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Siwoo knew the banner on the horizon better than most.
It was the same banner that flew overhead on the day he was proposed to for the second time. It was the banner that flew overhead on the day he said yes.
There was a time when those colors, that shimmering golden crest dashed with black and white, would spark excitement within him. Later, it would provide him comfort, a sense of belonging and home to a man who knew firsthand how fickle both concepts could be. Now, his reaction to the flag fluttering just outside of the kingdom walls could be efficiently summarized in a single word:
“Fuck.”
Siwoo scurried down from the roost, crimson fabric fluttering around him as he dashed down the spiral staircase to the throne room. Upon arrival, he was met by the sight of a guard presenting what he could only imagine was the same news he'd just discovered to a crown prince who was frantically pacing in distress.
“For the love of God, Prince Jiwoo, sit down,” Siwoo chided. “A reigning monarch must never rise to his feet in the company of others, outside of dire circumstances.”
“Sorry,” Jiwoo moped, plopping himself down on the Nongshim throne. “Are the circumstances not dire, though?”
“We don't know yet,” Siwoo assured both Jiwoo and himself, “Let's hope for the best.”
“It's Gen.G,” the crown prince said with so much dread that it made Siwoo reevaluate his approach altogether: to him, the kingdom whose troops lined their walls was a known entity under unknown command. To Jiwoo, it had never been anything more than a threat.
Softening his tone, Siwoo placed a comforting hand onto Jiwoo’s shoulder. “They should send an envoy stating their business promptly.”
“And if they don’t?”
Siwoo swallowed thickly. He could recall exactly what happened when a kingdom arrived at the capital unannounced and without envoy, with no demands - only desires. He recalled the smell of iron, the pounding footsteps, the slowly sinking feeling of inevitable loss, the sting of defeat. The look on Jiwoo’s face now was nearly identical to the one Youngjae had worn back then.
General Hwang Seunghoon burst into their throne room. Siwoo blinked, and his blue and silver armor was now the familiar garb of red and black.
“Your Highnesses,” he greeted from bended knee.
“Give me hope, Seunghoon,” Siwoo pleaded hoarsely.
The general was happy to comply. “An envoy from Gen.G is requesting an audience.”
Relief crashed over Siwoo as a sigh left his lips. He positioned himself at the throne’s right hand. “Send him in.”
For better or worse, the man whom Seunghoon ushered through the doors was unfamiliar: a tall, sturdy man with rounded spectacles. He folded himself into a curt bow that seemed to be directed more toward Siwoo than its rightful recipient in the prince.
“Your Majesty.”
“Just Highness for now,” Siwoo corrected tensely. The term ‘Majesty’ was only appropriate for a reigning monarch or his spouse - until Prince Jiwoo’s official coronation in the coming months, the address was above his standing.
The emissary hesitated briefly before stooping into an underwhelming second bow. “A thousand apologies, Your Highness. Pray, forgive the discourtesy.”
“State your business, and I’ll consider it.”
“If it pleases you, my name is Joo Minkyu. I bear a message from the King of Gen.G.”
Siwoo's grip on Jiwoo’s shoulder tightened into a fierce hold. King of Gen.G. It had been years since anyone held that title, not since before Suhwannie was born. There hadn't been a king of Gen.G since Siwoo himself was…
“The King requests the return of his queen to his royal court posthaste.”
Siwoo felt lightheaded. It was as if someone else was standing in that throne room, in his body, in his shoes, while his soul was somewhere else entirely. “There is no queen of Gen.G here,” Siwoo’s body replied of its own volition. “You stand before Prince Jiwoo of Nongshim and his loyal regent.”
The emissary - Minkyu - winced slightly, as if regretful it came to this. “I’m afraid the King insists. You are to return with me to Gen.G immediately.”
“And if he refuses?” Jiwoo interjected in the first words he'd spoken since Minkyu’s entrance. His tone was firm and regal, and Siwoo found it in himself to be proud of Jiwoo's composed front despite his earlier terror, even if he already knew the answer to his question.
Siwoo squeezed Jiwoo's shoulder once more as he asked the envoy, “How many men have you brought?”
“Enough to surround the kingdom walls,” Minkyu informed levelly, “which, as you know, is a mere fraction of our reserve.”
“And if I go quietly, you’ll withdraw at once?”
“His only demand was the queen’s return.”
Uncurling his fingers, Siwoo stepped steadily down from the thrones elevated platform. “Well, that settles it, then.”
Jiwoo grabbed at the skirt of Siwoo’s robes. “Hyung…”
“Your Highness,” Siwoo returned, tone edged on a warning. His fond gaze contained an entire lecture on not behaving childishly in front of foreign emissaries.
