Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The early morning light filtered through the windows of the study, casting soft shadows across the room. Seungcheol stood by the long mirror, adjusting his collar for what felt like the hundredth time. His reflection stared back at him, but he barely recognized the person in the polished uniform. It was a bittersweet moment—he had worked so hard to reach this point, but the weight of what lay ahead still sat heavily on his shoulders.

“Stop fidgeting. You’ll wear out the fabric before you even leave,” Wonwoo’s voice broke through the silence, a teasing smile on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe. The eldest of Seungcheol’s adopted brothers, Wonwoo had always been calm and composed, the scholar who kept to himself unless necessary.

“I can’t help it,” Seungcheol muttered, pulling at the hem of his sleeves. “I feel like I’m walking into a lion’s den.”

“Technically, it's a pack of alphas,” Jihoon corrected from his seat by the window, eyes never leaving the book he had been reading since dawn. “Though, Jeonghan-nim’s presence might as well make it a lion’s den.”

“That’s not helping,” Seungcheol shot back, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

Jihoon shrugged. “Just being honest.”

Mingyu, seated at the table, carefully packing a small leather bag with medicinal supplies, ready to go to his class, glanced up with a grin. “Come on, hyung, you’ve faced scarier things than palace life. You’ll be fine.”

Seungcheol sighed, but there was a warmth in his chest at their words. He knew they were trying to lighten the mood, to make this transition easier for him. They had been through so much together, and leaving the familiarity of his home—his family—was harder than he had expected. His adopted father, the trusted royal advisor who had taken him in all those years ago, was standing quietly near the entrance of the room, watching them with his usual calm demeanor.

“I know you’re nervous,” his father finally spoke, his voice steady and reassuring. “But you’ve been preparing for this your whole life, Seungcheol-ah. You’ve mastered everything you’ve set your mind to. The palace will be no different.”

Seungcheol met his father’s eyes in the mirror, and for a moment, the weight of the man’s words settled over him. His father had raised him with care, teaching him how to hide his true nature, to blend in among the betas. It hadn’t been easy—balancing the façade with the constant pressure of suppressing what he was. But through it all, his father had been his rock, guiding him through every obstacle.

“Thanks, Father,” Seungcheol said quietly, turning away from the mirror to face his family. “I just—” he paused, the words catching in his throat. “I didn’t think I’d be assigned to Jeonghan-nim.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Jeonghan-nim is… just Jeonghan-nim,” he said, as if that explained everything. “But you’ve dealt with difficult people before. The crown prince might be unpredictable, but that’s just another challenge for you.”

“Plus, Joshua-nim’s there,” Mingyu added, sealing the bag. “He’ll keep things in check.”

“Maybe,” Seungcheol muttered, feeling a small twinge of relief at the mention of Joshua. He had always admired the second prince’s level-headedness. At least not everyone in the palace would be a thorn in his side.

“Remember,” his father said, his tone growing more serious, “the palace is a place of politics and power. But you are more than ready for this. Trust in your instincts—and trust the mask you wear. No one must ever know.”

Seungcheol nodded, the gravity of his father’s words hanging in the air. They all knew what he meant. His secret, the truth about who he was, had to remain hidden. The scent blockers and suppressants had worked so far, but the palace was filled with alphas, many of whom had keen senses. He would have to be even more cautious than ever before.

“I’ll be careful,” Seungcheol promised, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

His father smiled, a rare but reassuring gesture. “Good. Now, go. The car is waiting.”

Seungcheol looked around the room, taking in the faces of his adopted family one last time before he left. Wonwoo’s quiet confidence, Jihoon’s reserved smile, Mingyu’s unyielding optimism, and his father’s steadfast support—all of it gave him the strength to step forward.

“Don’t forget to write,” Jihoon said without looking up from his book, though there was a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, don’t get too lost in the palace,” Mingyu added with a wink.

Seungcheol chuckled, grabbing his bag from the chair. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

As he walked toward the door, his father placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him briefly. “Remember who you are, Seungcheol-ah,” he said softly. “But never forget the role you must play.”

Seungcheol met his father’s gaze, the unspoken truth passing between them. He gave a small nod before stepping outside, the weight of the palace and his hidden identity already pressing down on him.

The car waited, gleaming in the morning sun, ready to take him to his new life. As he climbed inside, Seungcheol took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenges ahead.

No one would know who he truly was. And he'd like to keep it that way.

The grand halls of the palace stretched endlessly before Seungcheol, their polished marble floors reflecting the sunlight streaming through tall windows. Every step he took echoed faintly in the vast space, a reminder of the weight that came with being inside the royal residence. But the grandeur around him was nothing compared to the pressure he felt pressing against his chest.

Seungcheol had always known he was different. A rare male omega, a fact that had been drilled into him since his youth—something he had learned to hide with every fiber of his being. Male omegas were unheard of in the pack, a rarity that was considered dangerous, unnatural. If the truth ever came to light, it wouldn’t just be his life at stake, but the fragile balance of power within the kingdom.

For years, Seungcheol had lived under the guise of a beta, his true nature buried beneath thick layers of scent blockers and suppressants. It had become second nature to him—so much so that even he almost believed the lie. But deep down, he could never forget. He wore his secret like armor, using it to shield himself from the world around him.

Now, after years of study at one of the kingdom’s most prestigious schools, Seungcheol had come of age. Today was his first day serving within the royal family, a position he had worked tirelessly for. But it wasn’t the job he had wanted.

He had applied to serve Joshua, the second alpha prince, who was known for his calm demeanor and rationality. Joshua was the type of leader Seungcheol respected—someone who valued intellect over dominance. The kind of alpha who wouldn’t pry into a beta’s personal life or question their motives. But instead, he had been reassigned to Jeonghan.

Jeonghan, the crown prince. The future king of the pack.

Seungcheol’s grip tightened around the files he carried as he thought of the crown prince. Jeonghan was everything Seungcheol despised in an alpha—charming, manipulative, always in control. He played the game of power effortlessly, with a sly smile that left everyone around him in awe. But beneath that charisma, Seungcheol sensed something darker. Jeonghan was the type of alpha who thrived on dominance, and Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel uneasy in his presence.

He exhaled, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Today was the start of a new chapter in his life, and despite his frustrations, he knew he had no choice but to play the role he had been given. He had spent years perfecting his facade as a beta—there was no room for mistakes now.

The entrance to the office's main hall loomed before him, the intricately carved door standing as a reminder of the power that awaited on the other side. Seungcheol hesitated for a moment, his thoughts lingering on the path that had brought him here.

He didn’t remember much about his past—only that he had been raised by a trusted family after an incident that had left his early memories fractured. He knew he was different, but why and how that difference had shaped his life remained a mystery even to him. What he did know, however, was that he had to protect his secret at all costs. A male wasn’t supposed to be an omega, and if anyone ever discovered the truth, his life would be over.

Today was only the beginning, and though he didn’t like the cards he had been dealt, he would play them with the same caution and precision he had learned over the years.

Steeling himself, Seungcheol entered the main hall, a figure awaited him. Standing tall and composed, with an air of effortless confidence, was Chief Hyungwon—the Crown Prince’s Chief Officer. Dressed in immaculate formal wear, his sharp eyes swept over Seungcheol in a single, appraising glance.

“Seungcheol-nim,” Hyungwon’s voice was smooth, professional, carrying a subtle note of command. “Welcome to the palace. I’ve been tasked with ensuring you’re properly introduced to your new position.”

Seungcheol offered a respectful bow. “It’s an honor, Chief-nim.”

Hyungwon nodded, and with a slight gesture, began leading Seungcheol down one of the many grand corridors. The palace was nothing short of breathtaking. Its ceilings soared high, adorned with intricate murals and gold-leafed designs that told stories of the kingdom’s history. Every hallway was lined with priceless art, grand chandeliers casting a soft glow over the gleaming marble floors.

“You’ll be working closely with His Highness, the Crown Prince,” Hyungwon explained, his voice steady as he walked with purpose. “Your responsibilities will range from organizing his daily schedule to handling sensitive correspondence. You’ll also be expected to accompany him during official events and meetings, ensuring that everything runs smoothly.”

Seungcheol kept pace, taking in every word, though his mind wandered briefly to the odd circumstances surrounding his appointment. His original interview had been for a position as Joshua’s personal assistant. Joshua was someone Seungcheol had respected from afar—known for his quiet leadership and level-headed approach. It was a position Seungcheol had wanted, one he had felt well-suited for.

But now, here he was, assigned to Jeonghan.

“The Crown Prince has high standards, as you’ll soon find out,” Hyungwon continued, his tone shifting slightly. “But I believe you’ve already impressed him.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed in mild confusion. Impressed him? Jeonghan hadn’t even been present during his interview for Joshua’s team. The whole situation still didn’t quite make sense.

As they rounded a corner, Hyungwon pointed to the north wing of the palace, explaining the various sections dedicated to royal business. “Your quarters will be located nearby the Prince’s chambers for easy access. You’ll have a study to handle documents and reports, and of course, you’ll be coordinating with myself and the other officers.”

Seungcheol nodded, absorbing the information while still grappling with the change of plans. Why had Jeonghan chosen him? What had he seen, or heard, to hand-pick Seungcheol for this role?

Unbeknownst to Seungcheol, Jeonghan stood silently on a distant balcony, his sharp eyes following the two figures as they made their way through the courtyard below. The crown prince leaned casually against the stone railing, his gaze narrowing slightly as he watched Seungcheol’s every move.

Jeonghan had never forgotten the moment he first laid eyes on Seungcheol.

It had been an ordinary day—both Jeonghan and Joshua had been conducting interviews for new personal assistants. Joshua, ever patient and considerate, had taken his time with each candidate, carefully weighing his options. But Jeonghan, who had already sifted through a dozen uninspiring applicants, had grown bored. do he had decided to wander off to Joshua's interview room, hoping to rail his twin brother, just for fun.

Then, Seungcheol had walked into the room.

There had been an unmistakable presence about him, though it was subtle. Jeonghan had immediately noticed the way Seungcheol carried himself—calm, self-assured, yet unassuming. He wasn’t flashy or overly confident, but there was a quiet strength in his gaze, an intelligence behind his words that caught Jeonghan’s attention. He was different from the others, and Jeonghan liked that.

At first, Jeonghan had observed from the sidelines, from the side of the balcony where no one can see him, and his curiosity piqued. He had watched Seungcheol answer Joshua’s questions with poise, never faltering, never appearing intimidated by the royal atmosphere. It was as if Seungcheol belonged in the palace already.

The crown prince had made his decision then and there.

With a subtle signal to Hyungwon who was following him around, Jeonghan had orchestrated the change. Seungcheol would not be working for Joshua. He was a far better fit for Jeonghan’s own team—someone who would thrive under the pressure of his court and its many intricacies. Jeonghan had seen potential in Seungcheol, potential that could be molded into something far more useful than the other applicants could offer.

From his vantage point on the balcony, Jeonghan’s lips curled into a faint smile. Seungcheol had no idea that the change in his assignment was no accident. It amused him, watching the young man navigate his first day, unaware of the prince’s plans.

Jeonghan didn’t choose people on a whim. Seungcheol had caught his interest, and that in itself was a rare thing. Jeonghan prided himself on recognizing talent and seizing opportunities before anyone else could. In Seungcheol, he had found both.

As Hyungwon and Seungcheol disappeared from view, Jeonghan turned away from the balcony, his thoughts lingering on the newest member of his staff.

“He doesn’t know it yet,” Jeonghan murmured to himself, a glint of intrigue in his eyes, “but he’ll be valuable to me.”

The crown prince had chosen his personal assistant wisely. Now, it was only a matter of time before Seungcheol realized just how deeply he was tied to Jeonghan’s court.

Hyungwon continued to lead Seungcheol through a series of interconnected offices, each filled with palace staff bustling about their duties. The atmosphere shifted with each room they passed, from the quiet intensity of Jeonghan’s staff to the relaxed energy of Joshua’s.

“This is where you’ll be spending most of your time,” Hyungwon said, his tone clipped and efficient as he gestured toward the desks lining Jeonghan’s office space. “Everyone here reports directly to the Crown Prince. You’ll find the pace a bit demanding, but I’m sure you’ll adapt quickly.”

Seungcheol took in the surroundings, noting the furrowed brows and hurried movements of Jeonghan’s staff. There was a constant hum of activity, as if no one ever allowed themselves to slow down or breathe too deeply. The scowls on their faces spoke of high expectations and little room for error. He could already feel the weight of the pressure that hung over the room like a thick cloud.

Hyungwon began introducing him to various members of the staff—secretaries, advisors, and aides—all of whom greeted him with curt nods, their eyes never lingering too long before darting back to their work. It was clear that under Jeonghan’s leadership, there was no time for pleasantries.

But as they moved to the adjacent office, Seungcheol couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast. This was Joshua’s section, where his staff worked with a noticeably more relaxed air. Though equally diligent, there was a sense of calm among them, a quiet comradeship that stood in sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere of Jeonghan’s team. They smiled easily, speaking in low, measured tones. The work still flowed smoothly, but without the frantic energy Seungcheol had seen just moments before.

A twinge of envy flickered in Seungcheol’s chest. This was the team he had wanted to be a part of—the one he had interviewed for. He had imagined working under Joshua would be different, less suffocating, more balanced. Joshua had always struck him as the type of leader who valued a well-rounded approach, one that didn’t demand constant stress or anxiety from his staff. But now, here he was, tethered to Jeonghan’s demanding pace, where mistakes were likely met with swift judgment.

As Hyungwon continued his introductions, Seungcheol’s mind wandered, still processing the sudden shift in his fate. He barely noticed as he exchanged pleasantries with Joshua’s staff, feeling a quiet pang of regret.

And there’s Joshua, also watching Seungcheol from a distance, concealed in the shadow of one of the alcoves that lined the hall. His expression was calm, but there was a storm of frustration swirling beneath the surface.

Joshua hadn’t expected Jeonghan to act so quickly. Seungcheol had impressed him during the interview—calm, competent, and clearly capable of handling the responsibilities that came with the role. Joshua had been ready to make his decision, certain that Seungcheol would be the perfect fit for his team.

But Jeonghan, as usual, had other plans.

It wasn’t the first time Jeonghan had interfered, but this time it felt personal. Joshua had wanted Seungcheol not just for his skills, but because he had sensed something deeper—a quiet strength, an unwavering resilience that set Seungcheol apart. And now, that strength was under Jeonghan’s control, yanked away from Joshua’s grasp without so much as a conversation.

His jaw tightened as he watched Seungcheol move through the office, completely unaware of the power plays at work behind the scenes. Joshua couldn’t deny that his brother had an eye for talent, but this time, Jeonghan had taken something that Joshua had already claimed for himself. It was a bitter reminder of the ongoing rivalry between the two brothers, one that extended beyond palace politics and into their very approach to leadership.

Joshua’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, though his face remained composed. He had lost Seungcheol to Jeonghan for now, but that didn’t mean the game was over. He would watch, quietly, from the sidelines. He would see how long Jeonghan could hold onto the young man before the cracks in the Crown Prince’s carefully curated world began to show.

For now, Joshua stayed hidden in the shadows, content to observe. But his mind was already turning over possibilities. He wasn’t the type to sit idly by while Jeonghan took what was his. There would be another time, another opportunity. And when it came, Joshua would be ready.

As Hyungwon finished his round of introductions, Seungcheol found himself standing face-to-face with Jun, Joshua’s personal assistant. Jun, a calm and composed beta, gave a small nod of acknowledgment, his quiet demeanor instantly noticeable. His presence exuded a sense of peace that stood in contrast to the more intense energy around them.

“Jun-nim,” Hyungwon said, his voice steady, “this is Seungcheol-nim. He’ll be working under the Crown Prince.”

Jun extended a hand in greeting, his movements smooth and deliberate. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice soft but clear.

“Likewise,” Seungcheol replied, shaking his hand. Despite the brief flicker of envy he had felt earlier, Seungcheol couldn’t help but appreciate the ease with which Jun carried himself. There was something reassuring about Jun’s calm presence—a quiet confidence that spoke of experience and capability.

As they wandered through the office together, Seungcheol felt his earlier tension ease slightly. Jun, though quiet, was approachable. It didn’t take long before they both settled into the flow of the training. Hyungwon and the other officers provided a brief but thorough overview of the palace’s inner workings, from the daily routines of the royal family to the protocols required for official events. There was a lot to take in, but both Seungcheol and Jun absorbed the information in silence, their focus never wavering.

Though their paths diverged in terms of service, there was an unspoken understanding between them. Both were here to serve their respective princes, navigating the complexities of palace life with the same quiet dedication.

As the day wore on and the palace began to wind down, Seungcheol felt the exhaustion creeping in. It had been a whirlwind of information, introductions, and adjustments. The grandeur of the palace, while awe-inspiring, had also proven overwhelming. But he knew this was only the beginning—tomorrow would bring more challenges, more responsibilities, and more demands.

When the time came to retire to their quarters, Seungcheol and Jun exchanged a few quiet words before parting ways. The setting sun cast long shadows over the courtyard as they made their way toward the living quarters, the weight of the day hanging over them like a cloak.

“Well, we survived the first day,” Jun said with a small smile, his usual quietness giving way to a brief moment of levity.

Seungcheol chuckled softly. “Barely. But yeah, we did.”

They reached the point where their paths split, leading to their respective rooms. As they turned to go their separate ways, they waved each other off with a simple, friendly gesture.

“Good night, Jun-ah,” Seungcheol called out, his voice soft but sincere.

“Good night, Seungcheolie,” Jun replied, his calm tone carrying through the fading light.

With that, Seungcheol made his way to his room, the quiet of the palace settling around him. The weight of the day’s events pressed down on his shoulders, but for now, he allowed himself a moment of respite. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new trials, and he would need all the rest he could get.

He closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath as he prepared himself for what lay ahead.

Chapter Text

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains, casting faint golden streaks across the stone floor. Seungcheol stirred from his bed, the quiet stillness of the palace a stark contrast to the buzzing thoughts in his mind. Today was his second day in the palace, and though the initial nerves had subsided, the weight of his new role lingered heavily on his shoulders.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair, feeling the coolness of the morning air on his skin. The room around him was spacious but modest, not unlike his quarters at home, though it carried the distinct chill of royal formality.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching his arms overhead before making his way to the washroom. The cool marble floors sent a shiver up his spine as he crossed the space. His quarters were simple yet spacious, and the palace’s luxurious amenities were a far cry from his more modest upbringing.

He turned on the tap, letting the water run until it was warm, and quickly stepped into the bath. The water was a welcome relief, washing away the lingering tension from the day before. As he ran his hands through his hair, Seungcheol allowed himself a brief moment of calm. His thoughts drifted to the responsibilities ahead of him—his work for Jeonghan, the pressure of keeping up appearances, and the ever-present need to hide his true nature.

After finishing the bath, Seungcheol wrapped a towel around himself and returned to his room. His uniform was laid out neatly on the bed, its dark fabric crisp and formal. He dressed quickly, but carefully, making sure everything was in place.

As soon as he was ready, Seungcheol slowly made his way over to the small vanity where a polished mirror awaited him. As he stared at his reflection, Seungcheol’s fingers reached for the vial of scent blockers discreetly tucked behind a pile of scrolls.

His expression was calm, but there was always that flicker of unease whenever he handled the suppressants—a reminder of what he truly was beneath the carefully constructed mask he wore. A rare male omega, a secret known only to him and his adopted family.

He uncorked the vial and dabbed the scent blockers onto his pulse points—his neck, wrists, and the inside of his elbows. The faintest smell of herbs and something metallic filled the air for a brief moment before fading, leaving nothing behind. It was routine by now, a part of his daily preparation. He couldn’t afford to let even the smallest hint of his omega nature slip through the cracks.

Next came the suppressants. Seungcheol swallowed the small tablet, feeling the familiar coolness slide down his throat. It was the final layer of protection that allowed him to blend in among the betas. He knew he couldn’t afford to slip, not in a palace full of alphas, especially with Jeonghan watching. There was no room for error.

Once finished, he took a deep breath, adjusting his collar and smoothing down the fabric of his uniform. His face was calm and composed, the very picture of a capable beta ready to serve the Crown Prince. No one would ever suspect the truth hidden beneath the surface.

Seungcheol paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to wander over the neat arrangement of his room. The morning light caught the edges of his belongings, simple and practical, reflecting the kind of life he had led thus far—quiet, controlled, and always under the radar. But here, in the palace, things felt different. The stakes were higher. And with Jeonghan watching, the pressure seemed to grow each day.

He grabbed his bag and exited the room, the quiet click of the door behind him signaling the start of a new day.

As he made his way through the winding halls, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel the weight of the palace pressing in on him. The grandeur, the history—it all demanded a certain level of perfection from its occupants. And while Seungcheol had spent years mastering the art of appearing normal, he knew that one slip, one mistake, could unravel everything.

Today would be another test. He had to prove himself once again, not just to Jeonghan but to the rest of the court. He was determined to succeed, to carve out his place in this complex world, all while keeping his secret locked away.

As Seungcheol made his way down the corridor, the familiar quiet of the palace morning settled around him. The air was cool, still carrying the early freshness of the day. He rounded a corner and spotted Jun waiting by the entrance to the dining hall, leaning casually against the doorframe. A small smile crossed Jun’s face when he saw Seungcheol approach.

“Good morning,” Jun greeted him, his voice as calm and steady as ever.

“Morning,” Seungcheol replied with a nod, feeling a sense of relief at seeing a familiar face. “You’re up early.”

Jun chuckled softly. “Figured we could grab a quick breakfast before the madness begins.”

Seungcheol smiled, appreciating the gesture. “Sounds like a good plan.”

The two of them stepped into the dining hall, a modest space set aside for staff meals, with long tables neatly arranged under large windows that let in the soft glow of the morning sun. The smell of freshly baked bread and warm tea filled the room, making Seungcheol’s stomach rumble quietly in anticipation. He realized he hadn’t eaten much the day before, too focused on settling into his new role.

They made their way to the counter, each grabbing a simple plate of bread, fruit, and a steaming cup of tea. The atmosphere was quiet, with only a few other staff members scattered around the room, chatting in hushed tones before starting their duties for the day.

As they sat down at one of the long tables, Jun glanced around the hall, his eyes briefly scanning the room. “It’s quiet now, but it won’t be for long. The palace picks up pace quickly once everyone’s up and about.”

Seungcheol nodded, taking a sip of his tea. “I imagine so. Yesterday was just a glimpse.”

Jun smiled, but it was a knowing smile, as if he’d already seen the chaos that awaited them. “Yeah, the first few days are the hardest. You’ll find your rhythm soon enough, though.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, both savoring the brief moment of calm before their day officially began. Seungcheol felt a small sense of normalcy creep in, something he hadn’t expected to find in the midst of palace life. Having Jun around helped ease some of the tension he carried from the weight of his hidden secret and his new responsibilities.

“So, what’s on your agenda today?” Jun asked, breaking the silence as he reached for a piece of fruit.

“Not sure yet,” Seungcheol replied, taking a bite of bread. “I’m supposed to meet with Chief Hyungwon this morning for more orientation, and then I’ll be shadowing Jeonghan-nim later.”

Jun raised an eyebrow, his expression neutral but with a hint of amusement. “Good luck with that.”

Seungcheol chuckled lightly. “I’ll need it.”

“And you?” Seungcheol asked, curious about Jun’s day.

“I’ll be with Joshua-nim most of the day. He’s got a few meetings lined up, and I’m responsible for coordinating everything,” Jun said with a casual shrug. “Nothing too intense, but it’s still a full schedule.”

They exchanged a few more words, the conversation flowing easily between them. Despite the different roles they played in the palace, Seungcheol appreciated Jun’s calm presence, a grounding force in the whirlwind of court life.

When they had finished their breakfast, Jun stood up, gathering his tray. “I guess we better get going before we’re late.”

Seungcheol nodded, rising from his seat as well. “Yeah, can’t keep the princes waiting.”

As they left the dining hall, they walked together for a brief moment before their paths diverged. At the crossroads of the palace halls, they exchanged a quick wave.

“See you later, Seungcheol-H,” Jun said with a smile, already heading off toward Joshua’s wing.

“Yeah, see you later,” Seungcheol replied, watching him go before turning toward his own destination.

The day was about to begin in full, and Seungcheol felt the weight of his responsibilities settle over him once more. But for now, the brief reprieve of breakfast had given him just enough energy to face whatever lay ahead. The day was just beginning, but the weight of the palace was already pressing in.

The grand doors to the Crown Prince’s chambers stood before Seungcheol, tall and imposing, a reminder of the power and authority that awaited him inside. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before knocking twice, the sound echoing through the hallway. Within moments, the door opened, revealing Hyungwon, who gave a curt nod and gestured for him to enter.

“His Highness is expecting you,” Hyungwon said, his tone as crisp as ever.

Seungcheol nodded in return, stepping over the threshold into Jeonghan’s office. The room was spacious yet elegant, decorated with finely crafted furniture and intricate tapestries that reflected the royal lineage. Seungcheol’s eyes quickly landed on Jeonghan, seated at a large desk near the far end of the room, a stack of documents spread before him.

Jeonghan didn’t immediately look up as Seungcheol entered, his gaze focused on the papers in front of him. The prince’s silence lingered for a few long moments, and the tension in the room grew heavier with each passing second. Seungcheol stood near the door, waiting for Jeonghan’s acknowledgment, his heart beating a little faster than he would have liked.

Finally, Jeonghan lifted his head, his sharp eyes locking onto Seungcheol with an unreadable expression. “Ah, Seungcheol, right? Welcome,” he said, his voice smooth but holding an undercurrent of authority. “I trust you’re ready for today?”

Seungcheol bowed slightly. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Jeonghan gave a slight smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. I have a full schedule lined up for you.”

Without further preamble, Jeonghan motioned for Seungcheol to step closer. As Seungcheol approached the desk, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of trepidation. Jeonghan had an air about him—calculated, controlled, as if every movement and word were carefully chosen for effect. There was no doubt that the Crown Prince expected nothing less than perfection from those around him.

Jeonghan tapped the stack of documents before him. “First, you’ll need to go over the correspondence from the council. I want a summary of all reports by midday. After that, you’ll accompany me to a meeting with the advisors regarding the border negotiations. It will be long, but I expect you to take detailed notes. Once we return, we’ll prepare for the afternoon assembly. You’ll be in charge of organizing the materials and ensuring everything is in place.”

As Jeonghan continued to outline the tasks for the day, the list seemed to grow longer and longer. Every task was important, each one more intricate than the last. Seungcheol’s head spun slightly as he tried to keep track of everything being thrown at him. Organizing documents, summarizing reports, attending meetings, preparing materials—there was no end in sight.

“And lastly,” Jeonghan added, leaning back slightly in his chair, “I’ll need you to finalize the guest list for tomorrow’s banquet. Make sure there are no errors. Any misstep could cause unnecessary complications, and we can’t afford that.”

Seungcheol nodded, though his mind was already racing with the sheer amount of responsibility. His chest tightened with the weight of it all. The dread started creeping in, and though he maintained a calm exterior, inwardly, the pressure was already mounting.

Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, as if assessing whether Seungcheol was up to the task. “I trust you’ll manage,” he said smoothly, though there was a hint of challenge in his tone.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Seungcheol replied, keeping his voice steady, even though his stomach twisted with anxiety.

“Good,” Jeonghan said, his smile returning briefly before he turned back to his work. “You’re dismissed for now. Chief Hyungwon will give you the details for the morning tasks.”

Seungcheol bowed again and quickly exited the room, the weight of Jeonghan’s expectations bearing down on him like a heavy cloak. Once outside, he let out a slow breath, already feeling the exhaustion creeping in, even though the day had only just begun.

As he followed Hyungwon down the hallway to begin his tasks, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread building. This was just the first day under Jeonghan’s command, and already, the demands seemed insurmountable. He had wanted a challenge, but this was something else entirely.

The Crown Prince wasn’t just demanding—he was exacting. And as Seungcheol prepared to dive into his duties, he realized that perfection wasn’t just expected. It was required.

Hyungwon led Seungcheol down the corridor, stopping just outside Jeonghan’s chambers where a small workspace had been neatly prepared for him. It was positioned in the perfect spot—close enough for Jeonghan to summon him at any moment, yet far enough to grant Seungcheol some semblance of privacy. Seungcheol could already feel the weight of responsibility settling in, and the day had barely started.

“This will be your workspace,” Hyungwon said as they approached. A thick pile of documents sat waiting for him, teetering precariously at the edge of the desk. Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight, the sheer volume of paperwork threatening to overwhelm him. Each document seemed thicker than the last, with important notes and letters that demanded immediate attention.

“You’ll need to summarize these by midday,” Hyungwon added, almost as if he hadn’t noticed the look of mild horror on Seungcheol’s face. “They’re mostly reports from the council—recommendations, updates, and proposed changes to border policies. Jeonghan expects thorough summaries.”

Seungcheol stared at the mountain of paperwork, trying to suppress the rising panic that threatened to bubble over. The stack of documents loomed over him like an insurmountable challenge, each page brimming with information he needed to sift through and condense. His head spun slightly, and he wondered how he would possibly get through it all in time.

Hyungwon must have sensed his unease because, after a brief pause, he gave Seungcheol a small, almost sympathetic pat on the back. “Don’t worry,” Hyungwon said, though there was a faint smile of pity tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll get used to it.”

Seungcheol wasn’t sure if that was meant to be comforting or terrifying.

Hyungwon straightened, his professionalism returning in full force. “If you need anything, I’ll be down the hall. Jeonghan will be expecting the summaries before the midday meeting, so don’t delay.”

With that, Hyungwon turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Seungcheol alone with his thoughts—and his stack of tasks. Seungcheol exhaled slowly, sitting down at his desk and running a hand through his hair. He looked at the pile of documents again, hoping they didn’t look as thick as they had a moment ago.

They did.

Taking a deep breath, Seungcheol picked up the first report and flipped it open, his eyes scanning the dense text. It was written in formal language, full of political jargon and lengthy explanations of issues that seemed to go on forever. Seungcheol could already feel his brain working overtime to make sense of it all.

He began jotting down notes, doing his best to pull out the key points from the sea of words. His hand moved quickly, though his mind lagged behind as he tried to process everything at once. Time seemed to blur around him as he fell into the rhythm of sorting, summarizing, and organizing the documents.

But the stack barely seemed to shrink. For every report he finished, two more seemed to take its place, and the pressure of the midday deadline loomed ever closer.

This was only the beginning, Seungcheol reminded himself. He had chosen this path, and now he had to see it through. But as the hours ticked by, the weight of Jeonghan’s expectations—and the sheer volume of the work ahead—began to press down on him harder than ever.

The soft ticking of the clock filled the quiet room, each second stretching longer than the last as Seungcheol blinked back the fatigue threatening to overtake him. His eyes stung from staring at the documents for hours, and his back ached from sitting in the same rigid position all day. The faint glow of the desk lamp illuminated the final stack of papers in front of him, the only thing standing between him and the end of this relentless day.

The clock had already struck midnight, but Seungcheol refused to stop until the last task was complete. With tired hands, he scribbled the final notes, double-checking the summaries for any mistakes. His vision blurred for a moment, and he almost dozed off, his head dipping slightly before he snapped back to attention.

“Almost there,” he muttered to himself, willing his brain to keep functioning.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seungcheol wrote the last sentence. He stared down at the completed document with a mixture of relief and exhaustion. The weight of the day settled heavily on his shoulders as he stacked the papers neatly and stood from his desk, groaning slightly as he stretched his stiff limbs.

Dragging his body out of the room, Seungcheol stepped into the cool palace corridors, the silence enveloping him. His footsteps echoed faintly as he made his way toward the quarters, every step feeling heavier than the last. The exhaustion hung over him like a cloud, and all he could think about was collapsing into bed.

As he rounded a corner, Seungcheol’s tired eyes caught sight of a familiar scene—Joshua and Jun, standing in the hallway, engaged in a relaxed conversation. Their quiet laughter filled the air, the sound light and easy compared to the suffocating weight Seungcheol had been under all day.

For a moment, Seungcheol felt a twinge of envy at the sight. Joshua, the prince he had originally wanted to serve, seemed so approachable, so at ease. It was a stark contrast to the tension he had been under with Jeonghan, who demanded nothing short of perfection every waking moment. Joshua’s easy smile and the friendly camaraderie between him and Jun made Seungcheol long for something simpler, something less burdensome.

He was about to slip past them, too tired to engage, when Jun’s voice called out. “Seungcheol-ah! Still up?”

Seungcheol stopped, forcing a small smile despite his exhaustion. “Yeah, just finished for the day.”

Joshua turned his head, his warm gaze settling on Seungcheol. “You’ve been working hard. How was your first day with my brother?” There was no malice in his voice, just curiosity.

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond without sounding completely overwhelmed. “Busy,” he finally said, a hint of weariness slipping into his voice.

Joshua chuckled softly. “Sounds about right. Don’t worry, you’ll find your rhythm soon enough.”

Jun gave him an encouraging smile, his usual calm demeanor making Seungcheol feel a little less on edge. “You survived, at least. That’s something.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Barely, I guess.”

Joshua exchanged a glance with Jun before stepping forward. “Come on, let’s walk together. You look like you could use some rest.”

Too tired to argue, Seungcheol nodded gratefully. The three of them walked in comfortable silence through the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing in the empty halls. Joshua’s presence beside him was surprisingly soothing, a far cry from the constant pressure Seungcheol had been under all day.

As they approached the living quarters, Joshua gave Seungcheol a reassuring smile. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day, and trust me, it’ll get easier.”

Seungcheol wasn’t sure if he believed that yet, but Joshua’s words, coupled with Jun’s quiet support, eased some of the tension he had been carrying. “Thanks, Your Highness,” Seungcheol murmured, feeling slightly more grounded than before.

Joshua nodded before bidding them both goodnight. As Seungcheol entered his room, the exhaustion finally hit him in full force. He collapsed onto his bed without even bothering to change, the soft sheets offering a brief moment of comfort. His body was exhausted, but his mind couldn’t stop racing with everything that had happened today—and everything that awaited him tomorrow.

But for now, at least, he allowed himself to drift into a much-needed sleep.

The next morning, as the sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across Seungcheol’s room. However, it did little to wake him from the deep sleep he had fallen into the night before. The exhaustion from his first full day in the palace had taken its toll, and for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol had slept past his usual wake-up time.

In the quiet of the palace quarters, a rapid, persistent knocking echoed through the hallway, followed by a familiar voice. “Seungcheol-ah! Are you alive in there?”

Seungcheol stirred slightly, his mind sluggish as the sound of the knocking became louder and more insistent. “Yah, Choi Seungcheol! I’m coming in if you don’t answer!”

Still half-asleep, Seungcheol groaned, blinking at the sunlight streaming through his window. He sat up abruptly, his heart racing as he realized he had overslept. A second round of vigorous knocking came from the door.

“Seungcheol?” Jun’s voice called, this time tinged with both amusement and real concern. “Don’t tell me you passed out from exhaustion already. I’m seriously about to break down the door.”

Seungcheol scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over his sheets as he rushed toward the door, his clothes wrinkled from a restless sleep. He threw the door open, breathless and slightly disoriented, to find Jun standing there, his knuckles raised in mid-knock. Jun’s expression softened as he took in Seungcheol’s rumpled state, but the smile on his face didn’t disappear.

“There you are,” Jun said, his voice teasing but edged with concern. “I thought I was going to have to report to the Crown Prince that his assistant had collapsed after day one.”

Seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, I must have overslept. I didn’t hear my alarm.”

Jun raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I’m not surprised. After how late you worked, I’m surprised you’re even up now.”

Seungcheol glanced at the clock, his stomach dropping when he saw how much time had passed. “How late am I?”

“Late enough,” Jun said, crossing his arms, though his tone remained light. “But don’t worry. I covered for you, told Chief Hyungwon you were handling something extra for Jeonghan-nim.” He gave a mock-serious look. “Though you might want to actually get dressed before you show up.”

Seungcheol blinked down at himself, realizing he was still in the clothes he had slept in—wrinkled and far from professional. His face flushed slightly in embarrassment. “Right. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

Jun chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Take your time. Just don’t make a habit of this, or Jeonghan-nim’s going to have you running twice as hard.”

Seungcheol quickly closed the door, racing to freshen up. He splashed cold water on his face, hoping to shake off the grogginess that clung to him, and hurried to change into his uniform, not forgetting his scent blockers and suppressants. The events of the previous day still weighed on him, but there was no time to dwell on it—he had a full day ahead, and he couldn’t afford to start off on the wrong foot again.

A few minutes later, Seungcheol re-emerged, more composed but still feeling the lingering effects of his oversleeping. Jun was waiting just outside, arms crossed but with a patient smile on his face.

“Ready now?” Jun asked, pushing off the wall.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Seungcheol muttered, still feeling slightly embarrassed.

Jun shrugged good-naturedly. “Hey, no worries. Just don’t let Jeonghan-nim catch wind of it. I can only cover for you so many times.”

Seungcheol gave him a grateful look as they began walking toward their respective tasks for the day. Jun glanced at him from the side, his voice softening slightly. “Seriously, though—make sure you don’t overdo it. Jeonghan-nim can be intense, but you’ve got to take care of yourself, too.”

Seungcheol nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and lingering anxiety. “I’ll be fine. Just need to adjust to the pace.”

Jun’s teasing smile returned. “Good. Let’s get through today without any more near-death experiences, alright?”

They shared a brief laugh as they continued down the hall, the tension from the morning easing with every step.

Seungcheol walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the quiet palace corridor. In his arms, he carried the neatly compiled documents from the previous day—summaries, reports, and notes, all painstakingly organized. His mind was buzzing with details, summaries, and all the notes he had meticulously worked on until the early hours of the morning.

Despite the exhaustion still lingering from his long night, Seungcheol felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. He had done everything Jeonghan asked, and now it was time to report back. As he approached the entrance to Jeonghan’s office, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the meeting ahead.

Hyungwon opened the door to Jeonghan’s office, nodding for Seungcheol to enter. The Crown Prince sat behind his desk, his posture relaxed yet commanding, the flickering light from the window casting shadows over his sharp features. Without looking up from the document he was reading, Jeonghan gestured for Seungcheol to approach.

The atmosphere in the room felt heavy, and Seungcheol’s heart pounded slightly as he stepped forward. “Your Highness,” Seungcheol said with a small bow, placing the documents on the edge of the desk. “I’ve completed all the tasks from yesterday, including the council summaries and notes from the advisor meetings.”

Jeonghan finally looked up, his sharp eyes landing on Seungcheol with an expression that revealed nothing. He picked up the top document, flipping through it lazily, as if he wasn’t particularly interested. But Seungcheol could tell from the brief flicker of intensity in Jeonghan’s gaze that he was taking in every word.

The Crown Prince said nothing for a long time, the silence growing heavy as Seungcheol waited for some sign of approval—or disapproval.

Eventually, Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, tapping the edge of the papers with his finger. “Impressive,” he said, his tone neutral. “You’ve completed everything on time, and the work is thorough.” He paused, his eyes drifting over Seungcheol’s face as if gauging his reaction. “Perhaps more thorough than necessary.”

Seungcheol blinked, unsure how to respond. “Your Highness?”

Jeonghan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the desk. “You see, Seungcheol,” he began, his voice smooth and laced with a subtle edge, “attention to detail is important. But you must also learn efficiency. This—” he held up one of the reports—“while well done, could have been condensed further. You’ve wasted time on unnecessary details.”

There was no mistaking the hint of satisfaction in Jeonghan’s eyes. He knew Seungcheol had done an excellent job, but instead of giving him outright praise, he had found something to criticize. A subtle way to keep Seungcheol on his toes, to remind him that perfection was never quite within reach.

Seungcheol felt his heart sink slightly, though he kept his face calm. “I’ll keep that in mind, Your Highness.”

Jeonghan smiled faintly, a glint of amusement in his expression. “Do that. It’s rare for someone to meet my expectations on their first day, but don’t get too comfortable. You’ll need to improve if you want to continue serving me at this level.”

Despite the veiled compliment, Seungcheol could feel the weight of the warning underneath. Jeonghan was testing him—pushing him to see how far he could go, and how well he could handle the pressure. And no matter how well Seungcheol performed, Jeonghan would always find something to critique.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Seungcheol said, bowing slightly. “I’ll make the necessary adjustments.”

Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Good. You’re dismissed.”

Seungcheol left the office, his mind swirling. He had done everything right—everything—but Jeonghan had still found something to pick at. As he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Crown Prince was playing a much more complex game than he had realized.

Seungcheol finally sat down at his desk, his mind still lingering on his earlier conversation with Jeonghan. Despite the praise he had received, the subtle criticism gnawed at him, reminding him that perfection was always just out of reach with the Crown Prince. With a sigh, he picked up another stack of documents, focusing on his next task. The quiet of the office was soothing, allowing him to lose himself in the steady rhythm of his work.

A soft sound of footstep suddenly caught his attention, and when he looked up, Joshua stood in the doorway, a familiar smile on his face. In his hand, he held a small bag of food, the sight of it immediately reminding Seungcheol that he had worked through lunch without even noticing.

“Seungcheol,” Joshua greeted, stepping into the room with an effortless grace. “I brought some food for the office and figured I’d find you here.”

Seungcheol blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. “Oh, Your Highness,” he stammered, sitting up straighter at his desk. “You didn’t have to.”

Joshua shook his head, offering Seungcheol a small, kind smile as he placed the bag on the desk. “It’s nothing. I just noticed I hadn’t seen you around during lunch, and I thought you might be working through it.” He glanced at the pile of documents on Seungcheol’s desk, a hint of sympathy in his gaze. “Looks like I was right.”

Seungcheol’s eyes fell to the bag Joshua placed on the desk. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now, and the simple gesture of bringing him food, especially from someone like Joshua, filled him with a quiet gratitude.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said, sincerity clear in his voice. “I appreciate it.”

Joshua shrugged lightly, leaning against the side of the desk, his demeanor as relaxed as ever. “No need for that. Everyone’s working hard, especially you.”

Seungcheol felt a flicker of warmth at Joshua’s words, a stark contrast to the tense, high-pressure environment he was used to with Jeonghan. Joshua’s presence was comforting in a way that made Seungcheol think, just for a moment, about how different things might have been if he had ended up working for Joshua instead.

As he unwrapped the food, Seungcheol couldn’t help but glance at Joshua. The prince, with his calm, approachable demeanor, seemed genuinely concerned for the well-being of those around him. It was a stark contrast to Jeonghan’s calculated, demanding presence.

Joshua smiled gently as he noticed Seungcheol’s brief silence. “Don’t push yourself too hard, alright? The palace can be overwhelming, but it’s important to pace yourself.”

Seungcheol nodded, appreciating the prince’s kind words. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, grateful for the brief moment of reprieve.

Joshua lingered for just a moment longer, the same soft smile on his face. “I’ll let you get back to work. But if you ever need a break, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Seungcheol nodded, watching as Joshua turned to leave, his footsteps fading down the corridor. The warmth of the brief interaction stayed with Seungcheol, even as he returned to his pile of documents. There was a small part of him that wondered, with a twinge of regret, what life might have been like working under Joshua’s gentle guidance instead.

But for now, he pushed that thought aside and focused on the work in front of him. Still, the quiet kindness of Joshua’s gesture lingered, offering a brief moment of solace in the whirlwind of palace life.

Just on the other side of the corridor, Jeonghan had just returned from the dining hall, a small pack of food in hand. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had grabbed it—perhaps it was to reward Seungcheol for his hard work, or maybe it was just a rare moment of generosity on his part. Either way, he found himself making his way toward Seungcheol’s desk, the quiet corridors of the palace echoing with his footsteps.

But as he approached, something made him slow down.

From the distance, Jeonghan spotted Seungcheol sitting at his desk, speaking with Joshua, who was casually leaning against the edge of the table, that ever-present easy smile on his face. The sight of the two of them together—laughing, exchanging words in a way that seemed far too comfortable—sent an unexpected wave of irritation through Jeonghan.

He stood there, frozen for a moment, watching the interaction from the shadows. Joshua handed something to Seungcheol, a small bag of food, and the younger prince’s expression was soft, his tone light and friendly. Seungcheol smiled in return, visibly relaxed in a way Jeonghan hadn’t seen all day.

Something inside Jeonghan twisted, a sharp, unfamiliar pang that made his chest tighten. Anger flared up before he could fully process why. He didn’t even know why he was angry—why seeing Seungcheol and Joshua together sparked something so visceral in him.

But it did.

Without a second thought, Jeonghan clenched his fist around the pack of food he had brought. His jaw tightened, and before he could stop himself, he walked over to the nearest dustbin and threw the food inside with a forceful motion. The crumpled bag hit the bottom with a dull thud, but the sound did nothing to alleviate the sudden, irrational frustration burning inside him.

Jeonghan turned on his heel, his steps sharp and deliberate as he walked away from the scene, retreating back to his office. The irritation still bubbled beneath the surface, a mix of anger and confusion clouding his thoughts. He didn’t understand it—didn’t understand why he cared, or why it mattered at all that Seungcheol seemed at ease with Joshua.

Back in his office, Jeonghan closed the door behind him, his expression cold as he sat down at his desk. His eyes flickered toward the paperwork in front of him, but his mind was far from the tasks at hand. The thought of Seungcheol and Joshua’s interaction lingered in his mind, unwanted and unsettling.

He had thrown the food away as if it didn’t matter. As if it hadn’t meant anything. But something about the gesture—and the way he had reacted—stayed with him, irritating him even more.

Jeonghan clenched his fists on the desk, his jaw set. He wasn’t used to feeling like this. But for some reason, the image of Seungcheol and Joshua continued to gnaw at him, a reminder of something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Chapter Text

Jeonghan sat in his office, eyes fixed on the open document in front of him, though his mind was far from the task at hand. The soft flicker of candlelight played shadows across the walls, but the room felt stifling, heavy with unspoken tension. He hadn’t been able to shake the frustration that had taken root inside him, growing stronger with each passing day.

It started with Joshua—his twin brother’s easy smiles, his soft gestures, and the way he seemed to effortlessly win people over. Jeonghan had always been the more calculating one, his mind sharp and focused on the responsibilities of leadership. Joshua, on the other hand, had a way of disarming people with his warmth, his ability to connect with others. It had never bothered Jeonghan—until now.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight as the memory of the previous week replayed in his mind. He had watched from the shadows as Joshua casually approached Seungcheol, offering food and engaging him in light conversation. The sight of them together, laughing and talking as if they had known each other for years, had ignited something within him—a frustration he couldn’t quite explain.

He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. After all, Seungcheol was his assistant, his subordinate. He wasn’t supposed to care what the young man did in his free time, much less who he spoke to. And yet, every time he saw Seungcheol with Joshua, something twisted in Jeonghan’s chest, a sharp pang of irritation that refused to go away.

Jeonghan’s fingers tapped restlessly on the desk, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Why did it matter? Why did he care that Joshua seemed to be getting closer to Seungcheol? It wasn’t as though Seungcheol belonged to him—he was simply doing his job. And yet, the thought of Joshua’s easy charm winning over Seungcheol made Jeonghan’s blood boil in a way that left him feeling both confused and angry.

His frustration began to bleed into his work, and before long, he found himself taking it out on Seungcheol. It started small—extra tasks here and there, a bit more scrutiny on the reports Seungcheol handed in. But as the days went on, Jeonghan’s demands became more insistent, more impossible to meet.

“Your work is adequate,” he would say, his tone sharp despite the praise. “But I expect better. I need you to summarize these reports by the end of the day. No mistakes this time.”

Seungcheol, to his credit, never complained. He would simply nod, bow his head slightly, and get to work. Each time Jeonghan pushed him harder, Seungcheol met the challenge head-on, his determination unwavering. And despite the growing guilt that gnawed at Jeonghan’s conscience, there was something else lurking beneath it—something almost like pride.

Jeonghan watched as Seungcheol worked late into the night, the soft glow of the desk lamp illuminating his tired features. He could see the exhaustion in Seungcheol’s eyes, the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of the tasks Jeonghan continued to pile on. But still, Seungcheol pushed through, never once voicing a complaint or faltering in his work.

It was that quiet resilience, that relentless pursuit of perfection, that both frustrated and impressed Jeonghan. He knew he was pushing Seungcheol too hard, that his demands were bordering on unreasonable, but he couldn’t stop himself. There was a part of him that wanted to see just how far Seungcheol could go, how much pressure he could take before he finally broke.

And yet, every time he handed Seungcheol another impossible task, there was a flicker of something else inside Jeonghan. Pride. Satisfaction. The knowledge that, no matter how hard he pushed, Seungcheol continued to meet his expectations.

But that didn’t stop the guilt from creeping in late at night, when the palace was quiet and Jeonghan was left alone with his thoughts. He could see the toll his demands were taking on Seungcheol, could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and yet he continued to push. He didn’t understand why—why he was so insistent on testing Seungcheol, why he couldn’t stop himself from demanding more.

And through it all, that unshakable frustration lingered in the background, fueled by the image of Joshua and Seungcheol together, laughing and talking as if they had no cares in the world. It gnawed at Jeonghan, driving him to push harder, to demand more, as if doing so would somehow reclaim whatever it was he felt slipping away.

He hated the way it made him feel—angry, confused, and guilty all at once. But as the week dragged on, and Seungcheol continued to meet his impossible expectations, Jeonghan found himself both unable to stop and secretly proud of the assistant who never once complained.

Jeonghan sat behind his desk, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the wood, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the next set of tasks. The past few days had been a whirlwind of reports, meetings, and council discussions, and Jeonghan’s frustration had only deepened. He couldn’t get the image of Joshua and Seungcheol out of his head—the ease with which his brother seemed to form connections, the effortless charm that seemed to draw people in. It grated on him, making him push Seungcheol harder and harder, as if testing the young man’s limits would somehow resolve the unsettled feelings inside him.

Today, however, was different. Today, Jeonghan had a new task in mind, one that was so demanding, so complex, that even he hesitated for a moment before issuing the order.

But the hesitation was brief. Jeonghan straightened, his mind set. He would see if Seungcheol could handle it.

“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan called, his voice calm, though there was an edge of challenge in it. “I have something that requires your immediate attention.”

Seungcheol appeared in the doorway, as composed as always, though Jeonghan could see the faint traces of exhaustion in his eyes. He was pushing himself to the brink, and yet, he never wavered.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Seungcheol stepped forward, standing at attention.

Jeonghan gestured to the stack of documents on his desk. “I need you to compile all of these reports, analyze the discrepancies between the council’s recommendations and the current state of affairs, and present a comprehensive solution for each issue by the end of the day.”

Seungcheol blinked, momentarily taken aback. The stack of documents was towering, easily three times the amount of work he’d been handling in recent days. Not only that, but the task required not just organization, but deep analysis and quick thinking—tasks that would normally take days, if not weeks.

Hyungwon, who had been standing nearby, stiffened immediately. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sheer scope of the task Jeonghan had just laid out. “Your Highness,” he interjected carefully, stepping forward. “Perhaps this is too much for one person to handle in such a short time. These reports alone require significant attention, and to analyze the discrepancies…” He trailed off, clearly concerned for Seungcheol’s well-being.

But Jeonghan’s expression didn’t change. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving Seungcheol. “Are you suggesting that Seungcheol can’t handle it, Chief Hyungwon?” His tone was calm, but the challenge was evident.

Hyungwon hesitated, glancing between Jeonghan and Seungcheol. “I’m merely suggesting, Your Highness, that this may be an unreasonable demand under the circumstances. Even the most experienced advisors would struggle with this.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Seungcheol isn’t just any assistant. I believe he’s capable of more than you think.”

Seungcheol, standing silently, could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He knew this was impossible, that there was no way he could finish everything in the time given. But backing down wasn’t an option—not when Jeonghan was watching him with those calculating eyes, not when Hyungwon had stepped in to protect him.

With a deep breath, Seungcheol met Jeonghan’s gaze and nodded. “I’ll do it, Your Highness.”

Hyungwon’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Seungcheol-nim, this—”

“I’ll manage,” Seungcheol interrupted gently, though there was a firmness in his voice. “I can handle it.”

Jeonghan’s lips curled into a faint smile—one that held a mixture of pride and something darker. “Good. I expect everything on my desk by the end of the day, then.”

Seungcheol bowed and turned to leave, the weight of the task heavy on his shoulders, but he didn’t falter. He would face it head-on, no matter how impossible it seemed. Failure wasn’t an option—not for Jeonghan, and not for himself.

As Seungcheol walked past, Hyungwon caught up to him, his face tight with worry. “You don’t have to do this,” Hyungwon said quietly, his voice low but urgent. “His Highness’s gone too far this time.”

Seungcheol gave him a small, tired smile. “It’s alright. I’ll get it done.”

Hyungwon’s brow furrowed, his concern deepening. “You’re already pushing yourself too hard. This… this isn’t normal. You can’t possibly—”

“I’ll manage,” Seungcheol repeated, though his voice was softer this time, the exhaustion beginning to seep through.

Hyungwon hovered nearby as Seungcheol returned to his desk, his eyes watching every move. He couldn’t help but worry, couldn’t help but feel the rising tension as Seungcheol dove into the impossibly large pile of work in front of him. The young assistant’s hands moved quickly over the documents, his eyes scanning the pages with a sharp focus, but Hyungwon could see the strain, the way Seungcheol’s body was starting to buckle under the pressure.

Jeonghan’s demands had crossed a line this time. Hyungwon knew it, and he could see that Seungcheol knew it too. But still, Seungcheol pressed forward, determined to prove himself, even if it meant working himself into the ground.

And Hyungwon, unable to intervene further, could do nothing but watch, hovering nearby with a heavy heart, silently praying that Seungcheol wouldn’t break under the crushing weight of Jeonghan’s impossible expectations.

The palace hallways were still quiet in the early hours of the morning, the soft light of dawn filtering through the windows. Jeonghan moved swiftly, his steps echoing through the empty corridors as he made his way to his office. Despite the calm around him, his mind was already focused on the tasks ahead.

He had a long day ahead—there was a meeting with his father later, and a stack of documents that needed his attention. But Jeonghan didn’t mind the workload. Perfection wasn’t something Jeonghan demanded only from those around him. No, he demanded it from himself as well. Every decision, every task, every word needed to be flawless. There was no room for error, not in his world, not in his responsibilities as the Crown Prince.

As he reached the door to his office, Jeonghan’s sharp gaze flicked toward the desk, and his steps faltered. There, slumped over the table amidst a sea of documents, was Seungcheol. The sight caught him off guard.

Seungcheol was dozing off, his head resting on his arms, a pen still loosely held in his hand. The stacks of papers scattered around him told the story of a night spent working—no doubt trying to meet the near-impossible task Jeonghan had set for him. For a moment, Jeonghan’s chest tightened, a flicker of guilt passing through him.

His assistant had stayed the entire night, pushing himself beyond the limits to meet the relentless demands. Jeonghan had known he was asking too much, but seeing Seungcheol now, utterly exhausted yet still holding the pen as if he might wake up at any moment and continue working, made that guilt settle deeper.

Jeonghan’s expression softened, and before he could stop himself, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Seungcheol’s face, usually so focused and determined, looked peaceful in sleep. Jeonghan could almost admire the dedication it must have taken to finish the work, even if it had come at the cost of rest. He hadn’t asked for this—hadn’t expected Seungcheol to work to exhaustion just to meet his impossible standards. But here he was, the evidence of his dedication sprawled across the desk.

As he took a step closer, intending to quietly leave the room, something strange hit his senses. A faint, sweet smell hung in the air, a scent that seemed to grow stronger the closer he got to Seungcheol. It was intoxicating, almost disorienting, and Jeonghan frowned as he felt a slight dizziness wash over him. He had never noticed this before—had it always been there?

Without thinking, Jeonghan found himself moving closer to his assistant, drawn by the strange allure of the scent. His mind grew foggy, his focus blurring as he stepped toward Seungcheol. The sweet, almost tingly smell wrapped around him, clouding his thoughts.

His breath hitched slightly as he leaned in, his gaze lingering on Seungcheol’s peaceful expression. There was something about this moment—about the stillness, the scent, the way Seungcheol seemed so vulnerable—that made Jeonghan hesitate, his hand almost reaching out to touch his assistant’s shoulder.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of an alarm broke the silence.

Seungcheol jolted awake, his body stiffening as he sat up quickly, blinking in confusion. His eyes widened when he saw Jeonghan standing right in front of him. “Y-Your Highness!” he stammered, his voice rough with sleep as he hurried to compose himself. “I’m sorry, I—”

And just like that, the sweet smell vanished.

Jeonghan blinked, the strange dizziness that had clouded his mind evaporating the moment Seungcheol’s eyes opened. He stepped back quickly, his expression unreadable as he watched Seungcheol scramble to organize the scattered documents.

“I… I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice low, clearly embarrassed. “I must’ve been—”

Jeonghan held up a hand, silencing him. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice calmer than he felt. “You worked hard. Take a moment to gather yourself.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised by the unexpected leniency in Jeonghan’s voice. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he murmured, his eyes downcast as he tried to gather the papers strewn across the desk.

Jeonghan, still unsettled by the strange scent and the brief loss of control he had felt, turned away, his expression hardening once more. The moment had passed, and there was no time to dwell on it. There was work to be done, and perfection to achieve.

“Make sure everything is ready for the meeting later,” Jeonghan said curtly, regaining his composure. “I expect nothing less than perfection.”

Seungcheol nodded quickly. “Yes, Your Highness.”

As Jeonghan moved to his own desk, the earlier moment already fading from his thoughts, he couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of confusion. The scent, the dizziness—it had all vanished as quickly as it had come. But for now, he pushed the strange occurrence aside, burying it under the weight of the day’s responsibilities.

Perfection didn’t wait for distractions.

Jeonghan strode through the palace halls, his mind still buzzing with the details of his earlier meeting with his father. The conversation had been intense, filled with discussions about political alliances and upcoming decisions that required Jeonghan’s usual level of perfection. But now, as he made his way back to his office, another thought crossed his mind—Seungcheol.

Had he completed the impossible task Jeonghan had set for him?

As he approached the door to his office, Jeonghan’s sharp eyes caught sight of Seungcheol waiting for him, standing near the desk, looking exhausted but determined. The young man’s face was pale, dark circles etched under his eyes, yet he stood tall, documents in hand, ready to present his work.

Jeonghan’s steps slowed as he entered the room. His gaze flicked over the papers Seungcheol held, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. Seungcheol had done it. Despite the overwhelming pressure, despite the absurd demands, he had finished the task. The exhaustion was clear on his face, but so was the sense of accomplishment.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol said, bowing slightly as Jeonghan stepped closer. “I’ve completed the task you assigned.”

Jeonghan scanned the documents quickly, his critical eye searching for any flaws, any minor detail he could point out. His instinct was to nitpick—after all, that’s what he did best. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, a sharp glare from Hyungwon caught his attention. The older man stood nearby, his expression stern, silently warning Jeonghan against pushing Seungcheol any further.

Jeonghan’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for once, he remained silent. He could feel Hyungwon’s gaze burning into him, and though it irritated him, he couldn’t deny that Seungcheol had done more than enough.

Instead of critiquing, Jeonghan took a step back and nodded. “Good work, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised by the lack of criticism. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Jeonghan turned to the side, glancing at the papers briefly before handing them to Hyungwon. “We have another meeting in a short while. I’d like you to accompany me,” Jeonghan said, his tone casual but firm.

Hyungwon frowned, his disapproval evident. “Your Highness, Seungcheol has been working non-stop for days. Perhaps he should—”

“I want him with me,” Jeonghan interrupted, his voice leaving no room for debate.

Seungcheol, ever the dutiful assistant, straightened up immediately despite his exhaustion. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll prepare right away.”

Hyungwon’s frown deepened, but Seungcheol bowed slightly before turning to leave the room, his steps steady despite the exhaustion weighing him down. Jeonghan watched him go, a quiet pride stirring inside him, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud. Seungcheol’s resilience, his dedication to the role, had become something Jeonghan both admired and, in his own way, relied on.

But as Hyungwon’s disapproving glare lingered in the room, Jeonghan knew he had pushed Seungcheol to the limit once again. Still, the day wasn’t over, and perfection demanded nothing less than absolute focus from everyone involved.

The palace corridors were quiet when Jeonghan and Seungcheol made their way toward the meeting room. The air was tense, not with words but with the unspoken pressure that lingered between them. Jeonghan walked ahead, his usual air of authority surrounding him, while Seungcheol followed closely behind, his steps steady but visibly weighed down by exhaustion.

Jeonghan glanced over his shoulder, his sharp gaze landing on Hyungwon. “Why are you following us?” he asked, a hint of irritation creeping into his tone. “I don’t need you for this meeting.”

Hyungwon met Jeonghan’s gaze with his usual calm. “I’m simply ensuring everything proceeds smoothly, Your Highness,” he replied, though his eyes flicked to Seungcheol for just a moment.

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly unimpressed. “This isn’t necessary. Seungcheol and I can manage just fine.”

But Hyungwon remained where he was, his expression unchanged. “With all due respect, Your Highness, it’s always better to be prepared.”

Jeonghan huffed, clearly annoyed by Hyungwon’s persistence, but he didn’t push the issue further. He turned his attention back to the path ahead, brushing off the feeling of being second-guessed. Seungcheol, too tired to fully grasp the exchange, remained focused on the task at hand, though he couldn’t help but notice the small tension that passed between Jeonghan and Hyungwon.

Hyungwon, on the other hand, had already made up his mind. He shouldn’t be following them, strictly speaking—Jeonghan was more than capable of handling the meeting, and Seungcheol had proven himself time and time again. But something gnawed at Hyungwon’s conscience. He knew Seungcheol was exhausted, stretched far beyond the limits any assistant should be expected to endure. And the Crown Prince’s demands, while rooted in his own quest for perfection, were becoming increasingly unreasonable.

He couldn’t show bias. He wasn’t supposed to favor one person over another. And yet, as he watched Seungcheol pushing himself harder than anyone else in the palace, Hyungwon’s heart swelled with a sense of quiet care for the young man. Seungcheol was valuable—more valuable than even Jeonghan seemed to realize. The Crown Prince might have noticed Seungcheol’s dedication, but Hyungwon saw more than that. Seungcheol was someone they couldn’t afford to lose—not ever. And Hyungwon would make sure, in his own quiet way, that they didn’t.

He saw the strain in Seungcheol’s face, the way the young man’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he carried the stack of documents for the meeting. Hyungwon saw how Seungcheol’s eyes, though focused, held the telltale signs of exhaustion. It would have been easy to overlook—Seungcheol never complained, never faltered outwardly—but Hyungwon noticed. And he couldn’t ignore it.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Hyungwon thought to himself, his eyes following Seungcheol’s every move. “I’m not supposed to interfere.” He was supposed to remain impartial, distant. His job was to serve the Crown Prince, to ensure everything in the palace ran smoothly. But there was something about Seungcheol—something in the young man’s quiet perseverance, in the way he never backed down from Jeonghan’s impossible demands—that made Hyungwon care more than he should.

He had seen too many people break under pressure, too many assistants who crumbled when faced with the weight of the Crown Prince’s perfectionism. But Seungcheol was different. He had pushed through every obstacle, quietly proving himself again and again. And now, Hyungwon couldn’t help but feel protective.

Jeonghan, of course, was focused solely on the meeting, his mind already calculating the next steps. His twin brother, Joshua, would likely be there, along with the other advisors, and Jeonghan wanted everything to be flawless. He didn’t notice how Seungcheol’s shoulders sagged ever so slightly or the faint tremor in his assistant’s hands as he carried the documents for the meeting.

But Hyungwon noticed. And it didn’t sit right with him.

As they reached the entrance to the meeting hall, Hyungwon quickened his pace, closing the gap between himself and Seungcheol. His eyes scanned the young man, subtly assessing his condition. The dark circles under Seungcheol’s eyes were deeper now, and his complexion was pale, but he maintained his posture, refusing to let his exhaustion show fully.

Hyungwon’s heart tightened slightly. He couldn’t show open concern—that wasn’t his place—but there were other ways to ensure Seungcheol didn’t crumble under the weight of Jeonghan’s demands.

As Jeonghan pushed open the door to the meeting hall, he gave Hyungwon one last glance, a mixture of irritation and resignation in his eyes. “You can be here,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath, brushing off Hyungwon’s presence. “But don’t get in the way.”

Hyungwon said nothing, but inwardly, he was focused on one thing. He wasn’t there to interfere with Jeonghan’s perfectionist agenda. He was there for Seungcheol, to make sure the young man didn’t break under the weight of it all.

And while Hyungwon knew he shouldn’t let personal feelings sway him, his heart had already made the decision. He would watch over Seungcheol, even if it meant going against his better judgment.

Hyungwon stepped closer to Seungcheol, his voice low enough that only the young man could hear. “Take a moment to steady yourself before we go in,” he murmured, his tone neutral but with a hint of something gentler underneath. “There’s no rush.”

Seungcheol blinked at him, surprised by the quiet suggestion. He nodded once, grateful but not entirely sure what to make of it. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Hyungwon gave a slight nod, his expression carefully neutral as they followed Jeonghan into the room.

The meeting proceeded as expected, with Jeonghan leading the discussions with his usual sharpness, every word measured and calculated. Seungcheol remained by his side, taking notes and handling the documents with practiced efficiency, but Hyungwon could see the strain creeping in. The slight hesitation before Seungcheol handed over a report, the way his hands lingered over the papers just a moment too long—it was subtle, but to someone as observant as Hyungwon, it was clear that Seungcheol was nearing his limit.

Every so often, Hyungwon would step forward, offering assistance in the form of a document or taking on a small task that Seungcheol normally would have handled. It wasn’t enough to draw attention, but it was enough to give Seungcheol a few brief moments of reprieve.

Jeonghan, focused as ever, didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. His mind was on the meeting, on the perfection he demanded from himself and everyone around him. But Hyungwon could see the toll it was taking on Seungcheol, and he knew that if something didn’t change soon, the young man would break under the pressure.

As the meeting dragged on, Hyungwon made it his silent mission to shield Seungcheol where he could, offering subtle relief, small gestures of support that only Seungcheol seemed to notice. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to ensure that Seungcheol made it through the meeting in one piece.

The meeting had stretched longer than expected, and by the time it ended, the air in the room felt heavy with the weight of the discussions. Jeonghan stood from his chair, mentally running through the key points of the meeting, already preparing for the next steps. But as he glanced at Seungcheol, who had been silently working beside him the entire time, something gave him pause.

Seungcheol was standing with his usual posture, but Jeonghan’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the slight tremor in his hands as he gathered the documents. Nor did he miss the faint stagger in Seungcheol’s step as they turned to leave the room. It wasn’t obvious, and to most people, it would have gone unnoticed. But Jeonghan saw it—the exhaustion that had finally caught up with his assistant.

A part of Jeonghan, out of habit, wanted to complain. To say something about Seungcheol’s form, about how he should have been quicker or more efficient. But just as he opened his mouth, he felt Hyungwon’s intense gaze on him.

Jeonghan glanced over at the Chief of Office, whose also his butler—no, more than just a butler, a man who had practically been his brother growing up. Hyungwon stood near Seungcheol, his eyes narrowed in disapproval. The glare he shot at Jeonghan was sharp, silently warning him against pushing any further. It was a look Jeonghan had become all too familiar with, the one that said: “Don’t you dare.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, sighing internally. He knew better than to argue with Hyungwon, especially when it came to matters like this. Hyungwon had always been protective, particularly of those Jeonghan worked with. And today, it was clear his protective instincts had shifted entirely to Seungcheol.

“Fine, fine,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath, his irritation masked by a calm exterior. There was no point in pushing back—Hyungwon had already made up his mind, and Jeonghan knew it would be a losing battle.

As Seungcheol left the room, Jeonghan watched him for a moment, his expression softening ever so slightly. The young man had done more than enough, but Jeonghan’s perfectionist streak always demanded more. Still, something about seeing Seungcheol in that state—pushed to the edge—made him pause.

Hyungwon, not missing a beat, hovered close to Seungcheol as he left, his sharp gaze following the assistant’s every move. The concern in Hyungwon’s eyes was clear, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of guilt. Hyungwon didn’t even bother to hide the way he looked after Seungcheol, making sure the young man didn’t falter as he exited the room.

Once Seungcheol was out of sight, Hyungwon turned on Jeonghan, his face set in a stern frown. “You’re going to kill him if you keep this up.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “He’s fine.”

“Fine?” Hyungwon echoed, his tone sharp. “Did you not see him just now, Your Highness? He’s barely holding himself together, and it’s your impossible demands that are driving him into the ground.”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, leaning back slightly as he met Hyungwon’s gaze. “He hasn’t complained. If he can’t handle it, he should say something.”

Hyungwon shook his head, exasperation clear in his expression. “He won’t say anything because he’s trying to meet your standards. You push him because you know he won’t back down, but this—this is too much. Even for him.”

Jeonghan remained silent for a moment, his mind replaying the image of Seungcheol staggering slightly as he left the room. He hated to admit it, but Hyungwon was right. As much as Jeonghan valued perfection, he couldn’t deny that he had pushed Seungcheol beyond reasonable limits.

“I’ll ease up,” Jeonghan finally muttered, though it sounded more like an admission to himself than to Hyungwon.

Hyungwon’s expression softened, but only slightly. “You better. He’s more valuable than you realize, and we can’t afford to lose him.”

Jeonghan glanced at Hyungwon, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. It wasn’t often that Hyungwon spoke with such conviction about anyone other than Jeonghan himself. But hearing him say that about Seungcheol—it made Jeonghan pause.

Hyungwon was right. Losing Seungcheol wasn’t an option.

“Fine,” Jeonghan said with a sigh, rolling his eyes again for good measure. “I’ll back off. But don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”

Hyungwon’s lips twitched, almost as if he wanted to smile but didn’t allow himself to. “As long as you keep him alive.”

With that, Jeonghan turned on his heel, heading back toward his office, his mind already turning to the next task. But as he walked, the image of Seungcheol’s exhausted face lingered, and for once, Jeonghan found himself listening to Hyungwon’s advice.

At least, for now.

Chapter Text

The grand meeting room of the palace was filled with an air of anticipation. The alpha king had summoned both of his sons for an important discussion, and Jeonghan and Joshua were seated at the long table, flanked by their aides. Seungcheol, seated just behind Jeonghan, tried to focus, but his body betrayed him. His exhaustion was taking its toll, and despite his best efforts, he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

Jun, always attentive, had already sensed Seungcheol’s fatigue. As the meeting began, it was Jun who smoothly took over most of the responses. The king, seated at the head of the table, asked probing questions about the state of affairs, the upcoming events, and the preparation plans. Jeonghan answered confidently, but as the conversation shifted toward logistics and finer details, it became clear that the strain was starting to show on Seungcheol.

“Seungcheol, what’s the current status on the preparations for the festival?” the king asked, his voice calm but direct.

Seungcheol blinked rapidly, snapping out of his daze. He sat up straighter, willing himself to stay focused. “We’ve—uh—secured all the necessary supplies, Your Majesty, and the schedule is on track...” His voice trailed off slightly, lacking its usual sharpness. His mind felt clouded, and he struggled to recall the finer points.

Before the silence could stretch too long, Jun smoothly interjected. “The final deliveries are expected by the end of the week, Your Majesty. We’ve already confirmed with the vendors, and everything should proceed as planned.”

The king nodded, his gaze shifting from Seungcheol to Jun, clearly appreciating the efficiency of the response. Seungcheol, however, felt a surge of frustration. He knew the answers, he had all the details, but his body simply wouldn’t cooperate. His usual sharpness felt dulled, and he couldn’t focus.

As the meeting continued, Jun fielded most of the king’s questions, offering clear and concise answers. Seungcheol tried to contribute, giving more precise details when asked, but it was obvious to everyone in the room that his energy was waning. At one point, as Joshua discussed the security protocols, Seungcheol found himself nearly dozing off, his head nodding slightly before he caught himself and straightened again.

The king’s eyes flicked toward Seungcheol more than once, his expression thoughtful as he watched the young man struggle to stay alert. As the meeting drew to a close, the king sat back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Seungcheol for a moment longer than usual. Then, with a slight furrow of his brow, he turned to Jeonghan and gave him a disapproving look.

Jeonghan, always attuned to his father’s expressions, misread the look entirely. He stiffened in his seat, feeling the weight of his father’s judgment. He assumed the king was dissatisfied with Seungcheol’s performance—after all, his aide had been far from his usual self, sluggish and barely able to keep up with the conversation. Jeonghan’s irritation flared, his jaw tightening as he silently vowed to push Seungcheol harder, to ensure he didn’t embarrass them like this again.

But the truth was far from Jeonghan’s interpretation. The king hadn’t been disappointed in Seungcheol’s answers—in fact, he had seen how hard the young man had worked, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion. The disapproving look he had given Jeonghan was one of concern, a silent rebuke for driving his aide to this point. But Jeonghan, blind to his father’s true meaning, only saw failure where there was none.

As the king dismissed the meeting, Jeonghan shot a glance at Seungcheol, his expression cold and unreadable. He said nothing, but the message was clear: Seungcheol had let him down.

The door to the grand meeting room had barely closed behind the king when Jeonghan turned sharply toward Seungcheol. His expression was tight with fury, and his voice, though low, carried a dangerous edge. “What was that?” he hissed, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol, still pale and trembling from exhaustion, looked up in confusion. “Your Highness, I—”

“You embarrassed me in front of my father!” Jeonghan’s voice rose slightly, cutting through Seungcheol’s words. “You couldn’t even stay focused long enough to do your job properly! I had to rely on Jun for most of the answers.”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. His heart pounded in his chest, and the weight of the situation was crashing down on him. He knew he had been struggling, but he hadn’t expected Jeonghan’s reaction to be this severe.

Before he could say anything, Joshua, who had remained quiet during the exchange, stepped forward. His face was stern, and his voice was filled with protective anger as he spoke. “Jeonghan, stop it.”

Jeonghan’s head snapped toward his brother, his eyes blazing. “What?”

Joshua didn’t back down. “You’ve been working him to the bone. Of course he’s exhausted! Look at him!” Joshua gestured toward Seungcheol, whose face was flushed with embarrassment and fatigue. “This is on you, not him.”

Jeonghan’s anger only seemed to intensify. “You’re siding with him?” His voice was sharp, filled with disbelief. “You’re defending my assistant when he couldn’t even perform in front of our father?”

“Because he’s exhausted!” Joshua shouted, his frustration bubbling over. “You’re pushing him too hard, Jeonghan! This isn’t about loyalty—it’s about decency. He’s human, and he can’t keep up with these demands you’re throwing at him.”

The tension between the brothers filled the room, and Jun stood quietly by, watching the scene unfold. His eyes flickered between the two princes, his concern for Seungcheol growing with every passing second.

Jeonghan, unable to handle the situation any longer, grabbed Seungcheol by the arm and yanked him out of the room. “You’re coming with me,” he growled, dragging him toward their office. Seungcheol stumbled as he followed, his legs barely able to keep up, his mind spinning with guilt and shame.

They burst into the office where Hyungwon stood waiting, and the sight of Jeonghan dragging Seungcheol in with such force left him stunned. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene, his usual calm demeanor shaken.

“Your Highness—what’s happening?” Hyungwon asked, stepping forward in concern.

But Jeonghan ignored him, his focus solely on Seungcheol. “You embarrassed me in front of my father,” he repeated, his voice cold and furious. “You couldn’t even handle a simple meeting! Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Seungcheol’s heart sank further, and his hands shook as he tried to respond. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Tears began to well up in his eyes, blurring his vision. “I didn’t mean to... I just...”

“Just what?” Jeonghan snapped, taking a step closer. “If you’re too weak to stand by my side, then you shouldn’t be here at all!”

Seungcheol’s breath hitched as the tears spilled over, rolling down his cheeks. He had tried so hard, pushed himself to his limits, but it hadn’t been enough. The weight of Jeonghan’s words crushed him, and all he could do was stand there, shaking and broken.

Hyungwon, standing nearby, looked on with wide eyes. He could hardly believe what he was witnessing. The usually stoic and collected Jeonghan was lashing out in a way he hadn’t seen before, and Seungcheol—who had always been so reliable—was crumbling under the pressure.

Jeonghan gave one last withering glance at Seungcheol before turning on his heel. “Get out if you can’t handle it,” he muttered darkly before storming out of the room, leaving Seungcheol standing there, sobbing quietly.

Hyungwon hesitated for a moment, torn between following Jeonghan and comforting Seungcheol. In the end, he stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Hyungwon said softly, his voice filled with an uncharacteristic tenderness. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t take his words to heart.”

But Seungcheol couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He had failed, and now, he didn’t know how to make it right.

That afternoon, the palace office was quiet as Seungcheol sat at his desk, diligently working through the last of his tasks. His exhaustion from earlier in the day still lingered, but he pushed through, determined to finish everything before his rare day off. Mingyu’s birthday was coming up, and he had promised to be home for the celebration. It was a small glimmer of hope amidst the heavy workload.

Just as Seungcheol was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, the door to the office swung open. Jeonghan strode in, carrying a large box with him. His face was unreadable, as he crossed the room toward Seungcheol’s desk.

Without a word, he dropped the box unceremoniously on the table, the sound of it landing with a thud breaking the silence. “Here,” Jeonghan said coldly, not even bothering to look Seungcheol in the eye. “Finish making up the financial report before the weekend.”

Seungcheol blinked in confusion, his heart sinking as he looked from the box to Jeonghan’s face. His rare day off... the weekend... Mingyu’s birthday. He had been looking forward to this moment for weeks, planning to spend time with his family, to finally relax. But now, Jeonghan was dumping yet another task on him, with no regard for his plans.

“But Your Highness,” Seungcheol began hesitantly, his voice laced with uncertainty. “I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jeonghan interrupted, his tone sharp. “Just get it done.”

Seungcheol’s mouth went dry, and he could feel the weight of the box in front of him like an anchor pulling him down. He had already been pushed to the brink, and now Jeonghan was adding more to his plate—on the eve of the one time he had hoped to go home.

His thoughts spun. How could he possibly finish this in time? It wasn’t just another task—financial reports were meticulous, time-consuming. He’d have to spend hours combing through numbers, double-checking every detail. There was no way he could complete it before the weekend.

“Your Highness...” Seungcheol tried again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “I promised my family I’d be home this weekend. It’s my brother’s birthday...”

Jeonghan’s expression didn’t change. If anything, his gaze hardened. “If you can’t handle your responsibilities, then you shouldn’t be here at all,” he said coldly, echoing the harsh words from earlier. “Get it done, Seungcheol. I expect it on my desk before the weekend.”

And with that, Jeonghan turned on his heel and left the office, the door closing behind him with a soft click. Seungcheol sat there, staring at the box, his heart sinking deeper with each passing second.

It had been so long since he’d had a chance to go home, to spend time with his family. Mingyu’s birthday was supposed to be a rare moment of peace, a brief escape from the relentless demands of palace life. But now, it seemed that even that was slipping through his fingers.

His chest tightened as he looked at the stack of papers inside the box. He felt trapped, torn between his duty and his family, and the weight of it all was crushing. With a deep breath, Seungcheol reached for the first file, knowing that there was no other choice but to push through, once again.

Seungcheol worked tirelessly through the night, his eyes stinging from exhaustion, the flickering lamplight casting long shadows across his desk. The pile of documents seemed endless, each line of numbers blurring together as the hours dragged on. His body ached from the strain, and his head felt heavy with the weight of it all, but he couldn’t stop. Not when he had to finish this before the weekend. His promise to his family, his rare chance to celebrate Mingyu’s birthday—everything hung in the balance.

The clock ticked quietly in the background, each passing minute reminding him of how little time he had left. His hand shook slightly as he wrote, but he pressed on, his determination pushing him beyond his limits.

Sometime around midnight, Jun entered the room, his expression tight with worry. The moment he saw Seungcheol hunched over his desk, barely able to keep his eyes open, his heart sank.

“Seungcheol-ah, why are you still here?” Jun’s voice was gentle but concerned as he approached. He placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles. “You need to rest.”

Seungcheol barely glanced up, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep. “I can’t,” he muttered, his voice rough and strained. “I need to finish this before the weekend.”

Jun frowned, his worry deepening. “But you’ve been at this all day. You’re exhausted. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

Seungcheol shook his head, stubborn as ever. “I promised Jeonghan-nim I’d finish it. I can’t leave it incomplete.”

Jun sighed, seeing how close Seungcheol was to his breaking point. “You’re going to collapse if you keep this up, Seungcheol-ah. Please, take a break. Even if just for a little while.”

But Seungcheol refused to listen. His hands trembled as he reached for another sheet of paper, his focus narrowing in on the task at hand. “I’m fine, Jun-ah. I just need to finish this.”

Jun stood there for a moment, torn between pushing Seungcheol to rest and respecting his determination. But as much as he wanted to force him to stop, he knew how stubborn Seungcheol could be. With a heavy sigh, Jun finally gave in.

“I have to go,” Jun said quietly, his voice filled with reluctance. “I’m supposed to accompany Joshua-nim for the night guard routine. But promise me you’ll rest as soon as you can.”

Seungcheol gave a small, tired nod, though the exhaustion in his eyes was clear. “I will,” he said, though Jun knew it was a lie.

With one last worried glance, Jun left the room, his heart heavy as he headed to meet Joshua. He didn’t like leaving Seungcheol like this, but there was little he could do.

As the night wore on, Seungcheol’s body began to protest more violently. His head throbbed, his vision blurred, and every movement felt sluggish, but he pushed through.

Dawn was breaking by the time he finished the last of the paperwork, neatly arranging the documents in the box Jeonghan had left. He stared at it for a moment, his body on the verge of collapse, but a small sense of pride flickered in his chest. He had done it.

With trembling hands, Seungcheol stood, lifting the box with great effort. His legs felt like jelly, and his head spun as he made his way down the hallway toward Jeonghan’s office. He had to deliver the report—he had to finish this final task before he could rest.

As he neared the office, Hyungwon appeared, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Seungcheol carrying the heavy box. “Seungcheol-nim?” Hyungwon asked, his voice filled with concern. “What are you doing here? His Highness already left for his vacation with the queen and the princess.”

Seungcheol blinked, confusion washing over him. “He... left?” His voice was barely a whisper, the realization hitting him like a cold wave.

“Yes, he left this morning,” Hyungwon confirmed, stepping closer, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why are you still here? You should be resting.”

Seungcheol’s body swayed slightly as he stood there, the exhaustion catching up with him all at once. He managed a weak smile. “I had to finish the report... I promised...”

Hyungwon’s expression softened, and he reached out, gently taking the box from Seungcheol’s trembling hands. “Go rest, Seungcheol-nim,” he urged. “You’ve done enough. You need to take care of yourself.”

Seungcheol nodded weakly, his body already giving out as the adrenaline wore off. He mumbled a quiet thank you before turning to make his way back to his quarters, his steps unsteady and slow. His mind was foggy, his only thought now focused on his bed. Just a few more steps, and he could finally collapse.

As he neared his room, a familiar voice called out, startling him. “Seungcheol-ah!”

Jun appeared around the corner, his face pale with worry as he rushed toward him. “Seungcheol-ah, are you okay? You look—”

But before Jun could finish his sentence, Seungcheol’s vision darkened, and his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed forward, unable to catch himself as his body finally gave in to the exhaustion.

Jun’s arms were around him in an instant, catching him just before he hit the ground. “Seungcheol-ah!” Jun’s voice was filled with panic as he cradled his friend’s limp body, his heart pounding in his chest. “Yah, Seungcheol-ah! Stay with me!”

But Seungcheol’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. His body was drained, completely spent after days of pushing himself too hard. Jun held him tightly, his mind racing as he looked down at his friend’s pale face, unsure of what to do.

“Someone, help!” Jun shouted, his voice echoing through the hallway as he desperately tried to rouse Seungcheol.

But there was no response. The palace was quiet, and Jun was left holding Seungcheol, his worry growing with every passing second.

Jun’s panic was palpable as he cradled Seungcheol’s unconscious form in his arms, his heart racing with fear. “Help!” he shouted again, his voice hoarse as he tried to rouse Seungcheol, who lay limp and unresponsive.

Just as the weight of the situation began to sink in, Hyungwon appeared around the corner, his expression shifting from mild concern to alarm the moment he saw Seungcheol collapsed in Jun’s arms. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and without a second thought, he rushed over.

“Jun-nim, what happened?” Hyungwon asked, his voice tight with urgency.

“He collapsed,” Jun said breathlessly, his voice trembling. “He’s been working all night. I tried to get him to rest, but... he wouldn’t listen.”

Without hesitation, Hyungwon knelt beside them, quickly assessing the situation. His face was tight with concern as he checked Seungcheol’s pulse, feeling the faint but steady rhythm beneath his fingertips. “He’s exhausted,” Hyungwon muttered, more to himself than to Jun.

In one swift movement, Hyungwon scooped Seungcheol into his arms, carefully lifting the unconscious man as if he weighed nothing. “We need to get him to the medical quarters. Now.”

Jun followed closely behind as Hyungwon carried Seungcheol down the dimly lit corridor. The usually composed officer moved with a sense of urgency, his steps quick but steady. Seungcheol’s head rested against Hyungwon’s chest, his body completely limp in the older man’s arms. Jun couldn’t take his eyes off Seungcheol’s pale face, his worry intensifying with every passing second.

When they finally reached the medical quarters, the healer was already waiting, alerted by Hyungwon’s swift communication. The moment they entered, the healer rushed forward, her expression shifting to one of immediate focus.

“Lay him down over here,” she instructed, motioning toward a nearby bed.

Hyungwon gently placed Seungcheol on the bed, his arms lingering for a moment as if unwilling to let go. Jun stood by the side, his heart in his throat as the healer began her examination, her hands moving expertly across Seungcheol’s skin, checking his pulse, his temperature, and his overall condition.

After a few tense moments, the healer straightened, her brow furrowed in concern. “He’s severely overworked,” she said, her tone grim. “His body is completely drained. It’s no wonder he collapsed.”

Jun swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at him as he looked down at Seungcheol’s unconscious form. “Is he going to be alright?”

The healer gave a small nod but didn’t sugarcoat the situation. “He’ll recover, but he needs proper rest. His body has reached its limit, and he’ll need at least a few days of uninterrupted rest to regain his strength. If he continues like this, it could lead to serious complications.”

Hyungwon, standing beside the bed, crossed his arms, his face unreadable but clearly tense. “We’ll make sure he rests,” he said, his voice steady despite the worry lurking beneath it.

Jun nodded, his hands clenched into fists as he tried to push away the guilt that weighed him down. He had known Seungcheol was pushing himself too hard, but seeing him like this—so fragile and exhausted—made the reality hit home harder than he expected.

As they stood by Seungcheol’s bedside, watching his slow, steady breathing, a heavy silence filled the room. Hyungwon, usually so stoic, placed a hand gently on Seungcheol’s shoulder, a rare moment of unspoken care passing between them.

“He’s strong,” Hyungwon said quietly, his voice more to reassure himself than anyone else. “He’ll pull through.”

The soft, muted light of early morning filtered through the window, casting gentle shadows across the room as Seungcheol slowly blinked awake. His body felt heavy, but the overwhelming exhaustion that had gripped him before was now replaced with a lingering soreness. His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was Jun, seated beside the bed, watching him closely with a mixture of concern and relief.

The moment Jun noticed Seungcheol stirring, his expression shifted, and he leaned forward. “Seungcheol-ah? Hey, you’re awake.”

Seungcheol blinked again, his voice hoarse as he tried to speak. “Jun-ah...”

Before he could say anything more, Jun quickly stood up, his hand resting briefly on Seungcheol’s arm. “Wait here, I’ll call the healer.”

True to his word, Jun returned moments later with the healer, who immediately set to work checking Seungcheol’s vitals. The healer’s hands moved with practiced ease, her expression calm as she completed the assessment. After a few moments, she stepped back, a small, satisfied smile on her face.

“You’re doing much better,” the healer said gently, her tone soothing. “Your body needed time to recover, but with proper rest, you should be fine. Just take it easy for the next few days.”

Seungcheol let out a slow breath, relief washing over him. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice still weak but steady.

The healer gave him a kind nod before excusing herself, leaving Jun and Seungcheol alone once again. Seungcheol, still groggy, looked over at Jun, confusion clouding his thoughts.

“What... happened?” Seungcheol asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together the events that had led to this moment.

Jun settled back into the chair beside the bed, his expression softening. “You collapsed,” he explained gently. “You’ve been unconscious for the whole day. Chief Hyungwon and I brought you here to the medical quarters, and you’ve been resting ever since.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly as Jun’s words sank in. “The whole day?” His mind immediately jumped to the one thing he had been dreading. “Mingyu’s birthday—I didn’t miss it, did I?”

Seeing the panic rising in Seungcheol’s eyes, Jun quickly raised a hand, his smile reassuring. “No, don’t worry. It’s still early in the morning. You’ve got plenty of time to leave. Mingyu’s birthday isn’t until later today.”

Seungcheol exhaled in relief, his heart calming as the tension left his body. “Thank goodness...” he muttered, sinking back into the pillows.

Jun smiled softly, leaning back in his chair. “You gave us quite the scare, you know?” He chuckled softly, his expression lightening as he looked at Seungcheol. “You always push yourself too hard.”

Seungcheol managed a small smile, though he still felt the weight of everything. “I just... didn’t want to let anyone down.”

Jun, sensing Seungcheol’s discomfort, gave him a reassuring smile. “You didn’t let anyone down, but yourself. You need to rest. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for too long, and your body finally said enough.”

Seungcheol frowned, running a hand through his hair, still processing everything. “I feel so... weak,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Jun.

“Don’t think like that,” Jun said firmly. “You’re anything but weak. You’ve been working harder than anyone else around here, and no one could’ve handled what you’ve been doing without collapsing at some point.”

Seungcheol glanced at him, his expression softening as the embarrassment lingered. “Thanks, Jun-ah. For staying with me... for everything.”

Jun waved it off casually, though there was a warmth in his smile. “Don’t mention it. Besides, I couldn’t just leave you like that.” He stood, stretching slightly before motioning to the tray of food on the nearby table. “But before you thank me too much, you need to eat. I made sure they left enough food for you to recover. I don’t think you’ve been eating enough either.”

Seungcheol hesitated, glancing at the tray before nodding. “Alright, alright. I’ll eat.”

After ensuring that Seungcheol had eaten enough to satisfy even the strictest palace nurse, Jun finally seemed content. He watched as Seungcheol finished his last bite, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “There. Now I can let you go.”

Seungcheol chuckled softly, feeling much lighter after the meal. “Thanks again, really.”

Jun nudged him, a playful grin spreading across his face. “You know, taking care of you is actually part of my job description. I’m just doing my duty.”

Seungcheol blinked, confused for a moment. “Wait, what?”

Jun’s grin widened as he raised an eyebrow. “Yep. It’s right there in my contract—‘taking care of Seungcheol when he works himself into the ground.’ I can show you if you want.”

For a second, Seungcheol stared at him, processing the ridiculousness of the statement. Then, the laughter broke free, and soon both of them were laughing, the tension from the past few days melting away in the shared moment of lightheartedness.

“You’re ridiculous,” Seungcheol said between laughs, shaking his head.

Jun shrugged, his grin not fading. “Maybe, but I’m serious. It’s in the fine print.”.

Seungcheol let out a soft laugh, though his voice was still faint. “Alright, alright. I guess I owe you for that, then.”

Jun shrugged, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just don’t make a habit of it. I don't want to have another heart attack seeing you sprawling on the floor like that.”

Seungcheol smiled, the weight of his exhaustion slowly lifting as Jun’s lighthearted words soothed him.

After thanking the healer for her care, Seungcheol stood slowly, still feeling the lingering heaviness in his limbs but much better than before. Jun, ever the careful one, hovered close by, ready to catch him if he faltered. Seungcheol gave him a tired but grateful smile as they made their way out of the medical quarters.

“You really don’t have to walk me all the way back to my room,” Seungcheol said softly, his steps steady but slow.

Jun shook his head, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “Oh, I definitely do. I’m not taking any chances. I’ve seen you push yourself too far too many times.” Seungcheol chuckled lightly, appreciating the concern in Jun’s voice.

As they walked through the quiet corridors of the palace, the early morning light filtering through the windows, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm wash over him. Despite everything, he had pulled through, and now he was heading home to be with his family. He still had time to make it home for Mingyu’s birthday, and for the first time in a while, he felt like things were starting to fall into place.

When they reached Seungcheol’s quarters, Jun helped him pack the few things he needed before they made their way to the palace lobby. The car that would take Seungcheol home was already waiting outside, the driver standing by. Jun paused at the door, turning to Seungcheol with a small, reassuring smile.

“You’ll be fine, but make sure to rest properly, okay? Don’t go running off and doing anything crazy.”

Seungcheol nodded, his smile matching Jun’s. “I will. Thanks, Jun-ah. For everything.”

Jun waved off the thanks with a laugh. “Just doing my job. Get going, or you’ll miss your brother’s birthday.”

As Jun left, offering a quick wave and a smile, Seungcheol turned to see Jihoon and Wonwoo approaching him. Their steps were steady, and before he could greet them, they were already at his side, fussing over his appearance in a way that was unusual for them. Wonwoo adjusted his jacket while Jihoon straightened his collar, both of them silently hovering around him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Seungcheol couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of his usually reserved brothers acting so out of character. “What’s this? You two fussing over me? Isn’t this usually Mingyu’s thing?” he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, and Wonwoo gave a small smile, but neither of them stopped their quiet ministrations. “Is it wrong for us to care about you?” Jihoon asked, his tone as neutral as ever, though the care behind his words was clear.

Seungcheol’s grin softened. “No, of course not. It’s just... it feels a little awkward when you two start acting like this. But I love you guys anyway,” he added, pulling both of them into a warm hug.

Jihoon sighed but hugged him back, his usual gruff demeanor barely hiding his affection. Wonwoo, always more subdued, gave Seungcheol’s shoulder a gentle pat, his own quiet way of expressing the same sentiment.

Together, the three of them walked toward the waiting car, the moment settling into an easy, comfortable silence. As the car pulled away, the gentle hum of the engine lulling him into relaxation, Seungcheol leaned back against the seat, a smile still playing on his lips.

The warmth of his brothers’ care and the prospect of going home filled him with a deep sense of contentment. Before he knew it, his eyes fluttered shut, and he drifted into a peaceful sleep, feeling completely at ease in the company of his family.

The warmth of home greeted Seungcheol the moment he crossed the threshold, just in time for Mingyu’s birthday celebration. It wasn’t the grandeur of the palace or the formality of court life, but the cozy, familiar comfort of the place he had always considered his true sanctuary. The faint smell of home-cooked meals wafted through the air, and the familiar voices of his family echoed from the other room.

Seungcheol smiled as he made his way through the house. It had been far too long since he had last been here, away from the constant demands of palace life, and he felt a deep sense of relief knowing he was finally back in the arms of his family.

Mingyu stood at the center of the living room, a wide grin on his face as everyone took turns giving him hugs and handing him their carefully wrapped presents.

“Happy birthday, my baby!” Seungcheol exclaimed, pulling his younger brother into a tight hug. Mingyu laughed, returning the hug with equal warmth.

“Thanks, hyung,” Mingyu replied, his eyes shining with excitement.

As he opened each present, he made sure to thank everyone individually, his gratitude evident with every smile and word of appreciation. After the gift exchange, the family gathered around the dinner table, the atmosphere light and filled with laughter. They shared stories from their busy lives, each one adding their own bit of humor and detail to the conversation.

Jihoon shared updates about the local university where he worked, while Mingyu animatedly told stories about his latest experiments with medicinal herbs, much to everyone’s amusement. Wonwoo, as always, listened quietly, occasionally chiming in with dry, witty remarks that had them all laughing.

Seungcheol found himself smiling more than he had in weeks. The warmth, the laughter—it was a far cry from the pressures of the palace, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax, to forget about the endless work waiting for him back at court.

As they continued talking, Seungcheol took a sip of his drink, but something went down the wrong way, and he started choking. Instantly, Mingyu jumped to his feet, his face a picture of concern.

“Hyung! Are you okay?” Mingyu fussed, rushing over to pat Seungcheol’s back, his worry evident as he hovered closely.

Seungcheol coughed a few times, his face flushing from both the choking and the sudden attention. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, waving Mingyu off with a sheepish smile. “You don’t have to fuss so much!”

Mingyu’s expression didn’t change, though. He continued his quiet inspection, his eyes scanning Seungcheol’s face and form as though looking for hidden signs of exhaustion. “You don’t look fine,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “We were really worried about you, especially since you collapsed from exhaustion yesterday...”

The words hit Seungcheol like a sudden gust of wind. He froze, his fork halfway to his mouth as he processed what Mingyu had just said. “Wait, what?”

Mingyu’s eyes widened slightly as he realized his mistake, but it was too late to take the words back. He glanced quickly at Wonwoo and Jihoon, who exchanged knowing looks but didn’t seem surprised by the slip.

“How... how do you know about that?” Seungcheol asked, still in shock.

Jihoon, ever calm and collected, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he looked at Seungcheol with a faint smile. “Junnie told us.”

Seungcheol blinked, his confusion deepening. “Junnie? You mean... Jun from the palace?”

Jihoon nodded. “He’s our friend from university.”

“We’ve known him for years.” Wonwoo added calmly, his expression reassuring “When we found out he was working at the palace with you, we asked him to keep an eye on you. He didn’t want to worry us, but when you collapsed... well, he let us know.”

Seungcheol stared at his brothers, still processing the information. He had thought Jun was just a playful, easy-going beta—someone who made light of things to keep morale up. But now it seemed that Jun had been quietly watching out for him all along, reporting back to his family to ensure they knew how he was really doing.

Seungcheol let out a laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in. “I can’t believe you guys did that,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s ridiculous.”

Their father, who had been watching the exchange quietly, leaned forward with a gentle smile. “It may seem ridiculous, but it’s needed,” he said softly. “We’re just thankful that Jun-nim is around to look after you when we can’t.”

Seungcheol’s heart warmed at his father’s words, and he glanced around at his brothers, who were all watching him with a mix of love and concern. He knew they meant well, even if their methods were a little over the top. “Well, I appreciate it. I guess I’m lucky to have such a protective family,” he said, his voice filled with affection. “Even if it means I have a spy in the palace.” He added jokingly.

Wonwoo, ever the quiet observer, finally spoke up, his tone soft but firm. “We just wanted to make sure you were alright, Cheol-ah. Palace life is demanding, and we know you won’t always tell us everything.”

The memory of Jun joking about taking care of him being part of his job came rushing back, and Seungcheol let out a small, incredulous laugh. “So... he really wasn’t joking about taking care of me as his job scope.”

Mingyu chuckled, the tension easing as he gave Seungcheol a gentle nudge. “Nope. Taking care of you is definitely part of his job. Just so you know that you’ve got a spy following you around, courtesy of us.”

They all laughed, the earlier tension melting away as the conversation returned to lighter topics. For the rest of the evening, they shared stories, reminisced about old times, and enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together as a family. And for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol allowed himself to truly relax, knowing that no matter how hard things got, his family—and apparently Jun—would always have his back. And for that, he was truly thankful.

As Seungcheol get ready to leave, he gave all his brothers a quick yet warm embrace. “Take care of yourself, Cheol-ah,” Jihoon said, his voice gentle but firm. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Wonwoo, ever the quiet observer, nodded in agreement. “We know how much you care about your duties, but you can’t serve the Crown Prince if you’re not taking care of your own health.”

Seungcheol smiled at their concern, though a playful gleam entered his eyes. “I know, I know. I’ll be fine,” he said, waving off their worries. But as he stepped over towards the car, Mingyu leaned over, catching his arm with a serious look.

“Promise us, hyung,” Mingyu said, his tone a little more insistent than usual. “If something happens—if you’re feeling overwhelmed or overworked—you’ll tell us. Don’t try to hide it.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised by the intensity of Mingyu’s gaze, but then a warm smile spread across his face. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I promise. But, honestly, you don’t need to worry. I’ve already got a spy reporting back to you, don’t I?”

His brothers exchanged amused glances at the mention of Jun, and even his father’s demeanor softened with a smile. “That you do,” Jihoon said with a smirk. “So don’t think you can hide anything from us.”

Seungcheol laughed, shaking his head. “Seems like I can’t keep anything from you guys now, can I?”

They all laughed before Seungcheol made his way towards the car. His father, ever the protective figure, insisted on accompanying him for the journey back. He waved his brothers goodbyes as the car drove off towards the palace.

The drive back to the palace was filled with the quiet hum of conversation, as Seungcheol sat with his father, their familiar presence a comforting reminder of the home he was leaving behind. The countryside passed by in a blur, and soon, the towering spires of the palace came into view, signaling the end of Seungcheol’s brief reprieve.

When they arrived at the palace gates, Seungcheol didn’t expect to see Hyungwon standing there, waiting. The chief officer’s posture was formal as always, his expression calm, but the moment he saw Seungcheol’s father, a flicker of surprise crossed his face. Without hesitation, Hyungwon bowed deeply, his respect evident in the gesture.

“Sir,” Hyungwon greeted, his voice soft with deference.

Seungcheol’s father smiled warmly, stepping forward to embrace the younger man. Hyungwon returned the hug with a rare softness, their brief exchange speaking volumes of their mutual respect.

“Please take care of him,” Seungcheol’s father said quietly as they parted. 

Hyungwon nodded, his eyes flicking toward Seungcheol with a quiet intensity. “I will.”

After a brief exchange of words between the two, Seungcheol’s father turned to him, resting a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for you to come home,” he said softly, giving Seungcheol a nod before heading back to the car.

As Seungcheol watched his father leave, he felt a strange heaviness settle in his chest, though he couldn’t quite place why. When he turned back to Hyungwon, he noticed the way the older man was looking at him—intently, as if seeing him for the first time.

Before Seungcheol could say anything, Hyungwon stepped forward, and in a surprising move, he pulled Seungcheol into a tight hug. The suddenness of the gesture left Seungcheol gasping in surprise, his arms stiff at his sides. But after a moment, he relaxed, letting Hyungwon’s protective embrace wash over him. There was something comforting about the way Hyungwon held him, as if the older man had been waiting for this moment.

Seungcheol closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to sink into the hug. It was a rare show of affection from Hyungwon, and Seungcheol could feel the weight of unspoken emotions between them. When they finally pulled apart, Seungcheol noticed something he hadn’t seen before—Hyungwon’s eyes were glossy, as though tears were threatening to fall.

“Chief-nim...” Seungcheol began, his voice soft with concern. “What’s wrong?”

But Hyungwon shook his head, giving a small smile. He said nothing, only reaching out to pat Seungcheol gently on the head—a gesture that felt both protective and affectionate.

“Take care of yourself,” Hyungwon muttered, his voice unsteady.

Before Seungcheol could respond, Hyungwon turned and walked away, his usual composure returning as he disappeared down the corridor. Seungcheol stood there for a moment, watching him go, a strange sense of warmth and confusion swirling in his chest.

Chapter Text

That evening, the palace was quiet, the halls lit by the soft glow of lanterns. Seungcheol and Jun found themselves in the shared lounge, the room cozy and filled with the faint warmth of a low fire crackling in the hearth. It had been a long day, but for now, they could relax, sharing a quiet moment away from the demands of court life.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, a comfortable grin on his face as Jun regaled him with stories of his university days, how he met Jihoon and Wonwoo. Seungcheol listened, amused and curious. The thought of Jun having such strong ties to his family was still strange, but at the same time, it made sense.

“So, how did you end up as the ‘spy’ for my family?” Seungcheol asked, his tone lighthearted but genuinely curious.

Jun smirked, leaning back as well, his arms resting on the sides of his chair. “Well, you know how Jihoon is—once he gets an idea in his head, there’s no stopping him. He asked me to keep an eye on you, and Wonwoo was on board with it too. Honestly, it didn’t feel like spying... just making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard.”

Seungcheol chuckled softly. “You really went all out, huh? Updating them on everything?”

Jun shrugged casually. “It wasn’t much. Just small updates here and there. I didn’t want them to worry too much, but they needed to know you were alright. They care about you.”

Seungcheol smiled at that, the warmth of his brothers’ concern settling in. “I should’ve known. They’re always looking out for me.”

Jun chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t know the half of it. When I told them you’d collapsed from exhaustion, they were ready to drop everything and come storm the palace. Jihoon was livid, and Wonwoo... let’s just say he wasn’t far behind.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat. “Wait... what?”

Jun grinned, clearly amused by Seungcheol’s shock. “Yeah. I had to practically hold them back, convince them that you were fine and that they didn’t need to come barging in. I’m pretty sure Jihoon was ready to knock down the gates.”

Seungcheol blinked, still processing what Jun had just told him. The thought of his brothers—usually so composed and level-headed—rushing to the palace to check on him felt surreal. He had worked so hard to keep his struggles hidden, not wanting them to worry. But it seemed they had known all along, thanks to Jun’s updates.

“Wow,” Seungcheol muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I had no idea.”

Jun smiled faintly, leaning back again. “You’re lucky they didn’t come on the day you collapsed. It would’ve been a scene.” He chuckled. “Although they did come as soon as I told them you’re ready to leave.”

Seungcheol shook his head, still processing the weight of Jun’s words. “I didn’t want them to worry... That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

Jun nodded. “I get it. But they worry because they care.” He paused, his expression softening further. “And that’s why I’ve kept them in the loop. Just to make sure they know you’re okay.”

Seungcheol nodded, smiling faintly as the thought warmed him. His brothers always found ways to protect him, even when he didn’t ask for it.

Jun offered a small, understanding smile. “They care about you, Seungcheol-ah. A lot. That’s why they told me... everything.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected that his brothers had confided in Jun about the one thing he had tried so hard to hide.

Seungcheol’s heart raced as he met Jun’s gaze, a silent question in his eyes. Did Jun really know?

Jun, sensing the shift in the conversation, smiled knowingly. Without Seungcheol having to ask, the answer was clear. The silence between them spoke volumes, and Seungcheol immediately stiffened.

“You... you know,” Seungcheol whispered, his voice barely audible.

Jun sighed softly, his gaze meeting Seungcheol’s with a knowing look. “Yeah, I know. But I didn’t figure it out on my own. Your brothers told me—about your secret. They wanted to make sure I could keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe.”

Seungcheol’s heart raced, his mind spinning as he realized the full extent of what Jun was saying. His brothers—Jihoon and Wonwoo—had trusted Jun with his deepest secret, something he had tried to hide from everyone in the palace. And Jun... had known all along.

“I... I didn’t think they’d tell anyone,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so careful...”

Jun leaned forward, his voice low and reassuring. “And you’ve done a great job. Honestly, if your brothers hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have had a clue. You’ve kept it hidden better than anyone else could. I only know because they wanted me to help look out for you.”

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing just a little. Jun’s words were comforting, but the realization that someone else knew his secret still left him feeling vulnerable. Yet, there was something about the way Jun spoke—the calmness, the understanding—that made him feel... safe.

Jun leaned back in his chair, his smile softening. “Your secret’s safe with me, Cheol-ah. I promise. You don’t have to worry about anyone else finding out.”

Seungcheol stared at him for a moment, gratitude swelling in his chest. He had been carrying this burden alone for so long, but now he realized that he didn’t have to. His brothers had entrusted Jun with his secret for a reason, and now, with Jun’s promise, he knew he wasn’t alone.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what to say.”

Jun waved it off with a grin, his playful side returning. “Hey, it’s what friends are for, right? Besides, if I hadn’t known, I wouldn’t even suspect it. You’ve done a great job keeping everything under control. And Jihoon and Wonwoo had trusted me with something this important, I’m not going to let them—or you—down.”

Seungcheol chuckled softly, feeling the weight on his shoulders lighten. “Well, I guess I should be grateful I have such a good ‘spy’ looking out for me.”

Jun laughed, shaking his head. “Guardian, Seungcheol-ah. I prefer the term ‘guardian.’”

The two of them shared a laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating as the conversation returned to lighter topics. For the rest of the night, they sat together, the warmth of the fire and the comfort of friendship wrapping around them. And for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol felt like he could breathe, knowing that his secret was safe—and that he had people who cared enough to watch over him, even when he didn’t realize it.

That morning, Seungcheol was just about to head out for another day of work, his mind already going over the list of tasks waiting for him, when a royal messenger arrived, stopping him in his tracks.

“The alpha king has summoned you, Seungcheol-nim,” the messenger said respectfully, bowing slightly. “He is expecting you in his chambers.”

