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Chapter Text

The great hall of the palace was filled with people. Golden tapestries adorned the walls, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and candlelight flickered everywhere. The air was thick with scents: roasted meat, spiced wine, and the sweet aroma of fresh flowers. It was a celebration—the anniversary of the kingdom’s founding—an occasion on which every noble, knight, and courtier was required to attend.

Kim Nam-gyu, firstborn son of the king, sat beside his parents with the stiff posture that etiquette demanded. His black hair had been carefully brushed to his shoulders by the servants, and a dark-blue princely cloak draped his frame. Outwardly, all seemed perfect. Inwardly, it was another matter.

Nam-gyu had never wished to be a prince. He desired neither ornate garments nor courtly intrigues, and least of all the heavy burden of responsibility that came with his birth. He knew it was his duty to sit here, to attend ceremonies, to smile when required, to nod when spoken to—but in truth his soul longed to wander far away, along some distant seashore.

His father, King Song-su, surveyed the hall with stern eyes, his muscular frame commanding respect. Beside him sat Queen Yu-hee, whose cold gaze swept over the gathering. Across from Nam-gyu, his younger brother Minsu fidgeted, fussing with his attire, while Se-mi, the maid, watched from the background. Nam-gyu cast his brother a disdainful glance: that boy was always overeager, forever striving to win their parents’ approval, while he himself had never felt at home in this life.

And then Thanos appeared at the far end of the hall.

The bard—darling of the court for many months now—entered with hair of amethyst hue and garments as bright as spring itself. Some found his appearance laughable, yet none could deny that when he raised his voice in song, hearts caught fire as one.

Nam-gyu’s heart most of all.

As Thanos stepped onto the platform and lifted his lute, Nam-gyu instinctively tucked a lock of hair behind his ear—an unconscious gesture he always made when nervous in the man’s presence. He straightened quickly, his face schooled into calm, though within him a storm raged.

“I have brought you a new song, Your Majesty, Your Grace,” Thanos bowed, a mischievous smile playing across his lips. “A song of loyalty, of freedom, and of the secret longings of the heart.”

Nam-gyu’s breath caught. He knew this song would not be like the others.

And indeed, the first notes rang soft and clear, Thanos’s deep, soulful voice filling the hall. The words spoke of loyalty—of one worth shattering every chain for. Of freedom—found only when one dared follow the call of the heart.

The others heard but a beautiful ballad. Nam-gyu knew it was something more.

For in his mind echoed a memory: a night not long ago, when he had chanced upon Thanos in the palace garden. The bard had stepped closer, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“One day I shall write a song that only you will understand,” he had whispered.

Nam-gyu had smirked then, feigning indifference. “Then you had best not sing it too loudly,” he had replied. Yet his heart had pounded all the while, betraying the unease he hid.

Now, as the song unfolded, he knew: this was that song. This was his secret message.

Nam-gyu’s gaze, unbidden, sought Thanos’s face. For a fleeting moment, the bard looked up from his lute strings and smiled—not at the king, nor the queen, nor the nobles. Only at him.

Nam-gyu quickly turned away, forcing his eyes upon his cup as though bored, though his face burned hot. He bit down on his lip to stop the smile that threatened to escape.

None knew. None understood. But he did.

The song ended, and the hall erupted in applause. King Song-su gave a curt nod. “Not bad, Bard,” he said—high praise, coming from him.

Thanos bowed with a smile, but once more his eyes sought Nam-gyu, as though he alone mattered in the hall.

Nam-gyu’s heart pounded as the applause faded. He knew he walked a perilous path. If it were ever discovered what he felt for Thanos, his world would collapse. His mother, Queen Yu-hee, would never accept it. And if his father learned the truth… who could say what fate awaited him.

So he rose, his face cool and composed, as servants brought the next course. As though the song meant nothing. As though Thanos meant nothing.

Yet within, he knew: his heart would shatter if he never heard that voice again.

The rest of the evening dragged on. The nobles conversed, laughed, and drank their wine. Minsu spoke far too loudly, eager to prove how “fit” a prince he was. Queen Yu-hee watched her sons with cold eyes, turning to Nam-gyu now and again with sharp remarks:

“A prince ought smile more, Nam-gyu.”
“Straighten your back—everyone is watching.”

Nam-gyu clenched his teeth each time. He had no wish to quarrel. He did what was required, as always.

But in his ears, the melody lingered still.

Thanos’s words seemed seared into his very skin. And whenever Nam-gyu dared glance up, there he was: the bard casting him a secret look from behind the nobles, lute resting idle in his hands.

At last, the celebration drew to a close, the nobles dispersing into the night. With a sigh, Nam-gyu rose. Silence fell over the palace, and he wandered slowly through the corridors, his footsteps echoing on stone as moonlight poured through high windows.

He paused at a balcony overlooking the gardens. The wind teased his long hair as he leaned upon the rail. At last, a breath of air—alone, away from duty.

“A fair song, was it not?” came a quiet voice behind him.

Nam-gyu startled. Turning, he saw Thanos standing in the shadows. His bright attire glimmered faintly in the dark, and his hair still gleamed as ever.

Nam-gyu quickly looked away. “Songs… are but songs. They mean nothing,” he said coldly.

Thanos stepped closer. He bore no threat, yet his nearness unsettled the prince. He paused beside him, tilting his head.

“You and I both know that is not so,” he murmured at last.

Nam-gyu’s hand tightened upon the rail. His heart raced, though he would not meet the man’s eyes. “If my father saw you speak so to me…” he began, but Thanos cut him short.

“He does not see. Nor shall he.”

Silence fell between them. At length, Nam-gyu dared a glance. Their eyes met. In Thanos’s gaze glimmered something playful, something dangerous—yet strangely comforting.

Nam-gyu looked away at once. “You should not be here.”

“I know. And yet I am.” Thanos smiled faintly, inclining his head as he stepped back. “Good night, Nam-su.”

The sound of that name twisted in Nam-gyu’s chest. None called him thus but Thanos. And though he would never admit it aloud, there was sweetness in it—something forbidden he could never let go.

