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“You’ve got quite the mouth on you don’t you,” Minho says, stepping even closer.
“Most people have those… mouths,” the boy replies placidly, sipping from his glass, “Who are you anyway, since you’ve so rudely interrupted my conquest.”
“No one of importance,” Minho lies.
“The ceremonial attire, embroidery, and gold family crest on your cuff links say differently, but I mean, okay your highness.” The boy gives a mock salute, lips forming a solid line — his eyes wander meaningfully to the braided gold crown on top of Minho’s head and he raises an eyebrow in challenge. In question.
“Brother to our lovely king,” Minho says as an answer.
“Ha, hilarious,” the boy snorts before picking up an h'orderve, some grape and fig crostini that Minho would enjoy a whole lot better if they stopped topping it with fresh fucking flowers, from a passing maid and popping it in his mouth, “and I’m his cousin.”
Series
- Part 2 of Baduk