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Tonight is the first time in recent memory that Hongjung has not looked forward to a visit with Seonghwa.
It has nothing to do with anything that Seonghwa has or hasn't done. Rather, it pertains to this evening's council meeting, and the briefing that will be necessary to describe its contents. His advisors are thankfully well intentioned, but it would have been nice to have his best and most impartial friend at his side when they unanimously suggested a political marriage to a neighboring noblewoman.
The good of the kingdom has always been what Hongjung has sought most, but now that a clear opportunity has presented itself, he has misgivings. All he has ever wanted is for Keikyu to prosper, and joining hands with the mainland would unquestionably raise the entire nation in status. Why, then, has his heart gone cold at the prospects of a political marriage?
But Hongjung knows all too well that how he feels is, ultimately, irrelevant. As an advocate for seizing opportunities whenever possible, he cannot simply turn his back on this one out of selfishness, especially without knowing the cause. And searching for downsides seems like too much of an excuse, so he cannot bring himself to ponder the source of his disquiet.
Still, Hongjung has hardly ever thought about sharing his life with anyone else in such an intimate way, whether motivated by love or politics. Usually, the thought comes upon him when he lies awake in his bed. Often, overcome by doubts, he finds his heart longing for a partner in life who might understand, and in so doing ease his mind. But then he chides himself for his foolishness, rolls over, and tries once more to sleep in vain.
Foreseeing another such troubled night, further complicated by this new possibility, Hongjung lets out a breath he hopes is inaudible and casts a surreptitious glance over at Seonghwa. He can undoubtedly tell that something is amiss, but has not asked, and Hongjung is afraid of what he might say in any case. Will Seonghwa advise him to go through with it, and wed a stranger? Even the thought of his saying so is discomfiting.
So Hongjung says nothing at all, and Seonghwa sits by with paintbrush and paper to practice his calligraphy.
As Seonghwa sets aside one page to start on another, Hongjung's eyes catch on his face—illuminated in the warm glow of the candlelight—and stay there. His long and lustrous hair, his smooth skin, the angle of his nose, the slant of his ink-dark eyes, the fullness of his lips, the memory of his smile: all contribute to the serenity in his countenance. Looking at Seonghwa soothes Hongjung's heart, even as it quickens slightly, perhaps for fear that he might notice him staring. When did his presence at his side start feeling so natural?
It must have been some years since they became what many call 'inseparable', and Seonghwa's insistence on closeness surprised Hongjung just as much then as now. Almost since their first meeting in their early teenage years, some days after Hongjung's adoption into the royal family, Seonghwa started becoming a constant in his life, a confidant who quite often behaved more like a personal servant than anything else.
That is the part that Hongjung has never understood, and perhaps will never understand. Seonghwa is the son of a noble and should be an influential lord in his own right, not a minister or even a mere courtier. But, over the years, he has made it more than clear that his foremost wish is to serve the crown as an advisor. That is more than a little unusual, in a fairly young kingdom with a somewhat precarious balance of power, but welcome enough that Hongjung chooses not to question it.
Besides, as Hongjung learned shortly after their introduction, his opinions and assumptions have very little bearing on Seonghwa's actions.
It could not have been more than a few days after their initial introduction that Seonghwa entered his office. (How he had learned of his whereabouts, Hongjung had not initially known; only later did he discover that Seonghwa had specifically asked various servants, with a winning smile and no particular urgency, and gotten one of the maids to escort him.) I apologize for the interruption, Highness, but I witnessed a situation that demands your immediate attention.
Seonghwa's words were serious, but Hongjung could not help but think that he could have gone to the guards if it was really so dire an issue. Besides, the title bothered Hongjung each time he heard it. His blood family was among the oldest in Keikyu, but had declined noble status generations ago, so he was unaccustomed to honorifics of any kind. Nor did he feel as though he as an individual particularly deserved any.
We're the same age, Hongjung said finally, keeping his eyes on his work. As the last of one lineage and the heir to another, there were many affairs to set in order, and his new father thought it best that he learn his new duties as soon as possible. Call me Hongjung.
A hesitation. Prince Hongjung.
That was an improvement, at least. Hongjung set his brush aside and looked up at Seonghwa, whose posture was immaculate. What is it?
