mused. "I'd forgotten about that."

"No you didn't you absolute fool—you'd make the worst swindler with a face like that."

Lu Cai cracked a smile, and then he leaned back in the chair, tea cup half full with alcohol placed gently on the table.

"You'll have to put me up for the night, I'm afraid," Lu Cai said.

Sanghyuk heaved a dramatic sigh. "Making work for our servants."

"Don't tell me you've forgotten all those times we fell asleep together, studying and discussing in your room! Or mine!" Lu Cai was grinning again, and Sanghyuk felt his resolve at keeping Lu Cai out crumble. "What happened to little earnest Hyukkie who was always at the top of the class?"

"He grew up and learnt the joy of uninterrupted sleep," Sanghyuk deadpanned. "Fine. I'll still have a room prepared."

"I won't use it," Lu Cai said

"Suit yourself." Sanghyuk finished the half cup he had remaining, and the sound of an empty teacup placed against wood was just different enough from one half full that it shook Sanghyuk out of a reverie he hadn't registered.

Lu Cai, on the other hand, was simply watching him, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Sanghyuk pressed his lips flat, their eyes meeting.

"And you have once again avoided answering for your presence, in my room, that as you noted has not changed very much," Sanghyuk said.

Lu Cai smiled, and then exhaled.

"Always to the point," Lu Cai said.

Sanghyuk's brows rose. "I could've said the same of you."

"How long have we not seen each other?" Lu Cai contemplated his half-full cup. "Truthfully I debated if I should come. Wang Jia and Huang Mingwen both said you were always reluctant to join them."

Old friends and classmates—it felt so long since anyone had invited Sanghyuk to go out with them. Sanghyuk exhaled.

"So you came when you knew I couldn't turn you away."

"Astute as always!" Lu Cai laughed softly to himself. "You and I—we're different from them. We've seen the world beyond these walls. We know this city isn't the centre of the universe."

Sanghyuk shifted, unaccustomed to Lu Cai's sombre side. When his father had been appointed to oversee Yunbei Province in the north, he’d been reluctant to leave the capital. Youths of fifteen. Youths who'd yet to see the world.

"The empire of Jiang is big," Sanghyuk said.

"Big, with all sorts of people, all sorts of ideas."

Sanghyuk glanced up at the ceiling and then at the door, resisting the urge to stand, to pace. There wasn't much room to pace.

"And you've experienced these ideas," Sanghyuk said softly.

"As have you," Lu Cai said.

Sanghyuk wanted to go find Storm.

"His Majesty needs good, loyal men." Lu Cai echoed Sanghyuk's earlier words.

"Are you one of them?" Sanghyuk found himself asking.

"A good man? I would hope so."

Silence was often the loudest sound of all.

Sanghyuk took a deep breath, and this time he stood, legs not quite obeying. It was a clear night, but dark. There were lanterns outside, but the moon had risen half full during the day and left the evening sky to the stars. He walked to the window and back again, feeling Lu Cai's eyes following him all the while.

"Why are you here?" Sanghyuk stopped in front of Lu Cai, a step too close. His friend leaned back to meet his eyes. Lu Cai sipped at his drink, face never changing from an impassive mask.

"You were always close to the Prince of Yue," he said.

"Is this some kind of warning?"

Lu Cai blinked. This time, he took a long drink and the cup was empty when he put it down.

"No," Lu Cai said. "I came as a friend."

Sanghyuk dragged his hand across his face. The faint buzz of alcohol had turned from pleasant warmth to an irritating fog.

"As a friend," Sanghyuk murmured. He took a step back so Lu Cai didn't have to crane his neck to meet his eyes.

"Sure," Lu Cai said easily. "Why not?"

"Don't make me wonder if you came to get me drunk," Sanghyuk warned.

Lu Cai laughed. "But I did! What's fun drinking if a little drunkness doesn't happen?"

Neither of them addressed Sanghyuk's implications that Lu Cai was clearly avoiding.

"Fine," Sanghyuk said. He sat back down, weight dropping heavily into the chair. "What else have you come to tell me—as a friend?"

"Well, Wang Jia was hoping you might join us next time," Lu Cai said.

Danger. So much danger here.

Sanghyuk wasn't ready for this. Any of this. He'd avoided trouble, but trouble had come to find him. What was it Jaehwan had asked him?

If Sanghyuk's father asked him a question, would Sanghyuk lie?

and

If Sanghyuk was asked for information, would Sanghyuk betray his father?

No, Sanghyuk had said. And no.

That hadn't changed.

But Sanghyuk understood clearly enough what Lu Cai was here to say. What Lu Cai was asking of him. If Sanghyuk was willing to right a wrong. Except he didn't think Lu Cai, Wang Jia, any of them, knew it to be a wrong—they just knew what was right.

They were stronger than Sanghyuk a thousand fold.

"I cannot join you," Sanghyuk said. The words came before his thoughts cleared. Disappointment like a punctured ball was palpable next to him. "I would like to, but I cannot. You said it as well—I am the eldest and only son of the Prime Minister elect. I cannot bring shame on this family."

"You're afraid." Lu Cai's accusation was plain.

"Yes," Sanghyuk admitted. "I am afraid."

"I never knew you for a coward.”

Sanghyuk sighed, closing his eyes. "Me neither, but sometimes patience is more prudent than recklessness—I just... I just don't think I can join you. Not now."

He couldn't tell Lu Cai of Hakyeon. He couldn't explain his reluctance. He couldn't explain Jaehwan's rejection.

He couldn't forget his own brazen declaration that he'd help Taekwoon.

He couldn't tell Lu Cai of that, either, and in a strange way it felt like a deception, a betrayal in itself.

"I'll go have a room readied for you," Sanghyuk said, getting slowly to his feet. He was back in minutes, but wasn't surprised to find that Lu Cai had commandeered Sanghyuk's bed and was fast asleep—or pretending, at least. Storm greeted Sanghyuk with tongue lolling and tail wagging—Sanghyuk couldn't help but laugh, a mix of disbelief and defeat, faced with his dog and his friend.

Sanghyuk thought of physically hauling Lu Cai to the guest room—but Lu Cai's expression was one of peace, and the past few hours would've tired Lu Cai at least as much as they had Sanghyuk. If not more. Likely more.

And Lu Cai was the guest.

Well, it wasn't the first time he'd slept on the floor, and at least he'd have Storm as a warm, if big and lumpy, pillow.

Spring had come to the Han household, and it was nice to sit outside for hours at a time without feeling the chill nip of winter in his fingers. Sanghyuk was doing that a lot of that these days. It was good for thinking, and he had a lot of thinking to do.

The first thought, one that'd struck him like a cracking whip, was that the Present Emperor's immediate siblings aside, Sanghyuk was the closest family. The Han household was the one nearest the throne. And unlike the Emperor's siblings, Sanghyuk posed no direct threat. Or that was how it should've been.

The thought had come to him as his mother spoke of the imminent royal newborn, and how it seemed like the Empress was to bear Sanghyuk's cousin a son. How proud her sister would've been, Sanghyuk's mother said, if only she could be here to hold her grandchild in her arms.

Sanghyuk carefully avoided mentioning Zhiheng's already existing eldest child—a daughter—knowing her future lay in marrying a prince or a king or maybe a mere lordling and had no place in the story of the imperial throne. Sanghyuk didn't remember her name.

It would matter a lot more if Sanghyuk wasn't so close to Jaehwan, and if he wasn't—as his father had put it—so fond of Hakyeon.

It was warmer these days, with more green on the branches. Sanghyuk plucked idly at one of the leaves. He recalled that Hakyeon liked to sit by the water, but Sanghyuk preferred to hide out on the stairs by one of the pavilions, shaded by the trees and shielded by the rocks. If his mother ever wondered where he'd disappear to for hours at a time, she never said a word. After all, he'd grown into a man.

Three days had passed since Lu Cai had come and gone, and Sanghyuk hadn't heard from him since. He was probably waiting for Sanghyuk to act first. Nothing from Jaehwan either. Nothing from Hakyeon. Sanghyuk knew better than to expect anything from Taekwoon.

It was as if they were all saying, it was Sanghyuk's turn to step forward. It was Sanghyuk's turn to act. He knew by now there was no choice for him to do anything but. But what did they want him to do?

If only his father still trusted him.

If only Zhiheng would trust him.

The leaf crumpled in Sanghyuk's fist.

What, Sanghyuk suddenly wondered, would it take? He knew without asking that Taekwoon would never agree—but what of Hakyeon? Jaehwan? He didn't think Jaehwan would agree either. As for Lu Cai... Lu Cai might. Lu Cai who'd come to his door just before curfew when he knew Sanghyuk would never turn him away. Lu Cai would agree.

Perhaps this was what Lu Cai had wanted.

His Majesty needed good, loyal men.

Are you one of them? Sanghyuk had asked. A good man? I would hope so, Lu Cai had answered.

A good man.

They all thought Sanghyuk could be one too.

The afternoons had become pleasant and now that the chances of encountering certain people were slim, Hongbin had grown fond of spending them outdoors. There were ample places for shade. The palace was a big place, and Hongbin knew he'd only seen a fraction of what wasn't forbidden of him. Maybe it was habit that kept him confined to a small patch of a garden, secluded and quiet except for the water bubbling down the stream. There was a high wall of spirit rocks, a row of bamboo, and fish in a nearby pond. The rocks were still damp from the previous night's storm and Hongbin picked his way carefully across them as he strayed off the path.

It was a big place, and hearing his own name threw his heart into his throat, chest clenching as Hongbin turned.

The Prince of Bing bowed slightly in greeting, his sudden appearance no different from a spectre summoned from Hongbin's memory.

"Your Highness." Hongbin returned the greeting with a much deeper bow. When Hongbin straightened, the Prince of Bing was several steps closer, his usual affable smile on his face.

"It has been some time," the Prince of Bing commented as he approached.

"It has been, your Highness," Hongbin agreed. Not wanting for the Prince of Bing to join him by the stream—because he knew that the prince wouldn't pay mind to the uneven stones—Hongbin hurried back to the path. His attention must've slipped just a moment because in the next breath the sky was falling away from him and strong arms looped around his waist. Hongbin found himself placed on his feet in a bit of a daze.

"That looked dangerous," the Prince of Bing said.

"Your Highness—"

"Walk with me?" It wasn't a request, and it was clear that the Prince of Bing had no interest in any apologies or indebtedness Hongbin was on the verge of producing.

It had always been one of the strangest things about the Prince of Bing—there wasn't a shred of intimidation in the man but Hongbin would never think to disobey.

"Yes, your Highness," Hongbin murmured.