Thanos melted back into the corridor’s shadows, leaving Nam-gyu upon the balcony, breath uneven, heart unsteady.

The melody still rang in his mind. And though he would never speak the words, he knew: that song had been meant for him alone.

Chapter Text

The morning was gray and cold. Nam-gyu sat at the long dining table, steam curling from the untouched tea before him. King Song-su leafed grimly through a bundle of documents, as though each bite he took required weighing the fate of the realm. At the other end sat Queen Yu-hee, posture flawless, eyes sharp as she surveyed her sons.

Minsu, his younger brother, all but glowed beneath the queen’s attention. He sat with a straight back, replying to her questions with a gentle smile. He seemed to relish every moment he could prove himself worthy of their parents’ expectations.

“Nam-gyu,” Yu-hee spoke at last. Her voice was cold, as though forever accusatory. “You shall soon be twenty-eight. You are the heir to the throne. When will you finally consider choosing a bride?”

Nam-gyu’s eyes flickered, though he kept his tone calm. “Mother, I am still young. I have time.”

“Young?” the queen’s gaze narrowed. “You are seven years older than your brother, and already he knows duty must come first. A king does not choose according to desire.”

Nam-gyu clenched his teeth. His eyes strayed to his brother, who smiled in quiet satisfaction. Minsu delighted in being held up as the better example.

“Desire is of no account,” Yu-hee continued. “The people need stability. A strong heir. And a wife to uphold him.”

At last, Song-su set aside the papers with a weary sigh. “Enough, Yu-hee. Do not press him. The boy will decide when he is ready.”

But the queen did not relent. “If he will not choose, then I shall. I already have three maidens I deem suitable.”

A chill of fear pierced Nam-gyu’s chest, though he said nothing. He only stared into the steam of his tea, as if it might hide him.

That night, silence once more cloaked the palace corridors. Nam-gyu could not sleep. He slipped out into the gardens, where faint lanterns glimmered among the trees. Only here did he feel truly alone.

Yet he was not alone.

Upon the rim of the old fountain sat a figure in bright attire, lute resting across his lap. Thanos. The moment he saw Nam-gyu, a faint smile curved his lips.

“It is not your custom to walk so late, my prince,” he remarked playfully.

Nam-gyu furrowed his brow. “And what are you doing here? The palace guards would never admit you.”

Thanos only shrugged. “Perhaps they did not see me. Or perhaps the wine kept them otherwise engaged.”

Nam-gyu knew it was folly to speak with him. If anyone saw them together… Yet his heart quickened as he drew nearer.

“Your song,” he said softly. “The one you sang yesterday. Why… why did it feel as though it were about me?”

Thanos looked up at him slowly. His eyes were deep, grave—far more serious than anyone who knew the jester-like bard would have expected.

“Because it was,” he answered simply.

Nam-gyu’s heart skipped a beat. He longed to retort, to cast some cold, dismissive reply. But his voice failed him.

Thanos rose, stepping closer. He did not touch him, but his nearness was enough to set Nam-gyu’s pulse racing.

“You need not answer,” the bard said gently. “But remember this, Nam-gyu you do not always have to do as others expect.”

Nam-gyu’s throat tightened. For a moment he wanted to ask, And if my father finds out? But the words stuck, and he only stared at Thanos’s face.

The night breeze swirled about them, and for the first time, Nam-gyu felt truly seen. Not as prince. Not as heir. Simply as himself.

Moonlight shimmered across the fountain’s waters. Nam-gyu bowed his head, fingers fidgeting at the hem of his cloak.

“You cannot understand,” he whispered. “I cannot be who I wish. I cannot do as I please. Every word, every step of mine is bound to the royal house.”

Thanos smiled, but it was a sad smile, not mocking. “And if you tried anyway? If you followed your heart, just once? What would you lose?”

Nam-gyu lifted his gaze, fear shadowing his eyes. “My life. Yours as well. My father may forgive you for writing me songs. But if he knew the truth… he would never allow it.”

Thanos leaned nearer, close enough that Nam-gyu felt the warmth of his breath. “Then let him never know. Let it remain our secret, known only to the two of us.”

The words fell heavy between them. Nam-gyu’s heart thundered, as though it would break free of his chest. He ought to turn away, he ought to flee—yet he did not move.

Instead, he gave a nervous laugh, brittle rather than merry. “You do not know how stubborn I am. If I decide to send you away, you shall have no choice but to go.”

Thanos’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Try me. I wager you cannot.”

Nam-gyu’s lips parted, but no words came. He turned his gaze aside, staring into the fountain’s rippling water as though it held his answer.

“Go,” he said at last, his voice low. “If my life matters to you… go.”

Thanos did not move. Instead he lowered himself once more upon the stone edge, fingers brushing the lute strings. A gentle melody rose, wordless yet unmistakably meant for him.

Nam-gyu’s heart ached. He knew he should not linger, should not listen—but the tune felt as though someone finally understood, without words, what he never dared to speak aloud.

He startled only when the sound of footsteps broke the night. A servant approached with a lantern in hand.

“Your Highness, it is time to rest,” the man said respectfully, though weariness tinged his voice.

Nam-gyu’s breath caught, his heart racing. For a dreadful instant he feared the servant had seen Thanos as well. But when he turned back, the bard was gone. Only the faint echo of the melody hung in the air, as though from a dream.

Nam-gyu nodded slowly to the servant and made his way back toward the palace. Yet his thoughts would not leave him. The words, the melody, the look in Thanos’s eyes—they haunted him still.

And deep within, he knew: no matter how he tried to drive him away, no matter how often he told him to go… Thanos would always be there.

Chapter Text

Morning light swept across the palace courtyard, gilding the stone columns and the roses blooming in the garden. In the great hall, a long table stood laden with silver plates, crystal goblets, and enough food to feed a small village.

Nam-gyu entered with tousled hair and a drowsy face. He had hardly slept the night before—Thanos’s melody had haunted him, each note echoing in his mind. It was as though the boy still sat at the fountain, strumming beneath the moon.

“At last.” Queen Yu-hee’s voice cracked sharp as she looked upon her son. “At least today you have appeared on time.”

