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i.
One day, Kye-Sook always said, Soo-Won will sit on the throne.
There was never any doubt in his words. Soo-Won, when he was very young and things weren’t simple but simpler, had always felt a solid sort of admiration for Kye-Sook’s conviction. Back then, when his father was still alive, and his mother wasn’t quite so frail, and Soo-Won could be just Soo-Won, he would smile because Kye-Sook made the idea of ruling Kouka seem so straightforward.
“How would you have it happen?” Soo-Won asked Kye-Sook as they sat in the library, scrolls over their laps.
Kye-Sook opened his mouth before his eyes flickered, clearly realising what he had instinctively wanted to say could be offensive or even treasonous. It made Soo-Won smile a little wider. Kye-Sook shut his mouth and looked down.
“I could marry Yona,” Soo-Won said because that was the path to the throne he would never take.
“You could,” Kye-Sook agreed, very slowly.
They went back to reading, and, for some time, Kye-Sook didn’t bring up the idea again.
The protected, seemingly halcyon days in Hiryuu Castle pass. Kye-Sook often leaves with Yu-Hon as attendant and confidant, and Soo-Won studies, trains, and plays with Yona and Hak as Yong-Hi takes tea and company with other ladies filtering in and out of the court. When Kye-Sook is around, he and Soo-Won spend their idle time reading and speaking of the places Kye-Sook has been that Soo-Won has not. Sometimes Hak joins them, less interested in the commerce and politics of faraway cities as Soo-Won is; instead, he is eager to ask about warriors and weapons and how they do things differently in combat.
“He would be a valuable ally,” Kye-Sook says as he trails a step behind Soo-Won in the palace gardens.
“You think so,” Soo-Won says, smiling as he looks up at the clouds, pale and soft in the early spring sky.
Kye-Sook is quiet. He gazes about the gardens, brows slightly furrowed. He is not the sort who has appreciation for the land and its bounties except for how they may serve the people who tend it. To someone like him and Yu-Hon, the gardens are frivolous. A place full of things to please people who have too much softness and can therefore take the time to appreciate beauty.
“Kye-Sook,” Soo-Won says, and he holds his hand out to indicate the tree they’ve just passed beneath, “do you know that the berries of this can cause stomach upset?”
Kye-Sook looks at the tree. It doesn’t bear berries now with the winter frost still lingering in the early hours of the morning. Only a few small leaves have begun to sprout.
“They’re very pretty,” Soo-Won says, and Kye-Sook looks at him, lips relaxed but eyes sharp. “I know some women drink tea with a few of the berries when the moon is high.”
“Is that so,” Kye-Sook says, soft and not calm at all.
They move on.
They do not discuss Hak again for some time.
It is after Yu-Hon is dead and Soo-Won has lost the simplicity of his mother’s love and he holds the thorn-covered reigns of his father’s legacy that Kye-Sook says:
“What of Hak?”
Soo-Won doesn’t respond immediately. The under armour that Ogi obtained for him is too wide to be usable, even though it’s the right size for a child of his age and height. Soo-Won is rarely aware of how slight his body is, of how he already reflects the innate fragility of his mother’s blood, but this is a moment where he is extremely conscious. Kye-Sook is also extremely conscious of it, how physically unimposing and vulnerable the young lord he has sworn to serve is. The question is a rare crack in both of their cool.
“Hak is strong and the likely heir to Lord Mundok’s seat,” Soo-Won says, taking off the under armour and beginning to put his clothes back on.
“He considers you a close friend,” Kye-Sook says, gathering the under armour to pack up and return to Ogi.
“He does,” Soo-Won says, folding his inner robe closed; it’s a relief because the back room is very cold. “He’s also Yona’s friend. Yona needs a dedicated and intelligent person like him at her side.”
“Intelligent,” Kye-Sook echoes, holding the armguards.
Soo-Won looks at him. One day, Kye-Sook will kneel before him when he sits on the throne. He has always been honest with Soo-Won, even when he had no reason to think that Yu-Hon would need his son to be ready to lead his household and followers any time soon. For a nine-year-old to stand in a man’s place and lead:
It’s absurd.
It’s why Soo-Won is able to step into the place that he is now. No one is looking at him, except as the cheerful, book-smart child of a dead Prince of no notable inheritance and chronically ill mother. No one has sent spies or assassins for Hyoo-Ri to kill, and no one second-guesses the visits of his father’s adherents to their residence. Soo-Won can move as he pleases, visiting Ogi and planning to travel after the mourning period has passed. He will be able to dispose of the fratricide Emperor Il in his own time.
Kye-Sook lowers his eyes. He doesn’t bow or scrape. He learned to weather Yu-Hon’s moods and saw the logic of his strategies, no matter the collateral damage. Standing in Ogi’s back room:
“I should have seen that,” he says as Soo-Won finishes dressing and he is left holding ill-fitting under armour.
Their path does not have room for sentimentality.
But Soo-Won likes people, and finds in this moment he would prefer, despite himself, to not see them sad. But he is nine, and everyone who cares about him wants to see him on the throne instead of the murderous pretender, and Soo-Won doesn’t know what to do about that.
So all he can do is take the armour and smile at Kye-Sook.
“Don’t worry,” he says, like he tells his mother. “I’ll take care of that.”
Kye-Sook, after a very long moment, nods.
He doesn’t smile back.
There are three facts:
Soo-Won will sit on the throne of Kouka.
Kye-Sook will help him get there and stay there.
And, in a short time, Soo-Won will die.
“There’s a chance that you won’t be affected,” Kye-Sook says late at night in the library on an evening where even the best doctors cannot be sure if Yon-Hi will live to see the dawn.
“I think it’s quite certain,” Soo-Won says, the simple dinner that Kye-Sook brought him hours ago long gone cold and abandoned on the tray. “I may grow tall like my father, and I may be as skilled as I am able to be, but I take after my mother.”
It’s not a logical statement, but Soo-Won is settled in his instincts. Kye-Sook sits next to him. The look on his face –
“Don’t worry,” Soo-Won says because he knows what people look like when they are about to cry and trying to stop themselves; his mother looks at him like that constantly. “I am not in a coffin yet.”
Kye-Sook cries anyway. Sometimes Soo-Won disregards that Kye-Sook is seventeen and has no prospects, no family, no real friends aside from what resembles comradery in the den of beasts left by Yu-Hon. When Soo-Won dies, Kye-Sook will be alone, even if he goes on to serve Soo-Won’s successor.
“I’m sorry,” Soo-Won says because he is.
“Why are you apologising?” Kye-Sook chokes, swiping furiously at his face, the edges of hysteria in his voice. “You are the one who will die –”
“Everyone will die eventually,” Soo-Won says because Kye-Sook has gone to battle, and he knows this. “But life is still valuable.”
He smiles. Kye-Sook stares at him, blotchy and too honest.
“This is my selfish wish,” Soo-Won says, and Kye-Sook leans forward, and Soo-Won lets him rest his head against his shoulder, and confesses: “I want to live my life on my own terms.”
Kye-Sook weeps bitterly.
They both know Soo-Won’s wish cannot be fulfilled.
Time passes as sand through fingertips.
Yon-Hi fades more and more. Soo-Won makes time to spend time by her bedside. He reads her poetry and accounts of faraway towns and their lights. The seasons in his mother’s room fold into each other, only the greatest heat of summer and chill of winter creeping in. She speaks in whispers, and Soo-Won holds her hand between his own as she loses the strength to reach out to him.
“I must resign for my failure,” Sui-Mei tells him on the eve of his twelfth birthday. “I’m sorry, my lord. Your lady mother is dying.”
“You’ve done all that you can and more,” Soo-Won says because Sui-Mei’s skin has lost all of its colour, and all the bones in her hands are visible. “Please help my mother be comfortable from here on out.”
She nods. For a moment, Soo-Won thinks she will rise and ask to be dismissed, but she remains seated, looking down at her hands in her lap. In the candlelight of what was once his father’s study, the hollows of her cheeks are full of shadow.
“If I may speak freely,” she starts, halting and unsure.
“You may,” Soo-Won says because this place where his father brought his mother to recuperate is more a home than anywhere else; it is Soo-Won’s domain, completed and closed.
“I remember when you and Min-Soo were so small,” she says, and a part of Soo-Won that he usually ignores feels abruptly and awfully fragile. “You were so kind to him.”