Seungcheol blinked in surprise, his heart skipping a beat. The alpha king? Summoning him? His mind raced, immediately jumping to the worst conclusions. Had he done something wrong? Was he about to be reprimanded for something?

With a deep breath, Seungcheol followed the messenger, his steps growing heavier with each one. When he finally reached the king’s chambers, the large wooden doors opened, revealing the alpha king seated at his desk. His sharp eyes locked onto Seungcheol the moment he entered, the intensity of his gaze making Seungcheol feel small, as if the king was dissecting him with a mere glance.

Seungcheol stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, doing his best to keep his voice steady, though his nerves betrayed him.

The alpha king didn’t speak immediately, his piercing eyes never leaving Seungcheol. The weight of the silence was unbearable, and Seungcheol’s heart raced in his chest, wondering what this was about.

Finally, the alpha king broke the silence, his voice low and authoritative. “Tell me, Seungcheol, why are you here?”

Seungcheol hesitated, unsure how to respond. “Your Majesty... I... I’m here to work,” he stammered, his mind scrambling. “There’s still work to be done, and I—”

“You collapsed,” the king interrupted, his voice sharp but not unkind. “Both Hyungwon and the healer informed me that you had been working yourself to the point of exhaustion. The healer also informed me that you were ordered to rest for a few days. So why, after such clear instructions, are you already back at work?”

Seungcheol’s heart sank. He hadn’t realized the alpha king was aware of his collapse, and now the weight of the situation felt heavier. “Your Majesty, I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” he said quickly. “I just... there are tasks that need to be completed, especially with Jeonghan-nim still on vacation. I didn’t want to fall behind.”

The king’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Seungcheol’s heart sank further. He had been expecting a scolding, but instead, the king’s concern was clear, almost fatherly.

The alpha king’s gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. “There will always be work to do, Seungcheol-ah. But nothing is more important than your health. Pushing yourself until you collapse is not acceptable.”

Seungcheol stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. He had been so focused on getting everything done, he hadn’t even considered how his exhaustion might have looked to others, let alone to the alpha king himself.

“Rest,” the alpha king ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “At least until Jeonghan returns from his vacation. That is an order.”

Seungcheol’s lips parted in protest, but the king’s unwavering gaze silenced him. He swallowed, his mind racing, but he knew there was no point in arguing.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he finally said, bowing deeply. “I will rest.”

The alpha king gave a small nod, his gaze softening just slightly. “Good. Take care of yourself, Seungcheol. You are a valuable member of this palace.”

Seungcheol’s heart swelled with a mix of gratitude and surprise. He hadn’t expected such concern from the alpha king. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

With the alpha king’s order to rest hanging over his head, Seungcheol turned to leave, finding himself aimlessly wandering the palace grounds. He wasn’t allowed to work in the palace office—something that had never happened before—and with nowhere specific to be, he drifted, trying to shake off the lingering tension.

He wasn’t used to this kind of free time, and the unfamiliarity of it left him feeling restless. Eventually, his feet carried him to the training grounds, the sound of clashing swords and shouts of exertion pulling him toward the open space. As he approached, he saw a small crowd gathered, watching a sparring match in progress.

At the center of the training grounds, Joshua was sparring with Soonyoung, a younger general whose soft appearance often led people to underestimate him. But Seungcheol knew better. Soonyoung might look gentle and unassuming, but he was one of the most skilled fighters in the palace, his movements quick and precise as he countered Joshua’s every strike.

Seungcheol stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching in awe as the two men sparred. Joshua’s strength was evident in every movement, but Soonyoung’s agility and technique were nothing short of impressive. The crowd murmured in appreciation, and Seungcheol found himself captivated by the fluidity of their fight.

When the match finally came to an end, Joshua and Soonyoung stepped back, breathing heavily but grinning at each other. They shook hands before turning toward the small gathering of onlookers.

It didn’t take long for Joshua to spot Seungcheol standing by, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “Seungcheol-ah!” he called out, waving him over.

Soonyoung, noticing Joshua’s attention shift, followed his gaze and smiled when he saw Seungcheol. “Come on over!” Soonyoung added, his voice warm and inviting.

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment but eventually made his way toward them, returning their smiles. “I didn’t expect to find you two out here,” he admitted, glancing between them.

“We like to get out here and spar whenever we can,” Joshua said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Keeps us sharp.”

Soonyoung nodded, his grin widening. “And you should spend more time outside, Seungcheol-nim. You’ve been cooped up inside Jeonghan-nim’s office for too long.”

Seungcheol chuckled, a bit sheepish. “I guess I have. But with all the work that needs to be done, it’s hard to find the time.”

“Which is exactly why you should take advantage of moments like this,” Soonyoung said, his voice full of energy. “The palace can be stifling if you’re always locked away. Come out here more often. It’ll do you good.”

Joshua nodded in agreement, clapping Seungcheol on the shoulder. “He’s right. Get some fresh air, spend some time with the rest of us. It’s not all about work.”

Seungcheol smiled at their words, feeling a bit lighter than he had earlier. “Maybe I will,” he said thoughtfully, looking around at the open space and the people training nearby. For the first time in a while, the idea of stepping away from his desk didn’t seem so bad.

The next morning, Seungcheol approached the palace office, determination in his steps despite the king’s orders to rest. Surely, there had to be some small tasks he could handle—something to keep him from feeling so useless. But as he neared the office doors, a familiar figure appeared in his path.

Hyungwon stood with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he met Seungcheol’s gaze. “You’re not allowed in, Seungcheol-nim,” Hyungwon said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Seungcheol blinked, trying to come up with an excuse, but before he could speak, Hyungwon added, “The alpha king’s orders. Go rest.”

With a sigh of defeat, Seungcheol turned away, realizing that there was no way he’d be able to slip past Hyungwon. His shoulders slumped slightly as he wandered away from the office, his mind spinning with the frustration of having nothing to do.

As he meandered through the palace grounds, trying to shake off the feeling of uselessness, he spotted a familiar face in the courtyard. Seokmin, Mingyu’s close friend and a trainee chef in the palace, was carrying a basket of ingredients, his usual bright smile lighting up his face.

“Seungcheol hyungnim!” Seokmin called out, his voice cheerful as he waved him over.

Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Seokmin’s friendly face. “Seokminnie! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same about you!” Seokmin laughed as they met in the middle of the courtyard. “I heard you were supposed to be resting.”

Seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, well... that’s harder than it sounds.”

Seokmin chuckled, shaking his head. “I figured as much. You’ve never been the type to just sit around.”

They stood for a moment, catching up on life in the palace and swapping stories about their shared friends. Seokmin, ever the enthusiastic chatterbox, launched into stories about his training as a chef and the hectic schedule in the palace kitchens.

“So, what are you doing wandering around like this?” Seokmin asked, glancing around. “You look like you could use a break.”

Seungcheol sighed. “I tried to get into the office again, but Chief Hyungwon practically chased me away.”

Seokmin laughed. “Sounds like Chief Hyungwon. Well, since you’ve been banned from working, why don’t I show you around, hyungnim? I bet there are parts of the palace you’ve never even seen.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You think there are places in this palace I haven’t been?”

Seokmin grinned mischievously. “Oh, I know there are. Come on, hyungnim, I’ll show you.”

Before Seungcheol could protest, Seokmin grabbed his arm and led him through a different part of the palace grounds. They weaved through the hallways, Seokmin pointing out little-known spots that Seungcheol had never thought to explore. From secret garden courtyards to tucked-away rooms used by the kitchen staff, Seokmin knew every hidden corner of the palace.

“This is where we sneak in for late-night snacks,” Seokmin said with a wink, opening a door that led to a quiet little pantry. “Don’t tell anyone I brought you here.”

Seungcheol laughed, feeling more relaxed than he had in days. “You really know your way around, don’t you?”

Seokmin shrugged playfully. “What can I say? I’ve got my ways. Now, how about I show you the best place to relax without anyone bothering you?”

After days of wandering around the palace and trying to keep himself occupied, Seungcheol was finally back at his desk, excitement buzzing through him. Jeonghan had returned from his vacation, and Seungcheol was eager to dive back into work, ready to prove that he hadn’t lost his edge during his forced rest. As he settled in, organizing papers and reviewing schedules, a familiar presence loomed in front of him.

Looking up, Seungcheol was startled to find Jeonghan standing in front of his desk, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. The Crown Prince’s gaze was cold, and Seungcheol felt the air between them tense immediately. Hurriedly, he rose from his seat and stepped forward.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol greeted quickly, bowing slightly. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

But Jeonghan’s expression didn’t soften. Instead, his voice cut through the air, sharp and irritated. “Do you have any idea how much gossip has been circulating while I was away?”

Seungcheol blinked, confused. “Gossip...?”

Jeonghan’s eyes flashed with frustration. “People have been talking about how I’ve been working you to the ground. They think I’m some kind of tyrant, all because you couldn’t take care of yourself.”

Seungcheol’s heart sank as he realized what Jeonghan was referring to. The rumors must have spread during the time he had collapsed from exhaustion. “Your Highness, I—”

Jeonghan didn’t let him finish. “You’re so weak,” he snapped. “You can’t even handle the workload, and now everyone thinks it’s my fault. Do you know how embarrassing that is? How much face I’ve lost because of you?”

Seungcheol stood frozen, his mind spinning. He had never meant to cause trouble, but hearing Jeonghan’s harsh words made his chest tighten. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, feeling helpless under the weight of the prince’s anger.

Jeonghan wasn’t done. “You don’t even know how to take care of yourself. How am I supposed to rely on you if you can’t handle a few tasks without collapsing?”

Before Jeonghan could continue, Hyungwon suddenly appeared at the doorway, his expression calm but firm. “Your Highness,” he said quietly, stepping between them. “Perhaps that’s enough.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flicked to Hyungwon, irritation still clear on his face, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he tsked in annoyance and crossed his arms tighter over his chest. “Fine. Take the rest of the week off, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “I don’t want to see you here until you’ve learned how to manage yourself better.”

Seungcheol felt a pang of disappointment but knew there was no use protesting. He bowed his head, murmuring, “Yes, Your Highness,” before stepping back from his desk.

As he turned to leave, Hyungwon caught his arm gently, giving him a reassuring look. “That is Jeonghan-nim’s way of showing concern,” he said quietly, his voice soft. “Don’t take it too personally.”

Seungcheol nodded, though his heart still felt heavy. He dragged himself back toward his quarters, feeling drained despite the lack of work he had been doing. He knew Jeonghan cared, but his words still stung.

With a full week of rest ahead of him, Seungcheol found himself with more free time than he knew what to do with. He had always been so focused on his work, rarely taking the opportunity to meet others around the palace. But now, with Jeonghan's orders keeping him out of the office, he began gravitating toward new faces, rediscovering a side of palace life he had neglected.

One afternoon, as he wandered through the palace gardens, Seungcheol bumped into a quiet figure moving gracefully through the space. Myungho, the royal sommelier apprentice, was tending to a small selection of vines growing near the palace’s vineyard. He gave Seungcheol a reserved smile as their paths crossed.

“Seungcheol-nim, isn’t it?” Myungho asked, his voice calm, yet confident.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol replied, curious. “You’re the sommelier apprentice, right?”

Myungho nodded, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “That’s right. I help with the palace’s wine selection. If you ever need a good recommendation, come find me.”

Seungcheol smiled, appreciating Myungho’s quiet presence. They chatted for a while, Myungho explaining the intricacies of his apprenticeship. Seungcheol found it fascinating—there was so much going on in the palace that he had never even thought about.

A few days later, while walking past one of the offices, Seungcheol spotted Hansol, one of Joshua’s apprentices. Hansol was often seen trailing behind Joshua, always carrying books and documents, helping with translations and other tasks that involved the royal foreign affairs.

Hansol grinned when he noticed Seungcheol. “Hey! You must be Seungcheol-nim, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Seungcheol chuckled, waving as he approached. “All good things, I hope?”

“Of course,” Hansol said with a laugh. “Joshua-nim always talks about how reliable you are.”

They talked for a while, with Hansol sharing some amusing stories about his experiences working with Joshua. Seungcheol enjoyed the conversation, finding Hansol’s laid-back nature refreshing. Despite the high-pressure environment of the palace, Hansol seemed to take everything in stride, and Seungcheol found himself relaxing in his company.

By the end of the week, Seungcheol had even become acquainted with Seungkwan and Chan, two new recruits in the event office. The duo had been tasked with organizing the palace’s many festivals and celebrations throughout the year, and their energy was infectious.

“You’re Seungcheol-nim, right? The one who works with Prince Jeonghan?” Seungkwan asked when they bumped into each other near the event office.

“That’s me,” Seungcheol replied, giving them both a smile.

Chan beamed, his excitement palpable. “We’ve heard so much about you! We’re new here, but Seungkwan and I are working on some festival preparations. Maybe we’ll need your help sometime?”

Seungcheol laughed, appreciating their enthusiasm. “I’d be happy to help.”

As the week went by, Seungcheol found himself connecting with people he had never had the chance to speak with before. It was refreshing, a stark contrast to the usual grind of office work. And though he missed the structure and demands of his usual routine, this unexpected break had given him a glimpse into the larger community within the palace, and for once, he felt like he belonged beyond the confines of Jeonghan’s office.

By the end of his week of rest, Seungcheol had become more comfortable in his surroundings, enjoying the company of those he’d met around the palace. On the last day, Soonyoung had invited him to the training grounds, offering to teach him some basic combat moves. Though Seungcheol was hesitant at first—combat wasn’t exactly his forte—Soonyoung’s infectious energy quickly put him at ease.

“Alright,” Soonyoung said, grinning as they stood in the middle of the training grounds. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Just follow my lead.”

Seungcheol nodded, watching closely as Soonyoung demonstrated a series of fluid movements—simple but precise strikes, followed by defensive blocks. His steps were graceful yet powerful, and Seungcheol tried to mimic them as best as he could. Soonyoung’s sharp eye caught every little mistake, but his corrections were gentle, guiding Seungcheol with patience.

“You’re doing great,” Soonyoung said, encouraging him as Seungcheol tried the sequence again. “Just loosen up a bit—let your body flow with the movement.”

Seungcheol took a deep breath, focusing on the fluidity of his movements, trying to match Soonyoung’s ease. As they continued training, Seungcheol found himself slipping into a rhythm, his body moving more naturally with each attempt.

Soonyoung paused for a moment, watching Seungcheol intently. His gaze shifted from observation to something more thoughtful, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You know,” he said slowly, almost as if speaking to himself, “you remind me of someone.”

Seungcheol, wiping the sweat from his brow, blinked. “Someone?”

Soonyoung nodded, his eyes distant as he recalled a memory. “Back when I was still in training, there was this boy... He moved just like you—fluid and elegant, like every motion was intentional but effortless.”

Seungcheol tilted his head, intrigued. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung continued, his voice thoughtful. “It was eerie, watching you today. For a moment, I almost thought... well, if I didn’t know better, I’d have mistaken you for him.”

Curiosity piqued, Seungcheol leaned in slightly. “What happened to him?”

Soonyoung hesitated for a moment, his expression darkening. “No one really knows anymore. He was brought out of the palace one day, and after that... he vanished. It’s one of the palace’s darkest secrets. No one talks about it.”

A chill ran down Seungcheol’s spine. “That’s... unsettling.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung agreed, glancing around the training grounds before lowering his voice. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s something we’re not supposed to talk about. If anyone finds out I told you, well... it wouldn’t end well.”

Seungcheol’s curiosity grew, but the gravity of Soonyoung’s words kept him from pressing further. “I won’t say anything,” he promised, though the mystery gnawed at him.

“Good,” Soonyoung said, his voice still low. “Keep it quiet. The fewer people who know, the better.”

As they returned to training, the weight of Soonyoung’s words lingered in Seungcheol’s mind. The idea that the palace could harbor such a secret, one that people were forbidden to speak of, left him uneasy. But for now, he pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on perfecting his moves under Soonyoung’s watchful eye.

Chapter Text

After what felt like an eternity of wandering the palace grounds, Seungcheol was relieved to be back in his office. The familiar hum of activity and the comforting sight of his desk made him feel like he was finally back where he belonged. Jeonghan wasted no time assigning tasks, as expected, but Seungcheol noticed something different this time. The workload, while still substantial, was much lighter than what he had faced before.

Jeonghan, with his usual authoritative demeanor, dropped another stack of documents on Seungcheol’s desk. “Make sure these are done by the end of the day,” he said, his tone curt but not nearly as demanding as it once was.

Seungcheol nodded, already starting to work through the pile, his mind sharper after his break. He moved efficiently, his fingers gliding over the pages as he reviewed and organized the tasks.

The routine was manageable, and if Jeonghan ever came close to overloading him with more work, Hyungwon would quietly step in. “That’s enough for now, Your Highness,” Hyungwon would say, his calm yet firm voice carrying just enough authority to make Jeonghan grumble under his breath and back off.

Though Jeonghan never admitted it, Seungcheol could tell that Hyungwon’s interference was his way of protecting him. Jeonghan would occasionally roll his eyes or tsk in annoyance, but he never argued against Hyungwon’s judgment. Seungcheol was grateful for the subtle balance that Hyungwon kept in place, ensuring that the workload never spiraled out of control again.

As the days passed, Seungcheol’s routine became more steady, a rhythm forming in his work life that had been absent before. He was able to finish his tasks more efficiently, and with the newfound time, he started taking breaks—something he hadn’t done in far too long. Lunchtime was no longer a rushed, solitary affair. Now, he often found himself sharing meals with Jun or his newfound friends, laughing over stories and enjoying the moments of calm during the day.

For the first time in a long while, Seungcheol wasn’t staying late into the night, burning the midnight oil for Jeonghan’s endless demands. Instead, he finished his work on time, allowing him the luxury of returning to his quarters at a reasonable hour. It was a change he hadn’t expected but deeply appreciated.

He no longer felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. His mind was clearer, his body more rested, and his heart lighter. With the support of Hyungwon’s quiet intervention and Jeonghan’s begrudging restraint, Seungcheol had finally found balance in his work—a balance that allowed him to thrive rather than simply survive.

One peaceful night, as the palace grounds bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, Seungcheol sat comfortably with Hansol in the dining hall. The two of them were deep in conversation, sharing stories from the day and joking about the lighter moments in their routines. Hansol’s laid-back nature always made these chats easy, and tonight was no different.

Just as Seungcheol was laughing at one of Hansol’s remarks, the sound of footsteps drew their attention. Jun and Joshua appeared from their night duty, looking slightly worn but still in good spirits. Joshua’s presence carried a calm authority, while Jun seemed energized despite the long hours.

“Look who’s still awake,” Joshua said with a smile, his tone teasing. “Shouldn’t you two be in bed?”

“Shouldn’t you be?” Hansol shot back with a grin, earning a chuckle from both Seungcheol and Jun.

Joshua and Jun joined them, settling in for what turned into a relaxed late-night talk. The conversation flowed easily, each of them sharing stories and moments from their days, some lighthearted, others more serious. Joshua, as the second prince, often shared tales from his security duties, while Jun and Hansol provided a glimpse into the more administrative and translation-heavy aspects of palace life.

As the conversation began to wind down, and they prepared to part ways, Joshua clapped his hands together and stood. “Alright, I expect to see you all bright and early tomorrow,” he joked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Jun stretched and shook his head. “I swear, I’m busier than Seungcheol now,” he teased, nudging Seungcheol with his elbow.

Joshua laughed heartily, the sound warm and genuine. “That’s because Jeonghan’s gone soft after what happened.”

Seungcheol felt his heart skip a beat at the comment, unsure whether to take it as a joke or something more. But before he could think too much about it, Jun and Hansol excused themselves, explaining that they needed to submit their final reports for the night.

As they left, Joshua turned to Seungcheol with a thoughtful expression. “Walk with me?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Seungcheol nodded, and the two began strolling along the palace grounds, the night air cool and refreshing. For a while, they walked in silence, the sound of their footsteps filling the space between them.

Then, Joshua spoke, his tone more serious than it had been earlier. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, Seungcheol-ah,” he began, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Don’t take everything Jeonghan does too much to heart.”

Seungcheol glanced at him, curious but not entirely surprised by the sudden shift in conversation.

“Jeonghan’s hard on you, I know,” Joshua continued, his voice calm but laced with understanding. “But it’s not because you’re doing something wrong. It’s... because of something that happened in the past.”

Seungcheol remained quiet, waiting for Joshua to explain further.

“There was someone before you,” Joshua said after a moment, his eyes distant as if recalling an old memory. “An assistant. He was talented, probably one of the best Jeonghan’s ever had. We were all still young back then, and this assistant came by recommendation. Jeonghan trusted him—maybe too much.”

Joshua paused, his gaze darkening slightly. “But that trust was betrayed. And Jeonghan... he lost something, or someone, very precious to him because of that betrayal.”

Seungcheol felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of Joshua’s words settling in. He had always sensed there was something more behind Jeonghan’s harsh demeanor, but hearing it confirmed made it all the more real.

“That’s why he’s the way he is now,” Joshua continued, his voice softer. “He can’t afford to be vulnerable again. So he pushes people. It’s his way of protecting himself... and the people he cares about.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, understanding the depth of Jeonghan’s actions a little better now. “I didn’t know,” he murmured, more to himself than to Joshua.

Joshua gave him a small smile, his hand resting briefly on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Now you do. Just don’t let it get to you. You’re doing great.”

They continued walking in silence for a few moments longer, the weight of the conversation lingering in the cool night air. Seungcheol’s mind buzzed with everything Joshua had told him, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place.

As they reached the quarters, Joshua bid him goodnight with a reassuring smile. “Take care, Seungcheol-ah. And don’t worry—Jeonghan may be tough, but he’s not invincible.”

By the end of every week, visiting Soonyoung at the training grounds had become part of Seungcheol’s routine. The physical exercise, combined with Soonyoung’s enthusiastic guidance, helped ease the tension that often built up from his office work. Today was no different, and Seungcheol found himself practicing a new set of moves under Soonyoung’s watchful eye.

“Relax your shoulders a bit,” Soonyoung instructed, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re still a bit tense. Let the movement flow naturally.”

Seungcheol nodded, adjusting his stance as he tried the move again. He had gotten better, more fluid, under Soonyoung’s careful teaching, and today’s practice was going smoothly. But just as they were getting into the rhythm, a presence interrupted them.

Jeonghan appeared at the edge of the training grounds, dressed in his training gear, his expression unreadable. Soonyoung was the first to notice, immediately stopping to bow, and Seungcheol followed suit, bowing deeply to the Crown Prince.

Jeonghan waved them off, his gaze shifting between the two of them. “Carry on,” he said dismissively as he walked toward his own training area.

With a nod from Soonyoung, they resumed their practice, but it wasn’t long before Seungcheol felt the weight of Jeonghan’s gaze lingering on them. He tried to ignore it, focusing on Soonyoung’s instructions as they continued practicing a new move. As Seungcheol moved around Soonyoung with practiced ease, he could feel his body responding more fluidly to the techniques.

Without warning, Jeonghan’s voice cut through the air. “Seungcheol.”

Both Soonyoung and Seungcheol turned to face the Crown Prince, who had stopped his own training and was watching them intently. His expression was hard to read, but there was a challenge in his eyes.

“How about a sparring match?” Jeonghan said, stepping forward. His tone was casual, but there was something in his stance that made it clear he wasn’t asking.

Soonyoung immediately shook his head. “Your Highness, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Seungcheol-nim isn’t as trained—”

Jeonghan raised a hand to silence him. “He’s my assistant. He shouldn’t be weak. What would happen if we were attacked? He’d be the one needing protection.”

Seungcheol, despite the growing apprehension, straightened his posture and met Jeonghan’s gaze. “I accept.”

Soonyoung shot him a worried look, clearly wanting to protest further, but Seungcheol gave him a small nod, signaling that he was fine. There was no backing down now. The match was set.

The sparring began, and it was clear from the start that Jeonghan held the upper hand. His movements were sharp, precise, and powerful, while Seungcheol struggled to keep up, blocking more than he could strike. But Seungcheol remained focused, remembering the techniques Soonyoung had taught him.

Then, in a sudden twist, Seungcheol saw an opening—just a brief moment, but enough for him to act. Using a move he had just learned from Soonyoung, Seungcheol managed to throw Jeonghan forward, catching the Crown Prince off guard. Before Jeonghan could recover, Seungcheol pinned him to the ground, his breath heavy from the exertion.

There was a stunned silence across the training grounds, followed by a round of applause from those who had been watching. Seungcheol stayed frozen, surprised by his own victory, while Jeonghan remained pinned beneath him, staring up at him with a look Seungcheol couldn’t quite read.

But before anyone could celebrate, Jeonghan suddenly groaned, his hand flying to his temple. The applause died down as confusion swept over the crowd.

“Your Highness?” Seungcheol’s voice was filled with concern as he released Jeonghan and knelt beside him.

Jeonghan’s face twisted in pain, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. “My head...”

A healer was quickly summoned, and within moments they were at Jeonghan’s side. After a quick examination, the healer confirmed that there was no physical injury. “There’s no sign of trauma,” the healer said, frowning. “But the pain...”

Jeonghan writhed, unable to speak through the pain as it intensified. Seungcheol, his heart pounding with worry, stayed by his side, holding onto Jeonghan’s arm as the healer administered a sedative. Slowly, the Crown Prince’s body relaxed, the pain subsiding as he slipped into unconsciousness. The training grounds were silent, the earlier excitement replaced by an unsettling tension.

The atmosphere in the palace had shifted slightly as soon as Jeonghan collapsed after their sparring match. Seungcheol’s heart had been heavy with guilt, even though the healer had confirmed there was no injury. The image of Jeonghan clutching his head in pain kept replaying in Seungcheol’s mind, and the thought that it might have been because of their sparring weighed on him.

Seungcheol found himself pacing outside Jeonghan’s chambers, his thoughts running wild. What if he had caused this? What if pushing himself during the match had triggered something in Jeonghan? The possibility gnawed at him, making it hard to focus on anything else.

“Seungcheol-nim.”

Seungcheol looked up to see Hyungwon approaching, his face calm as ever, though there was a hint of understanding in his eyes. He had always been able to read Seungcheol like a book, and today was no different.

“You’re worried,” Hyungwon said, more a statement than a question.

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I... I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just—he challenged me, and I thought—what if I—” His words tumbled out in a rush, the weight of his guilt evident in every word.

Hyungwon stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. “Jeonghan-nim’s condition has nothing to do with the sparring match. It was something that’s been building for a while.”

“But the timing—” Seungcheol began, but Hyungwon cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Trust me. Jeonghan-nim’s collapse wasn’t caused by anything you did. The healer confirmed it. He would’ve experienced this at some point, regardless of what happened during the match.”

Despite Hyungwon’s words, Seungcheol still couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility gnawing at him. “But if I hadn’t agreed to spar with him—”

A new voice interrupted, one that carried authority and calm reassurance. “Seungcheol.”

Turning, Seungcheol saw the alpha king approaching, his presence commanding but not overbearing. The king’s eyes softened as they met Seungcheol’s, and he placed a hand on Seungcheol’s other shoulder, mirroring Hyungwon’s gesture of reassurance.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” the alpha king said gently. “Jeonghan is strong. This... episode, it’s not your doing. It’s something we’ve known could happen for a while now.”

Seungcheol blinked in surprise. “You’ve known?”

The alpha king nodded. “Jeonghan has been pushing himself for years. This collapse is the result of that, not the sparring match. You did nothing wrong.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders sagged with relief, though a part of him still felt unsettled. He had never known Jeonghan to be anything but strong and untouchable. To hear that this had been building up for years was a shock.

“Let the healers take care of him,” the alpha king continued, his voice gentle. “Jeonghan will recover. You’ve done nothing but serve him loyally, Seungcheol-ah.”

Hyungwon nodded in agreement, his hand still firm on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “You’re not to blame, Seungcheol-nim. Jeonghan-nim’s condition would’ve surfaced sooner or later.”

Seungcheol took a deep breath, their words slowly sinking in. The guilt that had been pressing down on him began to ease, though concern for Jeonghan still lingered. He nodded slowly, grateful for their reassurances.

“I just want him to be alright,” Seungcheol said softly.

The alpha king smiled, his gaze warm. “He will be. Jeonghan’s stronger than you think.”

A few days after the incident, Jeonghan returned to the office as if nothing had happened. Seungcheol had been waiting anxiously, his thoughts still clouded by the memory of Jeonghan’s sudden collapse. When Jeonghan strode in with his usual air of confidence, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and concern.

As Jeonghan sat down at his desk, reviewing some documents, Seungcheol hesitated for a moment before gathering the courage to speak. “Your Highness... are you doing alright?”

Jeonghan didn’t look up from his work, but the tension in the air was immediate. “Why are you asking about things that don’t concern you?” he said sharply, flipping through the pages in front of him. “It’s not your problem. Just forget about it.”

Seungcheol frowned slightly, not used to being brushed off so coldly. “I wasn’t trained to be ignorant...” he muttered, almost without thinking.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Seungcheol’s eyes widened in realization, and he clamped his mouth shut, feeling the air grow heavier. Jeonghan’s hand froze over the documents, and for a brief moment, there was silence.

Then, Jeonghan scoffed lightly, finally lifting his gaze to meet Seungcheol’s. His expression was unreadable, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You really need to learn when to shut your mouth, Jeon Seungcheol,” he said, though his tone wasn’t as harsh as before.

Seungcheol felt his face flush slightly in embarrassment, but before he could apologize, Jeonghan continued.

“Just focus on your job,” Jeonghan said dismissively, waving his hand. “And we’re going to have another sparring match soon. This time, I’ll burn you to the ground.”

The words were casual, almost playful, but the intensity behind them made Seungcheol flinch slightly. He wasn’t sure if Jeonghan was serious or just teasing, but the Crown Prince’s competitive edge was clear as ever.

Before Seungcheol could respond, Hyungwon appeared, his calm presence a welcome relief in the tension-filled room. He raised an eyebrow at Jeonghan’s comment and then turned to Seungcheol with a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry,” Hyungwon said, patting Seungcheol lightly on the shoulder. “He’s not serious. Jeonghan-nim’s just competitive by nature. That’s his way of dealing with things.”

Jeonghan shot Hyungwon a glare, but Hyungwon’s smile only widened. “In fact,” Hyungwon continued, leaning in as if sharing a secret, “he’s probably still embarrassed about losing to you last time. Someone with no combat background beating him in a sparring match? It bruised his ego.”

Jeonghan tsked loudly, clearly annoyed by Hyungwon’s teasing, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned back to his work, muttering something under his breath about needing better opponents.

Seungcheol, despite himself, couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the situation. The tension in the room eased, and though Jeonghan still carried an air of irritation, Seungcheol knew now that it wasn’t serious. Jeonghan’s challenge was just his way of coping with the loss, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

As days passed, the palace started to become busier. The 100th anniversary of the pack’s formation was approaching, and the entire palace was abuzz with preparations. What had started as a small pack by the cave a century ago had flourished into a powerful country, with colonies under its control. This milestone was more than just a celebration—it was a testament to their success, growth, and strength as a pack.

For the past few weeks, the palace had been alive with activity. Couriers rushed through the halls, deliveries arrived by the hour, and the sounds of excited chatter filled the air. Every corner of the palace was involved, from the kitchens to the security teams, and no detail was too small to perfect for the week-long festival.

Seungcheol, like everyone else, was caught up in the whirlwind of tasks, moving from one responsibility to the next with barely a moment to catch his breath. His usual routine had been disrupted by the sheer amount of work. From planning security briefings to overseeing the details of the festival’s logistics, Seungcheol found himself constantly on the move. So much so that he barely noticed the shift happening within his own body.

He hadn’t realized it at first—the subtle changes in his scent, the slight dizziness that came and went, or the sudden fatigue that made him pause between tasks. He brushed it off as exhaustion, attributing it to the busy schedule and the stress of making sure everything was perfect.

But then, as he stood in front of the council during the final presentation of the security system—detailing the safety measures that would ensure the smooth running of the festival—his body gave him a much more obvious signal.

His vision blurred for a moment, his knees feeling weak as a wave of heat washed over him. His hands trembled slightly as he clutched the table for support, his voice faltering mid-sentence. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but it was no use. His body felt like it was overheating, and his heart pounded in his chest.

Seungcheol froze, a cold realization dawning on him. His heat. How had he missed it?

It had been months since he last thought about it—his heat came only once a year, and he had always been meticulous about planning for it. He had even marked it on his calendar this year, ensuring it wouldn’t interfere with any major events. But with the festival preparations consuming every waking moment, he had forgotten one crucial step—getting his leave approved by Jeonghan.

As the council members murmured around him, Seungcheol managed to finish his presentation, albeit hastily, before excusing himself. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow, his body protesting every step as he walked out of the council room.

Once outside, Seungcheol leaned against the cool marble wall, trying to catch his breath. His head swam, and his body felt like it was on fire. How could he have been so careless? He had known this was coming, but he had let the busyness of the palace distract him. Now, he was on the verge of collapsing, and his heat was about to hit full force.

With shaky hands, he pulled out his schedule, staring at the date. He had listed his heat leave there, but it hadn’t been approved yet. And now... he wasn’t sure if there was enough time to sort everything out.

Panic started to settle in. He needed to act fast, but his body was betraying him, and with the festival looming, there was no room for error.

Seungcheol’s heart pounded in his chest as he quickly made his way to Jeonghan’s office. His body was still reeling from the onset of his heat, and he knew he didn’t have much time left before the symptoms became unbearable. He needed to get his leave approved—immediately. The festival preparations had consumed so much of his focus that he’d completely forgotten to secure his time off. Now, he was running out of options.

When he reached Jeonghan’s office, he took a deep breath before knocking on the door. The usual calm confidence he carried was replaced with growing anxiety as he stepped inside. Jeonghan, seated at his desk, barely glanced up from his paperwork as Seungcheol approached.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol began cautiously, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “I need to request leave. Ten days.”

Jeonghan finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Ten days? You’ve got to be kidding,” he said flatly, his tone more dismissive than usual.

Seungcheol winced but pressed on. “It’s... important. I’ve already scheduled it in advance, but with the festival, I wasn’t able to get it approved earlier. I really need it now.”

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “A ten-days leave? In the middle of final preparations for the festival? Do you even hear yourself right now, Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol swallowed hard, keeping his gaze steady. “I understand the timing isn’t ideal, but—”

“But nothing,” Jeonghan interrupted, his voice sharper now. “I don’t have the luxury of giving you ten days off when everyone else is working around the clock to make sure this festival goes smoothly. I can’t make exceptions for you just because you’re asking for it.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I... I need those ten days.”

Jeonghan shook his head, already turning back to his papers. “I’ll approve five days. At the end of the festival. That’s the best I can do.”

Seungcheol’s heart sank. Five days wasn’t enough, and taking them after the festival wasn’t an option. His heat was approaching rapidly, and he needed the leave to cover the exact dates he had planned. “Your Highness, please,” he said, his voice softening into a quiet plea. “I need the leave for those specific days.”

Jeonghan’s gaze hardened, and he looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing. “I said five days at the end of the festival, Seungcheol. Take it or leave it. I’m not approving anything more than that.”

Seungcheol bit his lip, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wasn’t in a position to argue, but the stakes were too high. “But I can’t—”

“Take it or leave it,” Jeonghan repeated, his voice firm and final. There was no room for negotiation, and Seungcheol knew it.

A heavy silence settled between them as Seungcheol stood there, the weight of Jeonghan’s decision pressing down on him. His mind raced, but he knew there was no way to change Jeonghan’s mind now.

With a deep breath, Seungcheol nodded stiffly. “Understood, Your Highness.”

He turned and left the office, his heart heavy with the knowledge that five days wouldn’t be enough. The clock was ticking, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

With every passing day, Seungcheol could feel his body fighting against him. The scent blockers and suppressants he’d been using were getting thicker and stronger, but they couldn’t fully mask the approaching storm of his heat. His mind was a constant fog, making it harder to focus, and Jeonghan had already scolded him several times for not being sharp enough during meetings and tasks.

“Focus, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan had snapped at him earlier that morning. “If you can’t keep up, don’t even bother about it.”

Seungcheol bit back the frustration building inside him. It wasn’t his fault his body was on the verge of shutting down, but he couldn’t explain that to Jeonghan. So, he pushed through the fog, adding another layer of scent blockers, hoping it would be enough to get him through the day.

The palace was in full swing, buzzing with activity as everyone prepared for the start of the one-week festival tomorrow. Seungcheol barely had time to catch his breath as he moved from one task to another. But the pressure was starting to get to him. His body felt weaker, and the thicker scent blockers were making him lightheaded.

By the time he stepped into Jeonghan’s office that afternoon, his mind was barely functioning. He walked in, the air feeling heavy around him, and immediately noticed Jeonghan’s reaction.

Jeonghan’s nose wrinkled the second Seungcheol entered the room. His face contorted into an expression of disgust as he turned toward Seungcheol, almost gagging. “What... what is that smell?”

Seungcheol blinked, confused. “What smell, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan’s glare was sharp, his eyes narrowing as he stood from his desk. “Your scent. It’s overpowering and making me dizzy. What’s wrong with you?”

Seungcheol frowned, his mind sluggish as he tried to process Jeonghan’s words. “It’s just... my scent blockers,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I’ve been using them like always.”

Jeonghan’s irritation only seemed to grow. “Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s not working. It’s making my head spin. Can’t you control your pheromones better?” His tone was accusatory, as if Seungcheol had done this on purpose.

Seungcheol felt his heart sink. He hadn’t realized the blockers were failing so badly, and he was starting to feel the full effects of his pre-heat. “I... I’ll fix it,” he muttered, taking a step back.

Jeonghan waved him off with a dismissive hand. “Fix it and stay away from me until the scent wears off. I can’t have you like this during the festival preparations. You’re making me dizzy.”

Seungcheol nodded quickly, his throat tightening. “Understood, Your Highness.”

As he turned to leave, Seungcheol felt a wave of nausea wash over him. His body was betraying him, and there was nothing more he could do to hide it. Tomorrow was the start of the festival, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pushing himself like this.

Seungcheol’s head felt like it was spinning, the dizziness growing worse with every passing minute. He had reduced the concentration of his scent blockers as much as he could, but it wasn’t helping. His body was rebelling, and he was barely holding it together. Still, he pushed forward, tending to Jeonghan as they finished the final details of the project’s preparation.

Jeonghan had been especially demanding today, more so than usual, and Seungcheol couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Not now, with the festival starting tomorrow. As Jeonghan barked orders, Seungcheol quietly complied, though his mind was clouded, and every step felt heavier than the last.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, everything was complete. The preparation for the project had been finalized, and Seungcheol could barely stand upright. With a shaky breath, he slumped onto his desk, his body begging for rest. He could feel the scent blockers starting to wear off, the edges of his control fraying as his heat edged closer.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, but the sudden sound of footsteps made him snap them open again. Jeonghan was walking over, his gaze dark and intense. There was something in his eyes that Seungcheol hadn’t seen before—something almost predatory.

Seungcheol quickly scurried to sit properly, his back straightening as he forced himself to remain alert. But before he could say anything, Jeonghan was suddenly in front of him, his expression twisted with anger.

Without warning, Jeonghan’s hand lashed out, slapping Seungcheol harshly across the face. The force of it sent a shock of pain through Seungcheol’s body, leaving him stunned. His mind struggled to process what had just happened, but before he could react, Jeonghan’s hands were on him again.

Jeonghan grabbed him by the collar, lifting Seungcheol’s weakened body as if he weighed nothing. His eyes were wild, filled with a fury that made Seungcheol’s heart race with fear.

“Why do you have the same scent as him?!” Jeonghan yelled, his voice filled with rage as his fingers tightened around Seungcheol’s throat.

Seungcheol gasped, his vision blurring as the lack of air made his head swim. He clawed weakly at Jeonghan’s hands, his strength fading fast. He didn’t understand what was happening—who was Jeonghan talking about? What had triggered this sudden outburst?

Jeonghan’s grip only tightened, his face twisted in fury. “Answer me!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the room. “Why do you smell like him?!”

Seungcheol couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. His body was shutting down, the dizziness overwhelming him as black spots danced in his vision.

Suddenly, there was a loud shout, and the next thing Seungcheol knew, Jeonghan’s hands were gone, and he was sliding down to the floor, his body crumpling weakly.

Hyungwon had appeared out of nowhere, his expression one of shock and urgency as he stood between Seungcheol and Jeonghan. “Your Highness, stop!” Hyungwon’s voice was sharp, his eyes wide with alarm.

Jeonghan looked like a man possessed, his chest heaving with anger as he tried to lunge at Seungcheol again, but Hyungwon quickly blocked him, holding him back.

“Guards!” Hyungwon shouted, his voice filled with authority. “Take the Crown Prince away. Now!”

The guards rushed into the room, grabbing hold of Jeonghan as he struggled against them, his eyes still locked on Seungcheol with a terrifying intensity. “I’ll deal with this,” Hyungwon muttered under his breath as the guards dragged Jeonghan away, leaving the room in tense silence.

Seungcheol’s body sagged against the floor, his breath shallow as he fought to stay conscious. Hyungwon rushed to his side, his face filled with concern as he gently lifted Seungcheol’s limp form.

“We need to get you away from here,” Hyungwon said softly, his voice steady despite the chaos that had just unfolded. Without waiting for a response, Hyungwon carried Seungcheol in his arms, his movements swift and careful.

Seungcheol’s eyelids fluttered weakly as he tried to stay awake, but his body was too exhausted, too drained. The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was Hyungwon’s voice, murmuring reassurances as they made their way to safety.

Hyungwon moved quickly towards the quarters, silently making his way towards Seungcheol’s room. The scent of Seungcheol’s heat was starting to slip through the barriers he’d tried to maintain with his scent blockers, and Hyungwon knew they didn’t have much time. Without hesitation, he grabbed additional scent blockers, placing them all around Seungcheol’s unconscious form, making sure his scent was fully masked. The last thing they needed was for anyone to pick up on what was happening.

Instead of calling the healer, Hyungwon made a different decision. This situation needed to be handled delicately, and there was only one person who could manage it. He called Seungcheol’s father.

Within the hour, Seungcheol’s father arrived, along with his three sons—Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Mingyu. The moment they entered the room, Mingyu rushed to his older brother’s side, his face contorted in concern. He checked Seungcheol over, his hands moving swiftly but gently as he assessed the situation.

“He’s burning up,” Mingyu muttered grimly, his voice thick with worry. “We need to get him out of here.”

Hyungwon nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “We can’t let anyone see him like this. Not during the festival.”

The palace was buzzing with activity as preparations for the week-long celebration were in full swing. It was the perfect cover, but it also meant they had to be extra careful. One slip, and everything could spiral out of control.

“Let’s move,” Seungcheol’s father said, his voice low and commanding. The urgency in his tone left no room for hesitation.

Together, they worked swiftly and silently. Seungcheol was carefully transferred into his father’s arms, his limp form hidden beneath thick cloaks to disguise his condition. Mingyu, Wonwoo, and Jihoon surrounded him, their presence acting as a shield as they prepared to leave the palace.

The timing couldn’t have been better. The festival preparations had created a rush of activity, with palace staff and guards focused on their duties. It was chaotic, and the thick air was already filled with the various scents as everyone busily prepared for the celebrations. Using this to their advantage, Seungcheol’s family began their careful exit, masking the scent of his heat with their own powerful alpha scents.

Hyungwon walked ahead, his sharp eyes scanning for any potential threats. Behind him, Seungcheol’s father carried his son, moving with a purpose but without drawing attention. Wonwoo and Jihoon flanked him, their expressions neutral, while Mingyu kept close to Seungcheol, his face grim but determined.

Every step was calculated, each movement blending seamlessly into the bustling activity of the palace. No one seemed to notice them, and the festival preparations provided the perfect distraction.

As they neared the exit, Seungcheol’s father spoke quietly to Hyungwon. “Thank you for your discretion.”

Hyungwon gave a curt nod. “It’s my duty. Get him out safely.”

With that, Seungcheol’s family slipped out of the palace grounds, moving swiftly and discreetly toward safety. The scent blockers did their job, and the thick alpha scent surrounding them kept Seungcheol’s heat masked from anyone nearby.

As the palace continued to buzz with excitement for the festival, no one realized that Seungcheol had quietly disappeared—spirited away by the people who cared for him the most.

Chapter Text

Jeonghan’s chambers were a mess. The sound of crashing objects echoed through the room as he threw anything within reach, his frustration and anger manifesting in the chaos around him. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his mind a whirlwind of emotions that he couldn’t control. The more he tried to suppress it, the worse it got, until the pain and the anger exploded out of him, leaving him standing amidst the wreckage.

He growled in frustration, fists clenched at his sides. Nothing helped. Nothing could take away the deep, aching void inside him. The weight of the emotions he’d been carrying for years was too much, and today, it had finally broken free.

Another crash rang out as Jeonghan threw a vase against the wall, watching it shatter into pieces. But even that didn’t satisfy the anger clawing at his insides. It was as though every piece of shattered porcelain only added to the jagged edges cutting at his heart.

Before he could hurl another object, the door to his chambers swung open, and Hyungwon stepped inside.

“Your Highness,” Hyungwon’s voice was calm but firm, his eyes taking in the destruction around the room before settling on Jeonghan.

Jeonghan’s eyes flashed with fury, and he snarled, turning away as he tried to ignore Hyungwon’s presence. “Leave me alone.”

But Hyungwon didn’t move. He crossed the room in a few swift strides and grabbed Jeonghan’s wrist before he could throw anything else. Jeonghan struggled, trying to pull away, but Hyungwon’s grip was strong, unyielding.

“Enough,” Hyungwon said quietly, his voice filled with authority.

For a moment, Jeonghan fought him, his chest still heaving with anger. But as Hyungwon held him steady, something in Jeonghan broke. The fight drained out of him, and his knees buckled under the weight of his emotions. Hyungwon caught him easily, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Jeonghan didn’t resist. Instead, he melted into Hyungwon’s arms, his body trembling as the sobs began to pour out of him. His fingers clutched at Hyungwon’s vest, holding on as if he might drown in his grief if he let go.

“It’s not fair,” Jeonghan choked out between sobs. “I’ve tried, hyung. I’ve tried to move on, to forget, but it hurts... It still hurts so much.”

Hyungwon’s face was grim as he held the Crown Prince, his hand gently rubbing soothing circles on Jeonghan’s back. “I know,” he whispered, his voice steady, though his heart ached for Jeonghan. “I know, Your Highness.”

Jeonghan’s sobs grew louder, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief. “I miss him,” he cried, his voice raw with pain. “I miss him every day. It’s like he’s haunting me, and no matter what I do, I can’t escape it. I can’t forget him.”

Hyungwon held Jeonghan tighter, his expression dark with understanding. He knew the depth of Jeonghan’s pain, knew how much the Crown Prince had tried to bury his feelings, to hide them behind a mask of strength and duty. But moments like this—moments when the walls came down—revealed just how deeply the wound still ran.

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” Jeonghan whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I can’t stop. I can’t let go.”

Hyungwon didn’t have the words to take away Jeonghan’s pain. He could only hold him, offering the steady comfort of his presence as Jeonghan’s sobs gradually subsided. His grip on Hyungwon’s vest loosened, but the weight of his grief remained, hanging between them like an unspoken truth.

For a long time, they stayed like that, Jeonghan cradled in Hyungwon’s arms, his breathing ragged but slowly evening out. Hyungwon’s heart ached for the Crown Prince, knowing that this pain—this deep, unrelenting grief—was something that couldn’t be easily healed.

But for now, he would be here, offering whatever comfort he could, holding Jeonghan through the storm of emotions that had been brewing for far too long.

The festival had begun, and the entire palace was alight with celebration. Lights adorned every corner, music filled the air, and the energy of the week-long festivities buzzed throughout the country. It was a momentous occasion—the pack’s 100th year, a century of growth, strength, and unity. The people reveled in their success, their pride evident in every smile and cheer that echoed through the streets.

But while the palace and its grounds were alive with excitement, in a discreet location far from the chaos, things were very different.

Seungcheol lay feverish in his family’s safe house, deep in the throes of his heat. His body was wracked with pain, the intense fever leaving him drenched in sweat as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The heat had come on strong this time, stronger than ever before, and his family’s worry was at an all-time high.

In the dimly lit room, Seungcheol whimpered softly, his body trembling as he shifted under the blankets. Jihoon sat beside him, his face etched with concern as he gently placed a cold cloth on Seungcheol’s burning forehead. Wonwoo and Mingyu hovered nearby, their expressions grim as they watched over their brother.

“There’s nothing we can do but wait,” Wonwoo murmured, his voice tight with frustration. He hated feeling helpless, but there was no remedy for this kind of pain.

Mingyu, who had tried everything in his power to ease Seungcheol’s suffering, looked just as defeated. His healing abilities had done little to dull the agony, and the medicines they had administered seemed to offer only fleeting relief. “He’s strong,” Mingyu said quietly, more to reassure himself than anyone else. “He’ll get through this.”

But the nights were the hardest. It was then that Seungcheol’s heat seemed to peak, the pain crashing over him in waves that left him whimpering and writhing in bed. When the cramps became too much, his body would convulse, muscles seizing painfully as he cried out, his hands gripping the sheets in desperation.

During those moments, his siblings would take turns holding him close, their hearts aching as they listened to his broken whimpers. Tonight, it was Jihoon’s turn. The usually stoic brother held Seungcheol tight against his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around him as Seungcheol’s body trembled uncontrollably. Jihoon’s lips moved silently, offering a prayer that Seungcheol would withstand the pain.

Seungcheol’s breath hitched as another cramp tore through him, his body twisting in agony. He sobbed softly, his voice hoarse from crying. “It hurts...” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I know,” Jihoon whispered back, his own voice strained as he tightened his hold on Seungcheol. “Just hold on, Cheol. It’ll pass. I promise.”

But sometimes, the pain was too much. Sometimes, even Jihoon’s steady presence and Mingyu’s healing couldn’t help, and all they could do was hold Seungcheol as he writhed and cried in their arms.

The night stretched on, the minutes crawling by as they waited for the cramps to subside, for the fever to break. Eventually, Seungcheol’s body gave in to the exhaustion, his sobs quieting as sleep finally claimed him.

Jihoon sighed softly in relief, though the worry never left his face. He gently brushed a strand of hair from Seungcheol’s sweat-dampened forehead, his heart heavy as he watched his brother rest.

Mingyu stood at the foot of the bed, his fists clenched in frustration. “I hate this,” he muttered. “I hate that we can’t do anything.”

Wonwoo placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression somber. “We’re doing all we can,” he said quietly. “We just have to wait it out.”

And so they waited, the sounds of the festival celebrations far in the distance, a stark contrast to the quiet, tense atmosphere inside the safe house. All they could do was be there for Seungcheol, praying that he had the strength to make it through the worst of his heat.

The final day of the festival was winding down, the vibrant colors and sounds that had filled the palace slowly giving way to a more subdued atmosphere. The celebrations had been a success, a proud milestone for the pack, but Jeonghan found little satisfaction in it. His mind was elsewhere, searching for something—or rather, someone.

He had spent the past few days scanning the crowds, half expecting Seungcheol to reappear any moment, but his assistant had never shown up. Jeonghan’s patience had worn thin, and now, with the festival drawing to a close, he found himself growing increasingly irritated.

Where was Seungcheol?

Jeonghan had checked the calendar more times than he cared to admit, confirming again and again the date that Seungcheol’s leave was supposed to end. He had approved five days, begrudgingly, but that time was nearly up. Seungcheol should’ve been back by now, and yet... there was no sign of him.

The frustration was starting to claw at Jeonghan’s chest. He wasn’t used to being ignored, especially not by someone who worked directly under him. He scowled at the thought, a knot of irritation tightening in his stomach.

Finally, when Hyungwon entered his office to hand over the final report for the festival, Jeonghan could hold his questions back no longer.

“Where is Seungcheol?” Jeonghan demanded, his tone sharper than usual.

Hyungwon didn’t flinch under the sudden question, his expression remaining calm as always. “He’s still on leave, Your Highness,” Hyungwon replied evenly.

Jeonghan’s brow furrowed. “On leave? His time should’ve been up by now. I only approved five days.”

Hyungwon glanced down at the papers in his hand before responding curtly, “His Majesty extended his leave. He’ll be away until the end of the week.”

Jeonghan’s jaw clenched at the mention of his father. “My father extended it?” he repeated, his voice tight with frustration. “Why?”

Hyungwon’s expression didn’t waver. “I wasn’t given the details, Your Highness. But it was the king’s orders, and none of us can disobey him.”

Jeonghan’s fists tightened at his sides. His father—once again interfering in his life, making decisions without so much as consulting him. It wasn’t the first time, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t make the bitterness any easier to swallow.

For a moment, Jeonghan was silent, his eyes darkening as he processed the information. The thought of his father controlling yet another aspect of his life grated on his nerves, and the fact that it concerned Seungcheol only made it worse.

“Of course,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Of course he’d go behind my back.”

Hyungwon watched him carefully, but didn’t offer any further comment. He knew better than to speak when Jeonghan was in this mood.

Jeonghan’s thoughts raced, a storm of conflicting emotions brewing inside him. His father’s influence, Seungcheol’s absence, and the strange tension that had been building within him ever since the sparring match—it was all too much. And now, with Seungcheol gone longer than expected, Jeonghan couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling creeping up his spine.

With a sharp exhale, Jeonghan waved Hyungwon away, signaling that the conversation was over. “Leave the reports. I’ll review them later.”

Hyungwon nodded and set the papers on Jeonghan’s desk before quietly leaving the room, his presence a steadying force even in silence.

As the door clicked shut, Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering toward the window where the remnants of the festival could still be heard in the distance. His fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest, his mind refusing to settle.

Seungcheol’s absence wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was a reminder of the control he didn’t have. And that realization gnawed at him more than anything.

The echoes of the festival had barely faded when Jun approached Joshua with his request. “Just half a day, Your Highness. I’ll finish the report on time, I promise,” Jun said, though his heart was clearly elsewhere.

Joshua, noticing the urgency in Jun’s voice, gave a reassuring smile. “The report can wait, Jun-ah. Take the full day off.”

Relief washed over Jun, and with a grateful nod, he didn’t waste another second. He rushed out of the palace, his mind filled with worry for Seungcheol. Jihoon and Wonwoo had told him how bad things had been during Seungcheol’s heat, and though they assured him that Seungcheol was recovering, Jun couldn’t rest until he saw for himself that his friend was alright.

When Jun finally arrived at the secluded safe house, his heart was pounding—not from the physical exertion of getting there, but from the worry that had been gnawing at him since he’d first heard about Seungcheol’s condition.

The door creaked open, and Seungcheol’s father greeted him with a warm nod. “He’s been asking about you,” the older man said, his tone both welcoming and weary.

Jun’s heart skipped a beat as he followed Seungcheol’s father through the quiet halls of the safe house. The atmosphere was calm, but there was an underlying tension, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for Seungcheol to fully recover.

When they reached Seungcheol’s room, Jun’s breath caught in his throat. Seungcheol was lying in bed, still pale and visibly weakened from the ordeal of his heat. But when he saw Jun at the door, a small, tired smile spread across his face, and his eyes lit up with a warmth that made Jun’s heart swell.

Without hesitation, Jun rushed to his side, lunging forward to wrap Seungcheol in a gentle but firm hug. “Cheol-ah, you scared me,” Jun whispered, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of his worry.

Seungcheol chuckled softly, though the sound was weak. “I’m sorry,” he replied, leaning into the embrace. “But I’m feeling better now. I’ll be back at the palace soon.”

Jun pulled back, his eyes scanning Seungcheol’s face for any sign of strain. There was still a lingering paleness, and though Seungcheol was smiling, it was clear he wasn’t fully back to his usual self.

“I brought something for you,” Jun said, reaching into his bag. He handed Seungcheol a few documents, the edges of the papers neatly folded. “Hyungwon-nim sent these over for you.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow in surprise as he took the papers, flipping through them. His eyes widened slightly as he reached the sick leave application, seeing the alpha king’s endorsement at the bottom. “Leave... until the end of the week?” he murmured, clearly taken aback.

Jun nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. It’s official. His Majesty granted you the rest of the week off.”

Seungcheol glanced back at the papers, his fingers tracing the royal seal. “I wasn’t expecting this,” he said, more to himself than to Jun.

Jun placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, his expression softening. “You’ve been through a lot, Seungcheol. You need to rest. Take this time to recover properly. There’s no need to rush back to the palace.”

Seungcheol sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leaned back against the pillows. “I guess you’re right,” he admitted, though a part of him still felt guilty for being away from his duties.

Jun’s gaze softened, and he smiled. “Hey, don’t worry about the palace right now. They’ll manage without you for a few more days. Just focus on getting better.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, his eyes drifting back to the papers in his hands. “Thanks, Jun-ah. For everything.”

Jun’s smile widened, and he gave Seungcheol’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Anytime, Cheollie. You know I’ve got your back.”

The two sat in companionable silence for a few moments, the tension that had weighed heavily on Jun’s chest finally beginning to ease. Seungcheol still had a ways to go before he was fully recovered, but seeing him smile—however faintly—was enough to reassure Jun that his friend was on the mend.

The morning sun had barely risen by the time Jun made his way back to the palace. His mind still lingered on Seungcheol, relieved that his friend was recovering but worried about what awaited him once he returned to his duties. As he approached the palace office, however, his thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of raised voices coming from the direction of Joshua’s quarters.

Jun slowed his steps, straining to catch the heated exchange coming from behind the closed doors. Joshua was arguing with someone—Jeonghan, by the sound of it—and their voices were escalating. Hyungwon stood nearby, his posture rigid, his expression grim. As Jun approached, the two exchanged bows, though Hyungwon’s eyes betrayed a flicker of concern.

Before Jun could process the situation, Joshua’s voice cut through the door. “Jun? Get in here!”

Jun swallowed nervously and hurried inside, bowing quickly to the two princes and the alpha king, who was seated at the head of the room. The tension was palpable, thick in the air as the argument raged on.

Joshua’s sharp eyes fell on him. “Did you just come back from Seungcheol’s house?”

Jun hesitated, his mind racing. He hadn’t expected to be pulled into the conversation so soon, and the intensity of the room made him uneasy. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said cautiously, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze on him.

The alpha king leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “And how is Seungcheol’s condition?” he asked, his tone calm but carrying an undertone of command.

Jun stammered for a moment, trying to find the right words. He couldn’t tell them the full truth—not here, not now. “He’s still recovering from... a sickness, Your Majesty,” Jun said, his voice wavering slightly. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but the weight of the omission pressed heavily on him.

Joshua, clearly agitated, turned back to Jeonghan. “There. He’s still sick. And yet you thought it was a good idea to cancel his leave?”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in frustration. “It’s unprofessional,” he snapped. “The Crown Prince’s assistant applying for leave that long in the middle of a critical time? You know as well as I do that—”

Joshua cut him off, slamming his hand down on the table. “His leave is his to use as he sees fit! Have you forgotten that you worked him to the brink of exhaustion while you ran off on vacation with Mother and our sister?”

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension between the two brothers crackling like lightning. Jeonghan’s eyes blazed with anger, but before he could respond, the alpha king spoke, his voice carrying the authority of both father and ruler.

“That’s enough,” the alpha king said, his tone calm but firm. “Seungcheol’s leave was extended under my orders.”

Both princes turned to look at him, surprise flashing across their faces.

The king continued, his gaze steady. “I have my reasons, and as king and your father, I have the right to make decisions regarding my employees. Seungcheol is one of them, and I decided it was only fair to grant him the leave he needed.”

Jeonghan’s fists clenched at his sides. “You’re always doing this,” he muttered, his voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. “Always taking control over our lives. It’s suffocating.”

The alpha king raised an eyebrow. “I’ve only intervened once, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan’s eyes darkened, his voice thick with emotion as he spat out his response. “Once was enough. Because of that, I lost everything that mattered to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Jeonghan stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall as the heavy door slammed shut behind him.

Silence filled the room once more, the weight of Jeonghan’s words hanging in the air. Jun stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do, while Joshua’s expression softened slightly, but his frustration remained evident.

The alpha king leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but a hint of sadness flickered in his eyes as he watched his eldest son leave. The tension between them was nothing new, but it seemed deeper now—more personal.

Seungcheol stood by the door, adjusting his jacket one last time as he prepared to return to the palace. His leave was nearly over, and though he still felt a bit weak, he knew it was time to resume his duties. As he stepped outside, ready to say goodbye to his family, a sight stopped him in his tracks.

Parked outside the house was a sleek car, and standing beside it, deep in conversation with his father, was none other than the alpha king himself.

Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat, and he immediately bowed low to show his respect. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, his voice steady despite his surprise.

The alpha king turned to him, a small, warm smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Seungcheol,” he said, his tone gentle yet authoritative. “I came to see how you were doing. I heard you’ve been recovering well.”

Seungcheol straightened, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “I... I’m doing much better, Your Majesty. I’m ready to return to the palace.”

The alpha king studied him for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “Are you sure? I can extend your leave if necessary. There’s no rush for you to come back.”

Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t every day that the king himself offered such kindness. He lowered his head slightly, feeling a rush of gratitude. “I’m grateful for your concern, Your Majesty. But I’m fine now. I’m ready to resume my duties.”

The alpha king chuckled softly. “There’s no need to be so formal. It’s my responsibility. I look after my people.”

Seungcheol’s cheeks flushed slightly at the king’s words. He had always admired the alpha king, not just for his leadership but for his genuine care for the people under his rule. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m honored.”

With a nod, the king turned to Seungcheol’s father and brothers, giving them a brief smile. “You’ve raised him well. I’ll take good care of him in the palace.”

Seungcheol’s father nodded in appreciation, his face softening. “I trust you will, Your Majesty.”

After exchanging a few final words with his family, Seungcheol stepped forward to embrace them. He hugged his father tightly, followed by Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Mingyu, each of them offering quiet words of encouragement and reminding him to take care of himself. Mingyu, ever the worrier, gave him one last check to make sure he was truly ready to leave.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Mingyu murmured, his concern clear in his eyes.

“I won’t,” Seungcheol promised with a small smile. “I’ll be fine.”

With that, he bid his family farewell and followed the alpha king into the car.

As the car glided down the road toward the palace, Seungcheol felt the tension in his body slowly ease. The alpha king sat beside him, the atmosphere in the car surprisingly calm. After a few moments of comfortable silence, the king spoke.

“So,” the alpha king began, his voice carrying a note of curiosity, “your family—have they been treating you well?”

Seungcheol glanced at the king, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Better than I could have ever asked for, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t find a better family anywhere.”

The king nodded, his eyes softening as he turned to look out the window. “I believe that. Your father—he’s one of the most trusted men I’ve ever known. He’s always been reliable, and from the looks of it, he’s raised you well.”

Seungcheol’s heart swelled with pride at the king’s words. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

They continued to share small talk for the rest of the journey, the alpha king asking about Seungcheol’s time at home and his plans once he returned to the palace. The conversation had been light, a welcome distraction from the intensity of the past few weeks, but Seungcheol could feel there was something more the king wanted to say.

After a moment, the alpha king cleared his throat, his gaze turning more serious as he spoke. “Seungcheol,” he began, his voice a little softer than before. “I’ve been meaning to say something... about Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol blinked in surprise, unsure of where the conversation was headed. He remained silent, giving the king space to continue.

“I know he’s been hard on you,” the king admitted, a faint sigh escaping his lips. “I’ve seen it myself, and I’ve heard from others. I... I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly. The alpha king was apologizing to him? He hadn’t expected that.

The king’s expression turned more somber, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. “I take responsibility for the way Jeonghan has turned out. Some of it—no, much of it—is my fault. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now...” He trailed off, his expression clouded with regret.

Seungcheol felt a pang of sympathy for the king. It wasn’t often that someone in his position spoke so openly about their mistakes. “Your Majesty, it’s not your fault—”

The king shook his head. “It is, Seungcheol. And I’m sorry that you’ve had to bear the brunt of it. Jeonghan... he’s carrying more than he’s supposed to, and he sometimes takes it out on the people around him, like what he had done to you…”

Seungcheol shifted in his seat, unsure how to respond. He hadn’t expected this kind of confession from the alpha king, let alone the offer that came next.

“I don’t want you to suffer because of my mistakes,” the king said after a pause. “If it’s too much—if Jeonghan is too much—I can move you somewhere more comfortable. Somewhere you won’t have to deal with his temper.”

Seungcheol blinked, taken aback by the offer. The thought of leaving his post as Jeonghan’s assistant had never crossed his mind. Despite everything, despite the way Jeonghan had treated him, Seungcheol felt a strange sense of loyalty to his position. He had worked hard to get here, and something inside him told him that this was where he was meant to be.

“I appreciate the offer, Your Majesty,” Seungcheol said carefully, his voice steady. “But I’d like to stay where I am. I believe I can still be of use to the Crown Prince.”

The alpha king studied him for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Slowly, a small, approving smile spread across his face. “You’re a loyal man, Seungcheol. And I respect that. But just know that if you ever change your mind, my offer stands.”

Seungcheol nodded, grateful for the king’s understanding. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The king leaned back in his seat, his expression softening. “I have a feeling that things will fall back into place soon. Sometimes, the hardest times are just the prelude to something better. You’ve been patient—and strong. That will pay off.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, the king’s words a quiet reassurance. “I hope so, Your Majesty.”

As the car drew closer to the palace, the tension in Seungcheol’s chest began to ease. The alpha king’s words lingered in his mind, offering a glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—things were about to change for the better. Seungcheol took a deep breath, ready to face whatever awaited him next.

As the car rolled to a stop at the palace entrance, Seungcheol stepped out, his eyes adjusting to the familiar surroundings. It felt like a lifetime had passed since he’d last been here, though it had only been less than two weeks. The alpha king exited the car beside him, offering a small, reassuring nod before making his way toward the main hall.

Before they could enter, they were met by an envoy—Jeonghan’s envoy, specifically—returning from a meeting outside the palace. Jeonghan was at the head of the group, his expression impassive as he approached. The moment his eyes landed on Seungcheol and his father, however, a flicker of surprise passed through his gaze.

Seungcheol immediately dipped into a respectful bow. “Your Highness,” he greeted, his voice steady, though a little hesitant.

Jeonghan, however, was less than enthusiastic about the encounter. He barely spared Seungcheol a glance before turning to his father. “Father,” he said, his tone clipped, though he dipped his head in a begrudging greeting.

The alpha king, for his part, maintained his calm composure. “Jeonghan,” he replied evenly. He gave Seungcheol one last look, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Take care, Seungcheol. And remember—if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.” he said before turning to leave, his entourage following closely behind.

Seungcheol offered a final bow to the alpha king as he leave. “Thank you again, Your Majesty,” Seungcheol said, grateful for the ride and the conversation.

As soon as the king was out of earshot, Seungcheol straightened up, hoping the moment would pass without incident. But Jeonghan lingered, his sharp eyes narrowing as they turned back to Seungcheol. His tone was sharp when he finally spoke.

“So,” Jeonghan began, folding his arms across his chest. “Mind explaining why your leave was extended? You were supposed to be back days ago.”

Seungcheol felt the heat rise to his cheeks, his earlier confidence wavering. “I... I was sick, Your Highness,” he stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Jeonghan scoffed, his eyes rolling in disbelief. “Sick, huh? And what’s so special about you that my father himself had to grant you an extended sick leave?” He paused, his voice turning more venomous. “And even pick you up personally?”

The words stung, but before Seungcheol could stop himself, something in him snapped. The words stung, and Seungcheol could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him. He had endured so much already—Jeonghan’s endless demands, the exhaustion, the near-collapse. And now, after everything, Jeonghan still had the audacity to question him, to belittle him.

His brow furrowed, and he felt an uncharacteristic wave of frustration rise within him. “With all due respect, Your Highness,” Seungcheol said, his voice firmer than he’d intended. “Everyone have the right to be treated as a human being.”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden boldness. But Seungcheol wasn’t done.

“Now that I think about it,” Seungcheol continued, his words slipping out before he could stop them. “Maybe if you weren’t such a jerk, your father wouldn’t have to apologize for raising you that way.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Seungcheol felt his stomach drop. He wanted to slap himself—what had he just said? His heart raced as he realized the gravity of what he’d just blurted out.

Jeonghan gasped audibly, his face a mix of shock and disbelief. For a moment, the Crown Prince stood frozen, utterly speechless. He opened his mouth to respond but seemed at a complete loss for words. Without another glance, Jeonghan turned sharply on his heel and stormed off, leaving Seungcheol standing awkwardly in the middle of the lobby, his heart still pounding in his chest.

Seungcheol stood there, wide-eyed and feeling more than a little regretful, unsure of what to do next. He wanted to shrink into the floor. Had he really just called the Crown Prince a jerk?

Just as he was about to collapse under the weight of his embarrassment, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Hyungwon, who had apparently witnessed the entire exchange, gave Seungcheol a small, amused smile and a subtle thumbs up before following Jeonghan down the hall.

Seungcheol sighed, his hands coming up to cover his face. “What have I done?”

The morning was still cool when Seungcheol stepped out of his quarters, adjusting his jacket as he prepared for the day ahead. But before he could take more than a few steps, he found himself flanked by two guards, their expressions unreadable as they offer a small bow at him.

“Seungcheol-nim,” one of them said, his voice formal. “You’re to come with us.”

Seungcheol frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “To where?”

The guards didn’t answer, simply motioning for him to follow. Seungcheol’s heart began to race as they led him down the palace corridors and out into the open. As they approached the training grounds, the sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.

In the middle of the field, dressed in his full training gear, was Jeonghan. Seungcheol’s frown deepened. What was going on?

Before he could ask, Jeonghan turned to him, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. Without a word, he tossed something toward Seungcheol. A set of training clothes.

“Get dressed,” Jeonghan commanded, his voice cold. “We’re sparring again.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? Now?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer, merely crossing his arms over his chest as he waited. But before Seungcheol could respond, Hyungwon appeared, his expression tight with disapproval.

“This isn’t what we agreed upon, Your Highness,” Hyungwon said, stepping forward to address Jeonghan. “Seungcheol-nim is still recovering. He’s not in any condition for this.”

Jeonghan’s gaze hardened. “He had no problem winning last time,” he snapped, his tone laced with frustration. “Why is he suddenly playing the weakness card? It’s not fair to let him get away with that.”

Hyungwon’s frown deepened, his posture tense. “It’s not about fairness, Your Highness. It’s about his health.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, and he turned to Hyungwon with a glare. “Stop playing bodyguard, hyung. Let Seungcheol make his own decisions.”

Seungcheol felt a lump form in his throat as both men turned their attention to him. He could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, and though every part of him wanted to protest—wanted to say that he wasn’t ready, that he still felt weak—he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Instead, he stammered out the words before he could stop himself. “I... I’ll do it.”

Hyungwon’s eyes flickered with concern, but Seungcheol quickly looked away, his hands clutching the training clothes as he hurried to change. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the nervous energy buzzing under his skin.

As he pulled on the training gear, Seungcheol couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed him to agree. But there was no turning back now. Jeonghan had challenged him, and for better or worse, he would face him again.

Soon, Seungcheol stood in front of Jeonghan, all ready in his training gears. The sun was just beginning to rise higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds as Seungcheol and Jeonghan started the sparring match. The tension between them was palpable, each movement sharp and calculated. It wasn’t long before their match drew the attention of others nearby, with murmurs rippling through the crowd that had gathered to watch.

Soonyoung, just returning from his morning security check-up, caught sight of the match and quickly made his way toward Hyungwon, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low as he watched the two figures sparring with increasing intensity.

Hyungwon, standing just off to the side, shook his head, his expression filled with worry. “Jeonghan-nim insisted on sparring with Seungcheol-nim again. He’s... not letting up.”

Soonyoung’s frown deepened as he watched the match unfold. Jeonghan was clearly dominating, his strikes precise and relentless. Meanwhile, Seungcheol—who was still recovering from his sickness—was struggling to keep up, his movements slower, less coordinated. But he didn’t give up, his determination keeping him in the fight, even as his body began to betray him.

Jeonghan seemed to notice Seungcheol’s weakening state, his attacks slowing down slightly, but there was still a fire in his eyes—a mixture of anger and frustration that fueled his movements. Even as he toned down his strength, his blows still came with passion, each strike accompanied by sharp words.

“How dare you disobey me?” Jeonghan growled as he swung at Seungcheol, his voice filled with resentment. “You think you can call me a jerk and get away with it?”

Seungcheol could barely respond, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he fought to defend himself. His body was growing weaker by the second, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. But still, he held on, refusing to back down.

The crowd watching grew tense as Seungcheol’s movements slowed further. His legs trembled beneath him, and his vision blurred at the edges. Then, finally, his knees buckled, and he began to fall.

But just as Seungcheol’s body gave in to exhaustion, Jeonghan was there—catching him before he hit the ground. The force of the moment sent them both tumbling to the dirt, but Jeonghan never let go, his grip tight on Seungcheol’s arm as they ended up on the ground together.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop. The world around them faded, the sounds of the crowd dulling as Seungcheol closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over him. His body felt heavy, his mind drifting in and out of clarity.

When he blinked his eyes open again, he was met with Jeonghan’s intense gaze. The Crown Prince’s face hovered just above his own, their breaths mingling in the space between them.

Time seemed to slow. Seungcheol’s mind, still foggy from the match, struggled to make sense of what was happening. And then, without warning, Jeonghan moved closer, his eyes darkening with an emotion Seungcheol couldn’t quite place.

Before Seungcheol could react, Jeonghan leaned in, his lips crashing against Seungcheol’s in a sudden, possessive kiss.

The shock of the moment sent Seungcheol’s heart racing, but his body was too tired to fight back. He lay there, stunned, his mind reeling as Jeonghan’s lips pressed against his. It was as if the Crown Prince had been possessed, his actions driven by something primal, something he couldn’t control.

The world around them seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them—locked in a moment that neither of them could have predicted.

Chapter Text

Everything had happened too fast. One moment, Seungcheol was holding his own in their sparring match, and the next—Jeonghan had closed the distance between them, his body pressing too close, his hands gripping Seungcheol’s arms tightly, and then… their lips collided.

Seungcheol’s entire world froze. His heart stopped beating for a split second before it began hammering violently in his chest, each thud reverberating painfully in his ears. The heat of Jeonghan’s lips, the scent of his sweat and warmth, overwhelmed his senses. Every thought, every rational part of his mind, was thrown into pure chaos.

No. No, no, no.

Panic surged through him, and his body acted before his brain could catch up. He jerked back, his muscles coiling in instinctive defense, and without thinking—

CRACK.

His forehead slammed into Jeonghan’s face.

Jeonghan grunted in shock, releasing Seungcheol instantly. Seungcheol’s head throbbed from the impact, but it didn’t matter and for a second, they both sat there, dazed.

Seungcheol blinked rapidly, his mind racing. What just happened? How did this escalate so quickly? His eyes darted around, and he noticed the crowd starting to move in, the confusion and curiosity etched on their faces.

Panic gripped him. He couldn’t let this scene get any worse than it already was. What would people think? How could he face Jeonghan—or anyone—after this?

His mind scrambled for a solution, and then it hit him. There was only one way out. And in that split-second of dizzying panic, Seungcheol did the only thing his brain could grasp at. He let his legs give out beneath him, his body crumpling to the ground in the most dramatic faint he could muster.

The silence that followed was deafening. He lay there, eyes shut tight, every muscle tense as he desperately tried to control his breathing. His forehead throbbed painfully, but the embarrassment was far worse than the physical pain. His mind raced as he kept perfectly still, praying that no one would notice how forced his "collapse" had been.

Please don’t question this. Please just let this work.

For a long, agonizing moment, nothing happened. Then, he heard movement—shuffling feet, voices. He could hear the voices—Hyungwon’s worried tone, Soonyoung’s confused mutterings—but he kept his eyes shut, staying as still as possible. His pulse spiked, and his heart pounded even harder, but he fought to keep his breathing steady. There were people gathering around him. He could feel the weight of their stares, their worry.

"Seungcheol?" One of the voices called out—he thought it might be Soonyoung. "Is he okay?"

He heard footsteps closer now, someone crouching down next to him, and it took every ounce of willpower not to flinch or react. The cool air brushing against his face told him that someone was leaning over him, checking to see if he was conscious. He wanted so badly to open his eyes, to see who it was, but fear gripped him. What if they figure out I’m pretending?

Another voice joined the concern. “Did he collapse from the hit?” Jeonghan, sounding… confused? A little dazed, probably from the headbutt. Seungcheol could hear the shift in his voice, the way he lingered near him. Could he feel guilty? Embarrassed, maybe?

More voices joined in—murmurs about the training, whispers of concern for him. Seungcheol fought against the urge to cringe under the attention, forcing his body to remain limp, loose, while his mind screamed in mortification.

This was supposed to be my grand exit? A pit of humiliation settled in his stomach. But it was too late now to do anything. He was committed.

Then, he felt hands. Strong hands, lifting him off the ground, effortlessly pulling his body into their arms. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He could feel himself being carried, the gentle sway of each step as whoever had picked him up moved carefully but steadily.

Who is carrying me?

The question circled in his mind, and his curiosity burned with it. He tried to peek, just a sliver, his eyelids twitching slightly. Just a glance. No one will notice if I just—

But the risk was too great. He couldn’t be caught now, not after going through all this. Instead, he quickly shut his eyes again, pretending to stay unconscious. His pulse raced beneath his skin, but the swaying rhythm of the person carrying him, the gentle weightlessness of being lifted, was strangely soothing. His body, still tense with panic moments before, began to relax.

There were still whispers, still voices talking, but Seungcheol let himself fade into the moment. The scent of whoever was carrying him was oddly familiar—safe, even—but he couldn’t bring himself to fully register it. His head was pounding from the earlier hit, and the constant waves of embarrassment and tension finally gave way to exhaustion.

He let himself go, let the steady movements and low voices lull him into something like sleep, or at least the closest thing to peace he could find in the aftermath of such chaos. His muscles loosened, and for the first time in what felt like hours, he allowed himself to breathe, letting the tension melt away.

Whatever came next, he’d face it later. For now, he just wanted to disappear into the quiet and let the world move on without him.

Jeonghan didn’t know what came over him. One moment, they were sparring—his body reacting to each of Seungcheol’s movements with precision and calculated force—but the next, everything blurred. The proximity, the heat, the way Seungcheol's chest rose and fell, their bodies too close—something snapped inside him. His self-control, carefully maintained through years of discipline, shattered.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in. His lips found Seungcheol's.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t thought through. It was raw instinct, a moment of reckless, overwhelming desire, and it stunned Jeonghan as much as it likely did to Seungcheol.

But in that brief moment, all Jeonghan could feel was the electrifying warmth of Seungcheol’s lips against his. His pulse raced, blood pounding in his ears as his grip on Seungcheol tightened. He felt the subtle shudder in Seungcheol’s body, the brief stillness that followed.

Then—

CRACK.

Pain shot through Jeonghan’s skull as Seungcheol’s head collided with his. He stumbled back, hissing sharply, one hand flying to his forehead as the sharp sting bloomed between his eyes. His mind, clouded moments ago, cleared in an instant.

“What the—” Jeonghan winced, rubbing the spot where Seungcheol had headbutted him. But before he could gather his thoughts, before he could even process what had just happened, Seungcheol’s body crumpled to the ground.

“Seungcheol?” Jeonghan called out, confusion and surprise flashing through him. He watched as his assistant’s body went limp, his eyes fluttering shut.

For a second, Jeonghan blinked, unable to react. Did Seungcheol just—passed out?

Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he watched Seungcheol lying on the ground. His first instinct was to keel back over, but something about the way Seungcheol’s eyes fluttered earlier, the suspicious timing of his collapse, gave him pause. Was he pretending?

Jeonghan knew what a real faint looked like. He’d seen it countless times from soldiers who had pushed themselves too far, from servants who had fainted from illness. But Seungcheol’s eyelids—just for a second—they’d twitched ever so lightly, betraying him.

Is he really pretending… after everything that just happened? Jeonghan’s mind raced as the confusion and guilt warred within him. What had he done? He had lost control, completely crossed the line—and now Seungcheol was lying on the ground, either unconscious or pretending to be, because of him.

Before he could even kneel beside him, Hyungwon and Soonyoung rushed over. The sound of their footsteps jolted Jeonghan back to reality.

“Is everything alright?” Soonyoung’s voice came first, frantic with concern.

Jeonghan blinked, still holding his throbbing forehead. He was about to snap at them, to assure them that everything was fine, that he was fine—that Seungcheol was fine—but the words never came out.

Because neither Hyungwon nor Soonyoung was paying any attention to him. They went straight to Seungcheol.

“Seungcheol-nim?” Hyungwon’s voice was laced with worry, a tone that caught Jeonghan off guard. “Come on, wake up.”

Soonyoung was there too, hovering anxiously over them. “Is he okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. “He looks really out of it.”

Jeonghan’s mind spun in disbelief. They didn’t even ask if I was alright? But more than that—how could they not see that Seungcheol was probably faking this? He almost opened his mouth to tell them, to call out Seungcheol’s ridiculous act, but something stopped him, because Seungcheol didn’t move.

Hyungwon shook him gently, a frown deepening on his face when Seungcheol remained limp. Soonyoung leaned closer, his expression troubled as he placed a hand on Seungcheol’s arm, trying to wake him. Both of them exchanged glances, concern written clearly across their faces.

Jeonghan's stomach twisted. He wanted to scoff—he’s just pretending!—but the words caught in his throat. He watched, frozen, as Seungcheol continued to lie motionless on the ground, his chest rising and falling slowly, but nothing more.

But as the seconds ticked by, Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice something unsettling. Seungcheol wasn’t moving. His head lolled against the ground, his hand limp by his side. Even with Hyungwon and Soonyoung gently shaking him, Seungcheol remained unresponsive.

Jeonghan’s heart skipped a beat. Wait... was he actually unconscious?

A flash of Hyungwon’s earlier words came back to him. He’s still recovering from an illness… he’s not in the best shape yet.

A cold dread washed over Jeonghan. “Seungcheol?” he called out, his voice sharper than he intended. No response. His assistant’s face remained still, his eyes closed, his body unnervingly motionless.

Suddenly, Jeonghan’s chest tightened. This wasn’t right. Seungcheol should’ve woken up by now, should’ve opened his eyes, or let it known that he was just pretending. But he didn’t.

Jeonghan’s chest tightened, panic beginning to swell in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a simple sparring session—he was supposed to be fine. But now, seeing Seungcheol unresponsive in front of him, everything felt wrong.

Jeonghan snapped. “Move!” he barked, his voice sharp with urgency. His heart pounded as he quickly crouched down, pushing Hyungwon and Soonyoung aside before either of them could react.

“What—” Hyungwon began, startled, but Jeonghan didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“I said move!” Jeonghan growled, his voice trembling with the surge of guilt and worry. He gathered Seungcheol into his arms, his grip firm but careful as he lifted him off the ground. Seungcheol’s body was lighter than he expected, limp and fragile in his hold.

Seungcheol’s head lolled against his chest, his body limp and unresponsive, and Jeonghan’s heart clenched painfully. He didn’t even care about the murmurs of surprise from the onlookers around them. All that mattered was getting Seungcheol to safety, making sure he was alright.

Jeonghan’s mind raced as he stood, cradling Seungcheol’s unconscious form. Was Seungcheol really that sick? What if he had pushed him too far? He couldn’t shake the guilt, the panic gnawing at him. He had demanded this spar, forced Seungcheol to keep up.

What the hell was I thinking?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Out of the way!” he barked, pushing through the crowd that had gathered around them.

Without hesitation, Jeonghan turned toward the medical quarters and bolted, carrying Seungcheol toward the medical room. Hyungwon and Soonyoung followed close behind, their concerned whispers trailing after him, but Jeonghan barely registered them. His entire focus was on the body in his arms, the guilt weighing down on him with every step. He had to get Seungcheol help. He had to fix this.

“Hold on,” Jeonghan whispered under his breath as he ran, his legs moving faster than they ever had before. “Just... hold on.”

Jeonghan stood at the foot of the bed, staring at Seungcheol’s face in sheer disbelief. The tension in his body, the panic that had gripped him minutes before, slowly ebbed away, but in its place was a swirl of confusion and frustration.

Seungcheol was lying there peacefully—sleeping. His face was calm, the usual tight lines of concentration and determination completely gone, replaced by a serene expression. His chest rose and fell steadily, the steady rhythm of his breathing the only sound in the room aside from the occasional crackle of the hearth.

Sleeping. He’s just… sleeping.

Jeonghan blinked, his mind still reeling from the absurdity of it all. He had rushed here, heart pounding, filled with fear that something terrible had happened to his assistant—that maybe, he had pushed him too far. His mind had spiraled into worst-case scenarios the entire time they rushed to the medical quarters, Seungcheol’s limp form in his arms.

But now…

“He’s perfectly fine,” the healer assured him gently, standing next to the bed, her hands resting calmly at her sides. “It seems he was simply exhausted. Perhaps a bit overworked, but otherwise, nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just asleep.”

Jeonghan’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. The healer gave him a small, understanding smile. “I know you were worried, Your Highness. But sometimes, fatigue can catch up with us faster than we realize. He’ll be up in a few hours, I’m sure.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flickered back to Seungcheol’s face, a strange mixture of relief and disbelief knotting in his chest.

He’s sleeping.

The absurdity of it gnawed at him. He had been so panicked, his mind racing with all the terrible possibilities—and Seungcheol had just fallen asleep? He didn’t know whether to feel relief or be annoyed by the whole thing.

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, a mix of relief and frustration bubbling up inside him. His mind had been running wild, fearing that Seungcheol had collapsed due to the sparring match—or worse, that he had hurt him somehow. But now, seeing him lying there, peacefully asleep, it felt ridiculous.

“Sleeping,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath. “After all that…”

He hadn’t realized he was speaking out loud, but Hyungwon, standing beside him, caught the words. “Your Highness?” he prompted gently.

Jeonghan shook his head, dismissing it. “Nothing,” he muttered. He turned his gaze away from Seungcheol, the knot of tension in his chest loosening slightly. The healer was right. Seungcheol was fine—he had just pushed himself too far. But still, it all felt so… absurd.

Hyungwon, sensing the shift in Jeonghan’s mood, stepped forward. “Your Highness, it would be best to let him rest now. The healer said he’d wake up in a few hours.”

Jeonghan hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on Seungcheol’s face. Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re right. He should rest.”

Hyungwon gave him a small, reassuring nod. “Come, let’s return to your quarters. You’ll need to change. There’s a full schedule ahead of us today.”

Jeonghan hesitated but finally nodded, letting Hyungwon steer him away from Seungcheol’s bedside. The healer bowed respectfully as they left the room, and Jeonghan cast one last glance at Seungcheol’s sleeping form before stepping out into the hallway.

As they walked down the corridor, the quiet of the palace surrounding them, Jeonghan’s thoughts continued to churn.

“I… felt something strange earlier,” Jeonghan said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Around Seungcheol.”

Hyungwon raised an eyebrow, keeping pace beside him. “Strange, how?”

Jeonghan shook his head, frowning as he struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like… there’s something about him. I can’t shake it off…” He trailed off, not knowing how to finish the thought.

Hyungwon hummed thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing in that annoyingly knowing way he had. “Maybe something’s just affecting you, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan shot him a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing serious.” Hyungwon smirked, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “But maybe you’re more affected by Seungcheol than you think. You’ve been alone for a long time, Your Highness. His presence might just be stirring something up in you.”

Jeonghan scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think I’ve been alone too long? That I’m just... affected by him?” His tone was more defensive than he intended, but Hyungwon’s words struck a nerve.

Hyungwon chuckled softly. “I’m just saying, Your Highness, it wouldn’t be surprising. Seungcheol has a certain… intensity.”

Jeonghan clenched his jaw, annoyance prickling at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Hyungwon’s voice was teasing, but there was a layer of seriousness underneath.

Jeonghan looked away, refusing to let the comment settle in his mind. He walked ahead, his steps quicker, eager to distance himself from the conversation. “I’m going to get changed,” he muttered, dismissing the conversation as best he could.

But Hyungwon stayed behind for a moment, lingering just outside Seungcheol’s room. He glanced back toward the door, his gaze thoughtful as his eyes flickered between where Jeonghan had gone and where Seungcheol lay inside.

The playful smile faded from his face as he whispered to himself, “The right time hasn’t arrived yet…”

With one last glance, Hyungwon turned and followed after Jeonghan, his mind already turning over thoughts that he kept to himself.

The soft sounds of someone shifting beside him pulled Seungcheol out of the fog of sleep. His body felt heavy, sluggish, as though he’d been asleep for hours. He blinked slowly, registering the familiar surroundings of the medical quarters—the faint smell of herbs, the soft light filtering in through the window, and…

“You’re awake!” Jun’s voice was full of exaggerated relief, though his wide grin betrayed his real feelings.

Seungcheol turned his head slightly to see Jun sitting beside his bed, his face twisted in exaggerated worry. “You know, you’ve got to stop fainting at any given moment like this. Seriously. I’m starting to think you’re just weak,” Jun teased, his lips curving into a grin, though there was genuine concern in his eyes.

Seungcheol groaned, still feeling the lingering embarrassment from earlier. “I’m not weak,” he muttered, his voice rough with sleep. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples as the ache in his head throbbed. “Just… tired.”

“Tired, huh?” Jun raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “The healer already told me you were just sleeping. But I gotta say, you sure know how to scare people. I mean, I rushed over here thinking you’d collapsed from overexertion again.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help but scoff, though the small smile on his lips faded quickly. Jun’s teasing was always good-natured, but the reminder of his fainting act brought a fresh wave of awkwardness. He shifted uncomfortably, pulling the blankets tighter around him as his thoughts wandered back to the sparring match, to Jeonghan, and to—

The kiss.

He instinctively rubbed his forehead, where the dull pain from headbutting Jeonghan still lingered.

What actually happened out there, Seungcheol-ah?” Jun’s voice cut through his thoughts, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward. “The healer says you were just sleeping. Sleeping. So either Jeonghan’s gotten so boring you decided to take a nap mid-match, or something else is going on.”

Seungcheol hesitated, his hands instinctively reaching up to rub his temples again, but halfway, his fingers brushed his lips. The faintest tingle remained there, a ghost of the moment when Jeonghan had kissed him. The memory surged to the front of his mind, vivid and disorienting.

Should I tell him?

Jun was the one person Seungcheol could usually confide in, but this… this felt too strange to even say out loud. How could he explain what had happened? What had happened with Jeonghan felt too raw, too confusing. He didn’t even fully understand it himself.

As his thoughts whirled, Seungcheol's hand brushed against his lips, the faintest tingle from the kiss still lingering there. His fingers paused as the memory replayed in his mind—Jeonghan’s grip on him, the press of his lips—and then, suddenly, a sharp ache shot through Seungcheol’s head.

He winced, pressing his fingers to his temples as the throbbing pain deepened. For a brief moment, everything around him blurred. Voices—faint, distant voices—echoed in his mind, like whispers just beyond his reach. A flicker of a blurry image flashed before him—a face, familiar yet unclear. The sensation left him disoriented, as if something important was just out of his grasp, but he couldn’t make sense of it.

“Seungcheol-ah?” Jun’s voice broke through the haze, sharp with concern. Seungcheol opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as the room came back into focus. Jun was right beside him now, his brow furrowed in worry. “What’s wrong? Is your head hurting? Do you need me to call the healer?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Seungcheol said quickly, shaking his head. He forced a weak smile, even though the ache still lingered. “Just a headache. It’s nothing.”

Jun didn’t look convinced, his eyes scanning Seungcheol’s face for any sign of distress. “Are you sure? You look pale. I’m gonna call the healer—”

“I’m fine,” Seungcheol insisted, letting out a shaky breath. The last thing he wanted was more fussing over him. “Really. Just a bit tired still.”

Jun studied him for a long moment before sighing, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, alright. But seriously, if it gets worse, you tell me, okay? I’m not carrying you all the way to the healer again.”

Seungcheol chuckled weakly, grateful that Jun was easing up on the interrogation. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated, rubbing his temples again as the ache began to subside. But in the back of his mind, that flicker of memory—the voice, the face—he felt like he should remember it, but no matter how hard he tried to focus, the memory slipped further away.

Jun stood up, stretching his arms above his head. “Come on, let’s get you back to your quarters. You’ll be more comfortable there than in the medical room.”

With Jun’s help, Seungcheol slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his body still heavy with exhaustion. As they walked down the quiet palace corridors, Seungcheol’s mind wandered back to the kiss with Jeonghan, to the rush of emotions and the panic that had overwhelmed him.

And then there was the memory—the strange, blurry fragment that had surfaced when he touched his lips. The more he tried to focus on it, the more it seemed to slip away. It wasn’t just the kiss with Jeonghan that was confusing him now—there was something else. Something he couldn’t quite place.

Who was that voice?

The faint memory had stirred something in him, something unsettling. That face, that voice… it felt important. Like a key to something locked away deep inside him. But no matter how hard he tried to grasp at it, it remained elusive, like trying to catch water in his hands.

“Hey.” Jun’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Seungcheol blinked, realizing they had already reached his quarters. Jun gave him a concerned look as he opened the door for him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol muttered, forcing a small smile. “Just thinking.”

Jun studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Well, get some rest. Don’t go fainting again, alright? You’re starting to make me worry for real.”

Seungcheol chuckled weakly, stepping inside his room. “I’ll try not to.”

As Jun left, closing the door behind him, Seungcheol let out a long breath, his hands still hovering near his temples. The memory, or whatever it was, felt like it was slipping further away with each passing second.

What is it that I can’t remember?

Seungcheol shook his head, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him again, though this time, it wasn’t physical. His mind was heavy with thoughts, memories, and emotions he couldn’t fully make sense of.

What did it all mean?

He had no answers. Not yet. But something told him this wasn’t the last time these strange fragments would surface. Everything swirled in his mind, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Seungcheol couldn’t shake the feeling of awkwardness that had lodged itself in the pit of his stomach. . Ever since he’d woken up in the medical quarters and replayed the events of that morning in his mind, all he could think about was the kiss. The feeling of Jeonghan’s lips on his still lingered like a brand, making his skin prickle with discomfort—or was it something else? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t get that moment out of his head.

Now, every time he so much as glanced in Jeonghan’s direction, his heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest, and his mind spun in circles. His lips still tingled with the memory of it, and no matter how hard he tried to push it aside, the thought just kept coming back. Why had Jeonghan kissed him? What did it mean?

It didn’t help that Jeonghan was acting completely normal, as if nothing had happened. As they moved through their usual duties that morning, Jeonghan carried on, barking orders as usual, his tone sharp and commanding. The prince gave him orders as usual, his voice calm, his demeanor focused. He didn't even so much as glance at Seungcheol in any way that hinted at what had transpired the previous day. It was as if the kiss had never happened.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol couldn’t seem to focus on anything. How can he just go on like that didn’t happen? Seungcheol wondered, his chest tightening every time Jeonghan spoke to him. And every time Jeonghan looked at him, Seungcheol could feel his cheeks warm, even though he tried to keep his expression neutral.

His body betrayed him, though, his hands fumbling over simple tasks and his mind drifting. He fumbled with papers, misplaced items, and had to ask Jeonghan to repeat instructions multiple times. The tension hung heavy in the air, but only for him. Every time Jeonghan spoke to him, Seungcheol could barely meet his eyes without his heart racing.

“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Seungcheol froze, realizing he was supposed to be handing Jeonghan some documents for the upcoming meeting. Instead, he had been standing there, holding the stack of papers in a daze.

“Oh, sorry—” Seungcheol muttered quickly, stepping forward and handing the documents over.

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took the papers from him, his expression unreadable. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual.

“Y-Yes,” Seungcheol stammered, though he was painfully aware of how awkward he sounded. His hands twitched at his sides, and he cursed himself internally for being so obvious.

Jeonghan didn’t say anything at first, only turning back to the desk in front of him and flipping through the papers. Seungcheol forced himself to stand still, his mind racing as he tried not to think about the kiss—but it was all he could focus on. It had been impossible to get out of his head. And Jeonghan, standing there, calm as ever, only made it worse.

By the time it was nearing lunch, Seungcheol felt like he was losing his mind. It wasn’t until Jeonghan slammed a pile of documents onto the desk with more force than usual that Seungcheol snapped out of his daze.

“Seungcheol.” His voice cut through the air, sharper this time. Seungcheol flinched slightly, looking up from the scroll he had been absentmindedly staring at for far too long.

“Yes, Your Highness?” he responded quickly, though his heart was racing.

Jeonghan turned to face him fully now, his expression dark with frustration. “What is going on with you today? Your head’s been in the clouds all morning. I’ve had to repeat myself several times. You’re not usually this distracted.”

“I-I’m sorry—” Seungcheol began, but before he could explain—or attempt to explain—the door to Jeonghan’s office swung open.

Joshua stepped in, his usual calm and gentle presence filling the room, though the moment he laid eyes on the scene in front of him—Jeonghan glaring at Seungcheol, the tension thick in the air—his expression darkened.

“What’s going on?” Joshua asked, his voice deceptively soft. His eyes flickered between Jeonghan and Seungcheol, assessing the situation.

Jeonghan let out an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothing, Joshua. Seungcheol’s just not doing his job properly today.”

Joshua’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Maybe if you knew how to treat your assistants properly, this wouldn’t be happening.”

Jeonghan’s gaze snapped to Joshua, his eyes flashing with irritation. “I treat my assistants fine, thank you.”

“Do you?” Joshua’s voice was sharper now, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. His usually soft demeanor was replaced with a more assertive edge. “Because from what I’ve seen, you have a tendency to push them too far.”

“I don’t push anyone too far,” Jeonghan snapped back, his tone rising. “If Seungcheol can’t handle his duties, maybe he’s not as capable as you think.”

Seungcheol’s heart sank, but before he could open his mouth to defend himself, Joshua stepped forward, his voice now laced with frustration. “You’re impossible, Jeonghan. Do you even hear yourself? Seungcheol’s more than capable, but you—” Joshua gestured sharply at Jeonghan, “—you don’t know how to handle your own emotions, and you take it out on him.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flashed with anger. “I know exactly how to handle my emotions, and I’m perfectly capable of managing my assistant. Maybe you should focus on your own affairs and leave mine alone.”

Joshua let out a sigh, his arms dropping to his sides as he shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have let Seungcheol end up working for you. He’s not some disposable servant you can push around.”

Jeonghan’s jaw clenched. “Excuse me? I don’t ‘push him around,’ Joshua. He’s my assistant, and he’s been distracted all day—”

“He’s your assistant, and yet all I ever see is you treating him like he’s nothing but a tool,” Joshua shot back, his voice rising. “I regret ever letting him fall into your hands. I should’ve kept him where he’d be treated with respect.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need your permission to choose my own assistant, Joshua.”

Seungcheol stood frozen, caught between the two princes, unsure of whether to speak up or simply melt into the background. His heart pounded with every word, and the tension between them felt like it was pulling the air out of the room. He opened his mouth, trying to interject, to stop the argument from escalating further.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol began tentatively, but before he could finish, Hyungwon appeared at his side, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“Let them have it out,” Hyungwon whispered quietly, his eyes filled with knowing amusement. “Trust me, it’s better to stay out of this.”

Seungcheol glanced at Hyungwon, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. He wanted to defend himself, to tell them both that they were making a big deal out of nothing. But Hyungwon’s grip was firm, and his gaze was steady, almost reassuring.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan and Joshua were at it again.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jeonghan snapped, his voice laced with frustration. “You think you could do better? Go ahead, try. You have no idea how difficult it is to keep everything in order, especially with you always breathing down my neck.”

Joshua scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Maybe if you treated your staff like people instead of pawns in your little games, they wouldn’t be so distracted. But no, you only know how to push people away.”

“Spare me your lectures, Joshuji,” Jeonghan bit back, his eyes narrowing. “You think you’re any better? You think I don’t see you trying to play the saint while always undermining me?”

Joshua let out a sharp laugh, stepping closer to Jeonghan, his voice lowering dangerously. “Maybe because I do know better. At least I treat people with respect.”

The tension was palpable, the room filled with the charged energy of their words. Seungcheol shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the argument, even though it was about him. He didn’t want to cause a rift between the brothers—he never did—but it was too late. They were locked in their bickering, as they often were, both stubborn and unwilling to back down.

Jeonghan’s eyes flashed with anger, but before he could fire back, Joshua threw his hands up in exasperation. “You know what? Forget it. I’m not wasting my time having lunch with you today.”

Jeonghan glared at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine by me. I wasn’t exactly dying to have lunch with you either.”

Joshua’s eyes flickered toward Seungcheol, his expression softening. Seungcheol, come with me. You’re having lunch with me today.” he said, his voice gentler now.

“W-What—” Seungcheol barely had time to react before Joshua was already pulling him toward the door, his grip firm but not rough.

“Enjoy your lunch alone, Jeonghan,” Joshua called over his shoulder as he dragged Seungcheol out of the room.

Jeonghan scoffed, turning away as they moved to leave. “Go ahead. I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, pulling Seungcheol out of the room and closing the door behind them with a firm click.

The tension seemed to deflate the moment they were out of Jeonghan’s presence, and Seungcheol let out a quiet breath of relief. But the awkwardness still clung to him, the weight of everything that had happened earlier refusing to leave his mind.

Back inside, Hyungwon let out a deep sigh, his hands resting on his hips as he turned to Jeonghan. “Honestly, the two of you bicker like children.”

Jeonghan smirked, though the edge of frustration still lingered in his expression. “It’s how we show our affection.”

Hyungwon gave him a tired look, shaking his head. “I’m not sure that counts as affection, Your Highness. It just looks like you two can’t help but clash over everything.”

Jeonghan shrugged, his lips curling into a half-smile. “It’s just who we are.”

Hyungwon sighed again, muttering under his breath, “I don’t understand how your idea of love… is to fight with each other.”

Jeonghan’s smile grew a bit wider, and he chuckled softly. “If it works, it works.”

The tension of the morning had finally eased as Seungcheol and Joshua sat together, enjoying a quiet lunch in one of the smaller, more private dining rooms of the palace. The afternoon sun filtered in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the table as Joshua passed Seungcheol a dish of fruit, a faint smile on his face.

“Sorry about earlier,” Joshua said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “I didn’t mean for you to get caught in the middle of all that. Jeonghan and I… well, we tend to bicker a lot.”

Seungcheol glanced up from his plate, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I noticed,” he said with a soft chuckle. “You two are… interesting.”

Joshua chuckled, a wry smile on his face. “That’s one way to put it. We’ve been like this since we were kids. It’s how we show affection, I guess. Doesn’t make much sense to most people.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You call that, affection?”

“Hey, don’t judge,” Joshua said with a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “It works for us. We’ve always had a weird dynamic, especially since we were born so close together. I guess that’s part of why we ended up this way.”

Joshua sighed, his expression softening as he stirred his drink absentmindedly. “You know why he’s the Crown Prince rather than me, right?”

Seungcheol nodded. He knew the history a bit here and there before he entered the palace. But Joshua still spared him the details anyways. “Jeonghan’s mother was the queen, the Luna of the pack. A powerful omega. I was born to a beta concubine. Both of us are alphas, but… well, you can imagine how different our status was from birth.”

Seungcheol listened quietly, his eyes focused on Joshua’s face as he spoke. It wasn’t hard to understand how those differences would have shaped the brothers’ lives. Even now, he could feel the weight of that divide—Jeonghan, the heir born of the Luna, and Joshua, still a prince but with a different kind of standing.

Joshua sighed, offering Seungcheol a small, self-deprecating smile. “Jeonghan’s had a lot of pressure on him since day one. The throne, the title, the legacy… it’s all tied to him because of his mother. She was revered by the pack. Meanwhile, I was just… there. The other prince.”

“You don’t act like you’re ‘just’ anything,” Seungcheol said, his voice gentle but firm.

Joshua’s smile warmed at that, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks. But even now, Jeonghan and I know where we stand. We’re both alphas, but he’s always had more on his shoulders. Sometimes I think that’s why he acts like he does—why he’s so hard on himself and everyone around him.”

Seungcheol paused, his fork resting on the edge of his plate as a question came to his mind. “If Jeonghan’s under all that pressure… shouldn’t he be looking for his own consort by now?”

The moment the question left his lips, Seungcheol noticed the change in Joshua’s expression. The lightness in his face vanished, replaced by something darker, more painful. His eyes dropped to the table, and for a moment, Joshua said nothing.

Seungcheol felt a pang of regret for bringing it up, but before he could apologize, Joshua spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“Jeonghan… He had a consort. Or he was supposed to,” Joshua said slowly, his gaze still fixed on the table. “The one prophesied to be his mate, his destined omega. But…”

Joshua’s voice trailed off, and Seungcheol felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he watched the sorrow flicker across Joshua’s face.

“They pronounced the omega dead years ago,” Joshua continued, his voice strained. “It was a long time ago, when we were still young. The prophecy was everything—the omega was supposed to be Jeonghan’s perfect match, and there was so much excitement about it. But then… they disappeared. Presumed dead.”

Seungcheol’s chest tightened, the weight of Joshua’s words sinking in. He hadn’t known anything about this, about the loss Jeonghan had experienced. “What happened?”

Joshua’s eyes flicked up to meet Seungcheol’s, and for the first time that afternoon, he looked truly vulnerable. “No one knows for sure. It was kept quiet. But Jeonghan… he was devastated. He’s never really recovered. Since then, he’s acted… well, the way he is now. Angry, impatient, reckless.”

A heavy silence hung between them for a moment as Seungcheol absorbed the story. He had never seen this side of Jeonghan’s life before, had never understood the depth of what might be driving the prince’s actions. But now, hearing this, it started to make sense—the coldness, the sharp words, the relentless pressure Jeonghan put on himself and those around him.

“That’s why he hasn’t found a new consort,” Joshua added softly, shaking his head. “He can’t move on. He doesn’t want to. He might be the first alpha without a consort because of it.”

Seungcheol swallowed, unsure of what to say. The image of Jeonghan—proud, fierce, and often difficult—was now clouded with something more fragile. Something broken. He had never imagined the crown prince carried that kind of pain beneath the surface.

Joshua must have noticed the look on Seungcheol’s face, because his expression softened. “I’m not telling you this to make excuses for him,” Joshua said gently. “But Jeonghan… he’s had it rough. He’s been through things that most people don’t know about. So when he’s difficult, when he acts like he doesn’t care… maybe try to understand where it’s coming from.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, his mind still processing everything. “I’ll try.”

Joshua smiled, though the sadness hadn’t quite left his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”

The rest of their lunch passed in relative silence, but the weight of Joshua’s words lingered in Seungcheol’s mind. He had always seen Jeonghan as difficult, commanding, and sharp-tongued. But now, knowing this—knowing the pain the prince carried—it cast everything in a different light.

As they finished their meal, Seungcheol couldn’t help but wonder what more there was to Jeonghan that he had yet to see. And the question that gnawed at him most was whether Jeonghan would ever be able to heal from the loss that had shaped him.

Chapter Text

Days had passed since the kiss, and yet, for Seungcheol, it was as if time had frozen in that single moment. He had tried—really tried—to push the memory out of his mind, to bury it beneath the mountain of responsibilities that came with being Jeonghan’s assistant. But no matter how hard he tried, the memory kept surfacing.

It came in waves, unexpected and uninvited, whenever he caught sight of Jeonghan from across the training ground, the prince moving with cool, effortless grace as he led their morning drills. Or in meetings, when Jeonghan spoke with his usual commanding authority, his voice steady and calm as he gave orders to the court. Each time, the image of that kiss—the warmth of Jeonghan’s lips, the brief, overwhelming intimacy—flickered back into his mind, sending his heart into a familiar spiral of confusion and something dangerously close to longing.

But then, inevitably, the moment would pass. Because no matter how much that kiss had rattled him, Seungcheol still had to face the reality of Jeonghan's outrageous demands.

"You're asking me to finish this entire report by the end of the day?" Seungcheol stared at Jeonghan in disbelief, the thick stack of papers sitting ominously on the desk between them. “This is impossible, Your Highness.”

Jeonghan, sitting across from him with his usual air of unbothered confidence, simply raised an eyebrow, barely glancing at the pile of documents that Seungcheol had gestured to in frustration.

“I don’t see what’s impossible about it,” Jeonghan said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Seungcheol felt his jaw tighten, the familiar frustration bubbling up inside him. “I’m only one person. You want me to review everything here and prepare for the next meeting in the afternoon? You’re asking too much.”