Nam-gyu sank silently into his place, across from King Song-su and beside Minsu, who bowed far too eagerly in greeting his parents.

“Mother,” Nam-gyu muttered at last, his tone weary. “Might there be a single morning when I do not feel as though I were a walking corpse?”

Yu-hee’s thin lips curved into a smile, though it was cold rather than kind. “A prince has his duties, Nam-gyu. None of them are light. When you ascend the throne, it shall not matter what you wish—it shall matter only what the realm requires.”

Nam-gyu held his tongue. He knew this speech by heart; he had heard it a hundred times. Yet each repetition pressed upon his chest as though with iron bands.

“And for that very reason,” the queen continued, beckoning toward the door, “I shall introduce someone to you this day.”

The door opened, and a young girl entered. Her posture flawless, silk gown flowing, her smile meek with deference. Nam-gyu scarcely took note of her face—only the sinking weight in his stomach.

“This is Kang Jung-hwa, daughter of a noble house. I deem her a fitting bride for your future.”

Nam-gyu set down his knife and fork. His eyes traveled briefly over her, but his heart stirred not at all. No dislike, yet no affection either—only emptiness.

“I am honored to meet you, Your Highness,” the girl said with a bow.

“And I as well,” Nam-gyu answered politely, though his voice was as hollow as an empty glass.

Minsu all but glowed, gazing with pride upon the girl and then upon his brother, as though he himself partook in the honor. King Song-su only watched in silence, offering no counsel—perhaps knowing well there was little point.

Nam-gyu forced himself to eat, though each bite was bitter. All the while, only one melody clattered through his mind: the song Thanos had played the night before. That soft strumming, that quiet, aching voice.

And then he understood. He knew it had been for him, because within it lay everything—the longing for freedom, the weight of secrecy, and the feeling that must never be spoken aloud.

Nam-gyu closed his eyes, imagining for a moment that Thanos sat beside him now, instead of a stranger bowing meekly before him.

“What do you think of her?” Queen Yu-hee’s voice cut through the vision like a blade.

Nam-gyu lifted his head. From the corner of his eye he saw them all awaiting his reply: his mother, his father, his brother, the girl.

“She… seems kind,” he said at last, slowly.

Yu-hee inclined her head in satisfaction. “Then I shall arrange further meetings. No need for haste, but I expect you to remain open.”

Nam-gyu nodded, though deep within he knew it was impossible. It was not Jung-hwa’s fault. Simply… his heart already belonged elsewhere, even if he had never dared to say it aloud.

And that realization was more terrifying than any royal duty.

When breakfast ended, Nam-gyu hastened from the hall. Servants bowed as he passed through the corridors, but he scarcely noticed. He sought only distance from the suffocating air his mother conjured.

Out in the gardens he halted a moment. The air was fresher here, birdsong filled the trees, and the fountain’s murmur almost drowned his thoughts. He drew a deep breath, striving to quiet the tightness in his chest.

“Again they would force a bride upon me,” he murmured, running his fingers along the fountain’s stone edge.

At once the memory of the night before returned—Thanos’s eyes, his smile, the way he had leaned just a little too close, as though to unsettle him on purpose. The melody he had played… it was as if the boy had peered straight into his heart.

Nam-gyu laughed softly, but it was bitter rather than glad.

“If they knew a mere minstrel kept me from sleep, they would think me mad.”

The sound of footsteps made him stiffen. Se-mi, the maid, approached with a bowl of fruit in hand.

“Your Highness, the queen bids you rest today, for this evening you shall meet Lady Jung-hwa again.”

Nam-gyu’s eyes flickered, though his face remained still. “Thank you, Se-mi.”

The maid bowed, yet as she withdrew, Nam-gyu caught the curve of a smile at her lips. Not a kind smile—a sly one. He knew she had never liked him, and it was plain she would carry every word back to the queen.

In that moment Nam-gyu realized how very lonely he was within these palace walls. There was no one he could truly trust. No one… save perhaps that peculiar violet-haired boy who dared to flirt openly with him, as though he were not a prince at all, but simply a man.

Nam-gyu gazed into the fountain’s waters, his reflection wavering upon the surface. A sigh slipped from his lips.

“Why you, Thanos? Why must you unsettle everything?”

And though he spoke the words aloud, he already knew the answer. Because Thanos’s songs were the first to ever truly be about him.

Chapter Text

Evening suppers in the palace were always solemn affairs, even when no particular occasion called for them. The flames of the long row of candles cast light across the royal family’s faces, dancing upon the rims of goblets of wine. The scents—roast meats, spiced sauces, fresh-baked bread—filled the hall, yet Nam-gyu’s stomach tightened at the thought that Jung-hwa would be seated at the table.

The girl smiled sweetly, as always. She conversed with Queen Yu-hee, nodded politely at Minsu’s tedious stories, and now and again cast a coquettish glance toward Nam-gyu. Yet the prince hid well how little any of it moved him. No bite of food brought him taste; all he felt was distance from everything set before him.

This is not the life I wanted, he thought bitterly, idly turning the rim of his goblet between his fingers.

At last the evening drew to a close. When the family and guests dispersed, Nam-gyu all but sighed in relief. Candle stubs guttered in the cooling hall as he set off alone toward his chambers. The corridors lay hushed, broken only by the occasional step of some servant in the distance.

His pace quickened—longing for solitude, to shed the stiff, suffocating garments and remain only with his own thoughts. But just as he neared his chamber door, a hand seized his arm. The grip was strong, insistent.

His breath caught as his body was pulled suddenly into a side chamber—little more than a storage room. The door shut dull behind them, and in the flicker of faint candlelight, he saw a face he knew at once.

Thanos.

The boy’s eyes were uncharacteristically grave, violet hair strands glimmering near black in the half-light. He released Nam-gyu’s arm, but did not step back. Perhaps too near.

“So… what think you of Lady Jung-hwa?” His voice was rough, tinged with something Nam-gyu recognized at once: jealousy.

For a moment the prince only stared at him. His heart thundered, though outwardly his face betrayed nothing—only cool indifference, as though asked a dull question.