It's easier to show than tell, said Seonghwa, beckoning, though deferentially. Please follow me.
Hongjung narrowed his eyes. Given his experiences with courtly intrigue, he was reluctant to trust anyone. Still, there was only so much treachery that could take place in broad daylight, especially since the king had nearly doubled the guards since Hongjung's adoption. Besides, throughout Keikyu's short history, Seonghwa's family had never been involved in any of the handful of incidents that had endangered the rulers. There was no reason to believe that their scion stood at the center of some conspiracy now.
So, after one last pause, Hongjung gave in and followed.
After a minute's journey, they stepped outside, and Hongjung shielded his eyes automatically. Given that he had been inside all day, the sunlight seemed all the brighter, the early-summer sky all the more vivid. It was warm, but not yet hot, and the intermittent breeze was just cool enough to be refreshing. As they walked, Hongjung looked around for signs of any disruption, but found none. Still, Seonghwa's steps were purposeful, so he suppressed his doubts and kept walking.
The palace garden had quickly become one of Hongjung's favorite places since he had taken up residence here, though he seldom had much time to spend there, and never unaccompanied. Apparently, their destination was within its walls, and Hongjung's anxiety mounted—had something terrible happened to such a beautiful place?—until they reached the gazebo overlooking the pond in its center.
The water was so clear that it appeared shallow, half sparkling in the sunlight and half resting in the shade of ancient trees, but it was not the first thing that caught Hongjung's attention. Rather, the thing he noted before all else was the tray upon the gazebo table, laden with still-steaming tea and sweet snacks, and certainly not in a state of emergency. As Hongjung looked at Seonghwa for an explanation, he received a smile in return. You haven't eaten today, have you?
So this had been a ruse after all; it simply hadn't been out of malice. Truthfully, Hongjung had no real desire to hole himself up in his office and keep working after walking in the garden like this, but being misled made him want to protest anyway. You could have brought it to my study.
Seonghwa met his gaze evenly. Then you'd never know how beautiful a day it is. He seemed easygoing enough, but Hongjung realized then that he was steel in silk. There could be no use in raising any further objections, especially since his heart was so little in it.
Still, there was something that made Hongjung curious. This was, after all, only the second or third time they had met. You're not my servant, Seonghwa.
Yes, I am. There was no pause before Seonghwa spoke, no fear of contradicting the prince in his expression. Rather, his persistent smile was so genuine that he must really have thought that being Hongjung's servant was a great honor. Otherwise, he could easily have brought along one of the maids rather than pour the tea himself, as he was doing presently. You're the prince. All lords should serve you.
Hongjung didn't know what to say to that, never having heard such a sentiment from anyone other than his new father, so he took a sip of tea instead. It was warm, but not hot, and he found himself wondering how long ago Seonghwa had laid this out. But he would not have asked even had Seonghwa, evidently satisfied with this silence, not been mid-drink as well.
After Seonghwa's declaration of servitude, ironically, they became fast friends in every sense of the word. At Hongjung's request, the king eventually allowed Seonghwa and a few similarly situated young men to train or study alongside him. Those friends, and the three others that followed, are now as dear to Hongjung as Seonghwa is. Yet there has always been a qualitative difference in their relationships. Is it because Seonghwa was the only one to approach him first…?
Not that the others had been anything other than friendly from the beginning. A few of them simply hadn't had any choice in their acquaintance, having been assigned as Hongjung's study-mates alongside Seonghwa. These were Yunho and Jongho, the sons of a respected minister, and Mingi, a young lord with an embarrassing sense of bravado and a knack for poetry.
Yunho and Mingi had grown up together to the extent that they seemed at times to speak a language all their own, though Seonghwa was kind enough to translate until Hongjung could grasp the nature of their interactions himself. Jongho, meanwhile, frequented the palace less often than his older brother, but the appearances he put in were polite and genial. (Hongjung had to admit that it was a relief that Jongho had less time to spar or study; his physical strength already exceeded that of anyone else in his acquaintance.)