A part of him expected Jeonghan to brush off his protest, as he often did, but instead, the prince tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on Seungcheol for a moment longer than usual. It was subtle, but the tension in Jeonghan’s posture softened just the tiniest bit. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost thoughtful.

“Fine,” Jeonghan said, his tone less sharp than Seungcheol had expected. “You can skip the last section. Just focus on the key points for now.”

It wasn’t exactly a victory, but it was close enough. Seungcheol blinked in surprise, his frustration momentarily replaced with confusion. Normally, Jeonghan would have argued, insisting that everything was a priority. But lately… something had shifted.

Jeonghan was still demanding, of course—his expectations were always sky-high—but there were these moments where he seemed to… listen. Not often, and never in a way that drew attention to itself, but enough that Seungcheol had noticed. He couldn’t tell if Jeonghan was doing it on purpose or if it was just some strange coincidence, but whatever it was, it made a difference.

It gave Seungcheol the strength to push back, to fight when Jeonghan’s demands crossed the line from challenging to absurd. And, shockingly, sometimes Jeonghan would relent.

But that didn’t mean Seungcheol had an easier time dealing with him. If anything, it only made things more complicated. Especially when he caught himself watching Jeonghan from across the room, the memory of that kiss burning in the back of his mind like a secret he could never quite forget.

He found himself distracted more often than not, watching Jeonghan from the corner of his eye, wondering if Jeonghan ever thought about it. But if he did, he certainly didn’t show it. Every time they interacted, Jeonghan was the same as always—cool, composed, and annoyingly unbothered. It was driving Seungcheol mad.

And now, Jeonghan was seated at his desk, reviewing a document with a focused expression, his sharp features illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the window. Seungcheol watched him from across the room, his eyes tracing the line of Jeonghan’s jaw, the way his fingers moved with precise grace as he flipped through the pages. He looked… effortless.

Why do I keep thinking about it? Seungcheol cursed himself internally, tearing his gaze away before Jeonghan could notice. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, the memory of the kiss kept surfacing. It wasn’t just the act itself, though. It was everything that had come with it—the confusion, the warmth, the strange pull he felt toward Jeonghan that he couldn’t explain.

It left him in an endless loop of frustration. He could be quietly admiring Jeonghan one minute, his mind fluttering back to that moment in the training ground, and the next minute, he’d be sitting at this very desk, grumbling over the ridiculous amount of work Jeonghan had dropped on him without warning.

“Seungcheol.” Jeonghan’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Seungcheol blinked, realizing he had been staring blankly at the page in front of him. He quickly looked up, trying to cover his distraction.

“Yes?”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “You’ve been staring at that report for the last five minutes. I asked you to review the report, not stare at it like it’s written in another language. Is something wrong?”

Seungcheol felt the heat rise in his cheeks, but he quickly shook his head, forcing a casual tone. “No, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Jeonghan watched him for a moment, and Seungcheol could feel the weight of that gaze—heavy, assessing, as if Jeonghan could see right through him.

“Don’t overthink it,” Jeonghan said finally, turning back to his own work. “Just get it done.”

Seungcheol let out a quiet breath, grateful that Jeonghan hadn’t pressed the issue. He returned to the stack of papers in front of him, doing his best to focus. But it wasn’t long before the frustration returned, not just from the workload but from the way Jeonghan seemed so unaffected.

How can he be so calm about this?

It was nearly lunchtime when Seungcheol finally reached his limit. After a morning of back-and-forth arguments over the impossible demands Jeonghan kept piling onto him, he couldn’t hold back his frustration any longer.

“Your Highness, for all due respect,” Seungcheol began, his voice tinged with irritation, “you really expect too much from me. This whole workload—it’s ridiculous.”

Jeonghan looked up from his papers, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve handled worse.”

“Maybe,” Seungcheol shot back, his voice rising slightly, “but this is unreasonable. You can’t just dump everything on me and expect it to magically get done.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flashed with a hint of annoyance, but instead of snapping back at him, he just let out a long sigh. “You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it is.”

“No,” Seungcheol said, his frustration spilling out. “You’re the one who acts like nothing’s ever enough, Your Highness. You keep piling more on my plate, and I—”

Seungcheol cut himself off, realizing too late that his emotions were spilling over. He could feel Jeonghan’s gaze on him, but he didn’t dare meet his eyes. The tension hung between them, thick and unspoken.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then, much to Seungcheol’s surprise, Jeonghan didn’t argue. He didn’t push back like he usually did. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression softening in that strange, subtle way again.

“Fine,” Jeonghan said, his voice calm but with a hint of something else—something almost like understanding. “We’ll cut the next task. Focus on what’s important.”

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard. Again? Jeonghan was relenting again. This was becoming a pattern, and Seungcheol wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was Jeonghan doing this on purpose? Or was he just too exhausted to keep pushing?

Whatever the reason, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of relief. Despite the frustration, despite the impossible demands, there were these moments where Jeonghan would pull back, like he was paying attention to Seungcheol in a way he hadn’t before.

And yet, no matter how much Jeonghan gave in these small ways, Seungcheol couldn’t stop the memory of that kiss from creeping back in. It fluttered at the edge of his thoughts every time they were together, like a secret waiting to be acknowledged.

But then again, maybe Jeonghan wasn’t acknowledging it because it didn’t matter to him. Maybe, to Jeonghan, it had been a passing impulse—something that didn’t mean nearly as much as it did to Seungcheol.

The thought stung, but Seungcheol shoved it aside, trying to focus on the work in front of him. He could sort through his feelings later—if there was anything worth sorting. For now, he just needed to survive another day under Jeonghan’s impossible demands.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft, amber glow over the palace as Seungcheol stretched his arms above his head, feeling the tension in his muscles slowly unwind. His desk was finally clear, the stack of papers that had seemed insurmountable that morning now neatly sorted and completed. He let out a sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair as a sense of pride washed over him.

It had been a long day—a ridiculously long day—but he had done it. He’d managed to finish what had felt like an impossible amount of work—almost two days’ worth—in one day. And despite all the distractions, despite Jeonghan’s relentless demands and the constant push and pull of their interactions, Seungcheol had pushed through.

And it felt good. Really good. For the first time in days, Seungcheol felt proud of himself. Despite the distractions, despite the constant tug-of-war between his frustration with Jeonghan and the lingering memory of that kiss, Seungcheol had powered through.

I’ve still got it, he thought with a small, self-satisfied smile. The passion, the talent, the determination—it was all still there, even under the weight of Jeonghan’s impossible expectations. I can handle this.

He gathered his things, slipping the last of the documents into his bag, ready to finally leave for the day. But just as he stood up, a glance toward Jeonghan’s desk made him pause.

Jeonghan was still there, his eyes focused on the papers in front of him, a furrow of concentration etched across his brow. His desk was a mess—stacks of reports, letters, and ledgers scattered in organized chaos around him—but he didn’t seem to notice. He was lost in his work, completely unaware of the time.

Seungcheol frowned. It was rare for him to finish before Jeonghan, and seeing the crown prince still working so late left an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. It felt strange—almost wrong—to leave first, especially when Jeonghan was the type to stay late, always pushing himself beyond the limits.

Seungcheol frowned. Maybe he should stay a little longer. Help with something else. After all, he knew how hard Jeonghan worked—harder than anyone gave him credit for, even if he didn’t show it.

As he stood there, debating whether to offer help or slip away quietly, a familiar voice broke the silence. “You’re done already?”

Seungcheol turned to see Hyungwon leaning against the doorframe, a small, knowing smile on his face.

“Yeah, I just finished,” Seungcheol replied, glancing back at Jeonghan, still seated at his desk. “But… Jeonghan-nim’s still working.”

Hyungwon followed Seungcheol’s gaze, his smile softening. “He’s always working.”

Seungcheol frowned, guilt gnawing at him. “I feel bad leaving when he’s still here.”

But Hyungwon shook his head gently. “Don’t. This is normal for him. He works late all the time.”

Seungcheol hesitated, still unsure. “But shouldn’t I stay? It feels wrong to just leave…”

Hyungwon followed his gaze, his expression softening with understanding. “You don’t need to worry about that,” Hyungwon said gently. “It’s my job to stay with him, not yours. You’ve done enough for today.”

Seungcheol hesitated, his gaze flicking between Hyungwon and Jeonghan. “Are you sure?”

Hyungwon chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me. I’ve been doing this for a long time. Go back and get some rest. I’ll be here to make sure Jeonghan-nim doesn’t overwork himself—too much, at least.”

Seungcheol let out a quiet sigh of relief. It wasn’t often that he finished his work before Jeonghan, and the idea of leaving while the prince was still toiling away had felt strange. But if Hyungwon was there to take over, then maybe he could allow himself this small victory.

A small wave of relief washed over Seungcheol, and he nodded gratefully. “Alright. Thanks, Chief-nim.”

Hyungwon nodded, watching as Seungcheol gathered the last of his things. “You deserve it.”

With one last glance at Jeonghan, Seungcheol made his way toward the door, ready to finally call it a day. But just as he reached for the handle, the door swung open, and in walked Joshua, his usual bright smile in place as he stepped inside.

“Well, look who’s still here,” Joshua said with a grin, his eyes landing on Seungcheol. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

Seungcheol was about to reply when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeonghan rise from his desk, his expression unreadable as he approached them.

“Seungcheol-ah,” Jeonghan said, holding out a document toward him. “I need you to review this.”

Seungcheol blinked, staring at the paper in Jeonghan’s hand. Now? After all the work he had already done today?

Before he could even respond, Joshua stepped in, his voice laced with disapproval. “Really, Jeonghan? He’s done enough for today. Can’t that wait until tomorrow?”

Jeonghan’s gaze flickered toward Joshua, but his tone remained even. “It’s important. I need it ready by morning.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “It’s already the end of the workday. Seungcheol’s done for the day, and I’m here to take him out for dinner.”

Seungcheol glanced between the two brothers, tension creeping back into the room. For a moment, he thought they might argue again—another round of bickering like they often did. Joshua’s protective streak toward him had flared up once more, and Jeonghan’s cool insistence always seemed to spark a confrontation.

But much to Seungcheol’s surprise, Jeonghan didn’t argue. Instead, he simply shrugged, handing the document to Seungcheol with far less urgency than before. “Fine. Review it first thing tomorrow,” he said, his tone surprisingly casual. “But don’t let Joshua keep you too long.”

Seungcheol blinked, stunned by how easily Jeonghan had relented. Normally, this would have been the start of another heated exchange, but instead, Jeonghan was… letting it go?

Joshua shot his brother a smug look, clearly pleased with the outcome, while Seungcheol held the document, still slightly dazed.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” Joshua said, turning back to him with a grin. “Let’s get out of here before Jeonghan changes his mind.”

Seungcheol chuckled softly, nodding as he followed Joshua out of the room. But just before they left, Jeonghan’s voice stopped him. “Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol turned, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze. The prince’s expression was neutral, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost teasing.

“Don’t let Joshua spoil you too much,” Jeonghan said with a half-smile. “I still expect you to get everything done tomorrow.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile back, the weight of the day lifting just a little. “I’ll be ready, Your Highness.”

As they left the room, Seungcheol felt a strange mix of relief and something else he couldn’t quite place. He had expected tension, another confrontation, but instead, there had been an odd sense of… ease. Jeonghan’s demands were still there, but it was almost as if he was pulling back, giving Seungcheol just enough space to breathe.

As they walked down the corridor, Joshua gave him a playful nudge. “I swear, Jeonghan’s impossible sometimes. But you handled him well today.”

Seungcheol laughed softly. “It’s getting easier.”

Joshua chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, that’s just how he is. But you’re doing great.”

Seungcheol smiled, feeling a quiet sense of pride. Despite everything, despite the endless workload and the confusion that still lingered between him and Jeonghan, he had managed to keep his footing. And for now, that was enough.

Jeonghan had always prided himself on his ability to stay composed, to remain unaffected by the chaos of the palace around him. He had a reputation to maintain—the cool, collected Crown Prince who never let anything or anyone get under his skin. But lately, something was starting to grate on him. Something he couldn’t quite shake. Or rather, someone.

“Again?” Jeonghan muttered under his breath, glancing toward the door as it creaked open—right on time.

As if summoned by some unseen force, Jun stepped into the office, a bright smile on his face. “Seungcheol-ah,” he called cheerfully, “it’s almost lunchtime. You ready to go?”

Seungcheol, who had been diligently working at his desk, looked up, a faint smile crossing his lips as he nodded. “Yeah, just a second.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange. It had been happening far too often lately—every day, in fact. Jun showing up just before lunch to whisk Seungcheol away, as if it were his personal mission to make sure the assistant never missed a meal.

And if it wasn’t Jun, it was Joshua. Always Joshua.

Jeonghan tried to ignore the irritation that curled in his chest as he watched Seungcheol gather his things, but it wasn’t easy. Joshua had made it his personal project to hover around Seungcheol as if he were some fragile creature that needed constant care and attention. Lunch, dinner, even after work hours—Joshua was always there, making sure Seungcheol clocked out on time, making sure he didn’t overwork himself.

And Jeonghan was starting to hate it. It wasn’t Seungcheol’s fault—not at all. Seungcheol had every right to take his lunch breaks, to leave at the end of the day like any other worker. Jeonghan knew that. He wasn’t unreasonable. But still, something about the way Joshua and Jun constantly hovered around Seungcheol was driving him mad.

“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan called just as Seungcheol was about to leave. His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his tone was unmistakable.

Seungcheol paused, looking back at him. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Make sure you finish the report before the afternoon meeting,” Jeonghan said, his eyes flicking toward Jun for the briefest moment. “We don’t want to fall behind.”

Seungcheol gave him a nod, as he always did. “I will, Your Highness. Don’t worry.”

Jun, completely unfazed, smiled at Jeonghan as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “He’ll get it done, Your Highness. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened. Of course you will. He had tried—really tried—to ignore it. He had even scolded Jun a few times, telling him to stop hovering over Seungcheol like an overprotective older brother. But Jun, in his usual carefree way, had brushed it off with that same easygoing smile.

And to make matters worse, Hyungwon had backed him up. “It’s not a big deal, Your Highness,” Hyungwon had said the last time they had this conversation. “Seungcheol-nim has the right to take lunch breaks and leave at a normal time, just like everyone else.”

Jeonghan had wanted to argue, to tell Hyungwon that it was a big deal, that Seungcheol needed to be more focused. But Hyungwon had just sighed, his expression gentle but firm, as if he were dealing with a particularly difficult child.

It’s not about lunch. Jeonghan knew that. It was about something else entirely—something that had been gnawing at him ever since that day in the training grounds. Ever since the kiss.

He watched as Seungcheol and Jun left, the door closing softly behind them. The office felt oddly quiet without Seungcheol there, and Jeonghan’s fingers twitched in irritation as he returned to the papers on his desk. His focus, however, was completely shot.

He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like Seungcheol was shirking his duties. If anything, Seungcheol had been working harder than ever, pushing himself to keep up with Jeonghan’s demands. But somehow, that only made it worse.

Seungcheol is my assistant, Jeonghan thought, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface. So why is it that Joshua and Jun are always hovering around him?

It wasn’t jealousy. At least, that’s what Jeonghan told himself. He wasn’t jealous—he was concerned. Seungcheol needed to stay focused, needed to be available when Jeonghan needed him. It was frustrating to see Joshua and Jun pulling him away, treating him like a fragile thing that needed constant protection.

“Ridiculous,” Jeonghan muttered to himself as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “This is ridiculous. But even as he said it, the irritation lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

Later that afternoon, just as the clock neared the end of the workday, Seungcheol was preparing to wrap things up when, like clockwork, Jun appeared again. This time, though, Jeonghan didn’t bother hiding his frustration.

“You’re here again?” Jeonghan asked sharply, glancing up from his work.

Jun grinned, completely unfazed by Jeonghan’s tone. “Of course. Gotta make sure Seungcheol doesn’t stay too late.”

Seungcheol, who had been tidying up his desk, hesitated, sensing the tension in Jeonghan’s voice. He had seen this scene play out before—Jeonghan’s irritation bubbling just beneath the surface, Jun brushing it off like it was nothing. But this time, the tension seemed heavier.

“I’m almost done, Your Highness,” Seungcheol said quickly, trying to defuse the situation.

Jun, however, was already stepping forward, all smiles as he waved off the prince’s concerns. “No need to rush, Seungcheol. You’ve worked hard enough today. Time to clock out.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening as he glanced between Seungcheol and Jun. He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, Hyungwon appeared at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Let him go, Your Highness,” Hyungwon said softly, his voice calm but firm. “Seungcheol-nim has the right to leave on time, just like everyone else. It’s not his job to stay late.”

Jeonghan’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. He knew Hyungwon was right—he couldn’t argue with that. But it didn’t stop the frustration from simmering beneath the surface.

“Fine,” Jeonghan muttered, waving them off with a dismissive gesture. “But don’t keep him out too long. We have a full schedule tomorrow.”

Jun just grinned, unfazed as ever. “No promises.”

Seungcheol gave Jeonghan a small, polite nod before following Jun out the door. As they left, Jeonghan stared after them, a mix of frustration and something else twisting in his chest. He had scolded Jun before, and he had tried to assert control, but no matter what he said, it never seemed to stick.

The door closed softly behind them, and once again, the office fell into an odd quiet.

“Why do you let it get to you, Your Highness?” Hyungwon asked after a long moment, his voice gentle but curious. “It’s not like Seungcheol-nim is slacking off. He’s doing his job—and doing it well, I might add.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as he stared at the door where Seungcheol had just left.

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “Maybe… maybe I’m just tired of him always being pulled away.”

Hyungwon studied him for a moment, his eyes softening as he sighed. “You know, for someone who prides himself on control, you sure do let this bother you more than it should.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond, but as he turned his attention back to the papers on his desk, his mind lingered on Hyungwon’s words. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—the fact that Seungcheol was constantly being pulled away, or the fact that, deep down, he didn’t know how to stop it from getting under his skin.

Jeonghan’s patience was wearing thin. It had been a long day, and the meeting he had just attended had gone far worse than expected. Tensions had been high, disagreements sharp, and nothing had been resolved. Normally, he could keep his composure, maintain the cool control he was known for, but today…

Today, everything felt off. And then, there was Seungcheol.

Jeonghan didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Seungcheol had been his constant, his reliable assistant—the one person who could always help keep things in order. But lately, it felt like Seungcheol was slipping away. Every time Jeonghan needed him, it seemed Seungcheol was gone. It left Jeonghan feeling unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite explain. And after the disaster of today’s meeting, it was all too much.

As the final participants filed out of the room, Jeonghan turned to Seungcheol, who was standing by his side, flipping through the notes from the meeting. His assistant was always efficient, always ready to smooth over the chaos of the day. But today, Jeonghan didn’t feel like letting it slide.

“This is your fault,” Jeonghan snapped, his voice sharp enough to make Seungcheol freeze.

Seungcheol blinked, clearly caught off guard. “My fault?” His voice was hesitant, unsure if he had misheard. “What are you talking about, Your Highness?”

“The meeting,” Jeonghan said, his irritation growing. “It fell apart because you didn’t prepare the right documents. If you’d been paying more attention, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Seungcheol stared at him, shock and confusion flashing across his face. “But… I did prepare everything. Exactly as you asked. I followed all your instructions—you saw it yourself before the meeting started.”

Jeonghan knew he was wrong. He knew it wasn’t Seungcheol’s fault. The meeting had fallen apart because of political tensions, not because of anything Seungcheol had or hadn’t done. But the frustration, the lingering irritation, had built up to a boiling point, and now that it had spilled over, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Then why did everything fall apart?” Jeonghan demanded, his voice rising. “If you had done your job right, none of this would have happened.”

Seungcheol’s face paled, his lips parting as if to respond, but the words didn’t come. His hands tightened around the edge of his notes, and Jeonghan saw the hurt flash across his features—a hurt that made something in Jeonghan’s chest twist painfully.

But instead of stopping, Jeonghan pressed on, his voice colder than before. “You’ve been nothing but a distraction. Running off with my brother, skipping out early, and now you can’t even handle the simplest tasks. If you’re going to be so useless, then maybe you should find somewhere else to be.”

He hadn’t meant to say it. The moment the words left his mouth, Jeonghan felt a pang of regret, but it was too late to take it back.

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in disbelief, the hurt deepening. His breathing hitch, and for a brief moment, something else flickered in his expression—something Jeonghan didn’t expect. 

“Are you serious right now?” Seungcheol’s voice was trembling, not from fear, but from fury. “You’re blaming me for that disaster? I did everything you asked me to do. I followed every instruction to the letter. The meeting went badly because of them—because of the politics, because of the tension, not because I didn’t do my job.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught, momentarily stunned by the way Seungcheol was speaking to him. Seungcheol had always been respectful, careful with his words. He had pushed back before, but not like this.

Seungcheol’s eyes were shining, and it wasn’t until Jeonghan looked closer that he realized—there were tears in them. Tears of frustration. Of anger.

“You can’t just blame me because things didn’t go your way, Your Highness,” Seungcheol continued, his voice shaking with emotion. “I work hard for you, every day, and this—” He gestured toward the now-empty meeting room. “—this is what you think of me? That I’m useless? That I’m just some… some distraction?”

Jeonghan’s chest tightened, guilt starting to creep in, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak. His mind was swirling with too many emotions—frustration, regret, confusion. He didn’t know why he had said what he did, but the damage was done.

Seungcheol’s breath hitched, and he wiped at his eyes, clearly struggling to hold back the tears. “I’ve been nothing but loyal to you, Your Highness. I’ve given you everything I have, and you’re blaming me for this? For something that wasn’t even in my control?”

The sharp edge of Seungcheol’s words cut through Jeonghan, leaving him momentarily speechless. He could see the raw pain in Seungcheol’s expression, the way his shoulders shook as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Don’t you dare blame me for your problems,” Seungcheol snapped, his voice trembling but fierce. “If you want to push people away, that’s on you. But don’t you dare take it out on me just because things didn’t go your way.”

Jeonghan stood there, stunned, as Seungcheol’s words echoed in the empty room. He had never seen his assistant like this—so fierce, so unguarded, so angry. It was as if something had snapped inside Seungcheol, and now all the frustration he had been bottling up was finally spilling out.

For a moment, Jeonghan couldn’t breathe. He had pushed too far. He had hurt Seungcheol. The look in Seungcheol’s eyes—the anger, the hurt, the tears—it cut deeper than anything Jeonghan had expected.

But before Jeonghan could even think to apologize, Seungcheol spun on his heel, his voice quieter now but still shaking with emotion.

“You can handle the rest of the day without me,” Seungcheol said, his back to Jeonghan. “I’m done.”

And with that, Seungcheol stormed away, his footsteps heavy with anger as he raced over the exit.

Jeonghan stood frozen, his mind racing. The words that had just been exchanged, the hurt he had seen in Seungcheol’s eyes—it all felt too familiar. There was a sharp pang of déjà vu, a memory tugging at the edges of his mind, but he couldn’t grasp it.

Then, from the corner of the room, he heard the sound of quiet clapping. Jeonghan turned, blinking in confusion, only to see Hyungwon standing by the window, slowly applauding. His expression was calm, almost amused, but there was a glint of understanding in his eyes.

“Well,” Hyungwon said, his voice soft but carrying a hint of admiration. “That was… impressive. I didn’t think Seungcheol-nim had it in him to stand up to you like that.”

Jeonghan’s chest tightened, the déjà vu growing stronger. He felt the room tilt slightly, the edges of reality blurring. He could hear Hyungwon’s voice, but it sounded distant, like an echo from far away.

“You really upset him, you know,” Hyungwon continued, his voice fading in and out of Jeonghan’s awareness. “But I guess that’s what happens when you push someone too far.”

Jeonghan’s vision swam, his heart pounding in his chest. The world around him seemed to tilt, spinning slowly as a flood of memories—fragmented and hazy—began to resurface. It wasn’t just about Seungcheol. There was something else, something from the past, something he had forgotten.

The way Seungcheol had stormed out, the way his voice had trembled with anger and hurt—it was too familiar. His breath hitched as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and suddenly, the room was spinning. The last thing he heard was Seungcheol’s voice—his name, spoken in a tone filled with panic, somehow eerily familiar—and then…

Everything went dark.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol didn’t even know when the tears had started. One moment he had been standing there, locked in a heated argument with Jeonghan, the next, the tears had slipped down his cheeks without warning. He hadn’t wanted to cry—he had wanted to stay strong, to hold his ground—but the frustration and anger had overwhelmed him.

His chest felt tight, his breathing ragged as he stormed out of the meeting room, not caring if anyone saw the tears staining his face. His head was spinning with everything that had just happened—the harsh words, the hurt, the way Jeonghan had cut him down so cruelly. He didn’t even know why he was crying, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

As he pushed through the heavy doors, the faint sound of clapping reached his ears. It was Hyungwon, slow and deliberate, as if congratulating him on finally standing up for himself. And maybe he should have felt proud—maybe a small part of him did. For the first time, he had spoken back, defended himself against Jeonghan’s unreasonable anger.

But that pride was quickly smothered by the weight of his emotions. The tears came faster, harder, as he made his way down the hall. His vision blurred, the sting of humiliation mingling with his anger. He just wanted to get away.

But then, Hyungwon’s voice echoed from behind him, sharp and edged with worry.

“Your Highness?”

Seungcheol stopped in his tracks, his heart lurching painfully in his chest. Hyungwon’s voice wasn’t calm anymore—it was filled with concern, maybe even panic.

Seungcheol’s mind screamed at him to keep walking, to leave and not look back. After everything Jeonghan had just said to him, he had every right to leave. But something inside him—something he couldn’t explain—stopped him.

Slowly, he turned around. The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

Jeonghan was swaying, his body teetering unsteadily, as if he couldn’t keep himself upright. For a brief second, their eyes met, and Seungcheol saw something in Jeonghan’s expression—something fragile, broken—before the crown prince collapsed to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Jeonghan-nim!”

Seungcheol’s voice tore from his throat, and before he even realized what he was doing, he was running—sprinting—back into the meeting room, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Panic surged through him, raw and uncontrollable.

By the time he reached Jeonghan, Hyungwon was already kneeling beside him, holding the prince’s limp body in his arms. The usually composed royal butler’s expression was tight with concern, his usual calm slipping just enough to show real worry beneath the surface.

Jeonghan’s head lolled against Hyungwon’s shoulder, his eyes closed, his face pale.

“No, no, no…” Seungcheol muttered, dropping to his knees beside them. His hands hovered uselessly in the air, trembling as he stared at Jeonghan’s unconscious form. “What… what happened?”

Hyungwon’s voice was steady but tense. “He’s fainted. It must be exhaustion, or something else.” He lifted Jeonghan carefully, his strength surprising given his slender frame. “We need to get him to the medical quarters. Now.”

Seungcheol nodded numbly, his mind still racing, unable to process what was happening. He followed Hyungwon as they rushed through the halls, Jeonghan’s limp body cradled in the butler’s arms. Every step felt like an eternity, the fear in Seungcheol’s chest growing stronger with each passing second.

This can’t be happening.

The weight of everything—the argument, the harsh words, the collapse—pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket. He could still hear his own voice ringing in his ears, the anger, the hurt. He had been so focused on defending himself, so focused on pushing back against Jeonghan’s cruelty, that he hadn’t seen how fragile the prince really was.

As they burst through the doors of the medical quarters, the staff rushed to assist, guiding them to a nearby bed. Hyungwon laid Jeonghan down gently, his movements controlled, though the tension in his expression hadn’t eased.

Seungcheol stood at the foot of the bed, frozen, his heart pounding as he watched the healers work. They checked Jeonghan’s pulse, whispered instructions to one another, but the world around Seungcheol had gone silent.

It wasn’t until Jeonghan was settled, his chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths, that the full weight of everything hit Seungcheol like a tidal wave.

His knees buckled, and suddenly, the tears came again—harder, faster, more uncontrollable than before. He hadn’t even realized he was sobbing until Hyungwon was there, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Seungcheol-nim, breathe,” Hyungwon murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Jeonghan-nim’s going to be okay. It’s alright.”

But Seungcheol couldn’t stop. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, his entire body shaking as the sobs tore through him. He didn’t even know why he was crying anymore—was it because of the argument? The fear of losing Jeonghan? The confusion that had been building inside him for weeks?

Everything blurred together, the emotions crashing over him like a wave he couldn’t escape. He buried his face in Hyungwon’s shoulder, the fabric of the butler’s coat dampening with his tears, and cried harder, louder, until it felt like his entire body was coming undone.

“I-I don’t understand,” Seungcheol choked out between sobs, his voice barely audible. “I don’t understand why this is happening…”

Hyungwon tightened his arms around Seungcheol, holding him close as the younger man’s body shook with the force of his grief. “Shh… it’s alright. Just breathe. He’s going to be okay.”

But Seungcheol couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that poured out of him, unchecked and unstoppable. It was like everything he had been holding inside—the frustration, the confusion, the fear—was finally crashing down all at once, and there was nothing he could do to hold it back.

Hyungwon continued to hold him, his embrace firm and comforting as Seungcheol cried his heart out, the sobs wracking his body. And even though Seungcheol couldn’t make sense of anything right now, there was something strangely grounding in Hyungwon’s presence—a small, solid anchor in the midst of the storm raging inside him.

For now, all Seungcheol could do was cry, let the tears fall, and try to breathe through the overwhelming tide of emotions he didn’t fully understand.

Seungcheol stood by Jeonghan’s bedside, his eyes red and puffy from crying. His body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the emotional storm that had overwhelmed him. It had taken time for his tears to subside, but now, all that remained was a deep, gnawing worry that wouldn’t let him rest.

Jeonghan lay motionless in the bed, his face pale but calm, his chest rising and falling with steady, shallow breaths. Seungcheol couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. This was the second time Jeonghan had collapsed in front of him—the second time. And yet, it still rattled Seungcheol to the core.

He had seen Jeonghan strong, fierce, and commanding so many times that seeing him like this—fragile, vulnerable—felt wrong. It made his heart clench in ways he didn’t fully understand.

On the other side of the bed, Joshua sat quietly, his usual playful demeanor replaced with genuine concern. His eyes lingered on Jeonghan, and despite their constant bickering and teasing, the worry in Joshua’s expression was unmistakable.

Joshua’s fingers tapped absently on the armrest of the chair as he watched his brother, his lips pressed into a thin line. “He’ll be okay,” Joshua murmured, though his voice held the faintest tremor. “He’s strong. This… it happens sometimes.”

Jun stood beside Seungcheol, his presence calm and reassuring. He placed a gentle hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, coaxing him to sit. “You’ve been standing for too long,” Jun said softly, concern flickering in his eyes. “Come on, sit down, Cheol-ah. You need to rest too.”

Seungcheol shook his head at first, unwilling to move, his gaze fixed on Jeonghan’s still form. But Jun’s insistence finally broke through the fog of his thoughts, and with a sigh, Seungcheol sank into the chair beside the bed. His body felt too heavy, too tired to stand any longer.

“Here,” Jun said, handing him a glass of water. “You need to drink something. You’ve been crying for a while now.”

Seungcheol took the glass with trembling hands, but he didn’t drink. His mind was still spinning, replaying everything that had happened—Jeonghan’s harsh words, the way his anger had torn through Seungcheol, and then the moment when Jeonghan had collapsed, his body falling to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“He’ll be alright, Seungcheol.” Joshua said again, though this time, his voice was softer, more comforting. “This… it’s not the first time. He’s been like this ever since… well, since it happened.”

Seungcheol looked up at Joshua, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What happened?”

Joshua sighed, leaning back in his chair, his gaze distant for a moment. “He’s heartbroken,” he said, his lips twisting into a sad smile. “You’d be surprised what it can do to people. Even someone like Jeonghan, who always acts like nothing can touch him.”

Seungcheol frowned, the weight of Joshua’s words settling over him. He knew about Jeonghan’s past—the loss of his prophesied consort, the devastation that had followed—but this seemed like something more. It felt like there was something deeper, something buried beneath the surface that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Despite Joshua’s assurances, Seungcheol’s worry wouldn’t subside. The way Jeonghan had looked at him before he collapsed—both times—lingered in his mind. There had been something in Jeonghan’s eyes, something that felt too familiar, like a memory just out of reach.

And then there was the kiss. That moment in the training grounds, when Jeonghan had kissed him so suddenly, so fiercely, had thrown Seungcheol off balance. He hadn’t been able to make sense of it then, and he still couldn’t. But now, with everything that had happened—the collapse, the way Jeonghan had been acting lately—it felt like there was something more to it. Something Seungcheol didn’t yet understand.

His head throbbed, a dull ache spreading through his temples. He winced, pressing a hand to his forehead as the pain flared, sharp and sudden.

“Seungcheol-ah?” Jun’s voice was filled with concern as he leaned closer, his hand steadying Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Seungcheol muttered, though the pain in his head made it difficult to focus. “Just… just a headache.”

Jun gave him a worried look but then chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. “You’re too dedicated, you know that? Getting sick at the same time as your boss. What kind of assistant does that?”

The joke earned a faint smile from Seungcheol, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Jun’s attempt at humor lightened the mood for a moment, but the ache in Seungcheol’s chest remained, stubborn and unyielding.

Joshua glanced between them, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the situation. “Yeah, Seungcheol-ah, maybe you’re too good at your job. You’re not supposed to collapse in sympathy with Jeonghan.”

They all laughed, the sound easing the tension in the room, if only for a moment. But as the laughter faded, the heaviness returned, lingering in the air like an unspoken truth.

Seungcheol’s gaze drifted back to Jeonghan, and his heart clenched again. The prince lay there, peaceful yet distant, as if he were miles away, unreachable. Seungcheol wanted to reach out, to shake him awake, to ask him what had happened, why he had collapsed, why he had said such hurtful things. But there were no answers here, only more questions.

And deep down, Seungcheol couldn’t shake the feeling that something much deeper was at play—something he couldn’t yet understand. The way Jeonghan had looked at him before he collapsed, the memory of their kiss, the strange sense of familiarity in Jeonghan’s eyes—it all twisted together into a knot of confusion that Seungcheol couldn’t untangle.

He pressed a hand to his head again, the ache still gnawing at his temples, but this time, he didn’t tell Jun or Joshua. They had enough to worry about. But the feeling wouldn’t leave him. There was something deeper—something that ran far beneath the surface—and no matter how hard Seungcheol tried, he couldn’t ignore it.

Jeonghan’s eyes fluttered open, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains of his quarters. For a moment, his mind was hazy, clouded by the remnants of exhaustion and disorientation. His body felt heavy, weighed down by a dull ache that reminded him of his collapse.

It took a moment for him to register his surroundings—the familiar warmth of his bed, the soft fabric of the blankets tucked around him. His head still throbbed slightly, but the worst of it had passed. As his vision cleared, the first thing he noticed was Hyungwon, standing by the bedside, fussing over him like he always did.

“You’re awake,” Hyungwon said, his voice calm but filled with concern. His hands moved deftly, adjusting the blankets, making sure Jeonghan was comfortable. “Good. You’ve been out for a while.”

Jeonghan groaned softly, trying to sit up, but Hyungwon immediately pressed a hand to his shoulder, gently but firmly keeping him in place.

“Stay down,” Hyungwon instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re properly rested.”

Jeonghan shot him a half-hearted glare. “I’m fine, Hyungwon-ah. Stop fussing.”

But Hyungwon ignored him, continuing to adjust the pillows behind Jeonghan’s back, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. “You collapsed, Your Highness. Again. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Jeonghan sighed, exasperated but too tired to argue. He knew Hyungwon wouldn’t back down—he never did when it came to Jeonghan’s health. Still, the fussing grated on his nerves. He was the Crown Prince, not some fragile doll that needed constant coddling. But even so, there was a strange comfort in Hyungwon’s presence, in the way he silently took care of him.

As Hyungwon finished his adjustments, Jeonghan scanned the room, taking in the familiar surroundings of his private quarters. The morning light cast a soft glow over the furniture, making everything feel oddly serene.

His gaze landed on the figure slumped beside his bed, and he blinked in surprise.

Joshua.

Jeonghan’s younger brother was seated in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted at an awkward angle as he slept soundly beside the bed. His hair was tousled, and his breathing was slow and steady, the kind of deep sleep that came only from sheer exhaustion.

Jeonghan’s heart clenched as he looked at Joshua, a flicker of something warm and unfamiliar stirring inside him. Despite their constant bickering, despite the endless teasing and arguments, Joshua had always been there for him, always had his back in the moments that mattered. The sight of his brother sleeping beside him brought a strange sense of comfort—one that Jeonghan wasn’t used to acknowledging, but felt all the same.

But then, as his eyes drifted across the room, they landed on something that rattled him to his core. On the couch, at the far end of the room, Seungcheol was fast asleep.

Jeonghan’s breath caught, his chest tightening painfully as he stared at the sight before him. Seungcheol was curled up on the couch, his head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped over him. The couch didn’t look particularly comfortable—it was far too small for someone of Seungcheol’s height—but he was sleeping soundly, his face peaceful, his breathing even.

Scattered on the coffee table in front of him were documents—notes, reports, and other work-related papers sprawled out in a mess of unfinished tasks. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he realized what had happened.

Seungcheol had been working. He had stayed by Jeonghan’s side, working late into the night, refusing to leave until he had finished. And at some point, he had fallen asleep on the couch, never bothering to return to his own quarters.

Hyungwon must have noticed the shift in Jeonghan’s expression because he spoke up quietly. “He refused to leave,” Hyungwon explained, his voice soft but steady. “Even after we told him he should get some rest, he insisted on staying here. He said he wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Jeonghan’s heart squeezed painfully at Hyungwon’s words, his gaze still locked on Seungcheol’s sleeping form. The dedication—the loyalty—Seungcheol had shown him, even after the harsh words he had thrown at him earlier, was overwhelming. He had pushed Seungcheol so far, hurt him so deeply, and yet… here he was.

Jeonghan let out a long breath, his chest tightening as a wave of guilt washed over him. He hadn’t deserved this—Seungcheol’s unwavering dedication, his concern, his care. And yet, Seungcheol had stayed.

“He’s too dedicated,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath, though the words lacked their usual bite.

Hyungwon chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting. “Yes, he is. But that’s who he is. He wouldn’t leave you, no matter what.”

Jeonghan couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. His gaze lingered on Seungcheol, and as he watched him sleep, a familiar ache stirred in his chest.

It reminded him of someone else. Someone from long ago. The way Seungcheol had stayed by his side, the way he had worked himself to exhaustion without complaint, the way he had taken care of Jeonghan even when he had no reason to—it reminded Jeonghan of him. The person he had lost forever.

The memory of that person—the one who had been his consort in all but name, the one who had been taken from him so cruelly—rose unbidden in his mind. The pain of that loss had never faded, never dulled, and now, seeing Seungcheol there, so loyal, so devoted, it was as if the wound had been torn open all over again.

Jeonghan’s heart clenched, the ache spreading through him like wildfire. It was the way Seungcheol looked at him sometimes—the way his eyes softened, the way his voice carried that same unspoken care—that made everything worse. It was like seeing a ghost, like being haunted by the past he had tried so hard to bury.

And yet, despite the pain, Jeonghan couldn’t tear his eyes away from Seungcheol. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more—something deeper—between them. Something that went beyond the present, something that was tied to the past in ways he couldn’t fully understand.

He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to acknowledge the way Seungcheol made him feel. But the truth was, everything about Seungcheol reminded him of that person. And it hurt.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” Hyungwon’s voice was soft, pulling Jeonghan out of his thoughts.

Jeonghan closed his eyes briefly, forcing the wave of emotions back down, burying them where they couldn’t reach him. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Hyungwon said nothing, but the silence between them was filled with unspoken understanding.

Jeonghan let out a quiet sigh, his gaze once again settling on Seungcheol. The ache in his chest hadn’t lessened, but as he watched Seungcheol sleep, there was a strange sense of peace that came with it. A fragile peace, but peace nonetheless. And for now, that would have to be enough.

It was almost nearing dawn that Jeonghan made up his mind as he watched Seungcheol, still sound asleep on the couch, his breathing steady and deep. Hyungwon had offered to carry Seungcheol back to his quarters, but Jeonghan had waved him off, insisting on doing it himself.

“I’m fine,” Jeonghan had said, his voice firm as he carefully gathered Seungcheol in his arms. “I’ve rested enough.”

Despite the strain he had felt before, his body now felt strong, recharged after the long rest. Seungcheol, for all his quiet strength, felt surprisingly light in Jeonghan’s arms—almost too light.

Hyungwon stepped ahead to open the door as Jeonghan carried Seungcheol out of his quarters and down the hall. There was something oddly intimate about the moment, about holding Seungcheol this way. His head rested gently against Jeonghan’s shoulder, his body relaxed in a way Jeonghan rarely saw when Seungcheol was awake. His usual tension, his diligent focus—it was all gone, leaving only this peaceful, unguarded version of him.

Jeonghan’s heart clenched as he looked down at Seungcheol’s sleeping face. There was a vulnerability there, one that reminded Jeonghan of… him. The person who had been lost to him. But Jeonghan pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to focus on the present.

When they reached Seungcheol’s quarters, Hyungwon quietly opened the door, stepping aside to let Jeonghan enter. The room was simple, tidy, with a modest bed in the corner and a small desk by the window. Everything was neatly arranged, as if Seungcheol spent his time here in quiet efficiency, much like he did in his work.

Jeonghan approached the bed carefully, lowering Seungcheol onto the mattress with gentle precision. Seungcheol stirred briefly, shifting slightly as he found a more comfortable position, but he didn’t wake. His face remained soft, peaceful, as he settled into the bed.

For a moment, Jeonghan just stood there, watching him sleep. There was something about this room—about the scent that lingered in the air—that tugged at Jeonghan’s senses. It was familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent as it filled his lungs, and felt an odd sense of comfort wash over him.

It was subtle, but the scent wasn’t what he would have expected from a beta. It had a depth, a warmth, more like the lingering scent of an omega. But that didn’t make sense. Seungcheol was a beta—his profile had confirmed that much.

Jeonghan frowned, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of the strange familiarity, the scent that seemed to tug at the edges of his memory.

Maybe they just have similar scents, Jeonghan thought, though the explanation didn’t feel quite right. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else, something just beyond his grasp.

After making sure that Seungcheol was comfortable, Jeonghan pulled the blanket up to cover him, casting one last glance at the sleeping figure before quietly stepping out of the room. Hyungwon was waiting for him just outside, a curious look on his face, but he said nothing as Jeonghan closed the door behind him.

Jeonghan let out a long breath, his mind still swirling with questions he didn’t have answers to. His body felt restless, as if he needed to do something—anything—to keep himself from spiraling into thoughts that he couldn’t control.

“Are you heading back to your quarters, Your Highness?” Hyungwon asked, his voice quiet but steady, always the picture of calm.

Jeonghan hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I need to check something in my office.”

Hyungwon blinked but didn’t question him. “Very well.”

The walk to Jeonghan’s office was brief, the quiet halls of the palace echoing with their footsteps. As they entered the room, Jeonghan went straight to his desk, his fingers immediately pulling out a drawer as he searched for something specific.

His fingers grazed over the familiar folder, Seungcheol’s profile, the neatly bound document that had been reviewed and approved when Seungcheol had first been assigned as his assistant. Jeonghan opened the file, scanning the details he already knew—birthdate, background, position. None of it felt out of place, but none of it answered the questions that had been gnawing at him.

What was it about Seungcheol that felt so familiar?

Jeonghan’s eyes flicked over the lines of text, searching for anything that might give him a clue. His attention landed on a single line—one that had never seemed important before but now tugged at his curiosity.

Adopted by the Jeon family.

Jeonghan frowned, his brow furrowing as he focused on that detail. The Jeon family—one of the most powerful alpha families in their pack. Known for their strength, their leadership, their influence. But Seungcheol wasn’t an alpha. He was a beta. So why had the Jeons adopted him?

His mind raced, piecing together fragments of information, but nothing made sense. The Jeons were known for their tradition of only raising alphas. It was part of their legacy, part of their pride. For them to adopt a beta was… unusual, to say the least.

Jeonghan’s fingers tightened around the edge of the file as he scanned the rest of Seungcheol’s profile, searching for any other clue, any detail that might shed light on the situation. But there was nothing. No answers. No explanation.

Jeonghan closed the file with a sigh, frustration gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Why had the Jeons adopted him? Why did Seungcheol carry this strange sense of familiarity that Jeonghan couldn’t shake? And why did everything about Seungcheol—his scent, his presence, his loyalty—remind Jeonghan so painfully of the person he had lost? None of it made sense.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the door as he thought about Seungcheol, still sleeping soundly in his quarters. He knew there was more to this—more to Seungcheol’s story, more to the connection that seemed to bind them. But the answers wouldn’t come from a file. They would come from Seungcheol himself.

And so, Jeonghan decided he would wait. Wait for Seungcheol to wake, wait for the right moment to ask the questions that had been building inside him. Because whatever was hidden beneath the surface, whatever secrets were buried in Seungcheol’s past, Jeonghan was determined to uncover them.

Even if it meant confronting the ghosts of his own.

Seungcheol stirred from his sleep as the soft but persistent sound of knocking echoed through his quarters. Groaning, he blinked his eyes open, his body feeling oddly heavy and his mind foggy with remnants of exhaustion.

“Seungcheol-ah!” Jun’s voice came through the door, insistent but cheerful. “If you don’t get up now, you’re going to be late for work.”

With a groan, Seungcheol slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. His mind was foggy, and it took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t where he thought he would be. He frowned, glancing around his room in confusion.

How did I get here?

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in the Crown Prince’s quarters, working late into the night beside Jeonghan. But now he was back here, in his own bed.

Did someone carry me here?

Seungcheol’s mind raced, trying to piece together the missing details, but everything felt like a blur. The memory of being carried flickered in his mind—he’d felt someone lift him, but who? The details were hazy, too muddled for him to recall clearly.

A few moments later, Jun poked his head through the door, a playful grin on his face. “Finally up? Come on, get ready or you’ll be late.”

Seungcheol nodded, swinging his legs off the bed and pushing himself up. His body still felt a little sore from the previous day’s stress, but he moved quickly, getting dressed and preparing for the day ahead.

“Jun-ah… how did I get back here?” Seungcheol asked, as he quickly got ready.

Jun shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe Hyungwon-nim bring you back? You were out cold.”

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his hair as he continued getting ready. Whoever had carried him, it didn’t matter now. He had work to do.

Before he left his quarters, he made sure to cover his scent thoroughly with his usual beta scent blockers. He had been diligent about this for as long as he could remember—ensuring that his true nature remained hidden, that no one could detect anything unusual about him.

By the time he stepped out, Jun was waiting for him, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a teasing look in his eyes. “Took you long enough,” he quipped. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Together, they walked through the palace halls, the early morning air crisp with the promise of another busy day. Jun chatted idly about this and that, but Seungcheol found his thoughts drifting back to the night before, to the feeling of being carried to his room. He had no idea who had brought him back—or why he felt strangely comforted by it.

When they reached the office area, Jun gave Seungcheol a quick smile, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll pick you up for lunch later. Don’t get buried in too much work before then,” he teased before heading off toward his own office.

Seungcheol chuckled softly, waving him off as he turned toward the office where Jeonghan would be waiting. He expected the usual—Jeonghan already deep into his work, issuing commands in his sharp, no-nonsense way. But when he stepped inside, the scene was different.

Jeonghan was already there, sitting at his desk, but instead of the usual commanding aura, his posture was more relaxed, his expression softer than usual. When he looked up and saw Seungcheol, he didn’t bark out orders or snap at him to get to work.

“Seungcheol-ah,” Jeonghan called, his tone unusually gentle. “Come here for a moment.”

Seungcheol hesitated, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected shift in Jeonghan’s demeanor. The awkwardness of their last encounter still lingered in his mind, but Jeonghan didn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he seemed… different.

Cautiously, Seungcheol approached the desk, his mind still spinning with questions.

“Is there something you need, Your Highness?” Seungcheol asked, trying to keep his tone professional despite the awkwardness he felt.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Seungcheol for a moment before he spoke. “I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly, “about you. About your past.”

Seungcheol frowned, confusion flickering in his eyes. “My past?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Yes. I realized that for all the time you’ve worked with me, I don’t know much about you or your family. I know you were adopted by the Jeon family, but beyond that…” He trailed off, watching Seungcheol intently.

Seungcheol blinked, the topic catching him off guard. He hadn’t expected Jeonghan to ask about something so personal, but he figured there was no harm in answering. “I was adopted by the Jeon family when I was young,” Seungcheol began, his voice steady. “I don’t remember much about my real family. The Jeons have been my family for as long as I can recall.”

Jeonghan leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing. “And before that? Do you remember anything about your life before you were adopted?”

Seungcheol shook his head slowly. “No. I… lost my memory when I was about 17 or 18. I fell from a horse while training, and I’ve been told that’s what caused the memory loss. I don’t even remember the accident itself, but that’s what my family told me.”

Jeonghan’s eyes darkened, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A fall from a horse?” he repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “That’s what they told you?”

Seungcheol nodded. “Yes. Why would they lie about something like that?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his frown deepening. Something about Seungcheol’s story didn’t sit right with him—the convenient memory loss, the fall from a horse as an explanation. It all seemed too… simple.

“Is there… something else you want to know, Your Highness?” Seungcheol asked carefully, trying to steer the conversation away from the growing tension.

After a moment, Jeonghan spoke again, his tone more thoughtful now. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Seungcheol tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What is it?”

Jeonghan hesitated for a brief second, then met Seungcheol’s gaze directly. “Your scent. It’s familiar.”

Seungcheol froze, his entire body stiffening at the mention of his scent. “My scent?”

Jeonghan nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward. “Yes. It smells more like an omega’s scent than a beta’s. It reminds me of someone I knew before… someone important.”

Seungcheol’s pulse quickened, panic creeping into his chest. He had been so careful—so meticulous about masking his scent, making sure no one could tell. How had Jeonghan noticed?

Jeonghan’s expression remained calm, though there was something searching in his eyes. “He… he had the same name as you. It’s part of the reason I hired you as my assistant. But… you’re not the same person. You couldn’t be. My Seungcheol had a different surname. He was a Choi, not Jeon.”

The simple fact had hit Seungcheol like a punch to the gut.

Choi Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s heart raced, his mind spinning as flashes of images—disjointed and blurred—rushed through his head. A name. A face. A voice that echoed from somewhere deep in his memory, calling to him from the shadows of his past.

Jeonghan was still speaking, saying something about how Seungcheol is not really an uncommon name, how he looked nothing like the omega he had known before, but Seungcheol couldn’t process any of it. The room was spinning, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

Images flashed through his mind—fragmented, blurry images that made no sense. A face he couldn’t place. A voice, soft and comforting. The scent of someone familiar, someone important. But it was all too vague, too distant for him to grasp fully.

His heart raced, the room spinning as the memories crashed into him all at once, overwhelming him with their intensity. Jeonghan’s voice became distant, like a distant echo, as Seungcheol struggled to stay grounded. His head throbbed painfully, and his vision blurred. His body swayed as the room tilted dangerously around him.

“Seungcheol-ah?”

Jeonghan’s voice was filled with concern now, but Seungcheol couldn’t respond. The pain in his head intensified, and the flashes of memory became more erratic, more disjointed.

And then, everything went black.

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor. Jeonghan knelt beside him, his hands gripping Seungcheol’s shoulders as panic flickered across his face.

“Seungcheol-ah, can you hear me?”

Before he could respond, Jeonghan was lifting him—gently but firmly—off the floor, carrying him to the couch with surprising ease. Seungcheol felt like a child being carried, his body limp and unresponsive, but Jeonghan’s grip was steady, his touch surprisingly comforting.

Jeonghan helped him to the couch, his hands steady and careful as he laid Seungcheol down, his expression full of concern. “You collapsed,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “We need to get you to the healer. You might have overexerted yourself.”

Hyungwon was already rushing out of the room, calling for the healer, but Seungcheol barely registered it. His mind was clouded with confusion and pain, and all he could do was lie there, dazed, as Jeonghan’s worried voice echoed around him.

Seungcheol shook his head weakly, though the movement made him dizzy. “I’m fine,” he insisted, though even he wasn’t sure he believed it. “I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He didn’t understand what was happening to him. Why did he feel like this? Why was his mind betraying him, showing him memories that didn’t belong?

Seungcheol tried to focus, tried to ground himself, but nothing made sense anymore. He felt like he was unraveling, like the world around him was shifting in ways he couldn’t control.

As Seungcheol lay back on the couch, Jeonghan hovered over him, his expression a mix of worry and confusion. Seungcheol could see the concern etched in Jeonghan’s features, but his own mind was still clouded, too tangled in the web of thoughts to make sense of it all.

“I… I don’t know what happened,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice weak as he tried to make sense of the chaos in his mind.

Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately, his hand resting gently on Seungcheol’s arm. “Just rest for now. The healer will be here soon.”

And as Seungcheol lay there, the weight of Jeonghan’s words and the fragments of his forgotten past pressed down on him, he couldn’t help but wonder—

What is wrong with him, really?

Chapter Text

Jeonghan stood by Seungcheol’s bedside, his eyes lingering on the figure of his sleeping assistant. The room was quiet now, only the dim light casting shadows across the walls. Seungcheol had drifted into sleep after the brief collapse earlier—his face peaceful, the tension from the day momentarily gone. The palace healer had come and gone, assuring Jeonghan that Seungcheol just needed rest, but something still nagged at him.

It wasn’t just the collapse that bothered him. It was that scent.

Jeonghan inhaled slowly, barely catching the faint trace of it lingering in the room. Most of the time, Seungcheol smelled like a typical beta—nothing out of the ordinary. But every now and then, something else slipped through. Something that left Jeonghan’s head spinning, a dizzy, almost intoxicating sensation that clung to him long after it faded.

“Hyung,” Jeonghan said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the advisor who stood by the door, “you’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”

Hyungwon raised an eyebrow, his face betraying no emotion. “Noticed what, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan’s gaze shifted back to Seungcheol. “His scent. Most of the time, he smells like any other beta. But then… there’s something else. It’s familiar. And every time I catch it, it... it makes me feel...” He trailed off, frustrated by the lack of words to describe the strange, dizzying effect it had on him.

Hyungwon’s lips curved into a subtle smile, barely noticeable in the dim light. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Your Highness,” he said softly, his tone dismissive but calm. “It’s likely nothing more than stress. You’ve both had a long day.”

Jeonghan frowned. Hyungwon’s answer was too easy, too dismissive, and it only deepened his suspicion.  But for now, Jeonghan said nothing more. His eyes fell back on Seungcheol, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept. That faint scent still lingered in the air, teasing the edges of Jeonghan’s memory—something just out of reach, something he couldn’t shake.

Jeonghan lingered by Seungcheol's bedside for a moment longer, then sighed softly before turning away. He gestured to Hyungwon to follow, and together they left the quarters, the door closing quietly behind them. The corridor was dimly lit, the silence stretching between them as they walked side by side.

But Jeonghan’s mind was far from silent.

“There’s something strange about him,” Jeonghan muttered after a few steps, his voice low but tense. His brow furrowed, his thoughts still swirling around the pieces of Seungcheol’s background that didn’t quite fit. “The Jeon family… How could he lose his memory so easily? And why does it feel like no one knows the full story?”

Hyungwon, walking just a step behind, glanced briefly at Jeonghan before offering another calm smile. “Your Highness, the Jeon family has always been… unconventional,” he said smoothly, his tone reassuring. “Seungcheol-nim’s memory loss is unfortunate, but not unheard of. People forget things after trauma. You’ve seen this yourself in the palace.”

Jeonghan shook his head, his frustration bubbling up again. “No, it’s more than that. Something about his past feels wrong. How can someone just forget everything? His family was close to the palace, yet there are no records of the incident, no real answers. And Seungcheol… he doesn't seem like he’d simply forgotten. It feels deliberate.”

They paused near the open courtyard, the cool night air filtering in through the columns. Jeonghan stopped, glancing at the stars overhead for a moment, trying to calm his thoughts.

Hyungwon, ever the voice of reason, folded his hands behind his back. “With all due respect, Your Highness, I think you’re letting your concerns cloud your judgment. Seungcheol-nim’s loyalty to you is unquestionable, and the Jeon family’s... quirks have been known for generations. There’s no reason to believe there’s anything more to it than what we’ve been told.”

Jeonghan cast him a sideways glance, lips pressed into a thin line. Hyungwon’s words were smooth, practiced, meant to soothe him. But it wasn’t working this time.

“Maybe,” Jeonghan murmured, though the doubt still gnawed at him. His mind wandered back to Seungcheol’s scent, the flashes of familiarity, the pieces of his past that didn’t align. There was more to Seungcheol’s story—he could feel it. And the thought of it unsettled him deeply.

Hyungwon stepped forward, his face softening slightly, though his tone remained neutral. “You’ve had a long day, Your Highness. These suspicions are just shadows in your mind. Seungcheol-nim is loyal, and his past—unfortunate as it is—has no bearing on his place here.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond immediately. He only looked out at the darkened palace grounds, his jaw tight. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said finally, his voice softer. But even as he spoke, the feeling didn’t fade.

There was something missing. And Jeonghan wasn’t about to let it go.

Seungcheol stirred, the soft rustle of sheets and the gentle murmur of a familiar voice pulling him from the depths of sleep. His eyelids fluttered open, his vision still hazy as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the night light on the bedside table, and as his eyes adjusted, he realized he wasn’t alone.

Jun sat beside him, his brow furrowed in concern as he leaned forward, one hand gently resting on Seungcheol’s arm.

“Seungcheol-ah, are you alright?” Jun’s voice was soft but worried, his eyes scanning Seungcheol’s face for any sign of discomfort. “You’ve been out for a while. What happened? You looked pale earlier… well, paler than usual.”

Seungcheol blinked slowly, his mind still foggy from sleep, but Jun’s presence was a comfort—steadfast, familiar. He swallowed, trying to push past the lingering heaviness in his chest. “I…” His voice came out hoarse, and he paused to clear his throat. “Jeonghan-nim. He… he asked me about my background.”

Jun’s eyes widened slightly, but he kept his voice calm. “Your background? Why would he be asking about that?”

Seungcheol sat up slowly, wincing as a dull ache pulsed behind his eyes. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t just that.” He hesitated, glancing away as if the words themselves might cause him more trouble. “He mentioned… my scent.”

Jun froze for a moment, the concern in his expression deepening. “Your scent?”

Seungcheol nodded, his heart racing again just at the thought of it. “He said something about it being familiar… like it’s not what it should be. Jun, what if he finds out? What if he already knows? I’ve been so careful, but if Jeonghan-nim’s noticing things now…” His voice cracked slightly as the fear crept into his chest again. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jun frowned, trying to wrap his mind around Seungcheol’s words. “But… your scent? How would he—?”

“That’s not all,” Seungcheol interrupted, his voice quieter now, haunted by a lingering memory he couldn’t quite place. “When Jeonghan-nim was asking me questions, he said a name. It was familiar—too familiar. And when he said it, I… I felt something, like a memory trying to surface.”

Jun’s confusion deepened, his hand still resting on Seungcheol’s arm as he tried to make sense of it. “What name?”

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol muttered, frustrated as the fragmented thoughts whirled in his mind. “I don’t remember. I can’t explain it. It’s like… pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, the pressure of the memory weighing down on him. “Jun, I’m scared. I don’t know who I was before the Jeon family adopted me. As far as I know, I’ve been Jeon Seungcheol since I was a child, but… what if that’s not true?”

Jun’s brow creased with concern. “You don’t remember anything before the accident? Not even your name?”

Seungcheol shook his head. “Nothing. It’s all a blur. I only know what the Jeons told me—that they found me, took me in, and raised me as their own. But now, I’m starting to question everything. What if…” His voice faltered, the words hanging heavy in the air. “What if Jeonghan-nim finds out something I don’t even know about myself?”

Jun was quiet for a moment, his mind turning over Seungcheol’s words. He was used to Seungcheol’s guardedness about his past, but this… this felt different. “Maybe… maybe you should ask your father about it. See if there’s something more they never told you.”

Seungcheol bit his lip, considering it. The fragmented memories, the flicker of familiarity at the sound of that name—it was all too much. “Maybe,” he agreed, his voice hesitant. “But what if the truth is worse than not knowing?”

Jun squeezed his arm gently, offering a reassuring smile despite the confusion swirling in his own mind. “Whatever it is, you won’t have to deal with it alone. We’ll figure it out.”

Seungcheol managed a small smile in return, but the uncertainty still gnawed at him. The questions. The fear. The fragmented memories. They wouldn’t leave him alone.

And as much as he wanted to push them away, Seungcheol knew he couldn’t outrun his past forever.

The weekend arrived, but Seungcheol felt no relief as he returned to the Jeon household. Despite the familiarity of his family home, the weight of unanswered questions pressed heavily on his chest. His thoughts kept circling back to Jeonghan’s suspicions, the strange scent, and the name that had triggered something deep inside him.

That night, after the rest of his brothers had gone to sleep, Seungcheol slipped out of his room, his footsteps quiet against the wooden floors as he made his way toward his father’s study. He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed answers—answers only his father could give.

The door to the study was slightly ajar, and Seungcheol hesitated for a moment before knocking softly and stepping inside. His father was sitting at his desk, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the room. He looked up as Seungcheol entered, a gentle smile crossing his face.

"Seungcheol-ah, it’s late," his father said, his voice low but affectionate. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his throat dry with nerves. "Father, I need to ask you something. It’s... it’s about my past." He stepped closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "I need to know the truth."

His father’s smile faded slightly, replaced with a thoughtful look. He set aside the papers he’d been reading, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. "The truth?" he repeated softly. "What’s troubling you, my son?"

Seungcheol took a deep breath, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Jeonghan-nim... he’s been asking questions about me. My background. My scent. And..." He paused, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. "There’s something about it that feels... wrong. Like there’s a part of me I don’t remember."

His father’s face remained calm, though a shadow of concern flickered in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Seungcheol’s chest tightened as he continued. "Jeonghan-nim mentioned a name, and it... it triggered something in me. I don’t know what it is, but it feels like a memory. Father, did I really lose my memory when I fell from the horse? Is that how it happened? Or is there something you’re not telling me?"

The room fell into silence. His father’s gaze softened as he leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. He seemed to weigh his words carefully before speaking.

"You were born an omega, Seungcheol," his father began quietly, his voice gentle but firm. "A rare male omega, which made you powerful—more powerful than most. That power can be dangerous in the wrong hands, and because of that, you might become a target.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrowed. He knew he was an omega, and he had been told his scent was dangerous—too powerful. But this felt different. There was something else buried beneath the surface, something his father hadn’t explained.

His father sighed and leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on the desk. "Male omegas are often seen as threats by certain female omegas who believe they are of lower status. It’s a dangerous world for someone like you, Seungcheol-ah. That’s why we had to suppress your true nature. We used scent blockers and trained you to pass as a beta for your own safety."

Seungcheol nodded, already familiar with the dangers. He had lived most of his life under those restrictions, hiding his true nature behind a beta’s mask to protect himself from the threats that came with being a male omega.

"But it’s not just that," Seungcheol continued, his brow furrowing. "Jeonghan-nim mentioned a name, and... it triggered something. I can’t explain it, but it felt like a memory trying to surface. And it’s making me question everything." He paused, his voice quieter now. "Did I really lose my memory from falling off the horse?"

His father’s face grew more serious, but his tone remained steady. "Yes," he said firmly. "That’s exactly what happened. You were young when we adopted you, and accidents happen. The fall was tragic, but it was an accident. We’ve taken care of you since then, and we’ve done everything we can to protect you."

Seungcheol searched his father’s eyes for a hint of doubt, something to suggest that he wasn’t being told the whole truth. But his father’s expression remained steady, the same reassuring smile he had always worn when comforting him as a child.

"You’ve always been a Jeon," his father continued. "We took you in when you needed a family, and that’s who you are. Nothing will change that. Whatever Jeonghan-nim is digging into... it won’t change the truth. You belong with us."

Seungcheol bit his lip, unsure whether to believe him. His father’s words were logical, calm, just as they had always been. But the nagging feeling inside him, the flashes of memories that didn’t align with what he had been told, wouldn’t go away.

He looked up again, his voice quiet. "Jeonghan-nim is suspicious, Father. He’s starting to question who I am."

His father waved the concern off gently, a calm smile returning to his face. "Jeonghan-nim is overthinking it. And as far as our family goes, you are and always will be a Jeon. You belong with us, and we’ve cared for you like our own since the day you arrived. There’s nothing for him to uncover that would change that."

Seungcheol nodded slowly, though his mind was still clouded with confusion. His father’s words should have reassured him, but the fragmented memories continued to gnaw at him, pulling him deeper into a web of doubt.

His father reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You are my son, Seungcheol. Our family has taken responsibility for you, and we will continue to protect you. That will never change."

Seungcheol wanted to believe him. He wanted to trust that his past—his true past—was as simple as his father made it seem. But deep down, he knew there was something more. The memories, the fragmented thoughts—they weren’t going away. And as much as he wanted to push them down, he knew that the truth wouldn’t stay buried forever.

Returning to work should have felt normal—comfortable even—but as Seungcheol stepped into the palace again, there was a strange heaviness in his chest. After the conversation with his father, the unanswered questions still weighed on him, but there was no time to dwell. Jeonghan needed him, and work awaited.

His routine as Jeonghan’s assistant resumed immediately, the tasks piling up as usual: reports to organize, meetings to arrange, messages to deliver. Yet, there was something different this time, something that tugged at the edges of Seungcheol’s awareness. But this time, there was a difference—small, subtle, but enough for Seungcheol to notice.

The workload was still demanding, but Jeonghan wasn’t pushing him like before. The endless hours and impossible expectations seemed to ease. Instead of expecting Seungcheol to complete every single task in one day, Jeonghan spaced them out, giving him more breathing room. And where there had once been sharp commands and impatient demands, there was now a strange, quiet attentiveness.

“Finish this by tomorrow,” Jeonghan had said earlier, dropping a set of documents on Seungcheol’s desk. His tone was cold and matter-of-fact, his usual detachment intact. “And make sure you have lunch today. No excuses.”

Seungcheol had blinked, momentarily stunned. Jeonghan never concerned himself with such things before. He usually worked through the day, demanding Seungcheol’s time and energy without a second thought. At first, he thought it might be a trick, but Jeonghan’s gaze was steady, without its usual edge.

Later in the evening, as Seungcheol finished up a portion of his tasks, he glanced at the clock. Normally, Jeonghan would expect him to work late into the evening, pushing him to complete everything in one day. But today, when Seungcheol hesitated at his desk, Jeonghan spoke again, his voice sharp but distant.

“Leave on time,” Jeonghan said without looking up from his own paperwork. “I don’t need you staying here all night. Finish it tomorrow.”

Seungcheol nodded quickly, still trying to process the sudden shift. Jeonghan’s coldness hadn’t changed, but his commands were less punishing, more structured. It was as if Jeonghan had realized something—and that realization had led to... this.

One busy afternoon, as Seungcheol hunched over his desk, immersed in a stack of documents, Hyungwon appeared quietly by his side.

“You should eat,” Hyungwon said calmly, setting a neatly wrapped lunch down on the edge of Seungcheol’s desk. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the space, and Seungcheol blinked up at Hyungwon, confused.

“I didn’t...” Seungcheol began, glancing between the lunch and Hyungwon.

Hyungwon’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “The Crown Prince thought you might forget. He asked me to bring this to you.”

Seungcheol’s confusion deepened, but before he could question it further, Hyungwon had already turned on his heel, heading back toward Jeonghan’s office without another word.

Seungcheol stared at the lunch for a moment longer, his mind trying to process the gesture. Jeonghan had noticed? He never concerned himself with Seungcheol’s meals before, up until now—certainly not enough to send Hyungwon with food. Yet here it was, a small but undeniable sign that something had shifted.

Later that day, when Seungcheol prepared to leave his post, he found Hyungwon waiting for him once again.

“The Crown Prince wants you to return to your quarters,” Hyungwon said, his tone as calm as ever. “And I’ll be escorting you.”

Seungcheol blinked in surprise. “Escort me? But I can walk back on my own, it’s not—”

“It’s not a request,” Hyungwon interrupted smoothly, though his voice was polite. “He doesn’t want you working late.”

Seungcheol hesitated, unsure how to react. Jeonghan was still cool, still distant, but these small acts—the lunch, the escort—spoke volumes. Jeonghan wasn’t showing his concern directly, but through Hyungwon, the message was clear: he was watching out for Seungcheol, even if he didn’t say it aloud.

The next day, as noon approached, Seungcheol found himself lost in the pile of work Jeonghan had assigned. It was less overwhelming than before, but the pace was still demanding. He was focused on finishing one report when Jeonghan appeared in front of his desk, casting a long shadow over his papers.

“Come with me for lunch,” Jeonghan said, his tone unusually soft—almost casual.

Seungcheol looked up, startled by the unexpected invitation. He blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “Lunch, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan nodded once, his expression calm. “Yes. You’ve been working hard, and you need to eat.”

Seungcheol stared at him, the words not quite sinking in. Jeonghan had never asked him to join for a meal before. “I... I wasn’t expecting—”

His hesitation must have been clear, because Jeonghan’s expression shifted slightly, his brow furrowing. “Joshua eats with his assistant all the time. Can I not do the same?”

Seungcheol swallowed hard, glancing down at his work. “It’s not that, Your Highness. It’s just… Joshua-nim is different. For him, that might be normal, but... for us, this isn’t exactly—”

Before he could finish, Jeonghan’s expression darkened, his soft tone vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. His eyes narrowed, the cold, commanding edge returning to his voice. “So what if this is normal for Joshua? Does that mean I can’t?”

Seungcheol’s mouth went dry, realizing he had said the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

Jeonghan cut him off, his voice sharp now. “Enough. You’re coming with me, and that’s final.”

Seungcheol felt a lump in his throat, the tension thick in the air. There was no room for argument—Jeonghan had made up his mind. “Yes, Your Highness,” he muttered, lowering his head.

Sure enough, Hyungwon appeared beside Jeonghan, as composed as always. He offered Seungcheol a small smile and a nod, though the subtle curiosity in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Seungcheol rose from his seat, still processing the unexpected invitation. In the months he’d worked as Jeonghan’s assistant, there had never been an offer to dine together—not like this. It was always work, always urgency, never room for anything else.

He followed them out of the office, his mind racing with a mixture of confusion and relief. What had changed? Had Jeonghan noticed something after the incident, or was this just a new side to the crown prince he hadn’t seen before?

As they walked through the palace halls, the shift became even more noticeable. Jeonghan, who had always walked slightly ahead of him, now matched his pace. And instead of throwing out orders or commands, there was... silence. A comfortable silence.

Seungcheol could feel the stares as they made their way to the dining hall. Courtiers and servants alike turned their heads, surprised whispers trailing in their wake. He could practically feel their confusion. The Crown Prince didn’t usually dine with others, except for his family members.

The whispers started as they passed through the hallway, and Seungcheol could feel the weight of curious eyes on him. He kept his gaze lowered, trying to ignore the stares, but he could feel the tension building.

Hyungwon, walking beside them, didn’t seem bothered in the least. His usual calm demeanor remained, though a faint glint of amusement flickered in his eyes as he glanced at Seungcheol.

The tension continued to gnaw at Seungcheol’s nerves, but Jeonghan seemed unfazed, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. Hyungwon, too, seemed at ease, his usual composed self, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at the curious onlookers.

When they arrived at the dining hall, the doors opened wide to reveal a grand room, the soft hum of conversation filling the space. Seungcheol hesitated for a moment, uncertain where he fit into this new dynamic. He had never sat at Jeonghan’s table, had never been a part of this world beyond the fringes.

But Jeonghan didn’t hesitate. He motioned for Seungcheol to follow him to the long table where lunch had already been prepared.

"Sit," Jeonghan said simply, gesturing to a seat beside him.

Seungcheol swallowed, unsure of what to make of the situation. Everything felt... different. The boundaries that had once been so clear between them were now blurred. He had always been Jeonghan’s assistant—nothing more, nothing less. But now? Now, it felt like something had shifted.

Still, he sat down, trying to keep his composure as the palace staff quietly set the table. Hyungwon took his place across from him, the hint of a smile playing on his lips as he watched Seungcheol adjust to the unfamiliar situation.

Jeonghan picked up his utensils, his movements as graceful as ever, and glanced briefly at Seungcheol before speaking. "Eat," he said, his tone neutral, but there was an undertone of something... softer. "You’ve been working hard."

Seungcheol’s chest tightened at the unexpected praise, but he managed a nod. "Thank you, Your Highness."

As they began eating, the silence between them was thick, but not uncomfortable. Seungcheol sat quietly, trying to make sense of everything. He still felt the weight of the unexpected invitation to lunch, and despite Jeonghan’s usual coldness, there was an undeniable shift in the air.

Seungcheol stared down at the food in front of him, his mind too preoccupied to eat. The meal was beautifully prepared, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Jeonghan’s subtle change in behavior, his words still replaying in Seungcheol’s mind.

Jeonghan, noticing Seungcheol’s hesitation, glanced up from his own meal. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice, though cool, carried a hint of consideration. “Is the food not to your liking?” he asked, his tone dry but laced with genuine interest. “We can have the chef prepare something else if this isn’t enough.”

Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected gesture, and he quickly shook his head, waving his hands in mild panic. “No, Your Highness! This is more than enough,” he assured hurriedly, feeling the pressure of Jeonghan’s attention on him. “I... I just wasn’t expecting... well, this.”

Jeonghan studied him for a moment longer, his gaze unreadable, before he simply nodded and returned to his meal. “Good,” he muttered, though the faintest trace of amusement tugged at the corner of his lips. “Eat, then. You’ll need your strength for the rest of the day.”

Relieved, Seungcheol picked up his utensils and began eating, but his nerves were still on edge. His movements were slower than usual, cautious as if trying to avoid drawing more attention from Jeonghan. But he wasn’t used to this—the unexpected lunch invitation, Jeonghan’s slight but thoughtful gestures—it left him unsettled.

It didn’t take long for Jeonghan to notice.

After a few minutes, Jeonghan glanced over at Seungcheol’s plate, watching as he ate in careful, small bites. He raised an eyebrow, a dry smirk playing on his lips. “At that pace, Seungcheol, you won’t finish before the lunch hour is over.”

Seungcheol looked up in surprise, his face heating up at the subtle teasing in Jeonghan’s tone. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to—”

“I was joking,” Jeonghan interrupted, though his tone remained distant and dry. “You don’t have to take everything I say so literally.”

Flustered, Seungcheol nodded and, in his rush to make up for the slow pace, took a large bite of his food. He tried to speed up, but as soon as he did, he felt something lodge in his throat, and before he knew it, he was choking, his eyes watering as he struggled to catch his breath.

Immediately, Jeonghan’s cold exterior cracked, concern flashing in his eyes as he reached for a glass of water and handed it to Seungcheol. “Here,” he said, his voice still calm but with a noticeable urgency beneath it.

Seungcheol quickly grabbed the water, gulping it down to ease the choking, his face flushed with both embarrassment and discomfort. Once he managed to breathe normally again, he glanced nervously at Jeonghan, who was now watching him with a mix of mild irritation and amusement.

“Are you alright?” Jeonghan asked, his tone still composed, though the subtle softness hadn’t left his voice.

Seungcheol nodded quickly, feeling humiliated. “I-I’m fine, Your Highness. I’m sorry.”

Jeonghan sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I told you, you don’t have to take everything I say literally,” he muttered, though the scolding was gentle, almost caring. His eyes softened as he added, “Eat at your own pace. There’s no need to rush.”

Seungcheol nodded, still embarrassed but relieved at the same time. Jeonghan’s words were stern, but the care behind them was unmistakable. He had never expected this kind of attention from the Crown Prince, especially after the cold treatment he had grown so accustomed to.

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, though the atmosphere between them felt lighter. Jeonghan didn’t speak much, but his subtle gestures—asking about the food, offering the water—left a mark on Seungcheol. It wasn’t warmth in the traditional sense, but it was care nonetheless, wrapped up in Jeonghan’s usual distant exterior.

As they finished eating, Jeonghan stood smoothly, his composure returning to its usual impenetrable state. “Finish your tasks today,” he said, his voice back to its familiar cool tone. “But don’t stay too late.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Seungcheol replied quickly, bowing his head slightly.

Without another word, Jeonghan turned and left the hall, his figure disappearing down the corridor, with Hyungwon following behind. Seungcheol remained seated for a moment longer, still processing the strange combination of coldness and care that Jeonghan had shown during their meal.

It was subtle, but the shift was there. Something was different now, and Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel that whatever it was, it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

As the weeks passed, Seungcheol couldn’t help but notice the subtle but undeniable shift in Jeonghan’s behavior. It wasn’t dramatic—nothing about the Crown Prince ever was—but little by little, Jeonghan’s actions showed a growing trust in Seungcheol’s abilities.

Seungcheol, once limited to handling tasks behind the scenes, was now occasionally asked to join discussions with the other staff. At first, it felt strange, even nerve-wracking, to sit at the table while senior advisors debated the matters of the palace, but Jeonghan’s calm presence beside him made it easier. He never announced Seungcheol’s involvement with any fanfare—he simply gestured for him to sit and expected him to contribute.

One afternoon, while Seungcheol sat in on a meeting regarding the management of palace affairs, he quietly offered his insight on how to streamline a particularly complicated system. His voice was soft at first, but as the conversation progressed, he spoke more confidently, encouraged by the way the other staff seemed to value his opinion.

When the meeting concluded, and the room began to clear, Seungcheol gathered his notes, preparing to leave.

“You handled that well,” Jeonghan said suddenly, his voice cool and matter-of-fact as always, but there was a hint of acknowledgment in his words that made Seungcheol pause.

Seungcheol looked up, surprised by the rare compliment. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said softly, bowing his head.

Jeonghan gave a small nod, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You’ve been in this role long enough. I expect nothing less.”

It wasn’t effusive praise, but from Jeonghan, it carried a weight that Seungcheol didn’t take lightly. The prince’s subtle acknowledgment of his work was enough to leave Seungcheol standing a little taller, his confidence growing with each passing day.

That trust extended to his work as well. Where Jeonghan had once been meticulous about reviewing everything Seungcheol completed, going over every detail with a sharp eye, he now only glanced over it once before handing it back with a curt nod of approval.

One afternoon, after Seungcheol had finished preparing a particularly detailed report, he brought it to Jeonghan’s desk as usual, expecting the same thorough review.

Jeonghan scanned the first few pages, then handed it back almost immediately. “This is fine,” he said, setting it aside without another glance.

Seungcheol blinked, taken aback. “You’re not going to go over the rest of it, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan’s eyes flicked up, his expression cool and collected. “Why should I? You’ve been doing this long enough—you should have it perfect by now.”

Seungcheol felt a strange mix of pride and surprise. Jeonghan’s words, though delivered in his usual detached tone, carried a confidence that he hadn’t expected. The Crown Prince trusted him—trusted him enough not to review every detail of his work anymore.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Seungcheol said, bowing his head slightly. Though the compliment had been subtle, it was there, buried in Jeonghan’s words.

Jeonghan gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Don’t make me regret it.”

And yet, as much as Jeonghan’s coldness remained, the shift was clear. Seungcheol had earned his trust—something that, not too long ago, he would never have thought possible.

The small compliments, the increased responsibility, the growing autonomy—all of it was proof that Jeonghan saw him not just as an assistant, but as someone capable of more. It was a silent acknowledgment, expressed in Jeonghan’s unique way—never overtly, but always present in the way he treated Seungcheol with more respect and expectation than before.

Over time, Seungcheol found himself stepping into his role with more confidence. The pressure to meet Jeonghan’s high standards never lessened, but Seungcheol no longer doubted his ability to meet them. And each time Jeonghan gave him one of those subtle acknowledgments—whether it was a nod of approval, a quick review of his work, or a simple “well done” after a particularly hard day—Seungcheol felt a quiet sense of pride.

It was strange, having someone as cold and distant as Jeonghan believe in him. But somehow, that trust meant more than anything else.

After a long, exhausting week, Seungcheol found himself walking to the dining hall beside Jun, ready to unwind over dinner. It had become a routine of sorts—whenever their schedules allowed it, the two would meet up for dinner, catching up on palace gossip and enjoying a much-needed break from their demanding duties.

As they approached the hall, the buzz of conversation grew louder, and Seungcheol spotted Prince Joshua, waving enthusiastically in their direction. Unlike Jeonghan, Joshua preferred to blend in with the palace staff and officers, his lively personality drawing people toward him. He was always eager to join in the chatter, making everyone feel welcome.

“There you are!” Joshua called out, his face lighting up with a smile. “Come sit with me!”

Seungcheol exchanged a smile with Jun as they made their way over to Joshua’s table, taking seats beside him. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with laughter and the murmur of easy conversation, a stark contrast to the formal tone of Jeonghan’s presence. It was refreshing—light and warm.

They began chatting about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing freely between them. Joshua, ever observant, eventually turned his teasing gaze toward Seungcheol, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“So,” Joshua started, grinning, “you’ve managed to do the impossible, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, glancing between Joshua and Jun. “The impossible?”

Joshua leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “You’ve softened Jeonghan’s demeanor. Everyone’s noticed.”

Seungcheol blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the statement. “What? No, I—”

“No, he’s right,” Jun interjected with a nod, a smile tugging at his lips. “Jeonghan-nim has been different lately. I’ve seen it too.”

Joshua laughed lightly, clearly enjoying Seungcheol’s confusion. “He’s not just softer around you—he’s more relaxed with the others too. Less demanding. A lot less... intense.”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Jun added, “Like when he let you brief the entire staff about that review meeting last week. He didn’t even interrupt or correct you. I don’t remember the last time he trusted someone else to do that.”

Seungcheol chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I think you’re all exaggerating. I’ve just been doing my job.”

Joshua leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest with a knowing smile. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Seungcheol. Jeonghan’s not the type to trust just anyone. And you’ve earned that trust.”

Seungcheol shrugged, still not entirely convinced. “I’m happy that my hard work’s paid off. I’ve been trying to meet his expectations, that’s all.”

Joshua’s playful smile faded slightly, and his tone grew more serious as he leaned forward. “And you should keep it up. Jeonghan’s trust isn’t something you can afford to lose.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened a little at the sudden shift in Joshua’s demeanor. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said quickly, sincerity in his voice. “I wouldn’t.”

Joshua’s gaze softened, but the weight of his words remained. “I’m not worried about you, Seungcheol. I trust you.” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge of caution. “But be careful of the people around you. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

Seungcheol met Joshua’s gaze, the warmth and seriousness mingling in his words, and nodded. “I’ll be careful,” he promised.

Joshua’s smile returned, but there was still a glimmer of caution in his eyes. “I know you will. Just... watch your back. You’re doing well, and I trust you’ll keep it that way.”

Jun, who had been watching the exchange, smiled softly. “It’s true, Seungcheol-ah. You’ve worked hard, and we’ve all noticed it. Just remember that you’re not alone.”

Seungcheol felt a warmth spread through his chest at their words. His friends, though teasing and lighthearted, genuinely cared for him, and their support meant more than he could express.

The conversation soon shifted back to lighter topics, laughter filling the air once again, but Seungcheol couldn’t help but think about Joshua’s words. He had earned Jeonghan’s trust, and while he hadn’t realized the extent of it, the responsibility weighed on him now. And Joshua’s warning echoed in his mind.

Not everyone has your best interests at heart.

Jeonghan joined his family for breakfast that morning, taking his place at the long, ornate dining table. His father, the Alpha King, sat at the head, exuding the quiet authority that had ruled their kingdom for decades. Beside him was the Queen, poised and elegant, her sharp eyes watching her sons with a mix of affection and expectation. Across from Jeonghan sat his younger brother, Joshua, ever the charmer, and Joshua’s mother, the Beta Consort. And at the far end of the table, looking bored and barely awake, sat Soobin, Jeonghan’s younger sister and the kingdom’s Alpha Princess.

As the meal began, the conversation naturally shifted to palace matters. The Alpha King turned to his sons, his deep voice cutting through the clatter of plates. “How are things progressing with your work, Jeonghan? Joshua?”

Joshua, ever quick to engage, smiled and leaned forward. “Things are going smoothly on my end, Father. We’re making progress on the projects you’ve assigned.”

Jeonghan, ever more composed, simply nodded. “The same on my side. Everything is on track.”

The Alpha King gave a satisfied nod before turning to his daughter, who was pushing her food around her plate absentmindedly. “And what about you, Soobin? I heard you finally found a tutor.”

The Queen smiled at her daughter, speaking before Soobin could answer. “Yes, she did. It took her long enough, but after rounds of selection, she’s chosen someone who suits her.”

Soobin huffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “None of them were right for me. They either talked too much, or not enough, or couldn’t understand what I needed. I wanted someone like brothers' assistants,” she added, glancing at her brothers. “Everyone knows they’re the best at what they do. Especially Seungcheol.”

At this, Joshua grinned and shot Jeonghan a teasing look. “If you can find someone like Seungcheol, you’ll be the luckiest princess alive. He’s a rare gem, that one.”

Jeonghan, though normally reserved, allowed himself a small, proud smile. “You’re right,” he said, his tone calm but filled with a subtle undercurrent of pride. “No one should surpass Seungcheol’s credibility. He’s earned his place.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Careful, Jeonghan. You’re starting to sound soft.”

Jeonghan shrugged, his expression cool. “I give credit where it’s due.”

The playful exchange lingered in the air for a moment before Soobin rolled her eyes again, this time with a faint smile. “Well, I couldn’t get Seungcheol, obviously, but I found someone almost as good.”

The Queen’s eyes sparkled with approval. “Her name is Minhee, from one of the more prestigious families in the kingdom. She’s well-trained and highly regarded in her field. I thought she’d be a good match for you, Soobin, and she’s an omega, so she’ll help you understand the world from a different perspective.”

Soobin groaned dramatically, “Mother, I know all about omegas.”

The Queen merely smiled, her voice warm but firm. “Knowing and understanding are not the same thing. You’ll learn from her, whether you like it or not.”

Jeonghan leaned back slightly in his chair, listening to the exchange with mild interest, but his thoughts drifted back to Seungcheol. It wasn’t often he complimented his assistant so openly, but it was undeniable that Seungcheol had become indispensable.

The Queen’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Minhee should be here soon. I invited her to introduce herself since it’s rare for us all to be together like this.”

Moments later, the door to the dining hall opened, and the tutor, Minhee, entered the room with perfect grace. Her posture was prim and proper, every step measured, just as expected of someone from a prestigious omega family. She approached the royal table with a soft, composed smile, bowing politely before introducing herself.

“Your Majesties,” she began, her voice soft yet clear, “I am Minhee, and it is my honor to serve the royal family, particularly Princess Soobin.”

Jeonghan’s eyes met hers briefly as she spoke, and she gave him a small, polite smile and another bow, just as everyone did when they saw him. There was nothing unusual about the gesture—everything about her seemed perfect, from her posture to her calm demeanor—but something about her presence unsettled him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but there was an inexplicable tension in the air.

Minhee answered several questions from the family, her responses measured and thoughtful. Her voice was calm, firm but respectful, and everything she said was as polished as her appearance. She presented herself exactly as expected—perfectly.

Yet, Jeonghan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

He watched her closely as she spoke with his father and the Queen, answering questions about her experience and qualifications. Every answer was flawless, and yet, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t place. It wasn’t anything she said or did, but an instinct, something in the air that made him uneasy.

As Minhee finished answering the family’s questions, the Queen smiled approvingly. “Thank you, Minhee. You seem more than capable, and I trust Princess Soobin will be in good hands.”

Minhee bowed again, her polite smile never faltering. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will do my best.”

With that, she excused herself and left the room as gracefully as she had entered. As the door closed behind her, Jeonghan remained silent, his mind still turning over the strange feeling that lingered after her departure.

Everything about her had been perfect. And yet... there was something. Something he couldn’t quite explain.

The next morning, the staff gathered for a formal meeting in one of the palace’s grand halls. Jeonghan stood near the front, arms folded as he watched the others take their places. The Alpha King sat at the head of the table, his imposing presence commanding the room as he prepared to address the staff.

It was a routine meeting, updates on palace operations and responsibilities, but today, there was something different. When the introductions began, the Alpha King stood and gestured toward Minhee, who stood perfectly composed at his side.

“I’d like to introduce Minhee, our newest recruit,” the King said, his voice strong and clear. “She will be working with Princess Soobin and will report to both Prince Jeonghan and Prince Joshua on her progress.”

Minhee bowed gracefully, her movements as precise and elegant as ever. Her posture was impeccable, every detail of her appearance perfect. She addressed the room with the same soft confidence that Jeonghan had seen at breakfast, her smile polite and respectful. Everything about her was flawless—too flawless, Jeonghan thought.

The unease that had taken root during their first meeting had only grown. Jeonghan watched her carefully, his eyes narrowing as she spoke. There was something there, something he couldn’t quite place. Despite her composed exterior, the sense that something was off lingered in his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

As the meeting wrapped up, the Alpha King gestured for Minhee to join him, motioning toward Jun and Seungcheol. “Minhee, I’d like to introduce you to Prince Jeonghan’s assistant, Seungcheol, and Prince Joshua’s assistant, Jun,” the King said. “You’ll be working closely with them.”

Minhee approached Jun and Seungcheol with her usual grace, bowing politely as she spoke. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I look forward to learning from your experience. Please guide me well.”

Jun, ever the cheerful one, smiled warmly. “Welcome to the team, Minhee-nim. I’m sure you’ll do great here.”

Minhee returned his smile, her expression calm and collected as always. “Thank you, Jun-nim. I’m honored to be here.”

Seungcheol offered a warm greeting as well. “It’s good to meet you. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Minhee turned to him, bowing politely. “Thank you, Seungcheol-nim. I appreciate your kindness.”

Her words were as perfect as always, delivered with practiced grace, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But just as she was about to turn away, something changed.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and in that instant, Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat. He could have sworn he saw it—a small twitch, a faint smirk that flickered across her face, like the shadow of an evil smirk. It was quick, barely perceptible, but it was there. The polite mask slipped, if only for a second, and something else—something darker—peeked through.

Seungcheol blinked, startled, but before he could say anything, Minhee had already turned away, her expression perfectly composed once again as she walked out of the room, her posture as prim and proper as ever.

The moment passed, but the unease it left behind remained. Seungcheol stood there, staring after her, the strange smirk lingering in his mind. It was as if something had shifted, something he couldn’t quite explain. His heart raced, a knot of suspicion tightening in his chest.

Jun, oblivious to the moment, continued chatting with another staff member, but Seungcheol remained frozen for a heartbeat longer. Had he imagined it? That brief, sinister smirk—had it really been there?

But as he glanced toward Jeonghan, who had been watching Minhee just as closely, he saw a flicker of the same doubt in the crown prince’s eyes. Jeonghan’s expression remained cool, but there was a subtle tension in his posture—like he, too, had sensed something was wrong.

The meeting ended, the staff dispersed, and Seungcheol followed Jun out of the hall. But the strange encounter with Minhee clung to him, the image of that fleeting smirk replaying in his mind.

The lingering sense of dread clung to Seungcheol like a shadow, and no matter how much he tried to shake it, he couldn’t escape the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Minhee’s smile, her perfect exterior, her calm demeanor—it was all a mask. He could feel it now, a gnawing certainty that her presence wasn’t as harmless as it seemed.

Something about her wasn’t right. And Seungcheol had a feeling this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

It had become routine now. Every day, no matter how busy or packed Jeonghan’s schedule was, he always made sure Seungcheol joined him for lunch. Even when the meetings didn’t require Seungcheol’s attendance, Jeonghan would somehow find a reason to bring him along.

At first, Seungcheol had been perplexed. The Crown Prince wasn’t exactly known for his warmth, yet lately, Jeonghan had insisted on Seungcheol being at his side for almost everything—meetings, briefings, meals. It wasn’t just the public gatherings, either. Even during private discussions that Seungcheol wasn’t needed for, Jeonghan would still drag him along.

Whenever Seungcheol asked about it, Jeonghan would give a simple, almost dismissive answer: “They might miss something important,” or “You’re good at remembering details.”

At first, it felt odd—unexpected even—but over time, Seungcheol had grown used to it. What had once confused him now brought him a strange sense of pride. He didn’t just follow Jeonghan because he was required to; he did it because, apparently, Jeonghan valued his presence. The subtle compliments—though often buried under Jeonghan’s usual cool demeanor—were real, and Seungcheol had begun to savor them.

Today was no different. Jeonghan sat at the head of a large table, a few advisors gathered around for an informal meeting over lunch. Seungcheol sat quietly to his side, his eyes occasionally flicking between the discussion and his meal. He wasn’t needed for this particular conversation, but as usual, Jeonghan had made sure to bring him along.

When the conversation briefly paused, Seungcheol turned to Jeonghan, curiosity pulling at him. “Your Highness,” he began hesitantly, “I’m not sure if I’m needed here. You already have your advisors...”

Jeonghan’s gaze flicked over to him, his expression as calm and composed as always. “You might catch something they don’t,” he replied smoothly, his voice cool but laced with that familiar undercurrent of trust. “You’re good at remembering details. That’s why I bring you.”

Seungcheol blinked, his lips parting in surprise before a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had heard similar words from Jeonghan before, but each time, they seemed to warm him in a way he wasn’t quite used to.

The first time Jeonghan had complimented him like that, Seungcheol had been unsure how to react. He’d stammered awkwardly, wondering if Jeonghan was simply being practical or if there was something more.

But now, after weeks of being by his side, Seungcheol had grown used to these small moments of acknowledgment. And he liked them. In fact, he found himself waiting for them.

A brighter smile spread across Seungcheol’s face, his heart lifting as the subtle praise sunk in. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he replied softly, feeling a small spark of satisfaction.

Jeonghan merely nodded, turning his attention back to the conversation at hand. For him, it was business as usual, but for Seungcheol, each of these moments felt like something more.

It wasn’t long ago that Seungcheol had felt nervous about these meetings—about being dragged into rooms full of important people where he thought he didn’t belong. But now? Now, he felt eager for the opportunity to prove himself, and each time Jeonghan offered him even the smallest compliment, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel his heart swell. And each time, his smile grew just a little brighter.

Over the past few weeks, Seungcheol had found himself growing closer to Jeonghan in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Whether it was sharing lunch or being dragged into meetings, the Crown Prince had made Seungcheol an almost constant presence at his side. And while Seungcheol enjoyed the responsibility and subtle compliments from Jeonghan, it came with its own challenges—mainly, the relentless teasing from Joshua and Jun.

Every time Seungcheol had to turn down an invitation to join Joshua and Jun for lunch, they would raise their eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Oh, let me guess,” Joshua would say with a grin, “Jeonghan’s kidnapped you again?”

“Can’t blame him,” Jun would add, smirking. “Seems like he can’t function without you now.”

Tonight was no different. As Seungcheol sat down for dinner with Joshua and Jun in the bustling dining hall, he could already feel the questions forming in their eyes. They had managed to secure him for dinner at least, though Seungcheol was certain they’d have something to say about his earlier lunch plans.

“I’m starting to feel jealous,” Joshua said, taking a sip of his drink with a dramatic sigh. “I used to think I was Jeonghan’s favorite, but now it seems he only has eyes for you.”

Seungcheol shook his head, chuckling softly. “It’s not like that. He just wants me there for meetings. That’s all.”

Jun raised an eyebrow. “And lunch. And private discussions. And every moment in between.”

Seungcheol smiled, feeling a small flush of warmth in his cheeks. “He says I’m good at remembering details. I think that’s the only reason.”

“Sure, sure,” Joshua teased, leaning back in his chair. “But you know what they say: once you’re in Jeonghan’s orbit, there’s no escaping.”

Seungcheol was about to respond when the conversation was interrupted by an unexpected voice. “Is there room for one more?”

The three of them turned to see Jeonghan standing at the entrance to the dining hall, his presence instantly commanding attention. Joshua’s eyes widened in surprise, while Jun and Seungcheol exchanged a quick glance, equally confused. It wasn’t like Jeonghan to join them for dinner—especially not in the informal setting of the staff dining hall.

Joshua, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned and gestured for his brother to join them. “Jeonghanie! It’s been ages since you’ve eaten with us here. Come sit.”

Jeonghan approached the table with his usual calm grace, taking the seat beside Seungcheol. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

Joshua chuckled, leaning forward as Jeonghan addressed Jun and Seungcheol. “Did you two know Jeonghanie used to have dinner with me all the time? Right here in the dining hall, blending in with everyone else like a normal person.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes but there was a soft, amused smile tugging at his lips. “You’re exaggerating. I’ve never been ‘normal.’”

“True,” Joshua conceded with a playful smirk, “but back then you weren’t as uptight. You actually used to enjoy these dinners.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Jun added, grinning at Seungcheol. “Jeonghan-nim’s always been the cool and aloof one, but get him with Joshua-nim, and it’s like seeing another person.”

Seungcheol glanced at Jeonghan, a little surprised at the easygoing atmosphere. Jeonghan was usually so composed, so collected, especially around him. But now, here with Joshua, there was something different—a softer, more relaxed side of the Crown Prince that Seungcheol hadn’t seen before.

As the dinner went on, the banter between Joshua and Jeonghan flowed effortlessly, filled with light jabs and playful teasing. The brothers seemed to enjoy pushing each other’s buttons, and Jeonghan, to Seungcheol’s astonishment, didn’t shy away from the back-and-forth.

At one point, Joshua leaned over to Jeonghan, his grin widening. “Do you remember that time you tried to ‘teach’ me chess and ended up flipping the board because you thought I was going easy on you?”

Jeonghan scoffed, shaking his head with a smirk. “You were going easy on me. That was the insult.”

“That’s because I was trying to be nice!” Joshua protested, laughing. “But no, you just had to be dramatic about it.”

Seungcheol blinked, watching the exchange with wide eyes. The Jeonghan he knew—the one who demanded perfection, who always kept his emotions in check—wasn’t the same person sitting beside him now. This Jeonghan was relaxed, even mischievous. The playful bickering with Joshua was so far removed from the professional version of the Crown Prince that Seungcheol worked with every day.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched the scene unfold, a warmth spreading in his chest. It was nice—comforting, even—to see this side of Jeonghan, the one that only seemed to come out around his family.

“Don’t look so shocked, Seungcheol-ah,” Joshua teased, noticing his expression. “He’s always been like this with me. Just doesn’t show it around the palace staff.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes again but didn’t bother correcting Joshua. Instead, he turned to Seungcheol, a faint smile still playing on his lips. “Ignore him. He exaggerates everything.”

Seungcheol chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Your Highness. It seems like he’s telling the truth.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened for a moment, the playful light in his eyes lingering. “Believe what you want.”

The conversation flowed naturally from there, the four of them sharing stories, laughter, and more playful banter. For the first time in a long while, Seungcheol felt completely at ease, not just with Jun and Joshua, but with Jeonghan too. The distance between them, the formality that always seemed to linger at the edges, had disappeared—if only for this moment.

And as Seungcheol watched the way Jeonghan laughed, the way he teased Joshua back with a quiet but sharp wit, he realized just how different Jeonghan was outside of work. This wasn’t the cold, calculated Crown Prince who ruled over the palace with an iron grip. This was a brother, a family member—someone with softer edges and hidden warmth. The realization left Seungcheol both astonished and strangely... comforted.

The night was quiet, the moon casting a soft glow over the landscape as Jeonghan led Seungcheol through the border area. It was far from the security and familiarity of the palace grounds, where the night guards patrolled diligently. Here, by the kingdom’s outer barriers, there was an air of vulnerability, of openness. Jeonghan had insisted on coming, despite the risks, and Seungcheol, as always, had followed.

They had been stationed at the border guard post for hours, and while Jeonghan moved with calm confidence, Seungcheol, unused to staying up so late without purpose, had dozed off on a small couch in the guard’s quarters. The steady hum of the night had lulled him into an unintentional nap, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.

“Seungcheol?"

The soft sound of Jeonghan’s voice brought him back to consciousness, and Seungcheol blinked groggily, sitting up quickly. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to—”

“Come on,” Jeonghan interrupted, his tone softer than usual. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Seungcheol rubbed his eyes, still adjusting to the late hour as he followed Jeonghan out of the room. The cool night air hit him as soon as they stepped out of the guard post, and Seungcheol shivered slightly, pulling his uniform tighter around himself.

The landscape stretched out before them, the dark outline of the kingdom’s borders barely visible under the moonlight. It was quiet here, isolated. Jeonghan led the way, his steps measured, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

“I used to do this all the time,” Jeonghan said after a while, his voice contemplative as they strolled along the perimeter. “Back before I became Crown Prince, I could join the night guard whenever I wanted. Just taking a shift out here, walking along the border... it gave me a sense of freedom.”

Seungcheol listened quietly as they walked, sensing the rare vulnerability in Jeonghan’s tone. It wasn’t often that Jeonghan spoke about his past—or about anything personal, really. But here, outside the palace, there was something unguarded about him, and Seungcheol found himself drawn into the moment.

“Now, with Joshua in charge of the guard duty, I hardly get to come here,” Jeonghan continued, his tone carrying a hint of longing. “He manages the patrols, the rotations, everything. And I’m barely allowed to be out here. It’s too dangerous, they say. As Crown Prince, I’m a target—too exposed to the risks of being outside the palace walls.”

There was a quiet ache in Jeonghan’s words, a reminder of the things he had to give up when he officially took his title. The freedom to walk the borders, the quiet nights spent outside the protected walls of the palace—those were now rare moments, only possible with Joshua’s approval.

Seungcheol’s heart warmed at the openness in Jeonghan’s words. It wasn’t just the job that Jeonghan missed—it was the simplicity, the sense of freedom that had been taken from him. And the fact that he was sharing this now, with Seungcheol, made the moment feel all the more significant.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Seungcheol said softly, not wanting to break the spell of the quiet night.

Jeonghan glanced at him, a faint smile playing on his lips. “There are a lot of things you didn’t know, Seungcheol-ah.”

Seungcheol smiled at that, sensing the teasing edge beneath Jeonghan’s words. He wasn’t sure what to say, but the warmth that filled his chest in that moment was enough.

After a comfortable silence, Jeonghan turned the conversation toward Seungcheol. “What about you?” he asked, his tone curious but gentle. “Tell me about your family.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised by the question. It wasn’t often that anyone in the palace asked him about his personal life—let alone the Crown Prince.

“My family?” Seungcheol repeated, gathering his thoughts. “Well, there’s my father and my three younger brothers. Jihoonie’s the eldest of the three. He’s... a bit of a tsundere,” Seungcheol said with a soft laugh. “Always pretending not to care, but deep down, he’s protective. Then there’s Wonwoo—he’s the quiet one. Soft, thoughtful, but he’s always got something on his mind. And then Mingyu, the maknae—clumsy and full of energy. He’s the one who brightens up the room.”

As Seungcheol spoke about his brothers, he felt a warmth settle in his chest. It had been a while since he had talked about them, but recalling the memories now made him smile.

Jeonghan listened intently, his gaze soft as he absorbed every detail. “It sounds like you have a good family,” he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of admiration.

Seungcheol nodded. “I do. They’re a handful sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

They continued their walk in easy conversation, their steps quiet against the cobblestone path as midnight approached. The temperature dropped slightly, and Seungcheol shivered, barely realizing how thin his uniform was.

Without a word, Jeonghan slipped off his royal coat and draped it over Seungcheol’s shoulders. Seungcheol’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly tried to shrug it off. “Your Highness, you don’t need to—”

“Don’t argue,” Jeonghan said firmly, but there was no harshness in his tone. “You’re shivering. My coat is thicker, and I’m fine.”

Seungcheol hesitated, glancing down at the royal coat resting on his shoulders. It felt too precious, too important for him to wear, but the warmth was undeniable, and the thought of rejecting Jeonghan’s kindness didn’t sit right with him either.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said softly, pulling the coat a little tighter around himself.

Jeonghan nodded, satisfied, and they continued walking. For a moment, everything was calm. But then, Seungcheol felt it—a soft brush against his hand as they walked side by side. It was brief, just the lightest touch, but it sent a small tingle of electricity through him. His heart skipped a beat, and before he could stop himself, Seungcheol quickly pulled his hand close, crossing his arms as if to protect himself from the cold—and perhaps from the unexpected feeling that had rushed through him.

Jeonghan, noticing the movement, frowned slightly. “Are you still cold?”

Before Seungcheol could answer, Jeonghan pulled him closer, his hand resting on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Let’s walk faster. It’ll keep you warm.”

Seungcheol’s heart raced at the unexpected contact, his pulse quickening as Jeonghan’s hand stayed on his shoulder, firm but gentle. He could feel the warmth radiating from Jeonghan, the closeness of him, and despite the cold night air, Seungcheol’s cheeks felt hot.

He willed his heart to calm down, but it was no use. Each step they took together, the weight of Jeonghan’s hand on his shoulder, made the moment feel all the more intense. He tried to focus on anything else—the quiet of the borderlands surrounding them—but all he could feel was the soft press of Jeonghan’s hand and the way his body seemed to respond to it without permission.

As the days passed, the bond between Jeonghan and Seungcheol only grew stronger. It had become routine for Seungcheol to join Jeonghan in nearly every aspect of his day, but it didn’t stop there. Recently, Jeonghan had even made Seungcheol his permanent sparring partner during combat training—a role Seungcheol hadn’t expected to take on.

Seungcheol had always been skilled in combat, but with Soonyoung’s additional guidance, he had improved dramatically. His movements were quicker, sharper, and his instincts in battle had honed to the point where even Jeonghan took notice. The sparring sessions, once just a part of training, had now become something Seungcheol looked forward to—something that brought him and Jeonghan even closer.

One evening, after a particularly intense sparring session, Seungcheol returned to his office to wrap up the last of his tasks for the day. He was focused, organizing documents and arranging reports, preparing to clock out for the night. The room was quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of papers as Seungcheol worked through his final tasks.

That’s when he noticed it. Out of the corner of his eye, Seungcheol saw a figure standing by the door. Startled, he looked up—and there was Jeonghan, leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed as he watched Seungcheol finish his work.

“Y-Your Highness?” Seungcheol stammered, his voice betraying his surprise. He quickly straightened, setting the last of the documents aside. “What are you doing here?”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’m here to walk you back.”

Seungcheol blinked, completely taken aback. “Walk me back?”

Jeonghan pushed off from the doorframe and stepped further into the room, his gaze steady. “Yes. You’re done for the day, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, still trying to process the situation. Normally, Hyungwon or one of the other attendants would escort him back to his quarters after a long day, but tonight... Jeonghan had come himself.

It wasn’t something Seungcheol was used to, and the realization left him momentarily speechless. “I... I didn’t expect you to...”

Jeonghan shrugged lightly, his tone casual. “Does it surprise you that much?”

“Well, yes,” Seungcheol admitted, still unsure how to respond. “It’s just... I thought you’d have other things to do.”

Jeonghan met Seungcheol’s gaze, his eyes calm but direct. “There’s nothing else I need to do tonight. And since you’re my sparring partner now, I figured I’d make sure you get back safely.”

There was a hint of something in Jeonghan’s voice—something teasing, almost playful—but Seungcheol wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it. His heart raced in his chest, the gesture catching him off guard. He wasn’t used to this, to the Crown Prince personally making sure he got home safely. It felt... intimate, in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“Shall we go?” Jeonghan asked, breaking the silence.

Seungcheol nodded, quickly gathering his things. “Yes, Your Highness.”

They left the office together, stepping into the quiet of the palace halls. The air between them was comfortable, the tension from earlier sparring having dissipated. But Seungcheol couldn’t shake the sense of astonishment that lingered. It wasn’t just the act of walking him back—it was the fact that Jeonghan had waited for him, standing quietly by the door while he finished his work, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As they walked, Jeonghan kept his usual calm demeanor, his steps unhurried. “You’ve improved a lot in your combat skills,” he remarked after a while, his tone casual but laced with that familiar undercurrent of approval.

Seungcheol felt a surge of pride at the compliment, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve had good help,” he replied, thinking of Soonyoung’s relentless training sessions. “And... I’ve had a good sparring partner too.”

Jeonghan glanced at him, a faint smile touching his own lips. “I should hope so.”

The two of them continued walking in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. The quiet was filled with the soft sounds of their footsteps, and Seungcheol found himself growing more and more accustomed to Jeonghan’s presence beside him.

When they finally reached Seungcheol’s quarters, Seungcheol paused at the door, turning to face Jeonghan. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said sincerely, still a little unsure how to properly express his gratitude for the unexpected gesture.