“I shall never fancy a woman,” he said at last, with such plainness it seemed the most natural truth in the world.

Thanos flinched, unprepared for so blunt, almost insolent an answer. His eyes widened, then slowly he gathered himself and smiled. Yet it was no careless grin—something deeper lurked within it: relief, perhaps joy, perhaps longing.

Nam-gyu’s heart pounded, though outwardly he remained cold. He would not let Thanos see how deeply the nearness unsettled him.

Thanos stepped back a pace, though his gaze clung fast. “Then I was right. I was not only imagining too much.”

Nam-gyu’s eyes flickered. “Your songs—did they truly speak of me, or were you only toying with me?”

Thanos fell silent. For an instant, he seemed almost uneasy. Then he nodded. “Yes. I wrote them for you. And I do not repent it.”

The silence that stretched between them grew thick, almost tangible. Beyond the door servants may have walked the halls, yet in that dim chamber it was as though they had been sealed within another world, one that held only the two of them.

Nam-gyu turned his gaze aside, though a faint smile played upon his lips.
“Then no longer write them as though they were about friendship. I know what you mean. And… I like it. But sing them that way only for me — do not risk letting others hear.”

For a heartbeat Thanos’s chest stopped. He could not answer, only stepped nearer once more, until scarce an inch lay between them. Their quickened breaths filled the hush.

But Nam-gyu denied him the chance to cross that final line. With a swift motion, he opened the door before anything more could unfold. Casting one last glance over his shoulder, he spoke quietly, yet firm:

“Do not be so reckless, Thanos. Should anyone see us, neither of us would meet a good end.”

And with that, he strode into the corridor, leaving the boy in the dim chamber, alone with the storm beating within his chest.

Nam-gyu’s chamber door closed softly behind him. He leaned back against the cold wood, standing there long minutes as though his body refused to obey. His heart still raced, his arm tingled with the memory of Thanos’s grip, and his words echoed mercilessly within: “I wrote them for you. And I do not repent it.”

He shed the heavy cloak and cast it upon a chair. Candlelight painted shadows across the wall as he sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, hair falling back from his face. Outwardly calm, yet inside he could scarce breathe.

What if… I simply allowed it? The thought struck him like lightning. What if I cared not what my mother demanded, nor what the kingdom said? What if I let Thanos come near—as near as I myself desire?

His chest tightened. He saw again Thanos’s face—the earnest, near desperate gaze as he asked of Jung-hwa. The moment he confessed: “I wrote them for you.” A truth so raw Nam-gyu had never known it from anyone—neither parents nor brother nor courtiers. Only from Thanos.

And for that very reason, it terrified him.

He clenched his fists. “Had anyone seen us in that chamber… heard our words… Thanos might even now be dead.”

The thought pierced him like a blade. His father, King Song-su, for all his patience and justice, would never abide such a “misstep.” A crown prince must remain pure, blameless, exemplar of the realm. To be with a man would not merely shame the throne—it would defy the order of tradition.

And the king would not hesitate. Any who endangered the dignity of the crown would vanish.

Nam-gyu’s mind filled with images: Thanos dragged by soldiers from the palace, bound in chains, the shadow of an executioner’s sword falling upon him.

With a start he rose, pacing his chamber. “No. I cannot allow it. I cannot be so selfish.” His chest heaved, as though breath itself were scarce. “I cannot desire him for myself. I cannot put him in danger. To draw him near would be to kill him.”

He sank onto the bed, burying his face in his hands.

“I know what I want. Every part of me longs for him. But if I love him… if I truly love him… then I must drive him away. I must protect him from me. For the world would grant him no mercy.”

The thoughts swirled, tearing him apart. His heart clamored for Thanos’s nearness, yet his mind commanded coldly: keep him distant.

At last he lay back, staring into the dark. Tears welled and slipped silently down his face, soaking the pillow. No sob escaped him, only quiet weeping, while within his chest a single name echoed again and again:

Thanos.

And as sleep at last claimed him, he resolved: from tomorrow forth, he would keep his distance. He could not afford the luxury of happiness—for Thanos would pay with his life.

Chapter Text

Morning light, gilded and warm, filtered through the great windows of the palace as Nam-gyu entered his father’s royal chamber. Song-su sat with a stern, solemn face, poring over parchments; at the sight of his son he set the roll aside.

“What is it you want, Nam-gyu?” the king asked. His voice was calm but heavy, as if each word bore weight.

“I would ride out to the forest today on Darkjumper,” the prince answered. His tone was firm, yet threaded with hope that his father would not refuse.

The king raised an eyebrow. “Alone? That cannot be. At least three knights will accompany you.”

“No.” Nam-gyu cut him off at once; his heart beat faster. “I do not need an escort. I am skilled with a sword, Father — you know that. Nothing will happen to me.”

Song-su studied his son for a long moment. He had seen Nam-gyu on the training field, knew him to be quick and able — no pampered, helpless prince. At last he nodded slowly.

“Very well. But be cautious. The forest is more dangerous than you think.”

Nam-gyu bowed with a faint smile and left, feeling a small weight lift from his chest — at last some air.

He hurried toward the stables, only to be halted by an all-too-familiar, irritating voice.

“Nam-gyu!”

It was Minsu, approaching with that same smug expression that always made his brother wish to turn and flee.

“Why do you not spend more time with Jung-hwa?” Minsu demanded. “She is respectable, fair to look upon — far more fitting a match for you than neglecting your duties. Sometimes I wonder… are you truly worthy to be king?”

Nam-gyu’s eyes flashed. He had heard his brother’s lectures one time too many. Something inside broke. He stepped forward, seized the fine, silk vest at Minsu’s chest, and shoved him against the wall. Minsu’s eyes widened in alarm as Nam-gyu lifted him slightly off his feet.

“Be silent, Minsu,” Nam-gyu hissed. “If you do not leave me be, I shall consider seeing to the royal hounds receiving a special supper tonight. Think that would please them? Some prince-meat, perhaps?”

Minsu went pale and said nothing. Nam-gyu released him slowly, fixed him with a cold look, and turned toward the stables. “Keep away from me,” he said, and strode off.