The others began as strangers. Yeosang, introduced by Seonghwa, was the only son of a newly appointed courtier, and was saddled with all the expectations of an ambitious family. San, who presented himself at an assembly, was a backwater noble with more to prove than Hongjung could ever hope to guess. And Uyeong, the son of a courtesan—widely considered the bastard of the collective court—accompanied Yeosang one day out of sheer boredom.
Most such children were adopted into their father's family, or at least sent elsewhere to be taken care of, but Uyeong had been left with his mother. Whatever the reason, the result was… interesting, to say the least. Hongjung quickly discovered that Uyeong had a strong sense of ritual and propriety, yet no concept of personal space or boundaries. Even knowing that this odd behavior is just Uyeong's way of showing affection, Hongjung to this day finds it simplest to keep his distance physically, or to throw San or Yunho at him and run.
It is not that any of Hongjung's friends, constant and true, are lacking. It is simply that Seonghwa exceeds. They all stayed together whenever possible, or in varying combinations, but Seonghwa visited most consistently… and he also happened to be the one with whom Hongjung was most comfortable training. Even without considering himself a perfectionist, he still found himself reluctant to publicly attempt anything at which he might fail.
Such as riding a horse.
At least Hongjung was able to negotiate with Seonghwa, who insisted he learn how, so that they practiced archery as well. Shooting was something he did understand, and could stand to learn from atop a horse. But Seonghwa, for all his riding skills, could barely hold a bow, and his attempts to teach Hongjung horsemanship quickly turned into mutual tutoring sessions.
One late-spring afternoon, Seonghwa missed the target so drastically that Hongjung laughed, but lost his balance on his horse even though it was standing still. It wasn't a serious fall, or Seonghwa wouldn't have laughed too, and certainly wouldn't have taken his time helping Hongjung up… or rather, trying to help him up, as Hongjung pulled Seonghwa down next to him instead. Then, once their laughter had run its course, they lay together in the long soft grass and gazed up at the changing clouds, pointing out different patterns in the same sky.
Those days were peaceful, but like all peaceful days, they came to an end. No cataclysmic event shattered their serenity, but it ended up fragmenting all the same. As time passed by, Hongjung was expected to assume more and more responsibilities, and his opportunities to spend time with any of his friends naturally decreased. It made their time together all the more precious to Hongjung, who made a show of demanding 'reports' on their activities in the interim.
Some of his friends built on what they had, while others developed in new directions. Jongho grew insurmountably strong, Mingi taller and more awkward still, Yunho and his encouragement all the brighter. Uyeong became simultaneously more flirtatious and disagreeable; San aligned himself more with the culture of the capital, if only on the outside; and Yeosang became more sure of himself and his role in the court. And through it all, Seonghwa's wisdom and kindness seemed to know no bounds… though his eyes and tongue both sharpened.
Sprinkled throughout the years were the gatherings of the nobility on special occasions. Most of the time, Hongjung and his friends scarcely had a chance to have a real conversation, but nonetheless they were there, and that was more of a comfort than they may have known. The more important the occasion, the more Hongjung relied on their presence without realizing it—until, on the eighth anniversary of his adoption, he scanned the faces of those assembled to find Seonghwa notably absent.
Having been busy with congratulations and ceremony, Hongjung could not tell whether Seonghwa had ducked out for a moment or whether he had not arrived at all. Glancing around at the others to see if they had noticed, he found that none of them seemed surprised, let alone worried, even as the minutes dragged on and Seonghwa did not make an appearance. But if they knew something, then why had they not informed Hongjung?
Yeosang was the only one who might give him a straight answer, but his smile was characteristically inscrutable as he bowed his head. He was better than most others at feigning a proper distance at gatherings like these. I'm sure Seonghwa hyeong wouldn't dare miss such a momentous occasion, Your Highness.
That, at least, told Hongjung all he needed to know: that this was a part of their plan. Almost as soon as the words left Yeosang's mouth, the minister of ceremonies announced the much anticipated sword dance. But Hongjung was hardly paying attention to the introduction; rather, his gaze fixed itself on the dancer, dressed in flowing robes of red and black. The dancer was veiled below the eyes, but Hongjung knew Seonghwa the instant their gazes met, even from this distance.
Then the dance began, and the thoughts vanished from his mind like the breath from his lungs.
