Chapter Text
In the kingdom of Hanguk, being the fifth son of the fifth son will make you the heir to the throne.
Even among the other unconventional traditions the royal family had the misfortune of inheriting, Sunoo has always thought that this custom, in particular, is easily the most peculiar of them all, for who in their right mind would voluntarily give birth to five children?
This makes a long-winded play for the crown; imagine having four older siblings vying for the most coveted position in the country. Though Sunoo’s family has never expressed envy towards his birthright, he is sometimes jealous of their freedom and of not being thrown directly into the spotlight.
Being the fifth son also comes with a set of expectations Sunoo didn’t expect to meet so soon.
“An arranged marriage?”
This is the third time he asked, eyes wide and blinking rapidly in the face of his parents.
“In this day and age?”
“Oh please, the day and age have nothing to do with your betrothal,” dismisses Queen Sunhye, giving a flair of unsympathetic grievance.
Sunoo’s mother is woman of strong temperament, stubborn and enduring. She stares at him head-on, just as persistent as she has always been.
He inherited many of her features, way more than his father’s. Sitting together like this, anyone could tell how domineering her bloodline is, of how strong it flows in his veins. While his father’s appearance is laid upon sharp frames, the queen is somewhat of an idiosyncrasy. She bears a resemblance to a flower—graceful, a rose best observed from afar, with prickly stems that draw blood if not handled with care.
“You’re still selling me off.”
The moment those words left his lips, Sunoo instantly knew that it was the wrong thing to say. He recoils at the hurt that flashes on his father’s usually serene face. He rarely talks back to them.
Queen Sunhye pins him with cold eyes. “No one is selling anyone off, as you so bluntly put it. Your spouse-to-be is—” Sunoo tries to cut in, only to be silenced with a look, “—in no hurry to get married, and neither are you. Jaeyun is past the age of delaying a marriage proposal, but you still have years ahead. The suggestion of a long engagement is suggested and upon much consideration, we decided that there are advantages to it. If possible, this alliance will be honored with as little inconvenience to those involved.” She pauses, making sure that Sunoo understands where she is coming from.
“For how long?” He asks, feeling nauseous at the thought of being the topic of a conversation that made him sound like a sack of cabbage up for haggling.
“I married your father when I was twenty-five,” his mother offers, trying to appease him, maybe.
“Are you suggesting we drag this for half a decade?”
“We found a suitable candidate,” his father placates, ever the pacifist. They’re a good match, one that burns and the other, extinguishes. “As your mother is saying, you don’t have to think of the actual prospect of marriage right away. However, we do hope that you will learn to accept them. Once you become of age, the palace will be giving you more responsibilities and expectations, Sunoo. Higher expectations. It would be good to have someone at your side who can support you.”
This must make sense to them, Sunoo thinks, even if it does not in his mind.
The imperial hierarchy isn’t as uptight as in the olden days. His mother, for one, is not the fifth son but the fifth daughter instead. Sunoo’s father is not even of royal lineage and was only brought into the family through marriage.
Though seen as a stern leader by the public, the queen has earned the respect of her people. Or fear, as the braver lot would say.
Crowned at only twenty-three in the aftermath of a war that left Hanguk kingless, she stood firm despite having to put up with a court full of stuffy, old men who liked dictating to her on what to do. She is authoritarian, perhaps even cold, but Sunoo thinks that is what makes her a good leader, with her unbending will and clear thinking.
Not so much at this moment though, not when Sunoo is bearing the brunt of that very same strength he admires.
“We are not going to ship you off to some unknown land.” Her mother’s voice softens, so minuscule that you’d miss the shift lest you’re used to it. “This betrothal will be very advantageous for them, too. A crown prince is better than any match they could have hoped for. You’re the heir to the Hanguk throne.”
She’s trying to console him, but Sunoo finds himself hardly swayed.
“You are aware…” he starts to say, suddenly uncertain how to relay one of his many concerns. Surely, they know of his preference. It’s not a secret. Even the tabloids had a parade on the day he came out, that and a literal parade led by those who supported him. “You are aware that I can’t produce any heirs even if I marry.”