Jeonghan shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Don’t mention it. You should get some rest. We’ll be sparring again tomorrow.”

Seungcheol smiled, his heart warming at the thought. “I’ll be ready.”

Jeonghan gave him one last look, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than usual, before he turned and began to walk away. But just as he reached the end of the corridor, he glanced back over his shoulder, his voice carrying through the hall.

“Good night, Seungcheol-ah.”

Seungcheol blinked, the warmth in his chest spreading as he replied softly, “Good night, Your Highness.”

He watched as Jeonghan disappeared down the hall, the quiet settling around him once again. But even as he entered his quarters, the feeling lingered—that strange, unexpected closeness that had grown between them.

And for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol didn’t feel so far from Jeonghan anymore.

As time passed, the closeness between Jeonghan and Seungcheol had become something of an open secret within the palace. It didn’t take long for Joshua and Jun to pick up on it, and they took every opportunity to tease Seungcheol whenever they could.

Joshua, in particular, seemed to find endless amusement in how much Jeonghan had changed recently. Over meals or casual conversations, he would make comments that left Seungcheol feeling both flustered and slightly defensive.

“He’s softer now, you know?” Joshua said one afternoon, his tone light but teasing as he leaned back in his chair. The three of them—Joshua, Jun, and Seungcheol—were seated together in the dining hall for a brief break. “Jeonghan used to have this... commanding presence. Intimidating, even. But lately? He’s so much more tolerable.”

Jun nodded in agreement, his lips twitching with a smile. “He’s not breathing down anyone’s neck anymore. People aren’t as terrified of messing up around him.”

Seungcheol, who had been quietly sipping his drink, felt his face heat up as their teasing continued. “I don’t think I’ve done anything,” he mumbled, trying to downplay the effect he apparently had on Jeonghan. “He’s just... adapting.”

“Adapting?” Joshua repeated with a grin. “Is that what you’re calling it? I think it’s more than that. It’s like you’ve tamed him.”

Seungcheol nearly choked on his drink. “Tamed him?”

Joshua’s laughter rang out, attracting the attention of a few nearby staff members. “You have to admit, Seungcheol-ah, Jeonghanie’s not the same as he was. People used to avoid him like the plague when he was in a bad mood. But now? He’s tolerable. Relaxed, even. You don’t think that’s because of you?”

Seungcheol felt a knot of embarrassment settle in his chest, but he also couldn’t ignore the truth in Joshua’s words. It wasn’t just Joshua and Jun who had noticed Jeonghan’s shift in demeanor—the palace staff had too.

Lately, it seemed as though the weight of the Crown Prince’s authority had lessened, the intense pressure that once hung over the palace softening. Jeonghan was still Jeonghan—sharp and meticulous—but he was also... approachable. And, somehow, Seungcheol had become a part of that shift.

“It’s not just Jeonghan-nim,” Jun chimed in, his voice thoughtful. “You’ve changed too, Seungcheol-ah. You’re not just running around as his assistant anymore. People come to you now, you know. They trust you to handle things, sometimes even before going to the Crown Prince.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised by Jun’s observation. “They do?”

Jun nodded. “You’ve become the go-to person. Staff members, even some of the palace officers, they come to you first when they need something sorted out. It’s like you’ve become Jeonghan-nim’s... bridge, or buffer. They’re not afraid to approach you, and I think that’s because they see how much Jeonghan-nim trusts you.”

Joshua smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Exactly. You’re like the unofficial Crown Prince now.”

Seungcheol groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Please don’t say that.”

But the teasing didn’t stop there. Joshua leaned forward, his grin widening. “I mean, you’ve practically been at his side nonstop. You’re the one he trusts, the one he listens to. It’s no wonder people are going to you now instead of him. You’ve become... indispensable.”

Seungcheol shook his head, trying to deflect the attention. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure,” Joshua said, drawing out the word with exaggerated amusement. “But I’ve never seen him this relaxed before. And believe me, I’ve known him my whole life.”

Jun chuckled, clearly enjoying Seungcheol’s discomfort. “You’re good for him, Seungcheol-ah. Whatever it is, you’ve helped him loosen up.”

Seungcheol tried to protest again, but deep down, he knew there was some truth to what they were saying. Since their sparring sessions, their late-night walks, and the many small moments shared between them, Jeonghan had changed. There was a softness to him now, a subtle warmth that hadn’t been there before. And while Seungcheol wasn’t entirely sure how much of that was because of him, he couldn’t deny that their bond had affected both of them.

And it wasn’t just Jeonghan who had shifted. As Jun had pointed out, Seungcheol’s own role in the palace had evolved. He had become someone the staff and officers trusted—someone they could turn to when they needed help, someone who could speak on Jeonghan’s behalf in certain matters. It was a responsibility that Seungcheol hadn’t anticipated, but he found himself rising to the challenge, even if it sometimes felt overwhelming.

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” Seungcheol said finally, his tone softening as he looked between Joshua and Jun. “If that helps Jeonghan-nim, or makes things easier for everyone, then I’m happy to do it.”

Joshua smiled, this time without the teasing edge. “That’s all we’re saying, Seungcheol-ah. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Don’t underestimate your influence around here.”

Seungcheol nodded, the weight of Joshua’s words settling over him. It was a strange feeling—realizing just how much his role had grown, how much Jeonghan had changed because of him. But it was also comforting, knowing that their bond had become something more than just a professional relationship.

As they finished their meal, the teasing continued, but Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest. He wasn’t sure where this path with Jeonghan would lead, but for now, he was content to walk it—side by side.

Seungcheol had barely finished getting ready for the day when a knock came at his door. He opened it to find Hyungwon standing there, his expression as calm and collected as always.

“Your presence is requested in the royal banquet dining hall,” Hyungwon said smoothly.

Seungcheol blinked in surprise, his mind scrambling to process the message. “The royal dining hall?” he repeated. “Is there a meeting?”

He had assumed it would be something formal, maybe a briefing or a last-minute assignment. But as Hyungwon offered no further details, Seungcheol hurried to finish dressing, his heart racing with curiosity—and a little anxiety.

When he arrived at the grand banquet dining hall, Seungcheol’s steps faltered. What he expected was an official setting, a table filled with reports and documents, not... this.

Inside, the royal family sat at a long, beautifully set table, their breakfast already served. The Alpha King was at the head, his presence commanding but calm, while the Queen and Joshua’s mother, the Beta Consort, sat comfortably at his side. Across from them was Jeonghan, looking as composed as ever, and beside him, the Alpha Princess, Soobin, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.

And there, at Jeonghan’s side, was an empty chair—waiting for him.

“Seungcheol-ah, there you are,” Joshua called out warmly as soon as he spotted him. “Come, sit.”

Seungcheol hesitated, completely caught off guard by the invitation. He had never attended a royal family breakfast before. Why was he being invited to one now?

His gaze shifted to Jeonghan, who met his eyes with a steady look. “Take a seat,” Jeonghan said casually, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

Seungcheol’s heart raced at the implication, but he nodded quickly, moving to sit in the chair beside Jeonghan, his mind still reeling. The warmth of the royal family washed over him almost immediately, a stark contrast to the formal distance he was used to maintaining.

As the meal began, Seungcheol found himself welcomed with a familiarity that left him speechless. The Alpha King, while a figure of authority, was also surprisingly fatherly. His conversation with Seungcheol was easy, casual even, as though Seungcheol had always been a part of these family breakfasts.

“It’s good to see you here, Seungcheol-ah,” the King said warmly, his tone kind but firm. 

Seungcheol felt his cheeks heat up, flustered by the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m honored to be here.”

Beside the King, the Queen smiled at Seungcheol, her gaze warm and motherly. “Make sure you eat well,” she said, gesturing to the table. “You’ve been working hard, and we can’t have Jeonghan running you ragged.”

“I’m fine, Your Majesty,” Seungcheol said quickly, feeling his heart swell at her concern. “But thank you.”

Joshua’s mother, the Beta Consort, leaned forward with a gentle smile. “I made some sweets for breakfast,” she said, offering him a plate with small pastries. “Please try some, Seungcheol-nim.”

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment, still adjusting to the warmth and acceptance that was radiating from every member of the royal family. “Thank you,” he said again, taking one of the pastries and offering her a small, grateful smile.

But the person most excited to see Seungcheol was Princess Soobin. As soon as she spotted him, her face lit up, and she immediately launched into a barrage of questions.

“Seungcheol-nim! I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaimed, leaning over the table excitedly. “Tell me more about your work! What’s it like working with Jeonghan oppa every day? Do you really get to see all the important decisions? How do you manage everything?”

Seungcheol chuckled, charmed by her enthusiasm. “It’s not as glamorous as you think,” he said modestly. “There’s a lot of hard work involved, but I’m lucky to be where I am.”

Soobin wasn’t having any of his humility, though. “But you’re amazing! People keeps talking about you all the time, and I’ve seen how well you handle everything. You have to teach me how to manage things like you do!”

As Soobin continued her excited chatter, Seungcheol felt his heart warm even more. The royal family, it seemed, had accepted him fully. It was a surreal feeling—being treated not as an outsider, but as someone who belonged.

But there was one person at the table who didn’t share in the warmth. Seungcheol’s gaze shifted briefly to Lady Minhee, Soobin’s new tutor, who sat a little further back from the main table. She had been mostly quiet throughout the breakfast, offering polite smiles and nods when addressed, but her presence was unmistakable.

As Soobin gushed over Seungcheol’s achievements, Minhee’s smile was soft and polite, but when their eyes met, Seungcheol felt a sharp chill run through him. Her gaze, though subtle, carried a weight of... something. It wasn’t the warmth or curiosity that filled the others’ eyes. It was colder, more distant—and questioning.

Seungcheol quickly looked away, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling that settled in his chest. But it was hard to shake off. Even as Soobin continued talking to him, Minhee’s presence lingered like a shadow at the edge of his mind.

He tried to focus on the conversation, laughing along with Soobin’s enthusiastic questions, but every now and then, he felt it—that quiet, almost imperceptible stare from Minhee. It was as if she was watching him, analyzing him, and questioning why he was there in the first place.

Seungcheol did his best to avoid looking her way again, focusing instead on the warmth of the family around him. But even as the meal progressed, that sense of being watched never quite disappeared. He could feel her eyes on him, sharp and assessing, as though he were a target she was studying.

As the breakfast continued, the warmth from the royal family surrounded him, but Seungcheol couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, to Lady Minhee, he was something to be wary of.

Seungcheol had been doing his best to avoid Lady Minhee, wary of the cold tension that seemed to hang in the air whenever she was around. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay out of her way, especially now that Princess Soobin had begun her internship in the office. As the future heiress, Soobin was required to attend most of the meetings, learning the ins and outs of palace affairs. And with Soobin, came Minhee.

To everyone else, Minhee was one of the best employees in the office. She picked things up quickly, moved with precision, and offered her help wherever it was needed. Jeonghan and Joshua often relied on her assistance, and Jun was more than happy to let her help with the smaller tasks, eager to teach her everything she needed to know.

But Jeonghan had warned Seungcheol early on: “Be careful around others. Make sure you handle all the important documents yourself.”

And so, despite Minhee’s repeated offers to help, Seungcheol had politely refused each time, careful to follow Jeonghan’s instructions. He didn’t want to risk anything—especially not when it came to sensitive documents.

One afternoon, as Seungcheol prepared the materials for the upcoming bi-weekly staff meeting, Minhee approached him once again, her usual calm smile in place.

“Do you need help with those, Seungcheol-nim?” Minhee asked, her tone polite but laced with something Seungcheol couldn’t quite place.

Seungcheol shook his head, offering her a polite smile in return. “Thank you, but I’ve got it covered.”

Minhee’s eyes flicked to the stack of documents in his hands. “Are you sure? I can help distribute them to the others.”

Seungcheol hesitated briefly but shook his head again. “Some of these documents are highly confidential,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “Only certain officers have access to them. And since Jeonghan-nim is... particular about details, it’s easier for me to handle it myself.”

For a moment, Minhee’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Then, with a soft scoff, she asked, “Have you never made a mistake before?”

The question caught Seungcheol off guard, the sharpness in her tone so out of place compared to her usual calm demeanor. Before he could find the words to respond, another voice cut through the tension.

“He hasn’t.”

Both Seungcheol and Minhee turned to see Jeonghan standing in the doorway, his presence instantly commanding the room. His gaze was sharp, his expression cool as he stepped forward.

“My assistant has never made a mistake,” Jeonghan said, his voice firm and unwavering. “That’s why he’s worthy of his position.”

Minhee’s face drained of color, and she quickly bowed her head in apology. “I meant no disrespect, Your Highness.”

Jeonghan’s eyes remained on her, the tension palpable in the room. “Make sure it stays that way.”

Minhee nodded, her voice soft and composed as she excused herself. “Of course, Your Highness. My apologies.”

But as she turned to leave, her steps sharp and deliberate, Seungcheol felt a sudden sharp pain in his foot. Minhee’s heel had come down hard on his toes, the pointed stiletto digging into his boot with an intensity that left him wincing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Seungcheol-nim!” Minhee exclaimed, her voice filled with faux concern as she spun around to face him. “Are you alright? Let me check—”

But Jeonghan was faster. Without hesitation, Jeonghan knelt down, his brow furrowing as he gently but firmly grabbed Seungcheol’s boot. “Let me see,” he demanded, his voice softer but insistent.

Seungcheol, caught between shock and embarrassment, tried to protest. “It’s fine, Your Highness, really, I—”

“Take off your boot,” Jeonghan interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Seungcheol complied, wincing harder as Jeonghan carefully removed the boot and pressed lightly on the injured area. The pain shot up his leg, and he winced again, unable to hide the discomfort.

Jeonghan’s expression hardened. Without another word, he stood, grabbing the stack of documents from Seungcheol’s hands and passing them to Hyungwon, who had entered the room at just the right moment.

“Take care of these,” Jeonghan instructed, his voice clipped. “We’re done here.”

Before Seungcheol could even process what was happening, Jeonghan scooped him up with surprising ease, lifting him into his arms. Seungcheol let out a surprised gasp, his hands instinctively clutching onto Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“Your Highness—” Seungcheol began, but the words died in his throat as Jeonghan carried him out of the room without a second thought.

As they passed through the door, Seungcheol caught a glimpse of Minhee’s face—her expression unreadable, but there was something eerie, almost disbelieving, in the way her eyes followed them. It was as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Hyungwon quickly followed after them, closing the door behind him and effectively shutting Minhee out. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the hallway, but Seungcheol’s thoughts were too jumbled to focus on anything other than the fact that Jeonghan was carrying him.

He could feel the strength in Jeonghan’s grip, the steady rhythm of his steps, and despite the pain in his foot, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of security in the prince’s arms. His heart raced in his chest, but it wasn’t just from the surprise of being lifted so effortlessly.

Jeonghan, always composed and guarded, had acted so quickly, so decisively. And now, as they rushed down the hallway, Seungcheol’s mind spun with a mix of emotions—shock, embarrassment, but also... something else.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but the look on Minhee’s face lingered in his mind, and so did the warmth of Jeonghan’s arms around him.

Chapter Text

Jeonghan’s anger was palpable as they made their way back to the meeting room, after Seungcheol had received treatment from the healer. Seungcheol limped slightly, supported by Hyungwon, who kept a steadying hand on his arm. Despite the pain in his foot, Seungcheol had assured both Jeonghan and Hyungwon that he could continue working, insisting it was nothing serious. But Jeonghan was having none of it.

They had been delayed long enough, and Joshua had already taken charge of the first round of the meeting, but Jeonghan wouldn’t let it go. His frustration simmered, his expression dark as he fumed about what had just happened.

“She did it on purpose,” Jeonghan muttered, his voice low but seething. “I know she did. That wasn’t an accident.”

Seungcheol glanced up at him, trying to keep his expression neutral despite the discomfort in his foot. “Your Highness, I’m sure it wasn’t intentional—”

Jeonghan cut him off, his tone sharp. “No. It was deliberate, Seungcheol. I’ve seen her around the palace. The way she looks at you. She was trying to hurt you.”

Seungcheol sighed inwardly. He had expected Jeonghan to be protective, but this level of anger was something new. Jeonghan was pacing, his eyes blazing with a fury that seemed to intensify with every step they took.

“Minhee’s been nothing but trouble since she got here,” Jeonghan grumbled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I never trusted her. And now she’s gone and done this.”

Seungcheol shook his head slightly, trying to calm him down. “Your Highness, even if it was on purpose, I’m fine. It’s just a bruise. I’ll be back to normal in a few days.”

But Jeonghan wasn’t listening. His pacing quickened, and his words came out in a rush. “This is just like my family. My parents never had a good sense for choosing the right people to work for their children. First with me, and now with Soobin. Minhee shouldn’t even be here. How could they let someone like her near the princess?”

Seungcheol winced, both from the pain and from the intensity of Jeonghan’s words. He knew Jeonghan cared deeply for his family, but his protectiveness often bordered on overbearing.

“I’m going to file a complaint,” Jeonghan continued, his voice growing darker. “I’ll have her fired. This can’t be allowed.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened at that. “Fired?”

Jeonghan turned to face him, his expression fierce. “Of course. She injured you. And she’s been disrespectful since the start. I won’t tolerate it.”

Seungcheol took a deep breath, steadying himself both physically and mentally. He knew that Jeonghan was acting out of anger, but this wasn’t the solution. “Your Highness, please listen to me. Firing her would cause more problems than it would solve.”

Jeonghan’s gaze narrowed. “She hurt you. My assistant. That’s reason enough.”

“I’m not that badly hurt,” Seungcheol said gently, trying to diffuse the situation. “It’s just a bruise. Nothing that won’t heal in a few days. And if you fire Minhee-nim over this, we’ll have to deal with her entire family. You know what that would mean.”

Jeonghan frowned, the weight of Seungcheol’s words sinking in. Minhee’s family was influential—connected to other powerful families within the kingdom. A dismissal, especially one over something as seemingly small as a foot injury, could spark tension that neither the royal family nor the palace needed.

Seungcheol pressed on, his voice calm but firm. “If we provoke her family, the consequences will go beyond just her leaving the palace. It could cause a rift that could affect political alliances. And that’s not something you or your family should have to deal with right now.”

Jeonghan was silent for a moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, but Seungcheol could see the shift in his eyes. He was considering it—thinking through the potential consequences.

Finally, Jeonghan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Fine. But you’re not going near her again. I don’t care what she says, or what excuse she gives. You stay away from her.”

Seungcheol nodded, grateful that Jeonghan had finally calmed down. “Understood, Your Highness. I’ll keep my distance.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened, but the protectiveness in his eyes remained. “I don’t trust her, Seungcheol. I don’t trust her motives, and I don’t like how she acts around you.”

Seungcheol wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He could feel Jeonghan’s concern, his desire to shield him from any potential harm. It was touching, in a way, but it also made Seungcheol realize just how far Jeonghan’s protectiveness went.

As they reached the meeting room, Jeonghan stopped, turning to Seungcheol with a serious expression. “Promise me,” he said quietly, “that you’ll stay away from her. No matter what.”

Seungcheol met his gaze, sensing the depth of Jeonghan’s concern. “I promise.”

Jeonghan’s expression relaxed slightly, and he gave a small nod. “Good.”

They stepped into the meeting room, where Joshua was already in the middle of discussions with the other staff. Hyungwon helped Seungcheol settle into his seat, and despite the lingering pain in his foot, Seungcheol felt a sense of relief. Jeonghan had calmed down—at least for now.

But as the meeting began, Seungcheol couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was at play with Minhee. Her actions, her coldness toward him—it was all starting to feel too deliberate. And while he had managed to calm Jeonghan down this time, Seungcheol couldn’t help but wonder if this was far from over.

Instead of taking the drastic step of firing Minhee, Jeonghan had taken a more strategic approach. Just like what Seungcheol had said, Jeonghan also knew that outright dismissal would cause more problems than it would solve, but there was another way to remove her from the picture.

After a few private conversations with the Alpha King, Jeonghan had managed to persuade his father that Soobin’s current internship wasn’t the best fit for her just yet. “She’s too young to be weighed down by the complexities of political affairs,” Jeonghan had argued. “There’s time for that later. Right now, she should be focusing on something she’s truly passionate about.”

The Alpha King had listened thoughtfully, and after careful consideration, Soobin’s internship was paused. Jeonghan had then turned his attention to Soobin herself, using his older brother charm to coax her into agreeing to a new plan. It hadn’t been difficult—Soobin, ever eager to explore new interests, had long been fascinated by medicines and potions, something she’d loved learning about since she was young.

“It’s only for a short semester,” Jeonghan had told her, his voice persuasive but gentle. “You can study medicinal practices, potions, herbal remedies—everything you’ve always been curious about. You’ll love it, and it’ll give you a break from the political stuff.”

Soobin had hesitated at first, her eyes wide with curiosity. “You really think I should focus on that instead, oppa?”

Jeonghan smiled, giving her a reassuring nod. “Absolutely. It’s a field where you can make a real difference. And it’s something you’re passionate about.”

It hadn’t taken much more convincing. Soobin, eager for a change, had agreed, and within days, both she and Minhee were moved out of the office to allow Soobin to attend the semester diligently.

With Soobin’s internship shifted to focus on her love for medicinal studies, Minhee’s position in the office was no longer needed. Instead, Minhee had been quietly reassigned to report under the courtlady’s office, where she would work under the Queen’s and Beta Consort’s jurisdiction. Her new role would involve handling women, children, and family affairs within the kingdom—far removed from the political dealings of the palace.

It was a strategic move, orchestrated by Jeonghan with precision. He hadn’t needed to fire Minhee—he’d simply placed her in a position where she would have little influence over the political sphere, and more importantly, no proximity to Seungcheol.

The tension that had once lingered in the office began to lift, as both Soobin and Minhee left to focus on their new roles. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Seungcheol could breathe easily. The constant sense of unease, the feeling of someone watching him with malicious intent, was finally gone.

The office had returned to its usual rhythm, the tense atmosphere replaced by the familiar flow of work. Seungcheol went about his duties with renewed focus, relieved that the subtle conflict with Minhee was no longer hanging over him like a shadow.

During a rare quiet moment, Seungcheol sat at his desk, reflecting on how quickly things had changed. He couldn’t help but feel grateful for Jeonghan’s intervention. The Crown Prince had once again proven his ability to handle delicate situations, protecting Seungcheol without creating unnecessary conflict.

Hyungwon passed by, glancing at Seungcheol as he tidied up a stack of documents. “It’s quieter without Minhee-nim around,” he remarked with a knowing smile. “You must be relieved.”

Seungcheol chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “You have no idea.”

Hyungwon’s expression softened, his voice lowering slightly. “Jeonghan-nim was right to handle it the way he did. No drama, no fuss. Just a quiet shift. It’s for the best.”

Seungcheol smiled, appreciating Hyungwon’s words. “I think so too.”

But even with the tension cleared, Seungcheol couldn’t completely ignore the memory of Minhee’s eerie look the last time they had seen each other. The way her eyes had lingered on him, the subtle malice that seemed to flicker behind her polite exterior—it hadn’t been his imagination.

Still, for now, she was out of the picture. And that was enough for Seungcheol to finally relax.

As the year drew to a close, the palace became a whirlwind of activity. The festive season brought not only celebrations but a mountain of responsibilities. There were festivals to prepare for—Christmas and New Year’s, followed by the harsh reality of winter setting in. Performance reviews needed to be completed, reports compiled, and plans for the next year meticulously crafted. On top of that, the palace had to oversee winter preparations, ensuring that the food supply for the entire pack would be enough to get them through the cold months.

The office was busier than ever, and Seungcheol could barely keep up with the endless stream of tasks that landed on his desk. Every day brought new responsibilities—drafting reports, managing schedules, overseeing supply chain updates, and ensuring everything was running smoothly. It felt as though there weren’t enough hours in the day to get everything done.

And if Seungcheol was overwhelmed, Jeonghan was doubly so. Jeonghan’s workload had become almost unbearable, with meetings stretching far into the evening and paperwork piling up faster than he could get through it. Every day seemed longer than the last, and lunch breaks had become a distant memory. They were never on time anymore, and clocking out at a reasonable hour was almost impossible. There was always something left to review—proposals to scan through, documents to approve, decisions that couldn’t be postponed.

Yet, even through the chaos, Jeonghan never neglected Seungcheol’s well-being. Though they were too busy to have lunch together as often as before, Jeonghan made sure Seungcheol never missed a meal. Hyungwon would appear with lunch every day, delivering it with a quiet smile, a reminder that Jeonghan hadn’t forgotten.

“From Jeonghan-nim,” Hyungwon would say, placing the meal on Seungcheol’s desk. “Make sure you eat.”

And when the day finally came to an end—late into the night—Hyungwon would be there again, waiting to escort Seungcheol back to his quarters. It had become routine, especially as Seungcheol began staying later and later, trying to keep up with the relentless pace of the season.

But no matter how late it was, Jeonghan always stayed longer. Seungcheol often felt a pang of guilt as Hyungwon escorted him out, knowing Jeonghan was still in the office, working through yet another pile of documents.

One evening, Seungcheol lingered at his desk, exhaustion weighing on him as he tried to finish a particularly complicated report. His eyes blurred as he scanned the numbers, trying to make sense of the data in front of him. But the exhaustion caught up with him, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep, slumped over the papers.

When he woke up, it was to Jeonghan’s voice—calm but firm, with an undercurrent of concern. “Seungcheol-ah?”

Seungcheol blinked groggily, sitting up quickly. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the sleepiness. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to—”

“You fell asleep at your desk,” Jeonghan interrupted, his tone a mixture of exasperation and worry. He stood beside Seungcheol’s desk, his arms crossed as he looked down at him. “You need to go back.”

Seungcheol shook his head, feeling a wave of embarrassment. “I’m fine, really. I just need to finish this report. It won’t take long.”

Jeonghan’s expression hardened. “You need rest, Seungcheol. You can’t perform your duties if you’re half asleep at your desk.”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Jeonghan’s face stopped him. There was no point in fighting him on this—not when Jeonghan was clearly concerned. But it felt strange, leaving when Jeonghan himself was still hard at work. Seungcheol knew that Jeonghan hadn’t been sleeping much either, pushing himself to the limit as the end of the year approached.

“But, Your Highness,” Seungcheol began, his voice softer this time. “You’re still working. How can I leave while you’re still here?”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, looks like you need the rest.”

It was an ironic statement, considering Jeonghan was the one who had been pushing off sleep in favor of work for days. But Seungcheol knew better than to argue any further. There was no winning this battle.

With a sigh, Seungcheol finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Jeonghan’s expression relaxed slightly, satisfied with Seungcheol’s agreement. He gestured to Hyungwon, who had been quietly waiting by the door. “Make sure he gets back safely.”

Hyungwon stepped forward, his usual calm smile in place. “Of course, Your Highness.”

As Seungcheol gathered his things, he couldn’t help but glance back at Jeonghan, who had already returned to his desk, scanning through another stack of papers. The sight of him, shoulders slightly hunched with exhaustion but still focused, made Seungcheol’s heart twist with guilt. He didn’t like the idea of leaving while Jeonghan was still working so hard.

But Jeonghan had been insistent, and Seungcheol knew better than to push any further. As he walked toward the door, Hyungwon gave him a reassuring look.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Hyungwon said quietly, sensing Seungcheol’s unspoken worry. “Don’t worry.”

Seungcheol nodded, grateful for Hyungwon’s reassurance. But as they left the office and made their way through the quiet palace halls, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a lingering unease.

The winter season was fast approaching, and while the preparations were well underway, the weight of the responsibilities still hung heavy in the air. There was so much left to do—so many reports to finish, so many plans to finalize. And with Jeonghan pushing himself as hard as he was, Seungcheol couldn’t shake the feeling that something had to give.

As they reached his quarters, Seungcheol turned to Hyungwon with a tired but grateful smile. “Thank you for everything. I’ll try to get some rest.”

Hyungwon returned the smile, his tone gentle. “You’ve earned it. Get some sleep. We’ll handle things.”

Seungcheol nodded and stepped inside, but even as he prepared for bed, his thoughts kept drifting back to Jeonghan, still working late into the night. It was hard to rest when he knew that Jeonghan wasn’t. But his body was heavy with exhaustion, forcing Seungcheol to close his eyes and finally drift off to sleep.

The week had passed in a blur, the demands of work swallowing the days whole. By the time the weekend arrived, Seungcheol barely had time to rest. With the temperature dropping rapidly, he made a quick trip home to gather some warmer clothes, but even that simple task had felt like a race against time. The air had grown bitterly cold, and Seungcheol found himself bundled up in layers of thick jackets—so many that Jun had to help him carry everything back to the palace.

“Thanks for this,” Seungcheol said with a sheepish smile as they finally arrived at his quarters, his arms full of winter gear.

Jun grinned, adjusting the pile in his arms. “No problem. You’ll need all of this with how cold it’s getting.”

After thanking Jun and setting the jackets aside, Seungcheol felt restless. The weekend had barely felt like a break, and his mind kept drifting back to the work that still needed to be done. Deciding to make the most of the quiet evening, he headed to his office, hoping to catch up on some of the simpler documents waiting for review.

His plan was straightforward: gather the documents, sort through the important ones, and compile them so that Jeonghan wouldn’t have to sift through each one individually. It was an efficient system—one that would save time and help lighten Jeonghan’s workload, even if just a little.

But as Seungcheol approached the office, something felt off. The door to Jeonghan’s office, which was always kept securely locked, was left slightly ajar. Seungcheol paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. Jeonghan was meticulous about locking his door, even when it was just him, Seungcheol, and Hyungwon who had access. But Hyungwon was away for the weekend on a personal duty, and Jeonghan was supposed to be resting in his quarters—it was Sunday evening, after all. No one should have been in the office.

Curiosity gnawed at him, and Seungcheol hesitated for only a moment before gently pushing the door open wider. What he saw inside made his heart skip a beat.

Jeonghan was slumped over his desk, documents scattered haphazardly around him. He was wearing his informal attire—simple pants and a sweater—so unlike his usual composed and formal look. His hair was slightly disheveled from sleep, a few strands falling into his face, softening the sharp angles of his usual appearance. He looked almost vulnerable, a stark contrast to the Crown Prince that Seungcheol was so used to seeing.

Seungcheol’s chest tightened with worry as he took a step closer. “Your Highness?” he called softly, his voice low, not wanting to startle him.

There was no response. Jeonghan remained still, his head resting on his arms, breathing softly.

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment longer before stepping closer, his hand hovering just above Jeonghan’s shoulder. His heart raced in his chest as he debated whether to wake him—Jeonghan never slept in the office like this. Something was wrong.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol tried again, his voice a little louder this time.

Still, nothing.

As Seungcheol moved closer, he noticed something else—the soft flush on Jeonghan’s cheeks, the unnatural warmth radiating from his body. Concern twisted in Seungcheol’s gut, and he reached out, gently shaking Jeonghan’s shoulder.

“Jeonghan-nim,” Seungcheol said more urgently, his worry deepening.

Jeonghan stirred slightly, his head lifting just a fraction, but his movements were slow and lethargic. His eyes remained closed, and he mumbled something incoherent, his words slurred with exhaustion.

Before Seungcheol could react, Jeonghan’s head began to slump forward again. Seungcheol quickly reached out, catching him before he could hit the desk. His hands moved instinctively, cradling Jeonghan’s face gently, feeling the heat radiating off his flushed skin.

Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat, panic surging through him. Jeonghan was burning up—his skin was hot to the touch, and it didn’t take long for Seungcheol to realize that the Crown Prince was down with a fever.

His heart raced as he held Jeonghan steady, torn between worry and disbelief. This was Jeonghan—the composed, unshakeable Crown Prince. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and clearly unwell, sent a wave of protectiveness through Seungcheol.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol murmured, his voice softer now, as if speaking any louder might make things worse.

But Jeonghan didn’t respond. He remained slumped in Seungcheol’s hold, his body weak, his fever clearly taking a toll on him.

Seungcheol’s mind raced as he tried to decide what to do next. Jeonghan needed help, and he needed it now.

Seungcheol didn’t know where he found the strength, but somehow, he managed to carry Jeonghan on his back through the long, winding halls of the palace. Jeonghan was barely conscious, his fever pulling him into a fog of exhaustion, but Seungcheol held him tightly, his determination overriding the fatigue in his own body. The Crown Prince’s head rested against Seungcheol’s shoulder, his breathing labored, his body burning with fever.

By the time they reached Jeonghan’s quarters, Seungcheol was breathless, sweat beading on his forehead. His arms ached, his legs trembled, but he pushed through the exhaustion. With as much care as he could muster, Seungcheol laid Jeonghan down gently on his bed, pulling the thick blankets up to his chin. Jeonghan barely stirred, his brow furrowed in discomfort, his face flushed with fever.

Seungcheol’s heart twisted painfully at the sight. Jeonghan, the unshakable Crown Prince, looked so fragile like this, so unlike the composed leader Seungcheol had always known. For a moment, Seungcheol just stood there, watching the rise and fall of Jeonghan’s uneven breaths, his mind racing with worry.

Then, something shifted inside him. Without thinking, Seungcheol moved closer to Jeonghan’s bedside. His body felt strange, as if a surge of energy was flowing through him. He reached out, almost instinctively, and placed his hand gently on Jeonghan’s forehead.

The moment his palm touched Jeonghan’s burning skin, a shock of electricity shot through Seungcheol’s body. His breath caught in his throat as he felt something—something he couldn’t explain—flood through him. His eyes widened in astonishment as he watched a soft, pinkish light emerge from his hand, gently glowing as it transferred into Jeonghan’s feverish body.

The light pulsed softly, wrapping around Jeonghan like a protective shield. The Crown Prince’s tense expression slowly began to soften, his frown easing as the feverish flush on his face started to recede. His breathing, once shallow and labored, became steadier, calmer.

Seungcheol couldn’t believe what he was seeing—what he was feeling. His heart pounded in his chest as the pink energy flowed from his hand into Jeonghan, a warmth spreading through him as though he was channeling his very essence into healing the Crown Prince.

And then, as quickly as it began, the sensation faded. The light disappeared, and Seungcheol felt his energy drain from him all at once. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. His vision blurred, his body trembling with exhaustion. For a moment, everything went dark, as though he was on the verge of blacking out.

When his vision cleared again, Seungcheol found himself lying on the floor, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breathing. His body felt weak, but the overwhelming fatigue had passed. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his mind reeling from what had just happened.

“What... was that?” Seungcheol whispered, his voice barely audible.

He glanced up at Jeonghan, his heart racing with fear and confusion. But when he saw the Crown Prince now, the tension in his chest eased slightly. Jeonghan’s face was no longer as flushed as before, his breathing calm and steady. His fever had lowered.

Relief flooded Seungcheol, though his mind still struggled to process the strange power he had just witnessed—had just used. Shaking off the lingering exhaustion, Seungcheol quickly stood and hurried to check on Jeonghan. He placed a hand on the Crown Prince’s forehead again, relieved to feel that his body temperature was lower than it had been. The fever hadn’t completely broken, but it was no longer dangerously high.

Seungcheol let out a shaky breath. He had no idea what had just happened, but whatever it was, it seemed to have helped.

Realizing that Jeonghan still needed proper care, Seungcheol quickly left the room to fetch a healer. When he returned with the palace healer in tow, he stayed by Jeonghan’s side, watching nervously as the healer examined the Crown Prince.

“The fever isn’t too high,” the healer assured him after a thorough check. “It’s most likely due to exhaustion. His body just needs rest, and he should recover soon.”

Hearing that, Seungcheol felt a wave of relief wash over him. His shoulders sagged as the tension he had been carrying for the last hour finally began to ease. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with gratitude.

The healer nodded and left after making sure Jeonghan was comfortable and would be looked after. Once the door closed behind them, Seungcheol sat down heavily on the couch, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been clawing at him since he had carried Jeonghan to his quarters.

He closed his eyes, intending only to rest for a moment, but the fatigue was overwhelming. The strange power he had used—whatever it was—had drained him more than he realized. He sank deeper into the couch, his muscles loosening, his mind foggy with the need for sleep.

As he drifted into a light nap, Seungcheol unconsciously released a soft wave of his natural pheromones, the comforting scent filling the room like a blanket of warmth. It was soothing, protective—an instinctive reaction to Jeonghan’s vulnerability.

Even though he was still unconscious, Jeonghan breathed in the scent, his body responding to the calming presence. His chest rose and fell steadily as the tension in his muscles melted away. A soft, contented sigh escaped his lips, and he sank deeper into the bed, falling into a peaceful, restful sleep.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol, unaware of the effect he had just had, remained curled up on the couch, his own breathing evening out as he drifted into sleep. For the first time that night, there was peace in the room—two hearts, finally at rest.

Seungcheol didn’t know how long he had been asleep. The exhaustion from the night’s events had pulled him into a deep, dreamless slumber, and he had lost all sense of time. But then, a gentle sensation stirred him awake—he felt weightless, like he was being carried. His eyelids fluttered open, and through his blurry vision, he saw the familiar, calm face of Hyungwon.

Hyungwon was carrying him silently, his long strides steady as they moved through the quiet palace halls. The soft glow of the wall chandeliers cast a warm light on them as they passed, the peaceful atmosphere lulling Seungcheol back toward sleep. He tried to speak, to ask Hyungwon what was happening, but his voice came out as little more than a mumble.

“Shh,” Hyungwon whispered gently, his tone soothing. “It’s alright. You’re exhausted. Just rest.”

Seungcheol’s mind, still foggy from sleep, barely processed the words. He felt his body relax in Hyungwon’s arms, the soft comfort of being cared for making it easy to let go. He allowed himself to be carried, trusting Hyungwon’s gentle presence.

When they arrived at Seungcheol’s quarters, Hyungwon carefully laid him down on the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled the thick blanket up around Seungcheol’s shoulders, tucking it in to ensure he was warm and comfortable. The room was quiet, the air slightly chilled from the cold season outside, but Hyungwon made sure the room’s temperature was just right.

Seungcheol blinked up at him sleepily, his vision fading in and out as he fought the pull of sleep. “Chief-nim...” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Rest, Seungcheol-nim,” Hyungwon said softly, his voice filled with care. “You’ve done enough for today.”

It didn’t take much to coax Seungcheol back into slumber. His eyelids fluttered closed, and with a small sigh, he curled into a comfortable position under the warm blanket. His body was still heavy with exhaustion, his muscles aching from the long hours and the strange events of the evening.

Hyungwon stood by the bed, watching as Seungcheol’s breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling steadily. The exhaustion had taken its toll, but now Seungcheol was at peace, wrapped in the comfort of the bed, safe and warm.

For a moment, Hyungwon simply stood there, a quiet expression of calm on his face. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, he bowed deeply. His posture was one of reverence and gratitude, and in a soft, almost whispering tone, he murmured, “Thank you. Sleep well, Your Grace.”

There was a weight to his words—something more than just a simple goodnight. His eyes lingered on Seungcheol for a brief moment longer, as if he were watching over him with a kind of quiet devotion. Then, with a slow, practiced movement, Hyungwon took a step back, his face as composed as ever.

He walked backwards toward the door, making sure not to disturb Seungcheol’s rest. The room was silent save for the soft hum of the night, and once he reached the door, Hyungwon turned the handle slowly, pulling it closed with a soft click.

The door shut behind him, leaving Seungcheol in the quiet stillness of his quarters, fast asleep and oblivious to the silent care that had surrounded him.

When Jeonghan woke up the next morning, the room was already bathed in soft daylight. His body felt heavy, but the fever that had weighed him down the night before seemed to have lifted. Blinking groggily, he pushed himself up in bed, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep.

Hyungwon was already by his side, moving with practiced efficiency as he prepared Jeonghan’s clothes for the day. His presence was calm and composed, as always, his movements smooth as he went about his morning routine.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Hyungwon greeted softly, offering a small, respectful bow. “I trust you’re feeling better.”

Jeonghan furrowed his brow, his mind still foggy with the events of the night before. The last thing he remembered was sitting at his office desk, feeling tired—no, more than tired, exhausted. He had felt the beginnings of a fever creeping up on him, his body betraying him as he fought to stay awake.

“How did I get here?” Jeonghan asked, his voice still hoarse from sleep. “The last thing I remember... I was in my office.”

Hyungwon’s expression remained neutral as he continued laying out Jeonghan’s clothes. “You were down with a fever, Your Highness,” he explained calmly. “You were unconscious when we found you, and we transferred you back to your quarters.”

Jeonghan frowned, his confusion deepening. “I was unconscious?”

Hyungwon nodded. “Yes. You were unwell, so we brought you here. The healer was called to check on you, and your fever finally broke early this morning.”

There was something in Hyungwon’s tone—something careful, as though he was choosing his words with great precision. But Jeonghan was still piecing together the fragments of the night. The fever had clouded his memories, but there were moments, fleeting and distant, that felt... different.

“I remember...” Jeonghan paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I remember feeling something. A presence. Someone... comforting. Someone familiar.”

Hyungwon stilled for a moment, but his expression didn’t change. “Your fever was quite high, Your Highness,” he said gently. “It’s possible you were hallucinating. The healer mentioned it could have affected your perception.”

Jeonghan shook his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “No, it wasn’t a hallucination,” he insisted, his voice quieter now, as though he was speaking more to himself than to Hyungwon. “It was real. I felt like... him.”

Seungcheollie…

It was a name Jeonghan hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time, a name that still carried the weight of loss. His heart clenched at the memory, the familiar ache of grief settling in his chest.

“I felt his presence,” Jeonghan murmured, almost as if in a trance. “The same healing power he used to have... the same soothing scent that always calmed me. It was like he was here, with me.”

Hyungwon paused, his movements slowing as he regarded Jeonghan carefully. His eyes softened, though he remained composed. “Your Highness,” he began quietly, “Your Grace... he is no longer with us.”

Jeonghan’s gaze flicked to Hyungwon, his eyes filled with uncertainty. He knew, logically, that Hyungwon was right. His omega had been gone for years—taken from him too soon. The person Jeonghan had loved with all his heart was no longer in this world. He had grieved that loss deeply, had buried the pain, but it still lingered in the corners of his soul.

But last night... last night had felt so real.

Hyungwon, sensing Jeonghan’s turmoil, continued gently, “Your fever was very high, Your Highness. You were unwell, and it’s not uncommon to experience vivid dreams or hallucinations in such a state.”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, the rational part of his mind accepting Hyungwon’s explanation. It made sense—he had been sick, barely able to think straight. It was possible that his fever had conjured up a dream, a figment of his past resurfacing in his weakened state.

And yet...

“No,” Jeonghan whispered, more to himself than to Hyungwon. “I know what I felt.”

Hyungwon remained quiet, allowing Jeonghan the space to process his thoughts. He continued to prepare Jeonghan’s clothes, moving through the room with the same calm efficiency, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes.

Jeonghan’s heart twisted as he recalled the sensation from the night before. The warmth, the comfort, the familiar energy—he had felt it, and it had soothed him in a way nothing else could. It was the same presence he had once known so intimately, the presence that had been taken from him too soon.

But he was gone. His omega was gone.

Jeonghan’s chest tightened as he struggled to reconcile the feeling of last night with the reality he had lived for years. He had felt him, but it couldn’t be true. There was no way... no way someone could have returned from the dead.

The pain of that loss settled heavily on Jeonghan’s shoulders again, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Perhaps you’re right, Hyungwon-ah,” Jeonghan said softly, though his voice was distant. “Perhaps it was just a fever dream.”

Hyungwon bowed his head slightly. “Your body was exhausted, Your Highness. It’s natural to feel disoriented after such a high fever.”

Jeonghan nodded absentmindedly, though a part of him still clung to the lingering warmth of that presence—something deep inside him whispering that it wasn’t just a dream.

But as much as he wanted to believe it, Jeonghan knew it was foolish to hope for the impossible.

His omega was dead years ago. And he would never be coming back…

Chapter Text

The day had begun like any other, but Seungcheol soon sensed something was… different.

It started with a glance. Jeonghan’s gaze drifted over to him during a morning meeting, his sharp eyes lingering just a beat too long before he looked away. Seungcheol thought he was imagining things—until it happened again. By noon, he’d felt Jeonghan’s stare more times than he could count. It wasn’t hostile, but it had an intensity that pinned him in place, a focus that felt unnervingly personal. Each time their eyes met, Seungcheol would quickly look down, tugging at his sleeves or pretending to straighten his notes, his heart stumbling over itself.

He wondered if he had done something wrong. Had he forgotten an assignment? Made an error in his reports? But each time he dared to look at Jeonghan, hoping for a sign of what might be amiss, the prince would simply return to his work, expression unreadable.

As the day wore on, the weight of Jeonghan’s gaze only grew heavier. It felt as though the prince was looking right past Seungcheol’s carefully crafted facade, probing beneath the mask he wore. Each time he caught Jeonghan watching him, he felt as if his secrets, his struggles, and his hidden nature were exposed. It left Seungcheol feeling strangely vulnerable, as if Jeonghan were reading every thought and feeling he tried so hard to keep buried.

By the time the evening arrived, Seungcheol’s nerves were frayed. He worked late, telling himself he wanted to finish the tasks he’d been given, but in truth, he was also hoping Jeonghan would retire for the night. Yet, hours later, as the palace halls fell silent and the candlelight flickered low, Seungcheol found himself alone—except for the lingering sense that someone was nearby.

He blinked, letting his tired eyes adjust to the dim light, and froze.

There, standing beside his desk, was Jeonghan, silent as a shadow, watching him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. For a long moment, neither spoke. Jeonghan’s face was only partially illuminated by the candlelight, his expression soft yet inscrutable, his eyes dark with something Seungcheol couldn’t quite place.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol managed, feeling his voice come out as a whisper, his cheeks heating under that unwavering stare. “Is something—are you all right?”

Jeonghan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he held Seungcheol’s gaze, his silence thick with unspoken words. Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he finally spoke.

“You should finish up and get some rest,” he said, his voice low, almost tender in its quietness. “It’s late.”

Seungcheol nodded, feeling a pang of embarrassment at the thought of Jeonghan finding him like this—slouched over his desk, barely holding himself together under the weight of exhaustion. He straightened, though the motion made him sway, his body protesting after hours of strain. As he rose, he felt himself lose balance, but before he could steady himself, Jeonghan’s hand reached out, firm and reassuring, to catch him.

Their eyes met again, and for a brief moment, Seungcheol felt himself held there, suspended in the warmth of Jeonghan’s grip. His heart pounded, caught off guard by the gentle way Jeonghan’s fingers curled around his arm, holding him in place. The contact was startlingly intimate, and Seungcheol’s skin burned where their hands touched.

“Careful,” Jeonghan murmured, his voice a soft admonishment, though his expression held something gentler.

Seungcheol could barely find his voice. “I—I’m fine. Thank you, Your Highness.”

Jeonghan’s hand lingered a beat longer than necessary, and when he finally released him, Seungcheol felt an odd emptiness where the warmth had been. He quickly gathered his papers and turned to follow Jeonghan out of the dim room, doing his best to ignore the rapid thumping of his heart.

The walk back to his quarters was quiet, the palace corridors dimly lit and casting long shadows across the marble floors. For the first time, the silence between them felt oddly charged. Seungcheol focused on keeping his steps steady, trying to ignore the way his pulse raced with every stolen glance he dared to give the prince beside him.

As they passed through a particularly narrow stretch of hallway, Seungcheol felt the brush of Jeonghan’s hand against his. The touch was light, almost accidental, but it was enough to send a spark skittering through him. He began to pull his hand away instinctively, not wanting to presume anything—but he stopped short when he felt Jeonghan’s fingers close around his hand.

A thrill of shock jolted through Seungcheol. His heart thundered in his chest as Jeonghan’s hand enveloped his own, his touch gentle but firm. Before Seungcheol could question it, Jeonghan lifted his hand and placed it in the pocket of his coat, his expression unreadable as he looked straight ahead, as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Your hand is cold,” Jeonghan murmured, almost as if to himself. The words, spoken so softly, felt like a gentle reprimand and a confession all at once.

Seungcheol felt his cheeks burn as he looked down, unable to meet Jeonghan’s gaze. The warmth of Jeonghan’s hand wrapped around his in the pocket, a closeness that felt surreal in the quiet of the hall. His fingers tingled at the unexpected contact, and he could barely concentrate on his steps, his mind reeling with a dizzying mix of confusion and exhilaration.

They continued walking, neither speaking, each step a slow, steady reminder of the proximity between them. Seungcheol felt the thrum of Jeonghan’s heartbeat through the shared space of the coat pocket, each beat steady and sure, anchoring him in the moment. He could hardly breathe, afraid that if he moved too much, the spell would break and Jeonghan would pull away.

But Jeonghan’s grip remained, warm and unyielding. In that silent, shared space, Seungcheol’s mind raced, caught between the pounding of his heart and the terrifying, wonderful realization that he wanted this closeness to last.

By the time they reached his quarters, Seungcheol’s hand felt warm, almost feverish, within the pocket of Jeonghan’s coat. Jeonghan stopped just outside the door, releasing Seungcheol’s hand with a soft, almost reluctant pull. The sudden absence of warmth made Seungcheol feel oddly bereft, and he quickly curled his fingers into his palm, clutching the lingering warmth of Jeonghan’s touch.

“Get some rest, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan said, his voice low, almost tender. He glanced at him one last time, a look so brief that Seungcheol might have missed it if he weren’t watching. “Tomorrow will be another long day.”

Seungcheol nodded, his throat tight with the words he couldn’t say. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Jeonghan gave a faint smile, something uncharacteristically soft flickering in his gaze before he turned and walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing softly in the silence.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Seungcheol finally allowed himself to exhale, his chest tightening with the memory of Jeonghan’s hand holding his. He lifted his hand to his cheek, feeling the lingering warmth spread, the ghost of Jeonghan’s touch still burning against his skin.

Alone in the quiet of his room, Seungcheol knew that sleep would be slow in coming that night, his heart far too full of questions and a quiet, thrilling ache he could barely name.

Seungcheol had always prided himself on self-control, especially here in the palace, where every action, every look, every word could be scrutinized. His strength had always been in his ability to blend in, keep his emotions guarded, and protect himself from anyone suspecting what lay beneath the surface. But all of that control seemed to be slipping through his fingers, as easily as sand.

The reason? Jeonghan.

Everywhere he went, Jeonghan seemed to be there. Meetings, meals, even quiet moments in the study where Seungcheol had once been able to work in peace—now Jeonghan’s presence was a constant. The prince’s voice calling his name, the way he would look for him in a room, his insistence that Seungcheol be by his side—it was becoming overwhelming.

And, maddeningly, he didn’t hate it.

Seungcheol had tried to create space. He started arriving early, hoping to settle in before Jeonghan noticed him, or taking paths through the palace that might help him slip out of sight when his duties were finished. But Jeonghan seemed to find him anyway, as if he were always one step ahead, effortlessly closing any distance that Seungcheol managed to create.

"Seungcheol, I need you to go over this report,” Jeonghan would say, his tone casual but his gaze a bit too sharp, a bit too aware.

Or, “Seungcheol, have you had lunch yet?” The prince would ask, as though he couldn’t bear to let Seungcheol slip away for even a single meal.

Then, even worse, the moments that came unbidden, unplanned—when Jeonghan’s gaze would linger a moment too long, or when his hand would briefly touch Seungcheol’s shoulder in passing, grounding him in a way that felt both comforting and dangerous.

At first, Seungcheol told himself it was just Jeonghan being thorough. That, as the Crown Prince, he simply demanded perfection and reliability from his assistant. But over time, it became harder to convince himself that this was just professionalism. The way Jeonghan would seek him out in a room, as though Seungcheol were the only person there worth noticing, or the way his tone softened whenever he said his name—it all made Seungcheol feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he had never been.

And if he was being honest, it made his heart flutter, a warmth rising within him that was far too dangerous.

Every time his heart skipped a beat, Seungcheol forced himself to calm down, to remind himself of the impossibility of such feelings. He couldn’t fall in love with the Crown Prince. It was reckless, foolish, impossible. He had worked so hard to hide his identity, to build a life of stability and safety—he couldn’t risk it all for an attachment that would never, could never, become more than a painful, unspoken longing.

But Jeonghan’s persistence was chipping away at the walls he’d so carefully constructed, bit by bit.

One evening, as he worked quietly in the study, Jeonghan entered the room with his usual calm grace, crossing over to where Seungcheol sat without even a hint of hesitation.

“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan began, his voice soft and almost contemplative, as if he were lost in thought. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Seungcheol set his pen down, heart racing as he looked up, wary of whatever question Jeonghan had in mind. “Yes, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at Seungcheol with that steady, piercing gaze that made him feel as though he were being turned inside out. Seungcheol swallowed, his hands tightening around the edge of the desk.

Finally, Jeonghan spoke, his voice low. “Why do you keep trying to avoid me?”

Seungcheol’s breath caught. The question was direct—too direct. He opened his mouth, searching for an answer, any answer, but the words wouldn’t come. How could he tell Jeonghan the truth? That every time their eyes met, every time Jeonghan’s touch lingered, he felt himself slipping? That he feared he was losing control over the very emotions he’d sworn to keep locked away?

“I...I don’t know what you mean, Your Highness,” he managed, looking down and hoping Jeonghan couldn’t see through the lie.

But Jeonghan only leaned in closer, his voice a gentle, insistent whisper. “Seungcheol. I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Seungcheol’s heart hammered in his chest, the silence stretching thick and heavy between them. He could feel Jeonghan’s warmth, the closeness that made his skin prickle and his pulse race. For a moment, he felt as though he were teetering on the edge of something unknown, something he couldn’t bring himself to face.

But then Jeonghan straightened, his expression shifting back to its usual calm mask, as if he had decided not to push further. He gave a small, almost amused smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well,” Jeonghan murmured, his voice soft, “if you insist on avoiding me anyways, you know I can just summon you as usual for anything I needed, right?”

And with that, he turned, leaving Seungcheol with a heart racing so fast it felt like it would escape his chest.

The door clicked shut, and Seungcheol let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His fingers trembled as he reached for his pen, but his focus was shattered, his mind replaying Jeonghan’s words over and over, each repetition drawing him closer to the edge of the very feelings he was so desperately trying to suppress.

He couldn’t be falling in love with Jeonghan. He wouldn’t. He refused.

But as he sat there, alone in the quiet study, he knew the truth was becoming harder and harder to deny.

The days that followed were a battle between Seungcheol’s instincts and his heart, each moment with Jeonghan blurring the lines he had so carefully drawn between duty and feeling. Every glance, every word, every lingering touch—it all drew him closer, even as he tried, with all his strength, to keep his distance.

But deep down, he feared that his heart had already made its choice. And with Jeonghan’s persistence, Seungcheol knew it was only a matter of time before he’d have to face the truth he was so determined to ignore.

And now, the lack of sleep was starting to wear on Seungcheol. He’d lie awake in bed each night, mind racing, heart aching with thoughts of Jeonghan, and by morning, he would be more exhausted than before. It was an endless, maddening cycle. He felt as though he were living in two different worlds—the harsh, bright reality of the palace, where he was a trusted aide to the Crown Prince, and the darker, softer world of his own mind, where thoughts of Jeonghan clung to him like shadows he couldn’t shake.

He had wanted to talk to someone. His secrets and feelings had grown into something too heavy for him to bear alone. Jun, his closest friend, would listen without judgment, and Joshua was kind, a confidant who seemed to understand Seungcheol in a way no one else in the palace did. But each time Seungcheol opened his mouth, ready to unburden his heart, fear would seize him.

He didn’t know why he felt so reluctant to speak. Was he afraid of someone overhearing, of rumors that could jeopardize everything he had worked to protect? Or was it the terrifying realization that saying it out loud would make it too real? Because as much as he wished he could turn back, he knew his heart had already crossed a line.

To make things worse, his nights had become plagued by recurring dreams. Dreams that felt so vivid, so tangible, that he would wake with his heart racing and his skin prickling, as if he’d lived each moment in waking life. In the dreams, he would see himself standing beside a man in a place cloaked in shadows, a feeling of warmth and safety washing over him. As the dreams repeated, that stranger’s face became clearer, sharper. And one night, he finally saw the face in full detail, and his breath had caught.

The man was Jeonghan.

At first, he’d chalked it up to the sheer effect Jeonghan’s presence had on him—the late nights, the endless glances, the gentleness in Jeonghan’s touch that left Seungcheol off balance. But the more he saw Jeonghan’s face in his dreams, the harder it became to dismiss. It was as if some forgotten part of him already knew what his waking self was too afraid to admit.

Was he really so far gone that he’d started dreaming about Jeonghan?

And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t making it any easier. He was still the prince who demanded precision, still sharp-tongued and quick to criticize. But there was a new softness there, an almost imperceptible warmth that Seungcheol couldn’t ignore. When Jeonghan called for him now, his voice was a little less clipped, his words chosen more carefully, as though he were aware of the weight they held for Seungcheol. And every so often, Jeonghan would offer him a rare, fleeting smile, a smile that softened his entire face and made him seem less like a distant prince and more like someone Seungcheol could reach out and touch.

Those moments—when Jeonghan laughed at something someone had said, or when he gave him one of those small, genuine smiles—they were enough to send Seungcheol’s heart stuttering, his world narrowing to just Jeonghan. Every smile, every laugh left him feeling like he was walking on air, even as he tried to convince himself that it was impossible. How could he, a hidden omega with everything to lose, fall for someone like Jeonghan?

One evening, after another long day, Seungcheol found himself in the palace garden, hoping the crisp night air would clear his head. But his thoughts, as usual, drifted to Jeonghan. He couldn’t understand what had drawn him in so deeply, why he couldn’t just bury these feelings and move on.

"Stop it, Seungcheol," he murmured under his breath, running a hand through his hair, the weight of his thoughts pulling him down. "You can’t… this isn’t something you’re allowed to want."

But his own heart didn’t seem to care about his self-imposed boundaries. The more he tried to avoid Jeonghan, the more his feelings grew, filling him with an ache he didn’t know how to soothe. Every time Jeonghan touched his arm, or just simply laughed, Seungcheol felt a surge of warmth that he was powerless to ignore.

And it wasn’t only the small gestures—it was also the dreams that haunted him, dreams that were so vivid they felt like memories. He could remember the warmth of Jeonghan’s hand in his, the way he’d looked at him as if Seungcheol were the only person that mattered in the world. Each time he woke, he was left with a hollow ache that lingered throughout the day.

As he stood alone in the garden, his gaze drifted to the palace windows above, where the lights from Jeonghan’s quarters still glowed faintly. He wondered what Jeonghan would think if he knew the truth—that Seungcheol was falling, deeply and hopelessly, in love with him. He knew how foolish it was, how dangerous, and yet his heart seemed to have a mind of its own.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Jeonghan. He couldn’t stop dreaming of him.

And he couldn’t stop wondering if, just maybe, Jeonghan was beginning to feel something, too.

Days passed despite Seungcheol fighting his feelings everyday. And now, the New Year event had the palace buzzing with excitement. Seungcheol had heard stories of the royal family’s annual combat showcase, but seeing it in person was a different experience altogether. It was a tradition that dated back centuries—an impressive display of strength, skill, and unity among the royals, led by the Alpha King himself.

The crowd gathered around the training grounds, anticipation thick in the air as the sun cast a warm glow over the arena. Seungcheol found himself near the front of the gathered court, his eyes focused on the raised platform where the royals would soon begin their showcase. His gaze inevitably drifted to Jeonghan, who stood poised and calm, radiating a quiet confidence that seemed to draw everyone’s eyes.

The event began with Soonyoung, the palace’s skilled combat instructor and soldier, stepping forward to face off with Joshua. The two exchanged brief bows, their expressions light but focused. With swords in hand, they launched into the fight with swift, practiced movements, each strike precise and controlled. Joshua moved with an effortless grace, his blade parrying Soonyoung’s strikes with ease, while Soonyoung countered each movement with speed and intensity. They pushed each other further, eventually discarding their swords to engage in bare-handed combat. The crowd gasped as Joshua evaded Soonyoung’s strikes with a quickness and agility that left even seasoned guards nodding in appreciation.

Soon, Jeonghan stepped forward, signaling his turn to face Soonyoung. The intensity in his gaze was unmistakable as he took up his stance, his eyes locked onto his opponent. Soonyoung didn’t hesitate, launching into the spar with a fierce strike, but Jeonghan met him with an almost casual precision. He fought with a fluid, effortless skill that made each move look deceptively easy, his expression calm and focused. His strikes were quick and calculated, each motion a testament to the years of training and discipline he had undergone. Seungcheol couldn’t tear his eyes away; there was something captivating about Jeonghan’s controlled power, his composure even in the heat of the fight.

After an impressive exchange, Soonyoung finally lowered his sword, conceding defeat with a respectful bow. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Jeonghan returned a slight nod, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

Then came the highlight of the event—the face-off between the two brothers. Joshua and Jeonghan faced each other, their eyes gleaming with a mix of seriousness and sibling rivalry. They each took up their stances, and for a moment, the arena fell into an expectant hush. Then, in a burst of movement, they began.

The fight was both serious and playful, an elegant dance of calculated strikes and clever dodges, each brother pushing the other to display their best. Joshua, ever graceful, moved with agility, evading Jeonghan’s strikes with a playful smirk, while Jeonghan countered with his trademark intensity, his movements sharp and precise. They circled each other, laughter and banter lacing through their exchanges, yet their strikes were strong and unyielding, each seeking an advantage.

The crowd watched in awe, captivated by the display of skill and the bond between the two brothers. Seungcheol found himself holding his breath, feeling the tension and camaraderie in their movements, as if he were watching more than just a sparring match.

And then, as if sensing the perfect moment, the Alpha King entered the training grounds. The crowd parted respectfully, their excitement building as the King strode to the center of the arena, his expression proud but challenging. He raised a hand, beckoning both sons to face him, and without a word, Jeonghan and Joshua fell into position side by side, their expressions serious once more.

What followed was a breathtaking display of unity. The two brothers worked together seamlessly, their movements synchronized as they launched into a coordinated defense against the Alpha King. Jeonghan struck with precision, Joshua countering and blocking with flawless timing, each brother complementing the other’s strengths. The King met their efforts with an undeniable strength, yet even he seemed challenged by the combined efforts of his sons, whose teamwork created an almost impenetrable defense.

The crowd gasped and cheered, captivated by the display of strength, skill, and unity. Finally, after a fierce exchange, the King stepped back, lowering his sword and nodding in approval.

He raised a hand to address the crowd, his voice carrying over the training grounds. “Today, you have all witnessed the power of unity. Strength alone can only take you so far—but when combined with teamwork, there is no enemy too strong to face.”

The crowd erupted in applause as the King’s words resonated, a reminder of the strength that came from standing together. Joshua, ever the warm spirit, slung an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders, his expression triumphant. Jeonghan shot him a look, half-amused and half-exasperated, but there was no denying the faint, proud smile on his face.

From his place among the crowd, Seungcheol felt his chest swell with a quiet admiration. Watching the display of skill and camaraderie, the bond between the brothers, and the Alpha King’s pride—it all left him feeling humbled and awed. And as his gaze lingered on Jeonghan, who stood quietly amidst the cheers, Seungcheol felt that familiar, impossible ache in his heart, the one he was slowly beginning to accept.

But today, at least, he allowed himself a moment to simply watch, feeling a mixture of pride, longing, and something even deeper as he took in the prince who, unbeknownst to him, had begun to fill his every waking thought.

The New Year festivities continued as the royal court moved to the race track, where the next event would unfold. The atmosphere was light, the crowd buzzing with excitement as everyone settled in to watch the royal horse race—another long-standing tradition that showcased the princes’ skill and spirit of friendly competition.

Jeonghan and Joshua, already astride their horses, lined up at the starting line, each exuding calm confidence. Seungcheol found himself leaning forward, unable to look away. Jeonghan looked regal, his posture steady, while Joshua wore an easy, relaxed smile that hinted at his own confidence.

On the sidelines, Soobin, the young princess, stood with a wide smile, clapping and cheering for her brothers. Beside her, Jun and Seungcheol exchanged playful jabs, each confident that their prince would win.

"Are you serious?” Jun teased, shooting Seungcheol a look of mock disbelief. “Joshua-nim is the palace’s best rider. There’s no way Jeonghan has a chance."

“Don’t underestimate the Crown Prince,” Seungcheol shot back, grinning as he crossed his arms. “Jeonghan-nim's always prepared, and I’d bet you he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that!” Jun retorted, smirking. “Just don’t be too disappointed when Jeonghan-nim eats Joshua-nim’s dust.”

The starting horn sounded, and the crowd erupted into cheers as the race began. Both princes shot off, their horses galloping neck and neck down the track. Seungcheol’s heart pounded as he watched Jeonghan and Joshua push their mounts faster and faster, neither willing to give an inch. The race was intense, with both princes showing incredible skill as they navigated the turns and straights, each pulling ahead for a moment before the other caught up.

With a final burst of speed, Jeonghan urged his horse forward, gaining just enough ground to cross the finish line a mere neck ahead of Joshua. Seungcheol threw his hands up, cheering so loudly that a few nearby attendants gave him amused glances.

“Told you Jeonghan-nim would win!” Seungcheol crowed, turning to Jun with a triumphant grin.

Jun folded his arms, pouting in mock frustration. “Unbelievable. Joshua-nim has always been the better rider. I don’t know how Jeonghan-nim pulled that off.”

From nearby, Soobin, the youngest royal sibling, turned to them with a knowing smile. “It’s no surprise, really. Jeonghanie oppa’s been training for this race all year. He’s never managed to beat Shua oppa before, so I think he wanted to make sure he did this time.” She gave a proud little nod, glancing at her brothers as they made their way back toward the stands.

Seungcheol nodded, watching Jeonghan return with a quiet admiration. Even in something as lighthearted as a race, Jeonghan showed the same dedication and focus that he put into all his responsibilities as Crown Prince. The quiet strength he possessed never ceased to amaze Seungcheol.

As the princes approached, Jun noticed something and leaned down to Soobin. “Are you here alone, Soobin-nim? Where’s your assistant?”

Soobin scrunched her nose, looking relieved. “She is sick,” she replied, shrugging. “She started feeling unwell last night, so she couldn’t come today.”

A mischievous glint appeared in Soobin’s eyes, and she leaned closer, as if confiding a secret. “Honestly, I don’t mind. She’s always watching me too closely, hovering and breathing down my neck. Every time I try to do something, she expects me to be perfect. And that smile of hers…” She shivered slightly, her expression making Seungcheol chuckle. “It’s like she’s constantly judging me but pretending she’s sweet.”

Jun and Seungcheol exchanged a look, both amused and a bit sympathetic.  Seungcheol gave Soobin a reassuring smile. “Well, at least you’re free to enjoy the day without someone looking over your shoulder.”

Soobin grinned, standing a little straighter. “Exactly! I love that she’s so competent, but she can be so… intense sometimes. She doesn’t have to be perfect all the time.”

At that moment, Jeonghan and Joshua dismounted, making their way over with easy smiles. Joshua approached with a warm laugh, reaching out to ruffle Soobin’s hair affectionately, while Jeonghan’s gaze drifted over to Seungcheol, an amused glint in his eyes as he caught the tail end of their conversation.

“Talking about us, are we?” Jeonghan asked, raising a brow as he looked between Seungcheol and Jun, his expression as relaxed and confident as ever.

Jun feigned innocence, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Only celebrating the Crown Prince’s victory, Your Highness,” he replied, shooting Seungcheol a playful wink.

Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on Seungcheol, a subtle, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Glad to know I had such vocal support,” he murmured, his tone light but his eyes meeting Seungcheol’s in a way that made Seungcheol’s heart skip.

With Joshua and Jun laughing beside him, and Jeonghan’s subtle, intense gaze on him, Seungcheol felt the warmth of the celebration settle over him. And yet, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that the day held more in store—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The break between events had given everyone a brief respite to relax and chat, the excitement of the day still hanging in the air. The archery show was next, and the staff were busy arranging the targets and ensuring everything was in place. Jeonghan sat with his family, Soobin at his side, and he could hear Seungcheol and Jun bantering quietly a few steps behind him, their voices light with laughter.

But then, without warning, a horse that was meant to be led back to the stables broke loose. Its powerful, erratic strides kicked up dust as it tore away from its handler, heading straight for the royal seating area. A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Soonyoung, standing at attention nearby, sprang into action.

“Guards, protect the royal family!” Soonyoung barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Seungcheol, Jun, and the other guards moved instantly, forming a defensive circle around the royals. The queen and beta consort were protected in the center, surrounded by the guards who braced for impact. The alphas, including Jeonghan and Joshua, stood on alert just behind the guards, ready to shield the family from any further threat.

But the horse wasn’t slowing. Its eyes were wild, as though something unseen were driving it forward. And then, to Seungcheol’s horror, he realized the animal had locked its gaze onto him, its powerful body barreling forward like a guided missile. Before he could react, the horse crashed through the barriers, and Seungcheol barely had time to register what was happening before it collided with him full-force.

The impact was brutal. Seungcheol felt himself thrown backward, his body hitting the ground with a force that knocked the air from his lungs. Pain shot through him, radiating from his ribs, but he was too dazed to react, his mind swimming with confusion and pain.

He became aware of Jeonghan’s voice, calling his name, urgent and frightened, as he knelt beside him. Jeonghan’s hands were gentle as they cradled his face, his eyes wide with a concern that seemed almost foreign on the Crown Prince’s usually composed face.

“Seungcheol-ah! Stay with me!” Jeonghan’s voice was frantic, his hands moving to check for injuries. But as Seungcheol’s vision began to blur, he felt the prince’s warmth seeping into him, grounding him in a way that cut through the fog of pain.

But then—a sudden, sharp sound caught Seungcheol’s ear, a whistling that sliced through the air with chilling precision. Somehow, through the haze, he recognized it—a sound he’d heard too many times during training.

An arrow.

With a surge of clarity and adrenaline, Seungcheol forced himself to move, his instincts overpowering his pain. He pushed Jeonghan down, his body acting on reflex to shield the prince. A split second later, he felt a sharp, burning pain tear through his upper chest as the arrow struck, embedding itself with brutal precision.

Time seemed to slow. He was dimly aware of Soonyoung shouting orders, the other guards scrambling to form a tighter circle around them, but everything felt distant, muffled, as if he were sinking underwater. He could feel the warmth of blood pooling at his chest, trickling between his fingers as he tried in vain to stanch the flow.

Jeonghan’s voice cut through the haze, trembling and desperate. “Seungcheol-ah! Hold on—just hold on!” His arms wrapped around Seungcheol’s shoulders, lifting his upper body from the ground with a gentleness that felt almost sacred, as if he were afraid Seungcheol would shatter with even the slightest touch.

Seungcheol tried to focus on Jeonghan’s face, but his vision was beginning to darken at the edges. He could feel his energy draining, his breaths growing shallow as blood bubbled between his lips. Jeonghan’s face swam in and out of focus, but even through the pain, Seungcheol could make out the raw fear and fury that twisted his features.

His voice cracked as he tried to speak, barely able to form words. “Y-Your… Highness… y-you’re… f-fine...” He let out a choked breath, gurgling blood-mixed saliva. “…G-good…”

Jeonghan’s hand tightened around him, his fingers trembling as he cradled Seungcheol against his chest. “Don’t talk like that. Help is coming, Seungcheol-ah—just stay with me!” His tone was fierce, his words tinged with a desperation that Seungcheol had never heard before.

But Seungcheol could feel his strength ebbing, his hands slipping from where he’d been clutching Jeonghan’s arms. His head lolled, resting weakly against Jeonghan’s chest as he fought to stay conscious, to hold onto the warmth of the prince’s embrace for as long as he could.

Darkness began to cloud his vision, his senses fading one by one, until all he could feel was the steady beat of Jeonghan’s heart beneath his cheek—a rhythm that was frantic, strong, and strangely comforting.

As his world dimmed, he heard Jeonghan’s voice one last time, filled with a fury and pain that seemed to shake the very air around them.

“Somebody, help him! Now!”

But even as Jeonghan’s voice faded into the darkness, Seungcheol found himself strangely at peace, a calm settling over him as he slipped further into unconsciousness.

The scene in the healing quarters was a blur of frantic motion and whispered urgency. Jeonghan stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the still, blood-soaked figure lying on the bed. He watched as healers moved around Seungcheol in a frenzy, bringing bandages, potions, and bags of blood, trying to stem the tide of crimson that kept spilling from his wound. Despite their best efforts, nothing seemed to slow the flow, and Seungcheol’s face had taken on a pallor that was far too familiar.

The sight was a waking nightmare, one he had thought—prayed—he would never have to relive. But as Jeonghan stood frozen at the edge of the medical quarters, watching their frantic hands and anxious faces, it was as if he had been pulled back through time. Each shallow breath seemed torn from Seungcheol, a struggle against the darkness trying to pull him under. Jeonghan could barely breathe himself, watching as the faint rise and fall of Seungcheol’s chest grew weaker, his life slipping through the cracks like sand.

The scene was so painfully familiar: the smell of blood thick in the air, the desperate movements of the healers as they tried to stanch the bleeding. His beloved mate lay there, pale and still, his mouth stained with dark, foaming blood that seeped from the corner of his lips, his last breath slipping away as Jeonghan stood helplessly by. Now, it felt like a terrible déjà vu, the same unbearable dread clawing at his heart, each second ticking by like the countdown to a devastating end.

But this time, Seungcheol was still fighting. Somehow, through the agony and blood loss, he kept breathing, his chest struggling to rise and fall, refusing to let go. Jeonghan could see the battle raging within him, the quiet resilience that Seungcheol had shown so many times before, and yet… it wasn’t enough to silence the terror clawing at Jeonghan’s heart.

The image of his first love, his beloved omega, cold and unmoving on a healer’s bed, resurfaced in his mind, and the memories collided, his heart breaking anew. He could still feel the ghost of that loss, the way he’d reached out only to find emptiness, the cruel finality that had left him hollow. And now, here he was, watching it all play out again—the person he cared about most lying still before him, blood pooling, the life slowly draining from his body.

“Please… not again,” he whispered, his voice choked and barely audible, as he clutched the edge of a nearby table, knuckles white. His mind spun, each thought darker than the last. Why? Why did fate seem so determined to rip away anyone he dared to care for?

Suddenly, his legs felt too weak to hold him. His knees buckled, and he sank toward the floor, unable to find the strength to stand under the weight of his fear. But before he could hit the ground, strong arms caught him.

“Jeonghan-ah,” Joshua’s voice was soft but steady, a calm presence amidst the chaos. He guided Jeonghan to a nearby seat, helping him sit down as he wrapped a supportive arm around his shoulders. Jeonghan didn’t try to hide the tears that began to fall, his shoulders shaking as he let himself break in his brother’s embrace, the grief and fear pouring out.

“Why…” Jeonghan’s voice cracked, his words a broken whisper. “Why does this keep happening? Why is it that every time I start to… to care for someone, they’re taken away from me?” He looked at Joshua, his gaze full of anguish, his heart too raw to hold back. “Why do they always leave?”

Joshua pulled Jeonghan closer, tightening his embrace. His own face was pale, worry etched into his expression, but he forced himself to remain steady, to be the support Jeonghan needed.

“Listen to me, Jeonghan-ah,” he murmured, his voice quiet but filled with a conviction that Jeonghan clung to. “Seungcheolie is strong. He’s still fighting. He wouldn’t just give up—he’s not the kind to let something like this take him down.” Joshua’s hand pressed against Jeonghan’s back, grounding him, a steady warmth amid the storm. “He’ll pull through. I know he will.”

Jeonghan nodded numbly, but his gaze drifted back to Seungcheol, lying too still on the healer’s bed. He could see the faint rise and fall of Seungcheol’s chest, each shallow breath a testament to the quiet strength that had always defined him. Seungcheol had fought to be here, to serve with loyalty and devotion. And now, in this battle for his life, he was fighting once more.

As the healers continued their work, Joshua stayed by Jeonghan’s side, never letting go, his presence a constant, unyielding anchor. Jeonghan closed his eyes, leaning into his brother’s embrace as he whispered a silent prayer—a plea for the person who had somehow found his way into his heart, a prayer for one more chance to stay by his side.

In the quiet spaces between the healers' frantic murmurs and the steady sound of Joshua’s heartbeat beside him, Jeonghan held onto a fragile hope, the desperate belief that perhaps, just this once, fate would grant him mercy.

Chapter Text

The dim glow of dawn filtered softly through the high windows of the healer’s quarters, casting a faint, golden light across the room. Jeonghan sat quietly by Seungcheol’s bedside, his gaze fixed intently on the man lying before him. Seungcheol’s chest rose and fell in shallow, measured breaths, each one a fragile reminder that he was still here, still fighting. His torso was bare, save for the thick, clean bandages that wrapped around his chest and shoulder, hiding the angry wound left by the arrow.

Jeonghan’s eyes trailed over Seungcheol’s face, noting the pale hue of his skin, the faint traces of sweat along his brow, and the exhausted set of his features even in sleep. The healer had assured him that Seungcheol’s condition was stable. Still, Jeonghan couldn’t shake the memory of that horrifying moment—Seungcheol lying still in his arms, blood pooling around him, the terrifying thought that he might lose him forever.

He reached out, taking Seungcheol’s hand gently in his own. His fingers wrapped around Seungcheol’s, careful but firm, as though his grip alone could anchor Seungcheol’s spirit, keeping him tied to this world. Jeonghan swallowed, leaning forward and speaking in a low, earnest whisper.

“Seungcheol, please… stay strong. Don’t you dare give up.” His words were soft but insistent, laced with a desperation he barely understood himself.

As he held Seungcheol’s hand, he felt an unexpected sensation—a faint, tingling warmth that shot through his hand, like a tiny spark of electricity. Jeonghan flinched, surprised by the sudden jolt. Just as he looked down at their joined hands, Seungcheol let out a soft, broken whimper, his face contorting briefly in discomfort.

“Seungcheol?” Jeonghan leaned forward, his heart leaping at the sight of movement. He fussed over him gently, his voice full of concern. “Are you... are you feeling all right?”

Seungcheol’s eyelids fluttered, and after a moment, they opened just enough for Jeonghan to see the familiar dark warmth of his gaze, though dimmed by weakness. Seungcheol’s lips twitched, curving into a small, almost playful smile, as if he could feel Jeonghan’s worry radiating from him.

“Don’t worry… about me, Your H-highness…” Seungcheol murmured, his voice a thin, wavering whisper, barely more than a breath. He gave Jeonghan’s hand the faintest squeeze, his fingers trembling but still managing to hold on. “I’m… not as weak… as you think.”

Jeonghan’s heart twisted at the sight of that smile—so faint, yet so unmistakably Seungcheol. Despite the pain, despite the sheer weight of his exhaustion, Seungcheol still managed to make light of his situation, to give Jeonghan a reassurance that seemed to border on defiance.

“Seungcheol, that’s not—” Jeonghan began, his voice catching in his throat, but before he could finish, he felt Seungcheol’s grip on his hand loosen, the warmth slipping away as Seungcheol’s eyes drifted shut once more. His head lolled back against the pillow, his body surrendering to the heavy pull of unconsciousness.

“Seungcheol!” Panic flashed in Jeonghan’s eyes as he leaned forward, instinctively gripping Seungcheol’s hand tighter, as if willing him to stay awake. His heart thundered, and without thinking, he raised his voice, calling urgently for help. “Healer! Please, come quickly!”

The healer entered promptly, moving with a calm efficiency that belied Jeonghan’s panic. They checked Seungcheol’s pulse, their fingers resting lightly against his wrist and then over his chest, their expression serene as they looked over him.

“Is he… is he all right?” Jeonghan’s voice trembled slightly, though he fought to keep it steady, watching the healer’s every movement with bated breath.

The healer turned to him with a reassuring nod. “There is nothing to worry about, Your Highness. His condition is stable, and his body simply needs more time to recover. He’s still weak from the blood loss and the injuries, but he’s showing remarkable resilience.”

Jeonghan exhaled, his shoulders sagging with relief, though the knot of worry in his chest refused to fully unwind. “And… there’s nothing I can do? Nothing else that might help?”

The healer shook their head gently, offering a compassionate smile. “What he needs most now is rest. And if I may, Your Highness… you should rest as well.”

Jeonghan glanced back at Seungcheol, his fingers still entwined with his, reluctant to let go. But he knew he was exhausted—every emotion, every fear had left him drained in a way he hadn’t realized until now.

He nodded reluctantly, his gaze lingering on Seungcheol’s sleeping face, taking in every detail, as though afraid he might disappear if he looked away.

A week passed before Seungcheol finally opened his eyes, the blurred edges of his vision sharpening as he took in the familiar walls of the healer’s quarters. The heavy haze of unconsciousness had lifted, and although his body still ached, a sense of peace settled over him. He was alive.

Word of his awakening must have spread quickly, because it wasn’t long before familiar faces filled the room. Jun was the first to rush in, his face blotchy with relief, a bright smile breaking through his usual reserved demeanor. Without a second thought, Jun threw his arms around Seungcheol, holding him in a tight embrace.

“Seungcheolie!” Jun’s voice wavered, thick with emotion. “I—I thought we’d lost you…”

Seungcheol winced, a sharp pain shooting through his ribs, but he managed a smile, raising a weak hand to pat Jun’s back. “Jun-ah, not so tight… I’m still here, all right? I’m not going anywhere.”

Jun pulled back, laughing shakily, wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks as he straightened. “Sorry,” he muttered, trying to regain his usual composure. “I just… You really scared us, you know.”

Seungcheol chuckled softly, though it came out more like a wheeze. “You’re not the only one, apparently.”

Joshua entered next, his presence calm and steady, as always. He approached with a gentle smile, his eyes soft with relief. “Welcome back, Seungcheol-ah,” he said quietly, reaching out to pat Seungcheol’s arm and shoulder in a reassuring, comforting gesture. There was a warmth in his touch that spoke more than words ever could.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Seungcheol replied, managing a grateful smile.

Soonyoung appeared last, his expression uncharacteristically grim. He stepped forward and immediately bowed his head, his face etched with guilt. “Seungcheol-nim, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “I failed to protect you properly. This… this shouldn’t have happened. I take full responsibility.”

Seungcheol shook his head, his voice firm despite the weakness he felt. “Soonyoung-nim, it’s not your fault. You did everything you could.” He offered a small smile, trying to lift Soonyoung’s spirits. “And anyway, I think I’d rather take the hit than see one of the royal family injured.”

But Soonyoung’s face remained grim. He bowed deeply, his voice soft. “Even so… I won’t let it happen again. I’ll see to it that we’re better prepared in the future.” He straightened, his gaze steady but shadowed with guilt, before turning and leaving the room in silence.

Seungcheol watched him go, understanding the burden Soonyoung carried, and wishing he could do more to reassure him. But he barely had time to dwell on it, as more visitors arrived—this time, his family, here to bring him home. They had arranged to take him back to their mansion, where he would have a month to recover fully. The royal physicians had agreed that he needed peace, rest, and familiar surroundings to properly heal, and his family had come prepared to escort him personally.

The air in the room shifted when the royal family entered together, their faces marked by concern. Jeonghan was there, though he kept a small distance, his expression unreadable as he observed Seungcheol quietly. His father, the king alpha, took a step forward, his demeanor grave.

“Seungcheol,” the king began, his voice deep and steady. “We have uncovered some information about the incident that nearly cost you your life.”

Seungcheol nodded, his expression serious as he prepared to hear the truth.

“The horse was… possessed by dark magic,” the king continued. “We had no choice but to put the poor creature to rest.” His gaze turned distant, as if recalling the events. “It wasn’t acting of its own free will. Someone intended harm, and the creature was merely a pawn.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the room, and Seungcheol’s mind raced as he processed the implications. Before he could ask more, the king continued, his tone darkening. “As for the archer who shot you—by the time we apprehended him, he was already gone. He took his own life before he could be questioned.”

Seungcheol’s brows knit in confusion. “Then… we still don’t know who was the intended target?”

The king shook his head, a grim line settling across his mouth. “No. We may never know the true motive. Whether it was meant for you or for Jeonghan…” He glanced over at his son. “It remains a mystery. But rest assured, we will leave no stone unturned in protecting the palace from any further threats.”

At this, Seungcheol’s father, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward, his expression full of both relief and resolve. “As long as my son is safe and alive, that is all that matters to me,” he said firmly, a hand resting on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “However, I trust in your word, Your Majesty, that the palace security will be strengthened. This isn’t the first time an incident like this has happened, and I fear it won’t be the last unless proper action is taken.”

The king nodded solemnly, meeting Seungcheol’s father’s gaze with equal resolve. “You have my word. We will take every measure necessary to ensure the safety of everyone within these walls.”

Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on Seungcheol, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. There was a storm of emotions within Jeonghan’s dark gaze—a mixture of relief, fear, and something deeper that Seungcheol couldn’t quite name. He wanted to reach out, to say something, but the weight of the room’s somber mood kept him silent.

As the king and Seungcheol’s father exchanged their final words, Seungcheol could only reflect on the strange, lingering uncertainty that hung in the air. His life had been spared, and he was surrounded by those who cared for him. But there were still unanswered questions, dark shadows lurking in the corners of his mind. And though his family would soon take him back to the safety of their mansion, he knew that something irrevocable had shifted—something that would draw him back to the palace, to the mysteries that awaited, and, perhaps most of all, to the Crown Prince himself.

Jeonghan had personally escorted Seungcheol back to his family’s mansion, his usually calm expression betraying hints of unease as he oversaw every detail of the arrangements. He had stationed his best guards around the perimeter, and, as an extra measure, assigned Soonyoung himself to stay close and ensure Seungcheol’s safety at all times.

Seungcheol’s father, though appreciative, had assured Jeonghan that they could take care of him, gently suggesting that he didn’t need to worry so much. But Jeonghan had simply shaken his head, his gaze flickering briefly to Seungcheol’s face, then back to his father.

“I insist,” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

Satisfied only after he had checked and rechecked everything himself, Jeonghan finally departed, leaving behind a contingent of his most trusted guards. And though he never said it aloud, everyone could see that he left reluctantly, his eyes lingering on Seungcheol just a moment too long before he finally turned and disappeared down the mansion’s steps.

Over the course of the month, while Seungcheol healed, Jeonghan’s presence was felt in subtler ways. Nearly every day, someone from the palace arrived, either bearing messages or checking on Seungcheol’s health. Joshua, Jun, or Hyungwon were his most frequent visitors, often bringing small gifts, updates on palace events, or supplies Jeonghan had insisted on sending.

One morning, as Seungcheol sat by the window, enjoying the fresh air and the faint warmth of sunlight, Joshua arrived. He strolled into the room with his usual relaxed charm, a teasing smile on his face.

“Seungcheol-ah, I must say, Jeonghanie seems to be going above and beyond about you,” Joshua began, settling into a chair beside Seungcheol with a grin. “Do you have any idea just how detailed the reports he expects are? Honestly, I half-expected him to ask me to record how many times your blinked or how many steps you’re taking each day.”

Seungcheol felt his cheeks heat, the corners of his mouth lifting despite himself. “He… just wants to know if I’m recovering well. Nothing strange about that.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow, giving Seungcheol a look that was half amused, half exasperated. “Really? Because between you and me, I think he’s bordering on obsessively concerned. If you ask me, he’s acting like… well, someone a bit more than just your boss.”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to argue, but his thoughts stumbled, Joshua’s words igniting a rush of emotions he couldn’t quite name. It was hard to deny that Jeonghan’s attentiveness had gone above and beyond what was expected. Even though Jeonghan hadn’t visited personally, he seemed to have thought of everything, ensuring Seungcheol was cared for in every conceivable way.

Jihoon, who had been sitting quietly by Seungcheol’s side during Joshua’s visit, scoffed, a faint smirk on his face as he looked over. “If the Crown Prince really cares so much,” he said dryly, “then why hasn’t he come to see Seungcheol himself?”

Seungcheol shot Jihoon a look, feeling both exasperated and strangely defensive. “You know he’s busy,” he replied, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve been away for a month, and he probably has more work than usual to handle because of it.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further, clearly unconvinced. But Seungcheol knew the truth of what he was saying. Jeonghan hadn’t been able to visit personally, but he had felt Jeonghan’s presence through every thoughtful action, every visitor who checked on him, every tiny detail that had been carefully seen to. It was as if Jeonghan had managed to leave a piece of himself there, even without physically being at Seungcheol’s side.

Joshua leaned back in his chair, smiling knowingly as he watched Seungcheol’s expression. “Maybe so,” he conceded, “but you’re not fooling me, Seungcheol-ah. You’ve noticed it, too.” He tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just a bit more than simple duty, isn’t it?”

Seungcheol looked away, focusing on the view outside, his cheeks warming. He didn’t know how to respond, his heart caught between pride and a faint, unnamable ache.

When Seungcheol was finally ready to return to his post at the palace, the Alpha King arrived personally to escort him back just as he did before. The king’s presence alone was imposing, but today he was joined by Joshua, who greeted Seungcheol with a wide, mischievous smile.

“Figured you might need some real company on the way back,” Joshua said, clapping a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I couldn’t leave you to suffer in boredom with just my father here.”

The Alpha King scoffed, though his lips quirked with a rare smile. “Watch your words, son. Or I may let you walk back to the palace.”

Joshua laughed easily, his gaze warm as he looked over at Seungcheol. “Trust me, you’d miss me too much. Besides, someone’s got to keep him entertained on the way home.”

Seungcheol chuckled, feeling warmth spread through him at the easy camaraderie. The journey back to the palace felt like a reunion, a return to familiarity, and Joshua filled the trip with stories of palace life and updates on everything Seungcheol had missed. As he listened, Seungcheol felt himself relaxing, a sense of belonging settling back over him.

“And you’ll never believe who’s been filling in for you,” Joshua said, giving Seungcheol a pointed look, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “Jeonghan’s got Soobin back in the office with him, and guess who’s been his new assistant?”

Seungcheol raised his brows in curiosity, but when Joshua paused dramatically, he prodded him. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Your Highness.”

Joshua grinned. “Minhee.”

Seungcheol blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Minhee-nim? But… Jeonghan-nim was so firm about keeping her away. Why would he bring her in now?”

“That’s the biggest mystery,” Joshua said, his tone light, but his eyes held a hint of something more serious. “It surprised all of us. But Jeonghan’s been working harder than ever, almost obsessively. So maybe he just needed someone—anyone—to help manage everything.”

Seungcheol nodded, though Joshua’s words left him feeling uneasy. Minhee as Jeonghan’s assistant? It didn’t make sense. Jeonghan had always been so particular about the people in his inner circle. Why now? The thought lingered in his mind, stirring a faint, unsettling feeling he couldn’t quite shake.

The following morning, Seungcheol reported for duty as usual, stepping back into the familiar surroundings of the palace with a sense of purpose. He walked to Jeonghan’s office, expecting a warm reunion—or at least, a steady exchange that would welcome him back. But as soon as he stepped inside, Jeonghan entered with Minhee following close behind, her expression a polished mask, her movements precise and professional.

Jeonghan barely glanced at Seungcheol, his expression distant. “Seungcheol,” he said in an offhand tone, nodding briefly in his direction. “I’m reassigning you to work with Soobin for the time being. Minhee will continue assisting me until I’m certain you’re fully capable of resuming your duties.”

The words were delivered simply, almost dismissively, yet they hit Seungcheol with unexpected force. He nodded, keeping his face neutral, but he felt a pang of hurt cut through him. He knew that Jeonghan’s decision was based in concern; he had likely arranged this to ensure Seungcheol didn’t overexert himself, yet there was something about the way he’d been replaced so casually—and with Minhee, of all people—that made his chest tighten.

Before he could respond, Jeonghan had already turned to speak with Minhee, discussing a list of upcoming tasks. It was as if Seungcheol had already faded into the background. Swallowing back the ache, he murmured a polite farewell and turned to leave.

Just as he passed Minhee, he caught a flicker of a smile on her face. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable, but there was something cold, triumphant in her gaze as she looked at him. Her lips curved in a way that left no doubt: she was enjoying this.

Seungcheol’s heart sank further, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He had expected Jeonghan’s concern, and he’d prepared himself to accept it, even if it meant stepping back temporarily. But seeing Minhee in his place, watching her relish his absence… it left him feeling hollow, more hurt than he wanted to admit.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Jeonghan had carefully chosen Minhee to fill Seungcheol’s role for a reason that went beyond concern for his assistant’s health. He harbored a deep suspicion that Minhee was more than she seemed. Beneath her polished demeanor, Jeonghan sensed that Minhee had been quietly orchestrating something dark, something that led back to the events that nearly took Seungcheol’s life just a month ago. But he had no proof—not yet—and he couldn’t risk tipping his hand too early.

By bringing Minhee into his inner circle, Jeonghan hoped he could observe her more closely, uncovering any evidence that might expose her true intentions. He needed to see her patterns, her alliances, her reactions. If Minhee was truly involved in the plot against Seungcheol, then having her close was his best chance to catch her.

But Minhee was a challenge even Jeonghan hadn’t anticipated. She moved through her duties with flawless efficiency, delivering precisely what was asked, answering questions with poised intelligence. In public, she projected an air of quiet competence, her demeanor almost pristine. She was clever, almost maddeningly so, showing nothing overtly suspicious, giving Jeonghan no clear lead. But there was something about her—something he couldn’t ignore—that cast a dark shadow over every interaction.

When they discussed palace matters, Minhee was quick to offer strategic solutions, her thoughts sharp, her instincts almost too well-tuned. She was the kind of assistant anyone would envy, the kind that could easily win favor with those in power. But despite her polished exterior, Jeonghan couldn’t ignore the moments when her mask would slip, ever so slightly.

It was the glint in her eyes whenever she spoke about Seungcheol, a hint of disdain or perhaps jealousy lurking just beneath her polite smile. Her remarks about Seungcheol were always carefully worded, but they carried an undercurrent of something darker, something that told Jeonghan his suspicions weren’t unfounded.

In those moments, Jeonghan would feel a surge of protectiveness rise in him. He knew Seungcheol hadn’t seen the full extent of Minhee’s duplicity, and perhaps that was for the best. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Minhee’s influence creeping into Seungcheol’s life again, not after what had happened.

In time, Jeonghan would find out her reasons, her motivations—he was certain of it. For now, he would keep Minhee close, watching and waiting for the cracks in her facade. He could sense she was hiding something, and he would be ready when she finally slipped.

For the moment, he had to grit his teeth and play along, biding his time until he could uncover the truth. And when he did, he would ensure that Minhee could never harm Seungcheol—or anyone else he cared for—again.

Two weeks after his return, Seungcheol was summoned back to Jeonghan’s office, though the encounter was nothing like he’d expected.

Jeonghan barely acknowledged his presence, his focus buried in documents as he gave clipped instructions, his words cold and efficient. He didn’t even look up. Seungcheol tried to tell himself it was just a busy day, that perhaps the strain of palace life had intensified, but the longer the silence dragged on, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just stress. Something had shifted in Jeonghan, something that felt like a wall, unyielding and impenetrable.

The next few days only confirmed his suspicions. Where once there had been casual conversations, moments of warmth, even small smiles that Seungcheol had cherished, there was now only silence. Jeonghan spoke to him only when absolutely necessary, issuing orders with a detached tone, his gaze avoiding Seungcheol’s whenever possible. He no longer commented on Seungcheol’s work, nor offered encouragement, nor criticism—it was as if he’d lost interest entirely. And he certainly didn’t ask for Seungcheol to join him for lunches or meetings anymore, keeping to himself as though Seungcheol were nothing more than another faceless member of the palace staff.

Seungcheol tried not to let it show, but each passing day left him more unsettled. He’d grown used to being by Jeonghan’s side, to knowing the subtle nuances in his moods, to feeling like he mattered. Now, he felt like a stranger.

Lunches became a solitary affair; if not for Hyungwon, who would drop by with a gentle reminder to eat, or Joshua and Jun who occasionally dragged him to join them, Seungcheol would have skipped them altogether, his appetite dwindling with each passing day. And each evening, Hyungwon or Jun would escort him back to his quarters, the silence of his walk back a reminder of the distance that had grown between him and Jeonghan.

More than once, Seungcheol found himself lingering outside Jeonghan’s office, summoning the courage to ask what he’d done wrong. Each time, the response was the same—a cool, dismissive glance, a polite nod, and nothing more.

“Is… everything all right, Your Highness?” Seungcheol had asked one evening, his voice barely more than a whisper, desperation slipping through despite his best efforts to stay composed.

Jeonghan’s response had been painfully brief. “Everything’s fine, Seungcheol. You’re dismissed.”

The indifference in his voice struck Seungcheol like a blow, and he nodded, swallowing back the questions that burned in his throat. He left without another word, his heart heavy, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that something irreplaceable had slipped from his grasp.

But what Seungcheol didn’t see was the way Jeonghan watched him walk away, his gaze softening with a pain he kept carefully hidden. Each time he turned his back on Seungcheol, each time he maintained that cold distance, Jeonghan felt his own heart ache, a sharp and relentless reminder of the price he was willing to pay to keep Seungcheol safe.

Every instinct urged him to reach out, to break the silence that hung between them and bring Seungcheol back to his side. But each time he nearly faltered, nearly let his guard down, he would remember the horrifying sight of Seungcheol lying motionless, blood pooling around him, and his resolve would harden.

He didn’t know when it had happened, nor how it had crept up on him so quietly, but at some point, Seungcheol had become more than just an assistant—he had become someone precious, someone Jeonghan couldn’t bear to lose. And if that meant pushing him away, distancing himself to protect him from the dangers lurking in the palace, then Jeonghan would do it, no matter how much it hurt.

Jeonghan watched now as Seungcheol walked down the hall with Hyungwon, his shoulders hunched, his usual energy and confidence dampened by the cold treatment. The sight tore at him, but he forced himself to stay still, clenching his hands at his sides as he reminded himself of the reason behind his choice.

He’d rather see Seungcheol’s hurt expression from afar than risk seeing him hurt again. If this was what it took to keep him safe, then Jeonghan would endure it.

The day had been quiet, the usual rhythm of palace duties settling into place as Seungcheol organized documents for the upcoming staff meeting. The preparation was meticulous, with each report checked and re-checked; among them were some of the Crown Prince’s most confidential financial documents, records that only a select few could access. By the time the meeting began, Seungcheol felt assured that everything was in order.

The meeting room filled quickly with high-ranking officers, each taking their seats around the table. Joshua and Jun exchanged friendly greetings with Soobin, who sat beside Minhee, and other team leaders from various departments settled in as well. Seungcheol found a seat near the back, where he could take notes and remain out of the way, ready to respond if Jeonghan required anything.

The meeting proceeded smoothly until an officer stood up and presented an alarming report. His tone was grave as he held up a familiar set of documents, now marked with unauthorized notations and edits.

“We have received reports,” the officer began, “that confidential documents from the Crown Prince’s office have been circulated without permission. These contain sensitive data from the palace’s financial records—data that, as you all know, is restricted to only a few of us.”

Jeonghan’s brows knitted together as he recognized the documents. He had reviewed them just days ago after Seungcheol had spent hours preparing them. The records contained detailed financial reports that only he, Joshua, and Seungcheol should have access to. The significance of the breach settled heavily over the room.

Minhee was the first to break the silence. She glanced around with a faintly troubled look, her voice carrying a note of concern that bordered on suspicion. “Who could have accessed those files? Only Prince Joshua, Crown Prince Jeonghan, and Seungcheol-nim should have had them.”

Her gaze shifted subtly to Seungcheol as she continued. “It certainly wouldn’t have been Prince Joshua or the Crown Prince, given the importance of these records. Which leaves…” She paused, letting the implication hang in the air for a moment before adding, “Perhaps the files weren’t kept as securely as they should have been.”

A murmur swept through the room, and Seungcheol felt the weight of dozens of eyes on him. He clenched his hands beneath the table, anger and hurt rising within him. But before he could respond, Jeonghan’s voice cut through the noise, calm but with a cold edge that silenced the room instantly.

“Minhee,” he said, his tone sharper than Seungcheol had ever heard it, “let me remind you that you, too, had access to these files while you were working in Seungcheol’s place. And Hyungwon was the only other person who could have seen them, though he was not involved in managing these financial records.”

Minhee’s face froze, her carefully constructed composure faltering for a brief moment. Jeonghan’s gaze remained fixed on her, his voice holding a subtle warning. “You seem quite familiar with the location of these files, Minhee. Odd, considering that the financial records are stored in my private office, while Seungcheol’s office holds only general files.”

A shift rippled through the room as suspicion immediately diverted from Seungcheol to Minhee. The officers exchanged glances, whispers of realization passing between them as they recognized the holes in Minhee’s thinly veiled accusation.

Minhee’s expression quickly changed, a flash of contrition crossing her face as she dipped her head. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she murmured, her voice soft and carefully controlled. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about Seungcheol-nim. I was… careless in my words.”

Jeonghan’s gaze remained cool, though there was a steeliness to it that warned her against testing his patience further. “See that you are more cautious in the future, Minhee,” he replied, his tone still sharp. “And do not attempt to shift blame onto others without cause. Such behavior has no place here.”

Minhee lowered her head further, hiding her expression as she mumbled an apology. The tension in the room began to dissipate, but Seungcheol felt the echo of the moment linger, the brief accusation weighing on him in a way he hadn’t expected.

As the meeting resumed, Seungcheol allowed himself a small breath of relief. Jeonghan’s defense, his swift dismissal of Minhee’s veiled accusation, had been unexpected, a reminder that even now, Jeonghan’s faith in him hadn’t wavered. Yet, there was still a lingering hurt, a faint ache at the realization that Minhee had been so quick to turn others against him.

Jeonghan’s gaze found Seungcheol’s from across the room, and in that moment, a silent understanding passed between them.

The hour had crept past midnight, and the palace halls were still and quiet, the silence broken only by the faint scratching of Seungcheol’s pen as he worked late into the night. Jeonghan leaned against the doorway, watching his assistant, who sat hunched over his desk, the light casting gentle shadows over his tired face.

Since the breach of confidential information, the palace officials had been working ceaselessly to ensure security, with Seungcheol leading the charge. He’d taken it upon himself to organize a system for tracking who accessed each document, meticulously compiling lists, arranging files, and double-checking every detail. Jeonghan had barely seen him leave his desk in the past few days, and tonight was no different. Despite his obvious exhaustion, Seungcheol continued working, his head dipping as he struggled to stay awake.

A quiet sigh escaped Jeonghan’s lips as he observed the scene. He wondered if Seungcheol was aware of Minhee’s subtle, persistent targeting. Had he sensed the malice in her, or had he simply brushed it off, too focused on his work to notice? For weeks, Jeonghan had tried to uncover the reason behind her fixation on Seungcheol, yet every inquiry had led him nowhere, leaving her motives shrouded in mystery.

Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on Seungcheol, his expression softening as he considered how strangely familiar this felt. Watching Seungcheol work with such quiet resilience, such dedication, brought back memories he thought he’d buried. His former mate had shared that same tenacity, the same quiet strength that drew people to them. Though Seungcheol looked nothing like his lost love, there was an essence, a spirit in him that felt painfully familiar. A part of Jeonghan found comfort in that, even as it reminded him of wounds that hadn’t fully healed.

But Seungcheol was a beta, and Jeonghan knew that as a Crown Prince, he would never be able to claim a beta male as his partner, no matter what he felt. His heart tightened at the thought, a quiet ache that he buried as deeply as he could. He had no right to want more than what he already had. All he could do was protect Seungcheol from afar, ensuring his safety without allowing himself to get too close.

As he watched, he saw Seungcheol’s movements grow sluggish, his eyes fluttering shut only to snap open again. It wasn’t long before his head began to droop, his pen slipping from his fingers and falling into his lap. His head dipped further, his body surrendering to exhaustion, until it was about to make contact with the hard surface of the desk.

Before he could stop himself, Jeonghan stepped forward, reaching out just in time to catch Seungcheol’s head, cradling it gently in his hands. He held him there, careful not to disturb him, his fingers brushing against Seungcheol’s hair as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Seungcheol mumbled something incoherent, his brow twitching faintly, but he didn’t wake. His breathing steadied, settling into the rhythm of deep sleep, and Jeonghan allowed himself a rare moment of tenderness as he looked down at him, feeling a mixture of warmth and protectiveness swell within him.

Jeonghan hesitated, reluctant to move, but he knew Seungcheol needed proper rest. He called softly for Hyungwon, who appeared at the door moments later, his gaze flickering between Jeonghan and Seungcheol with a quiet understanding.

“Take him back to his quarters,” Jeonghan instructed, his voice low and careful, as if not to disturb Seungcheol’s sleep.

Hyungwon nodded, moving forward and gently lifting Seungcheol into his arms. Jeonghan watched as Hyungwon carried him out of the room, his expression unreadable as the door swung shut behind them.

With a final look around the now-empty office, Jeonghan gathered the remaining documents, ensuring they were in order before extinguishing the light. He left the office, the quiet ache in his chest a constant reminder of what he could never have, even as he steeled himself to protect Seungcheol from afar.

The night was cool and quiet as Jeonghan waited in the shadowed corridor just outside Soobin’s quarters. He didn’t have long to wait. Soon enough, Minhee appeared, her steps light and confident as she made her way down the hallway. Without a word, Jeonghan stepped forward, grasping her arm and steering her away from the main corridor, dragging her into the secluded palace grounds where the starlight barely cut through the shadows.

Minhee didn’t even flinch. She barely seemed surprised as she wrenched her arm free, crossing her arms with a faint sneer. “What is it, Your Highness?” she demanded coolly, her tone more impatient than afraid. “Out for a midnight stroll, or is there something specific you want from me?”

Jeonghan kept his voice low and deadly. “Are you the one behind everything that’s been happening? The documents… the attacks. Was it all your doing?”

A laugh escaped Minhee, soft and mocking, as she tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Do you have any proof, Your Highness? Accusations without evidence… well, I thought you held yourself to higher standards than that.”

Jeonghan’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to keep his composure. He stepped closer, his tone dropping to a cold whisper. “Stay away from my family. And stay away from Seungcheol.”

At that, Minhee’s smirk faltered, her expression hardening for a split second. Then she raised an eyebrow, a curious gleam in her eye. “Do you even know who Seungcheol is?”

The question caught Jeonghan off guard, but he kept his face impassive. “He’s my assistant,” he replied evenly. “Someone I trust. Unlike you.”

Minhee let out a scoff, her smirk returning, though now it was colder, edged with something almost malicious. “Oh, your trust,” she sneered. “How utterly naive. Are you so sure Seungcheol is by your side out of loyalty alone? Perhaps he has his own reasons, his own hidden motives.”

Jeonghan’s patience was wearing thin, his voice turning icy. “Stop speaking in riddles, Minhee. If you have something to say, say it now.”

Minhee’s smirk widened, her eyes glinting with a cruel satisfaction as she leaned in closer. “Seungcheol isn’t who you think he is, Your Highness,” she whispered. “He wears a mask, hides behind that innocent face of his. But if you looked closer, you’d see what he really is. A liar. A deceiver. Someone who’s been hiding from you all along.”

Jeonghan felt his pulse quicken, a thousand questions rising in his mind, each one more troubling than the last. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

Minhee’s gaze held his, and she smiled—a smile filled with dark satisfaction, a predator savoring its prey’s confusion. “Think about it, Jeonghan-nim,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “Have you never wondered why he smells different? Why he never quite fits the mold of a normal beta? You, the Crown Prince, are so sharp in all things, yet so blind when it comes to him. How ironic.”

Before Jeonghan could respond, she straightened, casting him a mocking bow, her eyes gleaming with a wicked light. “Perhaps you’ll realize it soon enough,” she murmured, her tone almost sweet as she turned to walk away. “And when you do… well, I’ll be waiting.”

Jeonghan stood there, watching her disappear into the shadows, a storm of questions raging within him. He clenched his fists, his mind spinning with Minhee’s cryptic words, each one digging deeper into him. What secrets was Seungcheol hiding? What truths lay beneath that familiar, trusting face?

As the night deepened around him, Jeonghan knew that he would have to uncover the answers—and that, whatever they were, his world might never be the same again.

Chapter Text

The grand dining hall buzzed with the sounds of conversation and clinking silverware as the palace staff gathered for their evening meal. Jeonghan sat at the main table, alone for the moment. Joshua, as usual, had wandered off, choosing to sit with the staff rather than remain bound by formalities. His assistant, Jun, was likewise mingling, much like Seungcheol, who always seemed to prefer the company of others during these gatherings.

