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No one went to the witch’s tower unless you were prepared to pay the price.
But the famine was starting to decimate the outer farmlands of the kingdom, war was impending, and people were dying. And King Junmyeon was desperate.
He notified no advisor of his plan, just he and Chanyeol—his most loyal knight—leaving with no warning.
The sky was painted with twilight shades as they reached the tower, a hulking thing made of obsidian and gnarled wood. Ancient. Alive.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Majesty?” came a mocking voice.
Chanyeol turned, and there stood a young man in dark robes, not much younger than Chanyeol himself. He was barefoot in the grass and carried a small basket with bundles of herbs. His dark hair caught the fading dusk sunlight. He looked nothing like the stories that were told about him. Instead, he looked not of this world. He looked—
Beautiful, Chanyeol thought, before silencing that traitorous voice in his head. He wasn’t allowed to want beautiful things.
“Witch Sehun,” Junmyeon began. He stiffened, unsure whether or not to bow.
“Don’t posture,” Sehun huffed, done with this interaction already. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“My land is dying,” Junmyeon snapped. “The rot has set in, and nothing will grow. The people are restless, and children are starving. I know that you are the only one who can help. But I know you’ll only do it in exchange for something else.”
“So you have heard the stories, Your Highness,” Sehun said, almost amused. “Are you prepared to pay the price?”
“Yes,” Junmyeon said. “Name it. I will pay anything for my kingdom.”
Sehun flicked to Chanyeol, a small smile on his face.
“I want your knight,” Sehun answered.
The statement landed like a boulder landing in still water.
“You want Chanyeol?” Junmyeon asked in disbelief.
“For what?” Chanyeol gritted his teeth. “A servant? A prisoner?”
“I have no use for either,” Sehun held Chanyeol’s gaze. “I want you as my husband.”
“You cannot possibly consider this,” Chanyeol snapped, looking to Junmyeon.
But Junmyeon refused to meet his eyes.
That night, the witch’s tower opened like it was expecting him.
Chanyeol tried not to think about that as he ascended the seemingly unending staircase. He had snuck out of the small camp he and Junmyeon made in the middle of the night. He was still angry at being named the price for a miracle. But something much more dangerous rooted in his chest.
Curiosity.
He reached what looked like an atrium at the top of the tower.
Sehun stood in the middle of it barefoot, in a circle that glowed with green light. His hands were raised like he was casting a spell. Chanyeol tried not to stare in awe. The witch stiffened, sensing Chanyeol’s presence.
His arms dropped. “The tower usually doesn’t let anyone in without notifying me. Interesting.”
“I want to talk.”
“It couldn’t wait until morning?”
“No.”
Sehun stepped away from the circle, the otherworldly green light dimming until all that was left was him, Chanyeol, and the moonlight.
“I need to know what you want from me,” Chanyeol said. “You could have asked anything of Junmyeon and he would have given it to you—gold, power, a seat in court. What do you want from me?”
“I do not ask anything of you, Chanyeol,” the witch said.
“Then why—”
“It’s simple, is it not?” Sehun cut in. “I saw you and I saw the rest of my life. You are someone bound by the sword, by blood, by duty— but you were never just wanted for you.”
Whatever rebuttal, whatever angry or spite-filled thing that was about to come out of Chanyeol’s mouth died in his throat.
“I cannot give you glory,” Sehun said. “I cannot give you power or riches.” Sehun pressed a hand to his chest. “But I can give you myself. My magic. And the promise that I will choose you every time. Not for what you can give me, but just as yourself.”
The words were between them like the scent of the sweetest flower that Chanyeol desperately wanted to breathe in.
Chanyeol had always been wanted for something—his prowess on the battlefield, his loyalty, even his connection to Junmyeon. He was familiar with the poisoned saccharine words that dripped from the members of the court. But Sehun’s words didn’t betray any show of insincerity, only Sehun’s eyes reflecting the moonlight.
And just like that, Chanyeol fell. Just a little.
“Ask me properly then, witch,” Chanyeol said, voice steady in the way his heartbeat wasn’t.
Sehun tilted his head curiously.
“Ask me properly,” Chanyeol repeated, softer this time. “Not as a bargain, or a favor. You say you’ll choose me for myself. Prove it.”
He stepped closer to the other man, so close that he could hear Sehun’s breath hitch in surprise. Like no one had ever been this close before. Because they never dared. For the first time since meeting, Sehun’s cool and detached demeanor faltered, revealing something else underneath. Something vulnerable. Sehun’s large, dark eyes widened, and Chanyeol could see himself reflected in them.
Beautiful, Chanyeol thought, and this time Chanyeol didn’t bury it.
“Chanyeol,” Sehun whispered. “Will you do me the honor of being my husband? Not to rule, or to be used, but to stand beside me?”
Chanyeol lifted a hand and placed it gently on Sehun’s cheek. The witch gave a barely imperceptible sigh and leaned into the touch, just a little.
“I will marry you,” Chanyeol answered, with tenderness that he forgot he possessed, something buried under years of fighting and duty. “Not for Junmyeon or the kingdom, but because I choose you, too.”
Sehun leaned in, foreheads touching. But no kiss, not yet. There would be plenty of time for that later. Just a moment, just breath and touch on the edge of forever.