He was taller than the prince, but Hongbin was taller than many people. He'd known it as a fact but it wasn't until he'd come to the palace that he realised just how many people he was taller than. Even cloistered in the back palace there were more servants and eunuchs and serving girls and attendants than he'd ever seen. He'd grown in height since he'd left the Spring Jade but never noticed the degree when it was just Zhiheng—the Present Emperor—who he could compare to. And Wonsik, but that was different.

Hongbin might've always been taller than the Prince of Bing, but like the prince had remarked so many months ago, there'd been only passing interactions between them until this year. Another thing Hongbin hadn't noticed.

"Does your Highness have business in the palace today?" Hongbin asked.

"Business? Something like that," the Prince of Bing mused.

"Here?" Hongbin couldn't think of anything that'd bring the Prince of Bing to the back palace, but the prince only gave him one of those vacant half smiles and kept walking, leaving Hongbin to hurry after him lest he fall too many few steps behind.

"Something like that," the Prince of Bing answered again. Hongbin knew it was all he'd get out of the man.

They meandered deeper into the gardens, the Prince of Bing familiar with these paths in a way Hongbin wasn't. Why wouldn't he, when this was where the prince had grown up?

It was easy for Hongbin to let his mind wander as they walked. It was what he did most days. No thoughts, head empty, and hours could pass in the space of a minute.

"How are you adjusting?" The Prince of Bing's question yanked Hongbin back to the present, leaving him scrabbling for a response like a horse slipping down a cliff.

"Hongbin has adjusted well," Hongbin said. He bowed slightly. "His Majesty the Emperor, may he live ten thousand years, ensures Hongbin wants for nothing."

"Hm, then that is good.”

"Your Highness is too kind to worry about someone as inconsequential as Hongbin.”

"I don't think you're inconsequential," the prince said.

They'd come to a long covered outdoor hallway that Hongbin had never seen. There were no coloured pillars or decorative rafters—it was plain, tucked far from the usual paths one might frequent. The prince's steps were firm against the wooden floor, a welcome contrast to Hongbin's own—he preferred being nearly silent. There was a room at the end of the hallway that the prince lead them into. It was bright with large windows on each wall but with the eerie air of being forgotten and abandoned.

There were a few benches pushed against one wall. The prince pulled two to the centre of the room, sitting down on one and gesturing to the other beside him.

"Sit down."

"Yes, your Highness," Hongbin said, bowing and taking a seat. For several long moments neither of them spoke. They both stared out the latticed window, the sky dimmed by clouds lingering from the storm. The roof of a distant pavilion appeared like horns behind steep rocks, shielded by pines lining an unseen lake. Hongbin knew it was there—they'd walked past it—but here, it couldn't be seen.

"It's always been quiet here," the Prince of Bing mused to himself. "I liked it when I was young. Han'er... Sometimes he'd be loud but then he'd take me here. He grew up, moved out, and then I showed Taekwoon gege this place. I think he had his own places—the palace is big, isn't it. Enough space for all of us."

"It is Hongbin's honour," Hongbin said.

"Why? To sit with someone truly inconsequential in an old building?" The Prince of Bing's lips curled, an uncomfortable mischief in his eyes. But it disappeared, melting away as quickly as it'd come. The Prince of Bing seemed to forget Hongbin in that same moment, his gaze again turned outdoors, looking at something in the distance Hongbin could only guess at.

It had been a week since Zhixing had spoken to Zhihan about Hongbin, and it'd be a lie that he hadn't had occasion to think of him since. He couldn't be blamed. There wasn't much else to think about. Zhixing thought himself realistic—there would be no ascetic retreat and the capital was, and would always be, his home. As long as the Heavens approved. As long as Zhiheng approved.

It'd been an absentminded approval that had granted Zhixing access to the back palace. Like he'd told Zhihan, he hadn't needed an excuse at all—he'd just asked nicely.

Meeting Hongbin had been a pleasant surprise.

"You let the rabbit go," Zhixing said.

Hongbin froze, tension shooting up his spine. A wry smile curled at Zhixing's lips.

"It makes sense—that was its home. It's hard to be taken from your home," Zhixing said. "Harder for a child."

"Hongbin is afraid he does not quite understand," the concubine said softly. Warily. He was like the rabbit in so many ways.

"That's alright," Zhixing said. "You don't have to."

Hongbin frowned at this, tiny lines creased between his brows. Zhixing's eyes flickered to Hongbin and then away again. He found it hard to look at Hongbin sometimes, like he was committing a transgression. He'd seen the way Hongbin had recoiled in front of Prime Minister Han—Zhixing didn't want that to be him. It was easier to look away.

"Dai Junren—ah, Scholar Dai, he says you're a good student," Zhixing said next.

If Hongbin turned any more stiff, Zhixing was afraid he'd shatter like a brittle sheet of ice.

"You work hard," Zhixing said, softer this time, as if it would help. The corners of Hongbin's lip turned up in a poor attempt of a smile that left a stone weighing uncomfortably in Zhixing's chest. He hadn't meant to shake him. The silence that followed prickled, and Zhixing was one comfortable with silence. It was why it'd been easy to grow close to his seventh brother, when so many of their siblings hadn't.

"We're old friends, Scholar Dai and me—casual drinking friends. He said he'd been requested for a position in the palace—he's very good, you know, did very well on the exams but decided he didn't want to be a court official. My Emperor Father—the August Former Emperor didn't insist, he comes from a long line of scholars, and any good empire needs good scholars as well as good officers. Knowing his Majesty's household, I enquired the good scholar about you—the Empress is a lovely lady, but she has expressed in private her preferences for the musical arts and not the written."

Hongbin relaxed as Zhixing spoke and that reassured him—an upset Hongbin wasn't what he wanted at all. He could see Hongbin searching for words and he waited, letting his own weight slump against the wooden bench. He hadn't come searching for Hongbin, but now that he'd found him, Zhixing's own curiosity was overpowering.

"Scholar Dai is too kind," Hongbin finally said, and it wasn't far from what Zhixing expected. It made him smile.

"Scholar Dai isn't the sort to lie or exaggerate," Zhixing said. He pursed his lips for a moment in thought. "Rather serious, reminds me of one of my brothers."

"If Hongbin does well, it is because of Scholar Dai's skill," Hongbin said, and when he bowed towards Zhixing, it was with a deliberateness that belied his understanding of which brother Zhixing had been speaking of.

His stiff and serious little Taekwoon gege.

He no longer dared to speak of the Emperor in that way.

"You came here young," Zhixing said. Perhaps he'd spoken those words too soon, when frozen terror immediately claimed the concubine. Zhixing frowned to himself—he couldn't imagine what would've drawn such a reaction.

Nor could Hongbin himself be sure. Perhaps the past frightened him.

"I do not recall, your Highness," Hongbin said, trying to force sound into those words.

"Very young?" Zhixing amended.

"Why does your Highness say that?" Hongbin asked, words coming from somewhere trained and unconscious.

"I wanted to know who you are," Zhixing said. He looked at Hongbin as he said this—an intensity barely shielded by the veneer of absentminded thought. It lingered for a second, two at the most, before it vanished in favour of a soft and easy smile.

That smile made Hongbin want to believe him. It'd be so easy to believe him. He wanted to believe someone.

"It'd be troublesome if you were an exiled prince, or the child of a lovely fox spirit," Zhixing said, as if either of those made a shred of sense. "It would explain why you seem to be so beguiling."

"Hongbin was merely a slave child," Hongbin said softly. He looked down at his hands. He'd never said those words aloud. "The Emperor is the one who has given Hongbin everything, has made Hongbin anything."

"His Majesty is very giving," Zhixing agreed.

Hongbin should’ve expected this by now, that no conversation with the Prince of Bing would end in mere platitudes. He didn't want to expect it.

"You're very impressive Hongbin," Zhixing said. "Junren—Scholar Dai, he thinks so too and he isn't the sort to lie or exaggerate."

"As your Highness has said," Hongbin said. A small smile, not quite anything close to beguiling, and directed downward where it couldn't be seen. "If his Highness has said it twice, then Hongbin has no choice but to believe his Highness and the exalted Scholar."

"He's a good choice, I'm glad his Majesty chose him," Zhixing said.

And that was when Hongbin recalled it hadn't been the Emperor who'd had a hand in it at all.

A dark night, a shadow in his room, and distasteful arrogance Hongbin had been glad to see leave. The urge to know overwhelmed him like a sudden storm, but it'd be on Hongbin's head as well if he spoke wrongly.

As much as he wished he could, Hongbin couldn't trust this unassuming prince. No more than he could trust any of them. Than he could trust anyone.

This afternoon was a chilling reminder, and not one that the prince had meant to provide, Hongbin fathomed. If anything, the prince's intentions had been the reverse. Hongbin couldn't trust anyone.

"Your Highness said he has business to take care of?" Hongbin ventured.

"I have taken up a lot of your time, haven't I?" the prince said ruefully. He stood, and Hongbin quickly followed suit.

"It is Hongbin who has taken up too much of your Highness's time," Hongbin said, bowing.

"Then shall we leave it as both having taken each other's time?" the prince suggested, as he gestured for Hongbin to leave the hall first.

"If your Highness insists," Hongbin said. His smile was directed at the prince this time as he bowed once again.

"I think I do," the prince said. He looked up at the rafters of the covered walkway, and then out into the distance. "Will it rain again? I don't really like the rain. But the dragon king doesn't listen to mere mortals like us—I think we should return in case it does. It's been hard to know."

An entire month had passed and Taekwoon wasn't better.

It was the exhaustion that got to him the most. The broken bones in his left arm may have traumatised Sanghyuk—the boy had never seen bone exposed before and it must've been a sight—but it'd become a nagging itch that Taekwoon was used to ignoring. The doctor had duly informed him of several other broken bones, and that Taekwoon might've stopped a blade from cutting through his heart but if he could do a better job next time of not piercing his midriff it'd save them all some trouble. Like he didn't know it could've killed him if a miracle hadn't summoned Hakyeon like a spirit.

That and the head wound—something else Taekwoon ought to have avoided—was why Taekwoon wasn't 'fully recovered', according to the good doctor.

Hakyeon was far too smug about it.

At least when he was around.

It was raining again today, leaving Taekwoon drowsier than usual. He knew better than to attempt any sort of martial routine when simply wandering down the walkways could leave him dizzy and weak legged. And his leg ached. It'd been a deep cut but it wouldn't kill him. He'd live to fight again. But it bothered him.

Just like it bothered him that Hakyeon wasn't around. Taekwoon wasn't sure when it'd begun, but he'd become so used to having Hakyeon there the moment he awoke, that not having him fussing about and physically keeping Taekwoon in bed and being a general nuisance—the absence of irritation was an irritation itself.