Jiwoo cleared his throat feebly. “Should we not discuss this first?”
“What's there to discuss?” With a laugh, Siwoo removed Jiwoo’s hand, holding it gently as he vowed, “Don’t worry. I’ll come back to you soon.”
They both knew that the certainty of those words was entirely out of their hands.
As he reached the main level, Siwoo walked pointedly past Minkyu, instead directing his attention to Seunghoon, still vigilantly stationed by the door. Softly, he urged, “Take care of His Highness for me,” and the general graced him with an understanding nod.
With that addressed, Siwoo faced the throne once more, dipping into a low, reverent curtsy as he smiled toward the Nongshim throne for what he hoped would not be the last time. Finally, he slotted his arm into the elbow of the waiting emissary.
“Lead the way.”
Minkyu nodded, commencing his slow and respectful escort from the premises. Siwoo gazed out the windows at the kingdom below as they went. In the short time he'd lived there, he'd grown quite fond of Nongshim. It was a quaint little kingdom, and unlike so many other places, he'd always felt welcome there.
“I must inform you that His Majesty the King was quite insistent on getting you home as soon as possible,” Minkyu stated as they approached the gold-adorned carriage. “Unfortunately, we will not be stopping for the night. We shall arrive by midday tomorrow.”
“All the better,” Siwoo smiled tersely as he climbed into the compartment. “We shan’t keep His Majesty waiting.”
After latching the carriage shut from the outside, Minkyu let himself into the front, gazing back over his shoulder with what might have been a sympathetic glance. “You’d best get some sleep, Highness. It’s a long trip.”
“I know,” Siwoo sighed, gazing through the tainted glass, resting his forehead against the window as it rattled past the kingdom gates. “It’s a journey I’ve made before.”
Siwoo was honestly not too surprised to be met with shackles when he emerged from the carriage at the Gen.G palace gates. He was, however, surprised that said shackles included being chained by the neck.
“It was a special request by His Majesty,” Minkyu explained apologetically as he fastened the golden binding in place around Siwoo's throat, “as was this. I truly am sorry.”
Years of regal training allowed Siwoo to remain seemingly indifferent, head held high as the coal and iron of a branding kit appeared before him. He even had the poise to quip, “This hardly feels like proper treatment for a queen,” as the stamp was pressed to the flame, heated until the tip of the metal glowed with scorching oranges and blinding yellows.
The crimson skirt of Siwoo’s garment was gashed up to the hip - had he been wearing one of his Gen.G attires, no doubt the cloth would need to be cut with a sword, but the Nongshim material was cheap enough to be torn by hand. He didn't mind the sun on his now bared leg, not until the heat of the metal brand seared into his upper thigh and released the scent of burning flesh.
Siwoo ground his teeth, but did not cry out. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He had suffered through childbirth unmedicated. He had made a home, a family that he loved with his whole heart, and had them torn from his arms by the toils of war not once, but twice. Compared to that pain, a tiny burn was nothing.
He was curious, though, as the iron was removed, what brand had been chosen to mark his crime. He was familiar with some of the codes: “I” was for Insolence. “T” was for Treason. “D” was for dereliction of duty, or more simply put, defection.
It turned out that no letter had been assigned to Siwoo. Instead, seared into his skin was a simple image of the Gen.G crest.
Siwoo ran his fingertips over the emblem, and only then did he wince at the pain. It was odd for a brand to be placed in such a concealed location, mere inches down from the curve of his hip.
Tugging at the slit in his skirt, Siwoo sourly wondered if perhaps that location would not remain concealed for much longer.
His gaze was forcefully redirected as a guard lightly tugged on the chain attached to his throat. “The king will see you now,” Minkyu informed, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor as a small entourage of guards paraded Siwoo through the palace halls.
It was a bizarre experience, being escorted through the same building he once ruled, this time as a prisoner. This was the same hall he had once chased Youngjae down back when he was a toddler whose solution to any encounter he didn't want to have was running away at top speed ("Wonder where he got that from," Jaehyuk had joked between rugged breaths, recently-caught Youngjae writhing and squealing in his arms. Siwoo had rolled his eyes, but kissed him anyway). On the right was the ballroom he had danced with his husband in, both publicly and privately: all too often, Siwoo would drag him into a final waltz once their guests had already gone home. Down that hall there was the nursery where Suhwan had taken his first steps with only Siwoo around to see them, and Siwoo had cried so hard it made Suhwan start crying, too. He had held his son close until that moment passed, just as all moments pass, eventually. Those times were gone, now - distant memories growing stale in the fresh sunlight.