“Min-Soo is a kind soul,” Soo-Won says, and he smiles, allowing it to reach his eyes. “I believe my mother worried I was bullying him into playing with me.”
Sui-Mei smiles, but it slips from her face. She stares at her hands.
“You have a kind soul, too,” she says, and she looks up, and she sees him. “I wish you could have been allowed time to choose happiness.”
Soo-Won feels like she’s punched him. He doesn’t insult her and try to chase away her words because she’s been a part of this household for so long. She knows all of his mother’s worries and ailments, and she likely knows some of the nature of the secrets that move through the grounds and the walls.
There is no place for happiness if he is going to sit on the throne.
“You seem tired,” Kye-Sook comments the next afternoon as snow falls outside in the garden; they have gone outside to give Soo-Won a reprieve from the flow of well-wishers for his birthday.
“Sui-Mei gave me her resignation last night,” Soo-Won says, trailing his fingers through the dusting of snow over a boulder he and Min-Soo used to climb over in the sunlight. “Mother is close to death. I asked her if she would stay and help keep her comfortable as a friend. She was kind enough to agree.”
Kye-Sook breathes in. Out.
“My lord,” he starts and then doesn’t say anything else because there’s nothing more to say.
“What can I do for you?” he asks later, once the house is empty of all the cockroaches who would lick Soo-Won’s feet but bite his hands.
Soo-Won sits at the desk in the study, surrounded by books and papers and pamphlets and maps and discarded wishes. There are two trays of untouched meals and partially drunken tea left beside the main door. Kye-Sook knows better than to ask if Soo-Won would like them reheated or taken away.
“I would like to be here when my mother passes,” Soo-Won says, which would seem reasonable if it wouldn’t disrupt the upcoming trip to Kuuto. “She can no longer speak. It will not be long.”
“I’ll make sure you are not disturbed,” Kye-Sook says because it would be worse for Soo-Won to be absent when he is aware that his mother is so close to death; if anyone found out, it would reflect poorly on his character.
“People can still visit,” Soo-Won says, and he suddenly feels as tired as he’s suspected his body actually is with how little sleep he has gotten in the past months. “I am going to retire. If anything changes with my mother, wake me up.”
“Yes,” Kye-Sook says because it is a reasonable request.
Yon-Hi dies at the turning of the moon in mid-February. The funeral is small and contained within the household, and no announcement is made at Soo-Won’s request. The staff are not put off by this; Yon-Hi had not kept up any of her personal communication or friendships in years. The staff weep for her and in place of Soo-Won, who couldn’t have made himself weep even if he wanted to. He feels only a blunted, aimless anger in a frozen place within his body as he helps to entomb his mother beside his father, facing the garden, her favourite place once upon a time to appreciate nature and the summer breeze.
After the coffin has been sealed and his mother interred, Kye-Sook brings him herbal tea, and Hyoo-Ri brings him soft sweet buns from town, and Soo-Won makes himself drink and eat, and they sit in silence as Sui-Mei treats the blisters and broken fingernails from digging too hard and too long in the frozen ground. There is no one left to reprimand or discipline Soo-Won, and they don’t pretend to fill that position. They were all loyal to one of his parents first.
“Would you like something to help you sleep?” Sui-Mei asks as the night grows long and Soo-Won readies for bed.
“No,” Soo-Won says because, even if he cannot sleep productively, he would rather spend as much of his life awake and under his own power before he has the choice taken from him.
This is the type of person Soo-Won is. He lies in bed and closes his eyes.
It’s cold.
ii.
Soo-Won’s twelfth year passes into his thirteenth into his fourteenth. He grows taller but not wider, and he learns the sword from Hyoo-Ri who still brings him sweet buns, and he learns in the sideways path he must take to the throne how to use the looks he inherited from his mother to his advantage.
Kye-Sook hates that last part. Kye-Sook is someone who hates easily because he feels so deeply, and, for a moment as one of Ogi’s contacts smiles and looks Soo-Won up and down, Soo-Won has to seriously consider if Kye-Sook might not be able to handle this type of strategy. But Kye-Sook holds still and, while he cannot completely hide his disgust, he holds his tongue and does not interfere until the business is done and they have the information they want.
“Very happy to do business with you, beautiful,” the contact purrs as they part ways.
“It has been very fortuitous,” Soo-Won demures, and Kye-Sook looks like he may have had to actually bite his tongue to stay silent there.
“Speak your mind,” Soo-Won says later, back in Ogi’s safe room where they can change into their regular clothes.
Kye-Sook looks at him. He’s furious to the point that comprehensible language is escaping him. Soo-Won sits down on the cot on the west wall, half dressed, and waits.
“He touched you,” Kye-Sook manages, hands balled at his sides.
“He touched my hair,” Soo-Won clarifies because the man had been very deliberately about not coming in contact directly with his body. “And he charged us rather less than he could have.”
For a moment, Kye-Sook’s mask completely cracks and he looks at Soo-Won like he’s taken leave of his senses. Neither of them are particularly strong people, but Kye-Sook is fully grown and could probably overpower Soo-Won if he really, really tried.
“You can’t let people treat you like that,” he says, and it’s like he’s shouting, but it all comes out half-whispered, half-strangled. “You can’t –”
“I can,” Soo-Won says because one day he will sit on the throne and nothing about himself will belong to him. “You are being emotional about this, Kye-Sook.”
“It’s dangerous,” Kye-Sook says, and he’s shaking more now, like he’s about to blow apart at the seams.
“Sit down,” Soo-Won says, pointing at one of the two chairs in the room. “Do not speak until you calm down.”
He finishes redressing himself as Kye-Sook sits with his face in his hands and goes to talk to Ogi to give himself time. It is more unnerving than it should be to see Kye-Sook like that. Ogi gives him a curious look as he slides to sit next to him at his table.
“Is something wrong?” he asks because Ogi might be easily scared but he’s an expert at reading people.
“Do you have any rice wine?” Soo-Won asks, and Ogi gives him a look somewhere between incredulous and amused. “I would like a drink.”
Ogi pours them from a fresh bottle that he flags over to the table. The wine is more bitter than Soo-Won prefers, but it’s strong and easy to drink. They swallow their servings all in one go, Ogi eying Soo-Won like he’s some kind of enigma.
“Did something happen?” he asks, lower and mouth obscured by his cup.
“No,” Soo-Won says because everything went better than initially planned aside from Kye-Sook having a meltdown.
They talk business for a while, drinking steadily. When Kye-Sook finally reemerges and joins them, he looks at them both disapprovingly but sits down and, after a little good-natured teasing, acquiesces to having a drink as well. They continue talking, Ogi waving over a couple of other informants so that they can drink and trade tidbits, whittling the night away.
“You two going to be alright heading out now?” Ogi asks as dawn starts to break and Soo-Won and Kye-Sook rise to leave.
“Yes,” Soo-Won says because he’s tipsy and feels very pleasant but not drunk. “We have a room at the inn just a bit away.”
“Yes,” Kye-Sook says, and he’s almost sober because he switched to water about two hours back.
They walk through the alleyways, an unsettled sort of tension between them. Only the earliest of risers and tired nightwalkers are around at this time. They blend right in with Kye-Sook wearing the clothes of a labourer and Soo-Won hooded and slightly weaving. They let themselves into the room they rented without anyone looking their way.
“Alright,” Soo-Won says as he dumps his cloak on the rickety chair and turns to Kye-Sook, standing with his back to the closed door. “This is still bothering you.”
“Of course it’s still bothering me,” Kye-Sook says, and Soo-Won realises he misjudged his soberness; those are too many words for a normal response. “You cannot use yourself as a bargaining chip.”
Soo-Won is abruptly aware that he is too inebriated to have this conversation without getting angry. He opens his mouth because he has to put a stop to this before they both say something they’ll regret, but Kye-Sook is ploughing forward, colour blotching his cheeks, and doesn’t notice the cue.
“People started looking at you as soon as you hit your growth,” he’s saying, and Soo-Won knows that, and until this moment, he hadn’t realised how much Kye-Sook hated it. “Even if they don’t know who you are, you can’t let them debase you –”
“No one is debasing me,” Soo-Won says, and he doesn’t know whether to be angry with Kye-Sook for being so obstinate or with himself for being petty and taking advantage of Ogi to drink too much.