Jeonghan’s gaze drifted to the staff table, where Joshua had drawn a small crowd with his easy charm. Laughter rippled through the group, and Jeonghan found himself focusing on one particular figure—Seungcheol. He was smiling, his shoulders relaxed, a light giggle escaping him at something Joshua had said. The sound was soft, but it reached Jeonghan all the same, warming something in his chest before he could stop it.

Unconsciously, his eyes lingered. It was as if Seungcheol could sense it because he looked up, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze across the hall. For a moment, Jeonghan froze, caught off guard by the brightness of Seungcheol’s smile as he offered a polite bow before turning back to the conversation at his table.

Jeonghan let out a breath, his hand tightening around his chopsticks before they slipped from his grip and clattered against the table. He frowned, feeling a flicker of frustration—not at Seungcheol, but at himself. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Why was he like this? Why was he letting Minhee’s words get to him?

So what if Seungcheol isn’t a beta? Jeonghan had always suspected something unusual about his assistant. There had been subtle hints over the years, small inconsistencies that didn’t add up, like the faint, different scent that clung to him. It wasn’t the typical scent of a beta—no, it was something else entirely, something that tugged at a deeply buried memory.

The scent reminded him of his ex-mate. The thought sent a pang through his chest, a dull ache that he had never quite been able to shake. But it wasn’t possible. That scent belonged to an omega, and not just any omega—his mate. And male omegas were extraordinarily rare, a phenomenon that occurred only once every few generations. The cycle was predictable: a single male omega born every fifty years, and even then, their presence would not manifest again until twenty years after the death of the previous one.

And Jeonghan knew his mate was gone. He had held him as he took his last breath, his body limp and lifeless. He had buried him with his own hands, his tears soaking into the earth as he laid his mate to rest. Every year, he returned to that grave, the weight of loss a constant companion. There was no coming back from death—Jeonghan knew that better than anyone. And yet…

He glanced at Seungcheol again, watching as he gestured animatedly, his eyes lighting up as he spoke to the people around him. No, it wasn’t possible. Seungcheol looked nothing like his Seungcheollie, despite the shared name. The features, the voice, even the mannerisms—they were different. But there was something about him that stirred the echoes of memories Jeonghan thought he had buried long ago.

And yet, the idea gnawed at him. If Seungcheol really was an omega… Jeonghan frowned, leaning back in his chair as his thoughts raced. It wasn’t just the scent. Omegas, particularly male omegas, carried an inherent power that couldn’t be fully suppressed. It was a strength that came from their rare nature, a gift that could amplify the authority and influence of their leader. If Seungcheol truly were an omega, why had his presentation been hidden? And why would he have kept it from Jeonghan?

The questions twisted through Jeonghan’s mind, leaving him restless. He had spent weeks trying to unravel the mystery surrounding Seungcheol, and with every step, he only found himself more entangled. His feelings for Seungcheol—feelings he was desperately trying to bury—only made it worse. The more he watched Seungcheol, the more his admiration grew, blossoming into something deeper, something Jeonghan wasn’t ready to admit.

But even now, he couldn’t look away. Seungcheol’s smile lingered in his mind, a soft, fleeting moment that tugged at his heart. Jeonghan clenched his fists beneath the table, steeling himself against the surge of emotion. He needed to know. Whatever secrets Seungcheol was hiding, whatever truths lay beneath that bright, trusting exterior, Jeonghan was determined to uncover them. And when he did, he could only hope he’d find a way to protect the man who had somehow become the most precious part of his world.

The gentle sound of fingers snapping in front of his face jolted Jeonghan from his thoughts. He blinked, his gaze refocusing just in time to see Seungcheol leaning slightly over the desk, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol said with a soft chuckle, “did I lose you somewhere?”

Jeonghan let out a startled gasp, followed immediately by a frustrated internal groan as his heart fluttered at the sound of Seungcheol’s giggle. What in the world is wrong with me? He quickly schooled his features into something more neutral, though the heat rising to his cheeks betrayed him.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Jeonghan muttered, his tone sharper than he intended.

“Noted,” Seungcheol said, still smiling. “I was just asking if there’s anything else you need from me before I leave for the day?”

Jeonghan opened his mouth to respond, but his thoughts scrambled for a moment before he finally stammered, “No, I… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Seungcheol frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Tomorrow? Do you have a weekend schedule, Your Highness? I thought we cleared everything for Soobin-nim’s birthday getaway. You told me to free up your schedule.”

Jeonghan blinked again, caught off guard. He vaguely remembered Seungcheol mentioning something about the trip earlier, but his mind had been too preoccupied to process it. “You’re not coming with us?” he asked, almost without thinking.

Seungcheol gave him an incredulous look. “Are you serious, Your Highness? You specifically told me I wasn’t allowed to go. You said someone needed to stay behind at the palace for the weekend.”

Jeonghan bit his bottom lip, a flash of annoyance—at himself—running through him. Why had he given such an order? And why did hearing Seungcheol say it leave him feeling so conflicted? With a quiet sigh, he finally replied, “Fine. Just… go for the day. I’ll see you Monday. Or… whenever.”

“Monday it is,” Seungcheol said, nodding. “We’ve got that conference with the neighboring pack.”

Jeonghan scowled, his voice taking on a sharp edge. “Why are you talking so much today?”

Instead of flinching like he normally would, Seungcheol blinked, his brows drawing together briefly before he let out another soft giggle. “Are you feeling all right, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan bristled at the unexpected question, quickly masking his embarrassment. “I’m fine,” he said curtly. “Just… leave me alone.”

Seungcheol didn’t apologize as he usually did. Instead, he gave Jeonghan a polite bow, his usual bright smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Take care, Your Highness,” he said before turning and leaving the room.

The moment the door closed, Jeonghan let out a long breath, realizing only then that he had been holding it. He pressed his fingers to his temples, frustration swirling through him. What the hell was that?

He replayed the interaction in his mind, his thoughts spiraling. Seungcheol had been acting… different. Not drastically, but enough to catch Jeonghan off guard. The Seungcheol he knew was reserved, almost timid, never one to giggle so openly at his expense. And yet, the sound of that laughter had struck something deep within him, stirring memories he had tried to bury.

The only person who had ever dared to laugh at him like that, to tease him so gently, especially when he was flustered, was… his ex-mate.

Jeonghan groaned, dragging his hands down his face as the realization settled over him like a heavy weight. The more he thought about it, the more he saw the resemblance—not in appearance, but in spirit. The familiarity in Seungcheol’s demeanor, the way he moved, the way he smiled—it was too much to ignore. Could it really just be a coincidence?

His mind raced with questions, each one leading him closer to the one thing he had been trying to deny: What if it isn’t a coincidence at all?

On the other side of the door, Seungcheol leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled shakily. His heart was still racing, and he fought the urge to groan aloud. What was that?

He replayed the exchange in his mind, cringing at how out of character he’d been. Giggling? Teasing? Where had that come from? He had always been careful to maintain a professional demeanor around Jeonghan, but lately, something had been slipping. Every interaction felt charged, his reactions harder to control.

“Get a grip, Seungcheol,” he muttered to himself, his hand clenching into a fist at his side.

And yet, despite his frustration, there was a flicker of warmth in his chest—an unfamiliar, thrilling sensation that made him feel both exhilarated and terrified. What is wrong with me, seriously?

The staff lounge buzzed with relaxed chatter and occasional bursts of laughter as the palace staff enjoyed a rare evening of camaraderie. Jeonghan lurked just outside the lounge area, his posture tense, as if he were doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He couldn’t quite explain why he was there, hiding in the shadows like a thief, his gaze fixed on the warm glow of the room where Seungcheol and Jun sat together at a table, their laughter carrying through the open door. He told himself it was curiosity, a casual detour, but the truth was harder to ignore.

Why was he so drawn to Seungcheol?

For the first time, Jeonghan saw Seungcheol outside of his professional demeanor. His assistant was dressed casually, his posture relaxed, his hair slightly disheveled, and his face lit up with laughter as he leaned toward Jun, clearly enjoying whatever joke his friend had just made. For a moment, he felt a flicker of jealousy—not at Seungcheol’s happiness, but at how easily Jun brought it out of him.

Jeonghan frowned, shaking his head. Why would I be jealous? Jun is Seungcheol’s best friend. This is ridiculous.

Shaking his head, Jeonghan crept closer, pressing himself against the wall just outside the lounge, hoping to overhear their conversation. Seungcheol’s voice was animated, punctuated by soft giggles that Jeonghan couldn’t help but find endearing, even though he scolded himself for thinking so. He edged closer, careful to remain hidden, when suddenly Seungcheol stood up.

Jeonghan froze, quickly ducking back into the shadows as Seungcheol passed by, heading toward the bar to order more drinks. As Seungcheol walked past, the familiar, comforting scent that always seemed to surround him floated in the air, freezing Jeonghan in place for a moment. That scent again... Why does it feel so familiar?

Steeling himself, Jeonghan peeked around the corner again, looking for a better vantage point—only to come face-to-face with Joshua, who stood there with an arched brow and a skeptical expression.

“What are you doing here, Jeonghan?” Joshua asked, his voice low but filled with amusement.

Jeonghan almost jumped in surprise before grabbing his brother’s arm and dragging him back toward the wall. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed. “I’m not stalking, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Joshua smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, so you’re just casually sneaking around the staff quarters at night for no reason at all? Got it.”

Jeonghan let out a frustrated sigh. “I was checking if the lounge needs any upgrades,” he lied, trying to maintain his composure. “That’s part of your management, isn’t it?”

Joshua chuckled. “Exactly. So why are you here?” He glanced toward the lounge, where Seungcheol was returning to the table with two drinks. “You know, you could just join them instead of lurking like a weirdo.”

Before Jeonghan could argue, Joshua grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the lounge, steering him toward Seungcheol and Jun’s table. Jeonghan reluctantly followed, cursing under his breath as Joshua plopped down beside Seungcheol and gestured for Jeonghan to sit across from him.

When Seungcheol returned with drinks, his steps faltered slightly as he noticed Jeonghan now seated at the table. His expression flickered with confusion. “Your Highness?” he asked, tilting his head. “What brings you here?”

Jeonghan frowned, crossing his arms. “Am I not allowed in my own palace?”

Joshua rolled his eyes, leaning closer to Seungcheol. “He’s here to see someone,” he teased, earning a sharp kick to the shin from Jeonghan under the table.

“Ow!” Joshua yelped, rubbing his leg as Seungcheol quickly leaned over to check on him. “What was that for?”

Jeonghan scowled, muttering, “You talk too much.”

Joshua smirked at him through the pain, clearly enjoying Jeonghan’s discomfort, while Seungcheol gently patted his shin, his face etched with concern. “Are you all right, Your Highness?” he asked, his voice soft.

Joshua waved him off with a dramatic pout, smirking slyly at Jeonghan from behind Seungcheol’s back. “I’ll live,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, his gaze flickering around the lounge. As his eyes scanned the bar, he caught a glimpse of something—or rather, someone—slipping out through the back door. The figure was quick, but Jeonghan’s sharp gaze caught the distinct bun of hair that was unmistakably Minhee’s.

Jeonghan brushed aside his unease, deciding not to dwell on the figure he thought he’d seen slipping out of the lounge. Instead, he reached for his drink, lifting it casually to take a sip. But before the glass could touch his lips, a hand darted out, snatching it from his grasp.

The motion was so swift that Jeonghan barely had time to react before the glass was hurled to the floor with a sharp crash, shards scattering across the ground.

“Seungcheol?” Jeonghan’s voice rose in surprise, his eyes snapping to his assistant, who stood beside him, his expression unusually serious.

Joshua, startled by the sudden commotion, leaned forward. “What’s going on? What was that for?”

Seungcheol ignored the question, his movements brisk and efficient as he grabbed Joshua’s drink as well, holding it firmly as he turned toward the bar. “I apologize for the mess,” he said curtly, addressing the room with a small bow before walking away.

Jeonghan and Joshua watched in silence as Seungcheol spoke briefly with the bar staff, handing over the remaining glass and instructing them to clean up the broken shards. He bowed again to the staff, murmuring something inaudible, before returning to the table.

Joshua blinked, his smile fading. “What just happened?”

Jeonghan’s gaze followed Seungcheol as he walked away. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

When Seungcheol returned to the table, his expression was calm, almost too composed given what had just happened. As he sat down, Joshua leaned forward, his brows furrowed with concern. “What just happened, Seungcheol? Why did you throw the drinks out?”

Seungcheol shrugged lightly, his tone matter-of-fact. “The drinks were spiked. We should probably call it a night. I’ll report the incident and make sure it’s handled.”

Joshua’s eyes widened. “Spiked? How do you even know that?”

Before Seungcheol could answer, Jeonghan cut in, his voice sharp. “And why are you so calm about it? Most people would be panicking.”

Seungcheol glanced at him, his gaze steady. “Because I know Myungho-nim,” he replied simply. “He’s the sommelier here, and I’m confident he wouldn’t do something like this. If I reacted publicly, everyone would start pointing fingers at him, and that would only make things worse. There’s clearly something else happening behind the scenes.”

Jeonghan’s frown deepened, suspicion lacing his voice. “And how are you so sure Myungho wasn’t involved?”

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment before offering a faint smile. “I saw someone else behind the counter earlier. Someone I didn’t recognize. At first, I thought I might have been mistaken, but when I smelled the drinks, it became clear. The scent was off—different. That’s how I knew.”

Jeonghan’s chair scraped loudly as he abruptly stood, anger flashing in his eyes. “It’s Minhee, isn’t it? She should be arrested and charged with treason!”

Seungcheol raised a hand, his voice calm but firm. “It’s not treason, Your Highness. You weren’t the target. I was.”

Joshua’s gaze snapped to Seungcheol, his concern deepening. “How can you be so sure of that?”

Seungcheol shrugged, his tone light but unshakable. “Just a gut feeling,” he said, brushing it off. “For now, we should leave. I’ll figure out the rest and make sure it’s resolved.”

Jeonghan stared at him, the words catching in his throat. Finally, he managed, “Why would she target you?”

Seungcheol met his gaze briefly, the faintest flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “But it’s better to be careful and not jump to conclusions without proof. Making accusations now will only create chaos.”

“Being careful isn’t enough,” Jeonghan snapped, his frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t the first time she’s endangered you. She should be reported and detained before she tries something worse.”

Seungcheol sighed, a faint, weary smile tugging at his lips. “My life doesn’t hold as much value as hers in the grand scheme of things, Your Highness. Minhee-nim’s family connections and reputation would complicate everything. Accusing her without proof would cause chaos. It’s better this way—for now.”

Jeonghan slammed his palm against the table, his voice rising. “I don’t care about her connections or reputation! People’s lives—your life—matter more than any of that. She’s already tried to harm you twice. That’s more than enough reason to take action!”

Seungcheol tilted his head, his gaze steady as he asked, “Do you have proof?”

The question stopped Jeonghan short, his anger faltering as his shoulders sagged. He clenched his fists, glancing away. “No,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Then it’s not enough,” Seungcheol said gently. “Without proof, it’s just speculation. And speculation won’t be enough to hold her accountable. Until we find something concrete, we need to be patience.”

As the tense conversation wound down, they decided it was best to leave for the night. Seungcheol called for guards to escort Jeonghan and Joshua back to their quarters, but Jeonghan frowned, crossing his arms in clear defiance.

“No,” Jeonghan said firmly, gesturing toward Seungcheol. “If you’re the target, then the guards should be watching over your quarters, not ours. You’re the one who needs protection.”

Seungcheol offered a patient smile, shaking his head. “Your Highness, I’ll be fine. The staff quarters are secure, and there’s no need to cause unnecessary complications. I can handle myself.”

“That’s not good enough,” Jeonghan replied sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We can’t take any risks. You might think you’ll be fine, but I’m not taking chances. You’ll have a guard.”

Joshua, standing slightly behind Jeonghan, let out a quiet chuckle. “You know you’re not going to win this argument, Seungcheol. Just let him have his way.”

Seungcheol sighed, glancing between the two princes. “Fine,” he relented, raising his hands in mock surrender. “If it will help you sleep better, I won’t fight you on it.”

Satisfied, Jeonghan gestured for the guards to follow as he and Joshua insisted on walking Seungcheol back to his quarters themselves. The walk was quiet but tense, the weight of the evening’s events still heavy in the air.

When they reached the door to Seungcheol’s room, he turned to Jeonghan, his expression softening. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said quietly. “I’ll be fine from here.”

Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before he nodded reluctantly. “Just… be careful,” he murmured, his tone unusually gentle.

Seungcheol smiled, a faint, reassuring curve of his lips, before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Jeonghan turned to the guard standing nearby. “You will stay here,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “Do not leave his side. If anything happens, you are to report to me immediately.”

The guard straightened, bowing deeply. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Satisfied, Jeonghan finally allowed himself to be led away by Joshua, the two brothers making their way back to their own quarters. But even as they walked, Jeonghan’s mind lingered on Seungcheol, the uneasy feeling in his chest refusing to settle.

The days following the incident had passed in a tense calm. At Jeonghan’s insistence, Seungcheol now had a personal guard stationed outside his quarters at all times and another assigned to escort him wherever he went. Though Seungcheol had tried to convince Jeonghan that it wasn’t necessary, Jeonghan had been unwavering.

Despite the additional protection, Seungcheol was far from at ease. He had known from the start who was behind everything that was happening to him—Minhee. As a male omega, a rarity in their world, Seungcheol possessed the ability to perceive auras, subtle energies that others couldn’t detect. Minhee’s aura radiated hostility and malice, sharp and unmistakable, especially when directed toward him.

The question that plagued him was why. As Jeonghan’s assistant, Seungcheol held a position of influence, but he didn’t think it was enough to provoke such murderous intent. He had tried to piece together her motivations but had come up empty-handed. For now, all he could do was remain cautious, leave the investigation to the royal police, and avoid any direct confrontations with Minhee.

That morning, Seungcheol woke with a sharp, twisting pain in his abdomen. Groaning, he opened his eyes, only for the room to spin slightly. A wave of nausea followed, forcing him to breathe deeply to keep it at bay. Something was wrong.

Sitting up slowly, Seungcheol reached for the calendar on his bedside table, flipping through the pages with trembling hands. He checked and rechecked, confirming that he was still a month away from his scheduled heat. Jeonghan had already approved his two-week leave for it. So why was he experiencing pre-heat symptoms now?

He pressed a hand to his abdomen, grimacing as another cramp seized him. This can’t be right, he thought, shaking his head. It wasn’t unusual for omegas to have slight fluctuations in their cycles, but this early? It felt like his body was betraying him.

Seungcheol decided to push through it. The week ahead was going to be one of the busiest of the year—Jeonghan’s birthday was only two days away, and as his assistant, Seungcheol had an endless list of tasks to manage. He layered on a thicker scent blocker, took a double dose of suppressants, and downed two painkillers to dull the ache.

By midday, however, the discomfort had only worsened. The cramps were less intense but constant, and the nausea came in waves that left him dry-heaving in the privacy of his office. Somehow, he managed to power through his duties, though his movements became slower, his posture more strained.

By the end of the day, Seungcheol was barely holding himself together. His guard for the evening, Junhyuk, had to steady him as he stumbled back to his quarters, his legs weak and uncooperative.

“Are you all right, Seungcheol-nim?” Junhyuk asked, concern evident in his voice. “Should I call for a healer?”

“I’ll be fine,” Seungcheol replied, forcing a weak smile. He could tell by the look on Junhyuk’s face that his words weren’t convincing. “Really. Just… don’t report this to Jeonghan-nim, okay?”

Junhyuk gave a hesitant nod, though Seungcheol suspected it was more out of politeness than agreement.

The next morning, as Seungcheol stepped out of his quarters, feeling somewhat better after Mingyu’s nausea potion, he froze. Leaning casually against the wall was Jeonghan, his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Your Highness,” Seungcheol greeted, straightening. “What brings you here so early?”

Jeonghan didn’t reply immediately. His eyes swept over Seungcheol, taking in the faint pallor of his skin and the slight stiffness in his movements. “You don’t look fine,” he said bluntly, his tone laced with concern.

Seungcheol offered a reassuring smile. “I feel much better than yesterday. Really.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Junhyuk told me you could barely make it to your quarters last night.”

Seungcheol sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue. “It was just some stomach cramps,” he admitted. “I’ve already taken care of it. I’ll be fine.”

Though Jeonghan didn’t press further, the frown on his face lingered throughout the day. His sharp gaze followed Seungcheol closely, scrutinizing his every move. Each time Seungcheol winced or shifted uncomfortably, Jeonghan’s brows would furrow, and he would insist that Seungcheol take a break.

But Seungcheol couldn’t afford to rest. Not with Jeonghan’s birthday so close. There were schedules to finalize, meetings to arrange, and countless details to oversee. No matter how much his body protested, he pushed himself forward, determined to ensure everything was perfect for Jeonghan.

Jeonghan’s concern, however, was impossible to ignore. By midday, Seungcheol found himself wincing under the Crown Prince’s watchful gaze more than once. Jeonghan’s voice would cut through the room with crisp instructions:

“Take a break, Seungcheol.”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Sit down before you collapse.”

Though Seungcheol nodded politely each time, his resolve remained firm. It’s Jeonghan's birthday, he reminded himself. I’ll rest once it’s over.

Jeonghan’s birthday had gone off without a hitch, thanks to Seungcheol’s careful planning and tireless work. Every detail was flawless, and the celebration unfolded seamlessly from morning to night. Throughout the day, Jun stayed close to Seungcheol, quietly supporting him after learning about his pre-heat symptoms. His presence was comforting, their scents blending subtly as Jun helped cover for Seungcheol, ensuring no one noticed his struggles.

By the time the festivities ended, Seungcheol was beyond exhausted, but relief mingled with his fatigue. As the staff cleared the last of the decorations and guests returned to their quarters, Seungcheol found himself alone in Jeonghan’s chambers, helping to carry and organize the Crown Prince’s belongings from the day’s events.

He had just finished and was heading for the door when Jeonghan’s voice stopped him.

“Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol turned, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “Yes, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan’s tone was casual, almost too casual. “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”

Seungcheol blinked, shaking his head quickly. “That’s not necessary, Your Highness. I’ll be fine. You should rest—it’s been a long day, after all. Your birthday…”

Jeonghan glanced at the clock, which struck midnight with a soft chime. He shrugged lightly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s not my birthday anymore.”

Seungcheol hesitated, opening his mouth to argue, but Jeonghan’s steady gaze left him with little choice. With a soft sigh, he nodded. “All right. If it will ease your mind, Your Highness.”

The walk back to Seungcheol’s quarters was quiet, the halls dimly lit, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished stone floors. Jeonghan’s pace was unhurried, as though he wanted to draw out the silence, but Seungcheol couldn’t quite bring himself to ask why.

When they finally arrived at the door to Seungcheol’s quarters, he turned to Jeonghan with a small, polite smile. “Thank you for walking me back, Your Highness. And… happy birthday again.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, his lips quirking in amusement. “It’s not my birthday anymore,” he repeated.

Seungcheol chuckled lightly, his exhaustion softening into something warm, almost fond. But the moment was fleeting.

Jeonghan stepped closer suddenly, his movements slow but deliberate. Seungcheol instinctively stepped back, his shoulders pressing against the wall beside his door. His heart pounded as Jeonghan closed the gap between them, his eyes hazy, unfocused, almost as if he were lost in thought—or something deeper.

“Y-Your Highness?” Seungcheol stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

Jeonghan said nothing, leaning closer, one hand bracing against the wall beside Seungcheol’s head, the other resting lightly at his side. His scent filled the space between them, heady and warm, wrapping around Seungcheol in an overwhelming wave.

Seungcheol’s breath hitched, his pulse quickening as Jeonghan’s lips brushed against his in the faintest, most fleeting touch. The sensation sent a shiver through him, but it was the sheer weight of Jeonghan’s scent that sent a sharp, stabbing pain through his temples.

The gasp that escaped Seungcheol was loud, sharp, and unintentional. It was enough to snap Jeonghan out of whatever haze had taken over him. He pulled back abruptly, his eyes wide, his face a mixture of shock and guilt.

“I…” Jeonghan’s voice was hoarse, almost shaky. “I’m sorry. I—”

He didn’t finish. Without another word, he turned and walked away quickly, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hall as he disappeared down the corridor.

Seungcheol stood frozen for a moment, his breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. The remnants of Jeonghan’s scent still lingered, heavy and cloying, leaving Seungcheol’s head spinning. With trembling hands, he fumbled for the door, slipping inside his quarters and shutting it close.

Leaning his forehead against the closed door, Seungcheol pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady his racing heart as the pain in his head began to ebb. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, whispering to himself.

“What… just happened?”

As Seungcheol turned around, he became aware of a presence in the room. His eyes darted to the bed—and froze.

Minhee sat there, comfortably perched, her legs crossed and a playful smirk curling her lips.

“Minhee-nim,” Seungcheol said sharply, his body tensing. “How did you get in here?”

She tilted her head, her expression amused. “I have my ways,” she replied airily, brushing an invisible speck of dust off her sleeve as if her presence in his room was perfectly normal.

“Get out,” Seungcheol demanded, his voice low and firm. “Before I call the guards.”

Minhee let out a soft chuckle, rising to her feet and walking around the room with deliberate ease, her fingers trailing along the edges of his desk and shelves. She paused by the locked cabinet near the bookshelf, her gaze lingering on it.

“I wonder,” she mused aloud, her tone mocking, “what Jeonghan-nim would think if he knew you were an omega.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice calm. “What do you want, Kim Minhee? If it’s my position, you don’t need to go to such extremes.”

Minhee turned to face him, her smirk growing wider. “Your position?” she echoed, her voice dripping with disdain. “No, you silly goose. I don’t care about your job. What I want is for you to die—for real this time.”

The words were like ice, sending a chill through the room. Seungcheol’s frown deepened, but before he could respond, Minhee moved toward him, her steps slow and deliberate.

Before he could react, her hand shot out, claws digging into his throat. The pressure was immediate and overwhelming, stealing the air from his lungs as he struggled to pry her hand away.

“Minhee!” he gasped, his voice barely a whisper as he fought against her grip.

Her eyes gleamed with a sinister light, and Seungcheol’s stomach dropped as he realized the truth. Dark power. She’s using dark power!

Panic clawed at him as his strength ebbed away, drained not only by her attack but by the pre-heat weakness that had plagued him all day. His vision blurred, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps as he clawed at her hand to no avail.

Desperation surged through him, and he closed his eyes tightly, his thoughts spiraling. Help. Someone, help!

As if his silent plea had been heard, a loud knock suddenly echoed through the room, followed by a voice calling his name.

“Seungcheol-nim! Are you in there?”

The sound startled Minhee, her grip loosening as she turned toward the door, her eyes wide with surprise.

The knock turned into a bang, the voice more urgent. “Seungcheol-nim!”

Minhee cursed under her breath and released him, letting him collapse to the floor in a heap. She backed away, her movements frantic, before darting to the open window. With one last glare in his direction, she slipped out into the night just as the door burst open.

Seungcheol gasped for air, his hands clutching his throat as the guard stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the space for threats.

“Seungcheol-nim!” the guard exclaimed, rushing to his side. “What happened? Are you all right?”

Still catching his breath, Seungcheol nodded weakly, his voice hoarse. “I… I’m fine,” he managed, though his trembling hands and the rawness in his throat said otherwise.

His gaze flickered toward the open window, his heart pounding as the weight of what had just happened settled over him. This isn’t over, he thought grimly. Not by a long shot.

Chapter Text

Jeonghan’s footsteps echoed sharply in the empty corridors as he made his way to the healer’s chambers in a hurry. The messenger’s words rang in his ears—Seungcheol had been attacked. 

Every step he took felt like an eternity, the weight of his anger and worry pressing down on him. His mind raced. He had left Seungcheol not even an hour ago. He’d personally escorted him to his quarters, before… departing. How had this happened?

The doors to the healing chamber swung open under the force of Jeonghan’s arrival. Inside, Seungcheol lay unconscious on the bed, his pale face framed by the soft glow of candlelight. His chest rose and fell steadily, his expression peaceful, yet the faint bruising around his neck sent a fresh wave of fury surging through Jeonghan’s veins.

Junhyuk, the young guard Jeonghan had personally assigned to Seungcheol, stood vigilantly by the bedside. The young man immediately dropped to one knee when he saw Jeonghan, his head bowed low.

“Your Highness,” Junhyuk began, his voice tight with shame, “I have failed you. Please forgive me.”

Jeonghan’s sharp gaze darted to the guard, his tone clipped and icy. “Explain. How could this happen?”

Junhyuk straightened slightly, though he kept his head bowed in submission. “Your Highness, I inspected the room thoroughly before Seungcheol-nim entered. It was secure, and there were no signs of anything unusual. However, moments after he went inside, I heard sounds of a struggle. When I forced the door open, I found him alone, struggling to breathe and shaking violently. I immediately brought him here.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened as his eyes flicked back to Seungcheol. His hands curled into fists, but his voice remained cold and steady. “And you saw no one? Nothing?”

“No, Your Highness. Whoever did this left no trace.”

Jeonghan's gaze hardened as he turned to the healer, who was carefully examining Seungcheol. The healer, an older woman with a stern face that belied her gentle hands, looked up from her inspection of the bruise marking Seungcheol's neck. “What is his condition?”

“The immediate danger has passed, Your Highness. Seungcheol-nim is sleeping peacefully now, I have given him a dose of painkillers and a calming potion. However...” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the bruising around Seungcheol’s neck.

“However?” Jeonghan prompted, his voice low and dangerous.

"It seems that Seungcheol-nim has been attacked with dark power, Your Highness," she confirmed gravely. "This bruising suggests an attempt to strangle him, amplified with a malign force. Thankfully, it appears he was let go before more severe harm could be done."

Jeonghan’s body went rigid, his head snapping back toward Junhyuk. “What else do you know?” he demanded, his voice sharp as steel.

Junhyuk flinched slightly but held his ground. “Commander Soonyoung is investigating the room as we speak, Your Highness. He may have found something.”

Before Jeonghan could press further, the chamber doors creaked open, and Soonyoung strode in, his expression solemn. He stopped a respectful distance from Jeonghan and bowed.

“What did you find?” Jeonghan asked without preamble, his tone laced with impatience.

Soonyoung straightened, shaking his head. “Nothing conclusive, Your Highness. There were no signs of forced entry, nor any witnesses who saw suspicious activity near Seungcheol-nim’s quarters. Only Seungcheol-nim himself might be able to tell us what happened—but he’s sound asleep for now.”

Jeonghan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his frustration mounting. “It must be Minhee,” he said coldly. “She’s been targeting Seungcheol for weeks. No one else has both the motive and the power to pull off something like this. Her family’s connection to dark magic is well-documented.”

Soonyoung frowned, his expression cautious. “Do you have proof, Your Highness?”

Jeonghan shook his head, his frustration evident. "Nothing concrete—just a series of unsettling incidents and my own intuition," he admitted, the lack of solid evidence gnawing at him.

Soonyoung considered this, his face set in a thoughtful frown. "Given Minhee-nim’s family's significant political influence, detaining her without solid proof would indeed be challenging," he acknowledged. "However, I will delve deeper into this matter, scrutinize every detail, and keep you updated with any findings."

Jeonghan gave a curt nod, and with that, Soonyoung turned and left the chamber, his expression determined.

Silence descended once more as Jeonghan slowly approached Seungcheol’s bedside. He sank into the chair beside the bed, his gaze fixed on Seungcheol’s serene face. The anger that had burned so fiercely in him moments ago was now tempered by a deep, aching worry.

His hand hovered over Seungcheol’s neck, trembling slightly as his eyes traced the dark bruise marring his otherwise flawless skin. His fingers itched to touch, to offer comfort, but he pulled away, his fists clenching tightly in his lap. The bruise on Seungcheol’s neck seemed to mock him, a visible reminder of his failure to protect the one person who mattered most.

The stillness of the room weighed heavily around him as he pondered the possible reasons behind Minhee's actions.

Why would she target Seungcheol?

Did Seungcheol himself have any idea why he might be a target?

These questions churned in Jeonghan’s mind, unresolved and increasingly urgent.

Seungcheol was the key to unraveling this mystery, the only person who might hold the answers to the questions that burned in Jeonghan's mind. The wait for Seungcheol to awaken and shed light on these dark circumstances seemed endless. Jeonghan's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as a silent, seething anger took hold. He cursed under his breath at the audacity of anyone who dared harm what was his.

In his heart, a fierce protectiveness surged—Seungcheol, whom he had come to regard with such deep, albeit silent, care, was now someone he considered under his protection. The thought of someone targeting Seungcheol, someone Jeonghan now viewed as belonging to him in some indefinable way, ignited a fury like no other.

“Whoever did this...” he growled, his voice low and venomous “...will pay. They will regret it.” His resolve was ironclad; he would crush anyone who had dared to harm his assistant. They would face the full force of his wrath, and in his determination, Jeonghan found a cold comfort. No one would harm Seungcheol again—not while Jeonghan stood watch.

The room fell silent once more, the faint crackle of the fire in the corner the only sound as Jeonghan swore, deep within himself, to hunt down whoever had done this and make them pay a price they would never forget.

Seungcheol woke up with a start, the sudden shift pulling him from the edges of sleep. His body felt weightless, like he was floating on air, and he instinctively let out a small puff of air. He was about to drift back into unconsciousness, the comforting haze of sleep wrapping around him again, when a deep ache in his bones snapped him fully awake. His body was sore, the familiar dull pain that always preceded his heat making it difficult to ignore.

The sensitivity, the tingling pressure building under his skin, made it hard to focus. His body had been weakened by the strain of the dark power he had fought off, and now it was taking everything he had just to stay awake.

He exhaled, sinking deeper into the softness of the mattress. It felt comforting, almost familiar. For a moment, Seungcheol allowed himself to believe he was back at his family’s estate, tucked into the bed he’d slept in for years, surrounded by the gentle warmth of his beloved family.

But then that thought jolted him fully awake.

His eyes snapped open, scanning the blurry surroundings. This wasn’t his room. It wasn’t even the healing chamber where Junhyuk had rushed him after the attack. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of memory. The last thing he could clearly recall was the healer giving him a calming potion and painkillers, then drifting into sleep.

But now... Where am I?

As Seungcheol’s vision gradually sharpened, he blinked a few times, his mind still hazy with sleep. The room around him came into focus, and the first thing he noticed was the presence of someone at his side. It was a face he knew well—calm, collected, and always impeccably composed. Hyungwon.

Hyungwon’s lips curled into his usual polite smile, his gaze steady but warm. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he greeted, his voice as soft and formal as ever, laced with the kind of politeness that always seemed to define him.

Seungcheol furrowed his brow at the title, feeling the weight of the words in his disoriented state. 

Your Grace? 

He blinked a few more times, his confusion growing. That wasn’t right.

Hyungwon’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, noticing the confusion in Seungcheol’s eyes. “Ah,” he said quickly, a small chuckle escaping him. “I apologise.” He straightened, his usual composed demeanor not wavering as he repeated, “Good morning, Seungcheol-nim.”

Seungcheol gave him a slow, unsteady nod, still processing what was happening. His body felt heavy, and his mind struggled to keep up with the rush of disjointed thoughts. The quilt wrapped around him was thick, soft, almost oppressively comfortable. The weight of it was unfamiliar—a luxuriousness that left him feeling out of place. He shifted under the fabric, its warmth almost suffocating as he tugged at the edges. It was too extravagant, and it made him feel small, undeserving of the luxury surrounding him.

His fingers curled into the fabric of the quilt, his mind still processing as he took in more of the chamber. His gaze flitted to the furniture, the gold accents that decorated the room. The curtains were heavy, the walls too grand, and the furniture—polished wood and silken fabric— everything screamed royalty. This was no ordinary guest room.

Despite everything, this room was somehow familiar to him—too familiar. The layout, the design, the soft glow of the lamp in the corner—it all felt like something he’d seen before, something that had been imprinted in his memory. He racked his brain, trying to pinpoint where he had seen such a space. His heart sank as it hit him.

This must be the Crown Prince’s chamber!

Seungcheol’s heart raced as a sharp sense of panic seized him. His body reacted instinctively, every muscle tensing as he pushed himself up, his legs swinging over the side of the bed. He couldn’t stay here—he couldn’t be here.

His breath hitched in his chest as he tried to stand, but his body, already weakened from the attack and the impending heat, protested. The heavy quilt, still tangled around him, felt suffocating, like it was trying to keep him in place. He pulled at it frantically, but it only seemed to weigh him down more.

Not now. He couldn’t be in Jeonghan’s chamber, not when his body was in such a vulnerable state. The signs were already there—his heightened sensitivity, the way his skin burned from the inside out, the ache in his lower abdomen that told him his heat was coming soon.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. The Crown Prince had been suspicious of his scent for weeks. The subtle changes he couldn’t hide. The lingering scent of an omega that Seungcheol had tried so hard to mask. But Jeonghan... he was smart. And sharp. And the last thing Seungcheol needed right now was for Jeonghan to realize the truth while he was at his most vulnerable.

If Jeonghan-nim finds out... The thought made him freeze. The consequences of his secret being exposed, of Jeonghan discovering the truth about him while in the grip of his heat, were too much to bear. The Crown Prince’s suspicions would only deepen, and Seungcheol couldn’t afford that. Not when everything was already so complicated.

Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat as his instincts screamed at him to leave, to flee this place before things got worse. But his body—weak, aching, and filled with the overwhelming, unfamiliar sensations of an oncoming heat—wouldn’t let him move. He could barely even stand.

But Hyungwon was quick to react. With the same calm composure he always had, he gently placed a hand on Seungcheol’s arm, urging him back onto the bed. “Please, Seungcheol-nim, calm down,” he said softly. His voice, steady and firm, helped ground Seungcheol’s panicked thoughts. “You are safe here. There is no need to worry.”

The reassurance didn’t quite settle the storm in Seungcheol’s chest. Safe? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He had specifically told Junhyuk to keep the incident quiet—to not inform Jeonghan about what had happened. 

But that obviously didn’t work, he thought bitterly.

Before he could argue further, Hyungwon turned toward the door, already shifting the conversation with the ease of someone who had seen Seungcheol in moments of distress before. “Would you like some breakfast, Seungcheol-nim?” Hyungwon asked, his voice just the right mix of professional and caring.

Before Seungcheol could respond, Hyungwon opened the door, and in walked Seokmin, the royal chef assistant, pushing a cart filled to the brim with food. The cart was so full it seemed to overflow with different types of dishes—everything from steaming bowls of rice to plates piled high with delicacies. Seungcheol’s stomach growled softly at the sight, though his mind was still preoccupied.

“Good morning, hyung-nim,” Seokmin greeted with a wide, friendly smile, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Seungcheol’s eyes widened at the sight of so much food. “Why... so much?” he asked, bewildered by the spread.

Seokmin chuckled lightly, unfazed by the question.

Seokmin chuckled softly. “I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so I made a little bit of everything. Please choose whatever you like.”

Seungcheol stared at the spread, overwhelmed by the offerings. He hadn’t expected such a lavish meal, and the sheer indulgence made him uncomfortable. He sighed, glancing between the dishes. “I’ll just have some porridge,” he said, his voice quiet.

Seokmin, still smiling, quickly set down a bowl of porridge in front of Seungcheol. Then he added a table’s worth of side dishes—small plates of pickled vegetables, fish, steamed buns, and even a dessert. “All done. Enjoy your meal, hyung-nim.” Seokmin said cheerfully, giving a polite bow before turning to leave the room.

Seungcheol could only blink in surprise as the royal chef assistant left.

Hyungwon, without hesitation, reached for the spoon and tasted each dish. He sampled everything with his usual calm, as though it were routine, before placing the spoon down and gesturing to the meal. “Eat, Seungcheol-nim. You’ll need your strength.”

Seungcheol sighed deeply, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He reluctantly picked up the spoon, feeling Hyungwon’s gaze on him. He stared at the meal in front of him, every bite feeling like an obligation rather than a comfort. The lavishness of it all, paired with his already turbulent thoughts, left him with a sense of unease that he couldn’t shake.

After a few spoonful, Seungcheol let out a sigh, staring at the food in front of him. The once-steaming bowl of porridge had grown cold now. The side dishes, too, lay forgotten, their colors vibrant and tempting, yet nothing could draw him in.

His stomach was bloated, an uncomfortable pressure that seemed to press against his ribs with every breath he took. His body felt heavy, weighed down by more than just the food—it was the physical ache of his nearing heat, the wave of discomfort that came with it, the vulnerability that he could feel inching closer with every passing moment.

How he wished everything were simpler. If he could just be at home, with his family, safely in their embrace, he could endure the heat in peace, without anyone questioning him. No more hiding, no more pretending to be something he wasn’t. The thought almost brought him to tears. But he quickly blinked it away.

Hyungwon, ever the composed presence at his side, urged him gently to eat more. “Seungcheol-nim, you should eat a little more. It’ll help you regain your strength.”

But Seungcheol only shook his head weakly, the effort of even lifting the spoon too much for him. The bloating in his stomach made him feel worse with every bite, the food now more of a burden than a comfort. To Seungcheol’s relief, Hyungwon didn’t push further. Instead, he silently gathered the plates and carted them away, leaving Seungcheol alone with his thoughts.

The silence in the room seemed to stretch endlessly. Seungcheol stared at the walls, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the thought of escaping, of slipping out of Jeonghan’s chamber, sneaking away from the palace, and maybe running straight to his family’s house. If I could just get away...

But the idea of running away seemed foolish. Even if he did manage to leave, his body wouldn’t let him go far, not in his current condition.

The thought of leaving, of running, was a fleeting comfort, but his body betrayed him. He could barely move without the constant pull of his heat threatening to overwhelm him, making the idea seemed foolish.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the soft, grounding touch on his arm until it was already there. His head snapped up, his eyes meeting Hyungwon’s concerned expression.

“Seungcheol-nim, are you feeling alright?” Hyungwon’s voice was soft but laced with genuine worry. The calmness in his expression didn’t falter, but the slight furrow of his brow betrayed his concern.

Seungcheol felt a flush rise to his cheeks, his nerves jumping. He didn’t want to worry Hyungwon, didn’t want to seem weak, but the truth was hard to deny. He offered him a sheepish nod.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, forcing a weak smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hyungwon didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he gave a small nod, his calm demeanor never faltering. “Jeonghan-nim is on his way to see you,” he said, his voice still gentle, but there was an edge of caution in his words.

At the mention of Jeonghan, panic surged through Seungcheol’s chest. He couldn’t hide the sudden spike in his pulse as he gripped the comforter tightly, pulling it closer to his body, as if the thick fabric could shield him from what was coming.

The thought of facing the Crown Prince in his current condition was enough to make Seungcheol’s head spin. And right now, his own scent—faint but unmistakable—was beginning to leak out, no matter how much he tried to control it. His heat was coming quickly, and he could feel it. The telltale signs were there—his body’s betrayals in the form of warmth, the sensitive ache of his skin—and he knew, without a doubt, that Jeonghan would sense it.

If Jeonghan-nim catches a whiff of my scent...

The mere thought of it made Seungcheol’s stomach churn with anxiety. He could feel his control slipping, his body betraying him at the worst possible time.

As if sensing his turmoil, Hyungwon moved swiftly to the nearby wardrobe, returning moments later with a large shirt in hand. The material looked thick enough to cover Seungcheol’s scent, and as Hyungwon gently helped him put it on, Seungcheol exhaled in relief. The shirt felt warm, soft, and surprisingly comforting.

Once the shirt was settled around him, Seungcheol breathed a quiet sigh, the overwhelming tension in his chest easing slightly. The fabric, heavy and secure, masked his scent, and for the first time in hours, he felt like he might be able to breathe again.

Hyungwon adjusted the collar and made sure the shirt was comfortably draped over Seungcheol’s frame. “Are you comfortable?” Hyungwon asked quietly, his gaze steady and supportive.

Seungcheol nodded, though the anxiety in his chest hadn’t quite disappeared. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

“Good,” Hyungwon replied. “I’ll go let Jeonghan-nim know you’re ready. Just... rest a little longer. You’re in safe hands.”

Seungcheol didn’t trust himself to say anything else. He just nodded as Hyungwon left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The sound of the door closing felt like the start of something inevitable.

As the quiet of the room settled around him, Seungcheol tried to collect his thoughts. His mind spun with a dozen different thoughts—especially about the slight difference in his scent, which he hoped Jeonghan won’t catch on.

The sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway brought him back to the present. His heart started racing again. He tried to steady his breathing, willing himself to appear calm and collected. But inside, he was anything but calm.

Jeonghan walked inside the room and Seungcheol quickly lowered his head, offering a quick, stiff bow to Jeonghan, his movements awkward and hesitant. He avoided Jeonghan's gaze, knowing full well that the Crown Prince's sharp eyes would see through the slightest crack in his composure. His heart hammered relentlessly in his chest, flipping and turning like it wanted to escape his ribcage. The anxiety curled deep in his stomach, making him feel nauseous. He had to fight the urge to look away from Jeonghan, but it was almost impossible.

But instead of the barrage of questions Seungcheol expected, something entirely unexpected happened. He felt a soft, warm pressure on the quilt that lay over his thighs—a gentle caress. Jeonghan’s hand brushed against the fabric with surprising tenderness, the motion subtle but grounding. Seungcheol froze, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. It wasn’t the touch he had anticipated, not the harsh interrogation or the anger he had feared. It was... comforting.

“Are you feeling alright, Seungcheol?” Jeonghan’s voice was softer than he expected, a quiet concern lacing the words, and it sent a shiver down Seungcheol’s spine. It was almost as if Jeonghan was trying to pull him from his spiraling thoughts, as if he wanted to ease the tension suffocating him.

Seungcheol nodded quickly, the movement jerky, almost too quick to be believable. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice betraying his nerves, so he simply said, “I’m... I’m fine. Really.” The words felt thin, forced. He wasn’t fine. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit that. Not now, not when he was in Jeonghan’s presence, the one person who had always seemed to pierce through all his layers of defense.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Seungcheol’s mind raced, searching for something to say to break the tension. Anything to make this moment feel less suffocating. He shifted slightly on the bed, the weight of his own discomfort gnawing at him.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice softer than he intended. “Did you sleep well last night?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

“I... I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable.” The words slipped out in a rush, awkward and stilted. His heart skipped a beat as he immediately regretted whatever he just said. It wasn’t the question he had wanted to ask, but it was the only thing his overwhelmed mind could focus on in the moment.

Jeonghan seemed to pause, considering the question, before answering, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of honesty. “I wasn’t able to sleep that well, honestly…” he admitted, and Seungcheol’s stomach twisted, a fresh pang of guilt filling him.

Seungcheol immediately stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry... I will leave the room immediately—”

But Jeonghan cut him off, a light chuckle escaping him, and the sound of it was enough to make Seungcheol’s heart skip a beat. The laughter wasn’t mocking or dismissive; it was warm and... soft.

“It’s not because of you taking my bed, Seungcheol-ah. This isn’t even my room.” Jeonghan let out another amused chuckle.

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard. He frowned in confusion as he scanned the room in question. Hyungwon, who had been standing nearby, seemed to sense the shift in the conversation and stepped forward, his expression impassive as always. “Seungcheol-nim,” he began, his voice calm, “this is the Crown Prince’s consort chamber. It’s part of the Crown Prince’s private quarters.”

Seungcheol’s heart sank. The consort’s chamber? 

He couldn’t hide the flush that crept up his neck. His mind spun with the realization—This was a place I shouldn’t have been in.

Seungcheol quickly dipped his head, his voice laced with embarrassment as he muttered, “I’m sorry for intruding... I didn’t mean to—”

But Jeonghan, ever resolute, cut him off. His voice, firm and unyielding, filled the room, and Seungcheol had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Stop apologizing, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan said sharply. “I’m the one who decided to bring you here. This is the safest place I could think of after what happened to you last night.”

Seungcheol fell silent, his heart beating erratically as Jeonghan’s words settled in. The sincerity in Jeonghan’s voice, the way he spoke so firmly, made Seungcheol feel small, but not in the way he had expected. He wanted to say more, to apologize again, but the words caught in his throat.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Jeonghan’s voice grew more serious, his gaze sharpening. “Was it Minhee who attacked you last night?”

Seungcheol’s breath caught, his stomach churning at the question. He looked up, meeting Jeonghan’s eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. Minhee? The mention of her name made his stomach twist in unease.

“Did you find anything?” Seungcheol asked, his voice barely a whisper. He could feel the weight of the question pressing down on him, his gaze searching Jeonghan’s face for some sign of hope.

Jeonghan shook his head, his expression darkening. “No. There was no sign of anything—no trace, no evidence, no witness. Just the bruise on your neck. That’s all we have.”

Seungcheol let out a long, defeated sigh. Of course. He should’ve known there would be no evidence. Everything about the attack had been orchestrated so perfectly, so methodically. There would be nothing left for them to find. No hint, no clue.

“It was done perfectly,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice laced with frustration. “She knew exactly what she was doing. There are no clues, nothing to show who’s responsible. If I report it, they’ll just accuse me of lying. They’ll think I made it all up... that’s why I didn’t want to report it to you in the first place.” His shoulders slumped, the weight of the situation too much to carry alone anymore.

Jeonghan’s expression shifted sharply. He was silent for a moment, his jaw clenching in frustration before he cursed under his breath. His fists clenched at his side. “Don’t think so low of me, Seungcheol,” he said, his voice low but fierce.

“You think I wouldn’t believe you? You’re my assistant, Seungcheol. You are my people, and I would never abandon you.” His words were tinged with anger, but there was something deeper there—something that made Seungcheol’s heart tighten. "I’m not going to sit back and let you suffer. I will find the person who did this to you. And when I found that evidence, I’ll make sure she regrets ever breathing the same air as us. I promise you that.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly, the intensity of Jeonghan’s words hitting him harder than he expected. He was stunned into silence, his breath caught in his chest. The sincerity, the raw anger in Jeonghan’s voice, made Seungcheol feel something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for a while now.

He looked up, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze for the first time since their conversation began. In that moment, he saw something—something stronger than the usual aloofness that surrounded the Crown Prince. He saw determination, and something else, something that made Seungcheol’s heart skip a beat.

Behind them, Hyungwon had been standing silently, his fist clenched tightly at his side as he listened to the conversation. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable. After a moment, he turned and slipped silently from the room, leaving Jeonghan and Seungcheol alone in the chamber.

Seungcheol lay in the large, luxurious bed, his gaze unfocused as his mind wandered over the events of the past few days. He had plan his leave much later, as his annual heat scheduled. It had even been approved by Jeonghan without question, but Seungcheol hadn’t expected it to come so early. The heat had caught him off guard, arriving much sooner than he’d anticipated, and now, he found himself in an even more precarious position—far from home, alone, and unsure how to navigate the overwhelming emotions and physical turmoil swirling inside him.

Other than that, for the past two days, Jeonghan had been unusually distant. After his initial visit the day following Seungcheol's attack, he hadn't come by again. Seungcheol understood, of course. Jeonghan was busy, as always. The Crown Prince had his own responsibilities to tend to, his days packed with the endless duties of ruling. Seungcheol, as his assistant, had been granted time to rest and recover—time that Jeonghan had encouraged. And yet, despite understanding the reasons behind the distance, Seungcheol couldn't shake the emptiness that crept into his chest.

He felt a gnawing sense of guilt for not being able to help Jeonghan during this time. The thought of his Crown Prince being burdened with so much, while Seungcheol lay in his bed, barely able to get through the day without the constant ache in his body, felt wrong. 

I should be doing more, Seungcheol thought bitterly, his self-doubt simmering just beneath the surface.

But beneath that guilt, there was something else—a longing. It was a quiet, insistent ache that settled in his chest whenever he thought of Jeonghan. It wasn’t just the usual admiration or respect Seungcheol had always felt toward his Prince; this was different.

It was an emotion Seungcheol couldn’t name, one he didn’t understand. The desire to have Jeonghan near him, to be in his presence, made him feel both exposed and vulnerable, like a part of him was reaching out for something he had no right to claim. And that made him feel helpless. 

Why do I feel like this? 

He couldn’t make sense of it. His body ached, yes, but this feeling was something else entirely. It was more than the physical pain of his heat—it was the quiet pull he felt whenever he thought about Jeonghan’s absence, the warmth he craved, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

In truth, Seungcheol didn’t even understand the feeling himself. He couldn’t fully grasp why he wanted Jeonghan by his side, especially when he knew he had to keep his distance. The Crown Prince's presence made him feel both safe and vulnerable at the same time, and that was a dangerous combination—especially now.

He glanced toward the door, where only Hyungwon had been present, tending to him with quiet care. He had barely been able to cope with the sudden shift in his body. The early onset of his heat had left him more vulnerable than usual, and despite the painkillers Hyungwon had given him to ease the cramps, the discomfort was relentless.

After everything, Hyungwon remained by his side, loyal and steadfast. The Chief officer and the Crown Prince royal butler had been a constant, looking after him as if he were made of glass. The quiet strength that Hyungwon brought with him was a comfort, even if Seungcheol couldn’t bring himself to voice his gratitude.

Hyungwon had been nothing short of attentive, caring for him as though he were made of glass. He made sure Seungcheol was well-fed, well-rested, and made every effort to soothe him during the worst of the cramps. Seungcheol had tried to thank him, but his words had always felt inadequate. He couldn’t express how much Hyungwon’s care meant to him—especially now, when everything felt so out of control.

That night, Seungcheol went to bed earlier than usual, his body aching with the familiar yet unwanted tension of his heat creeping up on him. The painkillers he took eased the cramps a little, but it didn’t stop them entirely. His body still throbbed, the dull ache in his stomach slowly intensifying with every passing minute. He knew that the cramps were only going to worsen, so the sooner he rested, the better. He hoped that by morning, he would have the strength to request an earlier leave from Jeonghan—to leave the palace and return home before the heat became unbearable.

But then, sleep didn’t come easily. Every few minutes, he would shift restlessly, trying to find a position that would ease the discomfort. He lay in the bed, tossing and turning, unable to find any real comfort. The heat felt like a weight inside him, heavy and insistent.

Hyungwon checked on him periodically, making sure he was comfortable, adjusting the blankets when they shifted or became tangled. Despite the gentle care, Seungcheol couldn’t seem to relax. He tried to close his eyes, to drift off into sleep, but the discomfort kept pulling him back into awareness. The night stretched on, and his body felt like it was on fire.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Hyungwon returned with a heat pad. He placed it gently on Seungcheol’s stomach, pressing it there with steady hands. Seungcheol let out a soft sigh of relief as the warmth began to soothe the ache. It wasn’t a cure, but it was enough to quiet the most persistent of the cramps.

Seungcheol wondered briefly where Hyungwon had gotten the heat pad, but his thoughts were scattered, too foggy from the pain to focus. He closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth of the pad and the comfort it provided, his body finally beginning to relax. His breathing steadied, and he felt his muscles unwind, the tension gradually easing from his form.

As Seungcheol drifted into a fitful sleep, Hyungwon sat by the bed, his gaze fixed on the man lying there. His fingers gently caressed Seungcheol’s abdomen, the touch light and soothing, as though trying to offer him some semblance of comfort through the storm inside him. Hyungwon poured a small amount of ointment into his palm—an herbal balm meant to ease the soreness in muscles—and began to massage it along Seungcheol’s back. He worked his way slowly and carefully, knowing that Seungcheol was still sensitive, but willing to do whatever it took to help him rest.

When he finished with Seungcheol’s back, he moved to his legs, gently rubbing the balm into the tense muscles there. It wasn’t just the heat that made Seungcheol feel fragile; it was the weight of everything else—the guilt, the loneliness, the exhaustion that came with it all. Hyungwon could feel the tension in his body, could sense the way he was holding himself so tightly, and he worked with practiced care to relieve some of that pressure.

Seungcheol didn’t stir, too far gone into a state of semi-consciousness, but he could feel the gentle pressure, the warmth of Hyungwon’s hands, and the tender care that only he seemed to be able to offer at times like these. Hyungwon’s touch was nothing like the fevered longing Seungcheol sometimes wished he could feel from Jeonghan, but it was steady, constant, and without expectation.

Once he was done, Hyungwon tucked Seungcheol in properly, ensuring that the blankets were drawn securely around him, and the heat pad remained in place. He took one last look at Seungcheol’s peaceful face, the lines of tension now relaxed, his expression softened in sleep.

Hyungwon leaned in slightly, his voice barely a whisper. “I hope you’ll feel so much better soon, Your Grace,” he murmured, his words filled with quiet sincerity.

As Seungcheol’s breathing deepened, the tension in his face fading into the quiet peace of sleep, Hyungwon stayed by his side for a while longer. He watched over him, the quiet protector, as Seungcheol finally surrendered to the rest his body had been begging for.

In the stillness of the room, Hyungwon remained at his side for a while longer, watching over him quietly, his eyes soft with the knowledge that, no matter what, he would always be there for Seungcheol.

Hyungwon watched with concern as he helped Seungcheol stand, the other man’s usual strength seemingly diminished. Seungcheol’s face was paler than usual, his movements slower, more deliberate, and Hyungwon couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of worry. Hyungwon watched Seungcheol carefully, his expression shadowed with concern as he helped the other man steady himself.

Despite the lingering weakness in his body, Seungcheol had insisted on going to the office today. He had been adamant, and Hyungwon, despite knowing that Seungcheol’s condition was far from ideal, had no real say in the matter. Seungcheol’s mind was made up.

"Are you sure about this?" Hyungwon asked, his voice soft but filled with concern as he adjusted Seungcheol’s posture, ensuring he was standing properly.

Seungcheol gave a small, almost reluctant nod, his eyes steady but shadowed. “I need to go and meet Jeonghan-nim.”

Hyungwon said nothing more. He knew better than to push when Seungcheol had made up his mind. But that didn’t stop the worry from settling in his chest. He didn’t think Seungcheol should be walking around yet, not with how pale he looked, not with the faint tremor in his step. But he respected Seungcheol’s desire to find Jeonghan himself.

After making sure Seungcheol was presentable, Hyungwon offered a quiet “Shall we go?” and Seungcheol, after a brief hesitation, accepted the offer. The two of them began their slow walk toward Jeonghan’s office, with Hyungwon hovering close, his hand almost touching Seungcheol’s waist, ready to steady him if he stumbled.

The walk was quiet. Seungcheol kept his head held high, greeting the other employees with his usual professional smile, though Hyungwon could see the slight strain in his expression. His steps were deliberate, but there was no hiding the faint shakiness that clung to him. Hyungwon could feel the tension in Seungcheol’s posture, the strain from trying to maintain his usual composure. He didn’t comment, though; Seungcheol wasn’t the type to admit weakness aloud.

When they finally reached Jeonghan’s office, Seungcheol paused before the door, his heart beating a little faster as he knocked lightly. From within, Jeonghan’s voice called out distantly, “Enter.”

Hyungwon opened the door and stepped in first, bowing his head respectfully to the Crown Prince. Seungcheol followed, his movements smooth but a little slower than usual. He offered Jeonghan a polite greeting, his voice carrying the same professional warmth it always did, though a hint of hesitation lingered at the edges.

Jeonghan immediately looked up at the sound of Seungcheol’s voice. His sharp eyes flicked over Seungcheol’s posture, the faint signs of weakness that were hard to miss. Jeonghan’s expression hardened slightly, his lips pressing into a firm line. Without saying a word, he rose from his desk, walked over to the couch, and gestured for Seungcheol to join him.

“Sit,” Jeonghan ordered, his tone commanding, as if there were no room for debate.

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment, glancing at Hyungwon briefly, but then did as he was told. He moved toward the couch, but not without a small twinge of guilt. Jeonghan’s gaze never wavered from him, and it made Seungcheol feel smaller than he wanted to admit.

Hyungwon, still standing by the door, shared a brief look with Jeonghan. The Crown Prince shot a look of disbelief at Hyungwon, who simply shrugged in response, his silent way of saying, What can I do? He insisted on coming.

Seungcheol felt a rush of guilt and embarrassment as he approached, but he sat down as directed, his movements slow, careful. “I apologize on Hyungwon-nim’s behalf, Your Highness,” he said quietly, glancing briefly at Hyungwon. “I insisted on coming. He didn’t want to bring me, but... I felt I needed to.” He couldn’t help the words, though they felt weak on his tongue. His gaze was cast downward, unwilling to meet Jeonghan’s eyes.

Jeonghan waved a dismissive hand, cutting him off before he could say more. “Stop,” he said, his voice firm. “You’ve been given time off to rest, Seungcheol. You should be resting, not working.”

Seungcheol’s chest tightened at the command, but he didn’t argue. He simply nodded, lowering his head further in compliance.

Jeonghan walked back toward his desk but paused before sitting down, his eyes piercing through Seungcheol as he spoke again, more sharply this time. “You’re in no condition to be here. The healer advised you to do so for a reason.” His voice wasn’t angry, but it carried an unmistakable authority, a tone that made it clear there was no room for defiance.

Seungcheol shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the words stinging, though he understood. He wasn’t the kind to complain, but being reminded of his weakness made him feel even smaller.

There was a moment of silence before Seungcheol gathered his thoughts, taking a deep breath. He needed to ask. This couldn’t wait any longer.

Seungcheol nodded, his gaze lowering to his hands, twisting the hem of his sleeve nervously. “I understand, Your Highness,” he murmured. “But... I was hoping to ask something.” His voice hesitated, the words not coming easily, the nerves tightening in his chest.

Jeonghan watched him intently, waiting for him to continue. Seungcheol took a deep breath, then looked up, his eyes meeting Jeonghan’s with a quiet determination. “I wanted to ask if you would allow me to take my leave earlier than planned,” His voice was steady, though his hands fidgeted in his lap. “It’s... it’s scheduled for next month, but I’d like to leave sooner.”

Jeonghan’s eyes softened for a split second, but his response was immediate, as if there was no hesitation in his mind. “You’re already allowed the leave, Seungcheol. I approve it. Rest. And stay safe. The palace is no place for you right now, especially after what happened. It would be far better for you to recover at home, with your family, where it’s safe.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised by the immediate acceptance of his request. It was that easy? The relief that washed over him was palpable, though there was still a sense of guilt lingering in the back of his mind. He had wanted to stay strong, to continue working, but Jeonghan had given him no choice.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol murmured, bowing his head again, the weight of his gratitude sinking in.

Jeonghan, however, didn’t acknowledge the thanks. His eyes were still focused on Seungcheol, his face unreadable. “Make sure you rest properly,” he repeated, a sharp edge in his voice that suggested he wasn’t simply giving an order; he meant it. “And that is an order, not a request—rest, Seungcheol. You’re no good to anyone in this state.”

Seungcheol nodded, feeling an odd mix of relief and shame at the same time. His body still ached, but the permission to leave the palace and rest was a weight off his shoulders. He bowed slightly, his heart lighter than it had been in days. As he turned to leave, he felt a renewed sense of freedom. The palace had never felt more stifling, and the idea of returning home to the safety and warmth of his family was a welcome thought. He was finally going to be able to rest.

Hyungwon escorted Seungcheol back to his quarters, ensuring he was settled before leaving to make arrangements for his journey. Seungcheol had two weeks off, plenty of time to recover, or so he hoped. The thought of being in the familiar comfort of his family mansion, away from the chaos of the palace, gave him a sense of calm he desperately needed. He only hoped that by the time he returned, the situation with Minhee and whatever else was unfolding in the palace would have settled.

As Hyungwon left to prepare the car that would take Seungcheol home, Junhyuk remained outside his door, as usual, ever watchful. Seungcheol slowly packed his bag, taking his time with the process. He filled it with whatever he thought might be useful for the next few weeks—some clothes, personal items, and the small stack of books he had bought for Wonwoo. He paused for a moment, reflecting on how simple this task seemed in comparison to everything that had happened. The normalcy of it almost felt surreal after the chaos of the past few days.

As Seungcheol arranged the books and placed them in the bag, a sudden commotion outside his door caught his attention. He froze, his senses immediately alert. His heart skipped as a noise—loud and jarring—filtered through the door.

He opened it quickly, only to be met with the sight of Junhyuk collapsed on the floor, unconscious. His eyes widened in shock, but the sight that followed caused his blood to run cold.

There, standing in front of Junhyuk’s limp form, was Minhee. Her posture was tall, her smile sinister and wide, and the sound of her soft laugh sent a chill down Seungcheol’s spine.

“You’re finally back, Seungcheolie,” Minhee purred, her voice dripping with malice. “I’ve been waiting for you to return from your little hiding spot in the Crown Prince's quarters. Did you really think you could hide forever?”

Seungcheol’s mind raced. The shock of seeing her here was overwhelming, but his body quickly went into autopilot. His heart hammered as he backed away instinctively, but Minhee was already on him.

Before he could react, her hands shot out and wrapped around his neck with frightening speed. Her fingers dug in tightly, the pressure immediate and suffocating. Seungcheol gasped, his throat constricting as she began to strangle him once more. The panic surged, his chest tightening, but this time, he didn’t surrender.

Seungcheol fought back with everything he had. He struggled, thrashing against Minhee’s iron grip, knowing full well that she was using her dark power. He could feel it radiating from her, twisting the air around them, suffocating him more than her hands ever could. Still, he didn’t stop. He had to fight.

With all the strength he could muster, Seungcheol pushed against her, using his legs and body to shove her away from him. His chest burned, his breath coming in sharp gasps, but he managed to break free—just enough to scream as loud as he could, his heart praying that someone, anyone, would hear him.

“Help!” Seungcheol cried, his voice hoarse with desperation.

But Minhee was relentless. She recovered in an instant, stepping back toward him with a sneer on her face. With terrifying speed, she shoved him back again, her grip tightening on his throat as if she were trying to crush the life out of him. Seungcheol fought back with everything he had left, but the dark power she wielded made him feel weak, drained, his strength ebbing with each passing second.

His energy had been spent—trying to conceal his scent for days, trying to keep his heat under control, all while dealing with the aftermath of the attack. He had no idea how much longer he could last. And as Minhee squeezed harder, his vision began to blur. He could feel his body going limp, his breath becoming shallow. His limbs felt heavy, his pulse weakening with each moment.

As Minhee’s pressure increased, Seungcheol felt the final wave of resistance leave him, his breath hitching in his throat. His vision darkened around the edges, the world around him spinning. His body went slack, and for a moment, he felt as though he was floating, detached from reality.

Then, just as everything began to go black, a sudden noise—footsteps—echoed through the corridor, and Minhee’s grip on him loosened. Seungcheol’s body dropped, but before he could hit the floor, Minhee caught him effortlessly, holding him in an almost mockingly tender embrace.

The last thing Seungcheol saw before his eyes closed completely was Minhee’s sinister smirk, her cold eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction. The darkness swallowed him whole.

Jeonghan couldn’t focus on his task, his thoughts scattered as he thought back to sending Seungcheol back to his quarters earlier. It had been two days since he last visited Seungcheol, and while he had been busy with his duties, there was something more to his absence. It wasn’t a lack of time—it was caution. Jeonghan had been hesitant, even unsure, about how to approach Seungcheol since the attack.

For the past few days, something had been gnawing at him. He had noticed the change in Seungcheol’s scent—something different, something unfamiliar.

At first, Jeonghan had dismissed it, thinking maybe it was just the aftermath of the attack, or perhaps his own heightened anxiety. But now, he couldn’t ignore it.

Before the attack, Seungcheol had always carried the light, natural scent of a beta with just a subtle hint of minty vanilla. It reminded Jeonghan of his ex-mate—gentle, comforting, familiar. But now, the scent that lingered around Seungcheol was thick, almost intoxicating. Instead of mint, it had become a fresh, sweet fragrance that seemed to pull Jeonghan toward him with an irresistible force.

At night, Jeonghan found himself restless, unable to shake the pull of Seungcheol’s scent. His thoughts were consumed with it, and the growing desire to be near Seungcheol was becoming unbearable. He was awake almost every night, fighting the overwhelming urge to walk to Seungcheol’s quarters. A few times, he even stood at the door, hand hovering just inches from the handle, before quickly pulling back. The scent had become too much, too powerful to ignore.

Once, he had even opened the door, but before he could step inside, Hyungwon had stopped him, gently but firmly pushing the door closed. “You shouldn’t be here, Your Highness,” Hyungwon had said quietly, though the words were laden with unspoken meaning. Jeonghan hadn’t argued.

Why is this happening? Jeonghan wondered. Why do I feel this pull? 

It wasn’t just the growing feelings of protectiveness he had been trying to suppress—those were there, certainly—but this was something more, something far more visceral, and Jeonghan didn’t know how to make sense of it. After the attack, the sensation had only intensified, leaving him feeling desperate, consumed by a need to keep Seungcheol close, to protect him.

So when Seungcheol had come to him today, asking for an earlier leave—something that had already been approved, though not for another month—Jeonghan hesitated for only a moment. He could’ve insisted that Seungcheol stay, forcing him to continue his duties, but with the threat of Minhee still looming in the palace, Jeonghan quickly made up his mind.

Seungcheol’s safety is more important than anything, Jeonghan thought, his protective instincts sharpening. If Minhee is still lurking around, I’m not taking any chances.

He had nodded in approval of Seungcheol’s leave, giving him permission to return home to the safety of his family.

Jeonghan had hoped that Seungcheol would find peace in the comfort of his family, away from the palace’s dangers. He hadn’t anticipated what would happen next.

As Jeonghan was about to return to his work, a sudden, piercing thought rushed through his mind. The faintest echo of Seungcheol’s voice—screaming for help. His heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t just a fleeting thought; it felt real, like Seungcheol’s voice was inside his head.

Jeonghan’s entire body stiffened. He could hear it again, the desperation growing with each passing second. Seungcheol’s voice, weaker now, his cry fading.

“Help!”

Jeonghan didn’t waste a second. His heart raced as he hurried to his private quarters, every step heavy with urgency. But when he burst through the door, the room was empty. His breath hitched. The faintest trace of Seungcheol’s scent lingered, but it was growing weaker by the second.

Cursing under his breath, Jeonghan turned on his heel and rushed out, heading straight toward the staff quarters, where Seungcheol’s room was located. His mind raced with fear, his steps quickening as his pulse spiked.

When he arrived, the scene that greeted him made his stomach lurch. Minhee stood in the middle of the room, her hands cradling Seungcheol’s limp form. She was rocking him gently, her expression one of mock distress.

“Minhee!” Jeonghan shouted, his voice cold, sharp with fury. Without thinking, he charged forward, pushing her away from Seungcheol with a force he didn’t know he had. He caught Seungcheol in his arms, pulling him close, his heart pounding in his chest as he checked for any signs of life.

Hyungwon and Soonyoung rushed into the room almost simultaneously, standing at the door with widened eyes. Minhee stood back, her eyes wide with feigned panic, but the smirk on her lips gave her away. "I found Junhyuk unconscious on the floor," she explained in a breathless tone, feigning concern. "I went to check on Seungcheol, and he... he's also unconscious."

Hyungwon and Soonyoung frowned, staring at her with suspicious eyes. They looked from Minhee to Seungcheol and back again, not buying her story for a second. Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed.

“Minhee,” Jeonghan growled, his voice low and dangerous. "This is the second time you’ve attacked Seungcheol."

Minhee’s eyes gleamed with malicious amusement. She crossed her arms, her lips curling into a sly grin. “And do you have any proof of that?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jeonghan’s anger flared, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “I don’t need proof,” he spat, his voice like ice. “I’ll make it up if I have to.” But Minhee only laughed, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight.

“Make it up?” she purred, her voice turning colder. “What are you going to do, Jeonghan-nim? Frame me for something that wasn’t even a secret to begin with?” She tilted her head to the side, her expression taunting. You’re wasting your time,” she sneered. “You think framing me is the real problem here? You’re missing the bigger issue.”

Jeonghan gritted his teeth, his control slipping for a moment. He was about to snap when Minhee reached forward and touched the pendant around Seungcheol’s neck.

“This...” she whispered, her voice filled with dark amusement. “This is the real problem.”

The moment her fingers brushed the pendant and snapped it, Seungcheol’s scent exploded into the air, so thick and intoxicating that it nearly overwhelmed Jeonghan’s senses and bring his alpha side to the forefront. The scent filled the room, flooding the space with an intensity he couldn’t ignore. The fragrance was sweet and heady, but it carried a dangerous pull, and Jeonghan could feel the power in his own body stir, responding to the scent in ways he didn’t fully understand.

Gripping the edges of his control, Jeonghan gritted his teeth, his hands shaking slightly. He fought back the surge of instinct that screamed at him to claim and protect. With every ounce of willpower, he released his own protective pheromones, forcing them into the air and blending them with Seungcheol’s intoxicating scent. The two aromas fused, neutralizing the overwhelming sweetness just enough to regain control.

Soonyoung and the other guards stood frozen in shock, their eyes wide as they processed the situation. Hyungwon rushed to Seungcheol’s side, throwing a blanket over Seungcheol’s body and pushing Minhee aside with authority. He covered Seungcheol’s limp form, his movements swift but gentle.

“Detain her!” Jeonghan barked to Soonyoung, his voice commanding.

Minhee laughed, her eyes flashing with defiance. “Detain me? For revealing something that was never meant to be hidden in the first place? If the word gets out about Seungcheol’s true secondary gender—well, let’s just say I won’t be the only one…”

Before Jeonghan could respond, Hyungwon moved. He didn’t let Minhee finish her words. In one swift motion, he slapped her across the face, sending her stumbling to the ground with the force of the blow. She hit the ground with a soft thud, shock written across her face. Everyone in the room was stunned into silence, the sharp slap ringing in the air.

“If you say another word,” Hyungwon warned, his voice low and deadly, “I won’t spare you.”

Minhee, for the first time, seemed genuinely taken aback, but she didn’t retaliate. Hyungwon stepped forward, his eyes filled with quiet concern as he saw Jeonghan struggling to hold Seungcheol. “Let me carry him, Your Highness,” Hyungwon offered, his voice calm but firm. “I’ve got the car ready to take him home.”

But Jeonghan shook his head, his grip tightening around Seungcheol. “No,” he replied sharply, his tone brokering no argument. “I’ll carry him.”

He shifted Seungcheol’s unconscious form in his arms, ensuring the male was secure against him. Seungcheol’s body was still warm, but the feverish flush of his face contrasted with the pale lips and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Jeonghan’s eyes flickered down to him briefly, worry gnawing at him. There was no time for hesitation now.

“Help me up,” Jeonghan ordered, his voice low and controlled despite the rising panic in his chest. Hyungwon moved quickly, hoisting Jeonghan up to his feet as they started walking towards the exit.

The air felt suffocating as they passed by Soonyoung and the remaining guards, who watched them silently. Minhee stood there, her face a mask of frustration and disbelief, but Jeonghan didn’t spare her another glance. He didn’t care about her right now.

The car ride was quiet, the only sound the low hum of the engine as Hyungwon expertly navigated through the streets towards Seungcheol’s family mansion. Jeonghan kept his eyes fixed on Seungcheol, who lay in his lap, completely unconscious. His face was flushed from the fever, but his lips were disturbingly pale. Sweat dotted his forehead, his breathing shallow and erratic.

The scent of Seungcheol still lingered in the air, sweet and heady, though it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been in the palace. The blanket Hyungwon had draped over him helped to mask the worst of it, but Jeonghan could still feel the pull.

Jeonghan didn’t need to ask to know what was happening. He could feel it in the air—the unmistakable signs of an omega in heat. The sweet, intoxicating scent, the flush of Seungcheol’s skin, and the way his body was reacting all pointed to one thing.

Jeonghan’s hands tightened into fists. How? He stared down at Seungcheol’s face, trying to make sense of it. His protective instincts burned stronger than ever. How could this be happening? Is Seungcheol really an omega? he thought, still reeling from the discovery. All this time...

Jeonghan’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Hyungwon. For the first time, Hyungwon couldn’t meet his eyes. His gaze dropped, a heavy sigh escaping him as he nodded, resigned to the fact that Jeonghan had figured it out.

Jeonghan’s patience snapped, his voice dark with barely contained anger. “How long have you known?” The words were sharp, almost a growl. His fists clenched at his sides, the need to understand warring with the growing tide of frustration that threatened to boil over.

Hyungwon hesitated for a moment before finally replying, his voice low. “Since Seungcheol-nim came for the interview.”

Jeonghan felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Since the interview? That revelation alone sent a thousand questions racing through his mind. He swallowed the rising fury in his chest before speaking again, trying to keep his voice steady. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hyungwon’s gaze was still fixed on the road, his shoulders slumping slightly. “It wasn’t my place,” he said quietly, his words slow, careful. “And Seungcheol-nim was the King Alpha’s recommendation. He was going to be here in the palace regardless. I didn’t think it was my place to—”

Jeonghan didn’t let him finish. His voice was taut with tension. “And my father—the King—knew about this too?” His eyes were cold now, his mind spiraling as it processed this new piece of information.

Hyungwon didn’t hesitate. He nodded again, his gaze not meeting Jeonghan’s. “Yes.”

Jeonghan’s mind reeled. His father knew? Why hadn’t anyone told him? He could feel his heart pounding harder with each new piece of information.

The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place, but instead of answers, it only left Jeonghan with more questions. His mind spun with the implications of it all, but his protective instincts were rising—more urgent than ever. He didn’t have time to sit and question everything. His focus was on one thing, and one thing only.

Seungcheol's safety.

Jeonghan’s eyes darkened with determination. His grip on Seungcheol tightened as he looked down at the unconscious form of his assistant in his lap. Everything else can wait.

“Just get us to the mansion, Hyungwon,” Jeonghan commanded, his voice low and insistent. “We need to get him there. Now.”

Hyungwon, silent but understanding, nodded and stepped on the gas, his eyes still darting occasionally to the rearview mirror. The tension in the car was palpable, and Jeonghan didn’t need to say anything more. Both of them knew what was at stake now, and they would handle everything else later. But right now, all that mattered was getting Seungcheol to safety.

Chapter Text

The heavy black car rumbled up the long gravel drive of the Jeon family mansion, tires crunching softly beneath them. Snow clung to the edges of the hedges that lined the property, a quiet frost blanketing the early morning landscape. The moment they approached the front gates, the motion sensor lights above flickered on, cutting through the predawn gloom. Almost immediately, the tall iron gate creaked open as if the house itself had been waiting for them.

The Jeon estate was as grand and stately as Jeonghan had always imagined from rumor and secondhand accounts—a structure befitting one of the oldest, most elite Alpha lineages in the kingdom. Towering stone walls, manicured hedges, and austere black windows framed in mahogany exuded a quiet, daunting power. It was the kind of house that carried the weight of generations, and Jeonghan felt it in his chest as the tires crunched softly over gravel.

Hyungwon drove with silent precision, both hands firm on the wheel. He made no comment as they passed through, glancing only briefly at Jeonghan through the rearview mirror. Jeonghan was seated in the back, his arms wrapped tightly around the unconscious form of Seungcheol, laying limp in his lap. Though the worst had passed, Seungcheol remained deathly pale, his breathing shallow, his body limp with exhaustion and fever. The sweet, cloying scent of omega heat still lingered faintly in the enclosed space, though Jeonghan’s own pheromones had dulled the intensity.

The car came to a gentle stop near the main entrance, headlights dimming automatically. Hyungwon shut off the engine, immediately stepping out into the crisp air. Without a word, he rounded the vehicle and opened the rear door, his long coat catching the breeze. Jeonghan shifted, carefully adjusting his grip around Seungcheol before stepping out with Hyungwon’s assistance. The weight in his arms was light—far too light for someone so strong, so resilient. Jeonghan held him tighter.

The front door opened even before they reached it. Seungcheol’s father, stood there, dressed simply in a robe and house slippers, his face drawn with concern. He looked older than Jeonghan remembered, the lines around his eyes deeper, his hair now touched with silver at the temples. His expression faltered at the sight of his son in Jeonghan’s arms.

“Your Highness,” he greeted formally, bowing his head. “Thank you for bringing my son home.”

Jeonghan gave a short nod, brushing past the threshold without waiting for further invitation. The warmth of the house enveloped them instantly, and the familiar scent of herbs and cedar—hallmarks of the Jeon household—filled the air. It was a comforting contrast to the sterile tension of the palace, but Jeonghan barely noticed. All he could focus on was the rhythmic, fragile sound of Seungcheol’s breathing against his chest.

They moved swiftly through the hallway, guided by the older male’s steady steps. At the far end, he opened the door to a modest but cozy bedroom. The furniture was dark wood, old and polished to a gentle sheen, the bed already turned down.

Jeonghan lowered Seungcheol carefully onto the mattress, cradling his head as he arranged the pillows. His fingers lingered a moment too long on Seungcheol’s wrist, checking his pulse, assuring himself that the omega’s breathing had stabilized. Hyungwon moved silently to adjust the blankets, ensuring Seungcheol was tucked in and shielded from the evening chill. For a moment, the room was quiet, and the only sound was the soft rustling of fabric and Seungcheol’s faint, uneven breathing.

Seungcheol’s father watched quietly from the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes never left his son.

Jeonghan then straightened, drawing in a quiet breath as he turned toward the elder Jeon. “I’d like to speak with you,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

“Of course,” Seungcheol’s father replied, his tone unreadable. He led them back down the hallway toward a sitting room near the center of the house—an expansive space lined with tall-backed chairs and dark wooden furniture. The walls bore the Jeon crest, flanked by relics of past service to the royal family: honors, weapons, and framed royal decrees. It was a room designed to remind its visitors of the family's legacy—and their loyalty.

“Please, sit,” the elder Jeon offered as they entered, motioning toward a low table already being set with a silver tea service. A butler poured steaming cups without a word before slipping away, leaving the three men alone in the heavy quiet of old wood and politics.

“I appreciate you coming all this way to return him, Your Highness.” Seungcheol’s father said quietly, hands wrapped around his own ceramic cup.

Jeonghan watched the steam curl from the surface of his tea, not drinking. “It wasn’t a favor,” he said. “He’s under my care. His safety is my responsibility.”

Seungcheol’s father nodded once, seeming to consider that. “Still, I thank you.”

A pause stretched out. “Advisor Jeon,” he began, his voice even, but with a note of restrained tension, “I won’t waste your time. I need to ask—Seungcheol… is he an omega?”

There was a brief moment where time seemed to still. The question hung in the air, weighty and direct. The older man’s eyes flicked toward Jeonghan’s face, surprised for just a second before his usual calm returned. He set his cup down gently. “So you’ve finally learned the truth.”

Jeonghan’s gaze sharpened. “You hid it from me. From everyone.”

“No,” The older male corrected gently. “We didn’t hide it. We simply didn’t announce it. There’s a difference.”

Jeonghan scoffed softly, fingers tightening around the cup. “But why? Why would a former royal advisor send his omega son into the palace? You know what kind of environment that is—especially for someone trying to hide what he is.”

The elder man’s shoulders rose with a slow breath, and when he exhaled, it carried with it a weight that suggested years of secrets. “Because it wasn’t my choice,” he said simply. “It was your father’s command. The King.”

Jeonghan’s expression darkened.

“He entrusted Seungcheol-nim to us—said he needed a place where no one would question his presence. A beta among alphas wouldn’t raise suspicions, especially in our house. He told us to raise him as our own, to protect him until the time came for him to serve.”

The tea sat forgotten between them, cooling.

“Why?” Jeonghan demanded. “What is he hiding? What’s the connection between my father and Seungcheol? Why would the King—” He stopped himself, realization starting to dawn.

Advisor Jeon didn’t elaborate. He simply gave a slow nod. “Those are questions you should be asking your father.”

A beat of silence passed, heavy and charged. Jeonghan clenched his jaw, the storm inside him building. He hated the feeling of being kept in the dark, of being manipulated. That his father—the King—had not only hidden Seungcheol’s identity, but placed him directly under Jeonghan’s care without disclosure was something he could not easily forgive.

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, but his anger wasn’t directed at the man in front of him anymore.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” he muttered, tension seeping from his shoulders. “It wasn’t my place to interrogate you.”

But Advisor Jeon only waved the apology away with a small smile. “You are right to be angry. I understand. And I’m sorry I cannot offer you more clarity.”

Jeonghan’s hands curled around the teacup in his lap. He didn’t drink. His mind was elsewhere.

A few minutes later, he excused himself quietly, leaving Hyungwon and the advisor to continue their tea. He retraced his steps to Seungcheol’s room, each footfall heavy with thought. The door to the room was still ajar. He stepped inside, his eyes immediately going to the figure curled under the blankets.

Seungcheol was still asleep, his face pale and pinched with lingering pain. The fever had gone down somewhat, and his scent, though still distinct, was muted beneath the herbal balms and heavy blankets. The room smelled faintly of warmth, lavender, and him.

Jeonghan sat down in the chair beside the bed and watched him, arms folded and eyes narrowed with thought. He leaned back in the chair, fingers threading together in his lap. Whatever the truth was, it clearly ran deeper than anyone had let on. And it wasn’t just about Seungcheol’s secondary gender. Even Seungcheol himself might not know the full truth of who he was or why he had been chosen to live under the Jeon roof.

But Jeonghan knew one thing—this wasn’t just politics. It wasn’t just rank or duty. No, there was something else—something older, buried beneath layers of secrecy.

His gaze drifted to the sleeping omega’s face, so serene now despite the pain he had suffered. That face, those eyes, the smile that had begun to haunt Jeonghan’s dreams—it was more than mere attraction. It was connection. Something that defied logic. Something that made Jeonghan's chest ache. He leaned back, drawing a deep breath, fingers steepled in front of his lips.

His father had orchestrated too many parts of his life. But there were things even a King could not control. Now that Jeonghan had officially stepped into the full mantle of Crown Prince, there were places his father’s reach could not extend.

And if he truly wanted answers, if he wanted to protect Seungcheol—not just as an assistant, but as someone irreplaceable—then he would have to find the truth on his own.

And no one—not his father, not Minhee, not even Seungcheol’s past—would stand in his way.

The heavy silence of the Jeon mansion’s upper halls was disturbed only by the sound of approaching footsteps—measured, steady, and unhurried. Jihoon glanced up from the book he was reading in the hallway, unsurprised to see the familiar silhouette of Jeonghan turning the corner, his posture straight, expression unreadable, and clothing notably informal. The Crown Prince no longer wore his ornate court attire when he came here. In its place were simple tunics, soft pants, and unadorned coats. It made him look less like royalty and more like someone ordinary. Almost.

Jihoon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The first time, Jihoon had nearly raised a brow in disbelief, but by now, it had become a familiar sight—one that, despite his own stubbornness, he no longer questioned.

Jeonghan never made announcements. He didn’t knock or ask permission to enter. He simply accepted the silent bows of the Jeon family members with a respectful nod and moved past them without a word. Every evening, once his royal duties were complete, he came directly to the mansion, bypassing the guest parlor and walking straight toward the quiet bedroom tucked at the end of the hall. Seungcheol’s room.

He never asked for an update. He never asked to be alone. He just entered and took his seat in the same chair beside the bed, folding his hands in his lap as he stared quietly at the omega lying still under layers of blankets. Even when Jihoon or Wonwoo brought in tea or trays of food, Jeonghan never touched them. The cups remained untouched, the dishes collected later by staff, still full.

Hyungwon accompanied him most of the time. Though his role as an attendant had blurred into something more like a trusted companion, Hyungwon seemed to know exactly when to give Jeonghan space. He would usually remain nearby for the first hour or so, then quietly excuse himself to join Seungcheol’s father in the study for short conversations that seemed more reflective than strategic.

When it was time to go, he would return, wait patiently until Jeonghan stirred, and guide him out again. On nights when Jeonghan stayed beyond midnight, Hyungwon took to sleeping in the spare bed that Wonwoo had prepared in the corner of Seungcheol’s room—always alert, always near, even in rest.

Inside the room, Seungcheol remained in a semi-conscious state, slipping between restless sleep and hazy awareness. He whimpered softly from time to time, his brows drawn in discomfort, his breathing unsteady. His scent—though masked as best as they could manage—still permeated the room faintly, especially during the height of his heat.

Mingyu was almost always there, his presence steady and tireless. He monitored Seungcheol’s condition with the care of a brother and the diligence of someone trained in medical support. He adjusted IV lines, dabbed cool cloths on Seungcheol’s forehead, and administered suppressants to manage the more intense symptoms of his heat, though nothing could fully ease the toll it was taking on his already weakened body.

On the third day, as Mingyu carefully fitted a new IV line into Seungcheol’s wrist, Jeonghan—still seated silently beside the bed—finally broke the quiet with a low, measured question.

“How long until he wakes?”

Mingyu didn’t look up immediately. He secured the tape gently before answering, his voice calm but weary. “It’s hard to say for sure. He only goes through heat once a year. It’s part of what makes his condition so rare—and so difficult. Most omegas experience shorter, more frequent cycles. But when it hits him, it hits hard. His body goes into shutdown mode to conserve energy.”

He paused for a moment to double-check the dosage on the saline bag. “Sometimes, he’s out for a week. Sometimes more. It’ll take another week or so for his strength to come back. Until then, his body will keep prioritizing survival and healing over consciousness.”

Jeonghan absorbed the answer without comment. He simply leaned back in the chair and resumed his quiet vigil. No reaction, no more questions. Only silence again. But he returned the next day, and the next after that, staying longer each time, as if the act of being near Seungcheol offered some kind of unspoken purpose. He came regardless of the weather, regardless of the hour, and always with the same quiet intent.

By the end of the week, the routine had become so familiar that even Jihoon had stopped feigning surprise at the Crown Prince’s presence. But it was the evening of the sixth day that brought a small, unexpected shift.

When Jeonghan arrived that night, he was dressed down again, his coat draped casually over one arm. Hyungwon followed behind carrying a simple overnight bag, which he placed in the corner of Seungcheol’s room without comment. After a short pause, he leaned toward Jeonghan, said something quietly—something that prompted a slight nod—and then excused himself with a small bow, closing the door behind him.

Later that evening, Jihoon entered with a tray of food—his usual act of courtesy. Grilled fish, rice, miso soup, a few side dishes, and warm tea. He had no expectations. The tray had gone untouched every other night, left there out of politeness more than practicality. But as he set it down, Jeonghan stood.

“I’ll join you guys for dinner tonight,” he said, his voice calm, deliberate.

Jihoon blinked, caught off guard. His tone sharpened automatically. “It’s rude to join a family dinner without an invitation, Your Highness.”

Jihoon narrowed his eyes slightly, not bothering to hide his skepticism, but in the end, he said nothing more. He turned and led Jeonghan downstairs, silently resigning himself to the unusual guest.

When they stepped into the dining room, there was a brief stillness. Mingyu, already seated, glanced between the two men with mild surprise. Wonwoo looked up mid-conversation, his brows rose slightly, but he gave a polite nod in acknowledgment. Advisor Jeon, seated at the head of the table, was the only one who didn’t flinch at the unexpected guest. Instead, he rose calmly, gesturing toward an empty seat near the center.

“Your Highness,” he said with a small smile, “please, join us.”

Jeonghan gave a short nod of thanks and sat down. The start of the meal was quiet, the clatter of utensils the only sound in the room for several long minutes. Jeonghan, for once, accepted the food offered to him, sampling each dish with quiet respect.

Then, as he took a small sip of tea, Mingyu’s voice rang out across the table, shattering the silence.

“So then Wonu hyung tried to impress the village kids by attempting Jihoonie hyung’s old martial arts kata—ended up flat on his back in the koi pond.”

Wonwoo let out a low groan, burying his face in one hand. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

Mingyu grinned brightly. “Absolutely not. It was the best birthday we’ve ever had.”

The entire table erupted in laughter, the sound warm and genuine. Even Jihoon cracked a reluctant smile, shaking his head. The tension began to ease.

Mingyu kept the flow going. His voice was animated, expressive, and naturally drew laughter from the others. Even Hyungwon cracked a smile. The sound filled the dining room in warm waves, gentle and genuine.

Jeonghan, at first, merely observed—watching the ease with which the brothers moved through conversation, the small, familiar jabs they exchanged, the way Seungcheol’s name surfaced in gentle, affectionate teasing. Then something shifted. As Mingyu exaggerated the climax of his tale, complete with hand gestures and wide eyes, a sudden burst of laughter from Jihoon drew Jeonghan’s gaze.

And for a moment, he saw it. Seungcheol, seated among them, laughing along, elbowing Mingyu and grinning as if nothing else in the world mattered. His voice filling the space, his eyes crinkling in that way Jeonghan had come to recognize only in moments of true joy. It wasn’t real, of course—just a glimpse of what might’ve been. But it stayed with him.

He looked up and caught Jihoon watching him. Their gazes met for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Jihoon didn’t say anything—he just looked away and continued to comment dryly at something Mingyu said next, with Mingyu whining in protest.

A ghost of a smile tugged at Jeonghan’s lips, subtle but unmistakable. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to relax. He could see now why Seungcheol was the way he was—steady, composed, quietly strong. He had been raised by people who cared deeply, fiercely, and without condition. This wasn’t just a household. It was a home. A pack in the truest sense. And that warmth, that unity… Jeonghan could feel it around him now, even as an outsider.

And in that moment, he was quietly grateful that Seungcheol had grown up in a place like this—surrounded by warmth, protected not by title or power, but by love.

And they had let Jeonghan into their house, despite everything. Despite the danger he had brought into Seungcheol’s life. Despite being the heir to the very palace that had kept Seungcheol’s truths buried. He lowered his gaze to his bowl, letting the warmth of the meal and the murmur of voices wash over him.  

For now, this was enough. He would find the truth in time. But for tonight, he was simply grateful that Seungcheol had found his way to a family that loved him without condition.

And that they were allowing Jeonghan—bit by bit—to stand at the edge of that circle and begin to belong, too.

The moon hung low in the sky, veiled by a thin layer of drifting clouds, casting a soft glow over the Jeon family's vast estate. The fields stretched far into the distance, framed by tree lines and softly rustling hedgerows, the night air crisp and untouched by the noise and heat of the capital. Jeonghan stood alone on the balcony just outside Seungcheol's room, his hands resting on the cold railing as he looked out across the land. The peace of the countryside was stark in contrast to the constant hum of the palace—the shifting of feet, the endless formalities, the ever-watching eyes. Here, there was stillness. A silence that demanded introspection.

He inhaled deeply, the cool air filling his lungs, the faint scent of dew-laced grass grounding him in the present. His mind, however, remained far from calm. It twisted with thoughts of the past few days, of conversations laced with veiled truths, of eyes that said more than words ever could.

The sound of the balcony door sliding open behind him didn’t startle him. Jeonghan glanced sideways but didn’t turn. Jihoon stepped out onto the adjacent balcony, arms crossed over his chest, posture as guarded as ever. He didn’t offer a greeting, nor did Jeonghan. They simply stood beside one another, with only a stone balustrade and the cold wind between them.

It was Jihoon who finally broke the silence, his tone flat but not confrontational. “You’ve been here every night.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond.

Jihoon gave a short exhale, almost a huff. “Is he that important to you? For an assistant?”

Jeonghan’s eyes remained fixed on the dark horizon, his expression unreadable in the half-light. He didn’t answer the question. Instead, his voice came low and steady, veering into a different path entirely.

“You’ve known him for most of your life,” Jeonghan said softly. "Do you know about his past?"

Jihoon turned his head slightly, studying Jeonghan’s profile for a moment. "Not really. And it’s not my place to ask. We were raised not to dig where we weren't invited. There’s a family oath in place. We were told what we needed to know. That he’s an omega. That he needed protection. So we protect him."

Jeonghan turned then, his gaze sharp, the cool breeze brushing back strands of hair from his forehead. “And you think placing a rare male omega in the palace, hidden under a false identity, surrounded by alphas and political vipers… you think that was protecting him?”

"It’s not our decision," Jihoon replied calmly. "Our father made it. We trusted our leader. The King. Just like our fathers did. And we still do.”

"And if he was wrong?" Jeonghan pressed. "If this—" he gestured vaguely toward the house behind them, toward the room where Seungcheol slept, "—was the consequence of that decision?"

Jihoon paused for a long moment, then asked quietly, "Then what would you do differently, Your Highness?"

The question hung in the air between them.

Jihoon turned back toward the field. "You’re the Crown Prince now. You’ll be King someday. Will you make decisions for the people you love, or will you make them for all your people? Because they’re not always the same thing."

Jeonghan didn’t answer.

Jihoon let the silence stand, then gave a small, respectful bow and stepped back toward the glass door. He opened it without looking back. "Think about that before you make promises you can’t keep."

And with that, he disappeared inside, leaving Jeonghan standing alone on the balcony, bathed in cold moonlight, his breath fogging in the air.

That night, Jeonghan didn’t sleep. He returned to the room, settled into the chair beside Seungcheol’s bed, and watched the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of the other’s chest. The lamps had been turned low, casting soft gold shadows across the bed where Seungcheol lay curled beneath layers of blankets. His fever had eased, the flush of his cheeks returning to a gentler hue, the sharp edge of his heat now dulled to something more manageable.

Mingyu had come in once, around midnight, hair tousled and eyes heavy with sleep. He moved like a silent sentinel, checking Seungcheol’s temperature, adjusting the IV fluid, and watching the readings with care. After a few minutes, he turned to Jeonghan and spoke in a low voice. "His heat’s breaking. He’ll wake soon."

Jeonghan only nodded.

Hyungwon had tried to stay up as well, ever faithful, but exhaustion eventually claimed him. He now slept in the chair beside Jeonghan’s bed, a blanket tucked around him. The room was quiet save for the slow, steady rhythm of breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets.

Just before dawn, Seungcheol stirred.

It was a small movement at first—a twitch of fingers, then his head rolling slightly against the pillow. A faint groan slipped past his lips, followed by a breathless sigh. Then, slowly, his lashes fluttered open, revealing dazed, unfocused eyes.

Jeonghan leaned forward, watching intently, heart climbing into his throat without warning.

The door swung open almost immediately. Mingyu rushed in, clearly roused from sleep, his hair wild and clothes rumpled. His eyes swept to the bed, and when he saw Seungcheol blinking up at the ceiling, dazed but conscious, his shoulders sagged in visible relief.

One by one, the rest of the family filtered in—Wonwoo, Jihoon, and finally their father, each with subtle signs of sleepless nights clinging to them. Hyungwon stirred awake as well, rising quietly to stand behind Jeonghan.

As the others flocked around Seungcheol, checking on him and speaking softly, Jeonghan stepped aside, letting them surround him like the warm wall of protection they’d always been. He moved toward the washroom to clean up, while Hyungwon prepared a fresh set of clothes for him on the armchair.

By the time he returned, Seungcheol was sitting upright with Mingyu’s support, his expression dazed but clear. His cheeks were pink with the remnants of heat, his voice hoarse as he spoke politely to the family, eyes darting briefly toward Jeonghan before lowering again.

Jihoon wheeled in a breakfast cart a moment later, already set with a full tray. The scent of rice porridge and side dishes wafted into the room. Everyone was relieved—exhausted, but relieved.

Jeonghan took his seat beside the bed again, legs crossed, gaze fixed on Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s eyes drifted toward him, still hazy from sleep, but recognition flickered there. His lips parted as he pushed himself up with effort.

“Your Highness,” he said weakly, voice still hoarse. “I… would like to apologize… for all the trouble I’ve caused.” He bowed as best he could, his expression humble. “And thank you. For everything.”

But Jeonghan didn’t accept the bow. Instead, he stood slowly and looked at Seungcheol with a calm, serious expression that carried an unfamiliar weight. His voice, when it came, was low and resolute.

“You’re fired.”

The words cut through the quiet like a blade. Even Jihoon froze in place beside the cart.

Seungcheol blinked up at him, eyes wide, confused. "Your Highness?"

"You’re no longer my assistant," Jeonghan repeated, his tone unflinching. "Effective immediately."

There was a stunned pause. Even Seungcheol’s father looked up, eyes narrowing faintly. The rest—Jihoon, Mingyu, Wonwoo—all exchanging confused glances.

Seungcheol struggled to sit straighter, his body still weak but jolted by the words. “Your Highness… if I’ve done something wrong, I—please, let me explain. Was it the incident? Was it—”

“It was the lie,” Jeonghan interrupted sharply.

Seungcheol stilled.

Jeonghan stepped forward, his gaze stern. “You’ve been lying to me. To the entire palace. You pretended to be something you’re not. You concealed your secondary gender, manipulated your records, and endangered yourself and those around you by hiding what you are.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Seungcheol began, but Jeonghan held up a hand.

“I can’t have someone like that by my side,” Jeonghan said. “Not now. Not with what’s coming.”

He turned slightly, nodding to Hyungwon. “Chief Hyungwon will have your belongings sent here. You’re banned from the palace until further notice.”

Seungcheol flinched at the words, his face drained of color.

"Until I decide what your punishment will be," Jeonghan continued, "you will remain within the boundaries of this estate. You’re not to leave unless accompanied by a member of your family. That is an order.”

The room was utterly still. Even the warmth of the breakfast tray felt cold now.

Jeonghan then turned fully, facing the others. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, giving a short nod to Seungcheol’s father, then another to the rest.

Hyungwon, silent until now, stepped forward and bowed deeply. “We’re grateful for your care. Please allow us to handle the arrangements moving forward.”

He glanced once at Seungcheol—his gaze unreadable—before he turned and followed Jeonghan out. The door closed behind them with a soft but final click.

And inside the room, the air remained still—heavy, shocked, and uncertain.

The silence that lingered in Seungcheol’s room after Jeonghan and Hyungwon’s departure was almost suffocating. It weighed on everyone like a heavy blanket, stifling and cold. Seungcheol hadn’t spoken since the Crown Prince’s final words had left his lips—words that seemed to echo in the corners of the room, long after the man himself had gone.

He hadn’t touched the breakfast Jihoon had wheeled in, hadn’t responded to anyone’s quiet attempts to console him. He just sat there, back resting weakly against the headboard, blanket still tucked around his legs, his eyes wide and distant. His chest rose and fell in small, shallow breaths, and his fingers trembled slightly where they gripped the edge of the blanket.

Across from him, Mingyu sat on the edge of the bed, trying for the third time to coax Seungcheol into eating.  The bowl of porridge in his hands had long since cooled, but Mingyu continued patiently, offering spoonfuls with soft words of encouragement. “Just a few bites, hyung,” he urged gently. “You haven’t eaten in days. You need your strength.”

Seungcheol, however, remained still. Since Jeonghan’s abrupt departure, he hadn’t spoken much. His gaze was blank, unfocused, as if the weight of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours had finally crushed the last bit of energy left in him. He hadn’t even flinched when the door had closed behind the Crown Prince.

Wonwoo had remained seated quietly at the foot of the bed, watching with a frown as Seungcheol's gaze turned glassy. There was no anger in Seungcheol’s eyes—just disbelief. And then the silence cracked.

Tears began to stream down his cheeks without sound. His hands covered his mouth as a quiet sob escaped him, and then another. The dam had broken. All the fear, confusion, exhaustion—everything he had been holding back through the haze of fever and heat—came rushing out in full force.

Wonwoo immediately scooted closer and pulled Seungcheol gently into his arms, letting the younger man collapse against his chest. Seungcheol clutched at him tightly, burying his face in the soft folds of his shirt, his body wracked with sobs that came too fast for breath. His voice cracked, choked with emotion.

“Why... why did he do that? Why didn’t he even give me a chance to explain? What did I do wrong...?”

No one answered him. Mingyu looked away, his jaw tight, his own eyes shimmering. Jihoon clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. None of them could stand to see Seungcheol this broken. For years, he had been the strongest of them—stoic, composed, always putting others first. But now, he looked so small, so vulnerable, and no one could take away the pain that Jeonghan’s sudden rejection had caused him.

Eventually, Seungcheol’s sobs subsided into quiet sniffles, and Wonwoo helped him lie back down, pulling the blanket gently up to his chest. His breathing evened out somewhat, but his expression remained blank, the spark in his eyes dulled to a soft, heart-wrenching sadness.

Jihoon cast a glance toward their father, who had remained mostly quiet throughout the morning. At Jihoon’s silent prompt, the older man straightened from his chair, gave a small, subtle nod before turning and walking out, heading silently toward his study. Jihoon followed without a word.

The study door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, only the soft crackle of the fireplace filled the room. The elder Jeon moved to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of tea, his motions deliberate, calm.

Jihoon waited only a few seconds before speaking, his voice tight.

“You’re really going to let him do that?” he asked, barely containing his anger. “You’re going to let Jeonghan-nim come into our house, stay at Seungcheolie’s bedside like he belongs here, and then fire him the moment he wakes up? Without even giving him a reason? Without letting him defend himself?”

The elder Jeon didn’t turn around. He took a slow sip from the cup before answering. “Jeonghan-nim knows what he’s doing.”

Jihoon’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not why he fired him and you know it, abeoji.”

The elder turned, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “He’s also right. Seungcheolie did lie about who he was. About what he was. That alone is grounds for dismissal.”

“That wasn’t a dismissal based on duty,” Jihoon Jihoon scoffed. “That was personal. Emotional. You saw it yourself. Jeonghan-nim’s been coming here every day like a man who’s—” He stopped himself before finishing the sentence, shaking his head. “He doesn’t even give Seungcheolie a chance to explain or defend himself. Just strips him of everything without warning.”

Still, his father remained quiet.

“And you’re just letting it happen?” Jihoon pushed. “You always said we were to protect Seungcheolie. That includes from decisions like this.”

Finally, the older man met his son’s gaze and spoke, his voice slow and deliberate.

“Do you think I don’t know what’s really going on?” he asked. “Do you think I don’t see what Jeonghan-nim is doing?”

Jihoon stayed quiet, his anger still simmering.

“Then understand this,” his father continued. “That’s the cost of leadership. To make decisions that feel wrong to the heart, but right for the greater whole. You think Jeonghan-nim wanted to dismiss him? You think it didn’t gut him to do it? He’s protecting more than just our Seungcheolie. He’s protecting the fragile silence around him. The fewer people who ask questions, the safer Seungcheolie will remain.”

Jihoon’s anger faltered as the words sank in. His father leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant now.

“Sometimes the best way to protect someone is to push them away.” The elder Jeon said softly, “Jeonghan-nim’s not just thinking about Seungcheol. He’s thinking about the palace. The rumors. The danger. You and I both know what would happen if people began to question who Seungcheolie really is. If someone were to dig too deep into where he came from...”

He let the words trail off, the implication clear.

Jihoon’s breath slowed. His shoulders slumped slightly as the pieces began to connect in his mind.

“And what about Seungcheolie?” he asked quietly. “What’s he supposed to think? What’s he supposed to feel? You think he should just sit here and accept it?”

The elder Jeon sighed. “That’s the price of being a leader, Jihoon-ah. Just like how we took Seungcheolie in without knowing the truth because we trusted that the King had a reason,” his father continued. “Jeonghan-nim is now doing the same—making a choice no one else wants to make, but perhaps the one only he can. That’s what it means to lead.”

Jihoon lowered his eyes, biting back a sharp reply. He knew his father was right. Deep down, he knew it. Jeonghan’s actions hadn’t been born from cruelty. They were calculated, painful, and necessary. By removing Seungcheol from the palace, he wasn’t just sparing him further danger—he was protecting everyone. The fewer questions asked, the fewer answers required. Just like they had once taken Seungcheol in with no questions, Jeonghan had now sent him away in silence, preserving a truth that had always lived just beneath the surface.

So Jihoon swallowed his bitterness, straightened his spine, and walked back to Seungcheol’s room.

Back in Seungcheol’s room, the atmosphere had quieted. Seungcheol was sitting upright again, the tray of half-eaten food still beside him. He was staring into his bowl, stirring the porridge with a spoon but not bringing it to his lips. Mingyu stood nearby, watching with a hopeful sort of patience, though it was clear he’d expected as much.

Jihoon stepped into the room, and Wonwoo glanced up from the chair where he sat reading. He met Jihoon’s eyes and gave a small nod before returning his gaze to the pages.

Seungcheol gave up on the food a few spoonfuls later. Mingyu, despite looking disappointed, accepted it quietly. He gathered the dishes, gently wiped the edge of the tray, and began rolling the cart back toward the kitchen. As he passed Jihoon, he offered a small squeeze to his arm before disappearing through the door.

Jihoon took Mingyu’s place beside the bed. Seungcheol was still staring out the window, his expression distant. His eyes looked tired, but there was a flicker of something deeper there — not anger, not quite sadness, but a hollow ache that Jihoon recognized all too well.

Without a word, Jihoon reached up and gently brushed away a tear that had escaped down Seungcheol’s cheek.

“You shouldn’t be this sad,” Jihoon said softly. “You gave everything for the palace. Two whole years of your life, working yourself to the bone. You deserve a break, whether or not it came the way you wanted.”