Darkjumper, a gleaming black stallion, stamped impatiently. Nam-gyu quickly saddled him and vaulted up. He rode without word, and within minutes was swallowed by the depths of the wood.

Freedom filled him to the marrow. Wind whipped his hair, the horse’s muscles worked beneath him, and for a time all cares fell away — no courtly duties, no insistent suitors, no overbearing brother. Only he and Darkjumper.

Hours passed. When he returned and tended the horse, he made his way to his chamber. Fatigue settled in him, though the taste of liberty still quickened his pulse.

He stopped short upon entering. Someone sat upon the window-sill, as if waiting.

Thanos.

The bard grinned broadly; purple hair fell half into his brow. “Nice little room,” he drawled. “A bit high for my liking, though.”

Nam-gyu slammed the door shut behind him in astonishment. “How did you get here? This is one of the palace’s tallest turrets!” he whispered.

Thanos shrugged. “I have always been good at climbing,” he said lightly, as if it were the most natural thing.

Nam-gyu’s face darkened. “This is madness. If anyone sees you… you are done for! What are you thinking, Thanos?”

The bard stepped closer; there was a playful light in his eyes. “I did not come for anyone else, Nam-su. I came for you.”

Nam-gyu’s heart pounded. The memory of the night before returned — if he let Thanos near, the bard might be killed. He forced his voice to a harsh tone.

“Then stay away. You cannot risk this. And I cannot risk you because of me. Do you understand?”

Thanos’s brow knit, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. For a moment there was silence, then the bard saw the shimmer of tears in Nam-gyu’s eyes and moved without a word. He drew the prince close and held him tight.

“Trust me,” he whispered near Nam-gyu’s ear. “Nothing will happen to me. I will not let anyone harm you — or me.”

Nam-gyu tried to pull free, but finally rested his head against Thanos’s chest. Tears came unbidden; he could not hold them back.

Then Thanos spoke softly: “If you truly want me to leave — to be gone from your life forever — I will grant you that.”

Nam-gyu froze.

“But before I go… give me one kiss. Nothing more. Just one kiss. And then I will be gone.”

The words hung between them like a blade. Nam-gyu’s heart felt as if it would burst. Thanos looked back at him, steady and earnest.

Chapter Text

“All right,” Nam-gyu finally whispered, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible. “One kiss… and then it’s over. You’ll leave me be.”

The words felt like splinters on his tongue. Every syllable hurt, for his heart longed for the opposite—to stay with Thanos, to touch him, to hold him close, not push him away. Yet this was what he had to say. It was the only way to protect him.

Thanos’s eyes glimmered softly, as though he knew perfectly well Nam-gyu was lying. But he said nothing. He only stepped closer.

The chamber seemed to freeze. The air quivered with tension as they leaned toward each other. Every sound of the world vanished; only the pounding of their hearts remained. When their lips were just a breath apart—when only a whisper of distance separated them—a sudden knock shattered the silence.

Nam-gyu froze as though struck by lightning.

“Gods above…” he hissed in panic. “Quickly! Under the bed!”

Thanos stared at him, baffled. “What? Are you mad?”

“Don’t ask! Just do it, now!” Nam-gyu spat, even as the door handle began to turn.

At last Thanos obeyed, slipping noiselessly beneath the bed. Nam-gyu barely had time to straighten his covers before the door swung open.

On the threshold stood Se-mi—the infuriating maid who carried every word straight to the queen. She held a basket of soiled laundry in her arms, wearing her usual look of injured self-importance.

“My prince,” she mewled. “I came for the wash.”

Nam-gyu’s jaw tightened, his heart hammering in his throat. If Se-mi only glanced down, she might see Thanos’s feet! He pressed his hand firmly to the blanket, forcing his voice into a cool monotone.

“Not now. I was preparing to sleep. Take it tomorrow.”

Se-mi’s eyes narrowed. She gave a little growl of disapproval, as if displeased at being denied her duty.

“I understand, my prince… only… I thought I heard voices. Was someone here with you?”

Nam-gyu’s gaze flashed. His nerves were strung to breaking. “That is none of your concern. Now get out of my chamber!”

The maid stiffened, then bowed stiffly. “As you wish, my prince.” Her voice rang with offense, but she obeyed, stepping out and muttering as she went.

Nam-gyu remained motionless, listening until her footsteps faded. Then he leaned down and hissed toward the bed:

“Come out of there! At once!”

Thanos emerged, hair tousled, eyes sparkling with laughter. “That was madness,” he whispered. “But see? I’m still here. They didn’t catch me.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Nam-gyu snapped, dragging him toward the window in desperation. “Don’t you understand? She’ll tell my mother, and if she believes that viper, they’ll kill you!”

He shoved Thanos toward the rope the bard must have used to climb up. His hands shook as he pressed it into Thanos’s grasp. “Go! Now!”

But Thanos didn’t move. He only looked at him—deeply, with a gaze that set Nam-gyu’s heart aflame.

Nam-gyu lost all control. In an instant he leaned forward and crushed his lips to Thanos’s. Their kiss was fierce, desperate, as though it were their last chance.

When they broke apart, Nam-gyu panted: “That’s the end. Now go. Hurry! Se-mi has surely run to my mother already.”

At last Thanos obeyed, but not before leaning in once more, claiming Nam-gyu’s mouth in a slower, deeper kiss—a kiss like a promise never to let him go. Nam-gyu nearly broke apart with longing and pain.

But footsteps thundered in the corridor. Nam-gyu’s eyes widened in terror. Nearly sobbing, he whispered, “Go! If they see you, they’ll kill you!”

With fluid grace, Thanos gripped the rope and descended the tower wall. The instant he touched the ground, Nam-gyu pulled the rope free and flung it after him. He shut the window fast, dove into bed, and yanked the covers to his chin, feigning sleep.

A heartbeat later, the door burst open.

Queen Yu-hee stood in the doorway, Se-mi grinning smugly at her side.

“My son,” the queen said coldly. “Your servant claims you spoke with someone here in your chamber.”