Queen Sunhye’s expression doesn’t waver. “The fifth son of the fifth son,” she begins, “doesn’t have to be by blood. The world has changed, Sunoo. If our family can’t adapt to the times, then we will not survive.”
Her reasoning is just, well-meaning. Sunoo knows that he should, at the very least, pretend to offer his cooperation. With the finicky nature of his mother, whoever she picked for him can’t be that terrible.
Right?
“If that’s the case, then why can’t I just marry Heeseung-hyung?” He remarks, masking dread with humor, as he’s still failing to wrap his head around the fact that he is going to be promised to someone he doesn’t know. “I grew up with him and his duty is to protect me. He will have my best interest at heart, won’t you say so?”
His father is fighting off a smile now, which means that they have contemplated the idea before. The realization sends a strange tingle down Sunoo’s spine and swiftly, he brushes it off before it can manifest into any serious consideration. What would it be like to be engaged to his oldest friend and personal bodyguard, indeed.
“Don’t be daft. Royal marriages have always been symbolic and at the heart of warring nations,” she reminds him, as though this piece of information can make Sunoo feel better. On the contrary, it made him anxious, the mention of war instantly giving him cold feet.
“Warring nations?” he repeats, “are we at war?”
“Not at the moment.”
That is worse than a yes. She might as well have told him That’s up to you. A regular match is something Sunoo may still escape from. Hearing her speak of war would make this impossible to refuse.
She elaborates, “During your grandfather’s reign, our conflict with the north almost brought this country down to its knees, and even to this day, tension continues to rise amongst our people.”
Sunoo saw the news of rebels up north. You see, when you’re next in line, every morning when you open up the paper or any news site, every single story becomes your problem. There isn’t one story that Sunoo, to some extent, feels isn’t his responsibility.
“It is history to you,” she says, “but I remember what war left behind. I also remember our people’s drive to move forward, their sacrifices, and loss. Past mistakes shouldn’t hinder our future, but we must learn from them.”
Her face is as calm as it’s ever been, devoid of doubt and fear. It suits her. “Unfortunately, this sentiment isn’t shared by all. It’s a shame that Chosŏn’s former queen never quite forgave our country and cares more about playing sides than doing what is right. As opposed to her son, their current king, who asked our family for a match to his heir in hopes of a stronger and lasting peace.”
“And you accepted,” concludes Sunoo, “without consulting me first.”
He is, after all, her mother’s child. He does not take kindly to being slighted.
Sunoo’s father is quick to mediate, “As their leader, King Kwangho’s council think he’s aloof and not playing the political game. The fact that he reached out to us with this offer proves otherwise, a proof that he knows more than he lets on.”
“There’s a storm brewing in our borders. We’d be fools not to take on a chance to end this feud without spilling blood,” the queen admonishes what little refusal Sunoo has. “By accepting their proposal, we’re nipping potential rebellions in the bud. We give them what they want, and they give us ours.”
“And what is it that we want?” Sunoo can’t help but ask.
“Their trust,” she says simply. “There are no real winners in war, Sunoo. Only bodies to count.”
She lets these words hang in the air for a while, their gravity sitting heavy on Sunoo’s tense shoulders.
“You’re smart. I think you are aware of what is being implied here.” She then slides a tablet towards him. “This is for you.”
Her mother, even when he was young, never treated him as a child. She always made a point to view him as an equal who will one day lead this nation. It is for the same reason that made Sunoo conscious of his role so early and allowed him to understand what is expected of him regardless of his personal opinions.
He is brought up to be different from the rest, because the weight he will carry shall be different, too.
Sunoo takes the device he is given without saying anything. He unlocks it and finds a document containing information about his betrothed.
“You might know him. His name is Park Sunghoon,” she says carefully, observing his son’s reaction as he skims through the file. “The second prince of Chosŏn.”
Of course.