Seungcheol turned to look at him, a flicker of something—grief, doubt, confusion—passing through his eyes.

“What do I even do now?” he asked. “Everything I worked for is gone. What do I do with my life after this?”

Jihoon didn’t answer immediately. He leaned forward, pulling Seungcheol into a loose embrace, careful not to overwhelm his recovering body.

“You were meant for great things, Cheol-ah,” he said. “Just because you’re not in the palace anymore doesn’t mean you’ve lost your purpose. You’re still you. There’s still so much you can do. Maybe now you finally have the time to figure out what you want. What you choose. And now, you’re free to find it.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes and rested his head against Jihoon’s shoulder. The warmth of his brother’s arms was familiar, steadying. He felt the comfort of family settle into his bones—a sensation he hadn’t realized he’d missed so deeply until this very moment.

He drew a breath, shaky but stronger than before. Maybe Jihoon was right. Maybe this was a chance to recover, to breathe.

But a part of him couldn’t let go. He couldn’t forget Jeonghan’s face as he said those words. He couldn’t accept that there had been no reason. No explanation. No goodbye.

And so, in the quiet of his heart, Seungcheol made a vow.

When he was strong again—when he could stand on his own two feet—he would return. He would confront Jeonghan. Not to reclaim his job. Not to prove his worth. But to demand the truth from Jeonghan himself—face to face. He would find out the truth behind his sudden dismissal, behind the strange tension that had built between them, behind everything that had been left unsaid.

Because he had allies. Joshua. Jun. Even the Alpha King had always shown him a quiet favor. He was not without support.

But for now, he would rest. He would let himself heal. He would take in the comfort of the home he had missed so deeply — the voices, the quiet laughter, the warmth that had always been here waiting for him. He would rest to his heart’s content.

And then, when the time came, he would rise again.

The days that followed passed with a quiet rhythm that Seungcheol hadn’t known he missed until he experienced it again. His body was still healing, but the environment—the warmth, the familiarity, the gentle cadence of home—did more for his recovery than any medicine could. For the first time in years, he wasn’t tethered to rigid schedules or burdened by palace expectations. There were no scrolls piled high with urgent markings, no footsteps pacing outside his office door, no looming figures with cold eyes and sharper tongues waiting to find fault.

Now, he simply rested. He slept when his body asked for it. He took long baths and longer walks around the garden. He ate the meals that were prepared specifically for him—always warm, always nutritious, always served with quiet encouragement and watchful eyes.

He read the book that had been waiting on his nightstand since before he’d joined the royal court, the one he had promised to finish every night but never did. He wrote in his journal daily as he used to before palace life consumed his time. And in those pages, he poured out the confusion, the grief, and the aching question that still hovered unanswered in his chest: Why did Jeonghan send him away?

In the mornings, after his brothers left for their respective duties—Jihoon at the court office, Wonwoo at the archives, and Mingyu with the healers—Seungcheol would sit on the back veranda with his father. A pot of tea always sat between them, steam rising gently into the morning air. They would sip slowly, talking quietly. His father spoke of his time as a royal advisor—recounting his years in government, the shifting landscape of politics, the rise and fall of noble houses, and the subtle games of power that were always being played behind curtains.

Seungcheol listened quietly. He found comfort in the cadence of his father’s voice and the stories that always seemed to have more wisdom hidden between the lines than on the surface. Sometimes, his father would pause and ask what Seungcheol thought—how he might handle a particular policy, or how he would have advised a minister under pressure. Seungcheol answered without hesitation. His years at the palace had sharpened him, and his insights were not only accurate but visionary. His father would nod, pleased, sometimes smiling faintly as if confirming a silent belief that Seungcheol had always been meant for more.

On occasion, Seungcheol joined his father on visits to their production sites. The Jeon family oversaw the country’s largest cocoa bean enterprise, a legacy handed down through generations. At the processing center, Seungcheol reviewed harvest data, checked yield records, and made suggestions on improving efficiency. His ideas were well received—his strategies fresh, practical, and effective. The workers, many of whom had known him since he was a boy, welcomed him with warmth and respect.

By the time his brothers returned from work each day, Seungcheol would already be home, changed into comfortable clothes, waiting for the energy they always brought with them. Some evenings, they would head to the barracks where Jihoon trained younger officers. There, they sparred and raced horses across the field. They played ball games with their old competitive spirit, teasing and goading each other like the years hadn’t passed at all. Archery was still Seungcheol’s favorite—he had the precision of a master and the calm focus to match. Each hit to the bullseye felt like reclaiming a part of himself that the palace life had buried under protocol and paperwork.

Dinner was always a lively affair. Mingyu would carry the conversation with outlandish stories, exaggerated impressions, and an ability to make everyone laugh even when they didn’t want to. Wonwoo would chime in occasionally with witty one-liners, while Jihoon grumbled but laughed anyway. Their father listened, intervened with wisdom when necessary, and asked for updates from each of them in turn—a tradition they’d followed since they were children.

Sometimes, when the moon was high and the house was quiet again, they would retreat to their respective balconies. From there, they’d talk across the walls—about their futures, their dreams, the strange and shifting paths their lives had taken. Other nights, they said nothing at all, content to just breathe in the cool night air and exist in the quiet together.

But for all the comfort that surrounded Seungcheol, sleep became less of a refuge. It began subtly. He started having strange dreams—not nightmares, not at first, but fragments. Shadows. Faint dreams that faded before he could remember them, vague images and whispers that left him waking in a sweat.

But as the days passed, the dreams began to sharpen. Faces began to take form. Places became familiar. Sounds turned to voices. And one figure began to appear again and again—Minhee.

That alone was enough to jolt Seungcheol from his sleep, heart pounding and forehead damp with cold sweat. Mingyu had come rushing in seconds later, tousle-haired and half-dressed, worry etched into his face.

“You’re okay,” Mingyu had whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Just a nightmare.”

But each night, the dream returned, building itself in layers like a puzzle slowly assembling. He saw her in the royal kitchen. At first, only her silhouette. Then her movements became more defined—her smirk unmistakable, her steps confident and calculated. On the fifth night, another figure appeared in the dream. Seokmin. Quiet, unsuspecting Seokmin, trailing behind Minhee as she left the kitchen, pushing a cart loaded with food. Heading toward Jeonghan’s quarters.

That dream replayed again and again, searing itself into Seungcheol’s mind. And every time, it ended with Seokmin knocking on the Crown Prince’s door.

Wonwoo, concerned by his increasing distress, had gently tried to explain it as trauma—memories surfacing now that Seungcheol’s mind and body were no longer in survival mode. “It’s not necessarily real,” he had said. “Sometimes our minds twist things when we’re overwhelmed.”

Seungcheol tried to accept that explanation. But deep down, something told him it was more than that. The dream felt too real, too vivid. Not like the usual muddled chaos of nightmares. It felt like something like a warning.

Then, one night, as heavy clouds cloaked the moon and the air was thick with an oncoming storm, Seungcheol collapsed into bed early. He hadn’t felt well since midday—a dull ache had crept into his head, and by evening, it had spread behind his eyes. He had skipped dinner, murmuring an apology to his family. Mingyu helped him settle in, placing a cold cloth on his forehead before leaving the room quietly.

Then came the dream again. Only this time, it unfolded completely. He saw Minhee clearly, walking into the royal kitchen, though he couldn’t see what she was doing. The dream wouldn’t let him. He could only watch as the vision jumped—Minhee exiting the kitchen with the same victorious smirk, followed moments later by Seokmin pushing the cart, oblivious.

They approached the Crown Prince’s chambers. Seungcheol followed, his dream-self desperate to intervene. But the palace corridors twisted unnaturally, and the door to Jeonghan’s chamber slammed shut just as he reached it. He pounded on it, but no sound came. He turned, searching for another way inside, running through corridors, gasping for air.

And then he heard a scream. It ripped through the air, raw and horrifying.

The guards arrived next, storming the corridor and throwing the door open. Seungcheol pushed forward, watching as the scene unfolded in gut-wrenching slow motion.

Inside, Hyungwon knelt over Jeonghan, who lay limp and unconscious in his arms, blood trailing from his mouth. Beside him, Seokmin convulsed on the ground, frothing with blood, eyes wide and choking. 

Seungcheol stood frozen, paralyzed. But as just he tried to move, to reach them——to do something, anything—the entire world froze. Then shattered.

He jolted awake with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. His hands clutched at the sheets, and panic overtook him. He kicked the blankets aside, stumbling toward the door, half-aware of his surroundings.

The door flung open before he reached it. Mingyu stood there, panic in his eyes, breath caught. “Hyung!”

“I need to go back there—” Seungcheol choked out, pushing past him. “Jeonghan-nim—he’s—something’s wrong, I have to—”

But Mingyu caught him before he could get far. His arms wrapped tightly around Seungcheol’s middle, grounding him. “Hyung, stop. You’re not well. It’s just a nightmare—”

“No, no—it’s real. It happened. It’s not a dream—” Seungcheol cried, struggling against his grip, but Mingyu held tighter. “Let me go! He’s in danger—I have to get to him!”

By then, the noise had roused the rest of the house. Wonwoo and Jihoon rushed in, just in time to see Seungcheol struggling violently in Mingyu’s arms, his face pale and wild with terror. They moved quickly to restrain Seungcheol, holding him as gently as possible without letting him hurt himself.

Their father appeared moments later, holding a silver cup filled with water. “Hold him tight,” he said quickly. 

His eyes, normally soft and wise, were sharp and glowing faintly with power. With a flick of his wrist, he murmured a few words, and the surface of the water shimmered. He raised the cup, and with a sudden motion, sprayed a fine mist toward Seungcheol’s face.

In an instant, Seungcheol’s body stilled. His breathing slowed, his limbs went slack, and his muscles softened under Mingyu’s grip. Mingyu shifted his hold slightly, whispering low in his brother’s ear. “Sleep now. It’s okay now. Just rest. You’re safe.”

His voice carried a laced compulsion, barely perceptible to ordinary ears, but potent when paired with the magic that now swirled faintly in the air.

Seungcheol’s limbs slackened as his body sagged into their arms, finally going limp. His eyelids fluttered, then closed. His breathing slowed. Jihoon and Wonwoo eased him back toward his bed, laying him down gently, adjusting the blanket over his now-still form. He looked peaceful again—but there was a tension in his brow that hadn't been there before.

For a long moment, the room was quiet. Then The elder Jeon spoke, his voice low and solemn.

“The time may have come sooner than we expected.”

The silence in the room become thicker with tension and unspoken meaning. The brothers exchanged a look over Seungcheol’s resting form, the weight of their father’s words sinking in.

Something was coming.

And they all knew it had already begun.

Chapter Text

The morning air carried a crispness that lingered against Seungcheol’s skin as he stood quietly on the balcony of his bedroom, his arms resting along the carved stone railing. A soft breeze swept across the estate, rustling the leaves below and stirring the sheer curtains behind him.

The sun had barely risen above the eastern hills, casting a gentle golden glow over the Jeon estate, painting the rooftops in warm light and making the garden leaves shimmer faintly. Despite the beauty of the morning, there was a hollow stillness in the air—an echo of absence that clung to the corridors and rooms of the mansion.

The Jeon mansion stood in a hush of stillness. His brothers had already left for work at dawn, their early chatter replaced by the routine quiet of a household returning to its daytime rhythm. His father had departed shortly after, bound for a visit to the production line to inspect the latest yield and review shipment schedules.

Seungcheol had watched them from the window, longing briefly to accompany them, to feel useful again, to feel normal. But that wasn’t an option anymore.

Ever since the incident—ever since the nightmares had taken hold of him so violently and unrelentingly—he was forbidden to leave the estate. Not even a visit to the family factory was allowed.

The mansion had become both a sanctuary and a prison, its walls beautiful but immovable. He could walk the gardens, breathe the open air, eat at the long family table, but the borders of the estate were now the limits of his world. It was suffocating, but not in a way that he could argue against.

Since that night, he hadn’t experienced another nightmare. That alone should have been a relief, and in some ways, it was. He no longer woke up gasping for air, drenched in sweat, with the echo of screams still ringing in his ears. No more flickering images of blood, no distorted visions of Minhee’s smirk or Jeonghan’s lifeless body cradled by Hyungwon. The silence of the nights was deep, unbroken, and strangely comforting. And yet… that same silence was beginning to feel unnatural.

Because he knew why the nightmares had stopped.

Every night, just before the final lanterns were dimmed and the hallways settled into sleep, Mingyu would appear at his door. He never knocked—he didn’t need to, Seungcheol always expected him. He would sit on the edge of the bed, joking about work or how Jihoon had lectured another soldier into tears, but the conversation always ended the same way.

In his hands would be a small porcelain cup filled with a warm, amber-colored tonic. It smelled faintly floral, with a sweetness that coated the tongue and a bitter aftertaste that lingered. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was almost soothing. But Seungcheol knew it wasn’t just for flavor.

He had asked about it, once. Mingyu had brushed it off with a smile. “Just something to help you rest better, hyung. You’ve been through a lot.”

The first few nights, he drank it obediently, desperate for the calm it brought. And it worked. He would fall asleep within minutes, slipping into deep, uninterrupted slumber that lasted until the sun broke over the hills. His body felt rested each morning, his mind clearer. His appetite had returned, and his energy no longer wavered.

On the surface, he was improving. Recovering. But inwardly, the confusion only grew.

The dreams had been horrible, yes—but they had also felt real. Vivid in ways that nightmares weren’t supposed to be. The details, the faces, the layout of the palace hallways, even the sounds of footsteps and voices—none of it had felt imagined. Each vision had felt like something remembered, not created. And now, with the dreams erased, he wasn’t sure if that sense of reality had been the result of trauma, buried memory… or something else entirely.

On the fifth night, he refused the drink. Mingyu had tried to convince him gently, but Seungcheol stood his ground. He didn’t want to sleep like that anymore. He didn’t want a mind numbed by herbs or spells. He wanted to dream, even if it hurt. He wanted to remember.

But when he woke the next morning, he woke up with an IV drip inserted into his wrist. They had waited until he fell asleep and then administered it anyway. The betrayal stung more than he let on.

He confronted Mingyu about it, but his younger brother only looked at him with wide, pained eyes and said, “You weren’t okay, hyung. You were terrified. You couldn’t breathe. We’re just trying to help you.”

And what could he say to that? They weren’t wrong. They were doing it out of love. To protect him. To help him heal.

So eventually, Seungcheol stopped protesting. He drank the tonic each night, let the warm sweetness lull him into sleep, and tried to convince himself that forgetting the dreams meant moving forward. Maybe, just maybe, they were right. Maybe rest was all he needed.

Still, the seed of doubt had already taken root.

That afternoon, as the sun climbed to its peak, Seungcheol heard the front gates open. From the second-floor balcony, he leaned over slightly and spotted the familiar black vehicle pulling into the drive. His heart gave a small jolt as he saw his father emerge first, speaking to someone behind him.

A moment later, two familiar faces appeared—Jun, bright and excited as always, waving frantically as soon as he saw Seungcheol; and Joshua, a step behind, looking far more reserved, his smile polite but restrained.

They were unexpected. But their presence brought with it a wave of comfort Seungcheol hadn’t realized he needed.

By the time they reached the front steps, Seungcheol was already descending to greet them. Jun rushed him with a hug, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. “You look less dead than I expected!” he teased, pulling back to grin. “Still pale though.”

“Good to see you too,” Seungcheol replied with a laugh, ruffling Jun’s hair.

Joshua approached with a more tempered pace, bowing respectfully to Seungcheol’s father and then offering Seungcheol a more formal nod. “It’s good to see you, Seungcheol.”

“Likewise, Your Highness,” Seungcheol said, bowing formally at the second prince, noting the hesitation in his eyes.

Lunch was served in the sunroom, with the glass windows thrown open to let in the fresh air. As always, the meal was plentiful, and Jun filled the silence with his animated chatter—stories from the palace, mishaps from the factory, even a few veiled jabs at Hyungwon’s sour mood since Seungcheol left. Joshua ate quietly, only speaking when directly addressed by Seungcheol’s father, maintaining the polished propriety he was known for.

Since both Joshua and Jun had traveled to the Jeon estate under the pretext of overseeing regional cocoa production, Jun was summoned by Seungcheol’s father to accompany him back to the production facility for a scheduled report review. The two departed not long after lunch, discussing new fermentation techniques and recent shipment reports with casual energy, leaving the mansion quiet once more.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted as soon as the front door closed behind them. Joshua remained seated in the lounge beside Seungcheol, the quiet between them settling like a heavy mist. The weight of silence felt more pronounced in the absence of Jun’s energy.

For several minutes, neither of them spoke, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner marking each passing second with gentle persistence. Seungcheol shifted in his seat, his fingers fidgeting slightly in his lap as he tried to gather the right words—anything to start a conversation, anything to break the growing awkwardness between them.

He wasn’t sure how to begin. His relationship with Joshua had always been easy at the palace—warm, friendly, punctuated by teasing remarks and brief, sincere conversations—but here, in the quiet of his family home, with no court etiquette to hide behind, Seungcheol felt strangely exposed.

But it was Joshua who spoke first. “Is it true?” he asked quietly, his tone direct but not accusatory. “The rumors. About you being an omega.”

The question struck the air like a stone thrown into still water. Seungcheol froze for a brief moment, his breath catching slightly before he exhaled. He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lowered to the floor as he searched for the words that would carry the weight of the truth without crumbling under it.

His first instinct was hesitation. It still felt unnatural to say aloud. To confirm something he’d buried for so long. But this was Joshua—someone he had always respected, someone who had been nothing but kind to him through his time at the palace.

After a pause, he nodded. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said softly. “It’s true..”

He glanced up, watching the flicker of surprise cross Joshua’s face. It wasn’t disbelief, exactly—more like the quiet confirmation of a suspicion that had been lingering beneath the surface.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore,” Seungcheol added with a hollow edge in his voice. “It’s not a secret now that I’ve already been fired.”

The prince’s eyebrows lifted slightly at that. “Fired?” he echoed, his voice tilting with confusion. “That’s not what Jeonghan reported.”

Seungcheol blinked. “What do you mean?”

“He told the council you were transferred,” Joshua replied. “That you’d been assigned to a new position outside the palace grounds due to personal reasons. There was no mention of dismissal.”

A cold realization began to crawl through Seungcheol’s spine. “No,” he said, his voice firmer now. “He told me himself. I was dismissed from service. He banned me from entering the palace grounds entirely. He even said Hyungwon-nim would send my belongings, but—”

He trailed off, his eyes narrowing in thought. His voice dropped lower. “None of my things ever came. Not a single item.”

Joshua looked away, frowning.

Seungcheol leaned forward. “What’s happening over there, Your Highness?”

Joshua’s jaw tightened. He hesitated before replying. “Minhee’s stirring trouble. She’s not just stirring whispers anymore. She’s been fueling a quiet but growing faction—one that’s turning the noble houses against each other. She’s painting me as the rightful heir to the throne.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “You, Your Highness?”

Joshua nodded once. “She’s claiming that I’m the better choice. That I’m stronger, more stable, and just as legitimate—if not more.”

“But… Your Highness, everyone knows you’re the second prince,” Seungcheol said. “Even if you’re both alphas, the throne has always gone to the firstborn of the Luna Queen. It’s written in our laws.”

“True,” Joshua said, leaning back slightly. “But she’s not arguing from tradition. She’s turning this into a matter of bloodline strength. She’s pushing the idea that I have purer ties through the Kim lineage. My mother may have been a beta consort, but she was born into the main branch of the Kim pack. It’s one of the largest and most powerful pack in the entire country. And Minhee knows the influence they wield.”

“And Jeonghan-nim?” Seungcheol asked, hesitant.

“He has the throne by right,” the prince said without hesitation. “By law, and by succession. He’s the firstborn son of the Luna Queen. His legitimacy shouldn’t be in question.”

“But she’s making people questioning it…” Seungcheol murmured.

Joshua nodded grimly. “Minhee filed a petition to challenge the succession law last week. She framed it as a call for ‘modernization’—a move to recognize blood strength and not just royal birth. Most of the ministers shut it down immediately. But that doesn’t mean she’s finished. Her support base is growing. She’s tapping into old rivalries, resentment, fear. It’s a dangerous strategy.”

Seungcheol’s fingers drummed absently against the armrest of his chair, his eyes fixed on the carpet as thoughts churned in his head. Everything Joshua had just told him—the palace politics, the rumors of succession, the rising unrest—it was overwhelming. But one question kept returning to him, one that refused to be silenced.

A long pause settled between them, heavier than before.

Seungcheol stared at the floor, processing the weight of what he had just learned. Then, almost unconsciously, he voiced the thought that had been clawing at the back of his mind.

“What does Minhee have against me?” he murmured aloud, more to himself than anyone else. “And now Jeonghan-nim?”

The room fell still.

Joshua didn’t answer right away. Instead, his posture shifted. His casual lean straightened into something sharper, more alert. He studied Seungcheol for a moment, as if deciding how much to say, how far to go. Then, without a word, he stood up, walked silently across the room, and pushed the door shut with a soft but deliberate click. The sound of the latch sliding into place felt final.

When he returned, Joshua didn’t sit across from Seungcheol again. This time, he took the seat beside him, his voice low, edged with caution. “There’s a reason for it,” he said. “And it started long before either of us knew Minhee was dangerous.”

Seungcheol turned toward him, his expression expectant.

“After your attack,” Joshua continued, “I started digging. I needed to understand who she was. Where she came from. Why she would go so far.”

“And?” Seungcheol prompted.

“What I found wasn’t easy to access,” Joshua said. “A lot of it was sealed. Scrubbed from public records. But the old archives still keep fragments. Enough to trace the line back. Minhee… had a twin.”

Seungcheol’s brows lifted in surprise. “A twin?”

Joshua nodded. “Minhyuk. He was Jeonghan’s first personal assistant—back when he was still a Crown Prince-in-training. They were paired during academy training. Minhyuk was considered a prodigy. The best of his year. Fast, intelligent, politically sharp. He was groomed early for high office and became Jeonghan’s study partner, his main advisor in training sessions. Jeonghan had trusted him more than anyone.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly. "I’ve never heard of him."

"You’re not supposed to," Joshua replied. "Most haven’t. He was scrubbed from nearly every royal record. His name only shows up in certain early staff logs and a few scattered training reports—before everything changed."

Seungcheol swallowed, listening intently.

Joshua’s mouth twisted into something close to a grimace. “The Crown Prince Consort was then announced and arrived the academy.”

Seungcheol went very still.

Joshua continued, “He was a male omega. Just like you. His name… was Choi Seungcheol.”

The name hit Seungcheol like a punch to the chest. He heard Jeonghan told him about it once before, but he never mentioned it again.

“He didn’t look exactly like you,” Joshua said carefully. “But there were similarities. The same long lashes. The thick brows. A deep dimple in his left cheek. The resemblance wasn’t identical, but it was… uncanny. The way he smiled. The way he spoke. When I first met you, I thought it was just coincidence. Now I’m not so sure."

Seungcheol’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “He was Jeonghan-nim’s… mate?”

Joshua’s eyes met his. He nodded once. “The prophesied mate. Male omegas like him are born once every few generations. Some say once in a century. They carry not only rare omega traits, but powerful magical potential. The last one before him had died more than fifty years ago—a great sorcerer, a celestial mage known for his foresight and healing abilities.”

“So the Crown Prince Consort… he had powers too?” Seungcheol asked.

“He was a gifted healer,” Joshua replied. “And a skilled foreteller. Not in the mystical way that charlatans pretend, but real. He could see possibilities, discern outcomes, advise with eerie accuracy. He and Jeonghan were inseparable. He wasn’t just Jeonghan’s consort—he was his equal, his strategist. They made decisions together. Argued over matters of court. Challenged each other.”

“The problem is that Minhyuk clashed constantly with the Crown Prince Consort,” Joshua continued. “Minhyuk had his own views—often rooted in strict tradition and hierarchy. The Crown Prince Consort… well, he was more flexible. Visionary. Their arguments became legendary in the academy—heated, passionate, filled with fire and frustration. But it went deeper than disagreement. It became personal. Especially when the Crown Prince began to favor the Consort’s advice over Minhyuk’s.”

Joshua exhaled slowly, then continued.

“But what no one knew at the time—at least not publicly—was that Minhyuk had been studying magic. Not just formal sorcery or sanctioned energy work, but black magic. Forbidden techniques that draw power from corrupted sources.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened. “How did they find out?”

“The Consort discovered it,” Joshua said. “He brought it to the attention of the King. As a result, Minhyuk was suspended from his position and removed from palace service. The incident was kept out of public record to avoid scandal. But Minhyuk never recovered from the disgrace.”

“Not long after the suspension, the Crown Prince Consort died under mysterious circumstances.” Joshua continued. “Officially, it was called an accident. But in the aftermath, Minhyuk was accused of being an accomplice in the Crown Prince Consort's death. He was arrested, interrogated, and—eventually—executed."

Seungcheol closed his eyes for a moment, a strange heaviness settling into his chest.

“Do you know how the Consort died, Your Highness?” he asked quietly.

Joshua shook his head, his expression guarded. “No one knows for sure. The truth was buried fast. Only three people are believed to know the full story: the King himself, Jeonghan, and one of the King’s council members.”

Seungcheol looked up sharply. “No one else know? Not even Hyungwon-nim?”

Joshua shook his head. “Even I don’t know how it happened. Only that it shattered Jeonghan.” He sighed. “Since then, all records related to both the Consort and Minhyuk were locked down. Speaking of them publicly became a punishable offense. The rumors disappeared almost overnight.”

Silence filled the space between them.

Joshua leaned back slightly, his gaze narrowing. “That’s why Minhee hates you. You’re stepping into a shadow she’s never been able to escape. Her brother was executed because of the Consort. Her hatred runs deeper than ambition.”

Seungcheol swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “But… I can’t be him. There’s no way—”

“It’s only been eight years since the Crown Prince Consort died,” Joshua cut him off. “You’re far too old to be a reincarnation. That’s impossible.”

“Then what?” Seungcheol asked, his voice brittle. “What does it mean?”

Joshua exhaled slowly. “The only theory I have is this—maybe you weren’t born after the Consort died. Maybe… you were born with him. But maybe you’re hidden. Protected. Sent away for reasons we still don’t understand. But there’s something about you that’s triggering memories—recognition—in people who knew him. Especially Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The revelations settled over him like a dense fog, smothering every coherent thought.

As Joshua stood to leave, summoned by the returning escort from the production line, he placed a hand gently on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Whatever the truth is,” he said, “you deserve to know it. But be careful, Seungcheol-ah. The past isn’t just buried—it was erased. I think there’s something buried here. And I don’t think we’re the only ones digging.”

Then he left, his figure vanishing down the corridor as quietly as he had arrived.

Seungcheol sat in silence for a long while after, staring blankly into space. His mind churned with possibilities, each one more impossible than the last. The pieces of his life—his forgotten past, his hidden identity, the familiar pull toward Jeonghan—all of it had once been shrouded in fog. Now, the outlines were beginning to take shape. Pieces were falling into place—memories he didn’t have, names he’d never heard, and the lingering question that clawed at the edge of his mind.

But one question gnawed at the edge of his thoughts, relentless and impossible to dismiss.

Is it truly impossible… for someone to return from death?

And if they could… had he?

That night, sleep didn’t come easily. Even after swallowing the tonic Mingyu brought to his room—its familiar sweetness clinging to the back of his throat—his mind refused to settle. The restlessness that had taken hold of him after Joshua’s visit only grew heavier with each passing hour. When the tonic finally pulled him into a light sleep, it lasted no more than two hours. He woke just past midnight, heart pounding, his skin cold with a film of sweat, though no dreams accompanied the sensation.

The quiet of the mansion offered no comfort. The silence only amplified the unease winding through his chest.

He threw on a robe and stepped into the hallway, his bare feet moving silently across the polished floors. He didn’t know where he was headed at first—only that he couldn’t sit still. His thoughts screamed for clarity, for answers that no one seemed willing to give. The conversation with Joshua kept replaying in his mind: the forgotten twin, the forbidden name, the questions about his origins and the mysterious Consort who had died eight years ago.

Drawn by a quiet desperation, Seungcheol made his way to the study his father used—the one place he rarely ventured into without invitation. He hesitated before entering, casting a glance over his shoulder, but the hall remained empty and still. Steeling himself, he pushed the door open and slipped inside carefully, making sure not to alert the guards or the house staff.

The room was dark except for a single lantern near the bookshelves, left burning to deter moisture from collecting among the archives. The study smelled faintly of old parchment, sandalwood, and something sharper—perhaps the residue of protective spells long since woven into the walls. The shelves were lined with leather-bound tomes and scrolls, and near the back of the room sat a locked cabinet, the contents of which were said to hold confidential records from his father's years of royal service.

Seungcheol didn’t dare approach the cabinet. Instead, he sifted through the old document files stacked near the writing desk, most of them dated and organized by year. He carefully pulled out the folders from eight years ago, when the Crown Prince Consort had reportedly died. His heart pounded as he flipped through the pages—meeting transcripts, council records, travel orders, notes on the nation's borders and resource allocations.

But there was no official mention of the Consort’s death. No mourning decree. No ceremonial archive. Not even an obituary. Just a line of personal notes from a single day, dated the week of the Crown Prince Consort’s death.

The entry read:

"Disturbance near the inner court. Medical wing secured. No public declaration issued. Orders delivered directly from His Majesty. Subject no longer in critical condition.

Status: terminated."

That was all. No name. No details. No mention of who the "subject" was or what the disturbance entailed.

Seungcheol stared at the entry, feeling a cold pit open in his stomach. There was no report. No confirmation. As though someone had deliberately erased it from the records, leaving only the faintest shadow behind.

His hands trembled slightly as he folded the note and returned it to its place. A sense of guilt twisted in his gut. He shouldn’t have been looking through these records. If his father found out, it would raise questions Seungcheol wasn’t ready to answer. He closed the ledger gently and left the study without a sound, his breath tight in his chest.

But even then, he couldn’t stop. The need for truth pulled him next to the family library, tucked deeper into the west wing of the mansion. There, he searched for anything—documents, old photos, notes about his adoption or early years. He combed through boxes and drawers, flipping through pages and folders until his fingers were sore and his eyes burned. But there was nothing.

No childhood records. No name listed before his arrival at the Jeon household. No birth certificate. Not even any photos. His past had been wiped clean. And now, more than ever, it felt intentional.

Seungcheol padded back to his room, waiting for morning to come. The rest of the day passed slowly. He went through the motions with his brothers, laughing at Mingyu’s jokes, responding to Jihoon’s usual sarcasm, and nodding along to Wonwoo’s random facts. But his thoughts remained elsewhere. He felt hollow inside, like someone trying to play the part of himself.

Later that night, after the house quieted and his brothers retreated into their respective rooms, Seungcheol returned to the study—this time, openly. He knocked before entering. The door creaked softly, and inside, the warm glow of a lamp illuminated the quiet figure of his father, seated at the desk.

The older man looked up, not with surprise, but with an expression that suggested he had been expecting him. “Come in,” he said, setting his pen aside.

Seungcheol stepped forward and took the seat across from him. For a long moment, he said nothing. He stared at his hands, his shoulders tense. He didn’t know how to begin. But the silence hung between them with too much weight to leave unanswered.

Finally, he found his voice.

“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly. “About… me.”

His father nodded slowly, gesturing for him to continue.

“I’ve looked through the library,” Seungcheol said. “The archives. But there’s nothing about me before I arrived here. Nothing about where I came from. Only what you told me—that I was entrusted to your care. But that’s not enough anymore.”

The elder Jeon’s hands folded neatly on his lap, his gaze calm. “What do you want to know then?”

“I know I’m an omega,” Seungcheol said. “But they’re supposed to be born once in a century. But isn’t there another one beside me? Jeonghan-nim’s prophesied mate?”

His father didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he considered the question. His eyes, sharp and calm, never left Seungcheol’s.

“That’s only a prophecy,” he said eventually. “Stories passed down through old bloodlines. Every pack interprets them differently. Some believe male omegas are celestial gifts. Others see them as warnings. But one thing is true—they are rare. Exceptionally so.”

He paused, his voice still calm.

“But rarity doesn’t mean impossibility. Despite what the old legends say, male omegas exist. A male omega may be rare within a single pack, but in the world beyond our borders, they exist. You might be surprised how many are out there. In other kingdoms. Other tribes. Of varying ages and abilities.”

“But what about my abilities?” Seungcheol pressed. “You said once that I had healing powers. Is that why I was hidden? Because I was dangerous?”

His father looked at him with a quiet sort of sadness. “Because power attracts attention. And attention can be deadly.”

He gestured toward Seungcheol’s hand.

“Your fingertips,” he said. “You’ve noticed, haven’t you? When you concentrate, when your emotions are high. You feel warmth. Pressure. That’s your power.”

“What kind of power?” Seungcheol asked.

“Healing,” his father replied. “It’s the most common gift among male omegas. The ability to mend wounds, calm fevers, purge toxins. You were born to protect. To nurture life. But those same powers can be twisted by the wrong hands. In some places, male omegas are hunted. Captured. Killed. Their blood used in rituals. Their magic extracted and sold like rare ore.”

Seungcheol swallowed. “So I was hidden to be protected?”

“Partly,” his father replied. “And partly to protect others. You were still young when we received you. Your memories were sealed, your energy restrained. It was safer that way.”

“Minhee,” Seungcheol said suddenly. “Is that why she’s after me? Because she thinks I’m powerful?”

His father’s voice turned quiet, almost solemn. “That’s what happens when grief and anger are left to fester. When magic turns dark. People like Minhee don’t care about preserving life. They only care about vengeance and power. But dark magic is not a solution. It’s a curse.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. “And it is not something to be matched head-on.”

For a long moment, Seungcheol sat in silence. He didn’t know what he had been expecting—confession, maybe. Or clarity. But instead, all he felt was the weight of unknown history pressing harder against his chest.

He stood, frustrated, the chair legs scraping lightly across the floor. But just as he reached the door, his father called out softly, “Wait, Seungcheol-ah...”

Seungcheol turned back.

From the desk drawer, his father pulled out a small velvet pouch. He crossed the room and placed it gently into Seungcheol’s palm. “Take this,” he said. “Keep it with you.”

“What is this?” Seungcheol asked.

His father’s eyes were unreadable. “A precaution. If you ever need to protect someone—someone important to you—you’ll need to protect yourself first.”

Seungcheol looked at the pouch again, uncertain. “What does it do?”

“The pills inside are protective,” his father said. “They’ll heighten your senses, sharpen your reflexes, and reinforce your natural energy. It will last for twenty-four hours. But only use them when you truly must.”

Seungcheol clutched the pouch tightly, unsure of how to respond. He met his father’s eyes one more time, searching for the truth behind the gesture, but all he saw was something quiet. A man who knew more than he could say.

So instead, he bowed again—deeper this time—and left the room, the pouch tucked against his chest like a secret.

That night, as he lay in bed with the pouch tucked safely beneath his pillow, Seungcheol stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Not even the tonic Mingyu had given him could still his thoughts.

He still had no answers. But now, he had questions with weight. And he had a reason to keep looking.

The days passed quietly, but the silence was far from peaceful. A week passed, though to Seungcheol it felt as though he had lived through months—each day weighted with silence, each hour thick with unanswered questions. The mansion remained peaceful, its halls filled with warm conversation, comforting routines, and familiar footsteps. But inside him, a storm churned.

He spent almost every waking moment buried in the library, seated in the same velvet-backed chair with piles of books and dusty scrolls surrounding him like fortifications. Sometimes he read until the candle wax melted down to the brass holders and shadows danced across the ceiling. Other times, he simply sat in the quiet, flipping the same page over and over, not truly reading but trying to will the answers out from between the lines.

Through his relentless search, Seungcheol had unearthed a few truths—scraps of clarity in a sea of confusion. One such discovery was the lineage of the Jeon pack. According to historical records and sealed bloodline tomes, the last male omega of their kingdom, born nearly a century ago, had indeed come from the Jeon line. His power had been extraordinary, and his legacy lingered in the blood of his descendants. It was said that those born from the main branch of the Jeon family often exhibited traces of magical affinity, whether in heightened senses, healing gifts, or unique elemental control.

It wasn’t surprising, then, that his father possessed such calm but undeniable strength. Or that Seungcheol, too, felt something dormant inside him, something not yet fully understood.

But what troubled him more than anything else was the contradiction at the heart of everything.

If he was from the Jeon line, then why was the previous male omega—the one everyone whispered about, the one who died mysteriously and had once been Jeonghan’s mate—a Choi?

And if they were twins, as some now suspected, why wasn’t he given the same surname?

Was he hidden to protect him?

Or was there something more?

No one gave him a clear answer. Every elder he asked deferred the topic, every text offered only vague reference. And every time someone mentioned the previous omega Seungcheol—the one who had once been Consort to the Crown Prince—they always described someone a little different. The man had shared his name, some faint features—thick lashes, expressive eyes, a deep dimple—but they never described the same face. Some called it coincidence. Others blamed it on how memories change with time.

Seungcheol wasn’t satisfied with that. Coincidences didn’t feel this heavy. He couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts that pulled him deeper into uncertainty.

Why would anyone give both twins the same name? Even if they were born together—identical or fraternal, raised apart for safety or prophecy—why choose to call both of them Seungcheol? It made no sense.

The more he tried to make sense of it all, the more tangled his mind became. The hours slipped by in a haze of speculation and exhaustion, and by the end of the week, his body began to give in. His head ached constantly, a sharp pressure building behind his eyes and at his temples. He could barely focus on the texts anymore, and by evening, he collapsed into bed, shivering as fever overtook him.

The maids tried cooling compresses. Mingyu brought a tonic. Jihoon hovered outside his room like a sentinel, and Wonwoo watched silently from the shadows, a book forgotten in his hand.

That night, in the haze of high temperature and fractured sleep, he dreamed. But it wasn’t like the dreams he’d had before—those shadowy, broken memories laced with foreboding and mystery.

This one was different. It was… joy.

Jeonghan stood in the middle of a wide meadow, bathed in golden light, his silver hair catching the wind. His face wore a smile so radiant it stole Seungcheol’s breath. He was laughing—fully, freely, as if nothing in the world could weigh him down. He moved with lightness, with grace, no longer the composed, cold Crown Prince Seungcheol had come to know. He was running barefoot through the grass, hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed from the breeze.

“Come on, Seungcheolie!” he called back, his voice like music.

Seungcheol wanted to move, to follow him, but his feet were rooted to the ground. He could only watch as Jeonghan danced across the field, talking animatedly about dreams, about building libraries for children, about changing the kingdom for the better. His eyes sparkled with a hope that felt untouched by politics, by legacy, by pain.

There was a gentleness in his voice that Seungcheol had never heard before. A joy that felt almost sacred. In that dream, Jeonghan wasn’t a Crown Prince. He wasn’t bound by duty or haunted by ghosts. He was simply… Jeonghan.

And he looked at Seungcheol as if nothing else in the world existed.

Seungcheol felt a pang so deep it tore through his chest. Watching Jeonghan like that—so alive, so unguarded—broke something open in him. It was beautiful, but unbearable.

When he woke, his face was already wet with tears. He couldn’t understand it at first. The sobs tore from him without warning, as if pulled from the deepest parts of his soul. The grief was raw and overwhelming, cascading out of him in waves he couldn’t control. He curled into himself on the bed, clutching the blanket to his chest as he shook, his cries echoing through the quiet halls of the mansion.

Within minutes, Mingyu had burst through the door, followed closely by Jihoon and Wonwoo. They rushed to his side, alarmed by the sheer despair in his cries, their voices soft and desperate as they tried to calm him. Someone whispered healing spells under their breath. Another brought cool cloths and soothing elixirs.

But Seungcheol couldn’t explain what he was feeling, couldn’t speak at all. The grief was too large, too shapeless. He didn’t know what he was mourning—only that it hurt more than anything he’d ever known.

Eventually, it was Mingyu who sat down on the bed, wrapping his arms tightly around Seungcheol and holding him close, rocking him gently like one might soothe a child.

“You’re okay, hyung,” Mingyu whispered. “You’re safe. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

He stayed like that until Seungcheol finally wore himself out and drifted back into sleep, his body warm with fever, his heart aching in silence.

The dream never returned. But the memory of it lingered.

For days afterward, Seungcheol found himself thinking about that version of Jeonghan—the one who smiled so easily, whose laughter was like sunlight breaking through the clouds. It was such a stark contrast to the Jeonghan he had come to know over the past few years. The Jeonghan who wore a perpetual mask of stoicism, whose every word was calculated, whose eyes rarely betrayed emotion.

And yet… deep down, Seungcheol had seen glimpses of that light before. In the way Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on him when he thought Seungcheol wasn’t looking. In the softness of his voice when he thought Seungcheol was asleep at his bedside. In the hesitations, the silences that said more than words ever could.

It was confusing. Torturous. Because somewhere between the echoes of the past and the uncertainty of the present, Seungcheol had begun to realize something he wasn’t ready to admit.

He had fallen in love with the Crown Prince.

Perhaps he had been for a long time. Perhaps it began in those quiet moments in the royal office, watching the prince work in silence, or in the rare, fleeting smiles they had exchanged when no one else was watching. Perhaps it began when Jeonghan sat by his bedside during his fever, refusing to leave. Or maybe it had been growing all along, like roots buried deep, unnoticed until now.

But now that he could feel it, he couldn’t unfeel it. And that terrified him.

Because how could he allow himself to love Jeonghan, when he wasn’t even sure who he truly was?

What if everything Joshua had said was true? What if he was simply a remnant—an echo of a soul Jeonghan had once loved and lost? A shadow wearing a different face, destined to repeat history?

And Jeonghan—what if the Crown Prince couldn’t separate the two?

Seungcheol didn’t want to be a memory, a replacement, or a second chance. He wanted to be seen for himself. Loved for who he was now, not for someone he resembled in name or soul.

And if loving Jeonghan meant risking that heartbreak… was he strong enough?

He didn’t know.

But what he did know, as he sat alone once again in the library, fingers resting on the worn pages of a book he hadn’t touched in hours, was that no matter what the truth turned out to be, he would find it.

Because only then would he know whether his love had a future… or whether it was simply part of a story destined to repeat itself once more.

Was he merely a shadow of a past Jeonghan couldn’t let go?

Would he be cherished for who he was… or mourned as a replacement for someone else?

These were questions he didn’t have the strength to answer. Not yet.

And so, with trembling resolve, Seungcheol turned back to the pages of the books around him. If the truth was buried, he would find it.

Only then could he face Jeonghan again—not as a shadow, but as himself.

The late afternoon sun filtered gently through the high windows of the Jeon family mansion, casting warm rays across the polished floor of the living room. Seungcheol sat stiffly on the couch, an untouched cup of tea cooling in his hands as his gaze remained fixed on the elegantly sealed royal invitation letter resting on the coffee table. His father sat beside him, quiet and unreadable, while just a few feet away, Jihoon, Mingyu, and Wonwoo stood with arms folded, eyes fixed on him in silent expectation.

The room was filled with a mix of curiosity, tension, and reluctant acceptance. It was clear that none of them had anticipated this moment arriving quite so soon.

An unexpected guest had arrived earlier that evening, stepping into the mansion with practiced grace and the weight of official duty: Hyungwon. Dressed impeccably as always in the tailored uniform of the palace, his presence alone hinted at the seriousness of the delivery he had brought with him.

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed as he finally looked up from the letter, his voice hesitant but direct. “Do I really have to go?”

His father’s tone was calm, his expression neutral as he replied, “The choice is yours, son. I will be attending either way.” His hand gestured subtly to the formal scroll. “But this is more than just an invitation.”

Seungcheol turned toward Hyungwon, waiting for a clearer explanation, and the palace aide responded with his usual calm professionalism. “Your presence is not compulsory at the Council Appreciation Celebration, Seungcheol-nim, but you are still expected to attend the private royal banquet.”

He paused briefly to glance at Seungcheol, offering a small but diplomatic smile. “The banquet is a closed-door event for members of the Royal Council—those who have served the royal family directly, which includes both you and your father.”

Seungcheol frowned, his jaw tightening slightly. “But I’ve been fired by Jeonghan-nim himself. Doesn’t that mean I’m no longer part of the council?”

Hyungwon didn’t miss a beat. “That may be so, but you served with distinction for two years. Your position, though rescinded, does not erase your contributions. And your father served the Alpha King loyally for over two decades. That legacy isn’t easily forgotten.”

Jihoon snorted quietly from where he stood, arms still crossed. “So, it’s not really an invitation, is it?” he said flatly. “It’s more of a polite command.”

Hyungwon shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. “It has been tradition for the royal family to host this private banquet every five years. A way to honor those who’ve remained loyal and dutiful to the crown’s cause. It is, admittedly, a political show of unity, but one the Crown takes seriously. While the public celebration is optional, this banquet has always been... expected.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tensed. He could feel his brothers watching him carefully, especially Jihoon, who seemed ready to protest on his behalf if he chose to refuse. But he knew his father would be attending regardless. And even if he resented the thought of stepping foot back into the royal palace or anywhere near Jeonghan, he couldn’t ignore what this meant. Refusing would only create more questions—more attention. He had already attracted too much of that lately.

A quiet, resigned sigh escaped Seungcheol. He glanced at his father once more, who simply gave him a nod—neither encouraging nor discouraging, only leaving the decision in his hands. With no real room for refusal, Seungcheol exhaled slowly. “Alright. I’ll go.”

“Good,” Hyungwon replied, smoothing out his coat. “I’ll be back next week to escort you and Advisor Jeon to the event myself.”

Hyungwon then briefly explained to them a few more logistical details about the event, before he excused himself to leave with a respectful bow. He turned toward the hallway but paused when Seungcheol stood and offered to walk him out. They stepped out into the front corridor together, shoes clicking softly against the marble floor.

Outside, the driveway was bathed in the orange hue of the setting sun, and Hyungwon’s royal vehicle waited, polished and gleaming. The driver stood at attention nearby, but Hyungwon lingered beside the car door, glancing at Seungcheol with a knowing look.

“Do you have a question you couldn’t ask back there?” he asked gently, his voice softer now that they were alone.

Seungcheol blinked in surprise. “How did you know?”

Hyungwon gave a short chuckle. “You always have the same expression when something’s bothering you, but you’re hesitating to speak.” He leaned a little closer. “Now’s your chance.”

Seungcheol hesitated for only a moment longer, then blurted, “Will Minhee be there too?”

The slight shift in Hyungwon’s expression did not go unnoticed. It wasn’t alarm, but something closer to wariness, carefully masked beneath his usual composed demeanor.

“Yes,” he replied after a moment. “She will be attending. She was reassigned after the incident, as you know, but technically, she did serve the royal family. For that reason, she remains invited.”

He could see the concern flickering in Seungcheol’s eyes before the words even came. So he added quickly, “Jeonghan-nim has taken every precaution. She will be under strict surveillance. Guards have been assigned. She won’t be allowed to get close to you or cause any disruption. And believe me, if she tries, she’ll be dealt with immediately.”

There was a short silence between them, the breeze rustling the nearby hedges.

“It’s not that I don’t trust the guards,” Seungcheol said eventually. “I’m just... worried about what people will say. About me. If they’ve found out I’m an omega.”

Hyungwon looked him in the eye, steady and unwavering. “Being a male omega isn’t a crime, Seungcheol-nim. It never has been. You’ve already faced consequences for concealing your secondary gender, but that’s done. There’s nothing shameful about who you are. People may whisper, they may speculate, but they can’t touch you with words alone.”

“And if they try?”

“Then they’ll have to answer to the royal family,” Hyungwon said calmly. “And to Jeonghan-nim.”

Seungcheol let out another sigh, his chest slightly lighter from the conversation. Still, unease lingered beneath the surface like a shadow that refused to disappear.

Hyungwon reached out and gently patted his back. “Everything will be alright,” he said. “This chapter is coming to a close. Soon, you’ll be free to live your life as you choose.”

Seungcheol glanced at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Hyungwon smiled faintly, already turning to step into the car. “You’ll understand when the time comes. Just be patient a little longer.”

The door shut with a soft thud, and within seconds, the royal car pulled away from the driveway, its taillights fading into the growing dusk.

Seungcheol stood there for a while, the breeze brushing through his hair, as more questions bloomed in his mind—each one heavier than the last. Hyungwon’s parting words lingered like smoke.

Everything will settle soon.

He just wasn’t sure what that truly meant.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol stood silently in front of the tall mirror in his bedroom, his hands lingering over the edges of his neatly pressed jacket. The uniform was familiar—stiff in the shoulders, finely tailored to fit his form, adorned with the subtle insignia that marked his former role within the royal council. It felt like another lifetime since he had worn this—since he had stepped foot in the palace in an official capacity. His fingertips brushed over the smooth fabric, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to admit something he hadn’t in a long time. He looked good. Regal, even.

But the pride that flickered in his chest was fleeting, quickly swallowed by a rush of nerves that made his stomach churn. Despite the way the uniform hugged his form and framed his presence with dignity, there was a heavy uncertainty draped over his shoulders, one that the finest threads couldn't shake off. He continued to stare at himself, contemplating the weight of his decision. The promise he’d made to Hyungwon a week ago had felt easier at the time. Now, with the hour upon him, he found himself hesitating.

The door creaked open and Wonwoo stepped in without knocking, the sound of his polished shoes soft against the wooden floor. He crossed the room quietly and stood behind Seungcheol, eyeing his reflection with a soft nod. Without saying a word, he reached out and adjusted the collar of Seungcheol’s uniform with the ease of someone who had done this many times before.

“You’re still hesitating,” Wonwoo said quietly, a gentle nudge in his tone.

Seungcheol sighed, not meeting his eyes in the mirror. "I don’t know," he murmured. "I just... have this feeling. Like something’s going to happen. I can’t explain it."

"You're always overthinking," Mingyu chimed in from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He walked in and plopped down casually on the armchair in the corner of the room. "It’s going to be fine. Father will be there. So will the royal guards. Hyungwon-nim wouldn’t let anything happen."

"That’s what we all thought the last time," Jihoon said from behind him, his tone dry and sharp as always. He had just arrived, but it was clear he’d heard enough to offer his input. “And yet he still got stabbed by an arrow... in broad daylight, in front of everyone.”

Mingyu gave him a sharp look, but Jihoon didn’t flinch. The tension between the two simmered, but it was Seungcheol who broke the silence.

“That time, I was part of the council,” he murmured, his voice heavy. “My duty was to protect the royal family. Now I’m not even allowed on palace grounds unless invited.”

Mingyu’s voice softened, as did his expression. “Exactly. You’re not their shield anymore, hyung. You’re a guest this time. You’ll be protected. And anyone who lays a hand on you now will be committing a crime against a royal guest. That changes everything.”

"Doesn’t mean it’s any safer," Jihoon muttered under his breath.

Seungcheol turned from the mirror and looked at both of them. His heart was conflicted. The logic made sense. He understood the protocol. But the unease clawing inside his chest refused to quiet down.

Just then, their father appeared at the doorway, his presence calm but commanding. He took one look at Seungcheol and nodded approvingly.

"Hyungwon-nim is downstairs," he said simply. "Are you ready?"

Seungcheol drew in a deep breath and gave a slight nod. "I’m ready."

Wonwoo handed him his gloves, and Jihoon picked up the coat resting on the side, helping him into it while Mingyu checked the fit one last time. Then, together, they followed their father out of the room, the sound of polished shoes echoing down the hallway as they descended the staircase.

As they stepped outside, the sheer number of guards waiting for them gave Seungcheol pause. His jaw nearly dropped. Six black vehicles stood lined in formation, flanked by armed guards in polished armor, their expressions alert and unreadable. The royal crest shimmered faintly on the sides of the cars, and flags fluttered gently in the breeze.

"Isn’t this a bit... excessive?" Seungcheol whispered, glancing at his father.

Hyungwon, who stood calmly by the front steps, bowed as they approached. His expression was calm, but a faint flicker of concern flashed behind his eyes. "Just a precaution," he said, smiling gently. "We’d rather be safe than sorry."

Before Seungcheol could say more, a familiar figure appeared beside him. Soonyoung, clad in tactical black, greeted him with a sunny grin and a short nod. “It’s been a while, Seungcheol-nim,”

Seungcheol could only offer a nervous smile in return. He allowed Soonyoung to escort him to the central car, where the door was held open for him. He climbed in after his father, then Hyungwon followed. Soonyoung closed the door and took the front passenger seat next to the driver.

As the car pulled away, flanked by two vehicles in front and three behind, Seungcheol glanced back through the window. His brothers stood on the steps, watching him with subtle expressions of support. He raised his hand in a brief wave, and they returned it silently.

Inside the car, silence fell quickly, broken only by the quiet hum of the engine and the occasional update from the radio.

As the distance between the mansion and the royal palace began to shrink, Seungcheol stared out the window, heart pounding harder with every mile. Despite his father's calm presence beside him and Hyungwon’s composed silence on the other side, the anxiety gnawed at him with quiet persistence.

Somewhere deep in his chest, he felt the same thing he had tried to ignore all week—an unease, cold and undefined, wrapping around his nerves like invisible vines. And no matter how many times his father had reassured him that everything would be alright, Seungcheol couldn't quite silence the thought echoing quietly in the back of his mind:

What if it wasn’t?

When they arrived at the palace, the convoy slowed and came to a graceful stop at the front entrance of the east wing where the VVIP hall was located—the main chamber reserved exclusively for the royal family and their highest-ranking officials. The guards moved with swift precision, opening doors and ushering guests inside with silent efficiency. As soon as Seungcheol stepped out of the car, he was surrounded by the soft murmur of formal greetings and the rustle of ceremonial robes sweeping across polished marble floors.

Hyungwon offered a polite bow and gestured for the guards to escort both Seungcheol and his father forward. The two were led along a gleaming hallway bathed in soft golden light, where tall windows gave view to the gardens lit by decorative lanterns flickering in the dusk.

Upon entering the hall, Seungcheol's eyes immediately scanned the crowd. He spotted familiar faces scattered amongst the assembly—council members, department heads, royal aides and high-ranked ministers, each dressed in formalwear, exchanging greetings under the gentle chime of orchestral music.

His father was soon separated from him, guided by another steward toward a different seating area—likely to join the rest of the retired officials. Seungcheol stood for a moment, adjusting to the environment, until a familiar voice rang out.

Turning his head, Seungcheol immediately caught sight of Jun, whose grin widened the moment their eyes met. Without hesitation, Seungcheol made his way toward him, grateful for the friendly face in an otherwise intimidating sea of polished elites and unreadable expressions.

Jun greeted him with an excited, full-bodied hug, one that instantly warmed Seungcheol’s nerves. “I miss you so much, Cheol-ah,” Jun said, pulling back with a grin. “I was hoping you’d actually show up.”

Before Seungcheol could respond, another pair of arms enveloped him from behind—Hansol, smiling softly as always, gave him a quiet but sincere greeting. “Glad you’re here. We missed you.”

Seungcheol laughed lightly, though a flicker of anxiety still clung to his features. The warmth of their welcome soothed some of the tension in his chest. Soon, the three of them were engaged in animated conversation, catching up on everything that had happened since Seungcheol’s departure from the palace.

Their reunion drew a few curious glances, but more than that, it seemed to encourage others to approach. Several council members who had worked closely with Seungcheol, under Jeonghan and Joshua over the years came forward to offer their greetings. Though initially tense, Seungcheol found himself responding with the same poise he had honed in the palace—gracious smiles, brief bows, and warm enough small talk to deflect attention.

Seungcheol did his best to maintain a bright demeanor, responding to their questions with practiced ease.  He paid close attention to their words, to their body language, wondering if any of them knew. But no one mentioned anything unusual. There were no glances of pity or disdain, no subtle gestures that hinted at knowledge of his secondary gender. It was as though his secret remained exactly that—still hidden, or at least, delicately ignored. The relief that washed over him was palpable.

As he conversed, it became increasingly clear that Joshua had been telling the truth—Jeonghan had officially reported Seungcheol’s departure as a departmental transfer. Most of the attendees asked what department he had been reassigned to, and each time, Seungcheol felt a pang of guilt as he lied through his teeth, mumbling something vague about research work and policy review.

Internally, he cursed Jeonghan. Not only had the Crown Prince fired and banned him from palace grounds, but now he had to keep up the charade without being given even a script to work with. Still, he played along as best as he could. If Jeonghan had chosen to protect him through concealment, he might as well commit to the role.

Throughout all the interactions, Soonyoung never left his side. Like a silent shadow, the royal guard remained glued to Seungcheol’s flank, his expression neutral yet sharp, eyes constantly sweeping the room with the trained focus of someone who expected trouble. Every time someone approached Seungcheol, Soonyoung’s posture straightened slightly. His eyes tracked their every movement, gauging threat levels before offering the slightest of nods to allow the interaction to proceed.

Seungcheol, though slightly amused by the entire ordeal, appreciated it more than he could admit. He occasionally glanced sideways at Soonyoung, who seemed unfazed by the attention he drew by his intense vigilance.

"You're acting like I'm some kind of high-profile target," Seungcheol whispered to him between greetings.

Soonyoung didn’t even blink. "That’s because you are. Orders from the Crown Prince. No risks. No exceptions."

Seungcheol chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I don’t think we’re talking about the same Crown Prince here, Soonyoung-nim. I don’t think he’d care about what happens to me now."

Soonyoung’s gaze finally broke from his patrol to meet Seungcheol’s eyes. "Just because you think so, doesn’t mean he stopped caring. You don’t know everything."

Before Seungcheol could ask what he meant, the double doors at the far end of the hall creaked open. An audible shift moved through the crowd as heads turned in unison. Seungcheol’s body tensed instinctively.

Minhee entered the hall. Dressed in a flowing dark crimson gown, she walked with the slow grace of someone who knew all eyes were on her. Her lips were curled in the faintest of smug smiles, her gaze sweeping over the guests like a cat prowling through a room of canaries.

For the briefest moment, their eyes met across the room.

Seungcheol felt his hand begin to tremble. He didn’t even realize he had been holding his breath until his vision swam slightly at the edges. He instinctively expected her to march right toward him as she had in the past, to cause a scene or at least deliver one of her cryptic jabs. But she didn’t. Instead, Minhee turned her face away first, her eyes flicking to the opposite end of the hall before she drifted off in that direction, deliberately avoiding him.

It took Seungcheol a moment to process it, his body still tense and braced for impact. When nothing happened, he almost sagged in relief. If Jun hadn’t had an arm draped over his shoulder, steadying him casually as they watched her walk away, Seungcheol might have collapsed where he stood.

Seeing the subtle paleness in Seungcheol’s face, Soonyoung immediately ushered him away from the crowd, gently but firmly steering him toward one of the lounge seating areas at the side of the room. Jun followed close behind and sat across from him, subtly positioning himself so that Minhee was no longer within Seungcheol’s line of sight.

Seungcheol sank into the seat, his pulse still erratic, and rubbed his damp palms against his trousers.

Soonyoung ordered a glass of water from one of the attendants and took a small sip himself before handing it over. Seungcheol accepted it with a grateful smile, letting the cool liquid soothe the dryness in his throat.

Just as he was about to ask for another glass of water, something caught his attention.

Across the hall, Minhee had pulled a slender bottle from her bag—dark glass, with a glint of gold on the neck, resembling wine or some high-end liqueur. She handed it to a nearby guard, who inspected it carefully. After a moment, the guard returned it to her, and she slipped it back into her bag with that same eerie calm.

Seungcheol’s body tensed. His eyes stayed fixed on her even as he forced his face to remain neutral.

Soonyoung noticed Seungcheol’s sudden focus and leaned down. "Something wrong?"

Seungcheol blinked, forcing his gaze away. "No... nothing. Probably nothing."

Seungcheol leaned back in his seat, heart still thudding beneath his ribs. He didn’t have proof, not yet. But he knew how Minhee operated. She never acted without a plan. And even though she was here, playing the part of the reformed royal servant, he wasn’t convinced. Not for a second.

Until he knew what she was really planning, he would stay quiet. He would wait. And he would be ready.

The banquet continued with grandeur befitting the prestige of the royal court. Lavish crystal chandeliers bathed the VVIP hall in a warm, golden glow, casting shimmers across the polished floors and the elegantly dressed guests who moved about in seamless rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of roasted delicacies, sweet wine, and perfumes mixed from rare herbs that only the nobility could afford. Laughter floated through the air, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations exchanged behind folded fans and wine goblets.

It was just as the atmosphere had settled into its celebratory pace that the entrance doors opened with a flourish. The herald’s voice rang out above the gentle music, announcing the arrival of the Alpha King.

Every conversation stilled. Heads turned. The orchestra struck a soft, respectful tune as the King strode into the banquet, flanked by guards in royal blue and silver. Beside him walked his sons—Jeonghan, in his ceremonial uniform polished to perfection, and Joshua, standing tall in a silver-trimmed robe that emphasized his princely status. Together, the three made a striking picture, a royal family exuding composed dignity and command.

The Alpha King delivered a brief but heartfelt speech, expressing his gratitude to the council members for their unwavering service and dedication through the years. He offered warm praise for both current and former officials, acknowledging their contributions to the peace and prosperity of the nation. His words were laced with strength, but also an air of weariness, like a man passing the torch he had held for too long.

Once the speech concluded, he was promptly escorted through a private corridor to another reception chamber, one reserved exclusively for the highest-ranking members of the council—current and retired ministers, military commanders, and former advisors like Seungcheol’s father. Only those of equal stature were allowed in the same room as the reigning monarch.

Jeonghan and Joshua remained behind, blending effortlessly among the guests as they mingled with council members and allies. Both were polite and dignified, yet relaxed in their manner, maintaining a careful balance between status and approachability.

Seungcheol, however, remained in the shadows. He maneuvered carefully through clusters of guests, always keeping at least two groups between him and where Jeonghan stood. A part of him wanted to avoid the inevitable conversation, the awkward tension of confronting someone who had dismissed him so coldly and left so many questions unanswered. But another part—deeper, more desperate—hoped for at least a glance. A sign. Something.

Yet Jeonghan seemed occupied. He wasn’t scanning the room or making his way toward Seungcheol. And for reasons he didn’t want to admit aloud, Seungcheol felt a flicker of disappointment twist in his chest. Relief warred with hurt. Perhaps it was better this way—no confrontation, no confusion—but it stung all the same.

He muttered an excuse to Jun and slipped out of the hall, Soonyoung shadowing him instantly. They made their way down a quieter hallway toward the washroom. The air was cooler there, removed from the warmth and noise of the banquet. Seungcheol exhaled, trying to collect his thoughts as they walked.

But as they approached the corridor leading back toward the hall, Seungcheol abruptly stopped. His gaze had locked onto a familiar figure near the archway just ahead. Minhee was there, partially turned away, engaged in what looked like a discreet exchange with another person. As the man shifted slightly, Seungcheol’s breath hitched.

Seokmin.

His heart plummeted.

He instinctively ducked behind the stone column, dragging Soonyoung with him in a sudden motion that startled the guard.

“Seungcheol-nim—what’s wrong?” Soonyoung whispered urgently, trying to peer around him.

Seungcheol held a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. He peeked just enough to see what was happening.

Minhee reached into her handbag and pulling out a slender bottle—elegantly shaped, unmistakably wine. She handed it to Seokmin, her voice low but clear enough for Seungcheol to pick up snatches of her words. She claimed it was a special wine she intended to present during the royal family’s dinner later that evening and asked Seokmin to hold onto it for her until then.

Seokmin didn’t seem suspicious. He accepted the bottle with a simple nod, tucked it under his arm, and walked off without a word. Minhee soon followed, slipping back into the crowd like nothing had happened.

Seungcheol’s body locked into place. That exact scene—it had played in his nightmares over and over again. The wine, Seokmin, Minhee’s knowing smile. Everything mirrored the dream he’d seen in the haze of his fever. His mind screamed with alarm, and for a second, his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.

Soonyoung didn’t need to ask. With one look at Seungcheol’s pale face and unfocused eyes, he understood something was very wrong. He gently grasped Seungcheol’s arm and pulled him away, guiding him with practiced care to a nearby alcove, murmuring soft reassurances until the tightness in Seungcheol’s chest loosened enough for him to breathe again.

It took another few minutes before Seungcheol composed himself enough to return to the hall. As they walked back in, the atmosphere had shifted. The guests had begun to gather near the front for the final round of speeches before dinner. A sense of ceremony returned as everyone took their places. Joshua stepped onto the stage first, delivering a short, charming address, thanking the council on behalf of the royal family and noting the importance of their continued service to the nation.

Then came Jeonghan.

Seungcheol found himself being guided to the center of the room again, positioned amid the standing crowd. His hands felt clammy as he stared down at the polished floor, only glancing up once Jeonghan’s voice rang out across the hall.

The Crown Prince spoke with eloquence, as always—measured, respectful, and poised. But as Seungcheol’s eyes rose, he found Jeonghan’s gaze already locked onto his.

The connection was sudden, like a silent arrow drawn and loosed with intent. Seungcheol stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. He quickly averted his gaze, his heart lurching, unsure of what it meant. Was it coincidence? Was it deliberate?

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his gaze again.

Jeonghan’s eyes were still on him. Though his expression did not shift and his words continued to address the audience with grace and decorum, his gaze remained unwavering, locked onto Seungcheol with an intensity that made his chest tighten. There was no indication of anger or softness—just that sharp, unreadable look Jeonghan always wore when he was deeply focused.

As the speech reached its final words, Jeonghan concluded with a nod of appreciation toward the guests, offering a final toast in honor of their continued loyalty to the royal family. A wave of applause followed, spreading through the hall as council members lifted their glasses in celebration.

But Jeonghan’s eyes did not stray—not until the moment he turned to descend the stage.

Even then, they flickered briefly to the figure standing at Seungcheol’s side.

Soonyoung, ever the loyal shadow, caught the gaze and tensed slightly. The shift in his posture was subtle but perceptible. He bowed his head in respectful acknowledgment, and only then did Jeonghan look away, moving down the steps and toward the awaiting guards.

The applause masked the tension building in Seungcheol’s shoulders. He had barely noticed how rigid he had become until Soonyoung placed a firm, grounding hand on his back.

“You alright?” Soonyoung asked quietly, leaning in just enough to be heard over the rising cheer.

Seungcheol gave a slight nod, though the unease remained. There was no confrontation, no words exchanged—yet that lingering gaze from Jeonghan had unsettled something in him. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t warmth either. It was something else entirely. Something unreadable.

As the guards led Jeonghan out of the hall, Soonyoung gave Seungcheol a small pat before gesturing for him to follow. “Come on,” he said in a softer tone. “It’s almost time. The private banquet is being prepared. We should get ready.”

Seungcheol took one last glance toward the doors where Jeonghan had exited. Then, with a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he nodded again and allowed Soonyoung to guide him through the thinning crowd. The celebration might have been reaching its close, but Seungcheol had a sinking feeling that the real night was only just beginning.

Inside one of the private changing rooms reserved for members of the royal family, the soft rustle of fabric and the faint scent of royal perfume filled the air. The atmosphere was quiet but tense, anticipation building in the dimly lit chamber adorned with gold-framed mirrors, velvet-lined seats, and centuries-old crests carved into the high ceiling.

Jeonghan sat on a long velvet couch, his fingers laced tightly on his lap, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. He looked composed, yet there was a lingering heaviness in the way his shoulders drooped slightly and how he seemed reluctant to meet his own reflection. Across from him, Joshua stood tall and still as Hyungwon moved with practiced hands, adjusting the prince’s royal attire with meticulous care.

Jeonghan had yet to change, still half-wrapped in his inner garments, delaying the moment he’d have to face the mirror. The robe he would wear tonight wasn’t just any formalwear—it was the ceremonial garb reserved only for private royal occasions. Made of dark velvet and interwoven with thin golden threading, it shimmered faintly even in the dim candlelight, a reflection of the power and vulnerability it symbolized. These were garments not just of tradition but of symbolism, worn only in the presence of those deemed truly close to the royal bloodline. Only a select few were ever allowed to attend such occasions as this banquet was more than tradition. It was ritual. It was history woven into formality.

The private royal banquet, held once every five years, was never a grand affair in terms of size. What it lacked in scale, it made up for in exclusivity. The guest list rarely exceeded twenty names—comprised only of those who worked directly under the Alpha King or his heirs. That included their personal aides, the royal butler and maid, elite royal healers, and a handful of high-ranking military and political advisors whose loyalty had stood unwavering through the decades.

As Hyungwon moved over to Jeonghan, gesturing for him to stand, Jeonghan let out a quiet sigh and rose to his feet. The heavy ceremonial robe was lifted and carefully draped over his shoulders, and Hyungwon crouched slightly, adjusting the hem to ensure it didn’t touch the ground. Each fold of fabric had to fall just right, each pin precisely in place. Everything about this outfit was steeped in symbolism—formality, power, and legacy.

Joshua gave a long, appreciative whistle from across the room, walking toward him with a lopsided smile. “You look good, our Crown Prince Jeonghanie,” he said teasingly, patting Jeonghan on the back. “It’s good to see you putting this robe back on. The last time it stayed in the wardrobe for the whole night.”

Jeonghan offered a thin smile, his thoughts distant. The last banquet had been held shortly after the death of the Crown Prince Consort, and Jeonghan had skipped it entirely. Everyone close to him knew why. His absence had spoken volumes back then—about his grief, about his defiance. But this time was different. He had agreed to attend from the beginning. Because this time, he had a plan.

Hyungwon stepped back and examined Jeonghan’s appearance with the careful scrutiny of someone who had been dressing him since youth. Once satisfied, he gave a curt nod. Jeonghan straightened his back and looked at himself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at him was regal, pristine, yet distant. There was no warmth in his eyes—only the firm, unreadable expression he wore like armor.

Joshua placed a hand on his shoulder again, this time with a quieter strength. “It’s going to be fine, Jeonghan-ah,” he said, voice gentler now. “Everything’s going to work out.”

But Jeonghan wasn’t so sure.

From the moment he had ordered Seungcheol’s dismissal and exile from the palace, he had started putting the pieces of this evening into motion. It hadn’t been a decision made lightly, nor one born out of resentment. If anything, it had nearly broken him. He should have fired Minhee immediately after what she had done, especially considering the chaos she’d spread in court afterward. But technically, she hadn’t broken any law by revealing Seungcheol’s identity. On the contrary, Seungcheol had committed a punishable act by hiding his true secondary gender—an omega pretending to be a beta, serving directly under the Crown Prince.

After a lengthy and highly confidential discussion among the senior council and the royal household, it was ultimately decided that Minhee would be reassigned to the Queen Mother's department. It was a political maneuver, carefully constructed to diffuse tension and protect the reputation of the palace. Jeonghan had not been entirely satisfied with the outcome, but it had been the only solution that would avoid an outright confrontation with the Kim pack, the most influential and politically powerful lineage in the country. Dismissing Minhee outright for revealing Seungcheol’s hidden secondary gender—though morally justified—would have ignited a political backlash that Jeonghan wasn’t prepared to weather, not without undeniable evidence or overwhelming support.

But even with her reassignment, Jeonghan had fully expected Minhee to go public with what she knew. After all, she had uncovered a secret that could shake the very foundation of the palace. Yet, to his surprise and growing unease, she remained silent.

The secret of Seungcheol’s true nature had not spread beyond the walls of that fateful room. Only those who had witnessed the heat incident—Hyungwon, Soonyoung, a handful of guards and medics—along with the members of the royal family, knew the truth. There were no whispers in the palace halls, no backlash from the public, no political uproar. And that silence unnerved Jeonghan more than any rumor ever could.

To contain the situation, he had fabricated a story that Seungcheol had been reassigned to a confidential department outside the palace grounds. It was a neat cover, believable enough for the inner council to accept without question.

But the deeper truth—the one Jeonghan couldn’t ignore—was that Minhee was no longer playing her game in the open. She was watching. Waiting. Plotting something far more dangerous.

Jeonghan had come to understand that Minhee wasn’t just angry. She was ambitious. Her attempt to discredit him as Crown Prince had failed. She couldn’t push Joshua to the throne either—not legally. Despite Joshua’s charisma and growing popularity among the court, his mother’s beta status, though noble, disqualified him from succession according to the traditionalist interpretation of the laws. Soobin, the alpha princess, stood next in line should Jeonghan abdicate or remain heirless.

What Minhee truly desired was a place among the power-holders. She wanted to walk through the main palace halls not as an attendant, but as someone of real influence. And in a society where lineage determined hierarchy, Minhee had only one possible path forward—to secure the goodwill and endorsement of the Kim pack. If she could regain their trust and rally their support, she could carve out a place for herself at the heart of royal power. Jeonghan knew that was her game. She aimed to rise again, not by virtue of merit, but by manipulating the political tides that came with her heritage. And more than anything, he saw the reflection of her brother in her—Minhyuk, his former assistant.

That connection had only come to light after Jeonghan personally ordered a deeper investigation into Minhee’s background. For years, she had concealed her relation to Minhyuk, carefully navigating her way through court politics without ever invoking his name. But the records didn’t lie. They were twins, born of the same lineage, bound by the same dark ambition. Minhyuk had once been a promising figure in court—Jeonghan’s academic partner, his trusted aide, a man destined for greatness. But over time, Minhyuk’s hunger for power had led him down a treacherous path, one that culminated in his execution after being exposed for practicing black magic and allegedly conspiring in the death of the former Crown Prince Consort.

Now, it seemed that Minhee was attempting to finish what her brother could not. She had learned from his failure, bided her time, and had now begun making subtle moves across the chessboard of palace politics. Jeonghan could see the pattern. If she could not manipulate the succession line directly—because Joshua, though from the Kim pack, was disqualified due to his beta lineage—then her only option was to secure the title of Luna herself.

In their world, the Queen Luna was not merely a consort. She was the spiritual and political heart of the ruling pack. To become Luna was to wield influence that could rival the Alpha King’s in matters of tradition and counsel.

But Jeonghan had never considered her. Could never consider her. Not when his heart had already made its choice—long ago.

Minhee likely knew that. And perhaps, in her warped mind, she thought she could force a different future by removing the obstacle standing in her way—Seungcheol.

Jeonghan suspected she had refrained from exposing Seungcheol’s secret to the entire kingdom—because she believed in the prophecy. The one that spoke of a rare male omega with extraordinary gifts. The rebirth of a lineage foretold to rise only once in a hundred years. A Luna by divine right, not by political marriage.

Minhee’s silence made more sense in that light. If she acknowledged Seungcheol’s true gender, she would be confirming the prophecy and solidifying his place as the destined Luna. So instead, she had chosen to erase him. Quietly. Strategically. Eliminate the competition without alerting the rest of the kingdom to his significance.

But Jeonghan had seen through it. He understood now why she had tried so hard to destroy Seungcheol, why she hadn’t spread his secret, and why she was watching so carefully from the shadows. She was waiting for her opportunity to seize power, but she had underestimated Jeonghan’s resolve.

Because now, Jeonghan had his own plan. One that would put a stop to Minhee’s machinations once and for all.

Tonight, he would end it. He would no longer protect her secrets. He would announce the truth about Seungcheol’s secondary gender, no longer hiding it behind layers of political excuses. He would force the court to ask the questions he himself had long been unable to answer. He would give the nation a reason to examine the prophecy again, and hopefully bring light to Seungcheol’s mysterious background. Even Jeonghan had failed to uncover the full truth, and perhaps public scrutiny would offer answers that secrecy never could.

And most importantly, tonight he would expose Minhee. He had orchestrated a trap, designed with painful precision, to draw out the use of her forbidden magic. All he needed was one misstep, one dark incantation, one physical manifestation of black magic—and it would be over. She would be condemned by law, her influence stripped, her threats dismantled.

And with that, he would end the game she had started. Once and for all.

He knew what he was about to do could backfire. The court could reject Seungcheol. They could reject him. They could unravel everything he’d tried to protect. And worst of all, they could remind him of the one person he had never been able to forget.

The Crown Prince Consort. His mate. His Seungcheolie. The one who had died in his arms all those years ago.

Tonight, he would resurrect that memory—not through magic, but through truth. It would tear open wounds long scabbed over. It would expose shadows that had grown fat in silence.

But he was ready now. Ready to endure it all. Ready to let go of the fear that had shaped the last eight years of his life.

He glanced once more into the mirror.

If only it could go the way he hoped. If only the truth would be enough.

Seungcheol walked in steady silence toward the entrance of the private royal banquet hall, his steps accompanied by Jun on his left and Soonyoung on his right. Though his expression remained composed, there was a slight stiffness in his shoulders, and his fingers occasionally fidgeted at the seam of his robe as they moved through the carpeted hallway lit by golden lanterns mounted to the marbled walls. The closer they drew to the banquet doors, the heavier the air felt around him. It wasn’t just nerves. It was something deeper—an invisible weight in his chest he couldn’t quite name.

Jun spoke now and then, making casual comments about the decor or the food they might expect, but Seungcheol could barely register the words. Soonyoung, ever attentive, stayed close without a word, constantly glancing sideways to check on him as they finally arrived at the towering twin doors carved with the royal sigil in gold and ashwood.

The doors opened before them in practiced unison, pulled by two royal maids dressed in traditional black and silver. They bowed low, welcoming the three of them in, and the moment Seungcheol stepped over the threshold, he nearly stopped in his tracks.

The hall was nothing like what he had imagined.

He had, in truth, planned more royal banquets than he could count in the past two years—handled menu selections, reviewed guest seating, coordinated schedules between royal departments, even arranged table settings with the head steward down to the angle at which the goblets were to be placed. He knew this world, every intricate, calculated detail of it. And yet tonight’s setting struck him breathless.

Two grand round tables commanded the heart of the room. The smaller one, placed on a raised platform like an island of authority, glistened under a golden chandelier. It was clearly designated for the royal family. Directly in front of it, and positioned slightly lower, the larger table encircled a rotatable ring, elegantly constructed to rotate slowly during dinner service—a detail that Seungcheol had once suggested in a formal proposal but never thought would be approved, let alone realized.

The grand hall itself had been transformed from the familiar formal style he was used to. The velvet banners hanging along the stone walls were deep crimson embroidered with silver, the royal crest in the center of each one. Candles flickered across the space, casting warm shadows across polished floors and pristine tableware.

The three of them bowed respectfully to the maids before being escorted to their seats. Seungcheol was ushered to a seat on the right side of the large table, in between Jun and Soonyoung, while the seats directly across from them remained empty for now. Once seated, he glanced around discreetly, trying to absorb every detail and, at the same time, trying to settle the unease growing inside him.

Guests began to fill in the remaining seats swiftly, each one an influential figure within the palace or a retired advisor whose service to the kingdom was commemorated in this rare gathering.

Many paused to greet Seungcheol warmly, especially those who recognized him as his father’s son. He smiled and nodded, making polite conversation, asking after their health, listening to their small stories. It helped distract his thoughts, if only a little.

He caught his father’s eye from across the table. The older man offered him a quiet, reassuring smile, and Seungcheol felt something tighten in his chest. The two of them shared a nod—just a small thing, but it meant more than words. His father looked proud, as always, but there was also a glint of something else in his eyes—something unreadable. Perhaps caution.

Then came Minhee. She entered from the left archway, her posture tall and movements poised, a soft smile plastered across her lips that felt more calculated than genuine. Her dress shimmered slightly under the low lighting, and she gave a sweeping look across the room before gliding to her seat on the far side of the table. Fortunately, from where Seungcheol was seated, her presence was obscured by a decorative pillar, and he quickly lost visual contact. Still, the moment she walked in, Seungcheol’s body tensed unconsciously. His fingers curled slightly on the napkin in his lap, and he forced himself to exhale slowly.

Jun leaned slightly toward him, nudging his knee with his own, a quiet check-in. Seungcheol gave a barely perceptible nod in return.

More introductions followed, and soft conversation filled the space as the rotation of the table gave everyone a glimpse of one another. And then the room fell silent as the inner door creaked open once again.

The royal family had arrived.

The Alpha King entered first, radiating effortless dominance and calm authority in equal measure. On either side of him were his Luna Queen and the royal consort—both equally regal, their expressions composed and unreadable. Following behind them came the three royal children, their movements quiet and disciplined, dressed in formal evening robes that gleamed subtly under the candlelight.

Jeonghan walked in front of his younger siblings, face unreadable, his posture perfect as always. He didn’t search the room with his eyes, didn’t hesitate in his step. He simply walked straight ahead and took his place at the central table. Joshua followed suit with a bright smile, his energy somehow softening the solemnity of the room, and then Soobin, with her bright smiling eyes.

The entire outer table rose respectfully, and the room bowed together. Once the royal family was seated, the others followed.

Seungcheol’s mouth had gone dry. He had expected Jeonghan to be seated directly across from him at the rotating table’s current alignment, but he hadn’t been ready to accept it. The distance between them felt like a chasm and yet far too close. Seungcheol had to force himself to breathe evenly. He tried to distract himself by watching Hyungwon approach quietly and take the seat beside Jun. The man gave a small nod in greeting before returning his attention forward.

Joshua, ever the radiant and approachable prince, caught Seungcheol’s gaze and offered him a warm smile and a gentle wave. It was a comfort, a sliver of familiarity in an increasingly uncertain evening. But then Jeonghan’s eyes met his, and the breath caught in Seungcheol’s lungs.

For a second, everything blurred—the murmurs, the movement, the entire hall seemed to fade into silence around them. Jeonghan didn’t smile, nor did he look away. His gaze was intense, unwavering, and impossibly deep, as though he were seeing something in Seungcheol that even Seungcheol wasn’t aware of. It was haunting in its intensity.

Just as Seungcheol’s heart began to race uncontrollably, a quiet but deliberate clearing of a throat from Hyungwon broke the moment. Jeonghan blinked once, and with a small frown, finally turned his eyes elsewhere. The contact was broken, but the aftershocks lingered in Seungcheol’s chest.

On another day, he might have laughed at Hyungwon’s subtle scolding or Joshua’s sheepish attempt to break the tension. But today, the weight of Jeonghan’s gaze stayed with him, unsettling and unresolved.

Every time their eyes met, even fleetingly, Seungcheol could feel his heart hammering beneath his ribs, erratic and loud like a warning. And what unsettled him more was how the confusion, the questions, the entire weight of his curiosity about Jeonghan’s past and intentions—suddenly melted away in those moments. All that remained was the thudding of his own pulse, the heat in his cheeks, and a pressure in his chest he didn’t know how to soothe.

It was almost the same sensation from that accidental kiss months ago. But this time, it wasn’t awkward or embarrassing. It was deeper. Sharper. More painful. Like reaching out to something you want so desperately, only to feel it slip through your fingers every time.

And that’s what made him anxious. Because he didn’t understand it—not fully. Not yet.

The dinner resumed in slow, elegant rhythm as the outer ring of the banquet table gently rotated, allowing each guest their turn to engage with the royal family seated at the central platform. It was a subtle and graceful mechanism—almost imperceptible unless one focused—but it was enough to gradually shift Seungcheol’s view and his company from one royal face to another.

For a while, the movement helped ease the tension in his shoulders. It gave him something to focus on—people to speak with, conversations to politely navigate, dishes to taste, and above all, distance from the man he’d been doing everything to avoid. The distant threat of what this night might eventually reveal remained in the back of his mind, but it dulled under the rhythm of courtly protocol.

The first to speak to him directly from the central table was none other than the Alpha King.

With the deep baritone that always managed to be both calming and commanding, the King addressed Seungcheol warmly, eyes gentle and steady.

"You look well, Seungcheol," the monarch said, lifting his goblet slightly in a quiet toast. "Has the world outside our palace walls treated you kindly since you departure?”

That anxiety was gently broken when the soft, commanding voice of the Alpha King called his name. Seungcheol looked up quickly, startled to find the king’s kind gaze focused directly on him. The Alpha King smiled warmly, his tone caring rather than ceremonial.

The question caught Seungcheol off guard. He had expected polite indifference, not such thoughtful concern. For a moment, emotion stirred in his chest, but he quickly composed himself and nodded with a sincere, bright smile.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Seungcheol replied. “I’ve been treated very well. Thank you for your concern.”

The Alpha King gave a small nod of satisfaction before turning his attention to another guest, leaving Seungcheol with a surprising sense of peace. The world outside had been confusing and chaotic, but the king’s gentle acknowledgment made something settle in his heart.

As the table continued to rotate, Seungcheol found himself greeting more familiar faces. The Luna Queen—Jeonghan and Soobin’s mother—sat poised with her signature grace. Her gentle eyes softened further when they landed on Seungcheol. He greeted her respectfully, bowing deeply, and she took his hand in hers with a quiet maternal grace that made something in his chest ache.

"It’s good to see you again, Seungcheol. I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself," she said softly.

Seungcheol nodded, murmuring his thanks, feeling almost like a boy again under her gaze. There was kindness in her that didn’t ask for explanations. She had always treated him gently, and that hadn’t changed.

Then came Soobin, the Alpha Princess, with her more energetic demeanor. Unlike Jeonghan’s composed stoicism, Soobin was vibrant and expressive. She leaned in with excited eyes as she told Seungcheol about her new engineering projects and invited him to visit her lab the next time he was free. “I’d love your opinion,” she said earnestly. “You always had an eye for design and efficiency.” Her enthusiasm was contagious, and for a few precious minutes, Seungcheol allowed himself to smile freely.

The next moment came like a gift wrapped in laughter. Joshua’s mother, the Beta Consort, leaned in to tease her son, revealing tidbits of his childhood. Joshua groaned from beside her, trying in vain to cover her mouth with his hand as she described the time he tried to teach a palace cat to read royal decrees. Jun and Soobin laughed loudly, and Hyungwon, always calm, added just enough embarrassing detail to make Joshua bury his face in his hands. Seungcheol laughed along with them, the sound feeling more natural than he had anticipated. He was starting to feel like he belonged again, even if only for tonight.

But the comfort was fleeting.

The table made its full rotation, and suddenly Seungcheol was back in his original seat—now directly across from Jeonghan. His breath caught in his throat the moment he realized it. Jeonghan sat poised, back straight, every inch of him regal and untouchable. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Jeonghan acknowledged him with a brief, unreadable glance before focusing quietly on the meal before him.

Seungcheol watched him in silence, his eyes tracing Jeonghan’s features almost involuntarily. He thought of a hundred things to say, a thousand questions he wanted to ask, but the words caught in his throat. He turned his gaze to Jun and Joshua, who were laughing again about something trivial, their voices rising with ease. On the opposite end of the table, the Alpha King was engaged in serious discussion with Seungcheol’s father and a senior advisor, their tones low and focused.

He was about to open his mouth—perhaps to try again with Jeonghan—when the host of the banquet stepped forward to the center of the room and clapped twice for attention. The hall gradually quieted. It was time for the traditional exchange of gifts.

As per custom, each member of the royal council was presented with a royal insignia—crafted from pure gold, marked with the royal crest—as a token of appreciation for their service. In return, every pack was invited to offer a token of respect to the royal family, gifts reflective of their heritage and contribution.

The Kim family were first to present their offering—an assortment of their most prized wine, aged over decades. The bottles gleamed under the light, decorated in crimson and black wax seals, their insignia pressed deep into the glass.

Next came the Lee family, known for their warriors, bearing swords forged with rare metals, the blades curved and each inscribed with the royal family’s crest.

Then, the Jeon family, with their mastery in healing arts, presented hand-picked herbs grown in sacred soil, known for their healing and strengthening properties.

As the formal presentations concluded, one of the Kim family representatives stood and addressed the royal table. “If it would please His Majesty,” he said with a deep bow, “our family would be honored to share one of these wines with all gathered tonight, so that we may toast to the royal family together.”

The Alpha King inclined his head. “It would please me greatly.”

It was then that Seokmin entered the hall, cradling a wine bottle in both hands. The sight of him made Seungcheol tense. That bottle—it looked exactly like the one he had seen earlier, the one Minhee had passed to Seokmin outside the banquet hall.

Doubt stirred in his gut. Had he been mistaken? Was it really just a harmless bottle from the Kim family, entrusted to Minhee temporarily? Still, something didn’t feel right. His stomach coiled.

Minhee rose gracefully and moved toward the Queen Mother’s seat. With a poised hand, she uncorked the bottle in full view of everyone and poured a small amount into a goblet. She turned, passed it back to Seokmin with a smile, and retreated quietly to her seat.

Seokmin began walking the perimeter, gracefully pouring the wine into goblets held by each royal family member and the senior council members seated around the grand banquet table.  He exchanged a polite smile with Seungcheol as he passed. Seungcheol managed to smile back, but his eyes stayed fixed on the goblet. His fingers curled just beside the stem of the goblet as his mind raced with doubts and suspicions

The scent of the wine floated gently through the air—rich, fruity, sweet—but Seungcheol couldn’t relax. His instincts screamed that something wasn’t right. Logically, he knew Minhee wouldn’t be reckless enough to tamper with the wine if it was to be served to the entire banquet—especially with the Alpha King, the Luna Queen, and multiple high-ranking council members in attendance. It would be the height of foolishness. But logic didn’t ease the dread swirling inside him, cold and certain.

He extended his hand toward his goblet, his fingers barely brushing the cold metal when, in an instant, his wrist seized mid-air. His reaction was subtle, almost invisible to others, but Soonyoung noticed it right away and leaned in, his brows furrowed in concern. Jun mirrored the movement from Seungcheol’s other side, both of them immediately alert. Even Jeonghan, across the rotating table, had lifted his eyes from his plate, the worry evident in the flicker of his gaze.

Seungcheol forced a smile and muttered something about being fine. He lifted the goblet closer, pretending to take a casual sniff, hiding the intensity of his scrutiny behind a practiced mask of curiosity. The aroma was unremarkable—no hint of bitterness or metal, nothing out of the ordinary. Still, something was wrong. He couldn’t explain it, but the unease refused to leave.

Then, almost as if in answer, one of his rings—an old heirloom passed down through his family, crafted with ancient silver and bound to detect impurities—began to darken. A sharp gasp escaped him before he could stifle it. The ring, which always gleamed brightly, had turned a murky black. He looked up sharply, and across the table, his father had also frozen mid-motion, staring into his own goblet with dawning horror.

Their eyes met. For a long, breathless second, nothing else existed in the room. Then Seungcheol quietly lifted his hand, showing his ring to his father. The old man’s face drained of color. His lips parted slightly as though to speak, but no words came. He gave a single, solemn nod, and in that instant, Seungcheol knew—this wasn’t just his imagination.

Without drawing attention, Seungcheol reached into the inner pocket of his ceremonial robe, feeling the familiar texture of the small velvet pouch his father had entrusted to him. Without hesitation, he pulled it out and unfastened the string with swift precision, tipping the pouch slightly so that the pale, translucent crystal slid into his palm. The room remained abuzz with idle chatter and ceremonial formality, unaware of the storm brewing beneath Seungcheol’s calm demeanor.

He placed the crystal on his tongue and swallowed it dry, the shard scraping against his throat before settling into his stomach. The moment it passed through him, a faint warmth bloomed in his chest, a signal that the pill’s protective enchantment had activated. He exhaled slowly, grounded himself with a deep breath, and stood.

Just as Seokmin, oblivious to the unfolding danger, raised the goblet to his lips for the ritual taste-test, Seungcheol’s voice cut cleanly through the hall.

"Please wait," he said clearly, his voice carrying just enough command to silence the room.

Every eye turned to him. Seokmin paused, confused, goblet in hand. The murmurs began almost immediately, soft and unsure at first.

"I request that no one drinks the wine yet," he announced, scanning the audience calmly.

A heavy silence fell over the chamber before the Kim pack representative—a well-respected elder dressed in deep garnet robes—rose to his feet, his expression dark with offense. “What is the meaning of this?”

Before Seungcheol could answer, Minhee also sprang from her seat, her voice sharper and far less restrained. “Are you accusing the Kim pack of attempting to poison the royal family?” she demanded, her voice sharp and filled with indignation. “How dare you insult the honor of our gift in front of His Majesty?”

Gasps broke out. Whispers followed like wind chasing flame. Eyes darted from Minhee to Seungcheol, uncertainty flooding the air.

Seungcheol remained calm, despite the anxiety coiling in his stomach. "I never mentioned anything about poison. I only asked that the wine not be consumed. But since you brought it up—" He lifted his hand, revealing a ring that had once been bright silver but now shimmered with an ominous black hue.

There was a collective gasp.

"This ring has been in my family for generations," he said. "Forged in ancient silver and charmed to detect toxins. It only changes color when in contact with something contaminated. As you can see, it has turned black."

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight that pressed down on the banquet like fog rolling in from a haunted forest.

Minhee’s face twitched. She looked toward the Kim representative, who blinked down at his own untouched goblet, confusion crossing his face.

"The wine came directly from our private reserves," the elder said, slower this time. "It was sealed until the moment of presentation. However..." He turned to Minhee. "Only Lady Minhee had access to this specific bottle for presentation.”

The shift in the room’s energy was immediate. Suspicion began to shift like a tide.

Minhee's eyes flared. “Fine,” she said, her voice trembling with indignation. “If you want proof, I’ll give it to you.”

Without missing a beat, she snatched a fresh goblet and poured herself a serving. She raised it high, giving Seungcheol a triumphant smirk before downing it in one swift motion. A loud, almost theatrical clatter followed as she smashed the goblet to the ground, letting it shatter across the floor.

"See?" she said, her voice victorious. "Nothing happened. Perhaps you owe the entire Kim pack an apology for your baseless accusation."

But Seungcheol wasn’t watching her face. His gaze had moved lower, settling on the fine chain around her neck. Something glinted just beneath the collar of her robe—small, oval-shaped, and pulsing faintly with golden light.

"Your necklace," Seungcheol said evenly, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You’ve taken the antidote already, haven’t you?"

Minhee's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she schooled her features, quickly tugging the fabric of her robe to hide the pendant.

"This?" she said with a scoff, recovering quickly. "It’s an amulet. Nothing more than a protective charm, gifted by my family."

The room erupted into murmurs, uncertainty growing thicker in the air like a gathering storm cloud.

Minhee’s jaw clenched, her eyes darting between the faces around her—some wary, others suspicious. She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could form a defense, Seungcheol raised his hand and spoke once more.

"If you claim it's safe, then I’ll drink it too." Seungcheol announced then. "And if nothing happens, you can punish me however you see fit."

A collective gasp surged through the hall.

Jeonghan’s head snapped toward Seungcheol, his entire expression shifting from guarded composure to sheer alarm.

"Don’t," he mouthed silently, then quickly stood, his voice sharper than before. "Seungcheol, stop. That’s an order."

But Seungcheol didn’t flinch. He met Jeonghan’s eyes with a calmness that was both resolute and sorrowful.

"I’m not your assistant anymore, Your Highness," he said quietly, almost tenderly. "You don’t have the authority to command me anymore."

He turned to the table, reached for the nearest untouched goblet of wine, and raised it steadily. Despite the knot in his chest and the memory of the nightmare that had haunted him, Seungcheol didn’t hesitate. He pressed the rim to his lips and drank.

At first, it tasted like any other aged wine—dry, rich, with a floral aftertaste. But almost instantly, an unnatural chill swept down his throat, spreading like ice into his lungs. His limbs trembled slightly, and his heartbeat faltered. But he continued until he had drained every last drop.The crystal he swallowed earlier fought the toxin, pushing it back just enough for him to place the goblet back on the table with trembling fingers.

Around him, an unsettling silence had settled over the banquet hall, every eye locked onto him. Tension hung in the air like a heavy mist, anticipation threading through the crowd. For one breathless moment, nothing happened.

Then Minhee laughed—loud and bitter, her voice echoing unnaturally in the quiet. She tossed her hair back and gestured dramatically at Seungcheol, her smirk returning with full force. “You see? This is the result of letting emotions dictate judgment. Accusing the Kim pack of treason? Of poisoning the royal wine? And for what? Because of a hunch?” She scoffed and looked around the room as if expecting agreement. “He’s clearly spiraling.”

The crowd was beginning to shift, confused murmurs rising. Some cast doubtful glances at Seungcheol, others simply stared, unsure of what to believe. Jeonghan remained still, his eyes fixed on Seungcheol’s face, narrowing with growing dread.

But before anyone could say another word, Seungcheol’s body jerked violently.

His back arched as if an invisible force had just struck through his spine, and he gasped—no, choked—as his hand flew to his chest. His fingers clawed at the fabric over his heart, twisting it in tight fistfuls as his entire body seized.

The goblet tipped over, the last few drops of wine spilling across the tablecloth like a splash of blood.

“Seungcheol?” Jun’s voice cracked in alarm.

Soonyoung lunged toward him, but Jeonghan was faster. With a sudden burst of speed, he leapt over the intricately carved royal table, shoving aside goblets and gold-plated trays as he threw himself forward. Just in time, he caught Seungcheol’s collapsing form before he could hit the marble floor.

Seungcheol coughed then—harsh, wet, and wracked with pain. And from the corner of his mouth, bright red blood spilled, darkening the collar of his formal robe. His eyes rolled up, lids fluttering with the effort to stay awake, and Jeonghan cradled him closer, one hand cradling the back of his head.

The entire hall froze in shock. Gasps rang out. Chairs scraped. Nobles stood up in alarm, some stepping backward as if fearing they might be next.

“Guards!” the Alpha King bellowed from the high table. His voice cut through the chaos like thunder. “Restrain Lady Minhee immediately! And every member of the Kim pack in attendance!”

Guards rushed forward, and several members of the Kim pack stood in stunned silence. Minhee took a step backward, panic finally flashing across her face.

"He poisoned himself!" she shouted, desperate now. "He planned this! It’s a setup!"

But then, a horrifying sound cracked the air. The Kim pack’s wine representative—who had taken a sip in defense of the wine’s purity—slumped forward in his chair, his face going pale as a similar shudder overtook him. His goblet shattered on the floor beside his feet as his attendants rushed to catch him. His body convulsed violently before going still.

A heartbeat later, Seokmin, who had also taken a small sip moments earlier, stumbled back from the King’s side, his lips darkening, and collapsed without a word. He didn’t even make a sound as he hit the floor.

Screams erupted from the room. The once elegant and serene banquet hall descended into a storm of fear and confusion.

"Get the healers!" the Alpha King roared, rising from his seat. "Now!"

Minhee’s face went pale. Her eyes widened—not with shock, but with fury and desperation. Her hands trembled. And then, like a reflex pulled from the depths of instinct, she unleashed a pulse of dark energy.

The blast was nearly invisible to the eye, but its force was devastating. Several guards who had surged toward her were flung backwards as if struck by an unseen wave. They hit the walls with bone-crunching force, groaning in pain as their weapons clattered around them.

Gasps turned into cries of horror. Guests scrambled out of the way as the darkness filled the space with suffocating pressure.

From across the hall, Seungcheol’s father raised his hand calmly, his eyes burning with restrained fury. In a matter of seconds, a force of pure energy erupted from his palm—golden and radiant, infused with the ancient bloodline of the Jeon pack. It struck Minhee square in the chest with a thunderous crack, sending her flying backward into the stone wall. She gasped, her body suspended midair, arms splayed as the magic held her like shackles. Her power dissipated instantly, and several guards moved in to surround her, weapons drawn, forming a tight circle.

Minhee shrieked and writhed, trying to call her magic again, but the King Alpha’s presence descended like a storm. He raised a hand and barked, "Bind her and the whole Kim’s delegation. And bring everyone out of this room this instant!"

Meanwhile, Jeonghan remained crouched on the floor, cradling Seungcheol in his arms. Blood smeared his robe, and panic—raw, undiluted—was etched into every line of his face. He held Seungcheol tightly, whispering his name as if the sound could keep him conscious. "Stay with me, Seungcheol. Please."

The healers swarmed around them, opening their kits and calling out urgent instructions. One of them touched Seungcheol’s pulse and grimaced.  Through the pain and the haze, Seungcheol stirred weakly in Jeonghan’s hold. Barely conscious, his hand moved feebly to tug at Jeonghan’s robe, fingers curling weakly in the fabric. His lips parted, dry and bloodied, as he struggled to speak.

Jeonghan leaned in, his ear close to Seungcheol’s mouth, as silence fell around them once more. It took everything Seungcheol had to force the words out, and when they came, they were no louder than a whisper.

“Redthorn... Decay,” he said faintly.

The healer who had been inspecting his vitals snapped up his head at once. “Redthorn Decay?! Are you sure?”

Seungcheol gave a barely perceptible nod, then his body trembled violently once more. His limbs jerked, and Jeonghan tightened his grip to keep him from slipping out of his hold. But then came the moment Jeonghan dreaded.

Seungcheol exhaled heavily, like the last gust of wind before a storm breaks. His muscles relaxed, his eyelids fluttered closed, and the tension in his jaw fell slack. One hand that had been curled tightly against Jeonghan’s chest slipped away, limp and lifeless and his head lolled in Jeonghan’s arms—limp, still, unconscious.

“Seungcheol?” Jeonghan’s voice shook as he pulled back to look at him, his own heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“Seungcheol!”

But he didn’t stir.

Jeonghan’s arms tightened instinctively, holding him closer than ever as the healers around him began working furiously, shouting more instructions and preparing to lift Seungcheol from the floor, but Jeonghan didn’t move. He held onto Seungcheol as though letting go would mean losing him forever.

And all around them, the once-grand royal banquet had collapsed into silent horror.

The banquet hall had transformed into a scene of utter chaos. The regal elegance and order that once dominated the room had been shattered, replaced now by scattered chairs, broken goblets, panicked whispers, and the hurried steps of healers and guards. The once-celebratory atmosphere had vanished as the scent of wine was quickly overpowered by the thick, metallic tang of blood and the sharp tang of medicinal herbs.

Several healers were now hunched over the collapsed bodies of Seokmin and the elder representative of the Kim pack. Both men lay motionless where they had fallen, and it was clear that the same poison that had ravaged Seungcheol’s body was already taking its toll on them as well. The younger healers called for stretchers, while the more experienced ones administered immediate neutralizing poison aids, but the results were uncertain. Seokmin twitched violently before his body fell limp. The elder Kim leader had already lost consciousness.

Attendants rushed to assist, lifting the poisoned men carefully onto conjured cots and carried them out of the room under heavy escort. A handful of council members watched with pale faces, muttering prayers or gripping one another’s hands in disbelief. The rest of the royal attendees, including noble guests and junior council members, were being swiftly directed out of the hall by palace guards.

Some moved quickly, faces drawn with fear, while others stood frozen, trying to grasp what had just unfolded. Even those who had served in the palace for decades had never witnessed a betrayal this bold, not in the heart of the royal court. The remaining members of the Kim family were quickly restrained and ushered away under heavy guard, suspicion and fear reflecting in their eyes.

Advisor Jeon stood calmly amidst the turmoil, his face unreadable but his presence commanding enough to draw attention. His voice was firm as he directed the guards, ensuring Minhee was tightly bound and thoroughly secured. The royal guards didn’t question him. Minhee thrashed briefly under the firm grip of four armed men, her defiance flickering behind narrowed eyes, but even she couldn’t summon the same power she had moments before. The spell had weakened, and she was drained. With her dark aura waning, they finally forced her out of the banquet hall, her screams echoing faintly down the corridor.

Advisor Jeon turned slowly, his eyes sweeping over the chaos behind him—overturned chairs, the fallen goblets glistening with spilt wine, and the pool of blood staining the marble floor. His gaze settled on the huddle of bodies near the heart of it all, and his expression changed, not with panic, but with quiet urgency.

There, in the center of it all, Jeonghan clung to Seungcheol’s unconscious form, unwilling to let go. The healers were frantically trying to make space, shouting instructions and gathering tools and reagents in an attempt to stabilize Seungcheol, but Jeonghan refused to move. His arms wrapped tightly around Seungcheol, his breath shaky, his voice hoarse with grief and disbelief.

"Let him go, Your Highness. Please, we need to work," one healer pleaded.

Jeonghan shook his head, his lips trembling. "You don’t understand. I can’t—"

It took the combined strength of Hyungwon, Joshua, and Jun to pull him back. Hyungwon was the first to reach him, but even he couldn't pull Jeonghan away without a fight. Joshua moved in next, murmuring softly, trying to soothe him with words Jeonghan couldn’t even hear. Jun, pale and trembling, stepped in last, placing a hand on Jeonghan’s back as the three of them, working together, gently pried him off the unconscious body in his arms. The Crown Prince struggled against them at first, but the moment Seungcheol was no longer in his hold, his strength vanished completely. His knees gave out, and he sagged against Hyungwon, who caught him before he could fall.

The healers wasted no time, immediately repositioning Seungcheol to lie flat on the marble floor, angling his head to keep his airways open. One of them reached into his satchel and drew out a cleansing stone, placing it gently on Seungcheol’s chest. A soft pulse of light spread through the stone, but it dimmed far too quickly. Another healer tried again with a different tool, but their expressions darkened with each passing second. Something wasn’t working.

Then Advisor Jeon stepped forward, calm despite the weight in his steps. The room seemed to quiet, the authority he carried rooted in more than just his title. The healers made way for him at once. His composure was dignified, but everyone could see the tremor in his hand as he knelt beside his son.

He reached for Seungcheol’s face, brushing back the hair damp with sweat, and gently placed two fingers against his neck, just over the pulse point. The room collectively held its breath.

Advisor Jeon stayed that way for a long moment. Then, very slowly, he withdrew his hand. His eyes didn’t move, but a single tear slipped from beneath his glasses, trailing down his cheek and disappearing into the fine line of his jaw. He looked at the healer then, and though he said nothing, the slow shake of his head was enough.

A silence fell over the hall again, deeper than before.

Jeonghan crumbled where he stood. His legs buckled beneath him and Hyungwon barely managed to keep him from falling to the ground. All the strength in his body seemed to drain at once, and he sagged in Hyungwon’s grasp, his breaths shallow and uneven. His eyes were locked on Seungcheol’s still form, unmoving even as the healers tried once more to stabilize the limp body, their hope already fading.

Advisor Jeon rose to his feet with effort, the grief hanging on his shoulders like a physical weight. With a soft nod, he instructed the remaining healers to assist him. Together, they lifted Seungcheol’s body with careful reverence, cradling him as one would cradle something sacred and irreplaceable. The elder Jeon did not say a word as they walked past the remaining guests, his eyes fixed ahead, his expression resolute yet devastated.

Jeonghan reached out, an instinctive movement as if to stop them—stop the inevitable. His hand faltered mid-air, hovering uselessly as Seungcheol was carried away. He had no words. His throat was tight with unshed sobs, and his body felt as though it had been hollowed out.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This was never the end he had imagined.

As Hyungwon gently guided him out of the hall, half-supporting, half-dragging him, Jeonghan finally broke. Tears slipped silently down his face, and sobs racked his chest, leaving him breathless and shattered. His vision blurred with loss, his thoughts consumed by the image of Seungcheol—his Seungcheol—limp in his arms, his blood staining the memory of everything that had once been beautiful between them.

Chapter Text

The healing chamber was in complete disarray, a scene that resembled the aftermath of a battlefield rather than a place meant for recovery. The air was thick with urgency and tension as healers dashed from one end of the room to the other, voices low but urgent as they coordinated supplies, administered salves, and monitored the vital signs of the poisoned victims.

But amidst the organized chaos, in a secluded section cordoned off by thick velvet curtains, there lay a silence that stood in contrast to the rest of the chamber. Behind those drawn curtains, Seungcheol lay on a single elevated cot, his body eerily still. Draped in white linens, his form rested quietly on the narrow bed, his body arranged with precision. If it weren’t for the deathly pallor of his skin and the dry streak of blood that marked a path from the corner of his lips down to his chin, he might have passed for someone simply asleep—serene and untouched by pain.

Standing at the bedside were Advisor Jeon and the Alpha King. The two men were silent, their expressions grim and unreadable, shaped by the weight of what they had just witnessed. Their conversation, when it happened, was whispered, low enough that even the closest guards couldn’t decipher the full meaning. Advisor Jeon’s shoulders remained square, but something about the slump of his stance betrayed the ache in his heart.

Outside the curtained space, guards were positioned with military precision, forming a barricade between the healing cube and the rest of the palace. They allowed no interruptions. What was happening inside was not for public knowledge. Not yet.

After a moment of grave deliberation, Advisor Jeon turned to the King and offered a shallow but resolute bow. The King returned it with a slow nod, his eyes never leaving Seungcheol’s still form. Advisor Jeon then motioned to one of the healers nearby and quietly requested the preparation of a full-body transport cot.