Hakyeon hadn't been around all day. Not when Taekwoon woke before dawn, and not when he woke again when the sun was noon high. Taekwoon hadn't caught a glimpse of even his shadow when he'd made his way to the kitchens in search of food. It was an easy guess that he hadn't been home in those in between hours either, but with the servants having finally taken seriously Taekwoon's demands to be left alone, there was no one to tell him, and Taekwoon had no plans to ask. This left Taekwoon drowsing on the couch, the book he'd been reading forgotten on the floor, his splinted arm resting heavy against his chest. The brazier had gone cold, unnoticed. Taekwoon tugged with his good hand at the cloak he'd wrapped about himself. It was probably late afternoon—it felt late. He couldn't know how long he'd been sleeping. Half sleeping. Couldn't remember when he'd crawled onto the couch, instead of sitting on the chair. His arm itched, and Taekwoon fancied he could feel the break in the bone. It wasn't his first broken bone, but he didn't remember being so bothered as a child.

The rain beat a light staccato against the roof. It was dark and grey outside. It hadn't been raining when he'd first awoke. He wasn't even sure if it was raining or if it was an invention of the sleep fog. Might've kept wondering if the door hadn't opened and admitted Hakyeon, dripping water on the floor.

"Where were you?" The words were out of Taekwoon's mouth before he could stop them.

Hakyeon's brows creased, stern and disapproving.

"You should be in bed," Hakyeon said.

"You always think I should be in bed," Taekwoon shot back. Hakyeon narrowed his eyes but didn't refute it. Taekwoon couldn't manage to summon a shred of triumph, because the next words to cross his mind were if I were the emperor, would you think I have the luxury to remain in bed? Even without speaking it aloud he knew Hakyeon's answer to the hypothetical would be a resounding yes. If only to be contrary and stubborn.

As if hearing Taekwoon's inner thoughts, a sudden weight seemed to fall on Hakyeon's shoulders. Carrying that weight, Hakyeon shed his jacket and then sat next to Taekwoon, grabbing the discarded book as he did so. His hair was wet. Hakyeon glanced at, and subsequently ignored, the damp spots quickly forming on Taekwoon's cloak.

"The Records?" Hakyeon flipped the book shut and then handed it to Taekwoon.

Taekwoon was a little fuzzy about what he'd been reading and absentmindedly flipped through it one-handed, names and years and places catching his eyes. One of the earlier volumes of the Biographies.

"It was popular to drink poison when ordered," Taekwoon noted.

Hakyeon's eyebrows lifted as he took the book back from Taekwoon's hands. "Ah, the First Emperor and his descendants. A triumph followed by two generations of tragedy. I cannot blame his eldest son for what he did. But I can't help but wonder if the Qin dynasty would've continued had he listened to his general, or if the Second Emperor had not so easily listened to the minister's lies."

"You only say that because now we know the truth," Taekwoon said.

"I know," Hakyeon conceded. Taekwoon waited for Hakyeon to say more, like how even the precedents the minister had called on to justify the killing of the designated successor were moments in history that precipitated ruin, or how the tales with which the chancellor cautioned against the deception awaited that once vaulted dynasty. How the son who killed his usurper father only hastened their country's demise, how a state fell when weakened by a throne contested by brothers. But Hakyeon only reached into his sleeve, and handed Taekwoon a message tube.

"This came today," Hakyeon said softly. "From your fifth brother."

"Zhixuan?" Taekwoon sat straight up, fumbling the scroll out of the oilskin tube, the paper nearly falling from his fingers. "What did he say?"

"Read it yourself," Hakyeon said with wry amusement—Taekwoon already was. "He has agreed, he will be with you, but he wishes for a guarantee. Not unlike you."

"A guarantee," Taekwoon murmured under his breath. "What can we give him?"

"I don't know," Hakyeon admitted. There was an exhausted weariness there that set Taekwoon on edge. He shifted towards Hakyeon, as if Taekwoon could share some of the burden by being a finger's width closer. Could or couldn't, Taekwoon felt some of the tension in Hakyeon's posture fade, even if it was only a fraction.

There was more than weariness—there was the persistent sense that Hakyeon was hiding something, something more. Something that he knew without a doubt Taekwoon wouldn't approve.

And Taekwoon wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Taekwoon was also tired.

He slumped in his seat, letting his fifth brother's letter fall to his lap. He hadn't seen Zhixuan in many years, more years than he could keep track of. Taekwoon didn't remember what it was that had gotten his fifth brother sent out west, finally settling deep in Tuliang. Whether it was as punishment or tactical advantage had long become inconsequential—a prince in effective hostage wasn't quite the same as a princess in political marriage but a pseudo-alliance had been established in either case. The Tuliang clans held no real love for the court of Jiang, thinking the empire weak while recognising their military strength. To invite such foreign forces into the country felt treasonous in itself. But Hakyeon had approved of Taekwoon's suggestion, and the messenger had been sent. As it transpired, the message had found its way to Zhixuan mere days before the news of their father's passing, the August Former Emperor's passing. It would be proper, Zhixuan had mentioned in passing, for him to return to pay his respects.

And if that return were to be accompanied by allied forces, foreign or not, who could speak to it else-wise?

Zhixuan wanted a guarantee. He'd be a fool not to.

"We don't have to act yet," Hakyeon said. It broke Taekwoon out of his thoughts, shook him back into reality.

"I suppose," Taekwoon said.

"It's simply one more weapon we can have in hand."

"One we will ideally not have to employ," Taekwoon said.

"Yes.”

"Did you want to return to your room?" Taekwoon looked down at the letter, and then back to Hakyeon.

"I would like to rest," Hakyeon said, "as you should be doing, but it's nearing dinner."

Hakyeon stood, taking the damp warmth that'd been present at Taekwoon's side with him. It made Taekwoon stand as well, although a sudden dizzy spell would've sent him tumbling if Hakyeon hadn't steadied him with a hand at his back. Taekwoon grasped at Hakyeon's arm for support. In return, Hakyeon gripped Taekwoon's hand, firm and strong.

"I think I need to eat," Taekwoon said quietly, as if a meal would fix everything. Hakyeon agreed, and lead him out.

It wasn't Hakyeon's room they ended up in but Taekwoon's. Hakyeon seemed to have thrown caution to the winds lately, or perhaps he'd finally decided to trust the people around them. That was what Taekwoon had always done.

Taekwoon wasn't supposed to be drinking. The doctor had warned him against it. The doctor also wasn't here, and Hakyeon would allow him as long as it was in moderation. And nothing too strong.

A mild millet wine, gently warmed, sat on the floor in front of them. It lent a heady flush to the evening and distracted him from the persistent itch in his arm. A lazy comfort cocooned him as he sat next to Hakyeon. The wine had been on the table between them, but then Taekwoon had moved to sit next to Hakyeon, so he could peer at the text instead of trying to parse it in reverse, and then they hadn't been at the table at all and it'd grown late enough that any pretence of work had vanished, in favour of a rest they both sorely needed. However much Taekwoon would deny it.

His head hurt. Not from the wound, which had faded into a light scar. It ached in a dull way, with a sharp percussion of emptiness every time he tried to pull his thoughts into any semblance of coherence. He'd abandoned his attempts some minutes ago, and his eyes were weary from reading the pages Hakyeon had set out in front of him. He couldn't make them make sense.

"Let's not worry about Zhixuan for now," Hakyeon said. It took Taekwoon a moment to recall that thread of discussion. It wasn't worth lifting his head for, even if Hakyeon's shoulder was bony and uncomfortable.

"Is it safe? Jaehwan." Taekwoon let more of his weight fall against Hakyeon.

"He's taking precautions, I assume," Hakyeon said. "You seem to have scared some sense into him."

Taekwoon snorted. He wasn't sure he put some sense into Jaehwan's head, or the vaunted Prime Minister who'd failed yet again at seeing Taekwoon dead. No, Taekwoon hadn't died, but if they came at him now with one arm little better than useless, it was slim chances he'd fight them off. He hadn't quite managed the first time. Would be dead, if it hadn't been for Hakyeon.

The thought sobered him. As it always did.

It wasn't the first time Hakyeon had saved his life. He was afraid it wouldn't be the last.

He remembered it, barely, somewhere through the fever pain that'd taken hold not long after Sanghyuk had left. A memory of Hakyeon by his bed, of Hakyeon leaning over him, of Hakyeon's hand feeling for the fever against Taekwoon's cheek.

Heaven has other plans for you, Hakyeon had whispered. Heaven has spared your life before—please, spare him again. There is so much he has left to do.

It was so hazy it might have been part of the fever dream, if the feeling of Hakyeon's hot tears wasn't still burned into his skin. It made it real.

I'll protect you. Words Taekwoon had spoken, but how he laughed at them now.

"And you?" Taekwoon asked, incomplete words forming an incomplete thought. He frowned, as if it would pull them in order. "What you're doing."

"What I'm doing?" The question lilted lightly, and Taekwoon was sure of it—there was something Hakyeon wasn't telling him.

"You're doing something," Taekwoon insisted.

He was tired. Drowsy. He was often drowsy, but he didn't want to be, not right now.

"Of course I am," Hakyeon said. "Why would you think my days so idle?"

"You're always gone," Taekwoon said. It was whinier than he meant.

Hakyeon laughed softly, the movement just jarring Taekwoon as he rested against Hakyeon's side.

"I am doing things," Hakyeon agreed. He craned his head about so he could see Taekwoon—so Taekwoon could see Hakyeon's face. Hakyeon was smiling, a reassuring smile, a teasing smile. A concerned, worried, obscuring smile. Taekwoon wasn't supposed to see that, but it was Hakyeon, so he did.

He wanted to ask: things to do with Zhiheng? but he could guess the answer, nor was he sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Taekwoon?"

"Mm?"

"Shall we go to bed?" It wasn't a question.

"I'm still awake," Taekwoon said.

"I suppose you are," Hakyeon said. He poured himself another cup of wine—Taekwoon was briefly disappointed that Hakyeon didn't pour another for him, but he was tired. Awake, but tired.

"I was reminiscing on our brief student days," Hakyeon suddenly said. "It was exciting, studying outside the palace."

"So we could understand there was no one right way of thinking," Taekwoon said, parroting one of their old tutors. And then when Taekwoon was obstinate, swiftly reinforced by their mother. A sharp pain lanced through his chest followed immediately with a now familiar flare of anger and hatred. Hakyeon was still speaking.

"You were always less than pleased to venture out," Hakyeon said. "Although I wonder if it was because we had to sit with other students, or if it was because you were unable to be as childish when there were so many others?"

"I was not childish," Taekwoon snapped.

