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Over the course of his life, the Prince heard all manner of stories about the fearsome Weiying dragon, who resided just beyond the kingdom’s walls.
With a mere gaze he could cause a child to dissolve into tears—his temper was ferocious and made flames erupt from his frame, burning any lowly life who got too close—he had an insatiable appetite—and the rumours went on and on…
Though these rumours weren’t untrue, to be sure, Prince Felix’s perspective differed. The dragon’s mark, carved into one of the outer castle walls felt more like a good omen each time he spotted it from the window of a fast moving carriage, catching it in quick glimpses. And the Queen, though weary, reminded Felix of the fateful day the dragon saved him as a young child—he was too young to remember it himself.
“You don’t need to fear him,” she’d tell him, stroking his hair in the soft glow of the lamplight, past his bedtime, in a room much too big for one boy. So Felix would stall and get her to tell him another story, just one, and with a sigh she’d say, “We’re indebted to the Weiying dragon—if not for him catching you as you fell from a great, great height, after running away and worrying half the kingdom, there would be no sparkling emerald prince for me to tuck in…”
So the story went. He held the barely-there memory with a reverence— staring up at the inky night sky from the highest point in the castle he could, even as he grew older, Prince Felix waited for the elusive figure dyed in shades of warm red.
It happened when he least expected—one summery dusk a week after the Prince’s twenty-first birthday.
He’d just made the climb up to the highest point of the castle, which led out to a small balcony. He’d decorated the stony interior, a small space, as his own private attic room. His own room felt a little like a big birdcage, beautiful and stifling. Against the wishes of his parents, he lugged up furniture—a chaise long to sit on, a low coffee table that balanced books and a candle stand, an old shelf he’d spotted in the library with half-rotted wood to hold his treasures. Even now, as an adult, he still sometimes came up here in the hopes of spotting a dark silhouette, a winged creature circling the spires of the castle.
But he didn’t expect it that summer night. And he expected even less that the dragon would appear before him as a handsome man. He squinted towards the setting sun, the wind cool on his skin after a sticky-warm day, and then a figure eclipsed the dusk, getting closer and closer until a man with long, striking crimson hair burning away into black at the braid’s end, and dragon wings and an all sharp smile, hovered above him. Like an angel, Felix thought, even as he startled and stumbled back from sheer shock.
He blinked, blinked again, raised his hand to point at the wings he’d envisioned in sleepy stupors and nonsensical dreams, and said: “You’re—you’re the—!”
The man (dragon? Dragon-man?) grinned. “I need you to do a job for me.”
Any wonderment ceased, then. He blinked some more. “...What?” People seldom ordered the prince around.
“It’s part of the contract, you know? You work for me,” he said, sitting himself down on the balcony’s concrete ledge, crossing his legs and leaning forward.
There were whisperings of the dragon’s mark being a royal contract. Felix only knew some of the details, and now it struck him how stupid he’d been to never have bothered to ask his mother what that entailed. And now, here he was, taken aback and floundering for a response.
“Is that so?”
The gaze of this Weiying dragon pierced through Felix, sharp like his fangs. He glanced off to the side and coughed.
“Uhuh.” And then: “I’m Vein.”
“Well,” he said after a long, stilted silence, “I usually hate owing favours and the like, but I’ll make an exception for you, I guess.” He had saved the Prince’s life, after all.
And strangely, Vein laughed and ruffled his hair like he was a child (or maybe a pet) and Felix’s stomach flipped, and thus began their relationship— ostensibly boss and employee, in actuality, something far more than he could put into words.
At the very least, Vein became a sure-fire distraction and escape from his stifling Princely obligations.
“Laoban, how about you kidnap me?” Prince Felix piped up, sprawled on the chaise long, setting down a gold brooch he was fiddling with. Vein sat on the floor over a rug he’d given Felix, to spruce the place up, he’d said; he glanced up from the book— mahjong secrets and strategies, fifth edition —and gave the Prince one of his raised-brows, questioning-frown expressions.