The healer disappeared and quickly returned with a lightweight, ornate medical cot, lined with soft cushioning and sealed edges. With solemn precision, Seungcheol was gently lifted—his limbs handled with utmost care—and placed within the cot. Advisor Jeon stepped forward and tucked the blanket over him, pulling it all the way up until his entire body, including his face, was covered. The finality of the action sent a fresh wave of heaviness through the room.

The healer who had assisted stepped back and gave the cot a full bow of respect before turning on their heel and leaving the curtained cube, their face pale and eyes shining with barely contained grief.

A moment later, Soonyoung entered the chamber at the summons of the Alpha King. He approached swiftly, accompanied by three other elite guards. Without needing instruction, the four of them positioned themselves at the corners of the cot, lifting it in perfect synchronization. Advisor Jeon walked ahead of them, and the Alpha King fell into step just behind.

As the group emerged from the secluded area, the energy in the healing chamber shifted. All movement ceased. Healers, guards, and staff paused their tasks, turning silently toward the procession. Heads bowed deeply as the group passed, a respectful and mournful gesture that followed the cot through the entire room.

The path to the exit was quiet, the only sound being the measured steps of boots on polished floor. They passed under the high arch of the chamber doors and emerged into the cooler air of the palace grounds. Outside, near the main gate, a royal vehicle had already been prepared—its sleek, reinforced frame gleaming beneath the torchlight.

With practiced care, Soonyoung and the other guards loaded the cot into the rear of the vehicle. Advisor Jeon remained still beside the King Alpha for a moment longer, eyes downcast. The King, usually a figure of untouchable strength, reached out and placed a firm hand on Advisor Jeon’s back. There was no need for words. The grief between them had already been acknowledged.

They exchanged formal bows—a final exchange of respect and unspoken understanding—before Advisor Jeon turned away and stepped toward the vehicle. He placed one foot inside, gripping the edge of the door, preparing to close it behind him.

Then a voice tore through the stillness like an arrow loosed from a bow.

“Wait! Please—wait!”

The guards turned their heads as footsteps echoed across the marble courtyard. Jeonghan appeared, breathless, his ceremonial robes fluttering behind him as he sprinted toward them. His eyes were wild, filled with desperation. Joshua and Hyungwon were at his heels, trying to keep up with the Crown Prince’s unsteady stride.

“Don’t go—please, not yet!” Jeonghan shouted again, pushing past the stunned guards.

Advisor Jeon paused, one hand still resting on the vehicle door, and slowly turned to face him as Jeonghan came to a halt a few steps away, eyes fixed on the cot where Seungcheol lay hidden beneath layers of soft linen and silence.

The Crown Prince’s chamber, so often a space of austere decorum, now felt heavy with suffocating grief. The curtains had been drawn tight, casting shadows over the opulence of polished wood and fine silk that normally defined the room. Jeonghan lay motionless atop the grand bed, his royal robe still crumpled and stained from the chaos of the banquet. His head was turned toward the wall, eyes open but empty, unfocused, as if staring at something no one else could see. His breathing was shallow, uneven, but he hadn’t moved a muscle since they returned.

Beside him, Hyungwon hovered silently, a constant, steady presence. He adjusted the edge of the blanket draped over Jeonghan, his careful movements betraying a deep worry. A glass of water rested on the side table, untouched, condensation slowly dripping down its sides. Next to it, a freshly pressed set of garments had been carefully laid out for the Crown Prince, ready for when he could muster the will to change.

Across the chamber, Joshua sat quietly on the couch, his fingers curled so tightly into his lap that his knuckles had turned white. He had chosen to remain with Jeonghan despite orders to return to his own quarters, determined to keep vigil in the suffocating silence. His gaze was fixed on Jeonghan, as though watching him would somehow anchor them both through the storm of emotions neither of them could voice.

The quiet was broken by a soft but deliberate knock at the chamber door. Hyungwon moved swiftly to answer, disappearing into the hallway for a brief exchange with a royal guard. Their exchange was brief, spoken in hushed tones, but Joshua’s sharp eyes caught the shift in Hyungwon’s expression as he closed the door again—an almost imperceptible drop of his shoulders, the flicker of sadness clouding his otherwise unreadable face.

“What is it?” Joshua’s voice was soft but laced with concern.

Hyungwon hesitated, casting a glance toward Jeonghan’s unmoving figure on the bed. Then, almost reluctantly, he spoke. “They’re preparing to transfer Seungcheol-nim’s body back to the Jeon estate.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Jeonghan suddenly jerked upright, as if struck by lightning. Both Hyungwon and Joshua startled, their eyes wide as the prince sat up abruptly, the haze of grief in his expression replaced by a sharp, almost panicked awareness. He scrambled out of bed, throwing off the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bed in a quick act of desperation.

"Your Highness—wait—" Hyungwon said quickly, stepping forward to steady him, his hands ready at Jeonghan’s elbow, but the prince shoved him aside with unexpected force and surged toward the door, his steps uneven but swift. Joshua rose to his feet at once and followed, exchanging a brief glance with Hyungwon as they hurried after him.

Guards at the entrance to the chamber moved aside quickly, startled by the Crown Prince’s sudden and frantic departure, but Jeonghan didn’t slow. He strode past the startled guards, his robe billowing behind him, hair disheveled and eyes burning. His breath was ragged, but he pushed forward, down the long corridor, his steps quickening into a near-run. He barely registering the guards who saluted or the few ministers who froze mid-conversation to bow as he stormed past. His focus was entirely on one thing: reaching Seungcheol.

By the time they reached the main gate, the body cot was already being carefully loaded into the waiting royal vehicle, Soonyoung and his guards performing the task with precision and reverence. The scene was a somber one—palace staff, healers, and guards standing in silence, watching the procession with bowed heads.

“Stop!” Jeonghan’s voice tore through the air, cracked but loud, ragged with desperation.

All heads turned as he sprinted across the courtyard, Hyungwon and Joshua trailing behind, trying to catch up. The guards hesitated, unsure whether to stop the process, but the King Alpha raised a single hand to stay them.

Hyungwon quickly stepped forward, bowing low to the King Alpha in apology. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said. “I could not stop him.”

But the King Alpha merely shook his head slowly, his expression grave but understanding. His gaze remained on Jeonghan as the Crown Prince closed the distance, his steps frantic and uneven.

Jeonghan stumbled forward until he reached Advisor Jeon, just as the elder man stepped away from the vehicle. Without hesitation, Jeonghan dropped into a shallow, hurried bow before lifting his gaze, his voice breaking as he pleaded, “Please... Please let me see him. One last time.”

Advisor Jeon met his gaze, his own expression carved from stone, though grief clung to the corners of his eyes. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning to look at the King Alpha. The King gave a single solemn nod of approval.

Advisor Jeon returned the gesture with a respectful bow, then moved toward the back of the vehicle. Soonyoung, who had been standing vigil nearby, stepped forward immediately and carefully opened the vehicle’s rear cover, lifting it just enough to grant a final moment of farewell.

The tension in the air was suffocating as Advisor Jeon moved to the side of the cot. He paused again, casting a glance toward Hyungwon, who quietly stepped closer and took position directly behind Jeonghan, prepared to catch him if his knees gave out again.

With trembling fingers, Advisor Jeon reached forward and carefully folded back the blanket covering Seungcheol’s face.

As Advisor Jeon slowly peeled back the blanket, revealing Seungcheol’s face, a heavy stillness fell over the space. Jeonghan stepped forward, breath catching in his throat—and then he froze completely.

His entire body stiffened as though something unseen had struck him, a shudder rippling through his frame so intensely that Hyungwon instinctively stepped closer, bracing himself to catch the Crown Prince. Joshua, standing just a pace behind, gasped audibly—a sharp, ragged intake of breath that cut through the tense quiet—before falling utterly silent, rooted to the spot. His wide eyes locked onto the sight before them, unable to look away but equally incapable of speaking.

Jeonghan didn’t move. He simply stared, trembling violently, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. Whatever he saw had seized his mind completely, pinning him in place as shock and something far deeper—grief, horror, disbelief—warred across his face.

A heartbeat later, his legs buckled under the weight of that moment. Hyungwon lunged forward just in time, catching Jeonghan under the arms before he could collapse fully to the ground. But even with Hyungwon’s steady hold, Jeonghan sank down anyway, his knees meeting the cold stone floor as his fingers curled into a white-knuckled grip over his heart. He hunched forward, his entire body shivering, unable to tear his gaze from Seungcheol’s still form. Silent tears slid freely down his cheeks, but his lips trembled too hard to form words.

Advisor Jeon stood by quietly, watching Jeonghan’s reaction with an unreadable expression, though his eyes betrayed a trace of sorrow. After a long pause, he lowered the blanket gently back over Seungcheol’s face, drawing it up until not even a glimpse remained of what had been revealed. Without a word, he nodded to Soonyoung.

Soonyoung stepped forward to replace the vehicle’s rear cover and secure the cot, but at that very moment, Jeonghan stirred. He lurched forward suddenly, an anguished cry caught in his throat as he reached out with trembling hands. “No—wait—don’t—” he begged hoarsely, his voice ragged from strain.

But Hyungwon was already there, wrapping strong arms around him from behind. He held him tightly, restraining him gently but firmly, preventing Jeonghan from throwing himself into the path of the guards or clawing at the cot.

Advisor Jeon, with one last respectful bow, stepped back and climbed into the vehicle, the guards moving efficiently to close the doors behind him.

Jeonghan thrashed in Hyungwon’s hold, his sobs breaking free at last, raw and unrestrained. His fingers dug into Hyungwon’s arms as he struggled to break free, but the royal aide held firm, saying nothing, simply waiting.

The vehicle began to roll forward, pulled by the slow, measured steps of the guards leading it out of the palace gates. Jeonghan continued to struggle weakly in Hyungwon’s arms, his sobs raw and unrestrained, but the vehicle continued its solemn procession without pause. Only when the car finally disappeared from view—its taillights vanishing beyond the heavy palace gates—did Hyungwon release his grip. Jeonghan sagged forward for a heartbeat, breath heaving, grief etched into every trembling line of his body.

Then, as if driven by sheer will alone, Jeonghan forced himself upright. His movements were jerky, almost uncoordinated, but his resolve burned bright behind his tear-filled gaze. Without hesitation, he stormed toward where the King Alpha stood, statuesque and composed.

Jeonghan halted just before him and raised his voice, louder and rawer than before. “You have to bring him back!” he demanded, the words nearly breaking apart in his throat. “That wasn’t Seungcheol. That was my Seungcheollie! I know him—I saw him—you have to bring him back!”

But the King Alpha’s expression remained impassive, his head shaking slowly, a silent gesture that offered neither comfort nor concession.

Frustration and desperation twisted together inside Jeonghan, and he turned abruptly to Joshua. His brother was still standing exactly where he had frozen moments earlier, his wide eyes distant, lips slightly parted as though he was struggling to find breath or voice.

“Joshua!” Jeonghan shouted, voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “Please—tell him! You saw it too! Tell Father we need to bring him back! He’s my Seungcheollie… please…”

But Joshua didn’t answer. His eyes remained locked on the now-empty path beyond the palace gate, his mind lost somewhere deep and unreachable. His face was pale, his lips trembling faintly as he tried—and failed—to process what he had just seen.

Not a single word left him.

Jeonghan’s shoulders sagged, his breath hitching as a sob choked in his throat. His voice fell to a desperate whisper, “Please... Please...”

But Joshua’s silence was deafening, and the King Alpha’s stillness spoke volumes.

And so, before them all, Jeonghan dropped to his knees once again, hands falling limply to his sides as tears streamed down his face. His heart felt as though it had been ripped from his chest, leaving behind a hollow, aching void.

Joshua stood silently beside Jeonghan’s bed, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he watched the Crown Prince’s unconscious figure with a growing sense of unease. Jeonghan lay still but restless, his body betraying subtle signs of distress: fingers twitching faintly beneath the sheet, lips occasionally parting to draw in ragged breaths, and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his pale forehead. His face was flushed from the high fever that had struck him almost immediately after returning from the palace gate, his usually sharp features dulled and worn by the emotional and physical toll of the past day.

It had only been hours since Jeonghan had collapsed in front of the palace, broken and screaming after the departure of Seungcheol’s body. Since then, he had slipped in and out of consciousness, unable to speak, his grief seemingly robbing him of not just his composure but his strength as well. Hyungwon had tended to him faithfully until exhaustion forced him to rest, and now Joshua kept quiet vigil, watching as Jeonghan continued to wrestle with an invisible torment even in sleep.

Outside this room, the entire palace was enveloped in a heavy, formal mourning. The death of the Crown Prince’s personal assistant—officially declared the night before—had sent ripples of grief and shock through every wing of the royal residence. The flags at the palace gates hung at half-mast, black cloth draped across the grand hallways, and servants moved quietly, their heads bowed, conversations hushed. In the span of hours, the royal household had been plunged into a profound grief that weighed down every corridor.

Yet even amidst this atmosphere of sorrow, the wheels of justice and politics had not stopped turning. As soon as the news broke, investigations had resumed with ruthless efficiency. Thanks to Seungcheol’s final act of identifying the poison before losing consciousness, the healers were able to act swiftly, administering the antidote derived from Minhee’s amulet to Seokmin and the elder Kim who had also fallen victim to the tainted wine. Their lives had been saved, but it was far too late for Seungcheol.

The aftermath had been swift and severe. Minhee and the entire Kim delegation had been immediately detained on charges of treason and attempted regicide through poison. The entire Kim delegation was held in the royal prison, but Minhee herself was placed in a separate, high-security cell designed for magic-related offenses. The entire court had witnessed her use dark magic during the banquet—illegal, dangerous, and proof enough of her willingness to break every law for her ambitions.

Further investigation had revealed disturbing details. Minhee, as it turned out, had ingested the antidote long before the banquet had even begun. Among her belongings, a separate untainted bottle of wine had been discovered, identical in appearance to the poisoned one. The court speculated that she may have inadvertently mixed up the two bottles, mistaking the poisoned wine for the one intended for presentation to the royal family. Her defense during interrogation had been erratic and defiant: she refused to confess to intentional poisoning, instead swearing repeatedly—and almost frantically—that she would never be foolish enough to attempt such a brazen crime in front of so many witnesses.

Yet despite her words, Joshua harbored no doubt as to her true intentions. He had seen her face during the investigation—a small, almost imperceptible smile curling at the corners of her mouth when the announcement of Seungcheol’s death was made official. A coldness had flickered briefly in her eyes, a glimmer of satisfaction that she could not fully hide. That single expression had told Joshua everything he needed to know: this was no accident. The poisoned wine hadn’t been meant for the royal family members, nor for the royal council.

It had been meant for Seungcheol.

And it made terrible sense. Redthorn Decay was one of the deadliest poisons known, its potency exponentially stronger when used on omegas. Minhee had anticipated this. She carried the antidote amulet because she had prepared for it—because she expected the possibility of exposure. Joshua’s gut twisted with the realization that Seungcheol had been the intended target all along.

But even that dark truth paled beside the question that tormented Joshua now.

Because what truly haunted him wasn’t just Minhee’s crime or even Seungcheol’s tragic end. It was the face he had seen inside the cot, just before the vehicle had departed.

That face.

It wasn’t Seungcheol—not the man who had stood by Jeonghan’s side these past two years, not the bright-eyed assistant who had laughed and smiled mere hours before at the banquet. It wasn’t the same Seungcheol who had collapsed so suddenly after sipping the poisoned wine, nor the one who had fought bravely to warn them all.

It was another face altogether.

The face Joshua had glimpsed as Advisor Jeon gently pulled back the blanket—the face that had left him frozen, unable to speak a word in response to Jeonghan’s frantic pleas.

It was the Crown Prince Consort.

The very man who had stood by Jeonghan’s side eight years ago, the one who had captivated the entire palace with his grace, intelligence, and warmth. The man whose tragic death had left a scar on Jeonghan that had never fully healed.

Joshua had spent time with the Consort in those years, and he knew that face intimately. The high cheekbones, the delicate slope of his nose, the unmistakable curve of his lashes—everything had been identical.

But it couldn’t be. The Crown Prince Consort had died eight years ago. They had mourned him, buried him, performed the rites. Joshua remembered standing beside Jeonghan through that grief, watching as the palace dimmed its banners and dressed in mourning colors for months. There was no chance they could have been wrong then—or was there?

Joshua drew in a slow, unsteady breath, dragging a trembling hand through his hair as he paced once around the bed, never letting his gaze stray from Jeonghan’s fevered, sleeping face. The questions weighed heavily on his chest, a suffocating knot of confusion, fear, and disbelief. How was this possible? How could the Consort’s face be there, when Seungcheol was the one who had lived among them all this time?

What kind of magic was this?

What secrets had been hidden even from the royal family itself?

It made no sense.

None of it made sense.

But one thing was clear: this was not a coincidence. Whatever this was—whatever twisted fate or sorcery had brought this about—it was connected. And Joshua knew, without any doubt, that Jeonghan would demand the truth behind this madness once he recovered from his grief. And when that time came, Joshua intended to stand right at his side, no matter how difficult or dangerous the search for answers would be.

They only had each other now.

For all the times they bickered, all the petty fights they shared, Joshua knew this was their fight together. Until Jeonghan was ready to face the storm, Joshua would remain right here, by his side, waiting and watching over him.

The truth would not stay buried forever. They would uncover it—together.

Inside the walls of the Jeon estate, an eerie silence prevailed, a deep quiet that weighed heavily on every corner of the ancestral home. From the moment Seungcheol’s body had been brought back through the grand gates, the family had declared their mourning period—a week of solemnity observed with respect and gravity. Outside the estate walls, the nation mourned the official announcement of Seungcheol’s death—a tragedy that had rippled through palace and village alike, casting shadows over the capital. Black banners were draped from homes, temples, and markets in honor of the Crown Prince’s assistant, whose final act of bravery had saved lives but cost him his own.

But inside the estate—away from the public eye, behind the heavy iron gates and tall hedgerows—the mood was different. The Jeon family was in mourning, yes, but they were also preparing. Quietly. Intentionally.

The family had not laid Seungcheol in a ceremonial resting chamber as tradition dictated. Instead, they had carried him carefully through familiar halls, past tapestries and portraits of ancestors long gone, and into his own room—his sanctuary within these walls. The bed was neatly made, the curtains drawn against the glare of the afternoon sun, allowing only a muted light to spill across the peaceful figure now lying atop it.

Seungcheol looked almost like he was sleeping. His pale face had been meticulously cleaned, the streaks of blood that once marred his lips and chin now gone. His hair was brushed neatly, his limbs gently arranged in restful repose. He wore simple, soft garments, chosen for comfort rather than ceremony. The only clue that something was amiss was the unnatural stillness that clung to him—no rise and fall of breath, no subtle twitches of a dreaming mind.

At the doorway stood Mingyu, his tall frame rigid, arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, Wonwoo leaned silently against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on the figure in the bed, while Jihoon stood with his hands tucked behind his back, face unreadable but eyes sharp and contemplative.

It had been a long time since they had seen Seungcheol like this—with his real face, unmasked and unguarded. The sight stirred complex feelings in all of them: awkwardness, familiarity, a twinge of awe. It was as if they were witnessing the return of someone both known and unknown at once.

Finally, Jihoon stepped forward, crossing the polished floor with quiet, deliberate steps. He approached the side of the bed where their father sat, his posture composed but heavy with unspoken thoughts. His usually sharp and calculating gaze softened slightly as he reached out to adjust a loose fold of Seungcheol’s blanket, smoothing it gently over his chest.

Jihoon’s voice was low when he spoke, careful not to disturb the fragile atmosphere of the room. “Father,” he asked, “did he manage to take the protective pills in time?”

Advisor Jeon nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Seungcheol’s face. “Yes,” he replied, voice tinged with both relief and resignation. “He swallowed them just before he drank the wine. The effect was immediate... but it saved him, in its own way.”

Mingyu shifted beside the door, finally breaking his silence. “Do we need to move him again, Father?” His question was edged with anxiety, reflecting memories of past times when secrecy had been their only shield. “Should we prepare another identity for him?”

Advisor Jeon shook his head. “No. Not this time.”

His answer was calm, yet it carried immense weight. The words hung in the air, final and resolute.

“The time has come for Seungcheol to face his real self,” Advisor Jeon continued, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ve sheltered him long enough. Almost a decade now. We have guided him, protected him, hidden him… but the protective pills he took—they will awaken what has long been dormant. Once the effects wear off, his true self will emerge. And when that happens, we can no longer disguise who he is.”

A heavy pause followed, as the gravity of those words settled over the brothers. The revelation was not new to them—they had known the truth for years—but the reality of this moment made everything feel far more immediate and inevitable.

“He is a powerful mage and a healer,” their father added, almost as if reminding them all. “His abilities run deep and old. And now that he’s come of age, he must learn to wield them. He must decide for himself how to use that power, who to defend... and who to trust.”

Jihoon took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if gathering resolve. He stepped closer still, standing directly at Seungcheol’s bedside. His gaze softened slightly as he looked down at his unconscious brother—no longer simply Seungcheol the Crown Prince’s assistant, but something far more extraordinary.

With quiet reverence, Jihoon bowed slightly toward Seungcheol, a gesture of respect and acknowledgment, as though welcoming back a figure they had long hidden but never forgotten. “We’ll all have to be ready, then. When he wakes… when he starts asking.”

Beside him, Wonwoo nodded silently, and even Mingyu lowered his head in solemn acknowledgment.

The day would have to pass before the protective pill’s influence would begin to fade completely. They had time yet, but they all knew that when Seungcheol awoke, there would be no more disguises, no more secrets. He would have questions—questions about the past, about his identity, about the truth they had hidden from him for so long.

And when that time came, they would be ready.

Ready to answer.

Ready to face the truth alongside him.

Ready for his return—of his real powerful being, whose destiny was no longer something they could shield him from.

Until then, they kept their vigil in respectful silence, watching over him as they had always done, but knowing that soon everything would change.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, draping the Jeon estate in the muted hush of twilight. Inside Seungcheol’s dimly lit room, the silence was punctuated only by the soft rustle of Jihoon shifting nervously in his chair, his eyes fixed on his brother’s still form.

Then, it happened—a faint but undeniable movement. Jihoon’s breath caught in his throat as Seungcheol’s chest slowly rose and fell, life stirring once more where there had been none The invisible seal that had held Seungcheol between life and death was releasing, the protective magic fading as expected.

Seungcheol twitched faintly, his fingers curling weakly against the sheet, before his eyelids began to flutter. A crease formed between his brows as he struggled to open his eyes fully, blinking against the haze that clouded his vision. For a long moment, he simply stared at the vague shapes around him, the dim light making everything unfamiliar and distant.

Then, without warning, memory surged.

A gasp escaped his lips—a soft, hoarse sound that cracked at the edges—as images of the banquet flashed before him: the wine, Minhee’s smirk, Jeonghan’s desperate eyes, the searing pain in his chest. He tried to sit up abruptly, panic written on his pale face. “The wine... it was poisoned,” he rasped. “We need to find the antidote...”

But Jihoon was already leaning forward, one hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, gently pushing him back against the pillows. His touch was careful but firm, his expression calm but distant, different from the familiarity Seungcheol had known all his life. “It’s alright,” Jihoon said quietly, almost formally. “Everything has been handled. There’s no need to worry.”

The reassurance sank in slowly, and Seungcheol, despite himself, felt some of the tension drain from his limbs. and he turned his head properly, taking in the familiar surroundings—his childhood room, perfectly intact. The curtains he remembered, the wooden furnishings, even the familiar old clock on the wall ticking steadily. He was home.

Yet something felt… off. His eyes, clearer now, focused properly on Jihoon for the first time—and he noticed something strange. Jihoon, always so casual with him, always ready to scold or joke or roll his eyes, was different. His posture was formal, his back straight and his expression composed, almost deferential.

And then Jihoon did something even stranger: he straightened and offered a small, respectful bow. “Greetings, Your Grace,” he murmured, the words soft but deliberate.

Seungcheol froze, confusion flickering across his face. Before he could find his voice, the door opened quietly and Mingyu appeared, carrying a tray of linens. His expression, usually so expressive and easy, was unusually solemn—until he caught sight of Seungcheol awake. His face brightened instantly, relief plain in his eyes.

Seungcheol expected Mingyu to rush forward and engulf him in one of his usual bear hugs, laughing and scolding all at once. But instead, Mingyu approached the table, set the tray down with care, and then took a respectful step back. He lowered his head slightly and offered the same odd greeting: “Welcome back, Your Grace.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and inexplicable.

Seungcheol’s lips parted as he struggled to make sense of what was happening, his thoughts still sluggish from exhaustion. “Can I... can I see Father?” he asked weakly, his voice almost breaking.

Mingyu responded instantly, bowing again before slipping out to fetch their father. Meanwhile, Jihoon turned back toward the bed, fetching a glass of water from the bedside table. His movements were gentle as he held the glass to Seungcheol’s lips, but something about his demeanor remained distant—polite rather than affectionate.

Seungcheol sipped the water slowly, his gaze darting anxiously around the room, picking up on every subtle shift in behavior. Why were they all acting like this? Why was everything so cold, so formal?

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the door opened again and the elder Jeon entered. Wonwoo followed closely behind, both of them dressed in understated but formal attire, their expressions carefully composed.

Seungcheol’s heart leapt at the sight of his father. He expected the man to come to his side immediately, to sit by the bed as he always did when Seungcheol was ill—to hold his hand, perhaps, or offer the familiar comfort of presence.

But instead, the elder Jeon stopped a few steps from the bed and remained standing at its foot. Wonwoo mirrored the respectful posture, offering a slight bow toward Seungcheol.

And then—most unsettling of all—his father bowed. Not a casual nod or a fatherly gesture of acknowledgment, but a formal, deliberate bow.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Your Grace,” he said, his tone measured and respectful. “Are you feeling alright?”

Seungcheol felt a cold wave ripple through him. He turned his head slightly, glancing from his father to Jihoon to Mingyu and Wonwoo, searching desperately for a familiar sign—some break in this surreal decorum.

His voice trembled as he spoke aloud, more to himself than to them. “What’s happening? Am I… dreaming?”

But the ache in his body, the IV line tugging gently at the crook of his elbow, the unmistakable burn in his throat from dehydration—all of it told him that this was real.

His pulse quickened. Why were they behaving like this? Why did everyone seem to look at him like a stranger, their eyes filled with polite deference instead of warmth? Why were they calling him Your Grace?

Seungcheol couldn’t bear it any longer. He tried again to sit up properly, his arms trembling from the effort. The elder Jeon sent a small look toward Mingyu, who immediately stepped forward to help, his grip gentle but professional. Jihoon moved quickly too, adjusting the pillows behind him, ensuring he was propped up comfortably.

Then, as Seungcheol lifted his gaze, Seungcheol caught sight of something—his reflection.

The windowpane beside his bed, dimly lit by the glow of a lantern, offered a clear view of his face.

His breath hitched, a sharp, startled gasp that barely escaped his lips. His hand lifted weakly, trembling, fingers brushing over his own cheekbones, tracing the shape of a face that didn’t feel like his own.

His features were... different. Subtly, yet unmistakably different.

The face that stared back at him was not the one he had seen every day in the mirror for years. His features had changed.

Why? What was wrong with him? Why did he look different?

His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he turned his gaze back to the others in the room, searching desperately for an answer. But their expressions remained calm, prepared, as though they had expected this.

And perhaps they had.

Seungcheol felt cold suddenly, his confusion threatening to spiral into panic.

Who was he now?

And why did his own family—his brothers, his father—stand before him like he was a stranger?

Seungcheol had drifted into sleep again, his body surrendering after the strain of his panic. His breathing was uneven at first, shallow and ragged from the hyperventilation that had gripped him after seeing the reflection in the window—a face that was his and yet, somehow, not. His fragile state left him exhausted, unable to fight the weight of confusion and terror pressing down on him, and at last, his limbs went limp and his eyelids fluttered shut.

The Jeon family had known this moment would come. They had anticipated his terror, his disbelief—prepared themselves to endure his questions, his anguish, and the inevitable unraveling of everything he thought he knew. Yet even with all that preparation, standing quietly around his bed now, there was an ache in their hearts they hadn’t expected.

They had chosen not to explain anything to him yet. Not while he remained so fragile, caught between the shock of returning from the brink of death and the dread of recognizing a face he did not remember. Their father had issued a firm warning: no explanations until he was ready. After all, Seungcheol had just crossed back from death’s door.

This wasn’t the first time they had gone through something like this. They had all played this part before, once, years ago, when Seungcheol had first come under their protection. Back then, they had masked the truth, embraced the roles that circumstances had forced upon them: as his brothers, as his father, as his family. Their closeness had not been a lie—they had grown to love him genuinely, as their brother, as their family.

But now… now that Seungcheol had taken the protective pill, now that his body and soul were returning to their true alignment, the line between truth and deception could no longer remain blurred. His memories would return—maybe slowly, maybe all at once—but return they would. And when they did, everything would change.

Even though they were still family in many ways, there would soon be a line between them that could not be crossed—a line that would redefine who they were to each other.

Mingyu lingered at the side of the bed, watching Seungcheol’s face with a conflicted gaze. His fingers curled tightly against the edge of the blanket, a part of him aching to reach out and another part holding back, mindful of the warning his father had given them.

"Be mindful," their father had said. “We must treat him with the respect of who he truly is now.”

But how could Mingyu simply stand by and watch Seungcheol suffer alone? For eight years, it had been Mingyu who stayed closest to him. He had been the one to cradle Seungcheol through every fever, to soothe him when nightmares chased him into the dark, to pull him back from despair during sleepless nights when memories threatened to break him. Mingyu had held him through tears, through sickness, through loneliness…

It tore at him now, watching Seungcheol sleep so restlessly, face pale and drawn, trembling faintly in his fragile state. The respectful distance he was meant to maintain felt unbearable—a hollow mockery of the closeness they had shared all these years.

His throat tightened painfully as he reached out, his hand hovering for a moment over Seungcheol’s shoulder. The words of their father echoed in his mind, warning him gently but firmly that things must be different now. But he remembered the countless nights he had quietly held Seungcheol, soothing him, joking with him to lighten the darkness, sometimes simply sitting in silence when no words would suffice. He had been Seungcheol’s little brother—not in blood, but in heart—and that bond was not so easily abandoned.

And so, Mingyu couldn’t help himself.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and slipped his arm carefully beneath Seungcheol’s frail form, pulling him gently into his embrace. Seungcheol didn’t resist, didn’t stir; his sleeping body relaxed instinctively into the familiarity of Mingyu’s arms, his head coming to rest against Mingyu’s shoulder in exactly the way it always had. His unconscious mind still recognized the comfort and trust they had built together over the years. His breathing was slow, steady now, and Mingyu felt some of the tension in his own body ebb at the sight.

For a fleeting moment, relief washed over Mingyu. His heart ached with a bittersweet gratitude. Despite everything—despite the revelations, despite the impending truth, despite the chasm that would soon separate them—at least for now, Seungcheol still craved his touch. In Seungcheol’s eyes, Mingyu was still his younger brother— the one he trusted most, the one whose arms had always been a safe place.

Mingyu exhaled a shuddering breath, pressing his cheek lightly against the crown of Seungcheol’s head. His arms tightened just slightly, careful not to disturb the IV line that fed into Seungcheol’s arm. Even if this closeness would be taken from him soon, even if the truth of Seungcheol’s identity meant their relationship would never be quite the same, Mingyu resolved to cherish this moment.

And so, for now, Mingyu would hold him as he had always done—quietly, gently, protectively. He closed his eyes and prayed that even after Seungcheol’s memories returned, even after he remembered who he really was and what the world would expect of him… somehow, some part of that closeness would remain.

That Seungcheol would still let him stay by his side.

That he would still allow himself to lean on Mingyu in times of fear or pain.

Even when the truth emerged, even when Seungcheol awoke fully to his identity as someone greater than a brother within this family, Mingyu vowed silently that he would protect him just the same.

Whether as brother or as subject.

For now, in this quiet, tender moment, Mingyu simply let himself be the brother Seungcheol needed him to be, cherishing the final hours before their world shifted forever.

A full day had passed since Seungcheol had been brought back from the edge of death—a miracle that, while shocking to many, had been long expected by the Jeon family. But for Seungcheol himself, it was something unfathomable, something his mind could neither process nor reconcile.

Since the early hours of the morning, when he first opened his eyes again, Seungcheol had exhibited an odd mixture of fragility and stubbornness. He refused to eat unless one of his siblings fed him personally. He turned away from the maids and butlers, ignoring their attempts to assist, instead whining softly and insistently until one of his brothers relented and tended to him. When they tried to leave his bedside, he would cling to their sleeves, begging them to stay.

Eventually, they gave in, unable to bear his pouts and pleading gazes. Wonwoo sat nearby with a book propped open on his lap, occasionally reading passages aloud in his calm, measured tone. Jihoon settled into a chair at the window, another book in hand, casting frequent glances toward Seungcheol, ensuring he was comfortable. Mingyu remained closest, seated on the edge of the bed itself, gently massaging Seungcheol’s wrist where the IV needle had been removed earlier, rubbing slow circles into the tender skin with his broad, warm hands.

Seungcheol basked in the attention, smiling with quiet satisfaction, as though he had reclaimed a sense of normalcy in a world that otherwise felt utterly foreign.

Soon, a quiet shuffle at the door signaled the arrival of their father. At once, all three brothers rose to their feet in respectful silence, straightening themselves instinctively at their father’s presence. The elder paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the scene—his sons dutifully gathered around Seungcheol’s bed, the fragile young man reclining against the pillows like a child surrounded by his caretakers.

He let out a quiet sigh, his expression softening at the sight before him. He raised a hand briefly, a silent gesture of dismissal at their formalities, and walked forward with measured steps until he stood beside Seungcheol’s bed.

Seungcheol watched his father approach, a gentle pout forming on his lips. When the elder Jeon lowered himself into the chair beside the bed, Seungcheol extended his arms toward him with childlike need, a silent plea in his eyes.

Advisor Jeon exhaled heavily once more—a sound that was almost a chuckle but carried the weight of weary resignation and reached forward, gathering Seungcheol in his arm. Seungcheol leaned into his embrace immediately, burying his face into his father’s chest.

In that safe space, all of Seungcheol’s tightly held emotions unraveled at once. His body shook as quiet sobs escaped him, his fingers curling tightly into his father’s robes.

“Why...” he murmured, his voice trembling with grief and confusion. “Why does everyone treat me like a stranger? Am I... a stranger to you now?”

Advisor Jeon did not answer right away. He simply held Seungcheol close, rocking him gently as though Seungcheol were still the young boy he had comforted countless times before. His hands moved gently across Seungcheol’s back in a soothing rhythm, waiting patiently as the sobs gradually softened, as Seungcheol’s breath evened out and the trembling subsided.

Finally, when he felt Seungcheol had calmed enough to listen, Advisor Jeon loosened his embrace and gently guided him back to recline against the pillows. He remained seated beside the bed, his posture straight but his eyes gentle.

“I’m sorry, Seungcheol-ah…” Advisor Jeon said softly, his voice weighted with genuine remorse. “We didn’t mean to make you feel that way. But we had to prepare ourselves. We didn’t know how much you would remember after you woke… and we feared you might remember everything all at once when the effects of the protective pill wore off.”

He paused, studying Seungcheol carefully. “But it seems you don’t remember... not yet.”

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his fingers twisting in the blanket as his gaze searched his father’s face. “What kind of memories?” he asked hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer. “Is this about my face? The face... I don’t recognize in the window?”

The elder Jeon’s expression grew somber, and he drew in a long, slow breath. “Tell me, Seungcheol,” he asked gently, “since you’ve awakened... have you remembered anything? Anything at all, apart from these past eight years of your life?”

Seungcheol shook his head slowly, eyes wide and uncertain. “No... nothing,” he admitted. “Is there something I’m supposed to remember?”

Instead of answering immediately, Advisor Jeon reached into the inner pocket of his robe. From it, he withdrew a small, timeworn photograph, its edges frayed from age and handling. Wordlessly, he passed it to Seungcheol.

Seungcheol accepted the photograph with trembling hands, curiosity and apprehension mingling in his expression as he turned it over to look. His breath hitched the instant he saw it.

It was a portrait he recognized instantly—not from a personal memory, but from moments in the palace. He had seen this picture several times, tucked discreetly inside Jeonghan’s private drawer whenever he had fetched files from the cabinet behind the Crown Prince’s desk.

Joshua had once quietly explained who it was: the late Crown Prince Consort. The beloved consort who had died eight years ago… a tragedy that had left a lasting shadow over Jeonghan, over the entire palace.

But something inside Seungcheol twisted horribly as realization dawned.

The face in that photograph… it wasn’t just familiar.

It was identical.

It was his.

His gaze lifted slowly from the photograph to meet his father’s steady, sorrowful eyes. His voice cracked as he whispered aloud the question he could barely form. “Why... why does his face look exactly like mine?”

His father’s face softened further, but there was a deep grief in his expression now, too—a grief that had been long held in check.

“Because…” he said softly, the truth falling from his lips like a stone into a still pond, rippling outward and altering everything. “…you are the Crown Prince Consort, Seungcheol.”

The words struck him like a blow, and Seungcheol’s fingers went slack. The photograph slipped from his hands, fluttering soundlessly to the floor. His entire body stiffened as his mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what he had just been told.

A tear rolled slowly down his cheek, trailing a path of disbelief and heartbreak as he continued to stare at his father, searching for some hint that this was all a cruel mistake.

But there was none.

For a long, long moment, the room was completely still.

Then Seungcheol lowered his head, tears slipping freely now, his entire body trembling with shock.

His whole life… everything he thought he knew… was a lie.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol stood quietly at the edge of his balcony, his gaze distant as he looked out over the gardens of the Jeon estate, the fading light of day casting long shadows across the familiar grounds. The air was cool, crisp, but he barely felt it. Behind him, just a step away, Jihoon stood like a silent sentinel, his posture steady, his presence comforting even in its formality.

After a long stretch of silence, Seungcheol’s soft voice broke the stillness. "Are you standing there to make sure I don’t jump?"

Jihoon’s reply came without hesitation, his tone calm and unwavering. “I know you’re not that weak.”

Seungcheol let out a bitter, almost hollow chuckle at that. “Is that so?” he murmured, his eyes never leaving the horizon. “How can you be so sure about me... when I don’t even know who I am anymore?”

His fingers curled slightly over the stone railing, tension evident in the way his shoulders tensed as he spoke. Jihoon stepped forward slowly, stopping just beside him but careful not to intrude on the space Seungcheol was clinging to.

“Your memories will return, slowly,” Jihoon said gently, his voice carrying a quiet conviction that felt both reassuring and painful.

Seungcheol gave another bitter laugh, shaking his head. “But will they matter? Do they really matter?” He turned slightly, enough for Jihoon to see the anguish behind his gaze. “I could just live like this, couldn’t I? A nameless man in the Jeon estate... where things feel safe, where I have you guys, my family. Isn’t that enough?”

Jihoon took a breath before answering, his eyes steady as they met Seungcheol’s. “Even if that’s what we all wish... you were born for far greater things than this. You weren’t meant to simply stay hidden behind these walls. You’re destined for more.”

Seungcheol’s lips twisted into a wry smile, bitterness still lacing his voice. “Great things,” he echoed quietly. “Like being the prophesied Luna? Is that really so great? I don’t want that if it means losing all of you… if it means losing this family.”

Jihoon hesitated for a moment before stepping even closer. His hand almost rose, as if to reach out, but he stopped himself. “We will always be your family,” he said softly.

Seungcheol let out another bitter chuckle, glancing at Jihoon with tired, wounded eyes. “You say that… but it’s a lie. You keep calling me ‘Your Grace.’ You bow when you see me now. Don’t pretend it hasn’t changed."

Jihoon’s eyes glistened faintly as he looked at Seungcheol’s profile, the pain clear in both their faces. "There are lines now… boundaries that exist whether we like it or not," he murmured. "You’re no longer just Seungcheol. You’re the Crown Prince Consort. Even if you don’t remember it yet, even if…" His voice caught slightly before he continued, "Even if you reject it, it’s still the truth."

Seungcheol turned away sharply, leaning forward against the balcony rail again, his shoulders shaking slightly. “But the Crown Prince Consort is dead,” he whispered harshly. “That bond... it’s broken, isn’t it? So I’m free to choose. And I choose my family over everything else. Over any prophecy, any destiny. You all are what matters to me.”

Behind him, Jihoon sniffled softly, his composure breaking just for an instant as he reached up to wipe away a stray tear before it could fall. He drew a shaky breath and then, before Seungcheol could react further, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Seungcheol’s shoulders in a brief, fierce hug.

The embrace startled Seungcheol, leaving him frozen for a heartbeat, but just as quickly as Jihoon had initiated it, he was already pulling away, retreating a step with a soft, rueful smile.

Seungcheol let out a small, almost petulant pout. “Why so fast?” he muttered, half-joking, half-longing for that warmth to stay longer.

Jihoon gave a quiet laugh in return, shaking his head fondly. “You haven’t changed at all,” he murmured. “No matter what title you hold now... you’re still you. And that’s why I know you’ll remain the same, even when your memories return and you rediscover who you are meant to be.”

His expression grew a little more serious, his eyes meeting Seungcheol’s steadily as he added, “And I promise you this—whatever happens next, I’ll be by your side. We all will. You’ll never have to face any of this alone ever again.”

For a moment, neither spoke further. Seungcheol felt Jihoon’s sincerity wash over him, grounding him even as the chaos inside his mind remained unresolved.

Jeonghan let out a deep, frustrated sigh—his fourth or fifth in just the last hour alone—as he let the thick folder in his hand fall shut with a dull thud against the wooden table. The parchment pages rustled from the sudden movement, but he didn’t care anymore. His eyes burned from reading too long under the dim candlelight of the royal library’s upper study. The hours had stretched endlessly, and yet, every lead he thought might hold the answers dissolved into dead ends.

He leaned back in the high-backed velvet chair, his fingers threading through his already-messy hair. The exhaustion in his bones wasn’t just from lack of sleep—it was the kind that settled deeper, fed by disappointment and gnawing questions with no answers. He had combed through every document in the personal royal archive, every medical record from a decade ago, and even restricted volumes that were only permitted for the reigning monarch’s eyes. Yet none of them gave him what he so desperately needed—the truth about Seungcheol.

On the other side of the vast library, amidst towering shelves and stacks of aged books and scrolls, Joshua was methodically going through a smaller set of files, carefully pulling out what remained of the old royal photo records. His task was no less futile than Jeonghan’s. There was hardly anything left from that period—no formal portraits, no casual photographs, no handwritten notes or journals. Vanished like they had never happened. It was as if someone had gone to great lengths to erase him completely from the royal records.

"They’re all gone,” Joshua called softly from across the room. “There’s nothing."

Jeonghan’s hand clenched into a fist on top of the desk, his jaw tightening as he struggled to contain the storm brewing within him. “Three years,” he muttered under his breath. “He was with us for three whole years. He lived here, ate with us, slept beside me, existed—how could there be nothing left?”

The absence was too calculated to be coincidence.

They had been only seventeen when it all began—barely of age, still trying to find their footing in the rigid expectations of royalty. Jeonghan and the Consort had barely begun to understand what it meant to be bonded. They were engaged by tradition, a royal arrangement carefully brokered by the council, but they had started to fall in love genuinely by the time the Consort fell ill. The wedding was supposed to take place only a few months later. It had never happened.

The official story had been simple and devastating. The Consort had succumbed to a mysterious illness. A condition never named, never fully explained, only whispered about behind closed doors with terrified expressions and cryptic warnings. Some said it was the work of black magic. Others believed it was a failed assassination attempt masked as an illness. Eventually, the punishment fell on Minhyuk, Jeonghan’s former assistant and a known practitioner of forbidden magic. He was executed without trial within days.

Jeonghan remembered being kept in bed for days, drugged by the court physicians for the sake of his mental stability. At the time, he had been too broken to ask questions.

But now—everything started falling apart.

There was no mistaking the face he had seen inside that cot. When the blanket had been pulled back, even through the blood and the paleness—Jeonghan had recognized him. He had seen the face that haunted his dreams for the past eight years. The face of the one he had mourned endlessly. The face of the one who had held his hand during the secret ceremony beneath the moonlight. It wasn’t just similar. It was him.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, one arm thrown over the backrest, his gaze drifting across the shelves lining the library like walls of silence. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the pages apart. But more than anything, he wanted the truth. Even if it broke him.

If it had been just him, he might have chalked it up to delusion. A cruel trick of the heart and eyes. He hadn’t seen the Consort’s face in years. Perhaps his longing had shaped Seungcheol’s face into something familiar. Perhaps grief had made him imagine it.

But Joshua saw it too. His reaction wasn’t staged or imagined. The look in his eyes, the trembling of his hands—Joshua had seen the same truth Jeonghan did. And if both of them saw it, it couldn’t be a mistake. It couldn’t be madness.

Still, not everyone shared their conviction. Hyungwon, who had been there during the chaos, claimed otherwise. When questioned, he had tilted his head calmly and said he hadn’t really looked at Seungcheol’s face directly. He was too focused on securing the perimeter and maintaining protocol. He said the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind—that the late Consort’s face would appear in place of Seungcheol’s. To Hyungwon, the notion was absurd. “It wouldn’t make sense,” He had said, matter-of-factly, as if the sheer logic of the situation erased the evidence of their eyes.

But Jeonghan knew him too well. Hyungwon had served as his guard, his companion, and his closest confidant since childhood. He was trained to observe details, never overlook anything. And he knew immediately whenever Hyungwon was telling a lie. A protective lie, maybe, but still a lie. And Jeonghan could feel it, the restraint in Hyungwon’s tone, the unspoken truth hiding behind his unreadable eyes.

Fury and desperation twisted together in Jeonghan’s chest, forming a knot that refused to loosen. He wasn’t going to let this go. Not when the person he loved suddenly appeared out of thin air. Not when everything pointed toward a cover-up, a mystery no one wanted him to uncover. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, grounding himself. 

He opened his eyes and called across the library, “Keep looking, Joshua. We’re not done here. Not until we know the truth.”

Joshua didn’t reply with words. He simply nodded, turning another page, his jaw set in silent determination.

Because if there was even the slightest chance that Seungcheol and the Crown Prince Consort were the same person—then he had to know why. He had to uncover the truth.

Because losing them had broken him. So, he would do anything and dig through every secret the palace had buried. No matter how deep.

Seungcheol sat quietly in his room, the silence broken only by the faint rustling of pages as he flipped slowly through the worn journal and photo album placed carefully before him. The weight of the objects in his lap felt heavier than their actual mass—pages filled with handwriting that matched his own, photographs of a face that was now his, captured in moments he had no memory of. Every line of ink, every fading image stared back at him like a ghost of someone he was supposed to be, someone the world seemed to remember even when he could not.

Across from him, his father—or the man he had called father for the past eight years—sat composed and patient. His posture was formal, hands clasped neatly in front of him, as if waiting for permission to begin. His expression was neither cold nor affectionate. It was respectful, careful, and almost distant.

Seungcheol could sense the quiet reverence in the older man’s posture, a line drawn not out of indifference, but out of necessity. It was another reminder that everything had changed. That somewhere in the truth of his rebirth, the warmth of familial closeness had been stripped away by the titles he never asked for.

He shifted slightly on the cushion, glancing up toward the man who had once held him close. Now he felt like a stranger in his own house, treated like royalty instead of blood. Still, when his father promised to speak to him about his past that evening, Seungcheol agreed. Not because he was desperate to uncover it, but because some small, stubborn part of him ached with curiosity.

The elder Jeon began in a soft tone, his voice steady, as though recounting a legend passed down through generations. He spoke of male omegas, a rare phenomenon in their world—perhaps one born only once in a century in each pack. He explained that these male omegas were never ordinary. Throughout recorded history, every male omega had been imbued with powerful gifts—magic that could heal or destroy, words that could command wind and stone, and a presence so revered that even kings bowed before them. And every male omega ever born in their territory had come from one bloodline—one family: the Jeon family.

Seungcheol furrowed his brows. “If they all came from the Jeon family,” he asked slowly, “why am I not a Jeon?”

The elder Jeon gave a nod, as though he had expected the question. “Because you are a Jeon,” he answered patiently, “but not from my direct line of family, but your mother’s. Your mother was a direct descendant of the original Jeon mage line. And because she was not married to a Jeon male, you did not inherit our surname.”

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped to the photo album again, a soft crease forming between his brows. “What happened to her?” he asked, though his tone was hesitant, unsure whether he wanted to know.

“She died,” his father said, voice tinged with quiet sorrow. “Just after giving birth to you. Your arrival into the world cost her everything. Your father—Choi Jaewon, a respected soldier from the Choi clan—raised you until he passed away from illness when you were just six.”

“So I was an orphan,” Seungcheol whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “And then you took me in.”

“Yes. Your father left instructions in his will that you were to be placed under the protection of the Jeon family. We were the only ones capable of guiding your powers as they grew. The only ones who understood what you were becoming.”

Seungcheol leaned back slightly, frowning. “Because I was the prophesied Luna?”

His father gave a solemn nod. “Yes. You weren’t just chosen. You were destined. And that made you dangerous to others. You must understand—most Luna candidates are daughters of noble omegas, handpicked from elite lineages. It has always been a political choice, carefully negotiated through generations of tradition. When the prophecy was revealed and your existence came to light, many saw it as an insult. That a male omega, barely a child, could be the one fated to rise above all of them. They knew you wouldn’t just be a figurehead. You would be the most powerful mage of this age. You would have sway over the royal court, the land, the borders, and even the bloodlines.”

“So they wanted me gone,” Seungcheol murmured bitterly. “Because I wasn’t who they wanted.”

“Not just once,” his father confirmed. “Assassinations, curses, even internal sabotage. You survived all of it. But the cost was high. And when you were poisoned… we had no choice. You were declared dead. It was the only way to save your life and stop the endless attempts.”

Seungcheol turned another page in the album, fingers stilling over a photo of the palace gates. “Did anyone else know? That I… survived? That the Crown Prince Consort didn’t really die?”

The older man’s face darkened slightly, not with fear, but with the weight of memory. “Only a few,” he said carefully. “Our family, and the Alpha King. He was the one who helped us erase your past and ensure your safety. You were placed back in our care. Every trace of your existence was removed from the palace. Every document destroyed. Every memory… locked away.”

“Why go to that extent?” Seungcheol’s voice cracked with frustration. “Why erase me?”

“Because you were too important to lose,” his father said. “You had to survive. Because a Luna—especially one with your strength—is not just a consort. You are the keystone. The Luna isn’t just a ceremonial role—it’s the guardian of the Alpha King’s power. And we’ve spent the last eight years keeping you hidden, waiting for the day your powers would mature. Now, with the help of the protective pills, they will awaken fully. And whether you want to or not… that power is yours.”

Seungcheol looked down at his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers. The idea of holding that kind of power made his stomach twist. “And I’m supposed to want that?” he asked softly. “To bear that kind of weight? I don’t. I just want to be normal, like everyone else.”

There was a silence between them, filled only by the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. The elder Jeon finally stood, smoothing out his coat. He placed a gentle hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, the touch warm but respectful. “No one will force you,” he said. “You’ve endured enough. But you were never meant to live a normal life, my son. You were born with a duty. Being the Luna is not a privilege, not a title of luxury. With that power comes responsibility. A sacred one. You were born to guard, to balance the scales when they begin to tilt. It’s in your blood—whether you choose to accept it or not. And when that time comes, I hope you’ll choose not for yourself alone, but for those who believe in you.”

The words sat heavy in the air, and for a moment, Seungcheol didn’t know how to respond. His eyes drifted to the journal again. To the lines that once belonged to a boy who had lived a life he could no longer remember.

The elder Jeon stood quietly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Get some rest. The days ahead will be long.”

He left the room without another word, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

Seungcheol remained frozen, staring into the shadows of his dimly lit room. The journal still lay open beside him, a single photo peeking from between the pages. The face in the picture stared back at him—serene, smiling, unaware of the burdens waiting ahead.

He wondered if he would ever become that boy again, or if that part of him was gone for good. Sleep felt distant, and yet his body trembled with exhaustion. With a heavy sigh, Seungcheol slid down onto the mattress, unsure if he’d find rest or more questions waiting behind his closed eyes.

Seungcheol jolted awake with a soft gasp tearing from his lips, his body drenched in cold sweat. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession as panic clawed at his throat, invisible remnants of a nightmare still clinging to his mind like fog. Before he could fully sit up, a firm but gentle hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him instantly. The warmth of the palm anchored him to the present, and as he gasped for air, his fingers reached up, gripping the wrist that held him down like a lifeline. His other hand twisted in the blanket pooled around his waist as he tried to anchor himself back in reality.

“It’s alright,” came a calm, familiar voice, low and steady like a tether in a storm. “You’re safe. It was just a nightmare.”

Slowly, Seungcheol’s erratic breathing began to even out, and only then did he dare to open his eyes fully. The light of the early morning was soft through the curtains, and in front of him stood Wonwoo, his usually stoic expression softened with worry and quiet patience. He met Seungcheol’s gaze and offered him a small, polite smile that somehow managed to radiate warmth despite its reserved nature.

Without a word, Wonwoo helped him sit up slowly, adjusting the pillows behind his back for support. He reached over to the nightstand and picked up a glass of water, holding it out. Seungcheol took it with both hands, fingers still trembling, and took a few slow sips. The cool liquid did wonders to steady his nerves, but the hollow ache in his chest remained.

When Wonwoo took the glass away and set it on the bedside table, Seungcheol didn’t let him move far. Without a word, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his older brother’s torso, pressing his cheek to Wonwoo’s chest with a quiet sigh that trembled at the end. Wonwoo froze, just for a moment—likely startled by the sudden gesture— but then he wrapped his arms around Seungcheol and held him close. His hands moved gently across Seungcheol’s back, rocking him just slightly, offering comfort in the way only an older sibling could.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

In that moment, Seungcheol sagged into the embrace, closing his eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent. Despite everything, in this moment, it still felt like home.

A soft knock at the door drew their attention, and a moment later, Mingyu stepped inside with a tray of warm food. His eyes softened immediately at the sight of Seungcheol in Wonwoo’s arms, but he didn’t say anything. He placed the tray on the small table beside the bed and gave his brother a gentle nod before moving to set up the food.

Wonwoo carefully eased Seungcheol away from his embrace and helped him sit up straighter. Mingyu arranged the tray in front of him and opened the lids to reveal a modest meal—rice, soup, some soft side dishes. All of Seungcheol’s favorites. Yet, Seungcheol only poked at the rice with the tip of his chopsticks, his appetite clearly missing.

Mingyu raised a brow. “Do you not like it? I can ask the kitchen to make something else.”

Seungcheol shook his head slowly, eyes still fixed on the untouched tray. “No… It’s not that.” His voice was soft, thoughtful. Then, after a pause, he looked up at them. “I just keep wondering… if we’re still family.”

Both Mingyu and Wonwoo went still. Seungcheol continued, “I mean… I’m a Choi. My mother was a Jeon, sure, but I don’t carry the name. And I didn’t grow up in this house. Not originally.”

Wonwoo leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “That doesn’t change anything. You’re still a Jeon by blood. Clan name or not. Your mother may have been from a different branch, but she was our kin. Your blood carries the mark of the Jeon line just as strongly as ours, maybe even stronger.”

Mingyu nodded and sat down beside the bed. “Your mother may came from a different branch of the family, but the Jeon clan is large, and many lines spread out across the district. Our family line focuses on healing and magic, dominated mostly by alpha males. Your mother, however, was a rare Jeon alpha female—one of the most revered healers of her time. She came from a lineage that produced shamans and scholars. You are the first male omega born from a Jeon alpha female. That in itself made your birth something unprecedented.”

Wonwoo picked up the explanation from there. “And your father, from the Choi clan, was no less extraordinary. The Chois are an elite bloodline, known for producing fierce warriors, tacticians, and natural leaders. You are a blend of both—an extraordinary healer and a formidable fighter. That’s why you were not just a rare male omega, but a prophesied Luna. The first and only of your kind.”

The information was overwhelming, but Seungcheol tried to absorb it slowly. After a pause, he looked up again. “So then… do you know why I… died? The first time.”

The room stilled. Mingyu’s expression darkened slightly. “You didn’t die,” he began carefully. “Not in the way people think.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed.

“Back then,” Mingyu continued, “you were attacked by Minhyuk. He was once a palace mage-in-training. But he became bitter, angry after being exiled for dabbling in black magic. Instead of accepting his punishment, he held onto his resentment—and he used it. He cast a spell on you. To break your mind, your memory, your connection to power. But the power he used was too much. It damaged your body. It nearly killed you.”

Wonwoo picked up from there, his voice quiet. “Your core—your magic, your memories, even your body—it was breaking down. The only way to save you was to essentially reset your body. We removed everything—your memories, your strength, your identity. And to keep you safe, we had to change your face with a sacred magic. You were no longer recognizable as the Crown Prince Consort.”

“We even masked your scent,” Mingyu said. “You were given the scent of a beta to avoid detection. Your surname was altered, but your first name stayed. We wanted to keep something—anything—of you intact.”

Seungcheol took a shaky breath. “Then… how did Minhee find out?”

Wonwoo's face darkened slightly at the mention of the name. “We’re still trying to figure that out. She shouldn’t have known. Everything was covered, and no one outside of our circle and the King knew the truth. It’s what scares us the most. Somehow, she figured it out. And she tried to finish what others started eight years ago.”

“And now?” Seungcheol asked. “What happens now?”

Mingyu reached out, placing a hand gently on Seungcheol’s arm. “Your memories will return, bit by bit. That is something we can’t stop. But no matter what you remember, or what title you carry, we are still your family. No magic, prophecy, or power can change that. The life you’ve lived, the choices you’ve made—they’re yours, and only you can walk the path ahead.”

For a moment, Seungcheol sat in silence, absorbing the weight of it all. The warmth of his brothers’ presence grounded him, but the enormity of who he was—and what he was destined to be—loomed like a shadow. 

A full month had passed since the chaos that shattered the banquet hall and upended the truth of Seungcheol’s very existence. The palace had returned to its formal rhythm, and across the lands, the whispers about the poisoned wine, the Kim family’s treason, and the royal scandal had started to settle like dust. People moved on. Affairs were handled. Reports were written, and decisions made in hushed council rooms. Life, for everyone else, resumed its flow.

But for Seungcheol, time remained stubbornly still.

Though he carried out the routines assigned to him—eating, training, sitting through his healing sessions and history lessons—it felt like he was watching someone else live his life. He remained caught in limbo, neither here nor there, floating between the person he had lived as for eight years and the stranger everyone told him he used to be.

The days bled into one another, and though his body had recovered, his mind was far from settled. There were too many questions circling his thoughts, too many tangled threads, too many pieces of himself that didn’t quite fit together. And worst of all, he didn’t know where to begin searching for answers.

Just like the Jeons had said, his memories were returning, but they arrived like smoke—intangible, shapeless, and impossible to hold onto. They came to him in dreams, vivid and immersive, as if he were living in them. Sometimes, he could feel the weight of silk robes on his shoulders, the warmth of a familiar hand in his, hear a voice calling his name in a tone that made his heart ache, see a garden bathed in golden light as if it were sacred to him.

But the moment he opened his eyes, the memories faded like mist in the morning sun. He remembered nothing except the emotions—warmth, sorrow, longing—and a deep, crushing sense of loss.

Now, as the sun began its slow descent and bathed his room in golden hues, Seungcheol stood silently before the full-length mirror in his chamber. His gaze fixed on the reflection that stared back at him. The man in the mirror was regal, elegant even, with soft but commanding features and a quiet power behind his eyes. But Seungcheol didn’t know him.

He missed the face he once had— the one he had lived with for eight years, the one with the bright, dimpled grin and the wide, gummy smile that had been captured in countless blurry photographs by Mingyu, who always insisted on documenting everything. That face had felt warm, youthful, loved. This one felt… heavy. Regal. Distant.

He exhaled deeply, frustration weighing down his shoulders. That was when he felt the warm presence behind him—a gentle hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Seungcheol looked up at the reflection and found Jihoon standing quietly behind him, a soft, understanding look in his eyes.

“You don’t have to keep staring at it like it doesn’t belong to you,” Jihoon said gently. “Every version of you is still a part of you. Always will be.”

Seungcheol let out a dry laugh. “Not sure I even know who I am anymore.”

Jihoon met his gaze through the mirror and replied with quiet conviction. “You can change it, if that’s what you want.

Seungcheol turned slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”

“With your power,” Jihoon explained patiently, “you can change your appearance. You’ve always had that ability. You just haven’t used it because your magic has been sealed for so long.”

Seungcheol blinked at him. “So… I can change how I look? Just like that?”

Jihoon gave a small nod. “It takes practice, and focus. But yes, if your heart is steady and your intent is clear, you can take any form. And your old form, the one you feel most familiar with—it’s in your heart. Just reach for it.”

He stepped closer and guided Seungcheol to close his eyes. “Focus. Picture your old self—not just the features, but how you felt when you were him. Find that image inside you. Then, use your will. You’re not creating something new, you’re just calling something that already exists within.”

Jihoon then began whispering a soft incantation under his breath, teaching Seungcheol the ancient words, each syllable precise and light as air. Seungcheol repeated them quietly, his voice unsure at first, then growing stronger.

A tingling sensation spread through his skin, a strange warmth that crept up his face. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Muscles shifted. Energy gathered behind his eyelids. For a moment, it felt like the very bones beneath his skin were humming with forgotten power.

When he finally opened his eyes again, his breath hitched in his throat. The face that stared back at him was his own—not the stranger in the mirror from the past month, but the one he knew by heart. The soft cheeks, the rounded jawline, the dimple that dipped into his cheek when he smiled. It was the face he remembered. The face he had mourned when he woke up in this new life. It was him. It was home.

He raised a trembling hand to his cheek and let his fingers graze the skin. His eyes widened in disbelief, tears threatening to pool at the corners.

Jihoon smiled, proud but calm. Seungcheol shook his head in awe. “I thought I’d never see him again.”

“You didn’t lose him,” Jihoon said quietly. 

They stood in silence for a while. Jihoon’s hand gently patted Seungcheol’s shoulder, a reassuring weight that grounded him in reality. He looked toward the mirror again, and something in his chest loosened. Maybe, just maybe, he could start putting the pieces together now.

“There’s more,” Jihoon continued softly. “This is just the surface. You have gifts waiting to be awakened—more than just shifting appearances. Magic flows through your blood, old and powerful. The kind only you were born to wield.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders tensed slightly. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to be,” Jihoon replied. “Not today. Maybe not even tomorrow. But one day, you’ll be able to control it completely.”

Seungcheol took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “And if I’m not strong enough?”

Jihoon’s voice was steady. “Then we’ll help you. We’re your family, remember? No matter your name, your title, or your destiny.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, eyes wet. Jihoon gave him a small pat on the back. “Take your time. Breathe. Learn. Figure out what matters to you. Because when you choose to stand... it has to be for something more than a title. It has to be for the people you love, and for the world that still needs you. And when you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, his gaze turning back to the mirror—back to the reflection that now felt a little more like home. The weight was still there, but Jihoon’s words gave it shape. Purpose.

Jihoon ruffled his hair gently, a quiet gesture of comfort and support. Then, without saying another word, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Seungcheol alone with his thoughts.

Seungcheol watched him leave, the door clicking shut with a soft finality. He remained still in front of the mirror, watching the reflection he had just reclaimed. It wasn’t just about faces. It wasn’t about names or titles or even memories. It was about finding the parts of himself that felt real again.

The trees outside blurred into long streaks of green and gold as the car hummed steadily down the winding road, flanked on both sides by dense forest and ancient stone markers that whispered the history of those who lived here long before. Jeonghan sat silently by the window, the soft afternoon light casting a faint glow across his face, highlighting the deep shadows beneath his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, locked somewhere between the forest beyond the glass and the memories playing endlessly behind his eyes.

Jeonghan sat in near silence, his gaze fixed through the window but unfocused. He wasn't truly seeing the landscape. His fingers were curled lightly against his lap, and he let his other hand rest beside Joshua’s, which had found its place on his thigh. Joshua’s presence was warm and grounding, his thumb stroking gently, silently reminding Jeonghan that he wasn’t alone in this.

Hyungwon sat at the front, his eyes fixed on the road, hands steady on the steering wheel as he navigated the familiar route to the Jeon estate. The air inside the vehicle was thick with unspoken words, but no one dared to disturb the silence. It was sacred in its own way.

t had taken Jeonghan an entire month to build up the courage to visit the Jeons. A month of denial, grief, rage, and regret. A month of sleepless nights filled with dreams of dimly lit corridors and bloodstained hands. A month of replaying the moment Seungcheol’s body had gone limp in his arms, of hearing the faint rattle in his breath as the poison took hold. A month since the life had drained from Seungcheol’s eyes before he could even say goodbye.

He had delayed this journey longer than he wanted to admit. At first, he had convinced himself it was too soon, that the Jeons needed time to grieve. But deep down, Jeonghan knew he was the one who wasn't ready. He wasn’t ready to face the truth of Seungcheol’s death. He wasn’t ready to stand before the family that had once entrusted their precious son into his care, only for him to be returned in a cot, shrouded in silence and pain. He wasn’t ready to admit out loud what he had lost.

And yet, here he was. Driving this same road once more. The road he had taken so many times in the past—back when Seungcheol had been recovering from his heat and the attack Minhee had orchestrated. He remembered every twist and turn of it. He remembered the rustling leaves overhead, the scent of rain in the air during early visits, and how the breeze would sometimes sneak through the open windows, brushing gently against his skin as he dozed in the backseat. He remembered the warmth of Seungcheol in his arms, unconscious but breathing, when he carried him back into the safety of the Jeon estate. Back into the arms of his family.

He remembered the vow he had made to himself that day—to protect Seungcheol from the lurking dangers of palace politics. To remove him from the line of fire, even if it meant pushing him away. Even if it meant breaking both their hearts.

His mind pulled him further back—to that final conversation. Seungcheol, confused and hurt, had stood before him, pleading for an explanation, tears in his eyes, his voice trembling with betrayal. And Jeonghan had said nothing. He remembered standing there, cold and resolute, ignoring the desperation in Seungcheol’s voice. He told himself that he was doing it for Seungcheol’s sake, that firing him from his post would keep him safe, that distance would break whatever fate had begun weaving around them.

But now, all those lies he fed himself rang hollow.

The truth was, he was terrified—terrified of repeating history, of watching someone he loved fall victim under the weight of a curse cast by someone who had once been a friend. The pain of losing the Crown Prince Consort to Minhyuk’s dark magic had haunted Jeonghan for years. And Seungcheol, so gentle, so radiant in his own right, had already begun to remind him too much of what he had lost. The laughter, the cleverness in his eyes, the quiet strength hidden behind soft-spoken words—it all mirrored the Consort.

After years of mourning, of shutting his heart off, he had dared to believe that love could find him a second time. And when he finally realized it wasn’t just a reminder—when he finally accepted that he loved Seungcheol for who he was, not who he resembled—it was already too late.

Because Seungcheol hadn’t been safe. He had returned to the palace for the banquet anyway, walked straight into danger, and drank the poisoned wine with calm resolve in his eyes. Jeonghan hadn’t known that the man he was trying to protect would be the one throwing himself into the fire, just to protect him in return.

He had orchestrated every move with the idea that he was shielding Seungcheol from pain. If only he had told him the truth—about his fears, his regrets, the plan to keep him away from the deadly web within the palace—maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe Seungcheol would still be here, smiling that dimpled smile, tilting his head in confusion like he always did when Jeonghan said something outrageous just to get a reaction.

Instead, Jeonghan had lost him. Again.

And Jeonghan hadn’t even told him the truth. Not about his feelings. Not about his plan. Not about why he had to be pushed away.

If only he had said something. If only he had given Seungcheol even the slightest glimpse of the truth behind his decision, maybe things would have ended differently. Maybe they could have faced it together. Maybe they could have stopped Minhee before her plan unfolded. Maybe Seungcheol wouldn’t have had to make that final sacrifice.

Minhee had received her punishment. Justice, in a way, had been served. But justice meant little when the price of it had been the life of the very person Jeonghan had sworn to protect. He had worked so hard to keep Seungcheol away from the venom of court politics, and yet the venom had found him anyway—masked as wine, served on a silver tray.

He didn’t even realize he had started crying until a soft handkerchief was pressed into his hand. He blinked, looking down in a daze, and then turned to see Joshua watching him with quiet understanding. Joshua patted his back lightly, not saying anything, because he didn’t need to. Joshua had always known when silence spoke louder than comfort.

Up ahead, the vehicle began to slow as Hyungwon made the final turn that would lead them to the private road of the Jeon estate. The trees gave way to vast stone walls and carefully tended gardens that surrounded the main building. The air felt different here—cleaner, quieter, and heavier with unspoken truths.

Jeonghan stared straight ahead now, no longer needing the scenery to distract him. His heart thundered with every inch they moved forward. He was finally here, after all this time. Not as a Crown Prince. He was simply a man, returning to face the one he lost. Or what remained of him.

The quiet clink of chess pieces echoed softly through the spacious Jeon family living room as Seungcheol leaned forward, brow furrowed in deep thought. Across from him, Mingyu lounged lazily on the velvet armchair, one leg draped over the other, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he waited for Seungcheol to make a move. The chessboard between them was halfway through a fierce match, though Mingyu had begun to suspect Seungcheol was going easy on him out of sheer boredom.

Before Seungcheol could make his next move, a sudden flurry of footsteps broke the quiet rhythm of the game. One of the Jeon estate’s senior servants came rushing into the room, his expression tight with urgency and worry. Both Seungcheol and Mingyu looked up immediately, alert.

“The Crown Prince’s car has been spotted turning onto the estate road,” the servant announced breathlessly. “Advisor Jeon has been informed on the road, but he requested we warn everyone at home first.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

For a moment, Seungcheol and Mingyu exchanged wide-eyed glances, the tension escalating instantly. Panic settled like a stone in Seungcheol’s stomach. That name—Crown Prince—sent a chill down both their spines, and without needing any further clarification, they understood the magnitude of the problem.

Seungcheol could not be seen. Not now. Not yet. And certainly not by Jeonghan.

Mingyu shot up from his chair in an instant, grabbing Seungcheol’s wrist without a word. “Come on,” he hissed, tugging him down the hallway at a near-run.

“Where are we going?” Seungcheol asked, stumbling after him, his heart pounding in tandem with his racing thoughts.

“The basement,” Mingyu muttered, though even he sounded unsure. “No, wait—” He halted halfway down the corridor, quickly reevaluating. “No, Wonwoo’s room. That’ll be better.”

Confused but trusting, Seungcheol let himself be dragged into Wonwoo’s quarters. The room was tidy, filled with the quiet order that always seemed to follow their older brother. Mingyu darted to the closet, rummaging around until he pulled out a neatly folded set of clothes—Wonwoo’s usual outfit.

“Put these on,” Mingyu ordered, tossing the garments to Seungcheol.

“What?” Seungcheol blinked at him, puzzled. “You want me to wear his clothes?”

Mingyu nodded firmly, then pointed to Seungcheol’s face. “And change. Use your magic—take on Wonwoo’s appearance. He’s not back until tomorrow night. You can blend in.”

Seungcheol hesitated. “I… I’m not sure I can. What if I mess up?”

“You won’t,” Mingyu said, his tone softer now. “You’ve done it already. Just imagine him. Picture his face. You know him well. Think of how he moves. How he talks. Trust your magic.”

Taking a shaky breath, Seungcheol closed his eyes, focusing deeply. His thoughts summoned up Wonwoo’s image—his calm expression, the slight tilt of his smile, the quiet intensity of his gaze. He whispered the incantation Jihoon had taught him, pouring every ounce of belief into the transformation.

A strange sensation passed through his body, and Seungcheol felt his facial muscles shift and tighten slightly. When he finally opened his eyes again, Mingyu’s face lit up in amazement.

“You did it!” Mingyu gasped, stepping forward and pulling him into a tight hug. “You look exactly like him!”

Seungcheol rushed to the mirror across the room and stared. There, staring back at him, was not his face, but Wonwoo’s. From the high cheekbones to the sharp brows, everything was identical. He spoke tentatively, and even the voice that emerged wasn’t his own—it was deeper, steadier, unmistakably Wonwoo’s.

Still amazed, Seungcheol quickly changed into Wonwoo’s clothes with Mingyu’s help, completing the disguise. They added Wonwoo’s signature glasses, and just like that, Seungcheol’s transformation was complete.

Moments later, the two stepped out of the room, and almost immediately, a pair of servants passed by and offered polite bows. “Young Master Mingyu. Young Master Wonwoo,” they greeted with perfect calm, clearly fooled.

Seungcheol’s heart skipped. So far, so good.

Downstairs, Jihoon was walking through the main hallway, flipping through a tablet of estate records. He stopped abruptly when he saw them. His eyes narrowed as he turned toward “Wonwoo.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow—” he began, then paused mid-sentence. His eyes widened slightly in realization as he took a step closer.

Mingyu gave him a subtle warning shake of the head.

Jihoon’s lips parted slightly before he caught himself and cleared his throat. “Ah. My mistake. I didn’t realize you’d returned early,” he said smoothly, then added in a lower voice, “Well played.”

Seungcheol exhaled with a small breath of relief, and Jihoon offered the barest flicker of a smile before continuing down the hall.

Their father arrived a few minutes later, rushing in from the gate. His brows were knit in concern as he spotted the group in the hall. “Wonwoo? Why are you back early?” he said in surprise, before turning his gaze hurriedly toward the corridor. “Have you guys seen Seungcheol anywhere? The Crown Prince is minutes away—”

He stopped mid-sentence, narrowing his eyes on “Wonwoo”. A long pause followed before his features slowly shifted from confusion to realization.

A small, proud smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “Well done,” he said under his breath before straightening up. “They’ll be arriving shortly. Let’s not keep the Crown Prince waiting.”

The house buzzed with movement. Servants hurried to open the main gate. The guards moved in formation, lining the front steps with practiced ease as the car approached.

A distant voice echoed from the front gate, followed by the guard’s crisp announcement.

“His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince, and His Highness, the Second Prince, have arrived.”

Everyone snapped to attention, lining up in front of the main doors. Seungcheol stood quietly beside Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest. The heavy estate doors were slowly opening, and somewhere behind them, Jeonghan was stepping out of a car—unaware that the omega he thought he had lost was standing just a few feet away, wearing the face of someone else.

Chapter Text

Seungcheol stood rooted to the spot just a few steps inside the hallway, his hands clasped behind his back as the black royal vehicle slowed to a stop in front of the Jeon estate’s entrance. The tires crunched gently against the gravel, and the morning light glinted off the sleek windows. The servants moved swiftly into position, bowing in sync as the door was opened, and out stepped Joshua with his usual composed grace, followed closely by Jeonghan.

The moment Seungcheol laid eyes on them, the world seemed to stop for a second.

It had been a month—only a month—since he saw them both. Since the world shifted beneath his feet. Since his name, his face, and his very existence had been swallowed up by death… again.  And now here they were, the two people who had stood beside him day after day within the palace walls, unaware that he still breathed, hidden behind borrowed magic and a face that no longer belonged to him.

Joshua still carried his signature warmth in his expression, the same subtle smile that used to ease tensions in even the most rigid courtrooms. Jeonghan, however, was different.

He wasn’t the regal Crown Prince that Seungcheol had been used to following around with a pen and clipboard. He wasn’t the poised, sharp-eyed figure who gave orders and led the council with composed authority. Today, Jeonghan looked tired. His shoulders were sloped, his face pale, and the spark in his eyes dimmed. There was a fragility in his presence that Seungcheol had never witnessed before, and it pulled something deep in his chest, an ache he couldn’t name.

In that moment, all Seungcheol wanted was to reach out, to take Jeonghan’s cold hands in his, to pull him close and whisper reassurances against his temple. He wanted to tell him that he was here, alive, and that everything would eventually be alright.

But he couldn’t do any of that. Not in Wonwoo’s face. Not while Jeonghan still believed Seungcheol had died—twice. His sudden reappearance without warning would be a shock the Crown Prince didn’t deserve, not while still nursing the grief of what he thought was a second loss.

So, Seungcheol did the only thing he could.

He kept his head low and followed Mingyu and Jihoon’s lead, bowing respectfully as Advisor Jeon greeted the guests at the gate. The estate’s senior guard escorted the royals through the main hall and into the formal study, the same space used for welcoming royal guests. As tradition dictated, the Jeon sons waited a short while before entering as well, allowing the formalities to settle before they joined the meeting.

Once the signal came, they entered calmly. Seungcheol stayed close to Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, carefully adjusting the glasses that perched on the bridge of his nose. The servants moved around the room quickly but quietly, serving warm tea and small refreshments as everyone settled into their seats.

Joshua was the first to speak. “I want to thank you for allowing us this visit, especially with such short notice,” he said gently, his voice as soft as silk, “and for your patience. We meant to come sooner, but…”

“There is no need to apologize, Your Highness,” Advisor Jeon interrupted kindly. “You are welcome in this house any day, any hour. We understand the time you’ve taken to grieve. And we share that grief.”

The room fell quiet for a moment. It wasn’t a heavy silence, but it pulsed with unspoken thoughts.

Then, conversation continued gently for a few minutes, mostly polite formalities—updates from the palace, condolences, and exchanges of goodwill. But it wasn’t long before Jeonghan quietly interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked toward Advisor Jeon.

“If it’s not too much to ask… I’d like to see his room.”

For a moment, the room was still. Advisor Jeon blinked slowly, then gave a gentle nod of acknowledgment. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said, his voice equally soft. “Please allow one of my sons to accompany you.”

Jeonghan gave a polite shake of his head, lips curling faintly into a hesitant smile. “I know the way. You don’t have to trouble anyone.”

But Advisor Jeon only smiled knowingly and turned his head toward Seungcheol—still cloaked in the borrowed face of Wonwoo. His gaze lingered for a second, something quiet and reassuring passing between father and son. Then he turned back to Jeonghan and said firmly, “Even so, it would be discourteous of us to allow a guest to wander the halls alone. Wonwoo will show you the way.”

Caught in the moment, Seungcheol slowly stood, legs stiff but movements controlled. He gave a small bow in compliance, then moved around the table and took his place beside Jeonghan. Without another word, they both made their way toward the corridor.

They walked in silence, the sound of their steps muffled against the thick carpeted floors. The atmosphere felt strangely nostalgic—so familiar yet jarringly different. Seungcheol kept a respectful step behind Jeonghan, just like he always used to when they were in the palace. He remembered those mornings clearly, when Jeonghan would walk briskly through the corridors, listing out their daily appointments and court obligations while Seungcheol tried to keep up, arms full of scrolls and parchment, ears attentive to every detail.

But this wasn’t the palace. And Seungcheol wasn’t that person anymore. His hand briefly curled into a fist at his side, nails digging gently into the fabric of his sleeve as they approached the familiar wooden door of his former room.

Jeonghan stopped in front of it and rested his palm lightly against the frame, his expression unreadable as he stood there. Seeing that subtle hesitation, Seungcheol quietly stepped forward, brushing his fingertips across the ornate handle before slowly opening the door for him. He offered a respectful bow as Jeonghan passed through the threshold.

He was about to step back, intending to leave and give Jeonghan the privacy he clearly desired, when Jeonghan turned his head slightly and spoke.

“Stay. You don’t have to leave.”

The words were gentle, almost hesitant, as though Jeonghan wasn't even sure why he asked.

Seungcheol froze mid-step, startled for a heartbeat. But after collecting himself, he nodded once and took a quiet step inside. He didn’t move too far, instead choosing to remain near the door, close enough to be present, but far enough to not intrude.

Jeonghan stood in the center of the room for a moment, glancing slowly around. It had been left untouched—just as it was the last time Seungcheol had used it. The bedding was neatly folded, the windows slightly cracked open to allow light and air to drift in, and a faint scent of incense lingered from the last ceremonial rites performed here. Everything felt too clean, too still, as if time itself had been paused in this space.

He moved forward and took a seat on the edge of the bed, fingertips brushing lightly over the blanket, not in a search for dust or comfort, but as if hoping to sense the presence of the one he had lost.

For a while, he said nothing. And Seungcheol didn’t speak either. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was thick, heavy, mournful.

Eventually, Jeonghan let out a long breath and spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “Did you… did you get to see him? One last time?”

His question was addressed to Seungcheol—or rather, to the ‘Wonwoo’ he thought stood behind him.

Seungcheol swallowed hard and gave a small nod. His voice failed him in that moment, knowing any attempt to speak might tremble under the weight of all the things he wished he could say but couldn’t.

Jeonghan nodded faintly in return, eyes still fixed ahead. “I wanted to see him one last time,” he whispered. “But I know that’s not possible anymore.”

There was a silence. Long and heavy.

“I promised I’d bring him back safely,” Jeonghan added, his voice cracking just slightly. “And yet… I couldn’t. I failed him. Again.”

Seungcheol’s fingers curled tightly by his side. He wanted to speak, to offer comfort, to tell Jeonghan that none of it had been his fault—that everything he’d done had only been out of love and fear. But his role today did not grant him that freedom.

Then, for a brief moment, Jeonghan turned his head toward him, his lips parting like he wanted to ask something else. But after holding the thought in the space between them, Jeonghan swallowed it down and faced forward again, letting the question die in silence.

Realizing that this was his cue to leave, Seungcheol bowed his head slowly, just as he imagined Wonwoo would have. “Please take your time, Your Highness.” he said softly, then turned toward the door.

He paused for a second before stepping out, casting one final glance back at Jeonghan. The image of him sitting there—so composed yet fragile, surrounded by silence and memories—carved itself into Seungcheol’s mind like a wound. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to walk back in, fall to his knees, and confess everything.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

So, with a heavy heart, he stepped out and gently closed the door behind him, sealing Jeonghan inside with his grief—and himself outside, with all the truth he wasn’t ready to share.

Although Seungcheol had excused himself and stepped away from Jeonghan’s room, he didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he remained just outside the door, standing still like a statue in the corridor bathed in quiet golden light. His heart beat in a strange rhythm beneath his ribs, heavy with a tangle of emotions he couldn’t quite name.

It was strange to stand here again after all this time, in the same hallways he once walked as a different man, a different version of himself—one that didn’t yet know the weight of a buried past. Now, everything he had left behind had started to catch up with him, and he wasn’t sure if he could outrun it anymore.

Seeing Jeonghan again had shaken something loose inside him. Even with the protective mask of Wonwoo’s borrowed face and mannerisms, his heart hadn't been able to hide. Jeonghan’s presence had always affected him deeply—back then, as an assistant with quiet, growing admiration, and now, with the slow and painful realization that the affection he once felt had never truly faded. In fact, it had only grown stronger.

The sadness in Jeonghan’s eyes was something Seungcheol could still feel in his chest. The way Jeonghan looked at the empty bed, the quiet tremble in his voice as he spoke of promises left unfulfilled, it all painted a portrait of grief that hadn’t healed. Seungcheol had always wondered who Jeonghan had loved so deeply—back in the palace, when he'd caught glimpses of the Crown Prince looking longingly at an old diary or gazing out the window in silence. He used to be curious. Who had left such a deep mark on the Crown Prince’s heart?

It was ironic now, painfully so, to learn that the person Jeonghan had loved all along… was him.

Just as Seungcheol turned to walk away, a soft sound stopped him. It was faint, barely audible, but unmistakable—a muffled sniffle, the kind that broke past someone’s efforts to stay composed. Seungcheol frowned, his hand hovering mid-air as he instinctively turned back toward the door.

He hesitated, unsure if he was invading something too private, too raw, but his feet moved on their own. He took a slow step forward, then another, until he was standing just in front of the door again. He raised his hand to knock, maybe to ask if everything was alright, when Mingyu appeared at the far end of the hallway.

Mingyu’s voice was low, casual. “Is everything okay?”

Seungcheol lowered his hand but didn’t move away from the door. “Nothing. Just thought I heard something.”

Mingyu didn’t press further. He simply nodded, then said, “Joshua’s looking for you.. well, he’s looking for Wonwoo, actually. He said he wanted to talk. I told him I’d pass it along.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Seungcheol replied.

Mingyu turned and walked away, leaving Seungcheol alone again. He hesitated for a moment longer, about to step away, but then came the sound again—a soft sob, so quiet it could have been imagined. Yet it tugged at him with such force that he turned back to the door, hand hovering just above the knob. He pressed his palm gently against the cool wood, trying to hear more clearly, but what greeted him wasn’t sound. It was light—soft and shimmering.

Before he could register what was happening, the surface beneath his hand turned translucent. It shimmered faintly like a curtain of magic being lifted, and suddenly, the wooden frame became glass-like. Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t dare move or speak, fearing that even the slightest motion might break the spell.

Through the transparent veil, he saw Jeonghan curled forward on the bed, his head buried into the crook of his arm. His entire body trembled with every shaky breath, silent sobs wracking his frame in a way Seungcheol had never witnessed before. The image was gutting. It tore through him like a sharp wind, unraveling the threads of restraint he had carefully sewn around his heart.

Jeonghan was crying. Really crying.

He whispered Seungcheol’s name like it was sacred, as though saying it too loud might cause it to disappear. His voice cracked on the syllables, each one soft and reverent. The sound of it reached Seungcheol’s ears, though it shouldn't have. The walls were soundproof, and yet he heard every word as clearly as if Jeonghan were speaking directly into his ear. It made no sense—and yet, somehow, it did.

Seungcheol stood frozen, one hand still pressed to the door, the other clenched tightly at his side. He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching as Jeonghan pulled himself back together. The Crown Prince sat up slowly, taking long, steady breaths to calm himself. He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, folding it neatly even as his hands trembled. His face still held the faint traces of tears, but he straightened his posture with practiced elegance.

Seungcheol’s chest ached with the effort of keeping still. Every part of him wanted to go inside, to kneel beside Jeonghan and wrap him in a comforting embrace, to whisper the truth, that he was here, that he was alive, that he never meant to leave. But he couldn’t. Not as he was now. Not with this face that didn’t belong to him.

He was so lost in thought, so caught up in the whirlwind of emotion that he didn’t hear the shift of footsteps inside. The door in front of him solidified in an instant, reverting to its normal form, and swung open.

Caught off guard, Seungcheol stumbled forward with a soft gasp, landing awkwardly on the floor in front of Jeonghan. His breath was knocked out of him more from the shock than the fall.

Jeonghan stood in the doorway, startled at first to see ‘Wonwoo’ sprawled on the floor. His brow furrowed in concern, and Seungcheol braced himself for a reprimand. expecting Jeonghan to chastise him for eavesdropping or clumsiness. But the scolding never came.

Instead, Jeonghan offered his hand without hesitation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently.

For a brief moment, Seungcheol forgot how to breathe. Slowly, he reached up and took Jeonghan’s hand, letting the warmth of his palm seep into his own skin.

And in that very instant, time seemed to stop.

The world around them faded into a blur as Seungcheol’s mind was consumed by a sudden rush—memories flooding in like a crashing tide. Images exploded behind his closed eyes. Hundreds of them.

Jeonghan’s smile, radiant and genuine.

The sound of his laughter echoing through the palace garden.

The scent of lavender oil as Jeonghan combed his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair late at night, whispering soft lullabies.

The cool feel of Jeonghan’s lips against his fevered forehead.

Jeonghan smiling beside him on the palace balcony.

The soft lull of Jeonghan’s voice as he read letters late into the night. Their first walk through the royal garden.

The warmth of Jeonghan’s hand on Seungcheol’s waist during their engagement ceremony.

The bittersweet laughter. The vows. The final day.

It all came back, slamming into him like waves crashing over a crumbling wall. His knees wobbled beneath him, and darkness threatened the edge of his vision, but strong arms steadied him from behind. Jihoon’s presence was immediate and grounding, holding him upright with gentle urgency.

“Hey, hey—breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay,” Jihoon said firmly, his voice steady and grounding.

Jeonghan stood a few steps away, his own expression unreadable, though his worry was evident in the way his hand hovered at his side, uncertain whether to reach out again.

Seungcheol blinked rapidly, the memories still spinning behind his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and managed a soft reply. “I’m fine. Just… surprised.”

Jeonghan nodded slowly, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Alright. Be careful,” he said quietly, brushing a hand lightly across Seungcheol’s—Wonwoo’s—shoulder before turning back toward the hall. Hyungwon appeared silently from the corridor and joined Jeonghan’s side as they walked away, leaving Seungcheol and Jihoon alone in the hallway.

Only once they had disappeared from view did Seungcheol allow himself to sag slightly in Jihoon’s hold, his hand still tingling from the touch. The memories echoed in his mind, vivid and impossible to ignore. For the first time, they didn’t feel like distant dreams. They felt real. They felt like his.

And now… he had to face them.

Jihoon walked slowly alongside Seungcheol, his pace measured and his gaze shifting back and forth between the tiled floor ahead and Seungcheol’s expression. His hand hovered close to Seungcheol’s back, ready to catch him in case he stumbled or wavered. Seungcheol noticed the subtle tension and stifled a small laugh under his breath. He tilted his head slightly, throwing a teasing glance toward his brother.

“Jihoon-ah,” he said, the amusement clear in his voice, “I’m not made of glass. I’m fine. You’re acting a bit... out of character, you know?”

Jihoon immediately stepped to the side as if caught red-handed, his eyes darting around the hallway to make sure no one had heard them. His ears turned slightly red from embarrassment, but he didn’t deny it. He just cleared his throat quietly and adjusted the sleeves of his robe, muttering something inaudible.

Seungcheol shook his head with a soft smile, reassuring him again. “Really, I’m okay. Go back to whatever it is you were doing. I’ll just go meet Joshua-nim now.”

Jihoon nodded reluctantly, giving one last glance to make sure Seungcheol’s steps were steady before turning away.

The corridor opened into the main sitting room where Joshua was already waiting, seated gracefully with a cup of tea held in both hands. His posture was calm, but his eyes—those warm, perceptive eyes—lifted immediately and followed Seungcheol as he stepped into the room.

Seungcheol bowed politely before taking the seat across from him. The room was quiet, only the soft clinking of porcelain breaking the silence as both men lifted their teacups. For a few minutes, they sat in comfortable stillness, sipping the warm drink, neither rushing the moment. It was Joshua who finally broke the quiet with a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking this, Wonwoo.” Joshua began, his voice carrying a mix of hesitation and curiosity. “But since you’re the eldest Jeon—other than your father—you probably know about the deeper magics your family specializes in, right?”

Seungcheol’s heart skipped slightly, his grip on the teacup tightening just a fraction. He gave a careful nod, keeping his expression neutral as he gestured for Joshua to continue.

Joshua took a slow breath, clearly choosing his words with care. “May I ask something… unusual?” He gave a faint smile, almost apologetic. “Maybe even impossible.”

“I’ll try my best to answer.” Seungcheol said quietly, unsure of where this was going.

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to… wear a different face?”

The words hung heavily in the air. Seungcheol froze, his breath caught mid-inhale. His thoughts began spiraling in a dozen directions at once. He stared at Joshua, but the prince didn’t look amused or accusatory. He simply looked… curious. Hesitant. Confused, even.

Joshua, noticing the hesitation, continued softly, “I know it sounds insane. Trust me, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea if I had been the only one to experience it. But Jeonghan—he saw it too. We both did.”

His voice trembled slightly at the end. “It felt so real.”

Seungcheol lowered his gaze, his hand tightening subtly around the delicate handle of the teacup. Panic prickled at the back of his neck, cold and creeping. Joshua had seen something. And worse—Jeonghan had seen it too. But what exactly had they seen?

He remained silent, unsure what he could say without unraveling the fragile thread of disguise he was barely managing to hold together. Of all the questions Joshua could have asked, this was the one he feared most. And yet, here it was, laid bare between them. The truth was, he was wearing someone else’s face right now. Not his own. Not the face Joshua had seen. But how could they have known?

Seeing his struggle, Joshua quickly added, “It’s alright if you think I’m just seeing things. Maybe grief is warping my perception. Maybe we were both just… seeing what we wanted to see.”

Seungcheol shook his head slowly and placed the teacup down with measured care. “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing in this world is without reason, Your Highness. Every vision, every coincidence, every echo of memory—it’s all tied to something. Maybe… maybe it’s a sign. Maybe it’s something heaven wanted you both to see.”

Joshua studied him carefully, absorbing the words. “You believe that?”

“I don’t know what magic could do what you described,” Seungcheol admitted, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. “But I don’t believe anything in this world happens without purpose. Especially not something that powerful.”

Joshua nodded slowly, as if comforted by the thought. “Then maybe it means there’s something left for us to find. Something we haven’t seen yet.”

He stood then, brushing the front of his robe, and offered Seungcheol a respectful nod. “Thank you, Wonwoo… for listening. I know I must sound like I’m chasing ghosts. But sometimes… the ghosts are the only ones who know the truth.”

Seungcheol gave a faint smile, keeping his face neutral as Joshua gave him a final smile and made his way out of the room.

The moment the door closed, Seungcheol let out a heavy breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he set the teacup down with a soft clink, his fingers trembling faintly.

He stared at his hands for a moment, wondering again. If what he and Jeonghan saw wasn’t just imagination, then whose face had they seen? Was it truly his face—his old face? And if so, how?

Seungcheol reached up and rubbed his temples. There were too many questions. Too many half-truths. Too many blurred memories hiding behind walls of forgotten time. He knew there was only one place that held all the answers. One place where everything began and everything was destined to return.

The palace. The heart of their pack. The center of their history. The place where it had all begun. His past, his magic, his title—everything was connected to that place.

Seungcheol’s expression hardened slightly as he stared ahead. If he truly wanted to unravel the full truth behind his fate—behind his existence as the prophesied Luna—then he would have to return. To walk back into the halls that had shaped his destiny, and perhaps, to finally uncover the last pieces of himself buried in the silence of that palace.

The quiet hum of the fireplace was the only sound that filled the room, its warm glow casting flickering shadows against the cream-colored walls. Seungcheol sat in the middle of the large living room, cross-legged on the thick carpet, feeling the weight of every single gaze on him. The table before him was filled with an untouched spread of hot tea, sliced fruits, and sweet rice cakes, but no one made a move to take anything. The earlier lighthearted energy they shared during dinner had vanished the moment Seungcheol had voiced his intent.

He hadn’t meant to drop it so casually, but the thought had been swirling in his mind for weeks now. Tonight, as they all laughed over the grilled meat and hot soup, it just… slipped out. “I think I need to go back to the palace,” he had said, quietly but clearly.

The silence that followed had been immediate and absolute. It had hung over the table like a dense fog, heavy with unspoken questions and cautious disbelief. Their father, ever composed and careful, had set down his spoon and simply said, “We’ll talk about this after dinner.”

Now, with the dishes cleared and their conversation resumed in a quieter, more serious setting, Seungcheol could feel the tension again. His father sat across from him, hands resting lightly on the armrest of his chair. To his right, Jihoon leaned slightly forward, brows furrowed in thought. Mingyu lounged a little more relaxed than the others, but his eyes hadn’t strayed from Seungcheol once. Wonwoo sat calmly beside their father, hands folded over one knee, unreadable as always.

Seungcheol took a slow sip of tea, mostly to buy himself time. The warmth barely registered on his tongue.

“I meant what I said,” he said at last, gently placing the cup back on its saucer. “I want to go back to the palace.”

Silence stretched again. Then Jihoon cleared his throat.

“What exactly is your plan?” he asked carefully, though his voice held the edge of concern. “You can’t just walk into the palace unannounced. Even if we are of noble blood, there’s protocol. Especially after all that’s happened. They’re not going to welcome a stranger—especially one with a face they don’t recognize.”

Wonwoo nodded in agreement, his eyes steady as they met Seungcheol’s. “The palace is dangerous,” he said, voice low and firm. “You’ve only just begun piecing your life back together. Returning there… it might undo all the healing you've done.”

“I know,” Seungcheol admitted, his voice steady despite the churning thoughts in his head. “But I keep dreaming of the palace. I see corridors I don’t remember walking, I hear voices I feel like I know. Every part of me is drawn back to that place. I don’t have all the answers, but I believe the palace is where I’ll find them.”

Jihoon leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “And how do you plan on getting in? Are you going to go as yourself? Or…?”

“I’ll borrow your faces,” Seungcheol said, his tone quiet but resolute. “I’ll rotate between you when needed, depending on the situation. You’re all high-ranking nobles. It’ll give me just enough reason to enter the grounds if necessary.”

Mingyu finally spoke, the concern in his voice more prominent than the others. “That’s not going to be easy. You’d have to train your expressions, your speech, your posture. You’ll need to act like each of us without hesitation. Even the smallest inconsistency could raise alarms. Not to mention, we don’t appear in court regularly anymore. Jihoon hyung and I are assigned to outer districts, and Wonwoo hyung’s mostly stationed on the western border. If any of us suddenly appear in the capital too frequently, questions will start forming.”

“And father is oficially retired. His appearance at court would be even more suspicious,” Jihoon added, crossing his arms. “We’re already being watched, whether you realize it or not.”

Seungcheol let out a long breath and stared down at the tea cup in his hands. His shoulders slumped slightly, weariness creeping into his posture. “I know it’s not ideal,” he admitted. “But… something inside me tells me that I need to go. I need to stand in that palace again. Maybe it’ll help me regain my memories. Maybe it’ll help me understand my place, my power… this prophecy everyone keeps talking about. I can’t keep waiting for answers to come to me.”

His father sat in silence, hands clasped together, listening. After a long pause, he finally nodded, eyes fixed on Seungcheol with the calm focus of a seasoned strategist.

“You’re not wrong,” Advisor Jeon said quietly. “The palace is the key. It’s where everything began. And it’s where you’ll learn what it truly means to be the Luna. The awakening is near. You were born to serve a greater purpose, my son. The prophesied Luna doesn’t just carry power—he carries responsibility. The time will come when your magic fully returns, and when it does, you need to be prepared to wield it with clarity, not confusion. That is why you need to be in the center of it all. You need to see the politics, the players, the real shape of the kingdom you’re destined to protect.”

Seungcheol looked up, startled by the certainty in his father’s voice.

“The dreams are not coincidences,” his father continued. “They’re echoes. Warnings. Fragments of what’s to come. You are being called back to your rightful place.”

Jihoon and Wonwoo exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Then Wonwoo turned toward Seungcheol and spoke with quiet resolve.

“If this is really what you need… then we’ll make sure you get there safely. But not alone.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“There are allies beyond us,” Wonwoo explained. “People who owe favors, people we can trust. Some within the court, some outside of it. If we’re going to place you in the palace, even under disguise, we’ll need eyes everywhere—people to cover for you, to communicate with us, to watch your back when we can’t be near. We’ll take care of it.”

Their father gave a small nod, as if approving the unspoken plan his sons were already forming. Mingyu leaned back slightly, still tense but clearly thinking, probably already mapping out scenarios and risks in his head. Jihoon remained quiet, deep in thought, his expression unreadable again.

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest lightening just a little. He didn’t have all the answers yet. But he had made a decision. The journey ahead would be treacherous, but for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol felt like he was walking toward something—toward answers, toward the truth, and toward the role he had been born to fulfill.

The door to the living room burst open with a loud thud, slamming into the wall with a force that startled everyone in the room. Seungcheol didn’t even have time to react, let alone stand up and offer a greeting, before he was immediately pulled into a fierce, desperate hug.

Warm arms wrapped around him with the kind of desperate strength that only came from someone who had mourned and hoped in equal measure. And as soon as Seungcheol registered the familiar scent—earthy, warm, and tinged with something nostalgic—he let out a soft gasp and melted into the hug without a second thought.

His arms wrapped around the figure without resistance, holding just as tightly as he was being held. No words were exchanged, no greetings, just the sound of rushed breathing and the quiet thump of two hearts that had once shared laughter under the polished arches of the palace halls.

It had been two years. Two long, exhausting, comforting years with this person by his side as he navigated life as an assistant to the Crown Prince. The one who had kept him grounded when the days at court became unbearable. The one who had never hesitated to shield him from court politics, even when it wasn’t his place to interfere.

Jun clung to him tightly, arms trembling as though letting go would make Seungcheol vanish again. After a long moment, he finally pulled back just enough to cup Seungcheol’s face in his hands. His eyes were red and swollen, still swimming with unshed tears, and his expression wavered between furious scolding and utter heartbreak.

“You idiot,” Jun muttered, voice cracking as he tried to hold himself together. “You reckless, stupid, beautiful idiot.”

Seungcheol gave him a sheepish smile, guilt tugging at his chest as he reached out to wipe a tear that escaped down Jun’s cheek. He gently led Jun toward the couch, and they sat together, shoulders brushing, fingers naturally linking like they used to during their long hours together in the palace.

“I thought I lost you forever,” Jun said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “When the news came—when they said you died… I thought I’d never get the chance to see you again...”

Seungcheol looked down at their joined hands, thumb lightly brushing over Jun’s knuckle. “I’m sorry, Jun-ah,” he said softly, his voice raw and filled with guilt. “I didn’t know what was happening either. I didn’t know the truth. I only found out recently… and I’m still trying to process all of it.”

Jun stared at him for a moment longer before suddenly standing from the couch. He bowed, deep and respectful, so sudden it took Seungcheol off guard. Jun’s expression shifted to something far more formal, even reverent, his back bent low, his voice soft with restraint.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Jun said. “Forgive me for acting so informally. I came here as your friend, but I should’ve greeted you properly. You are not just my Seungcheol anymore…”

Seungcheol scoffed, rolling his eyes at the sudden change in tone. “Oh, stop that,” he muttered in exasperation. “The Crown Prince Consort died eight years ago. And I’m not the Luna. The King Alpha and Queen Luna are still very much alive and well.”

“Maybe not yet,”Jun insisted, lifting his head but keeping his posture respectfully straight, “But you will be. You’re the prophesied Luna, whether you acknowledge it now or not. And no matter how close we were, there are protocols I cannot ignore. Especially not as the Second Prince’s personal assistant.”

Seungcheol groaned quietly, resting his face in his hands for a brief second. “Stop being so damn rigid, Jun.”

That finally earned a real smile from Jun—small, tired, but genuine. He chuckled softly and said, “I’m still the Second Prince’s assistant. You know how much time I spend memorizing etiquette. I can’t help it. Formality is etched into my bones.”

There was a small, warm silence between them after that. A comfortable stillness that only came between people who had once shared far too many secrets.

After a moment, Seungcheol tilted his head. “So… are you here to help me or not? Or you’re just here to scold me?”

“I am,” Jun replied quickly. “Of course, I am. But I’m not the only one who came.”

Seungcheol frowned at that, curiosity overtaking him. He leaned forward slightly, watching as Jun turned toward the door. Without saying another word, Jun stepped out of the room. A moment later, footsteps echoed against the hallway tile, and then Jun returned—with someone behind him.

The moment Seungcheol saw the figure, his breath caught in his throat.

The man bowed deeply as he entered, dropping to one knee with reverence that came not just from respect, but something far more personal. “Your Grace,” Hyungwon whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here. I… I finally get to see you again.” His eyes were already shining with tears, and when he finally looked up, his expression was filled with something between grief and relief.

Seungcheol’s heart twisted. The title didn’t feel like a burden this time, not from Hyungwon. Not when his voice was filled with that much sorrow and reverence.

“Hyungwon-nim…” he breathed, stepping forward instinctively. He reached out, about to touch his shoulder, when his fingers froze.

The moment their eyes met, something inside him stirred—an ancient emotion buried deep within his soul. Memories rushed in like a flood. Laughter in the palace garden. Warmth by the fire on cold nights. The way Hyungwon had once stood by him, guarding him not just as a knight, but as an older brother figure, a protector who never once left his side.

His knees weakened slightly from the sudden rush of emotion. His hands trembled as they reached for Hyungwon’s shoulders again.

“Hyungnim…”

The word left his throat gently, almost reverently, and it was Hyungwon who sobbed next, pressing his hand over his heart.

“Can I… can I hold you, just once?” Hyungwon asked shakily, reaching toward him.

But Seungcheol was already moving. He crossed the space and threw his arms around him, holding Hyungwon tightly, burying his face into the older man’s shoulder as Hyungwon wrapped both arms around him protectively. The hug was grounding, like returning to a safe place he had long forgotten existed. The scent, the warmth, the familiarity—it was overwhelming. His throat tightened as he choked back a sob.

Hyungwon’s arms wrapped tighter around him, his frame shaking as he whispered apology after apology into Seungcheol’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” Hyungwon whispered, voice cracking with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace… For everything. For not saving you the first time. For failing you again the second time. For not telling you the truth when I had the chance. I’m so, so sorry.”

Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. He just held on tighter.

As if making up for every lost year between them.

And in that moment, the room was still.

No palace. No titles. No bloodlines.

Just two people holding onto each other like the world had stopped spinning.

Still holding onto Hyungwon, Seungcheol slowly pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again. A heavy silence hung between them, not uncomfortable but full of emotion that needed time to settle. The tears had begun to dry on their cheeks, but the warmth of the moment lingered in the air like the final light of dusk. Seungcheol looked at the man who had once stood beside him like a shadow, silently protecting him through the most vulnerable years of his youth. He studied his features—Hyungwon looked a bit different now, a little more tired, a little more weathered. But the sincerity in his gaze was still exactly the same.

“Hyungnim…” Seungcheol said softly, his voice tentative. “Did you... recognize me? Even like this?”

There was a slight pause before Hyungwon responded. His eyes softened with a quiet conviction as he straightened his posture, hands clasped in front of him respectfully.

“Of course I did,” Hyungwon said without hesitation. “I would recognize you anywhere, Your Grace.”

His voice didn’t waver, and the sincerity behind it hit Seungcheol straight in the heart.

“I was tasked to be your personal aide the moment you arrived at the palace.” Hyungwon continued gently. “Back then, you were just a young boy, and everyone in court was either intimidated by your title or fascinated by your power. But I saw you more than that.”

His expression grew nostalgic, almost wistful, as memories flickered in his eyes.

“I watched you grow through every season, through every lesson, through every ceremony,” Hyungwon said. “I helped you into your ceremonial robes. I prepared your medicinal teas during the long winters. I stood by your side when you were crowned as the Crown Prince Consort. For tall those years, I was always just a few steps behind you. I knew your expressions, your habits, your silence, even the way your energy moved through a room.”

He chuckled quietly, though the sound was tinged with sadness. “So how could I not recognize you? Even if the whole world saw someone else, I would still know.”

Seungcheol’s breath hitched. The knowledge of that silent watchfulness, that devotion that had followed him for years without him realizing… it settled into his chest like something warm and aching.

“You knew?” he whispered. “When I came back—as Jeonghan’s assistant?”

Hyungwon nodded slowly. “I didn’t know at first. But I had my suspicions. You moved differently. Spoke in ways that felt too familiar. At first, I thought I was imagining it. I kept telling myself it couldn’t be you. That there was no way you’d survived that night. But then…”

He trailed off for a moment, his eyes flicking toward Wonwoo and Jihoon, who stood not far from the doorway.

“…Then I found out the truth from the Jeon family.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol whispered. “Back then, when we met again... I didn’t remember you.”

Hyungwon reached forward and gently placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Your Grace, None of it was your fault. What happened to you—what they did to you—it erased more than just your memories. It took your life, your identity. All I ever wanted was for you to be safe. And now, you're here. That’s all that matters to me.”

Seungcheol looked up slowly. His eyes glistened with emotion, and after a pause, he asked the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind ever since he began this journey of rediscovery.

“Do you remember my old face?”

Hyungwon nodded solemnly. “I do.”

Without another word, Seungcheol closed his eyes. The room seemed to shift slightly as the air grew thicker with quiet anticipation. A soft golden glow flickered around him, shimmering faintly, like the surface of a still pond catching the light of the moon. His facial muscles tightened as he focused, willing the image in his heart into existence.

And when he opened his eyes again, the change was complete.

Gone was the face of the palace assistant that the Jeon family had carefully hidden behind. In its place stood the dignified and ethereal appearance of the Crown Prince Consort—the face that had once graced the royal court, the face immortalized in portraits and hearts alike.

Immediately, the atmosphere shifted. Jihoon, Mingyu, Jun, even his father—all of them rose instinctively from their seats and bowed. Hyungwon knelt without hesitation, lowering his head to the floor. The reverence in the room was unmistakable.

But Seungcheol just stood there, shoulders heavy with discomfort.

“I hate this face,” he admitted, voice low and weary. “It forces people to bow.

It feels like I’m watching someone else’s life through this skin. Like I’ve slipped into a role that’s no longer mine. But I don’t want to be that person again—he died eight years ago.”

He turned to Hyungwon. “Do you think I should keep this face?”