Nam-gyu rubbed his eyes, feigning groggy confusion. “Mother? What? I was asleep. I haven’t seen Se-mi since morning. I spoke with no one.”

Yu-hee studied him, suspicion in her eyes, but Nam-gyu’s performance was flawless. Se-mi stepped forward, indignant. “Your Majesty, I swear I heard voices!”

The queen’s eyes flashed. “Enough, Se-mi! You are a liar. You shame me with such absurdities! At dawn tomorrow, you will begin your duties in the pigsty. Alone.”

Se-mi’s face twisted with outrage, but she dared not protest. Nam-gyu, meanwhile, hid a wickedly triumphant smile beneath the covers.

At last, Yu-hee turned and swept out, the maid trailing behind. The door closed, the hallway noises faded, and Nam-gyu was left alone.

His heart thundered. On his lips lingered Thanos’s taste, the memory of those kisses. For the first time, he had known true passion—something no one else could ever give him. And he knew: the harder he tried to push the bard away, the deeper he would be dragged into the depths of forbidden love.

Chapter Text

Thanos kept his word. No longer did he climb into the palace by stealth, nor seek out Nam-gyu in secret, nor tempt the prince’s heart with further kisses. Instead, he sat before the walls, his lute upon his lap, and played his songs. They were not of love or longing—nay, but of friendship, loyalty, and freedom, all those things forbidden within the strict confines of the royal court.

The soft melodies drifted across the square and reached the palace windows. Nam-gyu heard them. At times, a faint smile tugged at his lips, for he knew Thanos held fast to his promise. Yet behind that smile lay bitterness—should he rejoice that the bard drew back, or mourn, for every measure of distance drove a blade into his heart?

But he had little time to dwell, for Queen Yu-hee would not grant him peace.

“Nam-gyu,” the queen said sternly, “the time hath come for thee to better acquaint thyself with Lady Jung-hwa. A mere walk shall not suffice. Ye shall ride together, that ye may draw closer.”

Nam-gyu wanted to protest, but the sharp flash in his mother’s eyes left no room for defiance.

On the way to the stables, six knights accompanied them, as was proper and expected. Nam-gyu’s heart clenched as they passed Thanos, who was seated at the wall’s base, singing quietly. The bard ceased immediately upon seeing the party, jaw set, eyes flashing with jealous fire as Nam-gyu and Jung-hwa rode side by side.

Nam-gyu turned his gaze away, careful not to betray too much.

Within the stables, Darkjumper, the prince’s black steed, pawed at the ground in impatience. Nam-gyu quickly saddled him, stroked his neck, and mounted with ease. Jung-hwa, in contrast, barely touched her own horse, a snow-white Andalusian, and sat side-saddle like a pampered princess, the reins held by a knight rather than her own hand.

“Is not this horse wondrous fair?” she prattled, loud enough for all to hear.

Nam-gyu inclined his head politely. “Indeed, fair it is.”

As they rode, Jung-hwa spoke without pause. She complained of the servants’ laziness, of dishes lacking spice, and of the garden’s supposed lack of roses.

Nam-gyu strove to remain gracious, careful not to offend a princess. He knew one ill-chosen word could ignite a spark of conflict.

Then Jung-hwa turned her attention elsewhere.

“And that bard without the gates,” she sneered, raising her fan delicately to her face. “With his ridiculous purple hair and gaudy attire. How pitiful, the way he scratches at his lute. So tiresome! I cannot fathom how ye endure him.”

Nam-gyu’s heart skipped a beat. His lips pressed tight, heat surging through his veins.

“Forgive me, Lady Jung-hwa,” he said at last, his tone icy but courteous. “I have just recalled some pressing matter. Pray, return with the knights.”

The lady stared, bewildered, blinking in astonishment. Nam-gyu offered no further word. He turned Darkjumper and rode straight back to the palace.

Once inside, he went directly to his father. King Song-su sat in his chamber, bent over parchments.

“Father,” Nam-gyu said firmly, though his voice trembled slightly, “I desire not to wed Lady Jung-hwa. She is far too discourteous.”

Song-su studied his son for a long moment, then sighed. “I understand. In the Kingdom of Kang there are other princesses yet. They shall send another, and thou shalt choose among them.”

Nam-gyu clenched his teeth. He desired no wife, no woman—neither now nor ever. But such truth could never be spoken aloud. He bowed his head and murmured, “As thou wilt, Father.”

He withdrew to his chamber, cast himself upon the bed, and closed his eyes. Yet in the depths of his heart, he saw only Thanos’s face, and heard the melody the bard had sung beyond the walls—the song of freedom, which might never be granted to him.

Chapter Text

Word spread swiftly through the palace. Not a single day passed without whispers among the common folk that Prince Nam-gyu had spurned Lady Jung-hwa. In the markets, the taverns, even among the stable boys, it was all they spoke of. To some it was scandal, to others, a secret act of courage.

And of course, all knew by now: in a week’s time, two more princesses would arrive from the Kingdom of Kang. Queen Yu-hee’s gaze flashed like lightning whenever it fell upon her son. Yet the King had spoken once already: Nam-gyu’s decision was final. Thus seven full days lay before the prince, unburdened and free.

The following night, when the palace slumbered deep, Nam-gyu’s chamber window opened without a sound. Through the darkness slipped a familiar figure, moving with a grace as though the place were his own.

Nam-gyu, bent over a book, started at the sight. But when he glimpsed the purple locks, he knew at once who it was.

“Thanos!” he hissed in vexation—though more from the pounding of his own heart than from true anger. “How many times have you climbed in here? Tell me… you have not watched me in my sleep, have you?”

Thanos laughed softly, playfully. “Only once. And you were as peaceful as a child. A most endearing sight.”

Heat rushed to Nam-gyu’s cheeks. He lowered his head, muttering: “Madman…”

“Perhaps,” Thanos answered with a shrug and a broad smile.

Before Nam-gyu could retort, the bard stepped forward. His hand slid to the prince’s nape, and with one firm motion he drew him close. Their lips met, and the world fell silent.

