Chapter Text
Dokja looked out the window at the snowfall, watching the frostbitten landscape. His breath fogged up the yellowed glass. The snow fell in thick flakes the size of a groat coin, limiting how far one could see. The five-year-old boy looked back at his book, his red tinted fingers following along the words. Minutes passed like this, Dokja only shifting to pull his winter clothes closer to his body or to turn the page. Finally, he set the book down on his desk, stretching. He turned and climbed out of his desk chair, looking over his clean but sparsely decorated bedroom. The child was glad to have this much. He had seen how his father treats the servants and what sort of furnishings they had, and he was not at all envious.
The door to his bedroom opened, and a young woman who looked to be in her mid twenties entered. Her long black hair was up in an intricate braid although her clothes were rather plain even though she was a Duchess and the sister to the reigning king, her grace Sookyoung of Kimberton. She smiled at him, “Dokja, it’s dinner time. Walk with me?”
“Yes, Mother.” Dokja smiled, rushing over to his mother, and grasping her hand. They turned and left his room and stepped into the hallway. “Do you think Father will join us for dinner again today?”
“Most likely. His work has been stalled because of the weather.” His mother responded, gazing at her son with eyes full of adoration.
Dokja looked at the ground. “I hope he doesn’t.”
“Dokja!”
“He doesn’t talk to you or me!” The boy protested, facing his mother now, his eyes watery. “He just sits there and makes it hard to speak! And when he does speak he is mean! And he hurts the servants.”
Sookyoung bit her lip and stopped their walking to crouch down and wipe her son's tear filled eyes with her sleeve. “I know. I know, but he is still your father. You cannot ever say those things to him, understand?”
Dokja nodded with a sniff, fidgeting, “I know.”
“Good. Come, we don’t want to be late.”
They continued towards the dining hall. Hallways were decorated with winter in mind, thick curtains to keep out the cold over all the windows and push carpets. It was a limited luxury that they could only just afford. Even then, Dokja and his mother still wore a coat inside their home, unwilling to expose themselves to the chill. When they arrived at the double doors that led to the dining room, a servant opened the door for them, granting them access.
The simple decor did not suit their station, basic porcelain plates and cups and iron cutlery, but thanks to the man at the head of the table it was what they had. Dokja fought the urge to hide behind his mother when he met that man’s indifferent gaze. He looked Dokja up and down then scoffed, holding out his glass, the only one at the table, for a servant to fill with wine. His father was a man of medium stature with no real achievement attached to his name. Even his current title was not one he had earned, but one that was granted to him with Dokja’s birth. A useless and undeserving Duke. The Duke was the only well dressed man in the room, his clothes having lace embroidery on the hems. Even then, it was somewhat gaudy, as the man had no taste for fashion and only wore what looked expensive.
Dokja and his mother were guided to their seats, his mother on the left of the Duke and Dokja on the right. Food was served and the Duke lifted his fork first, signifying the start of the meal. No one spoke, creating a heavy atmosphere. Dokja forced himself to eat the tomatoes on the plate first, disliking them and not wanting to ruin the rest of his own meal. He kept his gaze down turned, uncomfortable.
The door to the dining room opened, and all three members of the household looked over at the flushed face of the butler. “Your Grace, a messenger has arrived from the palace.”
Sookyoung straightened her back, “My brother?”
The butler nodded, then stared at the Duke in askance.
“Bring them in.” Dokja’s father said, wiping his mouth carefully, narrowing his eyes.
The butler left then returned with a young man. He was dressed simply, but warmly. Even so, his clothes were well put together and elegant. At the very least he was more graceful looking than the eyesore that was Dokja’s father. His hair covered his eyes as he bowed in greeting. “Good evening, Your Graces. I come bringing joyful news.”
“You may rise.” The Duke smiled amiably, “What is this news you speak of?”
“As you have heard, the royals have not had an easy time conceiving, many of their children ending in stillbirths.” The messenger faced the family with a warm expression.
“Yes, who hasn’t heard.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Every person in the country has heard of the Royal Family’s struggle. Still, Dokja heard a strange strain within his father’s voice.
Sookyoung covered her mouth, gasping, “You mean—?”
The messenger grinned happily, “Yes, Her Majesty has given birth to a healthy little prince.”