Hyungwon slowly rose from his bow and took a long, careful look at him. Then he stepped closer, his expression soft but resolute.

“That decision is yours to make, Your Grace.” Hyungwon said. “No one can dictate the face you wear, or the life you choose. But… if you want my honest answer—”

He paused for a heartbeat, his eyes flickering with pain.

“I miss that face sometimes. It was the face of the boy I cared for, the boy I swore to protect. But it also holds too many memories. Too many nights of sickness. Too many bruises from training. Too many lies, too much pain. It was a beautiful face… but it lived through too much darkness, and I wouldn’t wish that burden on you again.”

He paused, letting his words settle before he continued.

“I’d rather see you as you were when you were living your life freely,” Hyungwon added softly. “The face you wore when you were working in the palace again, not as the consort, but as yourself. That’s the face that smiled without being watched. That’s the face that belonged to you, not to your duty.”

Seungcheol’s lips trembled slightly, and he gave a faint nod. With another deep breath, he closed his eyes again, and the transformation reversed. The glow returned briefly, before dissipating into the air. When he opened his eyes again, he was back to the face he had grown to know in recent years—soft, familiar, quietly powerful.

“I prefer this face too,” he admitted, exhaling slowly. “It feels like me. Like someone who isn’t being worshipped or watched or weighed down by a prophecy. Someone who doesn’t need to command a room or carry the title of consort.”

Hyungwon gave him a warm smile, stepping back with a respectful incline of his head. “No matter what face you wear, Your Grace, you are still the prophesied Luna. And nothing can change that.”

Seungcheol hesitated for a moment, then met his gaze steadily.

“But this time,” Hyungwon said gently, “you’re no longer a child bound by the decisions of others. This time, you are old enough to choose. To live your life on your own terms. To decide who you are, what you want, and what kind of Luna you’ll be.”

Seungcheol stared at him for a long time, those words echoing inside his chest. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to melt. Because now, he know the future belonged to him. He wasn’t walking a path that someone else had drawn for him anymore. He was carving it himself. One step at a time.

Seungcheol sat quietly near the edge of the bed, watching Hyungwon move with sharp precision across the room. His hands were steady, his expression focused, and there was something calming about the way he double-checked each item with quiet discipline. The room was filled with a faint rustle of fabric and the soft clicks of zippers being drawn, buckles being fastened.

On the bed, several bags had already been neatly arranged. One was packed with Seungcheol’s daily necessities—clothes carefully folded, grooming tools, and discreet items to help him maintain his assumed identity. Another held a supply of medicines and tonics, the ones he was still required to take regularly while his body continued adjusting to the gradual return of his power. A third bag was softer, bulkier—it contained his pheromone blanket, infused with the calming signature of his true scent, a comfort and safeguard for whenever he needed grounding.

Hyungwon paused briefly at each bag, rechecking everything, crossing off lists in his mind, then repacking things just to be certain. Every corner of his actions screamed discipline, but Seungcheol could sense the anxiety that lingered beneath the surface. This wasn’t just a simple relocation. This was a carefully orchestrated infiltration, a reintroduction into the palace—the heart of the kingdom, and the root of all the truths Seungcheol sought.

Their earlier discussions had been long and intense, full of caution and calculation. In the end, the safest and most efficient way forward was clear. Seungcheol would assume the faces of Jun and Hyungwon—two individuals whose presence in the palace was trusted and familiar. Jun, as the Second Prince’s assistant, had access to the less restricted spaces of the court and was often moving between different departments. Hyungwon, on the other hand, remained one of the most trusted aides by the Crown Prince’s side, involved in both internal operations and royal security.

Through them, Seungcheol would be able to navigate the palace discreetly, gather information, observe the movements of others, and—when necessary—slip between identities with as little suspicion as possible. Their appearances, routines, and even mannerisms had already been studied and rehearsed with Seungcheol, and he was confident he could carry their likeness for short periods at a time.

But to ensure full coverage, they had crafted a third layer of protection. Seungcheol would also take on a newly created role: a palace guard stationed near the staff quarters. The position was low-ranking, deliberately designed to avoid attention, and it allowed him freedom to move without constant questioning. If anyone ever inquired about the unfamiliar face, it would be Hyungwon’s authority that shielded him—an assignment ordered under the guise of internal staff reorganization. It was all prepared. All accounted for.

He was still lost in thought when Hyungwon approached and bowed formally before him, one hand placed over his chest.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, “everything is ready.”

Seungcheol blinked back to the present and slowly stood from the edge of the bed, casting one last glance at the open suitcases and neatly arranged checklists beside them. His gaze lingered on the pale silver stitching of the Jeon family insignia on the side of the largest bag, the quiet symbol of the home that had welcomed him after death. He nodded once, more to himself than anyone, and walked to the bed. The mattress had already been made, the blanket tucked with immaculate precision under Hyungwon’s care.

He laid down with a sigh, his muscles relaxing against the softness of the mattress, but the weight of tomorrow hung above him like a silent storm cloud. Hyungwon approached and gently pulled the blanket over Seungcheol’s waist, making sure it draped just right. The motions were instinctual, practiced—done countless times before, though Seungcheol’s memory only now began to understand that.

“Do you need anything else, Your Grace?” Hyungwon asked softly, his tone careful, as though unsure whether to hover or retreat.

Seungcheol chuckled under his breath and raised an eyebrow. “Do you always fuss over me like this, hyungnim?”

Hyungwon’s face turned slightly sheepish. “Old habit,” he confessed. “Back when you were still the Crown Prince Consort… this was part of my duty. Ensuring your comfort before bed, preparing the room, standing watch until you fell asleep.”

Seungcheol tilted his head curiously, frowning. “I always thought you were the Crown Prince’s aide,” he said. “Jeonghan-nim’s butler. Why… were you always by my side then?”

Hyungwon smiled wistfully, walking slowly over to the nearby armchair and taking a seat, allowing his posture to relax for the first time in hours.

“I was raised alongside His Highness, yes,” he said. “But I was never meant to be his butler. I was selected from childhood to train for the role of the Royal Butler—not to the Crown Prince, but to serve his future consort. The Luna. When the prophecy of your arrival was announced, my training was refocused. They needed someone who could guide the Luna, serve him, protect him.”

His eyes softened as he looked at Seungcheol. “When you entered the palace all those years ago, I was formally appointed to you. And from that moment forward, I swore myself to your service.”

There was a quiet intensity in his voice, one that made Seungcheol pause. He hadn’t expected to learn that his protector had been chosen long before he even knew of the palace’s existence.

Hyungwon continued, “When you were declared dead, the court intended to dissolve the entire staff assigned to you. But Jeonghan-nim refused. He insisted that all your people be reassigned under his name, so no one would be lost. That’s how I ended up in the Crown Prince’s Office. It was never supposed to be permanent, but… we both needed a way to hold on.”

He hesitated, his gaze growing distant. “We used to talk about you at night. About the things you used to say, your laugh, your terrible jokes. He never truly moved on. That’s why, when you returned—even if you didn’t remember—he couldn’t let go of the possibility.”

Seungcheol was quiet for a moment, his throat tightening. “So that’s why he treated me like that,” he said, eyes focused on the ceiling. “He was trying to convince himself I wasn’t the same person. Because if I was… he’d have to accept the pain all over again.”

Hyungwon gave a solemn nod. “That’s exactly it. At first, I think he hoped you were someone else. But deep down, he already knew.”

Seungcheol let out a low scoff. “I wasn’t supposed to work under him, you know. I was meant to work under Joshua-nim. He stole me.”

“That he did,” Hyungwon said with a small smile. “He saw your name on the application and intervened before Joshua could finalize the assignment. He didn’t tell anyone, not even me, until much later.”

“Always so stubborn,” Seungcheol muttered, half amused, half exasperated.

Hyungwon’s expression turned more serious. “You haven’t remembered everything yet. But when you do… I hope you’ll look at him with a clear heart. And then, make your own judgment. Don’t let anyone else’s feelings—including mine—influence how you see him.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, eyes distant as he processed everything.

“Thank you, hyungnim,” he said quietly. “For staying with me. For always being here.”

Hyungwon offered a small bow, his tone warm. “Of course. It’s where I’ve always meant to be.”

He turned to dim the lights in the room, adjusting the curtains slightly so only a sliver of moonlight filtered in. The space fell into a quiet stillness, serene and comforting.

Seungcheol leaned back into the pillow, eyes growing heavier by the second. Hyungwon pulled the blanket up gently, tucking it around him like he used to so many years ago.

As Seungcheol’s breathing slowed, Hyungwon remained for a moment longer, standing silently beside the bed, watching over him.

When he was sure Seungcheol had finally fallen asleep, he turned toward the door, his steps soundless as he moved.

Just before he closed the door behind him, he whispered into the quiet air.

“Sleep well, Your Grace. This time, I’ll make sure you live a life filled with happiness.”

Then, with quiet footsteps and a heart full of silent promises, Hyungwon slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

The morning air was crisp and quiet, save for the occasional hum of the wind brushing past the tall hedges that lined the front entrance of the Jeon estate. Seungcheol walked slowly down the main staircase, his footsteps quiet yet steady, accompanied by the soft echoes of Jihoon, Wonwoo, and Mingyu trailing just behind him. It wasn’t the first time he’d left the house since regaining parts of his memory, but today felt heavier. More final. It wasn’t just a trip. It was a return. A reawakening.

Outside, their father stood near the entrance, speaking in hushed tones with Jun, whose posture remained respectful, as always. Hyungwon stood beside the car parked in the driveway, going through the bags he had carefully packed the night before. His movements were precise, eyes scanning over the list in his hand as he double-checked the contents of each item, making sure that nothing had been forgotten—especially not the ones related to Seungcheol’s health and safety. Everything had to be in place before they arrived at the palace.

As Seungcheol stepped onto the stone pathway, Jun immediately turned and offered him a small, formal bow. Seungcheol frowned slightly at the gesture, discomfort flickering in his eyes. No matter how many times it happened, he still hadn’t grown used to the idea of others bowing to him—especially those he had once shared casual conversations and warm laughter with. It felt foreign, like a version of respect he never asked for. He gave Jun a light frown, not harsh, more like a silent plea for normalcy, but Jun simply offered a sheepish smile and a quick shrug in return.

Their father’s expression softened as Seungcheol approached. He said nothing at first, simply opening his arms. Seungcheol didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and allowed himself to be wrapped in that familiar embrace. It was warm and steady, grounding him in a way that made the nerves fluttering in his stomach ease for a moment. He leaned into it, just for a little while longer.

“Take care of yourself,” his father murmured against his hair. “And remember—you can come back here anytime. This will always be your place. No matter what title the world gives you… you are our son before anything else.”

Seungcheol nodded, his throat tight as he pulled back. One by one, he turned to his siblings. Jihoon offered him a firm pat on the back—nothing too sentimental, but it held weight. Wonwoo, ever the calm older brother, ruffled Seungcheol’s hair the way he used to all the time. Mingyu, however, wrapped himself around Seungcheol with no restraint, clinging tightly as if trying to delay the inevitable. Seungcheol chuckled softly, patting Mingyu’s head and whispering that everything would be alright.

After a round of final hugs, Seungcheol gave them a small wave. The three brothers and their father responded with small bows, quiet but formal, giving him the respect he deserved while still grounded in the love they shared.

Hyungwon opened the car door for him and waited until Seungcheol was seated before closing it gently behind him. Jun followed next, sliding into the front seat. With one last nod from their father, the car pulled away from the Jeon estate, making its way toward the place where Seungcheol's story had once ended—and now, where it would begin again.

The drive was quiet for the most part, broken only by the occasional question or comment exchanged between Jun and Hyungwon in the front seats. In the back, Seungcheol spent the time reviewing everything he had learned in the past few days. The schedules were memorized to near perfection—Jun’s timetable in the Second Prince’s office, Hyungwon’s daily routine as the Crown Prince’s aide, their work patterns, their speech habits and the routes they took inside the palace.

For the first two weeks, he would shadow both of them from behind the scenes, silently observing from a distance while wearing different faces. He had to study their mannerisms until they became second nature. Only then could he start to step into their roles when needed.

His chosen cover, for now, was that of a newly appointed palace guard named Changkyun—a fabricated identity created using Hyungwon’s late younger brother’s name, ensuring any records that needed to be verified could pass inspection. According to the documents, he was Jun’s younger cousin, freshly graduated from the Royal Guard Academy and assigned under Hyungwon’s jurisdiction. The cover was solid, reinforced with supporting letters and pre-approved entry on the palace guard registry. His role was simple: staff quarters security, a low-profile position that would allow him access without drawing unnecessary attention. On paper, he reported directly to Hyungwon.

As they approached the palace gates, Hyungwon slowed the car down and parked a short distance from the main gate. The area was quiet, with no patrol guards in sight at that hour. Without speaking, he nodded to Jun and Seungcheol. Jun stepped out first, adjusting his coat. Seungcheol followed, fixing the collar of his uniform, trying not to let the nerves show on his face. Hyungwon remained behind the wheel, prepared to enter through a separate entrance. It was all part of the plan—separate entries, staggered arrivals, all designed to keep Seungcheol’s presence a secret for as long as possible.

Jun and Seungcheol waited for nearly half an hour in the wooded area just beyond the guard station, hidden from the line of sight but close enough to observe. When the time felt right, they emerged and made their way toward the main gate. The palace guards, already informed of Changkyun’s transfer via official paperwork submitted days ago, didn’t question a thing. Jun casually introduced Seungcheol with a simple nod, and they were let through without any hesitation.

Once inside the main palace lobby, Hyungwon was already there, standing with a file in his hand, just as he usually would be. The transition was seamless. Seungcheol approached and offered a formal bow, playing the role of a new recruit reporting for duty. Hyungwon gave a curt nod in return, then turned on his heel, leading Seungcheol deeper into the palace without missing a beat.

Jun disappeared down the right corridor toward the administrative offices, while Seungcheol followed Hyungwon through the quieter halls, away from the main court, and into the hidden wing reserved for the royal member private quarters. Seungcheol’s room was tucked near the end of the corridor, away from traffic and guarded by simple enchantments. It wasn’t large, but it was quiet and equipped with everything he might need during his stay.

Hyungwon helped him unpack quickly, arranging his items with the same care he had shown earlier. Everything had a place, even the smallest objects. Even the pheromone blanket was folded neatly at the foot of the bed, disguised under a plain wool throw.

Once everything was in place, Hyungwon gave a final inspection before turning toward him.  “Please have a good rest, Your Grace.” he said gently, bowing deeply to Seungcheol before making his way out of the room.

Seungcheol nodded quietly, his heart beating steadily in his chest. He took one last glance around the small but comfortable room, then sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the soft pull of nostalgia already begin to tug at him.

He wasn’t Seungcheol anymore—not here, not now. But he can be anyone he needed to be.

But beneath it all, he was still the prophesied Luna, walking the halls of the palace once more.

This time, he would find the truth.

And this time, he would be ready, and he would not run from it.

Seungcheol barely slept a wink that night. The moment he closed his eyes, waves of unease rolled through him, tangling with fragmented memories of the palace that refused to fade. He tossed and turned beneath the blanket, his mind replaying every possible scenario that might happen once he stepped foot into the palace again. The night had been long, filled with restless tossing and a dozen futile attempts to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. Every time he closed his eyes, images of the palace from both his past and present lives blurred together—hallways echoing with laughter and grief, Jeonghan’s face shifting between the young prince he had loved and the Crown Prince who had broken his heart. The weight of it all sat heavy in his chest.

By the time the dawn finally broke and the faint light of morning filtered through the sheer curtains, Seungcheol was already awake—fully dressed, his hair combed neatly, his uniform pressed to perfection. The dark fabric fit him perfectly, accentuating his frame while masking his true identity beneath the illusion that now came to him almost instinctively. The brass buttons gleamed faintly in the morning light, and the insignia stitched on the shoulder marked him as a new recruit—Changkyun, guard-in-training under the supervision of Chief Officer Hyungwon.

A light knock on the door brought him back to the present. “Your Grace?” came Hyungwon’s familiar voice, gentle and measured.

“Come in,” Seungcheol called softly.

The door opened, and Hyungwon stepped inside carrying a polished tray laden with breakfast. The faint scent of warm porridge, sweet fruit, and herbal tea drifted into the room, instantly comforting. Hyungwon approached with his usual grace, setting the tray carefully on the small table by the bed. His eyes, however, flickered briefly toward Seungcheol, noting the faint shadows under his eyes.

“You’re already awake,” Hyungwon observed quietly, though there was no surprise in his tone. He smiled faintly. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t sleep much.”

Seungcheol chuckled lightly, though his voice carried a weary undertone. “It’s hard to sleep when your mind is at war with itself. I kept wondering what might happen once I’m there. It’s been years, and yet it feels like yesterday.”

Hyungwon gave a small, understanding nod before pushing the tray toward him. “Then, you should eat something at least. You’ll need your strength for the day ahead.”

“I’m not sure I can stomach much,” Seungcheol murmured, though he obediently picked up the spoon. Hyungwon stood quietly beside him, not speaking, simply watching to make sure he ate. Seungcheol forced a few bites, then sighed and took a sip of tea, feeling the warmth seep into his hands.

When he pushed the tray slightly aside, Hyungwon frowned in disapproval. “You must finish the food, Your Grace. I will not have you collapsing on the first day from both nerves and hunger.” His tone was polite but firm, the same tone he used when he once oversaw the palace kitchen’s adherence to the Consort’s dietary needs.

That old familiarity made Seungcheol smile softly. “Still bossy as ever, hyungnim.”

“Persistent,” Hyungwon corrected, his expression relaxing into a faint smile. “And protective. It is my duty.”

That word—duty—lingered in the air. Hyungwon had always been more than just a servant. He was a guardian, a quiet constant in Seungcheol’s life that never wavered, even when everything else had fallen apart.

Once Seungcheol had finished eating, Hyungwon nodded approvingly, collecting the tray and setting it by the door. “Well done, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol murmured, sitting straighter. “I suppose it’s time.”

Hyungwon inclined his head. “It is.”

When Hyungwon left the room momentarily to return the tray, Seungcheol exhaled a slow breath and reached within himself. Closing his eyes, he summoned the magic that now pulsed faintly in his veins—a magic that felt both familiar and foreign. It thrummed quietly, obediently, as he whispered the incantation under his breath. The air shimmered faintly around him, and when he opened his eyes again, the reflection that stared back from the mirror was no longer his own.

Changkyun’s face blinked back—stronger jawline, unfamiliar eyes, a stranger’s face perfectly molded over his own. Seungcheol flexed his fingers, testing the illusion. The transformation was smooth and seamless. Not a single trace of the Crown Prince’s Consort remained.

When Hyungwon returned, he paused in the doorway, scanning Seungcheol carefully. Then, a small approving smile softened his features. “Perfect, Your Grace. No one would suspect.”

“Let’s hope so,” Seungcheol replied, adjusting the collar of his uniform.

They walked together down the narrow hallway that led toward the main entrance. The palace would already be stirring by now, the courtiers and staff beginning their daily routines. The anticipation pressed heavy against Seungcheol’s chest as he stepped outside into the morning sun, its warmth doing little to ease his nervous heart.

Along the path, they met Jun, who greeted them with his usual charm. He bowed slightly to Hyungwon, then gave Seungcheol—Changkyun—a discreet pat on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine,” Jun murmured before departing toward Joshua’s office.

By the time they reached the Crown Prince’s corridor, Seungcheol’s palms had grown slightly damp. He had walked this hallway hundreds of times before, in a different lifetime, in different shoes. Every corner, every archway still carried whispers of familiarity—the polished marble floors, the faint scent of parchment and polished wood, the sunlight filtering through tall windows that had once lit the Crown Prince’s laughter.

Hyungwon led him into the outer office, where a handful of attendants and clerks were already sorting through piles of documents. He introduced Seungcheol—Changkyun—to them with calm authority, explaining that he was a new recruit shadowing the Chief Officer. The staff offered polite nods of acknowledgment before returning to their work. None of them paid Seungcheol any particular attention, and that, in itself, was a relief.

Finally, they reached the door to Jeonghan’s private office. Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat, and before he could steady himself, Hyungwon glanced sideways, immediately sensing the tension radiating from him.

“You’ll be fine, Your Grace,” Hyungwon whispered, his tone soft and grounding, “Just breathe.” He placed a comforting hand on Seungcheol’s arm, just for a brief second—enough to anchor him.

Seungcheol nodded faintly. “I’m fine,” he lied, though both of them knew better.

With that, Hyungwon pushed open the door.

Inside, everything was achingly familiar. The polished mahogany desk, the towering bookshelves filled with scrolls and records, the scent of parchment and ink. The same sunlight filtering through tall glass windows where he used to stand beside Jeonghan, briefing him on meetings and policies. For a fleeting moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Jeonghan was already there, standing near his desk with his hands on his hips, his face scrunched into an irritated pout that would have been almost endearing if Seungcheol’s heart wasn’t already racing out of control. His sharp eyes darted immediately toward Hyungwon.

“Where have you been, Hyungwon?” Jeonghan demanded before Hyungwon could even bow. “You disappear before dawn, and not even Butler Song knows where you’ve run off to! Do you know how unsettling that is?”

Hyungwon immediately lowered his head in apology. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I had early duties to attend to. I hope Butler Song has been serving you well in my absence?”

Jeonghan huffed dramatically. “Too well! He’s so perfect it irritates me. I asked him to make my tea slightly sweet, and he gave me a ten-minute explanation on the ideal balance of flavor. I want you to do it next time.”

Seungcheol had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud. It was such a Jeonghan thing to say—so predictably unpredictable.

“I shall take that as a compliment, Your Highness,” Hyungwon replied, bowing slightly. “I’ll try my best to ensure that I am personally attending to you from now on.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “You’d better be. Don’t just ‘try your best.’ Make sure you do it!”

Hyungwon smiled patiently. “As you command, Your Highness.”

The exchange was so natural, so familiar, that Seungcheol’s chest ached with nostalgia. He’d seen this countless times before — Jeonghan’s dramatic complaints, Hyungwon’s patient responses. Nothing had changed, and yet everything was different.

Then Jeonghan’s gaze fell on him. His sharp eyes scanned Seungcheol curiously. “And who is this?”

Hyungwon turned slightly to gesture at him. “This is Changkyun, Your Highness. He is newly appointed to the palace guard and will be under my supervision during his training period. He will accompany me each morning this week.”

Jeonghan’s eyes studied him for a moment before he gave a short nod. “A guard in training, hm? Very well. Make sure he learns quickly. I dislike slow learners.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hyungwon replied, giving him another bow.

Seungcheol also bowed deeply before following Hyungwon out of the room. The moment the door closed behind them, he exhaled sharply, leaning slightly against the wall as if his legs had forgotten how to stand properly.

Hyungwon chuckled softly. “You did well, Your Grace.”

“That was—” Seungcheol paused, taking a breath. “That was harder than I thought.”

They began walking again, and Seungcheol’s gaze drifted to a familiar corner of the hallway. His steps slowed. There, tucked neatly against the wall, was a desk he knew better than his own heartbeat. His old desk. The one where he had worked, laughed, and written endless reports while Jeonghan would command him mercilessly from across the room.

“Hyungnim,” he said quietly, pointing. “That’s my old desk.”

Hyungwon followed his gaze and nodded solemnly. “Yes, Your Grace. After your… passing, His Highness refused to accept any new assistant. No one was permitted to touch that desk, not even the cleaners. It has stayed there ever since.”

Seungcheol stared at it for a long time, an ache blooming in his chest. “Then… who handles the assistant duties now?”

Hyungwon gave a faint smile. “Mostly Jeonghan-nim himself. Occasionally, I handle the documents when he grows overwhelmed, but he rarely allows anyone else to touch his work.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders sank slightly. “I left quite a burden on all of you, didn’t I?”

“Let’s not dwell on what’s past, Your Grace,” Hyungwon said softly. “It’s time for us to focus on the present. That is what matters now.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, though his gaze lingered once more on the lonely desk by the wall—the silent reminder of a life that once was.

That afternoon, after a quiet lunch that Hyungwon had served himself, Seungcheol was feeling a little calmer. The meal had been light—just enough to keep him energized for the rest of the day. He hadn’t eaten much, still weighed down by nerves, but Hyungwon, ever patient and gentle, had simply smiled and told him that even a few bites were enough for now. Once Seungcheol was done, Hyungwon prepared him for the next part of his schedule—shadowing Jun in the Second Prince’s department.

Once the meal was finished, Hyungwon set the tray aside and brushed a hand over the hem of Seungcheol’s uniform, straightening a fold as if unable to resist one last act of care. “You look perfect, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “No one will doubt you belong here.”

Seungcheol gave a faint chuckle, though nerves still fluttered beneath his calm exterior. “Let’s hope so, hyungnim.”

Hyungwon smiled and gave a slight bow. “You’ll do just fine, Your Grace. Now, allow me to take you to Joshua-nim’s department. Jun-nim is already waiting for you there.”

They left together, walking through the maze of palace corridors. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly against marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Every hallway carried memories for Seungcheol—both from his time as the Consort and as Jeonghan’s assistant. It was strange how the two lifetimes overlapped in his mind now, blurring into a single, tangled thread.

By the time they reached the second wing, where Joshua’s office was located, Jun was already waiting outside. The younger man immediately straightened his posture, giving Hyungwon a polite bow before turning to Seungcheol and doing the same. “Seungcheol-nim,” Jun greeted respectfully, his eyes kind and bright.

Seungcheol gave him a small smile, still trying to adapt the whole situation.

Hyungwon returned the bow with respect, though his attention lingered on Seungcheol for a second longer as if silently reminding him to breathe. “I’ll return to my duties now,” Hyungwon said gently. “If anything happens, send word immediately.”

Seungcheol gave a small nod. “Thank you, hyungnim.”

With that, Hyungwon took his leave, disappearing down the corridor in the direction of the Crown Prince’s office. Jun gestured toward the double doors beside them, pushing one open. “Come,” he said, his tone polite but easy. “Let’s get you inside.”

The moment Seungcheol stepped inside, he was greeted by a completely different atmosphere from the one he had experienced that morning. Whereas Jeonghan’s office was rigid, silent, and filled with tension, Joshua’s department buzzed with quiet laughter and light conversation. The air was relaxed, warm, and filled with an unmistakable sense of camaraderie.

Jun guided him forward, stopping near a row of desks where several officers were already working. “Everyone,” Jun called out, his voice carrying just enough authority to gather attention. “This is Changkyun, a new guard under Hyungwon’s division. He’ll be shadowing me for the next few days.”

The staff immediately rose from their seats, offering Seungcheol welcoming smiles and polite bows. A few clapped softly, others offered warm greetings. “Welcome aboard,” someone said. “You’re in good hands with Jun-nim!”

Seungcheol bowed respectfully, introducing himself in a quiet but steady tone. “It’s an honor to work with you all. I look forward to learning under your guidance.”

Warm laughter followed, and several of the staff wished him luck as Jun led him deeper inside.

It was exactly how Seungcheol had imagined it would be when he first applied for palace service all those years ago—a warm, collaborative environment where work felt purposeful and people treated each other with respect.

But fate had chosen differently. The Crown Prince had looked him in the eye and declared that he would be serving under him instead. Back then, Seungcheol had thought it was the worst day of his life, being snatched from a position he wanted to one he feared. But now, looking back, he could only smile faintly at the irony.

If he was given the chance to go back and choose again… he would have followed the same path again. Because no matter how difficult it was—he had met Jeonghan there, worked by his side, learned his heart, and fallen for him despite every wall between them.

Jun’s quiet nudge brought him back to the present. “Seungcheol-nim,” Jun murmured softly, so no one would overhear. “This way.”

Seungcheol nodded quickly and followed him into Jun’s private office. It was right next to Joshua’s, separated only by a glass wall with a thin curtain drawn halfway across it. It gave Jun both privacy and access—a clever design that reflected Joshua’s open yet meticulous leadership style.

Unlike Jeonghan’s department, which was built around the Crown Prince’s own workspace, Seungcheol used to have his small desk tucked into a corner of the same room, a single partition separating them—so close, yet always under Jeonghan’s watchful gaze. He could never see the Crown Prince unless he stood, but he could always feel him there, like a silent gravity anchoring his every breath.

Jun motioned toward a seat by his desk. “Please, sit.”

Seungcheol obeyed, lowering himself carefully as Jun poured him a cup of coffee from the pot on the tray nearby. “You should drink something,” Jun said, his tone light but respectful.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol murmured, wrapping his hands around the cup and taking a slow sip. The warmth helped steady his nerves.

Jun reached under his desk and lifted a small box, placing it gently on the table between them. “This,” he said quietly, glancing toward the glass door to make sure no one was within earshot, “is what I mentioned the other day. I went through the archives again and found these. They’re old files—records from eight years ago, some older. I didn’t read them all yet, but there might be something in here about… your past life. About what happened.”

Seungcheol stared at the box, his breath catching slightly. He hadn’t expected Jun to find something so soon. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Jun smiled softly. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ll have to go through it carefully. But at least it’s a start.”

They spent a few quiet moments in discussion, Jun explaining what he had found while Seungcheol carefully opened the box. Inside were neatly stacked documents, some tied with faded ribbons, others with handwritten notes. His heart pounded as he brushed his fingers lightly over one of the old seals, recognizing the royal insignia burned faintly into the wax.

Before they could examine anything further, there was a knock on the door. Both of them froze. Jun was the first to look up.

The door opened, and Joshua appeared at the threshold, his presence immediately commanding but gentle as always. Both Jun and Seungcheol rose quickly from their seats and bowed deeply.

“Your Highness,” Jun greeted first.

Joshua smiled faintly and waved a hand dismissively. “Please, both of you, sit down. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

They obeyed, though Jun discreetly signaled for Seungcheol to close the file box. Seungcheol nodded and quietly pushed it aside.

Joshua turned his attention to him. “You must be the new guard-in-training,” he said with that familiar, kind smile that Seungcheol remembered so well.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Seungcheol replied, keeping his voice steady even though his heart was hammering in his chest. “My name is Changkyun. It’s an honor to serve under your department.”

Joshua chuckled, a warm sound that reminded Seungcheol so much of old times that it made his chest ache. “I hear you’re shadowing Jun. You’re in good hands then.”

He patted Seungcheol’s shoulder lightly, his touch gentle but confident. “Work hard, alright? I’m sure you’ll find your place quickly.”

Seungcheol bowed his head slightly. “Yes, Your Highness. I will.”

Joshua turned to Jun then. “Jun, when you have a moment, come to my office. There’s something we need to discuss.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Jun said immediately, following him to the door.

Before leaving, Jun cast a quick glance back at Seungcheol—a subtle reassurance that he’d return soon. The door closed softly behind them, leaving the room in silence once again.

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his chest. Even though Joshua wouldn’t have recognized him—not in this face, not after so long—it still rattled him to be so close again. It wasn’t fear—it was something else. A mixture of longing, nostalgia, and disbelief.

When his heart finally slowed, he turned back to the table. The box sat there patiently, waiting for him to open it again.

The first week passed so quickly that Seungcheol barely noticed the days slipping by. Each sunrise came and went like the gentle turning of pages in a book he had already begun to memorize. His new life inside the palace moved with quiet rhythm — measured, calculated, but strangely peaceful in its routine.

He would wake at the crack of dawn, long before the rest of the palace began to stir. The faint glow of morning sunlight would filter through the sheer curtains, and moments later, there would always be a knock at the door, always right on time. “Your Grace,” came Hyungwon’s soft, familiar voice from the other side. Seungcheol had started to recognize the small patterns in the older man’s habits — the way he always paused after calling his title, as though waiting to be granted permission before stepping inside.

By the time Hyungwon entered, Seungcheol would already be dressed and seated by the small table. Breakfast always came served neatly on a tray — warm porridge, fruit, and warm tea that never failed to soothe his nerves. Hyungwon never spoke much during breakfast, preferring to stand silently by the side as Seungcheol ate, occasionally reminding him gently to slow down or take another bite when his mind wandered too far.

Once breakfast was done, Hyungwon would escort him to the Crown Prince’s office. The first few days had been nerve-wracking, each step through the marble corridors feeling like a quiet test of restraint. The palace air was thick with familiarity — the sound of soft footsteps echoing through grand hallways, the faint hum of courtiers beginning their morning duties, and the scent of polished wood that clung to the walls of the royal wing.

At first, Seungcheol found it difficult to look at Jeonghan directly. Standing in the same room with him again — watching him command meetings with ease, hearing the familiar cadence of his voice — stirred something deep within him. There were moments when his heart stuttered in his chest, and he would have to remind himself that Jeonghan couldn’t see him, only the face of Changkyun. Still, every time Seungcheol caught a glimpse of him smiling, or even just frowning in concentration, the emotions that bloomed inside him were too real to ignore.

Hyungwon had made sure Seungcheol learned every detail of his work — the way he addressed the staff, the manner in which he managed the Crown Prince’s schedule, even the slight dip of his head when Jeonghan gave an order. Seungcheol studied every movement, memorizing them until they came as naturally as breathing.

During lunch, the routine shifted slightly. Most days, Hyungwon would bring Seungcheol’s meal to his quarters, serving him quietly as they discussed the day’s schedule. But on certain days, Jeonghan would call for Hyungwon instead, demanding that his butler join him for lunch. “You always disappear these days,” Jeonghan had complained once, his tone halfway between teasing and sulking. “If you’re trying to make me miss you, it’s working.”

Hyungwon’s reply had been perfectly polite, his face a picture of calm composure as he said, “My apologies, Your Highness. I’ve been training the new guard recruits as part of my duties. I’ll make sure you are attended to properly during my absence.”

Those were the days when Jun would appear instead, knocking lightly before entering with a smile. He always carried Seungcheol’s meal himself, though he never said it outright, Seungcheol knew it was Hyungwon’s doing—a silent reassurance that he was never left unattended.

Jun’s presence was a breath of ease amidst the tension that filled the palace walls. He treated Seungcheol with the same reverence as Hyungwon but carried a warmth that reminded Seungcheol of simpler days

When afternoon arrived, Hyungwon would walk him to Joshua’s wing. At first, Seungcheol insisted he could go alone — after all, Jun would be waiting there. But Hyungwon’s tone left little room for argument. “It is my duty to ensure your safety, Your Grace,” he said firmly, though his smile softened the words. And so, Seungcheol allowed him to escort him through the long corridors, enjoying the quiet comfort of having someone care so deeply for him.

Jun had a lightness about him that Hyungwon did not. He smiled easily, laughed often, and had this way of making even the most tense discussion seem casual. But that easy charm was precisely what made studying him difficult—his behavior shifted subtly depending on who he was talking to. Sometimes Seungcheol could only watch from afar as Jun entered Joshua’s office, the glass door shutting quietly behind him, leaving Seungcheol no choice but to wait and guess what was being said inside.

Still, he learned. The way Jun held his pen slightly tilted to the left, the rhythm of his handwriting, the soft giggle that always slipped out when he found something amusing. It was different from Hyungwon’s measured stillness. Hyungwon was a shadow—calm, composed, deliberate—while Jun was the sunlight, easy to approach yet impossible to pin down.

But watching Jun and Joshua together often reminded him of Jeonghan and himself, back in those early years before everything fell apart. It made him ache in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

The evenings often blurred into one another. Sometimes Seungcheol worked alone, reviewing notes or practicing the shift of expressions in front of the mirror, refining the art of mimicking not only faces but mannerisms. But most nights, Hyungwon or Jun would join him—Jun bringing stories and laughter, Hyungwon bringing quiet company and a steadying presence. Those were the only times Seungcheol felt the nervousness fade.

Still, it didn’t take long for Jeonghan to notice Hyungwon’s absence. On the third evening, Seungcheol overheard the Crown Prince’s complaint through the thin wall of the office. “Hyung, you’ve been gone too much lately,” Jeonghan said, a pout evident in his tone. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Hyungwon replied, his tone patient as always. “The training of new guards requires more supervision than expected.”

Each time, Jeonghan would sulk, pretending to be irritated, but both men knew it was a softer emotion buried beneath.

“Jeonghan-nim must have miss your presence,” Seungcheol remarked one evening as Hyungwon prepared his tea.

“It is nothing new, Your Grace. Jeonghan-nim always dislikes change.” Hyungwon said, smiling faintly. “But if I may say so, Jeonghan-nim was far more difficult to handle when you were not here.”

Seungcheol’s chest tightened at the words. He didn’t respond.

When the second week began, the rhythm of his life shifted again. Seungcheol now shadowed Jun in the mornings, still in the face of Changkyun. The two would share breakfast before heading to the office together. By then, Seungcheol had grown used to the routine bows and greetings from palace staff. No one questioned his presence anymore. He blended perfectly into the rhythm of palace life, unnoticed, unseen — exactly as he needed to be.

He spent the mornings beside Jun, imitating his tone, mirroring his movements, and occasionally joining him for light conversation over lunch. Then, as the sun dipped past noon, Hyungwon would arrive to escort him to the next part of his training.

Afternoons in the Crown Prince’s wing were quieter. Jeonghan was often occupied elsewhere — attending meetings or visiting the royal gardens — leaving Hyungwon and Seungcheol free to practice. They worked on everything from posture to speech to the art of maintaining composure under scrutiny.

When evening came, Seungcheol usually stayed in his study. Sometimes he sat alone, practicing the handwriting and signatures of both Jun and Hyungwon until he could reproduce them flawlessly. Other times, Jun or Hyungwon would drop by to keep him company. They would share quiet conversations, lighthearted teasing, and moments that reminded him of what it felt like to belong somewhere again.

Hyungwon was a patient teacher, always respectful, but never lenient when it came to precision. “Never let your guard down,” he often said, “appearances are only as strong as your composure.”

Jun, on the other hand, was playful in his lessons. He taught Seungcheol how to laugh at the right moments, how to hide unease behind an easy grin, how to weave charm into diplomacy. “Joshua-nim says people trust smiles,” Jun had once explained with a wink. “So if you must ever act as me, smile — even if you don’t mean it.”

One night, while Hyungwon was reviewing a few reports, Seungcheol couldn’t resist teasing him. “You know, you’re too stoic for your own good,” he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. “If anyone ever wrote about you, they’d think you were carved out of stone.”

Hyungwon looked up from his papers, his composure faltering for the briefest moment before a sheepish smile appeared. “Old habits die hard, Your Grace,” he said with quiet amusement. “Besides, someone has to balance your temper back then—and now.”

Seungcheol laughed quietly, though his gaze softened.

Hyungwon’s tone softened then, his voice lower, almost protective. “Just remember, Your Grace. When the time comes, never break your character. The palace is full of eyes. Every movement, every word—it all matters.”

Seungcheol nodded, his smile fading slightly. He understood. It wasn’t just a warning—it was a plea. Hyungwon was worried for him. He was grateful — more than words could express — for these two men who stood by him so unwaveringly.

By the end of the second week, Seungcheol could mimic both of them almost perfectly. His handwriting mirrored theirs down to the smallest stroke. His speech patterns, his movements, even the subtle shifts in tone — all were precise reflections. His magic had grown stronger too; he could now shift between faces effortlessly, maintaining the illusion without even glancing into a mirror.

Now, everything was ready.

Two weeks had passed, and the time had finally come for Seungcheol to step beyond the safety of observation — to assume the faces of the two men closest to him and uncover the truth buried deep within the palace walls.

The truth of his death. The truth of his past. And the prophecy that had bound his fate from the very beginning.

The morning sunlight crept slowly through the curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the polished floor. The air inside the room was still, save for the faint rustle of fabric as Seungcheol nervously smoothed the front of his shirt for the third time. His heart had been restless since before dawn, its rhythm echoing unevenly in his chest.

It was his first day as Jun — the Second Prince’s assistant.

All the lessons, the late-night practice sessions, and the hours spent memorizing every gesture, every word, every habit Jun possessed — they had all led to this moment. He had to become Jun, not just in appearance, but in manner, in thought, in soul.

Jun himself had laughed the night before, patting Seungcheol on the shoulder and teasing him lightly. “Honestly,” he had said, half-joking but full of admiration, “if you get any better at this, I might as well retire. You’re more like me than I am.”

Now, those words rang in Seungcheol’s head as he stood before the mirror. His palms were cold, and a faint tremor betrayed the calm façade he tried to maintain. The nerves running through his body felt like wildfire beneath his skin.

Hyungwon noticed immediately when he entered the room. “Your Grace, you’re pale,” he said quietly, the deep warmth in his voice both soothing and commanding. “Breathe slowly.”

Seungcheol took a deep breath, but it didn’t help much. His nerves refused to settle. Hyungwon’s expression softened with understanding and reached into the inner pocket of his coat, pulling out a small vial filled with a faintly glowing liquid. He stepped closer and gently rolled up Seungcheol’s sleeve, preparing a small injection. The faint click of glass and metal echoed in the stillness.

“This is the calming pheromone serum,” Hyungwon reminded him gently. “It will ease the tension for a few hours. It won’t dull your focus, only steady your heart.”

Seungcheol didn’t argue. The cool touch of the injection stung briefly against his skin, but almost immediately, a wave of calm spread through him. His heartbeat slowed, his hands stopped trembling, and the tightness in his chest began to ease.

Hyungwon studied him for a moment before nodding in approval. “Better,” he said. “But we can delay this if you’re not ready. There’s no shame in waiting a few more days.”

Jun, who had just entered the room moments earlier, echoed the concern. “He’s right, Your Grace. You’ve barely slept since Friday. Maybe we can hold it off for now.”

Seungcheol shook his head, his tone firm despite the quiet. “No. I can’t delay it any longer.”

He looked between them, his eyes steady. “Soon, my birthday will come. The prophecy will soon come to pass—my father said my birthday will mark its beginning. I need to understand everything before that day comes. If I can’t face this now, how can I face what’s waiting for me?”

His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath the softness. Both Jun and Hyungwon exchanged quiet glances but didn’t argue further.

Breakfast went by quietly, though Seungcheol barely tasted a thing. Once he finished, Hyungwon helped him into Jun’s uniform. Luckily, they were roughly the same build, so the fit was perfect. Hyungwon adjusted the collar with the same care he always showed, making sure every button and crease sat properly.

“Perfect,” Hyungwon murmured. “Now, Your Grace, when you’re ready.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes. He drew a slow breath, summoning the magic that had become more and more natural to him with each passing week. The energy coiled inside him like a living thing, responding to his intent. His features began to shimmer faintly — the curve of his jaw reshaping, his hair lightening, the tone of his skin shifting slightly until, within moments, Jun’s reflection stood before them.

Two Juns now faced the mirror — identical in every detail.

Jun blinked, staring at his own reflection standing beside him, then broke into a laugh. “Unbelievable. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was looking into a mirror.”

Seungcheol grinned, the same smile reflected twice in the mirror. “I suppose that means I pass?”

“More than pass,” Jun replied proudly. “You could fool my own mother.”

Hyungwon chuckled softly, though his tone remained respectful. “You look impeccable, Your Grace. No one will question your identity now. However,” he added carefully, “please remember that confidence is as important as appearance. Walk as Jun-nim would. Smile when he would smile. And most importantly, breathe.”

Seungcheol nodded firmly. “I’ll remember.”

Jun handed him a small leather satchel — his own as they went through the schedule one last time. Jun spoke with his usual thoroughness, reminding him of Joshua’s routines, his preferences, and his habits. Seungcheol repeated them like a mantra, committing every word to memory.

When everything was ready, Hyungwon offered a final bow. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I can’t escort you to the office today. It would draw unnecessary attention if we were seen together. But rest assured, I’ll be close if you need me. Should anything happen, send word through the kitchen courier — use the token I gave you.”

Seungcheol nodded once more. “Understood.”

Hyungwon bowed deeply. “May the heavens watch over you, Your Grace.”

With that, Seungcheol took one last breath, adjusted the strap of the satchel, and stepped out of the room. Both Hyungwon and Jun stood by the door, watching silently as he walked away.

The palace corridors seemed brighter that morning, the sunlight spilling across the marble floor. Every step echoed softly, steady but purposeful, just as Jun would walk. He passed a few familiar guards who greeted him cheerfully — “Good morning, Jun-nim!” — and he responded with Jun’s signature warm smile and light laugh.

When one of the junior officers from Joshua’s department caught up to him, Seungcheol nearly flinched, but managed to steady himself.

“Jun-nim! You weren’t at breakfast this morning,” the man said with a teasing grin.

Seungcheol smiled, adjusting his expression into Jun’s easy charm. “Had something to take care of,” he replied smoothly. “Didn’t want to be late.”

The officer laughed and started chatting about the day’s schedule. Seungcheol listened carefully, replying with nods and short phrases, doing his best to match Jun’s cadence. By the time they reached the department wing, he was more confident — enough that when the rest of the team greeted him, he smiled brightly and waved just like Jun always did.

“Morning, everyone!”

“Morning, Jun-nim!” came the cheerful chorus.

He made his way into Jun’s office and closed the door softly behind him. The moment it clicked shut, Seungcheol exhaled a long, shaky breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. He’d done it — at least for the morning.

Sinking into the chair, he let his hands fall over the desk. The familiar scent of ink and parchment filled his senses. The office felt alive, and yet, strangely comforting.

Then, remembering his task, he reached for the small notepad Jun had prepared. The first entry was underlined twice: Check Joshua-nim’s schedule and prepare his morning tea.

Seungcheol straightened immediately. “Right. Tea,” he muttered, scanning the next line. Jun’s notes were detailed — peppermint tea with honey and lemon, precisely steeped for three minutes.

He headed toward the small pantry in the corner, quickly finding everything but the lemon. Frowning slightly, he searched through the shelves and cupboards, but there wasn’t a single lemon to be found. He even asked one of the staff, who informed him that the kitchen was restocking later in the day.

Seungcheol bit his lip, thinking fast. He couldn’t simply skip it—Joshua was known for his precise taste. Then his eyes fell on a small bottle tucked behind the rack. He picked it up and uncorked it carefully. The scent was sharp, tangy—vinegar. A substitute, perhaps, if used carefully.

Testing a small drop on his tongue, he grimaced slightly but nodded to himself. It had the right kind of sour bite. If he balanced it with the honey, it would mimic the taste closely enough.

Mixing the tea carefully, he added half a small spoon of vinegar and stirred it with care, tasting it once more. The flavor was nearly identical, though it lacked the citrus aroma. But from what he remembered, Joshua wasn’t particularly sensitive to smell—he preferred taste over fragrance.

Satisfied, Seungcheol carried the cup to Joshua’s office and set it gently on the desk before slipping back into Jun’s room.

Moments later, the door to Joshua’s office opened. Seungcheol peeked discreetly through the small crack between the doors. The Second Prince entered, humming softly as he set down a pile of papers. His eyes immediately found the cup.

Seungcheol held his breath as Joshua smiled faintly and lifted it to his lips. He inhaled the steam briefly, and took a sip.

For a moment, he smiled. Then he paused, frowned slightly, and took another sip.

Seungcheol’s heart dropped.

Before he could think of what to do, Joshua stood up and walked toward Jun’s office, his cup still in hand. Seungcheol jumped slightly when the gentle knock came, but quickly stood, bowing deeply as the door opened. “Your Highness,” he greeted, just as Jun would.

Joshua entered, smiling as always, though a hint of curiosity lingered in his eyes. “Jun-ah,” he began, setting the cup on the table. “Did you change something in my tea this morning? It tastes a little different.”

Seungcheol’s heart raced, but he managed to answer smoothly. “Ah, yes, Your Highness. We were out of lemons today, so I substituted it with a touch of vinegar. It creates a similar acidity without altering the sweetness.”

Joshua tilted his head, intrigued rather than annoyed. “Vinegar, you say?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Just a small amount,” Seungcheol replied quickly, trying to sound composed.

Joshua smiled then, his expression softening. “That explains it. It reminded me of a taste I haven’t had in years. The Crown Prince Consort used to make me tea like this from time to time,” he said, his voice gentler now. “I always wondered what he put in it — but he always refused to tell me.”

Seungcheol froze for a split second, his breath catching in his throat, though he managed to keep his expression steady.

Joshua chuckled lightly, taking another sip before setting the cup down. “It’s a lovely surprise, Jun-ah. Thank you for bringing back such a fond memory. Make it again for me tomorrow, will you?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Seungcheol said softly, bowing his head.

Joshua smiled and exited the room, humming lightly.

When Joshua left, closing the door behind him, Seungcheol sagged back in his chair and exhaled shakily. His hands were trembling again, though this time from something deeper than nerves.

Joshua’s words echoed in his mind—The Crown Prince Consort used to make tea like this for me.

So even in the smallest of gestures, his past had found a way to reveal itself.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the pile of files on his desk, a a small, almost disbelieving smile tugged at his lips.

At least, one obstacle was gone.

He’d survived his first day — and somehow, unknowingly, had stirred a memory of his own past in someone else’s heart.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this—this memory—was only the beginning.

The first week of living as Jun passed with surprising ease — at least, outwardly. To the casual observer, everything went smoothly. Jun’s department carried on as usual, Joshua seemed content, and not once did anyone suspect that the cheerful, capable assistant who greeted them each morning was not Jun himself.

But for Seungcheol, that week had been anything but calm. Beneath the polished mask of Jun’s easy smile, every hour had been a quiet battle against mistakes, memories, and the strain of pretending to be someone else.

The first accident happened early in the week.

The office was quiet that morning, sunlight spilling through the high windows, illuminating stacks of files piled neatly across his desk. Seungcheol—having spent a few years as Jeonghan’s assistant and being thoroughly familiar with royal documentation—had taken the liberty to go through the pending reports on his table. The financial report, in particular, caught his attention.

He skimmed through the numbers and furrowed his brows. The accounting details were inconsistent, with entries that didn’t match up with the trade ledgers. Before long, his instincts took over. He rolled up his sleeves, and began working through the documents.

Before he realized it, the entire financial report was already finished, polished, and cross-referenced within hours. The calculations were flawless, the data perfectly analyzed, each figure explained with precision.

When Joshua entered his office later and casually reached for the file, his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Jun-ah,” he said slowly, flipping through the pages, “you already finished the finance report? In one day?”

Seungcheol blinked, realizing too late what he had done. His mind scrambled for an excuse. Jun had warned him that he wasn’t particularly skilled in finance, and Joshua knew that better than anyone.

“I—ah,” Seungcheol began carefully, forcing Jun’s signature sheepish smile. “I had help from the finance department, Your Highness. They… gave me a head start with the calculations.”

Joshua gave him a searching look, then smiled warmly. “Ah, that makes sense. Still, I’m impressed. You’ve been working hard lately, Jun-ah. Just please don’t overdo it. I’d rather you rest than burn yourself out on rushing reports like this.”

Seungcheol nodded, bowing his head respectfully. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll be more careful next time.”

The conversation ended smoothly, but Seungcheol’s heart didn’t stop racing for a while. After that, he made a mental note to be more careful—to move at Jun’s pace, not his own. He learned to slow down, to make mistakes sometimes, and to stop himself from slipping into the polished precision that Jeonghan used to praise him for years ago. He focused only on reviewing files, analyzing data, and assisting where he was needed. The rest, he left alone.

But fate, as always, had other plans for him.

The second incident occurred two days later, when Joshua invited him to lunch. It wasn’t unusual—Joshua often shared meals with Jun—but Seungcheol hadn’t expected it to be so… perilous.

He followed the Second Prince through the palace corridors, trying to keep his posture easy, his smile gentle. Joshua was in a light mood that day, chattering easily as they walked. “Honestly, I don’t understand how Jeonghan do it,” he said with a sigh. “He sits at the royal table all by himself every day. Though knowing him, he probably spends the whole lunch brooding about work anyway.”

Seungcheol tilted his head slightly, masking his curiosity. “Then why not join him at the royal table, Your Highness?”

Joshua shook his head with a small laugh. “Only the reigning monarch and the heir usually sit at the royal table. Tradition. Personally, I find it tiresome. There’s too much ceremony, too many rules — you can’t even laugh properly without someone calling it unseemly. Besides,” he added, grinning, “the regular dining hall has better food.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help smiling faintly at that. Joshua’s easy defiance was something he had always admired — even before, when he was still Jeonghan’s assistant. Joshua had always been gentle yet grounded, a man who understood the difference between power and humanity.

As they sat down, Joshua continued his cheerful chatter, only pausing when he noticed Seungcheol eating the cherry tomatoes from his plate.

“Since when do you like cherry tomatoes?” Joshua asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow.

Seungcheol blinked, his hand freezing midair as he looked down at the bright red tomato speared on his fork. “Pardon, Your Highness?”

Joshua chuckled. “You used to hate them, Jun-ah. You used to give all of them to me.’”

It took all of Seungcheol’s willpower not to flinch. He’d completely forgotten Jun’s aversion to watery fruits and vegetables, while he himself loved cherry tomatoes. Without thinking, he had already eaten a few.

He forced a chuckle, swallowing quickly. “I suppose I decided to try them again. They’re not so bad when paired with something savory.”

Joshua leaned back, looking amused. “Then I suppose I’ll let you keep them this time. Consider it character development.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, mentally smacking himself for forgetting something so trivial yet so revealing. He tried to steer the conversation away, asking Joshua about the day’s upcoming meetings, and the prince obliged, chatting warmly about politics and family matters.

Lunch continued pleasantly after that. But then, Joshua reached for a small platter near him and placed a generous portion of raw fish onto Seungcheol’s spoon.

“Here,” he said kindly. “You love this, don’t you? Freshly prepared from the southern coasts.”

Seungcheol stared at it, his heart sinking. Jun adored raw fish; Seungcheol, on the other hand, was was deathly allergic to it. Even the smell made his stomach churn.

For a moment, panic flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. He couldn’t refuse. Not when Joshua was looking at him so warmly, so unsuspectingly.

So, with all the calm he could muster, he lifted the spoon, forced a smile, and swallowed.

The texture hit his tongue first — cold, slick, unmistakable. His throat tightened immediately, though he forced himself to chew and swallow. He smiled, nodding politely when Joshua asked how it was.

“Delicious,” he managed, voice steady though his palms were slick with sweat.

By some miracle, the reaction didn’t strike immediately. So, after they finally finished their lunch ten minutes later, Seungcheol quickly yet politely excused himself, claiming he had to return to the office to finalize some files. Joshua waved him off with a smile, none the wiser.

Seungcheol rushed to his private quarters instead, the dizziness hit him like a wave. His skin flushed hot, his throat tightening. He stumbled into the hallway, barely making it through the door before collapsing into Jun’s arms.

“Seungcheol-nim!” Jun cried, catching him before he hit the floor. His eyes widened in panic as he realized what was happening. “Hyungwon-nim! Help!”

Within moments, Hyungwon burst through the door, his expression sharp yet controlled. “What happened?”

“I don’t know! He just collapsed!” Jun shouted, voice trembling.

Hyungwon didn’t waste a second. He knelt beside Seungcheol, checking his pulse and the swelling along his throat.

“Severe allergic reaction,” Hyungwon muttered under his breath, his voice tight but controlled. “He’s gone into shock. Jun-nim, fetch the antidote from the emergency kit, now.”

Jun darted across the room, returning with the small case. Hyungwon quickly accepted it, his hands moved swiftly, steady as ever. “Hold him upright,” he instructed Jun. “Don’t let him lie flat.”

Jun obeyed immediately, holding Seungcheol carefully as Hyungwon prepared a vial of serum. Within seconds, he injected it into Seungcheol’s arm. The reaction was slow but steady — the trembling subsided, the harsh rasp of his breathing softened into something gentler.

“He’ll be alright, now,” Hyungwon murmured. “Your Grace, can you hear me?”

Seungcheol’s vision blurred, but he managed to rasp weakly, “No… raw fish next time…” before losing consciousness completely.

When he woke, hours had passed. The soft glow of lanterns filled the room, and Hyungwon sat beside the bed, reading quietly. Jun was asleep on the couch, still in uniform, his head resting against the armrest.

Seungcheol stirred, and Hyungwon immediately set the book aside, leaning forward. “Your Grace,” he said softly, his voice thick with relief. “Thank the heavens. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got trampled by a horse,” Seungcheol muttered, his throat still sore.

Hyungwon exhaled slowly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “You frightened us both. Next time, please, don’t endanger yourself to maintain a disguise. If something feels wrong, let me or Jun-nim handle it. You needn’t suffer like that.”

Jun woke at the sound of voices and rushed over. “Seungcheol! You shouldn’t have eaten it! I should’ve warned you sooner—I forgot about your allergy—”

“It’s not your fault,” Seungcheol interrupted softly. “It was my mistake. I was too careful about everything else… and forgot to be careful with myself.”

Hyungwon gave him a gentle look, his tone soft but firm. “Then please, Your Grace, consider this a warning. You are precious to more people than you realize. Don’t make us worry like that again.”

Despite his fatigue, Seungcheol gave a small, amused smile. “Yes, hyungnim. I’m sorry.”

The next day, Jun resumed his duties in the palace to avoid suspicion, while Seungcheol remained confined to his private quarters under Hyungwon’s care. By evening, he was able to sit up again, the worst of the reaction behind him.

Despite the ordeal, the week hadn’t been a failure. He had managed to gather crucial information from Joshua’s office — old records, forgotten letters, and mentions of a prophecy that linked his fate to the rise of the next Luna. Each piece brought him closer to the truth.

By the end of the week, as he sat by the window, watching the sunset wash the palace in shades of gold, Seungcheol knew the next step was clear. He only need another week in Joshua’s office before he would finally become face-to-face with the Crown Prince — the man who held the final pieces of his past, and the truth about the Consort he once was.

The second week of living as Jun slipped by quietly, like sand through cupped hands. Each day blended into the next — the soft murmur of palace corridors, the faint rustle of papers in Joshua’s office, and the polite greetings of courtiers who had come to accept his presence without question.

Seungcheol had learned to move in rhythm with Jun’s world — his mannerisms, his laughter, his ease. He had memorized every small detail of the Second Prince’s department, every document and schedule, every fleeting conversation that might hold even a thread of truth about his past life.

By the end of that week, his purpose had been nearly fulfilled. Joshua, unknowingly, had helped him gather more than he could have hoped for — letters from the old archives, personal notes, and even records concerning the Consort’s death eight years ago. Fate, Seungcheol thought, had a strange way of guiding him exactly where he needed to be.

But fate, too, had its cruel sense of humor.

It was Friday — the final day Seungcheol would wear Jun’s face. The morning was peaceful enough, the same gentle routine as any other day. He had delivered the last of the reviewed documents to Joshua’s desk, exchanged polite greetings with the officers, and was preparing to spend the rest of the afternoon in quiet observation.

Seungcheol thought he could end the week without trouble—until Joshua, with his usual warm tone, suggested that they have lunch together in his office.

“I’ve already asked the kitchen to prepare something special,” Joshua had said with a soft smile. “It’s been a productive week. You’ve worked hard, Jun. We both have.”

Seungcheol smiled and bowed politely, accepting the invitation. But when he entered Joshua’s office a short while later, his eyes widened in surprise. The royal kitchen had sent a feast—platters of food that filled the entire table, from savory dishes to soups and side plates, and even a delicate arrangement of fruits and pastries. The spread was far too grand for a simple lunch between a prince and his assistant.

Seungcheol blinked, unsure if he should sit. “Your Highness… did you invite anyone else?” he asked cautiously.

Joshua chuckled lightly. “No. It’s just us today. They must have gone a little overboard,” he said, waving it off as he gestured for Seungcheol to take a seat. “It’s fine. We can share what we can and send the rest to the staff later.”

There was a playful glint in his eyes, one that reminded Seungcheol of the kindhearted prince he had known so long ago — the same man who used to sneak snacks from the kitchen with the Crown Prince behind closed doors.

As they sat, Joshua pushed a small bowl toward him. “No raw fish today,” he said with a faint smirk. “I noticed you’ve stopped eating it lately. I told the kitchen to skip it.”

Seungcheol froze for a heartbeat, his fingers hovering over his spoon. He looked up, startled.

Joshua noticed his expression and laughed quietly. “You really think I don’t pay attention, Jun-ah? You’ve been pushing the raw fish aside for weeks. And here,” he added, gently nudging another bowl toward him, “I got you extra cherry tomatoes instead. I remember you used to hate them, but apparently, you’ve decided they’re your favorite now.”

For a brief moment, Seungcheol’s chest ached. Joshua was so perceptive — too perceptive. He forced a small laugh, hoping it sounded natural. “I… appreciate Your Highness’s thoughtfulness.”

Joshua gave him a satisfied smile. “It’s only fair. You take good care of me every day. I can return the favor once in a while.”

They ate quietly for a while, the sound of cutlery against porcelain echoing softly between them. Everything seemed normal, almost peaceful — until Joshua set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.

“Jun-ah,” he began slowly, “can I ask you something?”

Seungcheol looked up, immediately alert. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Joshua’s eyes studied him carefully, not with suspicion at first, but with gentle curiosity. “You’ve been acting… different lately.”

Seungcheol’s pulse quickened. He tried to keep his expression neutral. “Different?”

Joshua nodded. “Yes. For the past two weeks, I can’t help but notice that something’s changed.”  He leaned forward slightly, his tone soft but probing. “You used to rush your reports. Sometimes you’d leave them unfinished or ask for an extra day. But lately… everything’s always done perfectly. And early. You might deliver them to me in the morning, but I’ve seen them already completed on your desk the previous evening.”

Seungcheol forced a small chuckle. “Perhaps I’ve just become more efficient, Your Highness.”

Joshua smiled faintly, though there was an edge of something sharper behind it. “That’s what I thought. But then there’s the snacking. You used to snack constantly. Sweets, fruit, whatever the staff brought in. Now, you hardly touch anything between meals.”

He paused, his voice lowering a little. “You don’t visit the training grounds anymore either. You used to drag me along when you wanted to test your sword grip. And now…”

Joshua’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You’ve just been… perfect, Jun. Too perfect. You always have answers for every question, solutions for every problem. Even when I ask you things I know you’d normally hesitate on, you respond instantly. You pause as if to think, but the answer comes too easily afterward. It’s not like you.”

For a heartbeat, Seungcheol couldn’t breathe. His fingers clenched tightly around his cup, the porcelain threatening to crack beneath his grip.

Joshua sighed softly, looking at him almost apologetically. “You see, I’ve known you for years. You’re reliable, yes—but you’re also human. You make small mistakes. You forget things. You worry too much. But lately, you’ve feel like… someone else.”

The air in the room shifted, heavy and charged. Seungcheol could feel the familiar pull of magic tightening beneath his skin, like a thread straining under too much weight. Jihoon’s warning echoed in his mind—clear and haunting. If someone begins to doubt who you are, Seuncgheol-ah, the magic will start to unravel.

He could feel it happening. The illusion flickered faintly, the edges of his reflection in the window shifting, distorting. He tried to steady his breathing, to rein the energy back in, but Joshua’s words pressed harder, cutting closer to the truth.

“Of course,” the Second Prince continued, almost to himself, “it’s impossible, isn’t it? How could you be anyone else when you look, speak, and move exactly like Jun…”

His voice trailed off as Seungcheol raised his head, intending to make a polite excuse and leave before the situation worsened. But before he could speak, Joshua’s words caught abruptly in his throat. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face.

“Wait…” he whispered, his gaze fixed squarely on Seungcheol.

Seungcheol froze. He didn’t need a mirror to know something was wrong. He felt the shift immediately—the way the magic flickered and twisted out of his control, breaking through the careful disguise. His skin prickled, the illusion unraveling like smoke in the air.

Seungcheol didn’t have time to react before Joshua gasped sharply, his hand trembling as he pointed.

“Y-you…” he stammered, voice breaking. “C-Crown Prince Consort?”

The name — his old title — tore through the air like thunder. His eyes widened in horror. He reached instinctively for his face, his fingers brushing against skin that was no longer Jun’s. The illusion had shattered completely.

Joshua staggered backward, pale as parchment, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “It can’t be… you died… eight years ago…”

“Your Highness—” Seungcheol tried to speak, reaching out, but Joshua’s knees gave out before he could finish. His eyes rolled back, and his body went limp.

Seungcheol caught him just in time, dropping to one knee as he cradled Joshua carefully against his chest. “Damn it,” he whispered under his breath, panic and frustration twisting in his gut. He gently lowered Joshua onto the nearby couch, checking his pulse. It was steady but faint, his body slack in unconsciousness.

For a moment, Seungcheol just stared at the Second Prince’s pale face, his thoughts racing. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here. Not now. He had been so careful—so meticulous. And yet, the magic had betrayed him the moment doubt entered the air.

His mind spun, calculating. If anyone walked in now, everything — his mission, his disguise, his entire existence — would be exposed. He stood, taking a steadying breath, forcing his mind to think clearly. There was only one thing to do now—find Hyungwon.

Hyungwon would know what to do.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet except for the faint sound of Joshua’s slow, steady breathing. The heavy curtains had been drawn to soften the afternoon sunlight, and the air carried the faint scent of medicinal herbs left by the palace healer. Seungcheol stood beside the bed, his eyes fixed on Joshua’s pale but peaceful face. The Second Prince’s complexion had begun to return to normal, a healthy flush gradually pushing away the earlier ghostly pallor.

The healer had assured them not long ago that Joshua had simply fainted from shock — a detail Seungcheol was already painfully aware of. He had seen the moment the prince’s eyes widened, the recognition dawning with horror as his magic faltered and his disguise collapsed. He could still hear the echo of Joshua’s trembling voice calling him by his old title — Crown Prince Consort — before the man crumpled in front of him.

Hyungwon had arrived not long after Seungcheol managed to regain his composure and return his face to Jun’s. Calm and efficient as ever, the royal butler had helped him carry the unconscious prince back to his private quarters. Hyungwon’s authority had made the rest easy — a single firm command had emptied the entire floor, leaving only three of them behind: Seungcheol, Hyungwon, and Jun.

Once Joshua had been settled comfortably on his bed, Seungcheol chnged his face. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing two Jun’s face. By the time Jun arrived, Seungcheol had already shifted into Changkyun’s form, the palace guard identity he had used before.

When Jun entered, his eyes were wide with panic. Seungcheol quickly moved to secure the room, locking the heavy wooden door while exchanging a discreet glance with the guard posted outside — a silent command to hold the perimeter. Only when the bolt clicked into place did Jun finally speak.

“What happened?” His voice trembled despite his attempt to keep it steady. “Why did His Highness collapse? They said it wasn’t an illness.”

Seungcheol sank into the couch beside the bed, his movements slow, burdened. “He suspected me,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the prince’s sleeping form. “Joshua-nim started asking questions — about my behavior, about why I’ve been acting differently these past two weeks. He said I was… too perfect. That I didn’t feel like Jun anymore.”

Jun’s lips parted, shock flashing across his face. “He noticed that much?”

Seungcheol gave a tired, humorless smile. “He’s always been perceptive. He began listing everything — how I finished my work too fast, how I’d stopped snacking, even how I walk and talk. And before I could steady my magic, it cracked.”

He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “He saw my face, Jun-ah. My real face. The one I thought was buried.”

Jun’s eyes widened further, but before he could respond, Hyungwon placed a firm hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. The older man’s touch was grounding, his tone calm and reassuring.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, “it is not your fault. Even the most flawless illusion can’t hide a soul. Prince Joshua has always been attuned to the people around him. He must have felt something — perhaps a sense of familiarity, a memory buried deep that only needed a small crack to resurface.”

Jun nodded quickly, his voice filled with sympathy. “Hyungwon-nim’s right. Pretending to be someone else every day… no one can maintain it perfectly. You’ve done far more than anyone could. Besides,” he added carefully, “we can still cover this up. The healer said His Highness had a mild fever this morning. We can say he fainted from exhaustion and the fever made him see things.”

Seungcheol listened silently, his gaze distant. The idea made sense, and yet, part of him still churned with unease. He had been so careful — every word, every expression calculated. How could Joshua have seen through that?

He sighed quietly. “Perhaps I was too focused on doing everything right. Too focused on perfection that it became unnatural.”

Hyungwon’s hand remained on his shoulder, gentle but firm. “You were only doing your duty, Your Grace. The prince’s reaction is no reflection of your ability. We will handle this.”

Before Seungcheol could respond, a sharp noise echoed from the hallway — hurried footsteps, heavy and fast, accompanied by the jingle of royal insignia. All three froze where they stood.

Then came the guard’s voice, muffled through the door. “Announcing the arrival of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince!”

The air in the room shifted instantly.

Seungcheol and Jun exchanged quick, alarmed glances. Hyungwon straightened immediately, his calm mask returning. He made a small, precise motion with his hand — act natural.

Seungcheol nodded, quickly rising from his seat. He smoothed his uniform, taking one last steadying breath before shifting slightly into Changkyun’s demeanor — composed, silent, deferential. When the heavy knock came, he opened the door.

Jeonghan swept into the room before he could even bow. His expression was sharp, his usual poise replaced by unguarded worry. The moment he saw Joshua lying motionless on the bed, his steps quickened.

“What happened?” Jeonghan demanded, turning immediately to Jun, who stood with his head bowed low.

“Your Highness,” Jun began, stumbling slightly over his words. “The Second Prince—His Highness—he fainted from shock. The healer said it might have been due to a fever that worsened throughout the morning—”

“From shock?” Jeonghan’s voice was tight, skeptical. “Why would he faint from shock? What on earth happened?”

Jun opened his mouth again, but no words came out. His throat tightened under Jeonghan’s piercing gaze. Thankfully, Hyungwon stepped forward, bowing deeply before speaking in a calm, practiced tone.

“Your Highness, please do not be alarmed. I believe His Highness the Second Prince may have been startled during his work. He had shown signs of fever earlier this morning, and when he fainted, Jun-nim immediately sent for me. I was nearby and came to assist.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flicked toward him, suspicion lingering for a moment, but the authority in Hyungwon’s voice softened his expression slightly.

“Why were you nearby, Hyungwon-ah?” Jeonghan asked after a pause.

“I was delivering a report to the west wing, Your Highness,” Hyungwon replied smoothly. “When I received word from Jun-nim, I came immediately. The Healer was summoned soon after, and I remained until His Highness’s condition stabilized.”

Jeonghan still looked unconvinced, but his attention was quickly pulled back to the bed. He moved closer, his voice softening as he knelt beside Joshua. Gently, he brushed a hand over his younger brother’s hair, his brows furrowing as he felt the lingering warmth on his skin.

“Has the healer given him medicine?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hyungwon replied. “He has already received a fever reducer and tonic. The healer will return every four hours to check on him.”

Jeonghan nodded absently, still gazing at his brother’s pale face. His tone was quieter now, touched with fatigue. “He works too much,” he murmured, almost to himself. “And still manages to make me worry every time he does.”

He reached down and clasped Joshua’s hand, his thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles. “Wake up soon,” he whispered. “Please. You promised you’d take better care of yourself.”

For a moment, silence filled the room. Then — a faint movement.

Joshua stirred. His fingers twitched, and a low sound escaped his lips. His eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused.

“Joshua-yah,” Jeonghan said immediately, relief flooding his tone. “Don’t move too fast. You fainted earlier. Just breathe.”

But Joshua wasn’t listening. His gaze darted wildly around the room before landing on Jeonghan. He gasped suddenly, his entire body tensing.

“Jeonghan—” his voice cracked, trembling as he clutched at his brother’s arm. “Jeonghan, I saw him… I saw him.”

Jeonghan blinked, taken aback. “Who?”

Joshua’s eyes filled with tears as his breathing quickened, verging on panic. “The Crown Prince Consort….Seungcheollie…” he whispered hoarsely. “I saw him again… he was right in front of me!”

The room fell into stunned silence.

Jeonghan’s expression froze — his eyes widening before narrowing slightly in disbelief. He pulled Joshua gently into his arms, murmuring soothing words even as his own voice faltered. “Joshua… calm down. You were dreaming. You’re feverish.”

But Joshua only shook his head desperately, gripping Jeonghan’s sleeve. “No! I wasn’t dreaming! I swear I saw him, Jeonghan-ah — his face, his voice, everything!”

Behind them, Seungcheol stood frozen, his hands clenched at his sides. Jun glanced at him anxiously, while Hyungwon’s expression remained unreadable — though his sharp eyes flicked toward the door, calculating.

Jeonghan tightened his embrace around Joshua, murmuring softly to calm him. But his eyes, dark and uncertain, flicked briefly toward Hyungwon, then to Jun, then finally — for the briefest second — to Seungcheol.

None of them spoke. The silence was deafening.

And as Joshua clung to his brother, trembling and repeating the same words — I saw him, I saw him — Seungcheol realized that fate had once again refused to be contained by illusion or disguise.

No matter how deep he buried the past, it had found a way to rise.

The soft hum of the car engine filled the silence. Outside the tinted window, the golden rays of late afternoon streaked across the passing landscape — fields bathed in fading sunlight, roads glistening faintly from an earlier drizzle. Seungcheol sat quietly in the back seat, his head resting lightly against the cool glass as the scenery blurred by. His reflection in the window looked pale, his eyes tired.

He exhaled slowly, the sigh escaping him before he realized it. It had been a long few days since the incident at the palace. A few days that felt like weeks. The memory of Joshua’s horrified expression still haunted him, lingering at the edge of his mind like a bruise he couldn’t touch without flinching. They had barely managed to contain the chaos that followed, and even now, Seungcheol wasn’t sure how they had gotten away with it.

When Joshua had finally regained full consciousness and the healer confirmed that his vitals were normal, his memory of the event had been fragmented—confused between what was real and what was imagined. Jun and Hyungwon had moved quickly to take control of the narrative. They assured Joshua gently, but firmly, that what he thought he saw was nothing but a hallucination brought on by stress and fever. Seungcheol had remained hidden, of course, watching quietly through the reflection of the half-open door as they wove together their explanation.

Hyungwon had spoken with his usual calm precision, presenting reason after reason why Joshua’s mind might have tricked him. “Your Highness,” he had said softly, bowing his head slightly, “grief plays strange tricks on the heart. It is not unusual to see those we miss most in dreams or moments of weakness. Perhaps your memory brought comfort in its own way.”

And everyone had backed the story without hesitation — even the palace healer — each one insisting that the combination of fever and exhaustion must have caused him to hallucinate. Joshua had been hesitant at first, uncertain, clinging to his memory of seeing Seungcheol’s face. He had sworn that what he saw was real, that he couldn’t possibly mistake the Consort’s face — but slowly, as Hyungwon calmly guided the discussion, his conviction had faltered.

After all, even his sharp mind couldn’t find fault in their explanation. It was logical—more logical than the idea of seeing the Crown Prince Consort, a man long declared dead, standing before him. Joshua had accepted their explanation, even laughing weakly about how fever dreams could play tricks on the mind. But Seungcheol knew. He had seen the faint uncertainty still lingering in the prince’s eyes.

When Seungcheol finally returned to his own quarters later that night, his entire body had trembled with the strain of holding the magic together. His chest ached with the weight of what nearly happened. If it had been Jeonghan instead of Joshua… if his face had cracked before him… the consequences would have been far worse.

And so, the decision had been made.

For the first time since his return, Seungcheol would step away from the palace. It wasn’t an easy decision to make—he had come there to uncover his past, to reclaim the pieces of himself buried under time and tragedy—but even he had to admit that continuing as he was would be reckless. His magic was fragile now, strained by constant use. If he tried to transform again before it fully recovered, it might not hold at all.

Hyungwon had been the one to suggest it, his voice firm yet gentle as always. “Your Grace,” he had said, kneeling beside him as Seungcheol sat by the dimly lit window that night, his hands trembling faintly from fatigue. “The palace is not safe for you at this moment. Your body and your magic both need rest. Even the most powerful spell falters when overused. Allow yourself time to recover.”

Jun had agreed immediately, though guilt was written all over his face. “It’s my fault,” he had said quietly. “If I hadn’t been so careless with the details of my schedule—if I’d prepared you better—Joshua wouldn’t have noticed.”

Seungcheol had shaken his head at that. “No, Jun-ah. You did everything you could. I was the one who slipped.”

Hyungwon had placed a steady hand on his shoulder then, grounding him as he always did. “This is not about fault, Your Grace. It is about timing. The truth will wait for you, but your well-being cannot. Please—let us return home for a few days. The palace will still be there when you are ready.”

And so, here they were now, driving down the familiar road that led to the Jeon family estate.

The plan was simple: Seungcheol would rest and allow his magic to heal while Hyungwon and Jun restructured their approach. Once his power stabilized, they would plan a new strategy—one that would allow him to return to the palace with minimal risk. But this time, they would not rely solely on disguise. They would find another way to uncover the truth about his past, about the prophecy, and about his bond with Jeonghan.

The thought of Jeonghan made Seungcheol’s chest tighten. He hadn’t seen the Crown Prince since the day of Joshua’s collapse, though Hyungwon had updated him quietly on Jeonghan’s mood. The prince had been unusually tense, they said—restless, even. He had ordered more reports than usual, spent longer hours in his office, and rarely allowed anyone near Joshua’s quarters since the incident. Whether it was worry for his brother or suspicion about what had really happened, none of them knew for certain.

As the car turned past the last bend and the Jeon mansion came into view, Seungcheol exhaled another long breath, one hand pressed lightly against the window. The estate loomed large against the soft orange glow of dusk, its familiar silhouette both comforting and somber. It had been his refuge before, a place where he could breathe without the weight of the palace pressing on him.

Hyungwon glanced at him through the rearview mirror, his voice calm and respectful. “We will arrive shortly, Your Grace. I have already sent word ahead. Advisor Jeon and your brothers are waiting.”

“Thank you, Hyungwon,” Seungcheol murmured, his tone weary but sincere.

Hyungwon smiled lightly before adding. “You should try to rest once we arrive, Your Grace. You haven’t slept much since the incident.”

“I’ll try,” Seungcheol said softly, though they all knew it was a promise he wouldn’t keep. His mind was far too restless for that.

As the car rolled to a gentle stop before the mansion gates, Seungcheol caught sight of familiar figures waiting by the entrance—his father, standing tall as always despite his age, with Jihoon, Wonwoo, and Mingyu flanking him. A faint smile touched Seungcheol’s lips for the first time in days.

Home.

He had left the palace behind, for now at least. But as he stepped out of the car and felt the cool evening air on his face, he knew this was only a pause, not an ending.

Soon enough, he would return.

And when he did, it would be to face Jeonghan once more—this time as himself.

The night air was cool and tender against Seungcheol’s skin. He stood by the balcony rail, gazing out over the vast field that stretched endlessly behind the Jeon mansion. The moon was high, veiled lightly by drifting clouds, its pale glow washing over the fields like a silver mist. The faint rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of crickets filled the still air, blending into a quiet symphony that lulled the house into calm.

Dinner had ended not long ago. The family had gathered as they always did — with laughter, warmth, and soft teasing that reminded Seungcheol how deeply he belonged here. It had been comforting, grounding, after all the turmoil at the palace. Now, he was waiting for his father, who had requested to see him after dinner. The meeting had weight; Seungcheol could feel it. Elder Jeon was not the kind of man who asked to speak without purpose. So, he waited on the balcony, gathering his composure as the household slowly settled into silence for the night.

A soft shuffle of feet behind him broke his thoughts. Mingyu stepped out from the corridor, carrying a thick woolen shawl draped over one arm. Without a word, the younger man walked up and gently wrapped it around Seungcheol’s shoulders.

“You’ll catch a cold standing here, hyung,” Mingyu murmured, his tone half-scolding but full of care.

Seungcheol smiled faintly, touched by the gesture. “You always worry too much, Mingyu.”

“It’s because you forget to,” Mingyu replied simply, moving to stand beside him. Their shoulders brushed, and for a moment, they simply stood together, staring at the moonlit fields in silence. The bond between them had endured through everything — through loss, separation, and the strange twists of fate that had shaped Seungcheol’s life. Even now, when so many things about him had changed, this quiet closeness with his family remained steadfast. And that, he thought, was what gave him strength.

Before long, the door to his father’s study opened with a muted creak. Wonwoo appeared, his usual calm expression tinged with formality. Two officers exited the room first, bowing respectfully to Seungcheol and Mingyu before taking their leave down the hall. Wonwoo then turned back toward them and opened the door wider.

“Father is ready to see you now,” he said.

Seungcheol gave a small nod, pulling the shawl tighter around his shoulders before following Mingyu inside. The study was warm, lit by the soft flicker of candles and the gentle glow from a nearby hearth. The scent of parchment, wax, and aged wood filled the air — the familiar fragrance of his father’s working space.

Elder Jeon sat behind his wide oak desk, while Jihoon occupied one of the chairs nearby, a notebook open before him. Both looked up as Seungcheol entered. Immediately, they rose and bowed lightly, a quiet sign of respect that Seungcheol returned with equal grace. And only when he was seated did they follow suit. Mingyu took a seat near Wonwoo, quietly pouring tea for everyone as the room settled into a comfortable silence.

Elder Jeon studied his son quietly for a moment before speaking. “I trust your rest these past few days has been sufficient?”

Seungcheol nodded. “It has, Father. My magic has stabilized again. I can feel the balance returning.”

“That’s good,” Elder Jeon said, relief flickering briefly across his composed features. “That means we can finally move forward. We’ve discussed a few approaches, but there’s one path I believe will suit your situation best.”

Seungcheol tilted his head slightly, curious. “What kind of path?”

Jihoon closed the book in his hand, setting it aside. “A different kind of power,” he said. “Not one that hides you, but one that hides the truth itself.”

Seungcheol frowned softly, uncertain. “I don’t understand.”

Elder Jeon leaned forward slightly, his tone deliberate. “It’s called the dream power — an ancient branch of illusionary magic. But unlike what you’ve used before, it doesn’t alter dreams to make them real. It alters reality to make it feel like a dream.”

Seungcheol blinked, processing the words. “You mean… the person who experiences it will think it was a dream afterward?”

“Exactly,” Wonwoo said. “They’ll live through the moment, speak with you, even touch you — all of it will be real. But once the spell wears off, their mind will rewrite it, convincing them it never truly happened. It will feel hazy, like the remnants of a fading dream.”

A quiet hum of wonder escaped Seungcheol. The concept was extraordinary — terrifyingly delicate, but brilliant.

Elder Jeon nodded gravely. “It’s a dangerous kind of power, but also one of the most discreet. The dream power is not deception in the way illusion is. Illusion bends sight and sound; this bends memory and perception. To the world, reality remains untouched — but in the target’s mind, it becomes nothing more than imagination.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking slowly into Seungcheol’s mind. He sat back, absorbing the meaning. “So… I could speak to someone, appear before them in my own form, and they would think it’s merely a dream?”

“Precisely,” Jihoon said. “The mind accepts what it cannot rationalize. It’s one of the few magics that can bypass the limits of disguise — but it requires delicate balance and immense control.”

Elder Jeon nodded in agreement. “We think this is your safest path forward, at least for now. You could reach the Crown Prince directly without revealing yourself in the waking world.”

At the mention of Jeonghan, Seungcheol’s heartbeat skipped slightly. “You want me to use the dream power… on him?”

“Yes,” Elder Jeon said gently. “That’s the only way you can find the truth without having to break your magic again for now.”

Seungcheol stared down at his hands, the soft tremor of thought flickering through his mind. “So, he’ll see me — he’ll touch me — but when he wakes, he’ll think it was all his imagination.”

“That is the essence of dream power,” Elder Jeon said quietly. “To shape truth into something the mind believes to be false.”

Seungcheol was silent for a long moment. The thought of seeing Jeonghan again — not through another’s face, not hidden behind illusion — made his chest tighten. But at the same time, the responsibility of wielding such delicate magic weighed on him. “Would it harm him?” he asked quietly.

Jihoon shook his head. “No, not if done correctly. But it will exhaust both of you. The magic draws from the subconscious, and because it blurs the line between dream and reality, it drains spiritual energy quickly. That’s why you can’t use it often.”

Seungcheol nodded lightly before asking. “How often, exactly?”

“Every two or three nights at most,” Jihoon replied. “Any more than that and it will begin to blur the line between what’s real and what isn’t. You’ll both feel exhaustion, confusion… possibly even memory gaps. This is not a magic to use carelessly.”

Elder Jeon nodded in agreement. “Your first priority is mastery, not haste. Learn to shape it, to release it without imbalance. Once you’ve done that, we’ll consider your first contact with the Crown Prince.”

Seungcheol sat in silence, his heart caught between apprehension and curiosity. The idea of seeing Jeonghan again — not through someone else’s face, not bound by illusion, but as himself — stirred emotions he wasn’t sure he could name. Yet there was also fear. Fear of what it might awaken, in both of them.

“I’ll learn it,” he said at last, his voice firm despite the tremor beneath it. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll master this. If this power allows me to approach Jeonghan without causing harm, then I’ll make it mine.”

His father’s expression softened — a mixture of pride and gravity. “That’s the determination I hoped to hear. The prophecy won’t wait forever, Seungcheol. The Luna’s power is nearing its full awakening. When the time comes, you must be ready — in strength, in heart, and in magic.”

Wonwoo smiled faintly. “You’ll do well, Seungcheol-ah. You’ve always adapted faster than anyone else.”

Jihoon closed his notebook with a soft snap. “Training will begin tomorrow morning. It may take several days before you can project your consciousness safely, so take tonight to rest properly. Your energy must be balanced before we begin.”

Seungcheol nodded. “Understood.”

Elder Jeon rose then, signaling the end of their meeting. One by one, the others followed, bowing lightly to Seungcheol before stepping back. As he stood, Mingyu approached again and wrapped the shawl back around his shoulders, his voice quiet. “Try to sleep early, hyung. You’ll need your strength.”

Seungcheol gave him a grateful smile before turning toward his father, bowing respectfully. “Thank you, Father. I’ll do my best.”

Elder Jeon’s eyes softened with quiet pride. “You always have, my son.”

As Seungcheol left the study, the faint sound of the wind returned through the hall — steady, whispering through the open window like a reminder from fate itself. He tightened the shawl around himself and looked once more toward the moonlight streaming across the balcony.

The dream power. A path between worlds — where truth could hide within illusion.

He wondered, as he made his way toward his room, if perhaps this was how destiny spoke to him now — through dreams that were more real than waking life.

And when he finally stood before Jeonghan again, even if only in a dream, he vowed he would uncover everything — the truth about his death, his past, and the bond that neither time nor magic could sever.

Hyungwon had arrived at the Jeon mansion a day before their departure. The butler stepped out of the car under the pale afternoon light, his composure as calm as ever, though his eyes softened when he spotted Seungcheol waiting by the entrance. He bowed deeply — the bow of a man who, despite years of closeness, never forgot the respect owed to his master.

“Your Grace,” Hyungwon greeted quietly, voice steady and warm. “It’s good to see you well.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, gesturing for him to rise. “You’ve been traveling all day, Hyungwon. You should rest first.”

“I can rest once everything is ready,” Hyungwon replied, his tone gentle but firm. “Tonight, I’ll help you prepare.”

And so, as the day slipped into night, the two of them worked side by side in Seungcheol’s room. The faint glow of lamplight painted the walls in amber, casting long shadows over the open trunks and folded garments scattered neatly across the bed. Hyungwon’s movements were meticulous — every item checked, every vial of potion sealed and labeled. His hands never faltered, his expression patient and precise, as if each task carried the weight of ritual.

“You’ve grown even quieter than before, Your Grace,” Hyungwon murmured at one point, glancing up from the row of small containers. “Is something troubling you?”

Seungcheol folded the last of his robes carefully before answering. “Not trouble, exactly. Just… anticipation.”

Hyungwon paused, studying him with quiet empathy. “It’s only natural. You’re stepping into something few would dare to attempt.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly. “You make it sound as though I’m walking into battle.”

“In a way, you are,” Hyungwon said softly. “A battle of truth and memory.”

The words lingered between them, filling the quiet room.

For the past two weeks, Seungcheol had trained relentlessly under the guidance of his father and Jihoon, learning to command the dream power until it flowed through him like second nature. The training had been grueling — days spent meditating under spell resonance, nights spent mastering the delicate weave between reality and illusion. He had learned how to slow his breathing until his magic pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, how to thread his consciousness through another’s aura without disturbing it.

Jihoon had tested him mercilessly, breaking the spell again and again until Seungcheol could maintain it even through distraction. His father had warned him that this power was not merely technique — it was a matter of will. “Reality bends only for those who believe in what they shape,” Elder Jeon had told him. “The moment you doubt yourself, the dream fractures.”

It wasn’t easy. The first time he attempted to hold a reality-bending projection for more than a minute, his entire body had gone cold, and his consciousness had slipped for a few terrifying seconds. But Jihoon and Elder Jeon were there to anchor him, grounding him back into reality before the spell could consume him.

But little by little, Seungcheol had learned to steady the flow — to let the world bend without shattering. Now, at last, his power was whole again. And for the first time since his return from the palace, his family agreed that he was ready.

As Hyungwon worked beside him, Seungcheol reviewed the plan once more in his mind. Everything had been mapped out to the smallest detail. On the night he would appear, Hyungwon would remain by Jeonghan’s side as usual — his nightly duty as royal butler. Once the Crown Prince drifted into sleep, Seungcheol would come into the room. The dream power would wrap around Jeonghan’s perception, soft and invisible, until every breath, every word, every touch between them existed in reality — but by dawn, would dissolve into haze and be remembered only as a dream.

Seungcheol would stay until Jeonghan’s heartbeat slowed again into slumber, then quietly withdraw. And when Jeonghan awoke, he would remember the night as a fragile dream — vivid but impossible, fading like mist at sunrise.

They had calculated that it would take no more than four weeks to complete his mission, if there were no disruptions. He would appear no more than twice a week, just enough to rebuild the bridge of familiarity without arousing suspicion. After all, if Jeonghan began to notice something unusual, the entire spell could crumble, and Seungcheol couldn’t risk another fracture — not when the prophecy’s time was drawing near.

When the preparations were complete, Hyungwon turned to Seungcheol. “Your Grace, I will make sure everything proceeds smoothly. The Crown Prince will not suspect a thing.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly at that, though his expression carried both gratitude and heaviness. “You’ve always done more for me than I ever asked for, Hyungwon.”

“It is my duty and my honor,” Hyungwon said simply, lowering his head. “You are still the rightful Luna, no matter how much time has passed. I swore to serve you then, and I will continue to do so until the end.”

Seungcheol said nothing more, but his chest tightened slightly. There were moments, in quiet exchanges like this, where the gravity of who he was and what was expected of him weighed heavier than any crown.

The next morning, the mansion stirred early. The Jeon family gathered for breakfast—one last meal together before Seungcheol’s departure. The mood was calm but solemn, a silent understanding hanging in the air. Everyone knew what this mission meant. It wasn’t merely about seeing Jeonghan again. It was about reclaiming his truth, his fate, and his place in the prophecy.

The family gathered in the front hall as the car waited in the courtyard. The early sun filtered through the windows, soft and golden, glinting off the silver insignia embroidered on Seungcheol’s cloak. The atmosphere carried both pride and worry — that bittersweet tension that always came with farewell.

Elder Jeon stood first, his expression solemn but calm. “Remember what we discussed. Your strength lies not only in your magic, but in your restraint. The dream power must never consume you.”

“I understand,” Seungcheol said, bowing deeply. “I’ll be careful, Father.”

Jihoon stepped forward next, pressing a small charm into Seungcheol’s palm — a small crystal, faintly warm to the touch. “If your magic wavers, focus on this. It will help ground your consciousness.”

Seungcheol smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Jihoon-ah. I’ll take good care of it.”

Wonwoo and Mingyu stood beside him then. Wonwoo clasped his shoulder, his touch firm. “Don’t rush your progress. The palace can wait, but your life can’t.”

Mingyu, meanwhile, simply hugged him tightly, burying his face in Seungcheol’s shoulder like the little brother he still was in spirit. “Come back safely, hyung. Don’t make us worry again.”

Seungcheol hugged him back, laughing softly despite the lump in his throat. “I promise.”

At last, he turned to Hyungwon, who was already waiting by the car, overseeing the final preparations. The butler straightened as Seungcheol approached and bowed deeply.

“The route has been cleared, Your Grace. We’ll reach the palace by noon,” Hyungwon reported.

“Good,” Seungcheol replied, his tone quiet but firm. “Then let’s go.”

Hyungwon opened the car door, and Seungcheol paused briefly, turning back to face his family one last time. They stood together on the steps, the morning light bathing them in gold — his father’s calm pride, Jihoon’s quiet focus, Wonwoo’s steadiness, Mingyu’s barely hidden worry.

“I’ll be careful,” Seungcheol said softly, the words carrying both a promise and a prayer. “I’ll return soon, with success.”

Elder Jeon nodded, his voice low but sure. “And we will be waiting, as we always have.”

With that, Seungcheol climbed into the car. Hyungwon followed, closing the door gently behind him.

As the car began to move, the mansion slowly faded from view, the sound of wheels against gravel echoing in steady rhythm. Seungcheol leaned back in his seat, exhaling a quiet breath as he watched the world outside the window slip by.

This time, there would be no fear. No hesitation.

He would walk the line between dreams and waking — a whisper in the shadows of memory — until the truth of his life, his death, and his prophecy finally revealed themselves.

And when that day came, Seungcheol vowed, he would no longer hide behind borrowed faces or borrowed fates. He would stand as himself — as the Luna, as the Crown Prince Consort reborn, and as the man who had defied destiny twice and still lived.

Seungcheol stood before the mirror in complete stillness, his reflection staring back at him with a face he had not worn in years—the face of the Crown Prince Consort. The soft lamplight filled the chamber, casting a golden glow across his pale features, illuminating the familiar line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his lips, and the gaze that once carried the weight of both love and duty. He lifted a trembling hand, fingers brushing against his own cheek as if to confirm that it was truly him.

It was strange, seeing that face again. The last time he had looked like this, he had been younger, filled with both devotion and uncertainty. The royal mirror reflected more than just his features—it reflected time itself, a cascade of memories that came rushing back like an unstoppable tide.

Slowly, his gaze drifted around the room, tracing every detail that had once been a part of his youth. The silken drapes that framed the wide windows. The books on the shelf, arranged by Jeonghan himself years ago when they used to spend long nights studying together. The soft blue carpet by the bed, woven with the royal crest. Every piece of furniture whispered memories he had buried deep in his soul.

His mind flickered with images of the past. The teenage Crown Prince, Jeonghan, smiling brightly as he struggled through sword practice; the quiet afternoons when he would sneak into the palace gardens just to share tea with him; the nights when Jeonghan would bring his work into this very room, insisting that he could think better when Seungcheol was nearby. Those moments had once been his entire world.

Back then, Jeonghan had been soft-hearted and radiant—so full of love, that Seungcheol used to worry he wouldn’t survive the merciless weight of royal politics. And yet, Jeonghan had changed. The next time Seungcheol saw him, when he returned to the palace as Jeonghan’s assistant years later, the young prince he remembered had become someone entirely different. Cold, calculated, refined—every movement precise, every word deliberate. He had become everything the throne demanded him to be.

Even then, Seungcheol couldn’t help himself. He fell for him again, the same way he always had. He had tried to fight it at first, tried to suppress the warmth that bloomed in his chest every time Jeonghan looked his way. But love, he had learned, could never be tamed by reason. Even stripped of memories, even under a new identity and a new face, his heart had remembered.

Now that his memories had fully returned, the irony of it all felt almost cruel. He had fallen in love with the same man twice, under two different lives, and each time, it ended in tragedy. But this time—this time—he vowed things would be different.

His reflection watched as his lips curved faintly into a solemn smile.

The warmth of Jeonghan’s hand, the soft laughter that used to echo in this room, the way he would protect those around him with quiet fierceness—those were the pieces of Jeonghan that Seungcheol carried still. And it was those pieces that drew him back again and again, across lifetimes.

Now, it was his turn to protect Jeonghan—to stand before him as the Luna he was destined to become. But before he could do that, he needed the truth. He needed to uncover what had really happened—why he had died not once, but twice, and why fate seemed to insist on pulling them together only to tear them apart again.

Taking a slow breath, Seungcheol turned away from the mirror. On the chair nearby lay the royal robe Hyungwon had prepared for him earlier—a deep shade of crimson trimmed with gold, embroidered with the Jeon family’s sigil and the Luna’s crest. His fingers brushed over the soft fabric, and for a moment, he hesitated before slowly slipping into it. The weight of the robe settled over his shoulders like a silent promise.

By now, the palace had fallen into silence. Servants were asleep in their quarters, guards patrolled the outer halls, and the stars above glittered like quiet witnesses. Seungcheol had entered the Consort Chamber earlier under the guise of Changkyun, the young guard, ensuring that no one would question his presence. Once inside, protected by layers of wards and secrecy, he shed his false face and became himself again.

The Consort Chamber connected directly to the Crown Prince’s sleeping quarters — a hidden door between them, used long ago so the royal couple could visit each other freely without escort. Standing now in this adjoining room, Seungcheol could hear faint movements beyond the wall: the subtle rustle of sheets, the low hum of Jeonghan’s breathing as he drifted to sleep.

His heartbeat echoed in his ears, steady but fast.

A quiet click came from the connecting door. It opened a fraction, and Hyungwon stepped through, his expression calm but his eyes alight with reverence. He bowed deeply, his voice calm and respectful.

“Your Grace, His Highness has fallen asleep,” Hyungwon reported. “The chamber is prepared. The magical blanket is in place, and the barriers are active. No one will sense the energy from within.”

Seungcheol nodded, inhaling deeply. His hands trembled slightly as he smoothed down the front of his robe. “Is he resting well?”

Hyungwon’s expression softened. “Yes. He fell asleep quickly under the enchantment. The blanket is already absorbing your magic — it will help synchronize the flow when the connection begins.”

“Good,” Seungcheol murmured.

Hyungwon stepped closer, adjusting the drape of Seungcheol’s robe with meticulous care, his movements practiced and precise. “Everything is in place. Once you complete the connection, I will remain outside to guard the chamber. No one will disturb you, Your Grace.”

Seungcheol met his eyes through the mirror, his voice quieter now. “Thank you, Hyungwon. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Hyungwon gave a faint smile. “Serving you is an honor, Your Grace. It always has been.”

With that, he turned toward the connecting door, pushing it open gently. The air from Jeonghan’s chamber drifted softly into the room—warm and faintly scented with lavender. The candles inside were dim, casting long, quiet shadows across the floor.

Seungcheol stepped forward, crossing the threshold into Jeonghan’s chamber. The air was warm, carrying the faint fragrance of chamomile and cedar. The moonlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, bathing the room in pale silver.

And there, lying amidst the silken sheets, was Jeonghan. His hair fanned across the pillow like strands of sunlight dimmed by night. His breathing was slow and even, his features peaceful in sleep — a rare softness that the waking world rarely saw anymore. The faint golden shimmer of the magic-infused fabric glowed softly in the darkness. Seungcheol approached slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He stopped beside the bed, just watching him for a moment. The Crown Prince’s features had matured, but there were traces of the same boy he had loved years ago—the same soft eyelashes, the same faint crease between his brows when he dreamed.

Hyungwon approached the bed quietly, gently lifting the edge of the enchanted blanket. The faint shimmer of magic rippled through the fabric, responding to Seungcheol’s presence.

“Everything is stable,” Hyungwon said quietly. “When you’re ready, Your Grace.”

Seungcheol nodded. His throat felt tight, but he forced himself to breathe slowly. He removed the ornamental clasp of his robe, setting it aside, and climbed carefully onto the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight. Jeonghan didn’t stir.

Once Seungcheol was settled beside him, Hyungwon adjusted the edges of the blanket again, ensuring it covered them both securely before stepping back.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said softly, bowing once more. “May the moon guide your magic, Your Grace.”

As the door closed behind him, the room fell into perfect silence.

Seungcheol lay still for a moment, listening to Jeonghan’s steady breathing. Memories threatened to flood him again, but he forced himself to stay focused. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, drawing on the power within him. The magic pulsed softly under his skin, threads of silvery light coiling and weaving through the air around them.

Then, carefully, he leaned forward, closing the distance until his forehead touched Jeonghan’s. The contact sent a faint spark through the air, and Seungcheol exhaled slowly, letting his power seep into the shared space between them.

The world around Seungcheol shimmered in silver light, delicate threads of magic weaving and pulsing through the air as the dream power deepened its hold. Everything was silent—too silent—except for the sound of his heartbeat echoing softly in his chest and the faint rhythm of Jeonghan’s breathing beside him. The magic had already taken shape, and Seungcheol could feel it wrapping gently around the two of them like a soft veil, separating them from the rest of the world.

Then, through the haze of his concentration, he felt it.

A touch.

Warm fingers brushed gently against his cheek, trembling slightly as they lingered there, hesitant and searching. The warmth spread across his skin like fire under snow, and Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he opened his eyes, the faint glow of the spell still shimmering in his pupils.

Jeonghan was awake.

The Crown Prince’s face hovered only inches away, framed by a cascade of loose hair that glowed pale gold beneath the muted light. His eyes glistened with tears, wide and disbelieving, as though he was staring at a ghost. The way he looked at Seungcheol — like he had been lost for years and just now found his way home — made Seungcheol’s chest ache so sharply it hurt to breathe.

Neither spoke at first. They didn’t need to. Jeonghan’s trembling fingers trailed down Seungcheol’s cheek, tracing the outline as if to reassure himself that what he was seeing wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

Then Jeonghan whispered his name—so softly, so full of disbelief that it broke something inside Seungcheol.

“…Seungcheolie…?”

It was a name carried on trembling lips, a sound half breath and half sob.

Seungcheol couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in his own eyes. The moment he saw Jeonghan’s expression—equal parts sorrow, wonder, and desperate relief—all the walls he had built crumbled away. His lips quivered as a small sob escaped him, and in that instant, Jeonghan moved forward, closing the distance between them with a force that shattered the stillness. His arms wrapped around Seungcheol, pulling him close, and Seungcheol let out a shaky breath before his body instinctively responded, arms sliding around Jeonghan’s shoulders, gripping the back of his robe as though afraid he might vanish.

The moment their bodies touched, warmth flooded through him — familiar, grounding, alive. The scent of cedar and faint jasmine filled his lungs, and every nerve in his body remembered. He melted into the embrace, burying his face in the curve of Jeonghan’s neck as the first wave of sobs tore through him. It had been years since he felt this warmth—this gentle, familiar hold that had once been his home. Jeonghan’s arms were strong and trembling at the same time, the fabric of his robe dampening quickly with tears. This was the same warmth he had known lifetimes ago — the same place where his heart had once found peace.

Neither spoke at first. There were no words strong enough to contain the ache between them. They simply held each other, clinging like two halves of a soul that had finally found its missing piece. Their tears soaked into each other’s robes, indistinguishable.

Neither knew how long they stayed like that — minutes or hours — but time no longer mattered. For that moment, they were simply two souls rediscovering each other after years of loss, held together by a fragile thread of longing and love that had refused to break even through death. The world beyond them faded away, leaving only the sound of their uneven breathing and the faint thrum of Seungcheol’s magic, still pulsing gently around them.

When they finally loosened their hold, their foreheads rested together, both of them still breathing heavily. Jeonghan’s hand came up again, cupping Seungcheol’s face with trembling fingers, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear.

“You’re here…” Jeonghan whispered, his voice shaking, almost childlike.

Seungcheol’s lips quivered into a faint smile. He wanted to speak — to tell Jeonghan everything, to explain how he had come back, why he was here, what destiny awaited them both — but the words refused to come. The sound of Jeonghan’s breathing, the warmth of his hand, the sheer raw emotion in his eyes made everything else feel meaningless.

Then Jeonghan leaned forward slowly, giving Seungcheol time to pull away if he wished. But Seungcheol didn’t. His eyes fluttered closed as Jeonghan’s lips met his.

The kiss was gentle, hesitant at first — a soft press of lips that spoke more of grief and yearning than passion. But it deepened gradually, fueled by the quiet desperation of two hearts that had searched for one another across time and tragedy.

Jeonghan’s hands framed his face, his fingers trembling against Seungcheol’s skin as if trying to memorize the shape of him.

Seungcheol’s heart ached with both joy and sorrow. Every part of him screamed that this wasn’t supposed to happen—that it wasn’t real, that this was a borrowed moment sculpted by magic—but still, he kissed him back.

He let himself feel. The warmth, the taste, the way Jeonghan’s breath trembled against his skin—it all felt too real to deny.

When they pulled apart, neither could speak. Their foreheads remained pressed together, and a soft, breathless laugh escaped Jeonghan’s throat — half disbelief, half joy. Seungcheol responded with a small laugh of his own, and for the first time in years, it felt like laughter born from peace rather than sorrow.

Seungcheol wanted to speak then, to tell him everything—to explain the truth of who he was, of how fate had cruelly torn and rewoven their lives again and again—but the words refused to come. Not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight, he wanted only peace.

So instead, he stayed silent. He let Jeonghan’s fingers trace the line of his cheek and his lips. He let him whisper his name softly, over and over again, like a prayer.

Seungcheol’s hands found their way to Jeonghan’s waist, pulling him closer once more. They laid there, tangled beneath the blanket, their foreheads touching, their voices a quiet chorus of laughter and tears. They spoke in half-sentences and unfinished thoughts, the kind only two souls who had loved and lost each other too many times could understand.

They stayed that way for a long time — trading whispers, half-formed words, and quiet giggles between lingering touches and fleeting kisses. Each time their eyes met, Seungcheol felt another piece of himself settle back into place. It didn’t matter that Jeonghan would forget by morning, that this entire night would blur into the haze of what he believed was only a dream. Right now, this was real. The warmth of Jeonghan’s hand was real. The sound of his voice was real. The love between them, though wrapped in illusion, was real.

Eventually, Seungcheol felt the faint tug within his chest — the first sign that the dream power was fading. His magic had begun to ebb, the threads of energy slowly unraveling. The weight of exhaustion pressed gently over his body, signaling the spell’s end.

Jeonghan’s breathing grew softer again. His eyes, heavy with sleep, fluttered closed as his head came to rest against Seungcheol’s shoulder. Seungcheol tightened his hold for a moment longer, watching him quietly, memorizing every detail of the moment. The warmth of Jeonghan’s body, the curve of his mouth, the faint crease at the corner of his eyes as they relaxed into peaceful slumber.

“Sleep well, my prince…” Seungcheol whispered, his voice barely audible.

Jeonghan’s lips parted slightly, a faint sigh escaping him as he drifted back into slumber, still clutching Seungcheol’s sleeve.

Seungcheol leaned forward then and pressed one last kiss to Jeonghan’s temple — soft, reverent, lingering — before slowly slipping out from under the enchanted blanket. His limbs felt heavy, the toll of the spell catching up to him. His vision swam briefly, but he steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost and took one last look at Jeonghan’s sleeping form before turning toward the door. The air shimmered faintly as he stepped away from the bed, the remnants of magic dissolving into the night.

The soft creak of the hinges was enough to make Hyungwon rise instantly from his post outside. When the butler saw Seungcheol’s face, pale and drained of energy, he immediately rushed forward.

“Your Grace,” Hyungwon exclaimed softly, catching him just as Seungcheol’s knees began to give out.

Seungcheol gave a weak chuckle, leaning against Hyungwon’s shoulder. “I’m fine… just tired.”

But even as he spoke, his body sagged, the exhaustion of maintaining the spell finally catching up to him. Hyungwon’s arms tightened, steadying him effortlessly.

“Please don’t push yourself so far, Your Grace,” Hyungwon murmured, his voice tinged with worry. “The energy you expended tonight was immense.”

Seungcheol smiled faintly, his voice soft as his eyelids grew heavy. “It was worth it, hyung... I saw him… I held him. He smiled again...”

Hyungwon’s expression softened, though his brow remained furrowed with concern. “Let’s get you back to your chambers, Your Grace. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

Seungcheol only nodded weakly, allowing Hyungwon to carry him through the quiet corridors. The palace was silent at this hour, the moonlight spilling across the polished floors in soft silver streaks.

When they finally reached the secret chamber, Hyungwon laid Seungcheol carefully upon the bed, removing his robe and covering him with a blanket. Seungcheol’s eyelids fluttered, and for a brief moment, he looked toward the window where the first faint hint of dawn was beginning to touch the sky.

Hyungwon stood beside the bed, bowing his head slightly. “Sleep well, Your Grace. You’ve done well tonight.”

And as Seungcheol’s eyes finally closed, surrendering to the pull of sleep, the faintest glimmer of moonlight fell across his face. His magic pulsed one last time — a heartbeat of light, soft and pure — before fading into stillness.

And in the quiet that followed, Seungcheol stirred faintly, his lips parting to whisper Jeonghan’s name — a fragile echo of the night that had once again entwined two souls fated to find each other, no matter how many lifetimes it took.