“Yes, they are,” Kye-Sook insists, and he stares at Soo-Won so baldly unhappy that suddenly Soo-Won has no idea what to say or do. “You shouldn’t put up with people like that.”
“I have to,” Soo-Won says, and he means it to sound reprimanding and certain, but it comes out disappointingly like exhaustion; he sighs and looks up at Kye-Sook, whose entire expression is screwed up like he’s in pain. “You know that I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” Kye-Sook says, wretched, and he wraps his arms around Soo-Won like he will die if he doesn’t.
For a single, blooming moment, soft and rough spun fabric and warm, Soo-Won is just Soo-Won, and Kye-Sook is just Kye-Sook, and the inn room dissolves, immaterial, and it’s warm –
But then Kye-Sook makes a noise, shocked and horrified, and he starts to draw back, and Soo-Won cannot stand it, it’s too miserable, he’s so tired and so cold, so he fists his hands in the front of Kye-Sook’s rough-spun robe, pulling him back because, gods be damned, he is so warm, and Kye-Sook is on his knees, hands on Soo-Won’s sides, holding on like this is his only lifeline, and maybe, awfully, truthfully it is –
“Kye-Sook,” Soo-Won hears himself say, and it’s tremulous and needy and all the things he cannot allow himself to be because the world will dissect him from groyne to chin if it just gets the chance: “Please –”
And Kye-Sook wraps him in his arms, pulls him close, and they’re both shaking, and they’re both so much warmer together than apart, and Soo-Won knows this is a mistake as much as Kye-Sook does, but he’s going to die, sooner rather than later, and he doesn’t want to go to grave knowing only the chill of winter even in summer heat.
This is selfish.
This is why it works.
It becomes part of who they are to each other.
Soo-Won doesn’t often go to bed. He’s always struggled to fall and stay asleep, often awakening at odd hours and finding himself too aware and full of energy to fall back asleep until a more reasonable hour. Since his father’s death and his mother’s sharp decline, no one is around to make him go to bed, nor does he have the luxury of having a regular sleep schedule. He burns through candles and oil lamps at a rate that forces him to budget extra for such items.
Sui-Mei is no longer in the regular employ of his household, and he has made the recommendation for Min-Soo to serve at Hiryuu Castle, and his mother’s attendants have all long been gone. His father’s followers and men do not care to tell him what to do, nor are they present in his life in the same regularity to notice anything has changed or needs to be attended to outside of military, political, and broader economic affairs.
It is only Hyoo-Ri, who is protector, mentor, and assassin for Soo-Won, and Kye-Sook, who is advisor and, in a sideways, desperate way, the closest thing to a comfort Soo-Won can ever hope for. He and Hyoo-Ri keep Soo-Won from working himself to death before his hereditary curse can. Hyoo-Ri kills and his reliable, constant presence soothes Soo-Won’s paranoia. Kye-Sook –
He comes to Soo-Won. Sometimes it is their usual business and strategy brainstorming, but it is also when they come together in moments that arise in between. There’s a certain telegraphed sequence: Kye-Sook will appear, and Soo-Woon will look up, and they will hold each other, so tightly that it’s like they mould into one. It is not planned insomuch as a language that exists only between them and only they understand. There is touch, and there is warmth, and that is enough. More than enough.
It doesn’t happen often. The late spring through mid-fall is busy, full of travel and subterfuge and the royal court that Soo-Won sits beginning the summer of his fourteenth year. When he is at Hiryuu Castle, Soo-Won is followed by rumours, Yona, and Hak, in that order. He smiles and lets himself be the boy he was, once upon a time, and that Soo-Won hasn’t gone so cold that he needs the embrace of another to feel warm. He smiles and laughs and is nearly just Soo-Won, but this is Hiryuu Castle, and he cannot shed his protective layers because the nobles who watch him, covetous and wanting, are the ones he has to turn in his favour the most.
“To control them,” Soo-Won says, out in the early morning sunlight, riding with Kye-Sook along the ridge his father died upon. “They think they have a chance. It makes them watch each other.”
“I know,” Kye-Sook says, harsh and honest because he doesn’t have to hide his disgust. “I don’t have to like it.”
Soo-Won smiles and, even in the shadow of Hiryuu Castle, momentarily feels safe.
It’s why he is so badly caught off guard when Hak, towards the end of an archery lesson, turns to Soo-Won and asks, apropos of nothing:
“Do you have anyone you like?”
Soo-Won completely misses the target. Hak blinks, as does their instructor. Soo-Won lowers his bow. His mouth is dry, heart hammering behind his ears.
“I didn’t expect that kind of question from you,” Soo-Won says, very blankly.
“Oh, sorry,” Hak says, grimacing.
They continue the lesson because Hak understands that this is not something to be discussed where everyone can overhear. It isn’t until they’re in the palace baths, washing off the sweat of the day that Hak glances at him. Curious and a little tentative.
“I am sorry,” he says, earnest and the friend that he has always been to Soo-Won. “You’ve just seemed…”
He trails off, looking embarrassed. Soo-Won smiles, even though he feels mostly trepidation. Hak smiles back. He smiles so guilelessly. It usually puts Soo-Won at ease.
“You seem happier.”
“Ah,” Soo-Won says, and doesn’t know what else to say.
“You don’t have to tell me who it is,” Hak says because he’s Hak and so reliable and exactly what Soo-Won can always expect him to be. “And I won’t tell anyone.”
“If I’m so transparent, your secrecy is for naught,” Soo-Won says, and he tries to make his tone light, but the way Hak’s lips quirk tells him he didn’t quite manage it.
“You’re not,” he says, amused and reassuring all at once somehow. “I just know you pretty well.”
Too well. He knows Hak will keep this secret, and people talk anyways, but it unnerves him that the warmth Kye-Sook offers him has affected him enough for others to see. He doesn’t fool himself that he can stop seeking this comfort because it’s freely offered, and he’s a human being; he can’t box away everything; he’ll go insane. So he won’t ask Kye-Sook to stop, even though they haven’t done more than sit together since the summer court began.
It’s also that Soo-Won likes Kye-Sook, but not in the way Hak meant with his question. Now that he has to think about it, he guesses Kye-Sook is like an older brother. A part of Soo-Won has started to realise he just doesn’t think about people romantically or as something he can wholly possess. He also can’t figure out how to correct Hak’s misunderstanding because he walked it further into a hole by being uncomfortable and imprecise with his non-responses. Soo-Won is many things but admitting his feelings or, more precisely, lack of them is not his strong point. He doesn’t know how to talk about this. Any of this.
Soo-Won doesn’t know how he got into this situation.
“Soo-Won,” Yona says, jerking him out of his reverie as she comes upon him in the palace gardens, “I missed you at lunch.”
“Oh, has lunch already passed?” Soo-Won asks because he hadn’t realised time was filtering away; he smiles at the concerned frown she levels him with, a more mature expression than usual on her soft face. “Sorry, I lost track of time. The weather is so nice today.”
“It is really lovely,” she agrees easily because even though it’s the height of summer, there’s a light breeze and the plants and decorative stream through the gardens keep it pleasantly cool. “How about we have a snack together? I’m sure there are still some sweet buns.”
Soo-Won laughs because everyone goes around bribing him with sweet buns these days. “Yes, I would like that,” he says, falling into step with her and letting her take his arm with a beatific smile.
They eat in the veranda where Yon-Hi used to rest and get fresh air. The buns are fine, perfect for noble palates, but Soo-Won finds himself thinking of how he prefers the rougher texture of the fillings from town. Yona chatters about how she’s struggling to learn embroidery, the comings and goings of palace staff and handmaidens, and how excited she is for the night’s music performance from musicians and dancers who came with Lee Geun-Tae’s recommendation. It’s easy conversation, and Soo-Won finds that he does feel better with food in his stomach.
“What have you been doing recently?” Yona asks after they’ve finished eating and a digestive tea appears to wash the buns down.
“I’ve been at court,” Soo-Won says because he has.
Yona rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean,” she says, her familiar directness so refreshing. “I know you haven’t become boring.”
Soo-Won laughs because, unfortunately, he is anything but boring. “I’ve been doing some travelling,” he says, and he tries to think of something easy but broad and interesting enough to talk about that won’t get him into any verbal traps. “I went to Awa Port recently and saw the sea.”