"I would say good Teacher Ming would disagree, with how earnestly you dodged mathematics," Hakyeon said. Taekwoon subsided, no room to disagree. He'd truly hated doing calculations.

"You know I've maintained contact with several others," Hakyeon continued.

"Mmm. Mm?" I know. And?

"There is unease among them," Hakyeon said, "and if something were to happen, seek out Little Dai and Bai Mo. They will not turn you away."

"Hngh?" What're you talking about?

"Just a thought, Taekwoon. And Jaehwan. If anything is to happen—"

"You," Taekwoon said.

"What?"

"I'll find you."

"You know that's not what I mean," Hakyeon said, exasperation in every word.

"Don't do dangerous things," Taekwoon said.

"You're mumbling, Taekwoonie.”

Taekwoon didn't think he was—Hakyeon was dissembling. Hakyeon did have something dangerous planned.

Taekwoon couldn't know this, but he was both wrong and right. Hakyeon couldn't hear his warning, and he also had something—if not dangerous, then risky—planned. But Taekwoon was awake, and he'd heard Hakyeon, even if he was too deep in the pool of drowsiness to manage a coherent response. Hakyeon needed Taekwoon to know.

The only thing left for Hakyeon to do was pray.

The moon had been full.

Hakyeon would remember that later. Sitting in a courtyard he'd never return to, he'd tilted his head back to see the soft silver disk, mocking him in its completeness.

The moon was gone now but the sky was still clear, the dusty pink of sunrise edging the horizon. Hakyeon had left Ray behind. She'd be taken care of. He hadn't indulged in prolonged goodbyes or any sort of farewell. He couldn't risk having everything undone.

Not when there were lives beyond his own at stake.

The steward rode in a carriage beside Hakyeon's plodding mare. 'Rode' was the wrong word. Even if the steward was drugged and bound with his own consent, it was deceitful to say he 'rode'. Their roles reversed from two decades ago—the thought came suddenly to Hakyeon, when it was the steward who wasn't yet a steward astride his mount and Hakyeon had been a frightened child cowering in the carriage. He couldn't recall if they'd come to the palace.

They came slowly to the palace gates. In a show of bravado Hakyeon had chosen the main gates, and he dismounted carefully several steps away. The guards had been tense at this unknown arrival—their spears bristled like a hedgehog the moment they saw it was Hakyeon. It almost made him smile.

"I see you recognise me," Hakyeon said, as if musing it over. "You may inform his Majesty the Emperor that I am here to see him."

"There is no reason for you to be here," the captain of the guard detail said. The lack of respect might've surprised Hakyeon if he didn't already know he was persona non grata in the palace. Or anywhere, when it came to Zhiheng—more accurately, the Prime Minister.

"I think his Majesty will be rather interested in what I have to say," Hakyeon said. He drew himself to his full height, wishing not for the first time that he was more imposing.

The soldiers glanced at their captain, because Hakyeon spoke like he meant to be obeyed, and the memory of obeying the Duke of Yin was still strong. Even if Hakyeon didn't recognise these men, personally. Zhiheng would've changed everyone out.

"You are to be refused entry, your Grace," the captain said. "And it is still early—his Majesty is not to be disturbed."

"We can wait," Hakyeon said.

They looked at each other again, and then at Hakyeon, and then at the carriage like they'd just noticed it. Whatever the captain was about to ask was interrupted, because think of the devil and the devil would come.

"Why, if it isn't the Duke of Yin," Prime Minister Han called out.

Cold sweat prickled at the back of Hakyeon's neck as he looked up at the ramparts to see the one man he'd wanted the most to avoid. Had come so early to avoid.

"Prime Minister," Hakyeon forced out, all he could manage while maintaining a steady voice.

"Let him in," Han Ming instructed.

"Yes sir!"

And just like that, the gates were opened and Hakyeon was allowed into the vipers' nest. The time to consider if he'd made a mistake was long past.

Prime Minister Han was waiting for Hakyeon when he entered.

"Should I call you foolish or brave?" Han Ming said. He nodded towards the carriage. "Explain."

"A sign of good faith," Hakyeon said. His legs shook—he was afraid in a way he'd never been before. But before he'd always had a sword, armour, and Ray. He had none.

One of Han Ming's personal guards pulled aside the carriage curtain and looked inside.

"A man, your Honour," the personal guard said.

"As I said, a sign of good faith. I come unarmed." Hakyeon looked at their surroundings with an exaggerated gesture, and then back at Han Ming. His next words were quiet. "This isn't an easy place to talk."

"Of course, you prefer your meetings in a cave," Han Ming said.

Somehow, the knowledge that Han Ming knew one of Hakyeon's poorly kept secrets put him at ease. His paranoia had been warranted.

"A room will do," Hakyeon said mildly. "Although it is an audience with his Majesty I am seeking, Prime Minister."

Not with you.

"I will be the arbiter of that. Search him."

Hakyeon had been expecting it but it was still jarring to have hands laid on him and fought all his instincts to remain still. No wonder those he'd had searched would struggle. There was a knife slipped into his belt. He knew they'd find it. It was wrenched free and thrown to the ground, the sheath clattering against the stones.

The next sound was Hakyeon's knees hitting the ground, his arms twisted behind his back. Hakyeon refused to fight back, but it was still humiliating to be forced down, his head pulled back, his throat bared. It made sense for Han Ming's guards to be skilled. Hakyeon could've fought free, but they were still good.

"You come unarmed," Han Ming mocked, picking up the knife. A plain unmarked knife. Han Ming turned it between his fingers with a disdainful look at Hakyeon.

"More suspicious if I had," Hakyeon choked out. Two seconds and that knife could be unsheathed to slit his throat. At least, Hakyeon grasped at desperately, Han Ming was afraid of angering Taekwoon. Killing Hakyeon here would be too risky.

He hoped.

"True," Han Ming said. He tucked Hakyeon's knife into his sleeve, and then gestured for Hakyeon to be allowed to his feet. Hakyeon was yanked up with the same gentleness he'd been shoved down with. His arms were still pulled behind his back, but at least his head was freed. Two guards had their blades half drawn, a reminder that Hakyeon's life was wholly in their hands. Hakyeon couldn't say he liked it.

He'd done this to himself—but nothing was beyond the parameters Hakyeon had prepared for.

"You are fortunate I am interested in what you have to say," Han Ming said mildly. "Or you would be choking on your own blood."

"Your Honour is merciful," Hakyeon said, matching his tone.

"You come armed, but bring a sign of good faith. And you bring yourself."

"Yes."

"Did you really think that you could walk in here and demand an audience with his Majesty and simply have it granted to you? Foolish boy. I cannot say I see what my son sees in you. But I will hear what you have to say. Bring him."

The carriage following behind was sharp in Hakyeon's awareness as he half walked half stumbled after Han Ming. He felt the occasional eyes on him, and he tried not to think what this looked like to bystanders. To officials. Han Ming would delight in Hakyeon's humiliation in their eyes—he wanted it. There were so many ways and so many places they could go that didn't involve leading him around like stubborn livestock.

They came at last to a courtyard Hakyeon didn't immediately recognise. He was shoved through the door, and the disappearance of onlookers was like a weight sliding off his shoulders. The relief didn't last—a heavy blow knocked the breath out of him and a second sent him to his knees. Hakyeon grunted as the hands he'd thrown out to keep from falling face down were kicked away. His head hit the ground in a burst of pain. He jerked reflexively when hands closed roughly about his wrists, grit his teeth as they kicked him around a few times before finally binding his arms behind his back. Like Hakyeon was planning to run or fight.

"No resistance? I thought you were braver," Han Ming commented from above Hakyeon.

Hakyeon's vision was still blank but he forced himself upright, even if heavy hands on his shoulders kept him from standing entirely. He knew where Han Ming was even if he couldn't see him.

"I came to negotiate, not to fight," Hakyeon said.

Han Ming scoffed.

"Come inside," he said.

Hakyeon expected the hard jerk that pulled him to his feet and then the push that sent him stumbling blindly forward, but that didn't mean he had to like it. His vision was beginning to clear, the edges blurring into colour, but he barely got a glimpse of the outside of the building before being shoved into a sparse room. The door was shut behind him, and it was just him and Han Ming.

The urge to kill this man and end it all burned in him.

This man was Sanghyuk's father but Hakyeon struggled to find the resemblance. Like his son, he was tall and well-built, his shoulders broad and imposing. Hakyeon wouldn't be surprised if Sanghyuk soon outstripped him in growth. Han Ming's eyes were cold while Sanghyuk's were playful, although Hakyeon supposed the shape was similar. There was a rough handsomeness about the Prime Minister that could put others at ease, one that Sanghyuk had inherited a sharper version of. He was strong and sturdy, and Hakyeon didn't doubt this man would take any chance to use that strength against him.

"Let me make this clear," Hakyeon said. "I trust you no more than you trust me. I will not fake cordiality with a man who would kill me if no consequences were to follow. But I will work with you because we have the same goal."

"You aren't worth the effort to kill," Han Ming said.

"While the Prince of Jing is," Hakyeon said quietly. "What a wasted effort that has been."

"Insolent brat!" Han Ming struck Hakyeon across the face. Hakyeon's ears rang, and there was blood in his mouth. His lips twitched in a barely suppressed snarl as he looked back to meet the man's eyes.

"I speak the truth," Hakyeon said, eyeing Han Ming carefully in case he decided to hit Hakyeon again. Hakyeon was growing tired of being hit.

"I could kill you now with no effort," Han Ming said.

"You could, but you haven't, because you're wondering what this goal is. When you want the Prince of Jing dead, and I would see him alive."

"You're here because of him." Han Ming spat out the last word, like any reference to Taekwoon was abhorrent.

"You want his Highness dead, but what you need is to consolidate his Majesty's power. That, your Honour, is our common goal."

Han Ming stared at him, no doubt deciphering what trap Hakyeon was laying. He'd find none, because there wasn't one.

"You intend to betray that wretch."

Hakyeon swallowed his anger and banished the shame that quickly followed. He could beg Taekwoon's forgiveness for not defending his honour, if and when this was all over. He couldn't think through the shame.

"I would speak to his Majesty," Hakyeon said instead. He'd say no more until then and Han Ming knew it. It remained to be seen if that was enough to tip the scales.

Minutes and then hours passed, with Hakyeon locked inside the room. With no furniture, Hakyeon sat on the floor, leaning against a wall, staring up at the wooden ceiling. Steward Zhu had probably awoken from his drugged stupor, which made Hakyeon wonder if it'd been worth using that ruse. As long as Hakyeon was ruthless when the time came. That was all they needed.