There is no shift in Sunoo’s face. When he looked up from the device to meet the queen’s stare, you could have heard a pin drop in the wide hall.
At the end of the day, it’s always about politics, isn’t it?
“Jeoha?”
Sunghoon looks up from his phone to a stone-faced Jongseong.
“He’s ready to see you now.”
He takes a deep breath and closes the news article he’s been reading about another skirmish on their border: three dead, five injured, and one missing. He stands to follow Jongseong to the king’s chambers.
“How is he?” He asks as they walk through the halls. It’s always been quiet on this side of the palace but the silence he meets presses heavier, foretelling an answer neither of them wants to hear.
Too soon, he thinks worriedly. He needs to get better.
When they arrived in front of the entrance, Sunghoon schools down his expression into impassiveness.
“Father,” he says to the screen partition. Once he hears a weak Come in, he slides it open and enters, hands clasped behind his back.
“How are you feeling?”
The room smells of disinfectant, a heady stench that reminds Sunghoon of hospitals. The first time his father collapsed was just as unpleasant as the memories of rushing to this room with bile rising in his throat, filled with angry and terrified thoughts lapsing around his mind: don’t you dare take another one from me. Don’t you fucking dare. I’ve lost so much already… Never again. Please.
“Oh, you know, just peachy,” his father sniffs, eyes settling on his son. “You’re not just going to stand there all day, are you?”
Despite the signs of discomfort, it’s a relief to see him still wield that same sardonic sense of humor that has been a part of him for as long as Sunghoon can remember.
“Come closer. I’m not contagious, Sunghoon-ah.”
Sunghoon sits on the couch opposite his father. “You should take better care of yourself. I’ll talk to your advisors about the transfer of your workload,” he tuts. “As for public appearances, the organizers have been notified that I’ll attend in your stead.”
His father clicks his tongue at him. “If only shoptalk could cure me, I’d be up and running by now.”
“Do you prefer that we talk about the weather, then?”
“Brat,” his father scolds. “How’s the council meeting last week?”
Sunghoon straightens his back, mind switching to what Jongseong likes to call his ‘duty mode’.
“They are worried but that’s expected. You may read the full report waiting on your desk once the doctors clear you.”
“Of course, they are.” The king sighs. “And the newly appointed ambassador from Hanguk?”
“I made sure that all his credentials were checked out. He’s settling in well.”
The king hums, thinking. “Any attempts on your life recently?
Sunghoon doesn’t miss a beat. “One.”
“Hm. She must have gotten wind of the news.”
What news? Sunghoon thinks but doesn’t ask.
“Tell me about the Royal Trust Assembly,” his father urges instead.
Sunghoon purses his lips. “The speech was embarrassing… but considering how all the media outlets put my face on their front page, I’m guessing it went well.”
“Really?” King Kwangho frowns. “They never did that for me.”
Sunghoon locks eyes with him, a smile nearly cracking his lips. “Really.”
“Well,” his father grumbles, “I suppose you’re a little more handsome. And you’ve been ready all this time. Everyone’s just waiting for me to pass on the baton now that they know I’m dying.”
Sunghoon immediately stiffens as panic switches off his brain. The air is so brittle it could snap, and if it doesn’t, he might. Both father and son sit knee-deep in silence for a while before Sunghoon finally finds his voice.
“You’re not dying,” he tells him, scowling and with a taste of something bitter in his mouth. “Don’t talk like that, please.”
“The infections growing inside my body beg to differ, Sunghoon-ah,” his father shoots back, mirroring his son’s scowl. Age and sickness have caught up with him and as much as he is well-groomed, King Kwangho also looks tired, the weight loss and wrinkles on his face telling of worries past and worries present. “I’d like to see you settle down before I leave this world. Happy, even.”
That is not the only reason he is being insistent on marriage talks, and while Sunghoon loves him, he doesn’t think he can stomach the purpose of what he has in plans.
“Take a look at this.” The king holds up the tablet on his lap, pushing it in his son’s direction. “He’s the Hanguk heir, Kim Sunoo.”