Seonghwa's movements were, in a word, mesmerizing. Each motion was carefully controlled as he shifted fluidly from one form into the next. The glint of firelight on silver was hardly brighter than his eyes, flashing from above his veil as though he faced a real enemy. Although these patterns of movement had originally been invented for warfare, the way that Seonghwa embodied them was beautiful beyond words.
When it was over, far too soon, Hongjung offered his applause, followed by the rest of the court. After the concluding remarks, to his surprise, Seonghwa approached to kneel before his seat and proffer the sword he carried. Please accept this blade as a gift from my family to yours, said Seonghwa quietly, and met Hongjung's eyes with the merest hint of a smile. Long may you reign and longer may you live, my prince.
Hongjung accepted the blade, hilt first, as if in a trance. It was even lovelier up close, and engraved with the characters comprising Seonghwa's name. Had this been commissioned for him? Or was it a wish for his eventual reign—that he might, symbolically speaking, become a star? But Hongjung could not decline such a precious gift, and Seonghwa certainly seemed at ease with the decision. Now, it is mounted in Hongjung's quarters.
But even that was not the crowning experience of the night. As usual, everything that did not involve his friends passed by in a nondescript blur, but eventually, Yunho and Jongho managed to smuggle him into the local festivities. The celebration isn't over just because the ceremony is, hyeong! Jongho's eyes were shining the way they did when he had some mischief planned, and Yunho's grin was as contagious as ever. Come on; we've got it all worked out.
Clearly, this had been coordinated beforehand. The brothers brought Hongjung out through a side door to meet Seonghwa, who accompanied Hongjung while the brothers executed whatever their plan might have been—excuses, perhaps, to justify the prince's departure, or an attempt to cover it up. Meanwhile, Hongjung walked the busy streets to his heart's content, observing the goings-on with delight (and sampling as much street food as he could hold). The situation among various powerful families may still have been tense, but the common folk seemed as pleased to celebrate the anniversary of Hongjung's adoption as they might have been upon the anniversary of a full-blooded prince's birth.
Following the thunder of fireworks and glimpses of colorful sparks, Hongjung and Seonghwa arrived at the nearest beach, where they were being set off. Shapes exploded in the sky in flashes of colorful light, by which Hongjung caught sight of his other friends, joining them just as the performance was coming to an end—bright sparks like sun on snow or falling petals, showering down on the sand.
After the smoke cleared, the emerging stars were just as beautiful, and only a few scattered bonfires disturbed the tranquil darkness. Uyeong was attempting to spirit Yeosang away somewhere; San and Mingi had drifted some distance away, and were engaged in a lively discussion that may or may not have been a petty argument in disguise; Yunho and Jongho had just been called away for familial obligations, or perhaps the consequences of their earlier actions. Only Seonghwa remained close at hand.
I wish I could walk among the people more often, said Hongjung aloud, more to himself than anyone else.
I wish you could, too, said Seonghwa, glancing at him sideways. It's been good to see you so animated.
What Hongjung had not known then was that Seonghwa and his other friends were about to take that as an invitation, inventing increasingly more ridiculous excuses for him to leave the palace. Usually, it was so that he could personally inspect some allegedly shady restaurant only to find that the food was excellent, or examine the scene of a so-called crime that had actually just been San and Uyeong getting into another of their lovers' quarrels.
Unconsciously, Hongjung touches the white jade pendant hanging from his belt, which Seonghwa bought for him during the lunar new year. The stone is just translucent enough that, when held up to the light, it shines like a hollow moon. Over the years, Hongjung's other friends have bought him a handful of things that they had caught him admiring during their rovings through festival streets, but Seonghwa chose this pendant himself. It suits Hongjung far better than anything he could have picked out on his own.
When asked about its origin, Hongjung says only that it was a gift. To reveal anything of the giver might put Seonghwa or his family at risk: Yeosang aside, many other courtiers cannot be trusted, and there are those who seek the prince's favor and wish those already in his good graces worse than ill. Only recently has Hongjung realized that, in light of his refusal to elaborate, rumors have begun flying that he has a lover, and that the gift is from her. The thought irks him for reasons that he feels are within his grasp, but which he cannot articulate even to himself. (It may be the assumption that such a lover must be female.)