Dokja listened to his mother’s watery laugh, but watched his father. The Duke's jaw clenched and his smile became extremely strained, not reaching his eyes at all.
“I’m so glad. Her Majesty has been despairing for so long.” The Duchess clasped her hands in front of her mouth. “When was the delivery?”
“Barely a fortnight ago. Her Majesty delayed the announcement out of fear the child wouldn't survive.”
“My, that is a week after my Dokja’s birthday.” She glanced at Dokja, her eyes sparkling. Dokja felt warm, knowing his mother rarely looked this happy.
The man returned Sookyoung’s merriment, “His Majesty wanted to make the day into a national holiday and was only barely convinced out of it by his advisors.”
Sookyoung chuckled, “That sounds like my brother. Please give them my congratulations and inform Their Majesties I will be writing soon.”
“Yes, please give them our congratulations.”
The messenger nodded, “May I be excused from delivering your messages?”
“You may leave.”
The man turned and exited the room, a subtle bounce in his gait. Once he was gone, Dokja turned all of his attention to his father, ignoring the happy giggles of his mother.
“This is a wonderful occasion.” She sighed.
The Duke's shoulders shook for a moment, finally a harsh, barking laugh came from his lips. “Yes, I suppose this is a time of celebration.”
Sookyoung stiffened, her smile slipping from her face, “Your Grace?” She asked tentatively.
“Servant!” The Duke called, a maid coming forward with hesitance. “Bring me a full bottle of wine. The best we have.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The woman bowed and left the room.
“Truely, you must be so very happy, Sookyoung.”
“I mean to say—”
“So happy to have become the most worthless thing I have ever purchased.” His laugh was ice cold.
Dokja felt himself shiver and saw his mother pale. He recognized that voice. It was the same cruel voice his father had before he—
In a swift movement, the Duke took his half full glass and splashed it over the Duchess. She gasped, blinking in surprise, wiping wine out of her eyes. The Duke stood while slamming his empty glass on the table, his chair falling backwards onto the floor, and he circled the table to stand behind Sookyoung. “This is really a joyous occasion, right, Love?” He caressed her face gently, “But you shouldn’t waste wine like this.” The Duke grabbed her hair, yanking her out of her seat and onto the floor. He kneeled down and pressed Sookyoung’s nose to the ground. “Drink.”
“ Kangdae please —” Sookyoung sobbed.
Dokja jumped from his seat, rushing around the dining table.
“Just shut up, you wench! Do you know how hard it was to convince that stupid prick of a brother-in-law to arrange our marriage? How many annoying bastards I had to bribe?” He pressed her face into the ground harder. “All in order to gain a child with rights to the throne? Now it's all useless and you have the audacity to be happy!?”
Dokja grabbed onto this fathers coat, “F-Father please! Stop! Don’t hurt—”
“Dokja no—”
The Duke flung Dokja off, “Get off of me, Trash!”
The five-year-old hit the floor with a yelp and rolled across the floor, stopping a few paces away. He sobbed and curled up, his head and sides aching.
“And you,” With a final shove, the Duke released his wife and stood, stalking over to his son, “You are even more useless than that bitch.”
He swung his leg back and then delivered a sharp kick to Dokja’s stomach. The wind was knocked out of the boy, who coughed up bits of his dinner.
“No!” Sookyoung scrambled off the floor and pulled her husband back, “Don’t touch him!”
Without a moment's hesitation, he struck her across the side of her face with his fist, sending her crashing into the table. The Duke looked at her with disgust then turned back and reached down and lifted Dokja by the front of his shirt, “You’re weak.”
He brought the child close to his face, snarling, “Worthless.”
The Duke threw Dokja down to the ground, “A sniveling brat. All you do is read. Can’t even use one of your abilities that you should have as a royal.”
Dokja cried out, tears bursting from his eyes in thick globs. Acid and the taste of metal stuck to the inside of his mouth.
“Sir, I have brought the wine.”
The man straightened, turning away from Dokja and ripped the bottle from the maid. He uncorked it and grabbed his abandoned glass, pouring himself a drink anew.
Dokja looked up at the maid from his crumpled position on the ground pleadingly and watched as she simply closed her eyes and turned away. His eyes widened and shook as realization filled him, and he turned to look up at his father, who was leering down at him. The man took a long swig of his glass.
The nightmare had only just begun.