“Oh, wow!” Yona says, and her eyes are so full of life they nearly rival the brightness of her hair. “Please tell me more. What did you do there? What did you see?”
The rest of the day and evening passes in a sort of muted haze, Soo-Won accompanying Yona to dinner and sitting beside her and Hak for the dancing and music. He feels like he has fallen back in time somehow, like if he shuts his eyes and opens them he’ll see his parents sitting at the base of the throne. He’s careful not to look at Il on the throne and to keep his attention on the performance or on Yona’s whispered commentary. It’s only once the entertainment has finished and everyone is rising that Soo-Won can extract himself, making excuses about wanting to go to bed.
“Are you sure?” Yona asks, eyes big and pleading. “There’s still time for dancing!”
“There’s supposed to be some sort of dessert coming,” Hak says, straining to see the kitchen entrance.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Soo-Won says because he feels out of sorts, woozy and like the walls are pressing in on him. “I think I may have overheated.”
“It is very warm,” Mundok, who is sitting next to Hak, says, and he scoots to the side so Soo-Won can slip around him. “Go drink some water.”
Soo-Won ends up back in the palace gardens. He doesn’t fool himself that he’s alone; Hyoo-Ri will be somewhere close but not too close, and there’s probably at least one illicit couple necking in a dark corner or beneath one of the many ornamental bushes. He sits down on the soft earth in the coverage afforded by an ornamental fern and puts his head in his hands, hoping if he just rests for a little bit, the world will stop spinning.
Footsteps down the path force him to drop his hands. Look up. Hak stops, holding a candle and a cup. For a moment, they stare at each other. Hak frowns, brow furrowed. Soo-Won feels cold.
“Here,” Hak says, and he kneels down, holding out the cup. “Water.”
Soo-Won takes it with both hands, not trusting himself to be completely steady. He drinks a few small sips, recognising now that he’d blacked out briefly. If he drinks too fast, he’ll throw up.
“It was really warm in there,” Hak says, shifting to sit next to Soo-Won on the ground.
“Not that warm,” Soo-Won says, resting the cup between his legs and scrubbing his hand over his face. “I hope Yona isn’t too disappointed.”
“She’ll be fine,” Hak says with the ease of someone who doesn’t second-guess their assessments of people. “You should rest tomorrow. You’ve looked pale all day.”
“Have I?” Soo-Won asks because he can’t rest much with the Water Tribe’s delegation expected tomorrow sometime in the late morning or early afternoon.
“Yeah,” Hak says, and he scowls, resting his elbow on his knee and chin on his palm as he watches Soo-Won. “What’s up? Something’s bothering you.”
Soo-Won sighs. He takes a moment to take another sip of water and allow it to settle in his stomach. Hak sits, patient. The candle sits in its holder on the path.
“I’ve been receiving marriage offers,” he says because that’s true.
Hak blinks. Sits up a bit straighter.
“But you’re too young,” he says, somewhere between baffled and deeply offended.
“I started getting them a while ago,” Soo-Won says, and he gives in, setting the cup in the dirt so he can massage his head. “It’s not so unusual. I am the dearly departed Prince Yu-Hon’s only child, and it’s not like anyone expects me to actually marry until I’m at least sixteen.”
“But…” Hak starts and then he falls uncharacteristically silent, lips and brows pulled deeply downward. “Your mother…”
“Mother is not in any condition to handle these things,” Soo-Won says because even before she passed, she hadn’t been able to handle the initial, insulting offers that started appearing soon after Yu-Hon’s death; he drops his hands and rests them in his lap, feeling bereft and tired. “It’s fine, Hak. The dancing got to my head tonight.”
“It’s not fine,” Hak says, quiet and unhappy. “Is one of them from the person you like?”
Soo-Won nearly laughs. There is no one he likes like that. He massages his forehead and wonders how his web of lies became so absurd.
“No.”
Hak’s face falls, and Soo-Won is surprised despite himself how much he dislikes causing Hak pain even in this small way.
“I’m sorry,” he says, very sincerely.
“We really need to stop apologising to each other,” Soo-Won says, and he means it to come out like a jest, but it’s just plain and kind of fragile; he swallows down the bile that rises up. “I think I might actually be sick.”
“Yeah,” Hak says, and he straightens fully, shifting to his feet; he holds out a hand, palm up. “Let me walk you to your rooms.”
There’s no use protesting. Soo-Won does end up being sick, but thankfully it’s in an ornamental pot that Hak hastily pushes him towards rather than on himself or in front of prying eyes. They get back to Soo-Won’s apartment without further incident.
“I’m going to go get someone,” Hak says as Soo-Won peels off his outer robe sitting on his bed.
“I’d rather you not,” Soo-Won says, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“Honestly,” Hak sighs, and he sits down beside the bed.
“What are you doing?” Soo-Won asks, feeling hopelessly confused.
“Sitting down,” Hak deadpans.
Soo-Won doesn’t know if he can debate this. He lies down and closes his eyes, listening to Hak’s breathing.
When he wakes up the next morning, Hak is gone, and Kye-Sook is in his place. Soo-Won sits up, feeling primarily nauseous and possibly feverish. Kye-Sook looks at him. Not upset or irritated. More concerned than that.
“It’s just some kind of summer bug,” Soo-Won says because he is almost completely certain that the Crimson Sickness doesn’t have this rapid an onset. “Still, I can’t do anything useful like this.”
“I will fetch a doctor,” Kye-Sook says, already getting to his feet.
“Rice,” Soo-Won says and Kye-Sook stops, blinking down at him with no small amount of relief; it’s rather sweet. “I need to eat something.”
“Yes, of course,” Kye-Sook says, too many words, and he bows and leaves.
Soo-Won lies back down. Stares at the bed canopy. The call of birds is audible, even though the drapes are drawn over the windows, so it is still early. He wonders if Hak stayed until Kye-Sook arrived, or if he left in the night, and Kye-Sook came and didn’t wake Soo-Won because it is so rare that he finds him asleep. He wonders if Hak found someone to clean out the ornamental pot. He wonders if he inherited his mother’s fragility in more ways than one.
A knock stirs him out of his thoughts and half-doze. Soo-Won sits up and grimaces, swallowing down the bile that tries to come up.
“Yes, enter,” he says because Hyoo-Ri is near and would kill anyone who isn’t welcome.
“Lord Soo-Won?” and it’s Min-Soo, so much taller than the last time Soo-Won saw him and bearing a tray and a pouch. “I’m Min-Soo –”
“I know,” Soo-Won says, and he’s smiling because it’s been some time since he saw a friendly face from his mother’s staff; he knows Kye-Sook likely sought him out directly since Soo-Won had sent letter of a recommendation on behalf of his mother for his medical apprenticeship. “It’s good to see you again. Have you been treated well?”
“Oh, yes,” Min-Soo says, and he crosses the short distance quickly and steadily, leaning down to set the food—thin rice porridge and a bowl of soft tofu that smells like it’s been sweetened with sugar syrup—over Soo-Won’s lap. “Thank you so much for the letter. I’ve been able to learn so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you –”
“You have done more than you know for me and my mother,” Soo-Won says because it’s true; without Sui-Mei and Min-Soo, his mother would have faded faster and possibly earlier. “There is no debt.”
“Oh,” Min-Soo says, dipping his head as he opens the pouch he’d brought with him, full of herbs and an apothecary’s tools. “Thank you so much,” he says before lifting his eyes, brows furrowed and expression tight and very, very careful, “I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well –”
“It’s just a cold of some sort,” Soo-Won says, and he wonders if this is what the rest of his life is going to be like: if every minor scrape or illness will have to be treated like he’ll be dead from it; if he’ll have to forge forward while assuaging the worries of those closest to him with every bump in the road; “I overheated last night.”
“The throne room should have been opened to let in the breeze,” Min-Soo sighs gustily, shaking his head as he sets up his tools. “You’re not the only person feeling under the weather right now.”
“Oh?” Soo-Won asks, allowing Min-Soo to reach out and place his palm against the side of Soo-Won’s neck to get a better sense of his temperature; Min-Soo removes his hand, not looking particularly alarmed. “Who else is sick?
“A couple of the attendants of the Wind Tribe and three of the Fire Tribe, including Chief Soo-Jin.”