He'd ultimately chosen to tell Jaehwan. His adopted brother had been as upset as Hakyeon had imagined him to be, but if Jaehwan was going to be 'fucking pissed' either way, Hakyeon desperately wanted someone to know the truth. And Jaehwan was such a bundle of anger that he'd curse Hakyeon out no matter who asked. The truth would be safe with Jaehwan.

But no one else. Other than Jaehwan and the two involved, all would believe Hakyeon had betrayed Taekwoon, in the worst way imaginable. If he managed to scale the wall that faced him.

He had prayed as well, both for guidance and forgiveness. So much of this was wrong. It went against everything Hakyeon believed in, against everything Hakyeon stood for. Which was what this hinged on.

If Hakyeon's hands hadn't been bound behind him, he'd reach for the jade pendant tucked against his chest. It hadn't felt right to wear it at his waist like some ordinary symbol, and he hadn't wanted to carry it like luggage. So he wore it about his neck, and could faintly feel the carved jade against his skin. A reminder of his ancestors' judgement of him.

There was no other way, he kept reminding himself. He hadn't found any other way.

It was Jaehwan who'd fielded this plan—to keep Taekwoon alive, at all costs. Anything else would come after. Jaehwan couldn't deny that.

Hakyeon wondered how long they'd make him wait.

It was past noon when the door opened. Hakyeon stumbled to his feet but his legs had grown unexpectedly numb, and he crashed to his knees just as a shadow loomed over him.

To his surprise, it was Zhiheng.

It wasn't the first time Hakyeon had seen Zhiheng dressed in the imperial garb. It never ceased to shake him. Perhaps it reminded him too strongly of the August Former Emperor, or it was simply imposing in its own right. Both.

"You can stand," Zhiheng said. His eyes flickered over Hakyeon on the ground. "Or not."

"Thank you, your Majesty, but I would prefer to stand," Hakyeon said, getting more slowly to his feet. He ought to bow and beg forgiveness, but something in him refused to bend, not after the morning he'd had.

They were alone, which frightened Hakyeon more than anything. Hands tied or not he could've killed Zhiheng before the guards waiting outside could do a thing, even if it'd mean forfeiting his own life. Zhiheng knew this too.

"Hakyeon," Zhiheng said simply.

"Your Majesty," Hakyeon replied. He took a subtle breath to steady the trembling in his legs. Zhiheng's eyes were a heavy weight that Hakyeon forced himself to meet. Zhiheng was the emperor, but he wasn't supposed to be. "Are you not afraid of being alone with me?"

"Why would I be?" Zhiheng seemed genuinely perplexed for a moment before his expression smoothed out into one of severe neutrality.

Hakyeon tried on a smile of sorts. He'd never trusted Zhiheng, but somehow now that Zhiheng's plans had come to fruition, it was easier for Hakyeon to pick out all the parts of Zhiheng that he knew, back when Zhiheng had been an admired and respected older brother to Taekwoon.

"I imagine the Prime Minister has already conveyed to you my reason for coming," Hakyeon said. "That we have a shared goal."

"Yes," Zhiheng said. His lips twitched. "And your 'sign of good faith.'"

At this, Hakyeon's stomach dropped.

"So you've met him," Hakyeon said, hiding the sudden fear that'd taken hold within him.

"Your steward?" Zhiheng said, stepping around what Hakyeon meant. "Once."

"Yes, our steward," Hakyeon said. It was getting very hard to hold Zhiheng's gaze. "And a spy. If you hadn't so thoroughly routed out our people, some of them may have confessed that it was our 'steward' that contacted them. It would not be an exaggeration to say that he was the centre of Taekwoon's—of the Prince of Jing's entire network."

"I believe you," Zhiheng said. Too easily. Hakyeon hadn't expected that. Zhiheng was waiting. Like he knew he'd thrown Hakyeon off guard.

"Without him, the Prince of Jing's information network is crippled—destroyed."

"And you are here," Zhiheng said.

"I am—and it is true when they say that between the two of us, I am the strategist," Hakyeon said, lying outright. Taekwoon would hit him if he knew. The thought both made him laugh, and immediately sobered him.

"Why did you come, Hakyeon? Don't waste our time—the Prime Minister would see you killed."

Of course he would.

"I know the truth, your Majesty. The truth that the Prime Minister would like to hide. You were never meant to ascend to the throne. The name on that scroll was Zheng Taekwoon—until he had it changed."

"You confess treason so easily, Hakyeon," Zhiheng said, his voice dangerously low.

"The August Former Emperor trusted that truth to me. He trusted his son, his heir to me. You can choose not to believe it, but I would not dare utter so deep a lie. That man, Steward Zhu, he knows it too." Hakyeon straightened as he spoke, never breaking eye contact.

"A mere steward."

"I think you will find he is more than that," Hakyeon said. A laugh escaped through his mouth, a popped bubble of hysteria. Hakyeon couldn't help it. He looked up at the ceiling, as if the hidden sky and invisible moon could give him any answers. He took a deep breath and then another, not caring if Zhiheng could see how shaken he was. Perhaps it was better for Zhiheng to see. Another deep breath and then another, before Hakyeon could face forward and face Zhiheng again. Zhiheng's expression hadn't wavered.

"Why did I come? Simple. I will help you. You need good, competent men to advise you. You have the Prime Minister, but the August Former Emperor had the Grand Commandant, his Chancellors, the great Generals that you had the foresight not to replace. The August Former Emperor wanted me to support one of his sons as his strategist—we all know I am capable. And I can give that support to you."

It was Zhiheng's turn to laugh, a cold laugh that cut Hakyeon to the bone. "And you think that by bringing to me a man, useless to me, will make me trust you? When you have said it was Taekwoon to which my father entrusted you to see to the throne? It will certainly hurt Taekwoon dearly and I am surprised you have so little honour that you would deliver one of your own to certain death—"

"Kill him if you want," Hakyeon spat out, and he hadn't expected the anger that rose within him. "Do what you will with him. Because whatever service he has provided us for the past few years—he is the man who killed my father."

Yes. Hakyeon remembered. He had watched his mother die. And he had watched Zhu Xin kill his father, dyeing the ground dark with his father's blood.

He did remember.

Hakyeon's eyes were damp. It was his turn to choke out a mirthless laugh. The jade pendant burned against his skin. He had been crying when Fei Meiying returned it to him. He hadn't cried when it'd been pressed into his palms, as a child taken from his home.

The only sound in the bare room was Hakyeon's heavy breathing. He had finally spoken the truth that had been hidden all these years. Years in which the venom festered, twisting and darkening and no longer contained, it burned all that it touched, withering into rotten black. It was what he needed Zhiheng to believe. Hakyeon swallowed with the real need to breathe, even though his chest was already heaving for air.

Zhiheng was watching him, stunned into silence.

Hakyeon matched that silence, until he could steady his own breathing. Until he could breathe in air and not darkness. Until he could straighten again and pull his composure about him, to build himself into the calm, competent strategist Zhiheng needed—wanted—to see.

"My father was a prince of Lan, a country destroyed by Jiang. I don't seek vengeance for a country I never knew, but know that I will never forgive the man who had my father killed, and who caused my mother's death. You ask how you can trust me? I want two things. I want Taekwoon alive. And I have no love for the August Former Emperor, and no wish to follow his commands. I have no love for a man who all but killed my mother, who let his own blood sister die. Two things, and I will help you. I will consolidate your power. I will remove the threats to your rule. I will support you, as the August Former Emperor had wanted me to support Taekwoon. Two things, and I am yours."

And in that moment, where Hakyeon ripped out the last shred of his honour and tossed it to his feet, he saw in Zhiheng's face that he had won. The gambit had succeeded.

If only it hadn't come at such a heavy cost.

Forgive me, uncle. Forgive me.

Dust spilled out the opened door, the plume of silver a familiar greeting to this secluded building tucked beside a lake. The cloud of dust made Taekwoon cough.

Hakyeon had gone in ahead, but at this, he turned, brows drawn in concern. His frown only deepened when Taekwoon waved him aside. But he didn’t press, and Taekwoon was grateful for it. Instead, he walked into that dust filled room, unlatching and opening each window as he passed. Light filled the room in place of shadow, until every piece of old furniture was illuminated, exactly how Taekwoon remembered it.

"Brings back the memories," Hakyeon said murmured.

"Mm."

Taekwoon walked to a stacked bench and set it upright on the floor. His hand came away dark and dusty. Taekwoon grimaced, staring at his hand like it'd somehow betrayed him.

Hakyeon laughed when he saw him standing there.

"Settle Ray and Old Black, I'll clean up here," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon, with no strong desire to help him inside, obediently left the small house to find the horses.

Both Hakyeon's bay mare and his own fierce stallion were munching on the overgrown grass. While Ray barely gave him a glance, Old Black lifted his head and whinnied when he saw Taekwoon approach. Taekwoon laughed and gave Old Black a good rub on his nose.

"Hakyeon said to settle you two," Taekwoon told them. He looped both their reins with his right hand as he walked over to where he and Hakyeon had set up a small stable of sorts several years ago. It didn't seem like it'd rain tonight, but it made Taekwoon feel better knowing that there was a roof they could shelter under if it did. It wasn't much, just a crude wooden addition to the side of the house, which itself wasn't much more than a woodcutter's shack.

Taekwoon lingered with the horses, resting his head against Old Black’s neck. He was warm. The early spring days had lost their chill, but there’d still been a breeze on the ride here. It was good to hold Old Black like this.

Taekwoon emerged into full sun, and without the wind it was pleasant. He glanced back at the house—plain, unpainted, unremarkable in every way except that at some point, it'd become theirs, him and Hakyeon. Which made it special. He thought briefly of going inside, of seeing if Hakyeon needed any help—but Hakyeon would chase him out anyway and Taekwoon wasn't keen on dealing with more dust.

He decided to sit by the lake instead.

It was large enough that he couldn't see the other side. If they'd come a few weeks earlier ice would still spider across the surface, reaching out from the shore. There hadn't been the time.

They didn't have the time now, either, but Hakyeon had insisted, and there was that nagging unease again, that something was wrong, that Hakyeon was making up for something he'd done. That was often what drove them here. They hadn't been in almost a full year.

A nice place. Quiet. Difficult to stumble upon, a good distance into the woods from the road. They didn't know who'd built the house or who'd lived in it, but by the time they'd found it, it was empty and abandoned and perfect for two boys with a thirst of adventure to turn into their own. There were two rooms, but they rarely used both.

Hakyeon would still clean them.

Taekwoon breathed in the sweet, clean air, as different from the city or battlefield that one could get. Waves lapped against rocks some distance away. From where Taekwoon sat it was a quiet sound. Almost quiet enough to be imagined. The water would be cold this time of the year—it was always cold, but with winter still a reminder, it would be very cold. Taekwoon hated being cold.

