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The heavy double doors of Jisoo’s room burst open with a crash. “So it was you,“ Jisoo says, sounding simultaneously harassed and triumphant.
Jeonghan resists the urge to look up from his book and ends up smiling down at it like a fool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, my prince.”
“I hate you,” Jisoo says fervently, and hurls a throw pillow at him.
Jeonghan flings his hand up. The pillow comes to a stop inches from his face, caught in a net of muted gold light that materialises in front of him like a shield. Jisoo scowls at him; one of the pillow’s tassels gives a mutinous little twitch and smacks him in the cheek. Jeonghan makes a face right back.
The net glimmers, disappears; he catches the pillow as it falls. “Soonyoung’s summoning spells have nothing to do with me,” he says, still fighting back a smile.
“You —” Jisoo points emphatically at him “—are the only person in this palace capable of actually summoning a creature that large. Don’t think I don’t know that.”
Jeonghan sighs theatrically. “Well,” he allows. Jisoo’s mouth twitches in amusement before he flattens it. “It’s not like I was the one who summoned it. I just gave Soonyoung some help. He would’ve gotten there on his own eventually.”
Really, what had happened was this: Jeonghan had been on his way to the kitchens when he’d passed by the doorway to the hall, heard Seokmin and Soonyoung’s voices, backtracked to join their conversation—and paused just outside the doorway.
“—I still can’t summon anything larger than a pig,” Soonyoung was saying gloomily. Which was true; the apprentices’ last lesson with Jeonghan had been on summoning pigs. Soonyoung had done remarkably well.
“I’m sure you’re doing just fine.” Jeonghan couldn’t see them, but he imagined Seokmin patting Soonyoung’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll work up to it one day.”
Soonyoung made a mournful noise. “I’ve been trying, but I just end up with striped housecats,” he said, miserable. “Look, I’ll show you.”
Of course Jeonghan knew what they were talking about: Soonyoung had talked so much about wanting to summon a tiger of his own that the entire apprentice class could probably recite his plans back to him by now. He’d been in Soonyoung’s shoes before, with plans too big and skills too unrefined, knowing what he wanted and being unable to reach it. So when he sensed the citrus-sharp hum in the air, the buzz that preceded any spell, he’d closed his eyes and seen the tangle of bright gold light forming above Soonyoung’s palms, felt the magic coalescing into the shape of a cat, a command with the rough outlines drawn in, with too little power to manifest in its intended size. And he’d given it a little—just a little!—help.
Jeonghan opened his eyes.
From inside the hall, one of the knights shrieked. He heard a yelp of surprise—Seokmin—and then a yelp of delight—Soonyoung—and then the very distinct sound of a tiger purring.
He grinned and continued on to the kitchens. Behind him, Soonyoung cackled with glee.
“It was a very big tiger,” Jisoo huffs. “I was in a meeting.”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “I did you a favour.”
The winter sun’s long since sunk below the horizon, the night sky outside a blue so dark it’s almost black, visible only through the balcony windows. In the warm amber light of the room Jeonghan can see Jisoo roll his eyes before his face breaks into a smile, a real smile, and with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair disheveled from corralling the tiger he looks like the most honest version of himself, shedding the prince’s skin like a too-tight coat. He’s honest, and real, and most of all—he’s familiar.
“Ugh, Yoon Jeonghan,” he says with great feeling, equal parts fond and annoyed, coming over to sit on the bed next to Jeonghan. Jeonghan leans against him, fits their bodies together, his head on Jisoo’s shoulder, Jisoo’s cheek pressed into the top of his head.
“Where’s the tiger now?”
“We coaxed it into the indoor gardens,” Jisoo says. “Soonyoung promised to take care of it.”
Jeonghan flops backwards, sighs again. Closes his eyes as he just about melts into the bed. “He’ll bring it to every single one of my lessons, you know.”
“I know,” Jisoo says, and there’s a note of mischief in his voice, one that’s new, and Jeonghan cracks one eye open to look at him, “which is why I made a bet with him three weeks ago that he couldn’t summon one.”
Jeonghan sits up suddenly. Jisoo’s grinning at him, pleased, delighted at getting one over on him, delighted at winning this petty squabble that they keep up just for the back-and-forth, the banter, teasing the threads of their arguments out into long spirals just for the fun of seeing who concedes first. He reaches forward to grab Jisoo—and finds that he can’t.
He tries again, and this time the restraints flicker into visibility, light solidifying: cuffs around his wrists, attached to short chains binding him to the bed, melting again into light where they meet the sheets.
Jisoo’s grin gets impossibly more smug.
Jeonghan’s heart kicks up a notch. “Technically,” he says, “you lost the bet.” Behind his eyes he searches along the seams of the cuffs for a chink in the armour; sharpens his attention into a razor-sharp pinpoint and waits for a chance. “He did succeed.”
Jisoo leans in, close enough to kiss. “I lost the bet,” he admits. Jeonghan lets his eyes drop to Jisoo’s mouth. “But I still win.”
The barest lapse in concentration—Jeonghan presses. The restraints shatter; he curls his hands into the front of Jisoo’s shirt and shoves him flat on his back. Jisoo lets out an oof as he falls back onto the mattress, more from surprise than anything else, as Jeonghan plants both hands on either side of his head and cages him in.
“No,” Jeonghan says, and smiles down at him, satisfied. “I win.”
He’s taken a walk around the room, opened the curtains, and climbed back into bed by the time Jisoo wakes up the next morning.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Jisoo murmurs, voice hoarse with sleep.
“I’m not,” Jeonghan complains, and snakes his cold hands under Jisoo’s shirt just to make him squirm. “You’re just listening too hard.”
Jisoo kicks him. Jeonghan pinches him in retaliation, withdraws his hands. “What’re you thinking about?”
The gold filigree on the ceiling suddenly becomes incredibly fascinating. “What do you think of that knight,” Jeonghan says, pointedly staring up at it. “The new captain. The one with the shoulders.”
“I know who he is.” Jisoo rolls over and brushes a lock of hair back from Jeonghan’s face, inescapably gentle.
“Mm.” It’s a non-answer, Jisoo intentionally keeping him in suspense as payback for the night before, and he can tell without looking that Jisoo’s smiling, can tell that Jisoo knows that he knows.
Jisoo hums in consideration. “I like him,” he finally says. “He’s handsome.”
Jeonghan exhales. “Maybe after winter,” he says, and turns on his side to face Jisoo. “In the spring?”
Outside, it’s snowing. Someone had woven sprigs of holly into the curtain ties; he’d found them when he drew the curtains back this morning to see the sunrise, pale and bright as silver. In a few hours Jeonghan will be whisked away to help prepare for the winter banquet, and Jisoo will be summoned to the throne room to greet foreign dignitaries, and the halls will be draped with boughs of pine, mistletoe, spruce.
But for now there’s only this: the fire crackling in the hearth. The snow-capped branches of the trees outside. And when Jisoo kisses him, warm and quiet, light spills over the horizon like a miracle.