“Ah,” Soo-Won says because that means he can rest for the rest of the day and possibly the next two, since it’s not an isolated illness and likely contagious. “You must be very busy.”
“It’s no problem,” Min-Soo says, smiling, before he sobers a bit. “Are you nauseous? That seems to be the most bothersome symptom.”
“Yes,” Soo-Won says, glad that he doesn’t have to explain it himself.
Min-Soo makes him a tea that has the texture of extremely dirty cleaning water, and Soo-Won drinks it by briefly dissociating before helping himself to the sweetened tofu to cover the taste. Min-Soo cleans up, leaving the breakfast tray as Soo-Won picks at the porridge, which is good and nutritious but seemingly tasteless. They murmur their good-byes, Min-Soo with his busy day ahead of him and Soo-Won at odds and ends.
Alone again, he sets the tray aside and lies down. The canopy of the bed is clean and comforting, and the thin summer silk of the bedding is pleasing. Lying there, the birds still chattering as the morning wears on:
Soo-Won wonders how his mother put up with the indignity of it all.
The summer stomach bug takes Hiryuu Palace by storm. Soo-Won, initially moody with his individual situation, finds himself selfishly mollified as his health improves markedly after a day but numerous other members of the court and visiting delegations fall ill. Kye-Sook keeps him up to date on how all of the schedules will have to be reworked, and he’s calmer as well, since this proves that Soo-Won falling ill is not anything to be concerned about.
Yona and Hak come to visit him in the afternoon, bringing hard sweets that Yona must have squirrelled away at some point and some of the horrible medicinal tea. Soo-Won sets aside the book on Wind Tribe lineages he’d been thumbing through, grateful for a distraction.
“Studying while ill?” Yona asks, recognising a few of the texts that are piled up next to his bed. “You should be resting.”
“It’s very boring, being ill in the summer,” Soo-Won says, accepting the tea from Hak; it has an odd tinge that he hadn’t noticed the day before and smells more herbal, if possible. “Oh, this looks awful.”
“Yeah,” Hak says, sympathetic.
Soo-Won makes himself drink it all in one go. He places the cup on the saucer, and Yona is already offering him the packet of sweets. There’s a sense of unreality to the moment. Soo-Won works extremely hard to hide how disconcerted he feels by popping one of the slightly sticky sweets into his mouth.
“Impressive,” Hak says as Yona happily allows Soo-Won a second sweet, this one that he can actually taste. “I heard most people spit out this concoction on the first sip.”
Soo-Won has seen and tasted far worse, especially the strong sleeping tinctures that his mother took in the last two years of her illness. He smiles, trying to chase her spectre away.
“I’ve had a few other doses,” he says as Hak sniffs the cup and pulls a truly disgusted face. “It gets better when you know what to expect.”
“Better?” Hak groans as Yona sets the sweets between them. “I don’t think that can get better.”
“Are you calling Soo-Won a liar?” Yona asks, eyes narrowed.
Soo-Won is a liar, but that’s not for him to point out. Hak rolls his eyes, turning his attention to the window, which is only partially open. He rises and pushes the curtains fully open as Yona picks up one of the scrolls that Soo-Won abandoned the evening before. The afternoon breeze filters through, a welcome relief.
“Should the two of you be here?” Soo-Won asks as Hak sits down in the path of the breeze and Yona loses interest in the history of two centuries past.
“Why not?” Yona asks, imperious even with her sunny, guileless smile. “All of the entertainment for the day and evening has been cancelled.”
“The illness is contagious,” Soo-Won points out.
“When has that ever turned the princess away from where her hard head takes her,” Hak grins.
“Hey!” Yona cries, and Soo-Won feels something in himself uncurl, even though he shouldn’t allow it. “Hak, you jerk –”
The laugh that escapes him –
Perhaps it is the residual fever, or the summer heat, but:
In this moment, Soo-Won feels warm.
iii.
The summer passes, and, as fall settles in and the trees begin to change colour, Soo-Won departs Hiryuu Castle and returns to his residence. Autumn is short this year, the first cold snap shocking the harvest across Kouka and promising a harsh, starving winter. Soo-Won takes Kye-Sook and Joo-Doh with him to Saika, and they accompany Kyo-Ga on his inspection of the fields. Some of the grain could be saved but not enough. Soo-Jin has already gone back to Hiryuu Castle to beg for support from Il and the court.
“Not like the King would come here,” Kyo-Ga grits out, the frigid wind whipping around them and giving their words privacy. “My father can argue until he’s blue in the face, but…”
“The King must do what is best for the country,” Joo-Doh says, which is no comfort.
“How bad is it?” Kye-Sook asks later as Soo-Won runs numbers and scenarios across the table from Kyo-Ga, who watches Soo-Won scratching out his calculations with a pale, tight expression.
“I am only looking at a range of possibilities,” Soo-Won says because he didn’t want to be this deep into it, but this is what he’s actually good at: paperwork and strategy; he’s here, and he doesn’t want the Fire Tribe to be at the simple mercy of a disconnected, pacifist King. “It will be bad this year, and next, even if rationing is strict. Too little store seed could be saved.”
“Yeah,” Kyo-Ga sighs, and he grits his teeth, looking down at Soo-Won’s scrawling. “We cannot afford to send much, if any, to the capital.”
It is illogical to expect that King Il will allow the yearly tithe to be so lenient to be essentially nothing. Soo-Won lets Kyo-Ga pour over his scrawling, sharing the rice wine that is brought to them as the hour grows late. Joo-Doh and Kyo-Ga carry most of the conversation as Soo-Won considers the store logs, giving them the careful attention the trust Kyo-Ga has extended deserves. Kye-Sook, eying the wine consumption, eventually murmurs that they should adjourn for a meal.
“Oh, yes, my apologies,” Kyo-Ga says, blinking and looking slightly panicked. “My mother actually wanted to have supper with us. I’m sorry; I lost track of time.”
“No, please, so did we,” Soo-Won says, and feels guilty at the prospect of eating their food.
“My lord,” Kye-Sook says, very low and against the shell of Soo-Won’s ear as they briefly part ways to change into clothes suitable for a shared meal, “aren’t we getting a bit too involved?”
It’s a valid question. Soo-Won pulls on his outer robe. The dagger he always keeps at his hip feels heavy.
“The roads will be hard to travel soon,” he says, allowing Kye-Sook to help him with his hair as he does his belt. “All I have done is run numbers and offer some insight based on them. It’s up to Kyo-Ga and Lord Soo-Jin to decide how they run their territory.”
Kye-Sook frowns but doesn’t argue. He ties Soo-Won’s hair ribbon and, for a moment, they’re close. They step back at the same time. This is not safe. This is not a room of walls and floors that they control.
Dinner is an oddly pleasant affair. The food is extremely modest, but there is more rice wine, and the pickled vegetables are unusually excellent. Iguni sits at the head of the table, but the conversation floats easily between Kyo-Ga and Joo-Doh, and Soo-Won only has to speak to keep the topics light and pleasant. It’s only as Iguni makes to excuse herself that she turns her full attention to Soo-Won.
“My lord,” she says, gentle and demure, two qualities he is well aware she is not, “it is good to see you. I’m sorry that I haven’t reached out to you and your lady mother recently.”
“It is good to see you, too, and please do not worry,” Soo-Won says, but stops as Iguni shakes her head, fan folded across her palm.
“I know you are doing us a great favour, helping with the harvest projections,” she says, and Soo-Won really hopes that he isn’t paling noticeably; the modest, valuable dinner feels heavy in his stomach. “I hope my son has expressed his thanks in my husband’s place.”
“Mother,” Kyo-Ga starts, looking anxious, which means Soo-Won hasn’t been able to disguise his discomfort completely, “we are very grateful –”
“We are,” Iguni says, and she bows, elegant and deadly in her domain. “Good evening, my lords. Please treat our home as your own.”
“That went well,” Joo-Doh says as they return to the rooms they’ve been provided for the night.
“Did it,” Soo-Won says, passing between him and Kye-Sook to sit down at the desk and light the candle there.