Trees surrounded them on all sides, great towering trees that seemed older than time. Small saplings struggled in the spaces between, fighting for sun in a battle already lost. The trees were still sparse, the green on bare branches more bud than leaf. With the sun high in the sky, the shadows the trees cast were short. Their reflections still wavered on the surface of the water, small ripples distorting an otherwise mirror clear image. Fish would occasionally skim the surface, a frog would leap in from the shore, a bird would plummet like a stone and emerge victorious with its next meal clutched in beak or claw.

But it was the quiet that Taekwoon liked the best. There could be quiet at home, surrounded by thick stone walls and hidden as deep in their gardens as he could manage, but it wasn't the same as the quiet by the lake. Birdsong wasn't contained to a puddle, the wind was music itself as it rustled through the reeds. There was a stillness in the air that every movement, every moment, was a delicate note, cascading to create a piece richer than the most talented mortal could compose. As if it were the music of the gods themselves.

Taekwoon closed his eyes against the sun, tilted his head up so that warmth illuminated his face. The world was red through his eyelids, the shapes of the heavens incoherent and indistinct. It was warm. He leaned back, first propped on his elbows and then lying down in his patch of sun. He could still hear the birds and the wind and the water and the faint warble of a frog in the distance. The rustle of leaves, the swaying of the branches. The damp, earthy smell of the ground, the fresh, clean smell of the lake. There was a large, flat rock near the shore that he delighted in sprawling across during the summer, letting his feet dangle off the edges into the cold water below, as he basked in the warmth of the sun. If he stayed very still, he could feel the minnows brushing against his feet. It felt like his legs were submerged in another world, and he was acutely aware of where the water ended and where the truth began. The stone would always be warm and dry under him.

"You'll catch a cold like that." Hakyeon's voice floated from gently beside him. It took Taekwoon some moments to blink his eyes open enough to find Hakyeon sitting next to him. There was a bleariness in his thoughts that signalled he'd drowsed off, and the visible tilt of the sun in the sky provided the passing of time. The grass was damp beneath him, from proximity to the ground and in the shadow Taekwoon cast between the ground and the sun. The dampness didn't touch Taekwoon's skin through the layers of his clothes, but it was a cool contrast to the sun on his face.

Taekwoon grunted something and started to sit up. He'd lifted his head an inch off the ground before he decided against it and fell solidly back down to the earth again. It didn't seem worth it.

"Go sleep inside, the bed is clean," Hakyeon murmured, gently pulling Taekwoon upright. "You don't want to rest?"

"This is rest," Taekwoon said. He looked about them, at the peace, at the water and the trees and the birds and the fish. He looked at the almost tangible quiet enveloping them, and then back at Hakyeon, the most important piece of it all.

As if reading Taekwoon's thoughts, Hakyeon's lips melted into a smile.

"It is," Hakyeon said, and finally sat back. He shifted so he and Taekwoon were sitting side by side, their shoulders pressed against each other, their gazes directed outwards over the lake. Birdsong trilled in the wind and the wind wrapped around them. Taekwoon let his weight slump against Hakyeon. From here, the sun cut a path in front of them, drawing the shadows of trees on the western shore to flicker on the lake.

"I like it here," Taekwoon said to himself. And then to Hakyeon: "I miss it."

"Me too," Hakyeon said.

"Is that why you wanted to come?"

"Mm. It's been a while," Hakyeon said. His words were cut with silence, and when Taekwoon chanced a glance beside him, there was a tight look on Hakyeon's face. Hakyeon hadn't seemed to notice Taekwoon watching, and it took some time before his jaw unclenched, the tension in his lips relaxed, the intensity in his eyes faded. An exhale, a tightening of his grip on Taekwoon's hand. His eyes still looking out over the lake.

"A while," Taekwoon repeated softly. It had been.

"So many things are different, but this place is always the same," Hakyeon said. "It always feels the same."

"It's quiet," Taekwoon said.

"It is," Hakyeon agreed. "I hope it never changes."

"Why would it?" Taekwoon asked—but it was a foolish question. All things changed, and it was naive to think that their pocket of solace would remain untouched by time.

So many things were different. So many things had changed.

The last time they'd come here they'd still had a mother, Taekwoon still had a father, and his father had still been the Emperor. These were no longer true.

It was difficult to banish these thoughts once they'd arisen and guilt wormed into Taekwoon's chest. Hakyeon had brought them here so, for the briefest moment, they could rest and put aside that burden, however selfish it might have been.

For Hakyeon, the selfishness came from elsewhere, because he recalled the words of their mother to take care of each other, and Hakyeon would take care of Taekwoon in any way he could for as long as they lived. For Hakyeon, it was the easing of the weight on Taekwoon's shoulders that he sought, and the guilt that spiked inside him came from calling such thoughts to mind.

That, and the reason why the trip had to be now, why it couldn't wait for Taekwoon's complete recovery.

But like Taekwoon, Hakyeon tried his best to push these thoughts aside.

"I brought something," Hakyeon suddenly said.

Taekwoon glanced at him, jolted out of his thoughts. The loss of warmth was disorienting when Hakyeon stood. He had to twist around to see Hakyeon disappear back into the hut, and then to watch through the open windows as Hakyeon moved quickly to where they'd left the saddlebags. Hakyeon rummaged around for a few seconds and then reappeared from the hut as quickly as he'd disappeared. Like an apparition, Hakyeon was suddenly in front of Taekwoon.

"Hakyeon?" Taekwoon frowned.

Hakyeon responded by drawing a flute from his sleeve. Taekwoon's old flute. He held it out to Taekwoon and as if in a trance, Taekwoon's fingers wrapped around the familiar smooth bamboo. When Hakyeon let go, Taekwoon's grip instinctively tightened.

"You haven't played in a while," Hakyeon said quietly, looking into Taekwoon's eyes.

Taekwoon lifted his arm, the one that'd been grotesquely broken a month and then some time ago. Hakyeon just kept looking at him, and Taekwoon understood why. Taekwoon knew that Hakyeon didn't only mean his arm. It'd been much longer since he'd last played.

"Will you?" Hakyeon asked, and his voice was gentle, all question and no obligation, but Taekwoon wished there was.

As if it was the weight of a thousand suns, Taekwoon cradled it in two hands. It looked strange in his hands, which hadn't held a single instrument in longer than he could recall. After everything, it hadn't seemed right.

But here was Hakyeon asking him, and Taekwoon could never find it in himself to deny Hakyeon anything.

So in answer, Taekwoon brought the flute to his lips and took a breath.

His fingers felt stiff and clumsy, and his first note wavered, uncertain. He played that note again, drawing the sweet sound into a long sigh, letting it glide into the next, a single tone up.

It was a freeing tone, a liberating tone, and captured the two of them in a fragile spell woven with spider silk.

The wind and the birds quieted, as if making way for the trill of Taekwoon's flute, soft and sweet and cautious.

And Hakyeon listened. He watched Taekwoon, looked into his eyes, and then sat there in front of him, seeing the notes take shape behind closed eyelids, the colours of the wind that Taekwoon drew from the air.

Taekwoon’s fingers were stiff and clumsy, but as he played the music took hold and the familiar timbre of his flute worked its way through his skin and into his bones. Taekwoon's mind drifted as he played and his own eyes fell shut. It didn’t matter when Hakyeon’s presence pulsed near him, as bright and clear as day.

The first time they had come here they'd been young.

They'd stumbled on the lake on a morning ride, letting Ray and Old Black run free down empty roads like they yearned to. The shack had been no more than a shack, abandoned and buried in dust. Whoever had built it had built it with care. When he and Hakyeon had opened that door for the first time, dust spilled out as a cloud of gold in the warm evening sun, but the room itself seemed untouched by the barrage of time. There were no cracks in the wooden roof, the windows were stalwart guards against the elements, and by some miracle the furniture had escaped the blight of pests.

It was the lake that Taekwoon played now, letting each cycle of breath be the waves lapping against the shore, the quick flutter of his fingering be the frogs in the distance, the calm, low tones painting the age old trees. The trees still bent with the wind, protectors and guardians of the lake, shielding it from the outside world. Taekwoon let green buds on bare branches unfurl into bright leaves, and the proud summer sun nurtured them into a canopy. He hinted at the soft fade of autumn, of the myriad of colours, and let the last note trail off in a quiet whisper.

And then he played of Hakyeon.

His warmth. His kindness. The steady presence he'd been in all of Taekwoon's life. A lifetime spent together, a lifetime of secrets, a lifetime of trust and loyalty and respect.

When Taekwoon opened his eyes, his gaze met Hakyeon's, clear and bright as Hakyeon's eyes always were.

With his next breath, Taekwoon let hope take hold. It was airier, lighter, his fingers faster. It was hard—hard to keep these past few months at bay, hard to look into the future and convince himself that brightness awaited them. The only reason he could, the only reason he had any reason to believe that anything but darkness lay ahead—that reason sat in front of him, radiating everything that Taekwoon could never hope to be.

There was his smile, the soft one. These notes were slower, rounder, and Taekwoon let them lilt up as he glided from one to the next, infusing them with joy. It made Hakyeon's smile widen and Taekwoon brightened his notes as well, until they matched the brightness in Hakyeon's eyes. His flute chirped like young birds in spring, taking flight for the first time. Like dawn dew on flowers, each drop glistening with the sun. This was Hakyeon's laugh, the carefree one, when his eyes would crinkle and there was nothing in Hakyeon but joy. There was the quiet smile too, the one that Hakyeon seemed to settle unwittingly into. Taekwoon drew out each note, letting them linger, hovering in the clear, clean air, allowing them to drift with the wind.

And with it came a hint of sadness. He didn't push it away because it would be unfair to Hakyeon and unfair to them both. Taekwoon couldn't know that his eyes had again drifted shut because he'd turned into himself with the first, low note. It was hollow and empty, but his very next breath was full, the music wavering in a tremor that slowed and then quickened until the pitch slid from that note to the next, without it feeling like a different note at all.

He yearned then for the accompaniment that Hakyeon would provide, when Hakyeon's fingers danced across the strings of his qin, quick and deft and delicate, or slow and mellow in turn, always fitting himself into Taekwoon's music in ways that Taekwoon could never understand. All he knew was that it made his music richer, fuller, whole. Like everything Hakyeon did.