"Hongjung-a?"
Hongjung jolts back to himself from the edge of an epiphany. "What?"
"Is something wrong?" Seonghwa is looking sideways over at him, his eyes piercing enough that this is not really a question. Perhaps he has been trying to get Hongjung's attention for some time; whenever his mind wanders, it roams far enough afield that it can take some time to steer it back toward the present. "If you need someone to lend an ear, you know I'll always be here."
Always. That is more reassuring than Seonghwa likely knows. Hongjung allows himself to relax, just a little, and takes a deep breath. "You already know we've been discussing ways to secure Keikyu's political standing among the larger kingdoms," he says, and Seonghwa nods. "To that end, the council thinks I should marry a lady from the mainland."
Seonghwa's paintbrush stops. "And what do you think?"
"I don't know yet." How can Hongjung explain his disquiet? "They do have a point. But…"
"Even you can't force yourself to feel something you don't," says Seonghwa, setting his brush aside. "You may be a prince, but you're human, too. Even if sometimes I wonder."
"I am human," says Hongjung, grateful for Seonghwa's humor. "Very much so."
"Then, as a human, you can only devote your heart to so many things," says Seonghwa. "Call me naïve, but I think love is important in a marriage, political or otherwise. I don't think it'd be fair to your wife if you only married her for her country's wealth and power, especially if you spent the rest of your life ignoring her."
Hongjung cannot call Seonghwa naïve, no matter how much he wants to, because too much of his heart agrees. Instead, he chooses to focus on the semantics, because those at least are well defined. "I couldn't, even if I wanted to. Marriages are meant to unite lineages and continue bloodlines."
"You're adopted," points out Seonghwa. "Why not adopt heirs?"
There is little point in bringing up that the current political situation is enduringly unstable precisely because he was adopted. Seonghwa already knows that. "Because then I'd be ignoring my wife, which you just told me not to do."
Seonghwa sighs. "Right. You just don't sound thrilled about the idea of… not ignoring her."
"I'm not." Belatedly, Hongjung recognizes Seonghwa's tactful euphemism, and the heat rises to his cheeks as he scrambles to explain. "It's just hard for me to imagine having a wife. What would it be like?"
"Do I look like I have a wife, either?" Seonghwa's retort is flippant, but his smile is self-conscious.
Hongjung can't help but return it, just as uncertainly. "You look like you should have a wife." Hongjung is reasonably certain that every noble clan with an eligible daughter has been trying to marry her off to Seonghwa. Aside from his family's status, his beauty is no secret in the court, and the maids tend to hide their faces whenever he walks by.
Seonghwa shrugs. "Like I said, love is important to me."
"But how do you know you won't fall in love?"
Seonghwa meets his eyes. "Because I'm already in love, Hongjung-a."
The words are simple, but his tone is not. Seonghwa has said Hongjung's name in many ways before, but this time is different, and strikes a chord in his heart. I'm already in love. Something unspoken lingers at the end, quickening Hongjung's pulse. Yet even he has no idea the emotion that stirs his blood. Excitement? Anxiety? Frustration? It has elements of all three, but whatever it is, it is not disbelief. Regardless of Hongjung's opinion on the matter, he is willing to accept it as fact.
"At any rate," continues Seonghwa, a little ruddier than usual in the candlelight, "it's not the end of the kingdom if you're not ready to get married. There are plenty of other ways to strengthen diplomatic bonds, and trade has already improved our reputation quite a bit. I think you're doing a fine job keeping Keikyu afloat on your own—with a little help from your friends, of course."
The joke is a deflective measure, but Hongjung's thoughts will not be moved. "Where did you find the time to fall in love? You didn't say anything about it."
Seonghwa smiles faintly. "You didn't ask."
"Well, now I am." This feels crucially important, and Hongjung cannot afford to let the subject lapse. "How long has this been going on?"
"About…" Seonghwa pauses, tilting his head as he thinks. "Five years? Six, maybe?"
"That's a long time to be in love without saying anything."