Siwoo belatedly processed the fact that he was limping slightly - as much as he was trying to ignore the burn on his upper right leg, his muscles had very much noticed the wound. Still, he refused to be daunted by it, resolving to maintain collected until the very end.
Then he saw Kim Geonbu guarding the throne room doors, and Siwoo’s indifferent facade shattered in an instant.
Shoving a guard aside with his full body weight, Siwoo rushed up to his former general, frantically pleading.
“Geonbu, tell me Suhwannie’s not here. Tell me you got him out, that they don't have him.”
Geonbu didn't look him in the eye. The memory of the last day Siwoo had been in this palace, the day when he had entrusted Geonbu with the safety of his son, was still fresh, and he could recite every word of the vow he received in return:
“I have already lost one prince,” Geonbu had sworn, eyes wet and yet simultaneously burning. “I will not lose another.”
Siwoo wanted nothing more than to spit those words back in Geonbu's face now, to accuse him of taking his deceased liege in vain, but then Geonbu mumbled, so quietly that Siwoo could barely hear it, “We don't have Suhwan.”
Siwoo staggered backward at the confession. He should have felt relief that his son was not facing the same harsh treatment that he was, but what he felt most was uncertainty. Surely, Siwoo's captors would have searched for Suhwan, as well. If they were unable to find him, then how far away was he?
After a short delay, the calm caught up with him. If they don't have Suhwan, they have nothing on me, Siwoo realized. My children are safe. My husband is dead. My own life means nothing.
Siwoo nodded to himself, mentally repeating that mantra as he faced the throne room doors and prepared to die. He did vaguely wonder what might happen after his demise - despite Siwoo’s own wishes, Youngjae would almost certainly try to avenge his mother's death. Maybe he'd find his way onto a throne one day, if he continued to garner the favor of the Kwangdong heir, and then over King Kiin’s dead body, he could officially wage war on Gen.G. Maybe Jiwoo and the Nongshim forces would aid him.
It was a foolish thought, a distant dream, but maybe if the underdog alliance of Kwangdong and Nongshim won that fight, Suhwannie could return to Gen.G. Then, all three kingdoms could live in harmony, united and ruled by Siwoo’s own progeny.
That was the last thought Siwoo reached as the grand doors opened.
Siwoo stepped forward boldly, chains clinking freely as he raised his chin toward the throne. The seat was turned away from him, and a nearby guard ordered him in booming voice:
“Kneel before your king.”
Siwoo simply smirked. “I see no kings here.”
Silence fell over the throne room. Astounded, the same guard insisted, “You stand before the King of Gen.G!”
“I stand before an idiot,” Siwoo scoffed, “Do you honestly think forcing me into marriage is enough to call yourself king? Good fucking luck. The Elders hate me - always have. They'd never acknowledge your claim to the throne as legitimate. The only reason Suhwan could claim the throne was that he was of the Park bloodline, and even then he was only a prince. ‘King of Gen.G’... Don’t make me laugh. Only one man can claim that title, and even dead, he's thrice the man you'll ever be.”
“Dead?” came a curious voice from behind the throne.
“If he was alive, you wouldn't be doing this. You wouldn’t dare.” Siwoo basked in the words, in the power of their threat, in the memory of the strength he once held. “Well? Are you going to let me join my husband? If you know my history, you'll know I'm not afraid to turn down a proposal, regardless of the consequences. I'd sooner die than marry a fool like you.”
Siwoo stood his ground as punctuation, confident that whatever happened next, he would be ready for it. He couldn't be more wrong.
“I'm afraid it's a bit late for that, darling.”
Only after those words left his lips did Siwoo recognize the voice, causing his heart to leap into his tethered throat and then stop altogether. When the throne swiveled around to reveal its occupant was exactly who Siwoo thought it was, the former queen’s knees buckled beneath him.
“Jaehyuk?”
“Siwoo,” the king greeted sweetly, not even attempting to hide the infinitely amused, incurably fond grin on his face. “You stand before the rightful King of Gen.G.”
Siwoo fell to his knees immediately, ducking his head into a repentant grovel. “Your Majesty.”
Evidently satisfied, Jaehyuk made a vague gesture to his guards. “Leave us.”
Siwoo held his position as the others vacated the room, feeling the subtle tug on his neck as Minkyu passed off the chain to the seated Jaehyuk before bowing and exiting. Then, it was just them.
“Come here.”
Siwoo obeyed unquestioningly, dashing up the stairs to kneel once more at his husband’s feet, this time resting his arms on Jaehyuk’s lap.