When Taekwoon opened his eyes, it was to see Hakyeon with his eyes lightly shut, and it was then that he recalled one winter evening when the wind was cold and the dark was bitter and the sky had been clear and silver. A sliver of the moon, and Hakyeon had said, as if to himself, that it was the moon that made him brave. The moon might've made Hakyeon brave, but it was Hakyeon who was Taekwoon's light in the night. In Taekwoon's hands, the moon became a softer version of the sun. A refrain, each tone a mirror higher. Just like the clear tone of the birds, the brightness of spring compared to the muted colours of fall, the moon took form as the cool silver of frost to the warm glow of the sun.

And just as the moon could shine brighter than anything in the sky, Taekwoon let it hang in the air for a moment alone, until silence took natural hold and true daylight won over the quiet of the night.

And just as the flute had been the weight of a thousand suns when it'd first rested in his hands, it was the weight of reluctance that slowed Taekwoon's movements as he lowered it to his lap.

The afternoon was bright. As that last note faded and the sun reclaimed its rightful space, Taekwoon was struck by how bright it was, and by how bright Hakyeon was under its warm rays. For long moments neither of them spoke, letting the silence speak for them, filling the empty noise with the lingering vestiges of a shared dream.

In the end, like it so often was, it was Hakyeon who broke the silence. He leaned forward and placed his hands on Taekwoon's. Taekwoon's hands still clutched at his flute.

"Thank you," Hakyeon said. Barely louder than a whisper, but it resounded in Taekwoon's bones like the fiercest clap of thunder.

"Shall we go inside?" Hakyeon asked, when Taekwoon raised his head again.

"I would like to rest a little," Taekwoon admitted.

Hakyeon stood first, and Taekwoon grabbed his hand, gripping his flute tight in his left as Hakyeon helped Taekwoon to his feet. For a moment, he let himself lean back against his brother, his other half, knowing that if he stumbled back, Hakyeon would be there to catch him and hold him tight. He'd never say it, but there was a faint, pulsing ache in his left arm, the sort that meant he'd overexerted himself. For once, Hakyeon didn't seem to notice as they made their way back inside, shoulders bumping every few steps they took.

Taekwoon slept. It was nearing evening when he woke, the sun not yet the warm glow of pink. There was a small fire outside. Hakyeon stood knee deep in the water, and more radiant than the setting sun. Hakyeon turned and smiled when he saw Taekwoon and beckoned him to sit. They'd often go hunting for small game on these trips. This trip, in an unspoken agreement they hadn't. Taekwoon already missed the smoky aroma of well-seasoned rabbit.

"It looks cold," Taekwoon said, gingerly lowering himself to the ground.

"You can't come in," Hakyeon warned. Like Taekwoon wanted to, at all.

"I'm hungry," Taekwoon said.

Hakyeon's withering look was somewhat hidden by the fading sun, but Taekwoon felt it.

"There's bread inside if you're hungry," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon sighed loudly, for Hakyeon's benefit, but he knew that Hakyeon had insisted on packing flatbread and salted meat for this exact purpose. He went and returned quickly, knowing exactly where in the small cabin it was.

Hakyeon was already grilling fish when Taekwoon re-emerged.

"Fast," Taekwoon said.

"Of course I was." Hakyeon was smug.

Taekwoon knew better to reach for one of the fish—both because he'd get burnt, and because Hakyeon would smack his hand away faster than Taekwoon could pull his hand back. He nibbled on a piece of bread and poured a cup of wine. It wasn't too hard to wait.

They ate as the sun set, embers sparking from the fire. The fire warded away the cold even as darkness heralded the evening chill. Taekwoon ate until he was full, and then he kept eating because there was still more fish and he didn’t like to waste food. The sound of the waves and the evening crickets took the place of conversation. The moon rose, pale and full, a silver disk outshining the stars, drowning their light. They were good, fat fish, and the remnant of the grease clung to Taekwoon's fingers. He abruptly found himself longing for their childhood, when their secret place was a shed in their mother's courtyard, when politics hadn't strayed past the pages of the history books.

When Taekwoon had understood what it meant to eradicate a clan for one person's heinous crimes, but before he'd mutely watched it happen, unable to do a thing.

He didn't want to dwell on such thoughts tonight. It was enough to sit next to Hakyeon like this, Hakyeon's warmth easing the rapidly approaching night time chill.

He'd rested and he'd slept, but the peaceful quiet lulled Taekwoon deeper into a dazed drowsiness. He didn't protest when Hakyeon half pulled half carried Taekwoon to his feet, and Taekwoon wouldn't even have minded if Hakyeon carried him all the way to bed. Taekwoon must have fallen asleep again because the silver glint of the moon was smudged by the faint light of pre-dawn when he opened his eyes again.

Hakyeon was still asleep beside him. It was only when he was asleep that Hakyeon ever seemed to truly relax, when his hundreds and thousands of little worries faded into the background, and the hundreds and thousands of Taekwoon's little worries that he carried as well. It calmed Taekwoon to watch him sleep, his face bathed in softened shadows. It calmed him enough that he might've been lulled back to sleep, if Hakyeon hadn't begun to stir with the quiet, whimpering sounds too reminiscent of their childhood.

And like before, Taekwoon curled up instinctively against his other half, and held him tight.

“Hakyeon.” Taekwoon whispered. “Hakyeon, it’s me.”

Hakyeon’s whimpers grew louder, and as always, Taekwoon struggled to decipher the words in his soft cries. He’d realised as a youth that it was a dialect he did not know and could not guess at, and knew better than to ask. But what Taekwoon could understand, was that Hakyeon was crying for his mother. Not Fei Meiying, but the woman who had birthed him and raised him for the first four years of his life. Four years that Taekwoon did not know, four years of Hakyeon’s life that Taekwoon was not part of.

Four years that Hakyeon had always claimed he’d never remembered.

“Hakyeon,” Taekwoon said again and again, repeating his name like an incantation, a prayer, a hope that it would reach Hakyeon through the murky curtain of memory.

Taekwoon did not know if it was memory or conjuration. Only that it was, for Hakyeon, at that very moment, the deepest truth. How cruel, because even if Taekwoon could not discern the words those strange syllables formed, he knew that Hakyeon, again and again, was watching the mother that he cried for die. How cruel, when it was a child’s memories, the memories of a babe, that Hakyeon lived through on nights like this. Was it any wonder, then, that they were memories a Hakyeon awake could never claim?

Hakyeon wrenched himself out of Taekwoon’s grasp with a surprising strength for one caught in a dream. Hakyeon had always been strong. Taekwoon ached to hold him, pull him back, but something this night slowed his hand.

Perhaps it was because, for the first time, Taekwoon understood Hakyeon’s dream-words clearly:

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Three times, three apologies, and then Hakyeon fell silent.

When Taekwoon reached for him again, Hakyeon was limp with sleep. In the faint slivers of remnant moonlight draped over the two of them, tears still lingered at the corners of Hakyeon’s eyes. And all Taekwoon could do was hold Hakyeon close, as the two of them fell deep into sleep, while the moon blanketed them with a shroud of shredded silk.

Taekwoon woke, never sure if it was real or a dream. He wished it was a dream—the past few days had been one long nightmare.

"Your Highness, you are already awake?"

One of the servants had entered with his morning meal. Taekwoon glanced at her, taking in the same concern he'd been seeing on everyone's faces. Unable to summon up proper words, he waved her aside.

He refused to believe it. He refused to believe that Hakyeon was gone.

An aching hole gaped in his chest. Losing Hakyeon was like losing a limb—like losing half of himself, half of his soul. Hakyeon had always been too strong to fall in battle. Taekwoon couldn't fathom it even if that fear was always there. But this was worse. This was worse than death. It had to be a nightmare.

After everything, Taekwoon was alone.

He'd woken today before the sun had risen, watching the room go from pitch dark to the faint fuzz of light. Sickness clogged his throat. The memory of the lake shimmered with a dawn that Taekwoon could no longer see. Without waking and without sleeping, the dawn had passed and when Taekwoon woke again, it was day.

It never felt like the day anymore. If it was day, then there was sun. There were people. People who wanted things of him. Who asked things of him. Who expected things of him. Things that didn't matter.

How could they, when Hakyeon had...

When Hakyeon had left.

He refused to believe it. He didn't know what'd tear him apart first: the rage, the despondence, the bewilderment. It was easier to write it off as a nightmare.

Even if Steward Zhu was also gone.

Even if Jaehwan had struck Taekwoon in the face, screaming "he fucking betrayed you!"

Betrayal.

Taekwoon refused to believe that Hakyeon was capable of such a thing.

He knew Hakyeon better than anyone. He knew that Hakyeon would never do something like that.

He no longer knew what he knew.

He'd been relieved of all official duties. It wasn't a surprise. The eunuch that'd been sent to deliver the message to him was low ranking, had phrased it as a vacation, a rest, a break. No mention of Hakyeon, which was more telling than anything. It'd been ostensibly sent by the Grand Commandant. Taekwoon had duly acknowledged it, accepted the missive, and then sent the man on his way. He couldn't remember how many days it'd been.

He hated the day, and all the days had become one.

Taekwoon's breakfast was still on the table. It'd grown cold. He hated wasting food, but what he ate was dust. He could see it was porridge, but it turned to dust the moment he touched it. He finished it anyway.

It was warm outdoors, especially under the sun. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring into the clear sky, the light blinding his eyes.

Taekwoon didn't understand why the Prime Minister didn't just execute him. Taekwoon would be able to do nothing, and it'd finally be over.

He'd almost welcome it.

Star bursts turned his vision white, his eyes prickling as he blinked them away. It was hard to make his vision clear. He walked without seeing, the paths of his home uncomfortably familiar, his home echoing and empty. No Hakyeon to talk his ear of, to knock on his door in the middle of the night, to chide Taekwoon to bed like a mother hen. Sometimes Taekwoon would freeze when walking down some path, expecting a mild-mannered "your Highness, the young master said you were to rest", but he'd slowly turn and not even a ghost remained. This place had become a vacant, hollow shell. Like someone had come and plucked all life out of it.

Someone had. Hakyeon had.

Taekwoon suddenly needed to sit down.

If the servants wondered why the master of the house was collapsed on the ground, his head bowed and resting in his hands, he didn't care. Not when Hakyeon was gone. He didn't care about anything.

A quiet rumble rubbed up beside him. Puppy squeezed herself into the hollow of his body and settled in his lap. Nestled between his legs and his chest and under his arms. Taekwoon opened his eyes, the cat tilting her head up to look at him. Her eyes were narrow slits in the sunlight, although they slowly rounded as she settled into Taekwoon's shadow. Hakyeon had graciously allowed Taekwoon to name her when Sanghyuk had brought the ragged scrap of a cat to their door. He'd named her Puppy to be contrary, but she acted like one in so many ways. She was warm.

They hadn't heard from Sanghyuk, not since he'd left through their front door. Taekwoon didn't remember that moment, didn't know it, because the boy had left while Taekwoon was asleep.