“Eh?”
“The castle is tiring me out—do you know how many randos I have to meet in a day? I need a break. Take me with you next time you come, okay?”
Vein hummed, the syllable stretching long, a little melodic. “Sure,” he said, after what seemed like deep consideration. “I’ll kidnap you.”
Prince Felix cheered. “Alright!”
A few nights later, Vein kept word to his promise.
Felix was sleeping peacefully, safe under plush blankets and in a luxurious, soft silk pyjama set, and then a noise roused him. It sounded like the heavy metal latch of one of the big windows overlooking the balcony being undone; but security in the castle was top notch, so it didn’t raise any alarm bells. The prince rolled over onto his side, burrowing further underneath the warm duvets. What did cause him concern was a gust of wind, cold air chilling the tip of his nose. He stirred, then, eyes barely half opened and adjusting to the dark—settling on a familiar silhouette back-lit by faint moonlight—when his eyes were covered and his vision reduced to total blackness. Felix’s whole body tensed up, the collar of his pyjama shirt sliding against his skin and exposing more of his collarbone to the cool air as he flailed his arms in front of him.
“What the—”
“Shhh,” a low voice hushed him, warm breath fanning the side of his face. “Don’t make a sound.”
His brows creased, and his arm dropped back to the bed. “Laoban? What are you—”
A finger pressed firm against his lips. Prince Felix could hear the delighted smirk in Vein’s voice as he said: “I’m kidnapping you. Now, you could make it easy for me and come quietly, or kick up a fuss and let the whole kingdom know…”
Maybe he should have known Vein would take his one off comment seriously. Or rather, Vein seemed to be the sort of person who took things to their logical extreme for the sake of sheer amusement (and perhaps boredom—the prince hadn’t asked exactly how long Vein had been around). Still sleepy, he held back a sigh.
“I can’t believe this is happening. Fine, steal me away then.”
He didn’t let Vein know the secret thrill that began to buzz in his chest at the novelty of this whole thing—of Vein breaking in and disrupting the monotony of his life with something unexpected. Without thinking, he lifted his hand up to check what Vein covered his eyes with, but before he could, fingers snaked around his wrist, yanking them back down. Vein tutted, and all of a sudden both wrists were bound together by coarse rope and Vein hauled him up and out of his bed.
Felix stumbled to his feet, flustered when hands curled just below his ribcage to right him before he could fall. Vein’s low chuckle reverberated in his skull, his whole body buzzing now. How could he be this excited over being fake-kidnapped? He couldn’t dwell on it for long though, because without warning Vein scooped him up bridal style. Felix let out a little yelp—his eyes were covered and hands tied together, so his sense of balance and direction was all wrong. They could have been by the large bay windows or right beside his four poster bed. There was no way to tell.
But he did notice the shift in temperature, from his room out into the night air—Vein no doubt leaving with Felix from where he entered from, the balcony. The midnight chill had woken him up some more, and the Prince hadn’t given much for the dragon to work with. So he began to play along.
“There’s no way you’ll be able to get away with abducting me, the favoured emerald prince—I could never let you fly away with me and take me to your dingy lair, even if it’s you laoban—” it was difficult to squirm or struggle with the vice-like grip Vein had on him, almost protective, so he raised his voice— “Help me! Help, someone—”
A strong gust of wind, and the distinct sound of wings flapping, propelled them up into the air. Vein took flight and the force of it shut him up. But within seconds he started shouting again, slightly muffled with how close he was nuzzled into Vein’s shoulder. Close enough to smell something smoky, like the embers of a fire, yet tinged with warm spice.
Vein removed his blindfold at last, which gladdened the Prince, but in exchange a hand clamped over his mouth. And Vein’s expression, a little difficult to make out in the dark, seemed both amused and unimpressed.