Joo-Doh opens his mouth. Shuts it. Soo-Won drops the match into the holder and rests his forehead on his hands, elbows on the desktop. Kye-Sook murmurs business for the next day to Joo-Doh, who responds, voice lower than usual. They hash out the schedule, giving Soo-Won time to calm his stomach and herd his emotions back into their relevant boxes. The outlook that presents itself as he lines up his thoughts is grim.
They cannot avoid being involved now.
“Joo-Doh,” Soo-Won says, laying his hands on the desktop and staring at the candle, which is fresh and hasn’t yet begun to pool. “Could you ask someone if I can borrow an abacus?”
“Yes,” Joo-Doh says, and there’s a note of surprise but not unhappiness in his voice. “Now?”
“Yes,” Soo-Won says, and he looks up and finds them both watching him, dark eyes and dark features and all the shadows that he has come to trust. “And more scratch paper, please.”
“My lord,” Joo-Doh says, and he bows before departing, closing the door behind him.
“You can go to bed, Kye-Sook,” Soo-Won says as Kye-Sook watches him, hands covered by his sleeves.
“Is that an order?” Kye-Sook asks, unoffended and bordering on insolence.
Soo-Won stands up. He pulls off his outer robe and moves to pick up the winter riding cover that he’d dumped atop the dressing bench. He pulls it on, grateful for the extra weight. It won’t make him warm, but it’ll keep him from overusing the firewood in their quarters.
“You may do as you please,” he says.
When he turns around Kye-Sook has already seated himself beside the desk. They both know that he’ll probably doze off in the next hour or so because calculations and strategies are Soo-Won’s domain. But Kye-Sook will not leave Soo-Won if it isn’t absolutely necessary, and Soo-Won does not send him away unless he absolutely has to.
The night unfolds.
Famine takes hold.
Soo-Won reads the letters that Kyo-Ga sends him back in his family home, winter’s grip crushing on all of Kouka. The recommendations that Soo-Won drew up during their time together means that it could have been worse for the Fire Tribe; the grain and preserved meat and sundries are very carefully managed by trusted administrators, and Kyo-Ga credits Soo-Won with why the citizens are not currently trying to storm his family’s residence. Everyone knows that they have not much more to eat than they do. It is known that the King did not grant the Fire Tribe any leeway in their yearly tithe.
Soo-Won writes back diplomatically and receives a response from not from Kyo-Ga but Soo-Jin thanking him for assuaging his wife’s worries and an invitation to visit again in the late spring before the summer court, when things will hopefully be better. Sitting in his father’s study, Soo-Won sets the letter down. He feels like it’s given him frostbite.
“Is something bothering you?” Kye-Sook asks when Soo-Won draws him into an embrace instead of speaking when he comes to discuss the household schedule for the next week.
Soo-Won lets him go. Hands him Soo-Jin’s letter. Kye-Sook reads it, frown deeping by inches as Soo-Woon pulls his winter robe closer around his shoulders.
“It would be fortuitous to have the Fire Tribe as an ally,” Kye-Sook says, glancing at Soo-Won with no little uncertainty.
“It will make summer court more complicated,” Soo-Won says because he hadn’t intended to form as overt an alliance as this until he was at least sixteen. “But it would have been worse if I ignored Lady Iguni. The famine could have destabilised them further, and then there would be no defence against Kai.”
“The King has no mind for these consequences,” Kye-Sook says, placing the letter back on Soo-Won’s chronically overflowing desk with more force than necessary.
“Kye-Sook,” Soo-Won sighs.
It earns him a regretful expression. Kye-Sook shifts and takes Soo-Won into his arms again, thin arms gentle as he allows Soo-Won to rest his head in the curve of his right shoulder.
“He should not be on the throne,” Kye-Sook murmurs as Soo-Won relishes the heat of his body.
“Please grant me a bit more time,” Soo-Won says because he cannot take the throne before he reaches the age of majority; there is no one to be his regent.
“Yes,” Kye-Sook says, soft and contrite. “Sorry.”
Soo-Won breathes out. Closes his eyes.
Winter passes like this. Soo-Won contracts more than usual with Ogi to keep up to date with the goings on throughout Kouka. He also, in a strange clockwork of fates, begins to hit his true growth, outgrowing all of his clothes as he passes his fifteenth birthday. He wears pieces from his parents' wardrobes in the meantime, and his father’s clothes are too big and his mother’s not the right style. He becomes very aware that he needs to contract an entire adult wardrobe for summer court when Joo-Doh comes to visit during the first thaw and turns so pale at the sight of Soo-Won in his father’s winter cloak that he nearly blends into the snowy landscape.
“My apologies,” Joo-Doh says after Soo-Won ushers him into the foyer of the house to sit down out of the cold. “You grew.”
“I was going to eventually,” Soo-Won says as he waves one of his staff to care for Joo-Doh’s horse. “Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m alright,” Joo-Doh breathes, and he smiles, reaching up and clasping Soo-Won’s shoulder. “It’s a good shock.”
It’s lucky that no one has been able to visit for nearly three months. Among his minimal staff, Kye-Sook, and Hyoo-Ri, Soo-Won doesn’t have to worry about what people would think, seeing him like this. It has given him time to get used to his voice, which still faintly sounds like someone else, and to how much he resembles his mother, especially because he’s temporarily wearing her clothes.
“I’m not sure everything will be ready before we leave for Fuuga,” Kye-Sook says after the tailor comes from Kuuto and takes Soo-Won’s measurements and fabric selections.
“I told him to prioritise winter robes and travel wear,” Soo-Won says, combing out his hair from the mess it’s in from dressing and redressing for nearly two hours.
“Lady Yon-Hi’s clothes aren't a solution,” Kye-Sook says, very tight. “Lord Mundok will recognise them. Your mother had a very specific colour preference for all of her collars.”
“I know,” Soo-Won says, feeling like lying face down in the snow and waiting until he freezes to death. “I’ll figure it out.”
By the time they leave for Fuuga, Soo-Won has had a few of his father’s robes taken in and the collars of his mother’s winter robes swapped for plain replacements to wear under the new travelling pieces. Ogi helps him find the two seamstresses, known for their quick turnaround and attention to detail, and he teaches Soo-Won how to manage his hair a bit better, the texture shifting along with his growth.
“You’re growing up,” Ogi says as they sit in the back room of his current primary tavern, Joo-Doh and Kye-Sook out on other errands and Hyoo-Ri in the main room.
“Some would say my body is finally catching up with my mind,” Soo-Won says, and the smile he offers earns him one of Ogi’s own lopsided ones. “I need to come up with better ways to turn down my marriage offers.”
Ogi’s head tilts slightly. “Only turning them down?” he asks, hands occupied packing up the hair ornaments and supplies.
“Anyone who approaches me before I am sixteen will be turned down,” Soo-Won says, and Ogi raises an eyebrow because they are both aware Soo-Won will gladly manipulate the natural attraction people have directed at him since they’ve known each other. “I do have some self-respect, Ogi.”
“That’s good,” Ogi says, handing the small bundle of boxes to Soo-Won. “Thanks for trusting me with this.”
“You seem bothered,” Kye-Sook says on the eve before their departure for Fuuga.
He and Joo-Doh are sitting across Soo-Won in the study. The desk is completely covered with books and scrolls and other bits and bobs, so they’re at the chess table, cleared of pieces to instead host sweet liquor that Joo-Doh dug up from the house stores. It’s much more to Soo-Won’s liking, although Kye-Sook clearly is not fond of it.
“Ogi reminded me that I’m running out of time,” Soo-Won says, refilling all of their cups.
“Regarding marriage offers?” Joo-Doh asks, which means that Hyoo-Ri and he must have spoken.
“I can take my time with those,” Soo-Won says because he doesn’t intend to marry; he doesn’t intend to saddle some poor woman with the grief his parents endured. “You have all been very patient with me. I cannot ask for much more time.”
He sips his liquor. Beside him, Kye-Sook and Joo-Doh exchange looks. Trying to decide who should speak first. If they should speak at all.
“We will follow you, my lord,” Kye-Sook says, very quiet.
Soo-Won swallows.
Outside, the wind blows.
The journey to Fuuga is, for a lack of better description, cold.
It is April, but the spring thaw has only barely come, and Soo-Won is rewarded for prioritising winter robes. They travel slower than usual, taking the main roads exclusively to avoid the possibility of black ice or being snowed in. Soo-Won is used to the cold in a rare twist of his natural perception of his own body, but Joo-Doh, Kye-Sook, and Hyoo-Ri find it hard-going. Soo-Won brews them bitter medicinal tea when they stop to rest in rented rooms, thinking of Sui-Mei and Min-Soo.