Just like Hakyeon had. Quietly, without a word, he was gone.

Hakyeon was gone, and he'd taken more than just himself with him. More than just Steward Zhu.

He'd taken a part of Taekwoon too.

Puppy rumbled louder, rubbing her head against Taekwoon's chest. Absentmindedly, Taekwoon pet her soft fur, the cat arching up into Taekwoon's hand. She hadn't seemed to notice Hakyeon's absence. Even though Hakyeon's absence had hollowed the soul of both this home, and Taekwoon's heart. That was what Taekwoon felt the most—that empty nothingness. Just an absence.

There had to be something wrong with him. It'd been the second day when Hakyeon hadn't returned. Hakyeon leaving in the morning and returning deep in the evening wasn't unusual. It hadn't been unusual for Taekwoon either, before... Before. But the second day and Hakyeon hadn't returned, hadn't come to find Taekwoon that night, not even once. Taekwoon had worried. The steward hadn't returned either. He'd sent out his men, had sent word to Jaehwan, sent people to look everywhere Hakyeon might've been.

Something had to be wrong with him. All that Taekwoon had felt, looking up at the steward's severed head hanging outside the palace wall was dull bewilderment. Not sadness. Not anger. Not even when one of his men said: they say it was the Duke. The Duke of Yin. His Grace himself. And the guards had sneered at Taekwoon, because some of them had been there the day before when the Duke of Yin had demanded to be let in, and had been there when the Duke of Yin was dragged to the ground and hauled away. And that it was the Duke of Yin who had brought the dead man with him—although that man had been alive at the time.

They'd sneered, but then faltered under Taekwoon's cold, lifeless gaze, fear overtaking them as the Prince of Jing simply looked down at them. The guards feared for their lives, not knowing that their lives meant nothing to him. Taekwoon didn't really remember how he'd returned home, a home that wasn't his home.

The steward had accompanied this household since the two of them had established it, and Taekwoon couldn't summon even a shred of sadness or anger or rage when that same man had been killed so gruesomely.

It was alright—Jaehwan had enough anger for them both.

And that was how Taekwoon learnt that Hakyeon had betrayed him. Had turned on him. Had decided, in the end, that Taekwoon wasn't worth supporting after all. Had decided that Zhiheng was worthy. That Taekwoon wasn't worth standing by, wasn't worth protecting, wasn't worth anything.

There was anger, there had to be anger. Jaehwan had been angry, and all Taekwoon could think was that it wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

"A man is dead and you're still blind!? He fucking betrayed you Taekwoon. Hakyeon betrayed you!"

At some point Jaehwan had thrown something.

There'd been a lot of yelling. Jaehwan yelling. Taekwoon simply saying no. Or nothing at all.

At some point Jaehwan had sat down.

Jaehwan's silence was frightening, and Taekwoon's heart ached for the redness in Jaehwan's eyes. Jaehwan's voice had grown hoarse. All Taekwoon could think to do was offer Jaehwan tea.

Jaehwan, Taekwoon suddenly remembered, had been crying.

Puppy bumped Taekwoon's chin with her head, and when Taekwoon went back to patting her, he was surprised his hand came away wet.

Without realising it, Taekwoon had been crying too. There were tears, but he wasn't particularly crying, not for any reason. Empty tears that came from the emptiness. Jaehwan had been angry—Taekwoon's tears kept falling but he still couldn't summon that anger.

It didn't matter.

The sun could have set before he moved again, but for loud, angry steps that shook the wooden pathway where Taekwoon sat. Puppy was long gone, chasing after some bird or rabbit, or maybe she'd gotten lucky and found herself a fox. She would've jumped off anyway. Taekwoon couldn't summon up a shred of surprise when Jaehwan grabbed Taekwoon by the shoulder and wrenched him around.

"Are you out of your mind!?" Jaehwan yelled.

Taekwoon pulled himself out of Jaehwan's grip, slapping Jaehwan's hand aside as he stood. Jaehwan had been running—his chest heaved with each rapid breath. Taekwoon regarded Jaehwan steadily, taking in his brother's ragged appearance. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His belt was a little skewed, maybe from however he'd arrived. Anger gripped at Jaehwan's jaw—as if anger was the only thing keeping Jaehwan alive.

Taekwoon knew, because he'd been the same.

Taekwoon stepped back, lengthening the distance between the two of them, his eyes never leaving Jaehwan's bloodshot ones. Yes, Taekwoon thought, Jaehwan hadn't been sleeping. He knew that if he waited long enough, Jaehwan wouldn't care if he did or didn't get an answer from Taekwoon. He'd come here to say something, and Jaehwan would undoubtedly say his piece.

Jaehwan seemed to know this too. That Taekwoon was staying silent on purpose. Waiting. And Jaehwan was upset, agitated, but he wasn't foolish. He didn't ask—he'd get no answer. Grabbed Taekwoon's arm and hauled him to the nearest room.

It stunned Taekwoon just enough to let him pull him a step or two. He shook Jaehwan off, but when Jaehwan turned back to yell again, something in his eyes must've warned him off. Jaehwan's lips pressed into a thin line, and then he lead them inside. Taekwoon shut the door behind them.

They'd walked into one of the several guest rooms Hakyeon demanded to be always maintained, even if they rarely had guests. This was a simple one, barely larger than a storage room. A bed, a table, two chairs. The mid day sun streamed in through the windows—to Taekwoon's surprise, Jaehwan closed them. The room went dark.

"You've gone mad," Jaehwan said. He sat down without waiting for Taekwoon.

Taekwoon would sit, eventually. If only because he was tired. Jaehwan could see it in his eyes.

Jaehwan was tired too, but in a different way. How could it be the same, when Jaehwan hadn't been on death's door mere weeks ago. Unlike Taekwoon. Jaehwan's seventh brother had yet to fully recover. He'd need reminding to rest. To not exert himself. And Jaehwan was supposed to be the one to enforce it.

If Hakyeon was so damned concerned over Taekwoon's health, he should fucking deal with it himself.

The moment Jaehwan thought of Hakyeon, rage rose in his chest. It'd been days but the anger hadn't faded. Every time Jaehwan looked at Taekwoon, that anger only burned hotter. Jaehwan was going to fucking end Hakyeon, once this was all over. Stabbing him once wouldn't be enough.

Taekwoon did sit. He sat without looking at Jaehwan, although Taekwoon's eyes were ostensibly directed towards him. That was what it'd been like since Hakyeon had fucked off. Taekwoon's eyes were empty, looking at nothing, only occasionally focussing enough to take in who or what was in front of him. It wasn't the first time Jaehwan had seen it in Taekwoon and Jaehwan suspected it wouldn't be the last. Not if life continued the way it had been. If life continued. There were times when Jaehwan doubted himself.

But Taekwoon was not allowed to doubt. Even if it seemed like he had. Even if it seemed like he wanted to. Damn Hakyeon for leaving this to Jaehwan, damn the man.

Taekwoon was still looking in Jaehwan's direction, his eyes flickering in and out of focus. It was a little dark inside after the eye-blinding brightness of the clear skies outdoors, but Jaehwan didn't think he could handle the openness of that space. He was beginning to understand Hakyeon's obsession with holding his meetings in that dungeon of his. Maybe the steward would let Jaehwan in.

Except the steward was dead. Murdered. Executed. Killed by Hakyeon's own hand, even if Hakyeon hadn't been the one to swing the sword. Hakyeon had killed a man, and for what? For Taekwoon to end up like this, an empty shell drained of life? Fuck that. Fuck Hakyeon.

Jaehwan was finding it hard to breathe. If he relaxed his jaw he'd be snarling like a rabid dog, cursing Hakyeon's name. For all the good it'd do. Taekwoon would defend Hakyeon and his actions to the death. Even after a man had died. Jaehwan had said it too, that it didn't matter what Hakyeon said or did, there was no way Taekwoon would believe that Hakyeon had betrayed him. Nothing.

I will do something heartless and cruel. Something that even Taekwoon can't deny. And if he won't believe... make him believe. Hakyeon had looked past Jaehwan as he'd said this, his fingers clasped.

Something heartless and cruel—Hakyeon, what the fuck have you planned?

Something irrevocable, Hakyeon had said. Jaehwan couldn't have imagined just how irrevocable that thing would be. Irrevocable, heartless, and cruel. So unlike Hakyeon that even Jaehwan had difficulty believing it.

Bit hard not to believe a severed head. He didn't know if that was Hakyeon's idea—or Zhiheng's. Or the—and here, Jaehwan's jaw twitched—the Prime Minister. The man who had been Sanghyuk's father. Jaehwan refused to accept him anymore.

All of it paled to what Hakyeon had done. Turned his back on them. Turned his back on Taekwoon. Jaehwan would never forgive him for that. The more he watched Taekwoon, the longer the two of them just sat there, the more that feeling burned inside of him. Jaehwan couldn't just watch. He couldn't stand seeing Taekwoon like this, destroyed and decimated in a way Jaehwan couldn't imagine him ever being. Not even after...

After their father's death. After Taekwoon's mother's death—her murder. It had been a different heaviness. A different despair. And one that Taekwoon and Hakyeon had shouldered together.

If those had been weights to bear or mountains to move, this was that mountain being shattered by the gods, and now they had to build it back, piece by piece. Jaehwan didn't think he could do it—he had to, for Taekwoon's sake. And fuck Hakyeon, but for his sake too. For all their sakes.

"Fuck Hakyeon." The words slipped out through Jaehwan's gritted teeth. Taekwoon shot upright, his attention suddenly sharp as steel and arrow focussed: you dare was what he might've said. Or hit Jaehwan, like Jaehwan had hit him all those days ago.

Taekwoon deflated. He looked down, his back hunched, shoulders slumped. This was a man broken.

Jaehwan regretted yelling at Hakyeon longer ago than he could remember, but Hakyeon had apparently remembered Jaehwan's words clearly. Some bullshit about how the only infallible plan was to stay alive. Hakyeon had taken it far too much to heart. Hakyeon might've been alive, but Taekwoon was little better than a corpse still walking. The mixed relief of the guards when Jaehwan had shown up—no one was to be allowed in, yet they wanted to show Jaehwan to Taekwoon. That concern for the celebrated, heroic Prince of Jing was too brutally warranted it made Jaehwan sick.

It even made Jaehwan wonder if the rumours spreading like wildfire were true. He doubted it. It was tasteless gossip and nothing more and would disappear as quickly as it had come. The reality was Taekwoon in front of him, who'd spent the past few days doing nothing. Jaehwan had come, planning to tear into Taekwoon, but his brother looked so pathetic that Jaehwan didn't have the heart to.