“Stranger with my husband’s face,” Siwoo accused incredulously, “Tell me something only he would know.”
“And what could that possibly be?” Jaehyuk teased, carding his fingers through Siwoo’s hair. “What part of yourself have you given to me that you haven't already shown to someone else?”
Siwoo puffed his lips into a pout. “You can't prove it, then.”
After a moment of contemplation, Jaehyuk decided, “How’s this: Youngjae was not conceived during the proper heir production ritual, because someone couldn't resist stringing themselves up in ribbon for my birthday.”
Siwoo flushed at the memory, and by God, it had been so long since he'd last had that warm sensation stirring his insides, that playful desire setting him alight.
Jaehyuk smiled down at him and tapped his nose gently. “We had to bribe the head priest into calling for the ritual at once. You didn't cum during the ceremony, but faked an orgasm no less than three times.”
“Four, actually.”
“The Elders were not very pleased with us.”
“The Elders can kiss my ass,” Siwoo huffed, “That ceremony was stupid, anyway.”
“I made it up to you afterward, though,” Jaehyuk reminded, finally tugging Siwoo up onto his lap, onto his throne, into his arms. “Bent you over the railing of the grand staircase, made you moan like a proper imperial whore.”
Siwoo sighed dreamily. “I remember.”
Squeezing Siwoo’s hips, Jaehyuk goaded, “Are you convinced that I'm the same man who did all that, or do you require further proof?”
“My liege,” Siwoo moaned, “my husband.” He couldn't resist kissing him or pulling him closer any longer, if only to convince himself it wasn't a dream. “You came back.”
“You didn't,” Jaehyuk accused pointedly. “Not of your own volition, anyway.”
Siwoo pulled back at the words, his wounded expression matching Jaehyuk’s tone. “I did! I came back as soon as I could. I had no choice but to leave again.”
“I'm sure,” was Jaehyuk's curt response. Then, in careful, deliberate words, he inquired, “Whose heir did you put on my throne, Son Siwoo?”
Siwoo's stomach sank. “Yours, my liege - Suhwan is your son. That's the only reason the Council accepted him.”
“Why him over our firstborn?”
It was only after the second question that the gravity of Jaehyuk’s doubt fully hit Siwoo. Desperately, he tried, “Youngjae wanted to stay in KT. It was his choice, not mine. I would have gladly had him on the throne, but he wanted to keep training under Boseong’s care.” Curling his fingers around the gash in his skirt, toward his recently singed skin, he demanded, “Is that the reason for all the theatrics? You doubt my loyalty?”
Jaehyuk's expression held sternly. “I didn't know you were with child when we parted ways.”
“Neither did I,” Siwoo confessed, “God, Hyuk-ah, you have no idea how I felt, not knowing when or if I'd ever see you again, then finding out I was carrying your child. Wondering if he'd ever have a father.”
“Wangho seemed to fill that role well enough,” Jaehyuk rasped bitterly.
Increasingly exasperated, Siwoo demanded, “You can't blame me for not knowing about Wangho. He had us all fooled.”
Jaehyuk gazed back vacantly, gently tugging on the chain around Siwoo’s neck. “Perhaps he wasn't the only one.”
“Jaehyuk,” Siwoo begged, “Tell me you aren't so paranoid...”
Jaehyuk said nothing, and really, that said everything.
Siwoo couldn't help but explode after that, hysterical to a point near tears. “What, was our entire marriage just a long con? It was all just an elaborate scheme to put Dohyun’s son on your throne? Is that what you think?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” Jaehyuk shouted back, equally outraged. “I find out that one of my most trusted advisors was actually loyal to my greatest enemy, the same enemy that not only rules the home of my beloved queen, but courted him for years. Everyone was shocked when you rejected Dohyun’s proposal, myself included. This would explain it perfectly.”
“I rejected Dohyun's proposal because I didn't love him! I thought I made that abundantly clear. I've always cared about people more than politics.” Siwoo was fully crying at this point, confessing through the tears, “I loved you, Jaehyuk.”
Jaehyuk couldn't help but cry, too, abandoning any last trace of his kingly visage in the face of raw, unbridled heartbreak. “Then why did you leave? I came back expecting to be welcomed by my lovely queen, who'd been ruling the kingdom in my absence alongside my alleged heir. I was instead greeted by an empty palace and the news that they’d both fled upon my return.”
Siwoo shook his head and whispered: “I saw that JDG banner on the horizon and thought it was Jinhyuk coming to destroy the last of what you love.”
Jaehyuk's face folded with understanding. He patted Siwoo's back as his shoulders shook.