Sunghoon takes it but repeats, “You’re not dying.”
King Kwangho stares at his son, at the oldest of his two children who might as well be the only one remaining. Seeing Sunghoon used to bring him immense grief; he is the splitting image of his mother and thus, a constant reminder of what he lost. By doing so, he overlooked Sunghoon’s brilliance and his needs, failing to protect him while growing up.
He vowed to never make the same mistake again.
“We will both die if you don’t listen to me,” he tells him gently, his tone contrasting his words. “An excess of caution is warranted in this case. I can’t protect you once I’m gone, but an alliance with Hanguk guarantees you safety from my mother.”
Sunghoon has always resented his father’s strained relationship with Lady Ansun, of the animosity no one can ever scrub away from the history of their family. They’re past the point of reconciliation and it’s unfair that Sunghoon is the one to pay the price of their estrangement.
“Is this what this is about? You want Hanguk’s protection?”
“As a king, it brings me great shame to rely on another country, but as a father, there is nothing more important to me than ensuring the safety of my children.”
Sunghoon swallows and clutches his fingers, fighting the tension. He nods. It’s easier this way.
He might have inherited his mother’s face but his will is all his father’s, and along with it is the understanding that when everything feels turbulent and disordered, one must never force their way in. Chaos sweeps away those who don’t test the waters. This is why one must learn how to swim rather than charging without knowing its depth.
The king goes on, “And as my heir—”
“For now.”
“As my heir,” his father insists, “you’re the only one aside from myself that has the power to change the present state of affairs.”
But not powerful enough on my own, Sunghoon’s mind supplies.
His grandmother conveniently turned a blind eye to the supporters of the previous monarch. When the former king died, Sunghoon’s father succeeded him and chose to make peace with Hanguk instead, resulting in a lot of criticism, especially from their own family. Fortunately, Hanguk’s new queen met this decision halfway, as she was equally adamant to repeat history.
And for a while, it worked.
When Sunghoon was born, war was already a thing of the past, only to be read in history books and studied. They felt so ancient to him even if they were only three decades ago.
It would seem that thirty years is the limit of that truce. The number of rebels has surged in recent years, recruiting new members and rallying on behalf of his grandmother with the guise of protecting the values of their country. Like the olden days, they want to close Chosŏn completely and sever connections with Hanguk, believing that it dishonors all the lives lost in the previous war. In reality, this is wounded pride masked as patriotism, of refusing to acknowledge that Chosŏn’s decline is largely caused by their insistence to cut ties with the world.
“We can’t fall for simplistic plans anymore,” his father continues, “which is why I’m proposing a more permanent solution.”
It is in these moments that Sunghoon is reminded that this man is not just his father, but the father of this nation. That being a king is not just a job, but the fate of the thousands of people around him, Sunghoon included.
“A union between two heirs is unheard of, but it makes an absolute alliance,” Sunghoon surmises. Lady Ansun is unlikely to move against them as long as the marriage hold. Even if she doesn’t approve of him, her blood runs in his veins, and that is a leverage Sunghoon doesn’t normally find comfort in.
The king nods. “I want you to be safe because I want this country to remain safe.” He breathes out and the sound somehow manages to convey all his distress and worries.
“I understand,” Sunghoon relents, a single-minded purpose coursing through every cell in his body.
His answer seems to satisfy his father, settling back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach.
Sunghoon hears the door slide open, followed by footsteps behind him.
“Jeoha,” Jongseong prompts, “it’s time for your next appointment.”
“Go on,” King Kwangho dismisses and waits for Jongseong to leave before he speaks again. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Sunghoon-ah.”
There are infinite ways to ask for forgiveness, as there are infinite ways to make mistakes, for all sorts of situations we can’t control may exist in both. Sunghoon’s father has done both right and wrong things knowingly. He’s not sure how else to say it. It’s easy to hate and love him, even at the same time.
“Me too,” he says, tired in a lot of ways.