“You’ll pay a hefty price later for making my job more difficult—”
Felix could hardly voice his complaints, so he resorted to incoherent yelling despite his mouth being covered. Vein tutted, and then his eyes lit up, as red as rubies, and an incantation left his lips. Not more than a second later, the Prince’s eyelids were heavier than they’d ever been. His body sank into the dragon’s partial embrace. The wind kissed his skin and the night sang; starlight above them and a faint owl’s call beyond; the lullaby of shifting leaves in the breeze a blanket on the Prince’s burdened body and soul.
Like that, he fell asleep.
From his enchanted slumber, Prince Felix awoke. The first thing he set his eyes on were his captor’s relaxed, smiling face, backgrounded by the deep reds and blacks and browns of the lair. On instinct, he lifted his arms up to stretch (it had been a very peaceful, dreamless sleep) but found that he couldn’t.
“Huh?” He gazed down. Oh—not only were his hands restrained behind his back, but his torso too, tied to a sturdy wooden chair. From a glance, Felix could tell that the knots weren’t ones he could easily worm his way out of, no, they were expertly done. Where did laoban even learn to tie rope like this?
“Laoban, seriously, what on earth are you doing in your free time? This doesn’t look like a first attempt at all!”
Vein shrugged, not leaning back at all. “What, you don’t think I’m naturally gifted? Or I might have picked it up out of interest some time ago, who’s to say?” His eyes flitted down to his handiwork, trailing a long black fingernail over the ropes. Felix suppressed a shiver. “Anyway, aren’t you wondering why I kidnapped you?”
“Uhhh because I asked you to?” He tilted his head away from Vein, avoiding his intent gaze and taking great fascination in the treasures displayed on the mantle piece.
After a beat of silence, Felix remembered he was supposed to be playing along. He bit his lip to stop from outright laughing (because how could he not laugh right now?) and put on his most insolent, indignant pout.
“I don’t know,” he cried, head still facing away from Vein. “I didn’t do anything to deserve such awful treatment…”
“Well of course it’s because I have impure intentions—and for the stunt you pulled earlier, I did say you’d have to pay a price. You should know by now I’m not light with my punishments, little prince.” His voice lowered to barely a whisper, cool fingertips pinching the Prince’s chin and forcing his gaze back to him. His eyes narrowed, grin wide—the suggestion in his words, his expression, making his ill intentions crystal clear…
And at that, Felix didn’t have to act. “Laoban—you can’t be serious— not like this!—I don't think I’ll be able to take it, please have mercy—”
A loud laugh, a guffaw really, cut him off.
Vein laughed hard and long, leaning back, out of the Prince’s personal space. His wings quivered with the force of his laughter.
“I just meant that a spotless prince such as yourself has never gambled, right?” He said finally, after sobering up from the laughing. “What did you think I was talking about, Felix?”
In response, he let out a nervous, exasperated chuckle of his own and shook his head vigorously. “You really have to work on your phrasing—people will definitely misunderstand in the future…”
And Vein just smiled, a little coy, and edged closer once more. This time it wasn’t to tease him—Vein untied the ropes which bound Prince Felix to the chair, taking his time, his hands smoothing over where the rope had just been. Silk pressed into skin but with the addition of Vein’s warmth. A chill ran right up his spine, though the lair wasn’t the slightest bit cold. Vein quirked a brow.
“I think you like being kidnapped a lot more than you’re letting on,” he said in a casual way, as if he’d pointed out the sky being blue or Felix’s eyes being honeyed amber.
“Well—well I think you like kidnapping princes a concerning amount…are you sure this is your first time doing such a thing?”
Without warning Felix received three swift flicks on the forehead, his slightly sore wrists coming up to guard his face after Vein gave him the final flick, as if expecting more to come.
“Ow—ouch—”
“That’s your punishment for talking back to your captor. Now, will you play with me or not?”