“I was terrified, Jaehyuk. I didn't want to lose my family again.”
Jaehyuk hugged him close. All he could say was, “I'm so sorry.”
With a final sniffle, Siwoo began to dry his eyes. Regaining his sense, he questioned, “Park Jaehyuk, was your plan for today to fuck me first, then accuse me of treason later?”
With a laugh and last sniffle of his own, Jaehyuk sheepishly confessed, “I thought it would go more smoothly if you were worn out.”
Sagely, Siwoo nodded. “You don't have to believe me, but you should. I ran because that's all I know how to do.”
“I want to believe you,” Jaehyuk insisted, voice wrought with hurt. “I just don't know if I can.”
“Kill me, then. Execute me as a traitor. I've never had any question of who I belong to. It's not Dohyun, and it's certainly not Hanwha.” Siwoo cupped Jaehyuk's face, declaring with full confidence, “My life is yours to take, however you want it.”
“...Maybe I was a fool to marry you,” Jaehyuk decided finally. “Maybe I still am one, just like you said. But I don't even care if it dooms my entire kingdom as long as I can hold you close.”
He kissed Siwoo before he could whine about how sappy that was, cutting any complaints short with a passionate, drawn-out embrace. All the tension from the past day completely dropped from Siwoo’s shoulders, as for the first time in years, he finally felt like he was home.
As they broke apart, Siwoo couldn't help but laugh. “The funny thing is, if you ever met Suhwannie, you'd have no doubts about his parentage. He's so much like you, Jaehyuk. He made me think of you every single day. If Youngjae is my son, then Suhwan is very much yours.”
“I can't wait to meet him someday,” Jaehyuk gushed, tentatively slipping his arm under Siwoo’s knees. “For now, can I take you to our chambers and show you exactly how much I've missed you?”
Siwoo beamed against Jaehyuk’s shoulder, welcoming the familiar press of lips against the crook of his neck.
“Take me home.”
The morning sun danced across the sheets of the Gen.G palace in the same old pattern, and Siwoo enjoyed it from his same old position: firmly within Jaehyuk's shadow, still partially being spooned. Unlike usual, though, Siwoo's mind had drifted elsewhere.
“My liege?”
“My love?” Jaehyuk returned, planting a kiss onto Siwoo’s bare shoulder.
“I need to leave.”
Jaehyuk's ongoing caress of Siwoo’s hip came to a slow halt. “What?”
“I need to return to Nongshim,” Siwoo explained, “I made a vow to their prince that I'd lend him my aid in the coming months.”
Jaehyuk's expression darkened. “A vow.”
“Not like that,” Siwoo sighed, “He's a child, Jaehyuk. Jiwoo's like a son to me.”
That comment only seemed to pain Jaehyuk more. “You already have sons. I gave you sons!” Diligently, he pulled Siwoo close. “I could give you another.”
“That's not the point.” Siwoo shoved away the incoming wave of physical affection from his spouse before thinking the better of it and pulling Jaehyuk close, even as he continued, “The point is that he needs me, far more than you need me here.”
Jaehyuk gazed down at Siwoo dejectedly, yet with a tragic degree of understanding. “When you leave, you take my heart with you.”
Siwoo smiled sadly at the sentiment. “There are worse things for a king to be than heartless.”
Humming in non-committal agreement, Jaehyuk mumbled, “I'll have Minkyu escort you back and establish a proper alliance with Nongshim.”
“I'd appreciate it, especially since I'd like the chance to get to know him outside of our - shall we say, heated introduction?” Siwoo tapped his fingers against his Gen.G-branded thigh for emphasis.
Flushed, Jaehyuk admitted, “I wanted to remind you who you belong to.”
“Right,” Siwoo laughed, pulling Jaehyuk down for another kiss. “As if I could possibly forget.”
Suhwan shivered in the shadows and prayed that the footsteps in the warehouse would pass. Being deep within enemy territory, he refused to let his guard down even within the confines of what had been designated as a family safehouse.
“Jaehyuk?” a voice called, and Suhwan stilled himself. “Jaehyuk, is that you? It’s only me.”
Ducking out from his hiding place, Suhwan meekly approached the voice, finally finding its owner in a small, resolute man who jumped about a foot and shrieked upon locking eyes with him.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Suhwan cautiously answered the question with one of his own. “You knew my father?”
“Father?” Lou Yunfeng exclaimed, before his eyes went wide with realization. “Holy shit. You’re…”
He shook away the thought, ushering Suhwan closer without needing further explanation. “Come with me. Yes, I knew your father. I kept him safe, and don’t worry - I’ll do the same for you.”