Sunghoon used to resent his father when he was younger, hated him for taking him away from his mother and making him live in the palace. Perhaps it’s the curse of growing up, of leaving those rose-tinted glasses behind and being faced with the realization that with time, comes the understanding of why some people compromise their principles in order to protect what’s important to them.
That often, one’s greed and faith may not necessarily be evil. Maybe it’s different from what they’d wish for or the things they used to live for, because the things they love may change, too.
His father smiles, small and sad, but also genuine enough that Sunghoon gets caught in the past once more, of much simpler times when his father would play games with him and his younger brother, sneaking them sweets behind their tutors’ back, or of the shoulder rides he used to give when he’s not so busy keeping the members of his council from murdering each other.
Just as his father is scared to lose him, he won’t let other people hurt him too.
This time, they’re going to protect each other.
For centuries before the division, Goryeo was a single, unified country, ruled by generations of dynastic kingdoms.
However, akin to most countries in history and at the end of any era, people would find the life they’ve been living affected by a singular entity. That in every change of leaders, every war and revolution that stems from that, there would be a reversal of roles, redefining what it means to hold power and the impact it will have on its jurisdiction.
After the great war, Goryeo’s southern region, now known as Hanguk, chose to be Cinderella, with the more industrialized nations acting as their godmother, opening its borders to foreigners to invite innovation amongst its land: new thinkers for a new era. They sought to realize a prosperous nation through the adoption of modern technology and the diversification of diplomatic relations.
Chosŏn, which then was the northern lands of Goryeo, believed in the symbolic power of traditions and opted to remain conservative, or as Sunoo’s mother would say: they didn’t want to change even when the world around them is already changing. It's a mysterious and unknown place to many people that embarked on a radical policy of self-sufficiency.
When the north refused to participate in the redevelopment, the south formed its government in Seoul, led by Sunoo’s ancestors, while the north was ruled by the House Park. This split the country into two factions, which then led to many conflicts including the war thirty years ago, killing hundreds and thousands of people from both sides. This war did little to resolve the question of which regime should represent Goryeo. It did, however, leave the country divided much as before, with a border that symbolizes the drastically different paths the two nations have taken, and the continuing separation between them.
Over the last decades, Hanguk developed a robust economy, with technology and science being at the forefront of their exports. Despite their insistence to withstand a modernizing world, Chosŏn changed in its own way, excelling in the field of agriculture and utilizing their country’s natural terrain: their mountains for mining and their wide lands being perfect for cultivating soil, growing crops, and raising livestock.
While the lands in Chosŏn are mostly lush, rolling plains that mirror a painting at night, peaceful and quiet, Hanguk is dazzling with its high skyscrapers and developed cities. Unlike Hanguk, with its friendly reputation, entering Chosŏn is not an easy feat for its isolationist policy. This policy resulted in trade restrictions and deeply hurt the country’s economy, effectively barring Chosŏn from growing within the international market, which undoubtedly made Hanguk richer and much more prosperous despite having formed their own governments at the same time.
There was an overhaul of policies ever since Sunghoon’s father took charge, for he believes that Chosŏn could prosper if it takes the same path as Hanguk did all those years ago. The change is evident but gradual. After all, they were recovering not just from the war but from a massive financial crisis.
His reign is a breath of fresh air for his people, but a suffocating hold for those who have grown complacent in their power.
Though Chosŏn’s willingness to adopt open-border reforms heavily relied on Hanguk’s efforts, it is not easy to erase their history. Chosŏn remains wary of outsiders and prefers the secluded and simple lifestyle they grew up in. Perhaps, it is that same isolation that creates a sense of austere solitude in their land, luring outsiders with novelty, a mysteriousness that encompasses a beauty that had to be seen to be believed.
Sunoo and Sunghoon have learned all of this at such a young age; noses buried in books as soon as they can read, absorbing information like sponges, their curious minds imagining a land so different from their own.
This is what they were reminded of when they heard each other’s names.
For all the history between their countries and between their families, their names could have never felt more distant from one another.