“Hmm, if you’re talking about a game of mahjong I don’t know, I’ve seen what happens when you lose, laoban…”
Vein sulked, (though he would never call it that), staring off to the side and fiddling with his braid until Felix let out a long dramatic sigh in acquiescence. "Fine, fine I'll play a round or two. Just don't turn me into a tile if you lose!"
"As per the royal contract I'm not allowed to do that anyway."
The night passed by fast in Vein’s company—Felix marvelled at Vein’s dice tricks, as he had the useless but endlessly impressive skill to throw them down in a straight line every time; they played rounds and rounds of two player mahjong, Felix’s sides hurting from how hard he laughed each time Vein lost, his jaw clenched and flickers of flames dancing off his skin, lining his wings, grumbling and slapping a hand down onto the ornate table until Felix agreed to another round. It was too easy to lose track of time. But soon, the sun would start to peek through the trees, and after they’d stopped playing and Vein began talking about an expensive liquor he’d found during his recent travels, Felix couldn’t hold back his yawn.
“Oh, is the prince in need of his beauty sleep?”
Felix shook his head. “No, no, not—” he yawned again, held his head up with one hand, an arm propped up on the table— “Maybe…but do kidnappers really let their victims go so easily?”
“Good thing I haven’t actually kidnapped you,” chuckled Vein.
He stayed quiet, staring down at one of the tiles and turning it over and over in his other hand, humming nothing in particular. This night had been the first time in a long time since he’d been able to ignore the empty feeling that ate him up, inside out, while performing his public facing royal duties, putting on a smile for his people. The feeling made no sense—Prince Felix knew he had what many others dreamed of and died for. But no amount of gifts and riches and admiration, attention, sated him. How could he say all of that, or any of that out loud?
“I don’t have to go back, yet,” muttered the Prince, more to the mahjong tile than to Vein.
“Fine by me, feel free to fall asleep here if you’re tired. I can wake you up in a few hours.”
He hummed again, another noncommittal sound as he cushioned his head with his arms, a little uncomfortable but he didn’t care so long as he stayed in Vein’s company. Eyes closed, he heard a scrape of a chair against the ground, and then the weight of a warm, heavy jacket blanketed his shoulders. Before he lost his nerve, Felix opened his eyes and Vein was there, face next to his. With a whispered, “laoban,” he sat up and pressed a quick kiss to Vein’s cheek, just like that, the blanket nearly slipping from his shoulders, and then, “thanks for stealing me away,” close to his ear.
After, Felix’s eyes flitted up to his face, embarrassed and already regretting the bold move. From where he was, back in his original slumped position, he couldn’t quite gauge Vein’s reaction at first. But finally, Vein’s expression softened into something content, his lips curved upwards, eyes crinkling as he smiled.
“It was my pleasure,” he said, fingers carding through Felix’s hair.
Then, he might’ve said something else, but the prince drifted off again.
Once more, Prince Felix woke up dazed and disoriented. This time, he expected a warm, fiery colour palette and candles and Eastern décor adorning sloped walls and all manner of strange trinkets to greet him, but what he got instead was his own, same old boring room and cloud-like luxurious bed.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, sat up and stretched, surveying the room as if seeing it for the first time. Maybe it had all been a dream—some foolish fantasy his brain conjured up. Shoulders sagging he sighed out loud for no one but himself to hear. Of course, something like that was too good (and probably too strange) to be true.
But then, he noticed the faintest of marks on his wrist. Prince Felix prodded at it with his pointer finger, and it didn’t hurt at all but it was undeniably there. It didn’t disappear, no matter how hard or how many times he blinked. Something triumphant and giddy surged in his heart, and he held the marked wrist in one hand as if it were a prized possession. The whole thing had happened. Felix couldn’t contain his grin.
And then another memory floated back to him: Vein, with utmost care, smoothing down his hair and readjusting these very sheets, morning light pouring in from the cracks in the half drawn curtains. A fluttery, barely there kiss on the forehead, and the softened words, only for him to hear: sweet dreams, Prince Felix.