They reach Fuuga beneath a flurry of snow and Gulfan’s delighted cry. Soo-Won rides out ahead to give Gulfan a shoulder to hand on, the falcon’s call piercing enough to chase the remaining cobwebs of his winter seclusion away.
“Hak!”
Hak is at the front of the welcome party, taller still from when Soo-Won last saw him and bearing a spear and wide, lopsided smile. He closes the distance between them and dismounts his horse at the same time as Soo-Won. They clasp each other on the shoulder, Gulfan shrieking between them.
“Good to see you, Soo-Won,” Hak says, and he’s still a little taller and much broader, but he’s so warm and so Hak that it feels right. “You grew.”
“I was going to eventually,” Soo-Won says, and because they are standing nearly in each other’s arms, he sees the way Hak’s eyes, lowered to take Soo-Won in, widen and flicker. “What is it?”
“Your hair,” Hak says, and he lifts his eyes to meet Soo-Won’s again, expression somewhere between concerned and guilty. “It looks like your mother’s.”
Soo-Won feels like he actually has frozen to death in the snow.
“I didn’t take after my father,” Soo-Won says, and he knows he’s smiling, and Hak is still holding him, but he knows that everyone has caught up to them now, so he cannot be honest even though Hak will be able to tell that Soo-Won is lying to him. “It’s a bit cold. Could we come into the town?”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Hak says, and they go.
It is a formal song and dance for the rest of the day and evening. Lord Mundok comes to welcome Soo-Won, drawing up short only briefly at his appearance. The Wind Tribe has long been a faithful ally of the Sky Tribe, and Mundok is the King’s only staunch ally, but Soo-Won is more than aware that he is no fool. If there is one person that Soo-Won has to handle carefully, it is him.
“I was surprised you were still willing to travel in this weather,” Mundok comments over dinner, which is bright and warm and extremely lively with all of the youthful character of the Wind Tribe.
“I don’t mind the cold,” Soo-Won says, watching out of the side of his eye as a couple of rambunctious children climb on Hyoo-Ri, who sits like a statue four seats to Soo-Won’s left.
Mundok is quiet for a long moment. Soo-Won chats idly with a couple of women who pass by, conscious that they spoke first to Hak, who is seated two seats to Mundok’s right. It’s banal conversation about the long winter and a music trend in Fuuga, and Soo-Won lets them smile at him rather than with him.
It’s only after dinner has worn on and most people are filtering out that Mundok looks at Soo-Won and says:
“Lord Soo-Jin was interested to know you are visiting Fuuga.”
“Was he,” Soo-Won says, looking at the half-drunk tea in his hands.
“He didn’t say why,” Mundok says because Soo-Jin is well-known for his pride and would not have shared the assistance Soo-Won offered the Fire Tribe, “but it’s rare for that man to be interested in anyone of the younger generation aside from his sons.”
“I am surprised, too,” Soo-Won says because while he isn’t actually surprised, he is a little taken aback that Mundok is having a conversation with him about this. “I only visited Saika briefly, and he was at Hiryuu Castle during that time.”
“Are you trying to visit all of the tribes?” Mundok asks, and he seems simply curious but Soo-Won doesn’t fool himself. “I’m surprised Yon-Hi allowed you to travel in this weather.”
Soo-Won’s reasoning for coming to Fuuga was for education, not terribly unusual for a young lord but usually arranged under the direction of a parent. Both of Soo-Won’s parents are dead, but his mother’s death still isn’t widely known.
It can’t be. If people knew that it was Soo-Won running his household and conducting himself on his own, people would be suspicious. Or, worse, they would try to take advantage of him, and it would force his hand.
One more year. Just one more year and Soo-Won will be an adult, and he can move forward.
He’s running out of time.
“Mother has supported my decisions,” Soo-Won says, and he knows his expression is a little unsteady, so he allows: “I think she wanted to see more of Kouka, if she could.”
Mundok’s expression softens, sad and sympathetic. “I met your mother when Prince Yu-Hon first brought her to visit the castle,” he says, and Soo-Won feels something very fragile within himself crack. “She was very humble and had a special way of putting everyone at ease.”
“Ah,” Soo-Won says, and he grasps desperately at something, anything to say, but Mundok seems to have cottoned on that he’s hurt him somehow because he’s smiling, expression and body language apologetic.
“Sorry,” Mundok says, and Soo-Won is glad that he’s painfully sober because he would have distrusted that apology otherwise; “Ignore the nathering of a drunk old man. I bet you’re much more excited to spend some time with Hak and other young men your age. Do you still favour the sword?”
“Sword, yes,” Soo-Won says, and he makes himself set his tea cup down, searching the room and easily finding Hyoo-Ri, who is still close at hand but valiantly attempting to avoid the curious attentions of the Wind Tribe youngsters. “Hyoo-Ri has made a valiant effort to keep me from falling into idleness.”
Mundok laughs, easy and boisterous as he likely was as a young man. “I highly doubt you of all people could ever be idle,” he teases before turning towards Hak, who is stretched out and doing very, very little more than dozing, “until a certain son of mine.”
“Hey,” Hak says, opening his eyes and only slightly raising his head.
“You could learn from Soo-Won,” Mundok yells, jarring Kye-Sook and Joo-Doh out of their respective food and drink induced stupors. “He’s out here, forwarding himself, and what have you been doing recently?”
“Lotta things,” Hak says, rolling his eyes.
“I’d like to hear about them,” Soo-Won says, desperate to get the conversation back under control; he clambers to his feet even though he’s tired and sore from travelling; “Lord Mundok –”
“Go, go,” Mundok laughs, and Soo-Won sees Hyoo-Ri gladly moving to sink into the shadows. “The gods know it’s good for boys to be boys once in a while.”
Hak lurches to his feet and Soo-Won follows, trusting that Joo-Doh and Kye-Sook will read the atmosphere and figure themselves out. Soo-Won catches up where Hak is retrieving his winter cloak. Soo-Won draws up as Hak turns, both of their cloaks in hand. The look he levels at Soo-Won is hard to read.
“You okay with going out in the cold?”
“Yes,” Soo-Won says, accepting his cloak.
The air is crisp and their breath escapes in soft, pale puffs. Soo-Won flexes his hands in his gloves, looking up at the sky. It’s covered in clouds.
“Sorry about the old man,” Hak says, drawing Soo-Won’s attention back from his persistent melancholy. “He’s been getting mauldin in his old age.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Soo-Won says as they begin to aimlessly walk through the town. “It’s nice to talk about my parents sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Hak says, and he relaxes, smiling easily. “How long will you be visiting?”
“A week, depending on the weather,” Soo-Won says as they pass into the market square; some merchants are still open, but it’s mostly quiet. “If we get snowed in, you’ll have to put up with me for a while yet.”
Hak snorts. “You make it sound like a burden,” he muses.
Soo-Won smiles. He doesn’t expect to get mixed up in Wind Tribe business like he did during his visit to Saika, but he also isn’t entirely sure he’ll be able to avoid it if a problem presents itself.
They peer into the open stalls, the keepers of which all greet Hak with friendly words and smile and welcome Soo-Won when he is introduced. The people of the Wind Tribe are known for their friendly natures and hospitality, and a great deal of that natural good will is because their leadership, economy, and growth prospects have been stable over the past couple of decades. Soo-Won thinks about the weak land of the Fire Tribe and the difficult maintenance of the Water and Earth Tribes, and he wonders as Hak leads him down a theatre and entertainment street if he should have done something different when he was in Awa Port, a year ago now.
“Is it really alright for you to be out this late?” Hak asks as he and Soo-Won drift like magnets into a tavern where people recognise Hak and easily accept Soo-Won.
“You’re becoming a mother hen, Hak,” Soo-Won jests, sliding to sit adjacent to him at the table, craning his neck back to read the food and drink offerings on the wall. “What would you like?”
“To drink?” Hak asks, eyebrows drawn together.
“Well, yes,” Soo-Won says, not understanding the change in mood. “We have to order something if we’re going to sit here.”
A strange expression crosses Hak’s face before his gaze slides away, looking at the tabletop. “Dunno. Whatever you want.”