Nam-gyu lost himself in the kiss. His breath came fast, his fingers trembled as they clutched at Thanos’s arm. Between kisses, the bard’s whisper broke the silence:

“Since that night—since you first kissed me—I have thought of nothing else. I cannot bear life without you. The thought of you riding with that wretched princess drove me mad. I was jealous, Nam-gyu… and I cannot keep away.”

The prince’s heart thundered, so loud he thought he might hear it aloud. He scarcely found words—hardly breath—for the kisses left him reeling. Yet at last the truth slipped from his lips, faint but clear:

“I cannot bear life without your kisses either… And… I long for you, Thanos.”

The bard’s eyes lit with joy, and his lips sought the prince’s once more. His embrace tightened, their bodies pressed close, and for that moment neither thought of tomorrow, nor of consequence—only that they had at last what they had secretly yearned for.

The candlelight flickered, then died. The night enclosed them, allowing—for the first time—that they draw truly near.

What would come of it? They themselves did not know. Only that in that moment, they desired each other more than aught else in the world.

The first light of dawn crept between the heavy curtains. Nam-gyu stirred, still warmed by the nearness of another body. Half-dreaming, he reached to his side—yet found the bed empty. Cold fear struck him.

Before he could think further, the door burst open. Without so much as a knock, Minsu strode in, heavy-booted.

“Mother summons you at once!” he barked, like some would-be general. “Do not keep her waiting, lest you suffer the consequence.”

Nam-gyu flinched, heart leaping to his throat. Terror seized him: had Minsu come but a moment sooner, he might have found Thanos lying there beside him.

Yet the place was empty. The prince felt a wave of relief, though uncertainty gnawed—had the night truly happened, or had desire merely woven a fevered dream?

“Was it but a dream?” the thought raced through him. “A confused, burning vision born of longing?”

“Leave, Minsu,” he muttered darkly, pressing his face into his hands.

“But Mother—”

“I said leave! At once!” Nam-gyu snapped.

Minsu snorted, but retreated, slamming the door behind him. Nam-gyu breathed out… only to nearly expire when a figure crept forth from beneath the bed.

Thanos.

“Are you mad?” the prince hissed, clutching at his chest. “I thought I should perish of fright!”

The bard brushed himself off with a grin. “I heard the footsteps—there was no other choice. A brave hiding, was it not?”

Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, but his sigh of relief was heavy. “You are insane… But… the night—it truly happened?”

Thanos’s gaze softened. He stepped closer, his hand resting gently upon Nam-gyu’s arm. “It happened indeed. And I regret not a single breath of it.”

The prince turned his eyes away, whispering: “I like you greatly… perhaps more than I ought. But this cannot continue. We are both men. I am a prince, you a bard. It is… impossible.”

Thanos shook his head. “None need ever know. We can keep our secret. I care for nothing else but you. I swear it—no soul shall discover it.”

Nam-gyu let out a bitter laugh, though tears glistened in his eyes. “I too would wish it so… truly I would. But I cannot be so selfish. I will not endanger your life.”

Yet Thanos would not yield. “I care not for my own life, if only I may be with you. Even if but in secret, even if only for stolen hours… to me it is worth more than all else.”

Nam-gyu opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of steps in the corridor froze him. Panic seized him. “Quickly!” he whispered.

Without protest, Thanos slid back beneath the bed—just in time, for the door swung open. There stood Queen Yu-hee.

“You shall come at once to breakfast with the family,” she declared, cold and unbending. “This is no matter for debate.”

She did not leave. Arms folded, she waited for her son to dress. Each movement Nam-gyu made was shadowed by dread—lest her gaze fall upon the space beneath the bed.

Yet nothing happened.

At last, when he was ready, his mother departed with him. Nam-gyu dared not cast a single glance toward Thanos, had no moment for farewell. He could only hope that, upon his return… the bard would still be there.

Chapter Text

The royal family sat around the long table, its gilded trim gleaming. Silverware shone, and the servants moved in silence, filling the cups. At the center, platters piled with fragrant fruits and honeyed cakes waited, yet Nam-gyu could barely taste anything.

His mother, Yu-hee, was talking with Minsu about the two more princesses Kang would send next week, but Nam-gyu only half heard. His heart beat faster with every passing moment, every bite stuck in his throat. He could think of nothing but whether Thanos still crouched under his bed. If anyone found him—especially Se-mi, who reported every little thing to his mother—their ruin would follow.

Meanwhile, Minsu lavished praise on their parents.

“Father, Mother… my deepest respect and gratitude. I always strive to follow your example, and I hope that one day I may prove as worthy as you.”

King Song-su merely nodded, while Yu-hee smiled with satisfaction at her younger son. Nam-gyu, however, felt he could gladly throw up into his goblet. The flattery was almost sickening.

Stop it, he thought bitterly, drawing a deep breath so his face would not betray his disgust.

Finally the meal concluded, and Nam-gyu nearly ran back to his chamber. Closing the door behind him, he went straight to the bed and looked underneath.

Empty.

His heart tightened as if something precious had been ripped out. Thanos was gone. He could not decide whether to be glad that the bard was at least safe or to mourn that they had not even exchanged a parting word.

Then the door opened unexpectedly. Se-mi stood there with a basket in her hands, her eyes flashing with mockery.

“What are you looking for under your bed, my prince?” she asked in a feigned innocent tone, though a smile played on her lips.

Nam-gyu flinched, then quickly recovered his composure. “None of your concern. Do your work.”

Se-mi stepped further in and set the basket on the table. “Very well. And while I tossed out the dirty linens, I found something curious—purple hairs on your pillow. Strange, isn’t it?”

A cold, dangerous smile curved Nam-gyu’s lips. He stepped away from the bed and moved close to her, leaning in until he was almost whispering. His eyes glittered like steel.

“Do you know what I think?” he whispered. “I think I know secrets too. For instance—that you slept with Minsu.”

The girl went pale at once. Her hand trembled and she nearly dropped the basket.

Nam-gyu’s eyes narrowed; his voice cut through the silence like a blade. “One word, Se-mi. A single word—and you are finished. Whom do you think they will believe? A maid, or a prince?”

Her lips trembled but no sound came. At last she lowered her gaze and gave a mute nod.