"I know," says Seonghwa softly, but there is a fire in his eyes that Hongjung has not seen before. "But I have no choice. Believe me, if I were free to speak my mind, I would have done so long ago." He gazes at Hongjung, his expression unreadable, as though about to say something else, but thinks better of it. The emotion in his expression is intense enough that it must have a name, but it is not one that Hongjung can easily pick out—yet, strangely, he feels as though it is the same as the one in his heart, likewise unidentifiable.
"Why can't you?" Hongjung's voice comes out slightly hoarse, and he clears his throat.
Seonghwa shakes his head. "Please, Highness, don't make me say it."
Hongjung frowns at the title. One of the reasons that he finds Seonghwa easiest to talk to, out of everyone he knows, is because they can cast off all the trappings of rank and station. Whenever they talk, they do so as one human being to another. What about this conversation makes Seonghwa feel like he has to put distance between them? "I won't make you do anything," he says, as gently as he can manage. "But I worry about you too, you know."
"You do?"
What right has Seonghwa to be surprised? Hongjung reaches out to nudge him. "Of course I do. If I can only devote my heart to so many things, then my kingdom and my friends are the most important." He hesitates. This evening's reminiscences have shown him that that isn't the whole truth. "Your space isn't any larger than the others', but it is… warmer. This place never felt like home until you started visiting, and this room never felt like mine until you said it was."
Seonghwa's lips part slightly, his eyes widening. "Don't say anything else," he says, but his tone is of one longing to hear more. "Don't you dare give me false hope, Hongjung-a. I'd rather break my own heart than have you do it."
With that, Seonghwa's meaning is made abundantly clear, whether he intends it or not, and with it is clarified Hongjung's path. Electricity floods his veins for a moment, so unexpected and exhilarating that he has the strangest urge to laugh. "Break your heart?" Hongjung shakes his head. "I could never. You mean so much more to me than I can put in words. And I…" He swallows, meeting Seonghwa's eyes with an effort. Wherever words are not enough, his courage fails him, but he pushes forward. "I never want to lose you."
For a moment, there is stillness and silence. Then Seonghwa's arms are around Hongjung, holding him tightly. Initially, he does not feel as though they have touched often, but instances flash through his head a split second later. Seonghwa's palm on the small of his back as he guides him through tight spaces or around corners—Seonghwa's fingers on his shoulders whenever they ache from constant tension, often before Hongjung himself notices—Seonghwa putting out his arm to steady him if he gets jostled in a crowd.
"Then you won't," says Seonghwa, his voice barely above a whisper, and moves back to meet Hongjung's eyes. His face is full of quiet but radiant joy, easier by far for Hongjung to mirror than the exuberance Hongjung often sees in Yunho and Mingi. "I promise."
Seonghwa may have withdrawn slightly, but his face is still much nearer Hongjung's than usual. On an impulse, Hongjung leans closer; Seonghwa shies away automatically, but then repositions himself again. They share a nervous giggle, and Hongjung—reassured that they are both equally as awkward—leans in.
It is not a deep kiss or a long one, but tender, cautious, experimental. Seonghwa's lips are soft and slightly tremulous, and neither of them is remembering to breathe, but it is enough to serve as the sealing of an unspoken oath. All thoughts of marrying a stranger have vanished from Hongjung's head; right now, all that exists is himself and Seonghwa. There is no need to complicate things any further than that.
As they draw back again as if by one will, Hongjung cannot help his blush. Even just that much was enough that he better understands what people see in touch. Knowing Seonghwa's much greater appreciation for this kind of affection, Hongjung marvels at his restraint. Could something like this have lain just beneath the surface all along?
"I love you."
Hongjung blinks. Again, the words are simple, the emotion pure, Seonghwa's eyes as dark and unclouded as the night sky outside. His sincerity is undeniable, accentuated rather than suppressed by his excitement, as though he has wanted to say it for years. And it is not for lack of feeling that Hongjung cannot respond in kind, but rather because he is overwhelmed. How can he possibly articulate the bliss overtaking his thoughts?
Seonghwa leans his forehead against Hongjung's, drawing him out of his mind again. "I won't ask you to say it back so soon," he murmurs, and Hongjung smiles, relaxing. Of course Seonghwa would understand. "But I'll be by your side to hear it, in case you ever do."