Soo-Won orders a bottle of local rice wine. He leans back against the wall, taking in the lively but not too rowdy crowd around them. Hyoo-Ri will be relieved that Soo-Won hasn’t gone and gotten himself into the underworld on his first night in a new place for once.
“Soo-Won,” Hak says, and it’s quiet and that same unreadable expression from earlier. “I got an invitation to serve as Yona’s bodyguard at the end of last summer court.”
“Oh!” Soo-Won says, and he smiles, and he means it. “Congratulations. That is a great honour. I am sure Yona is thrilled.”
Hak frowns. He looks down at the table again. Soo-Won blinks.
“Hak?” he asks, feeling somehow wrong-footed.
The bottle and two glasses he’d ordered arrives. Hak remains silent and frowning, so Soo-Won carries out the song and dance of thanking the proprietor and tasting the wine, which is very bold and sweet. Hak takes his cup and drinks, nodding a vague sort of approval. Soon, they’re effectively alone again.
Hak sets his cup down. He stares at it, lips deep in their downturn.
“I am not sure I am the right person for the job,” he says, very low.
Soo-Won feels like the floor has disappeared from under him. Hak sighs and looks up, and whatever expression is on Soo-Won’s face makes him smile. It is a very grim expression.
“I don’t know if you remember, but the first time the Queen met me, she told me to protect Yona,” Hak says, and Soo-Won does remember, the bygone day in the castle garden when his mother was still relatively hale and he never suspected that Il would murder Yu-Hon. “I want to…”
His lips twist. Soo-Won has never seen Hak like this. He wants to reach out, but he doesn’t touch people aside from Kye-Sook. People usually try to touch him, and he lets them.
He didn’t expect to be lacking, not in this way.
Hak doesn’t seem to hold it against him. He doesn’t seem to know any of the panic going through Soo-Won’s head. And why would he? He trusts Soo-Won. He always has.
Soo-Won feels like he’s trapped in some sort of absurd play.
They sit in silence for a long moment, the warm wine cooling between them.
Slowly, Hak takes a deep breath. He looks up, and Soo-Won has only ever known him as his friend, but if he was anyone else, Soo-Won would be reaching for the dagger at his hip.
“Sorry for asking like this,” Hak says, very tight and very heavy, “but is the person you like Yona?”
Soo-Won’s mouth is open. He shuts it. Hak stares at him, intense and searching.
“No,” Soo-Won says because that is true; he loves Yona in the simple way he loved his parents once upon a time. “I adore Yona; she’s like a little sister to me.”
Hak sags. He breathes out, a great gust of a breath. Soo-Won’s dagger feels very heavy at his side.
“I don’t know why,” Hak whispers, so low that Soo-Won has to lean forward to hear him, “but the King told me to keep you away from her.”
Soo-Won closes his eyes. Opens them.
“The King has never been particularly fond of me,” he says, and he tries to be reassuring, but Hak’s shoulders stiffen; Soo-Won has no idea what to do except keep talking. “Hak, you shouldn’t take this personally.”
“But it is personal,” and Hak’s gaze is on his hands but he isn’t seeing them. “I don’t want to separate her from you. She’s in love with you, and you care for her. You would protect her, too.”
Soo-Won sits. He doesn’t know what to say. To someone like Hak, it is as simple as that. Things were never so simple for Soo-Won. And yet –
Hak breathes in. Out. He raises his head, gaze searching and too focused, and Soo-Won –
“I can’t be her bodyguard,” Hak says, and there’s a sense of finality that Soo-Won wants to catch and stop, but Hak has never just done what Soo-Won wants; unlike all the other people in his life, Hak is the one person Soo-Won cannot control. “I won’t hurt either of you.”
“Hak,” Soo-Won says, and he knows that he’s cracked open; he hears the desperation in his voice, the way it cracks and weakens; this is what Kye-Sook helps him hide; because once he starts being honest, he can’t stop: “You cannot just turn down an offer like this. There will be consequences. Yona still needs someone to protect her. She’s going to be receiving marriage offers soon –”
“I know,” Hak says, and he smiles, still tight but relieved somehow. “I remember you in the garden this past summer.”
Soo-Won regrets not keeping his mouth shut. “Hak –”
“She’s the King’s only daughter,” Hak says, and Soo-Won is shattering into a thousand and one pieces, “and her father wants to keep her away from one of the few people who truly care about her.”
“You cannot deny the King’s direct request,” Soo-Won says because he feels like he’s losing his mind.
“I know,” Hak says, but he’s settled already, eyes calm and dark. “Mundok said he’ll support whatever my decision is. I’ll figure it out.”
Soo-Won wants to reach out and shake him. Some of this must show on his face because Hak’s smile eases and becomes more amused. He picks up his cup, holding it out. Soo-Won picks up his own and returns the toast, feeling weirdly devastated and unmoored.
“What are we toasting?” he asks, wondering what Hyoo-Ri is thinking, watching all of this.
“To my best friends,” Hak says, and Soo-Won’s heart is in pieces because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go; he doesn’t know how he knows this; he never knew he loved Hak or Yona like he does Kye-Sook and Hyoo-Ri and even Joo-Doh; he just knows he never wanted to hurt Hak or Yona, not like this. “To your and Yona’s happiness.”
“Hak,” Soo-Won says, horrified and wretched, and they toast because if they don’t, they’ll cry.
The rice wine is sweet.
Hak grins at Soo-Won like he is the solution to all the ills of the world.
Soo-Won stares at him and remembers:
One day, sooner rather than later, he will die.
But, once upon a time, he wanted to live his life on his own terms.
“Kye-Sook.”
It is morning. Kye-Sook is only half-dressed, still sitting on his bed. He blinks at Soo-Won who is shutting the door behind himself, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. This is not the first time this has happened nor will it be the last.
“Were you out all night?” Kye-Sook asks, annoyed but not surprised.
Soo-Won steps forward. Kye-Sook finishes tying his belt and shifts, meeting Soo-Won halfway in their familiar embrace. He breathes in. Soo-Won, face tucked against the soft collar of his underrobe, knows his expression will be disapproving.
“You smell like a wine bottle,” Kye-Sook mutters.
“Hak is drunk,” Soo-Won says, and his body feels heavy but the cold is dissipating slowly, steadily. “He turned down being Yona’s bodyguard.”
Kye-Sook breathes out. He tucks Soo-Won more securely against himself, taking his weight.
“Is that bad?”
Soo-Won closes his eyes. “It is not what I expected.”
Kye-Sook is quiet. In his arms, Soo-Won feels like all of the pieces in himself that shattered overnight are slotting back into place. Not healed. Not quite the same. But no more jagged edges.
Soo-Won understands now.
He really did not take after his father.
He can’t cast Kye-Sook away anymore than he can do so with Hak. With Yona.
It doesn’t change the three facts that have always sat between them:
Soo-Won will sit on the throne of Kouka.
Kye-Sook will help him get there and stay there.
And, in a short time, Soo-Won will die.
Until then:
“We will go back to Saika before going to the summer court,” Soo-Won says, warm and alive in Kye-Sook’s embrace. “I will make plans to go to Chi’Shin after the close of court. I want to visit Suiko before the next winter freeze sets in if possible.”
Kye-Sook holds him. Never too tight. He could try, but his body is weak, and Soo-Won has hit his true growth and could overpower him now. Neither of them want to hurt the other.
If Soo-Won has his way, they never will.
King Il is not suited for the throne. He must be made to step down. Soo-Won has bought all the time he can. There is only so long once he is sixteen that he can hold off making his decision. He had begun to resign himself to a bloody, lonely coup, but now he remembers:
Soo-Won is more than the sword that Hyoo-Ri taught him to wield.
If Hak would change his whole fate just for him, if he can earn the trust of more than just the Fire and Wind Tribes, if he doesn’t have to break Yona’s heart, if he can get her father to step down for the good of the whole of Kouka:
“That will be difficult, but not impossible,” Kye-Sook murmurs, reasonable and warm.
Soo-Won breathes in. He draws back. Kye-Sook looks at him. Calm and trusting.
Soo-Won breathes out.
“Thank you,” he says.
Kye-Sook smiles. A pledge. A promise.
If he can move all the ifs into place:
Soo-Won will live on his own terms.