Nam-gyu stepped back, putting on the calm mask of a prince once more. “Now leave my chamber. And remember, Se-mi… secrets can save a life, but they can also destroy one.”

She slipped away silently, closing the door behind her.

Nam-gyu drew a deep breath and sank to the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. One secret had silenced her—for now. But how long could that silence hold?

Eventually, exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, the palace courtyard buzzed in the sunlight. Servants hurried with baskets, soldiers drilled on the square, and the air was filled with lute and flute.

Nam-gyu walked slowly toward the well, where Thanos sat with his instrument in his lap. The bard’s fingers coaxed a gentle melody from the strings, but when his eyes met the prince’s, he fell silent.

Nam-gyu stopped beside him, face composed, voice cool as though he spoke to a mere musician. “You play beautifully. I hear even the soldiers enjoy your songs.”

Thanos’s eyes brightened for a moment, but he bowed his head with disciplined politeness. “Thank you, my prince. It is an honor to entertain the people.”

His words were outwardly polite, yet something more lay beneath. Nam-gyu heard it and felt it—only the two of them knew what hid behind the veil.

But the quiet moment did not last.

“Nam-gyu!” came an irritating, whining voice. Minsu appeared, dressed in white so bright he almost glowed in the sun, his face twisted in offended aristocratic disdain. “Why are you speaking with such a person? A bard is only a bard! A prince should never stoop so low.”

Nam-gyu turned his gaze slowly from Thanos to his brother. He drew a long breath. His patience with Minsu’s endless tantrums was nearly spent.

“Minsu,” he said calmly, though a dangerous light flashed in his eyes, “if you do not stop your prattle, the royal hounds may well feast on princely flesh.”

Minsu stumbled back a step, then lifted his chin defiantly. “How—how dare you speak to me that way? I am a prince too!”

Nam-gyu rose slowly from the well’s edge, taller and more threatening than ever. With a cold smile he stepped close, lowering his voice so only his brother could hear: “And if you do not understand… perhaps your dear serving-maid will go with you. Do you think Mother would be pleased to hear that her dutiful son was with a maid?”

Minsu’s face drained of color, his eyes widening in horror. A strangled sound escaped him and he hurried backward, fleeing without another word.

Nam-gyu sat again on the well’s edge as if nothing had happened. Thanos, meanwhile, tried to hold back a laugh. His face stayed tense, but his eyes shone with restrained amusement.

“Gods above…” he whispered at last, so only Nam-gyu could hear. “If I ever laugh aloud at the little prince, they’ll surely cut off my head.”

Nam-gyu allowed a fleeting smile, though his expression remained serious. “Then do not laugh before him. Still, I’m glad to see something still amuses you.”

Thanos bowed his head and let his fingers find the strings again. The melody seemed simple, but it pierced Nam-gyu’s heart sharper than any spoken word.

Chapter Text

The throne room bustled with unusual activity. Servants polished the bronze chandeliers, soldiers lined the walls, and cooks had been rushing in the kitchens for hours. The palace was preparing for the arrival of the Kang delegation.

King Song-su sat on his throne, with Queen Yu-hee at his side. Before them stood Nam-gyu and Minsu, their posture rigid and formal. Silence lingered until the king finally broke it with his calm, resonant voice:

“Thanos the bard, step forward.”

From the shadows of the pillars, the bard emerged, his lute in hand. He bowed respectfully, though in his heart he already guessed what would be asked of him.

“When the Kang princesses and the crown prince arrive, you will play in the royal dining hall. A few songs, in their honor.”

For a heartbeat Thanos froze. His chest tightened at the thought of watching Nam-gyu seated with those women—one of whom he might one day be forced to marry.

But no one could refuse the king’s command. He bowed deeply. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

Song-su nodded, satisfied, and the matter seemed settled. Only Nam-gyu noticed the faint, bitter line that flickered across Thanos’s lips.

The following morning the great gates of the palace swung wide. The Kang delegation arrived: two splendid carriages rolled into the courtyard, followed by an escort of richly dressed horsemen. At their head rode a tall, broad-shouldered man on a black stallion—Kang Dae-ho, the crown prince.

His long dark hair was tied elegantly back, the rest falling over his shoulders. His smile was warm and courteous, and his eyes held a calm light. The people whispered when they saw him—some with admiration, others with envy, and still others with wagging tongues. Rumors had spread that he had once been caught kissing another young man. But rumors were rumors; no one knew the truth.

Dae-ho dismounted and stepped toward the royal family. King Song-su greeted him with a smile, while Yu-hee gave only a stiff nod.

Nam-gyu stepped forward. As he extended his hand, Dae-ho bowed low—then kissed it.

The air froze. A twitch crossed Yu-hee’s face, Minsu gaped in shock, and from the corner of the hall Thanos gripped his lute so tightly one string nearly snapped.

“My prince,” Dae-ho said, his tone nothing but formal courtesy, “it is an honor at last to meet you in person.”

Nam-gyu bowed his head awkwardly. “The honor is mine.”

Meanwhile, the two Kang princesses descended from the carriage, dressed in elegant gowns adorned with pearls and embroidered veils. Yu-hee quickly went to their side, hiding her dissatisfaction behind a courtly smile.

Song-su gestured to his son. “Nam-gyu. You will guide them through the palace.”

Nam-gyu bowed, though his heart boiled. He knew Thanos’s eyes would follow him the entire time—and that the kiss upon his hand was already poison in the bard’s heart.

Thanos sank onto his designated seat. He placed the lute on his lap, but his hands trembled. If he was not careful, the sound that left the strings would not be music but the echo of his own fury.

Soon after the royal family and the delegation entered the palace, Song-su spoke again:
“My son, show our guests the splendor of our court—the princesses and the crown prince wish to see it.”

Nam-gyu bowed politely, though deep inside he longed to flee. The palace now felt like a prison, every glance and every word another chain tightening around him.

Then the king turned to Thanos.
“Bard, go with them. Entertain them if needed.”

A protest nearly slipped from Thanos’s lips, but he swallowed it back at once. He could not refuse the king. He bowed, slung the lute across his shoulder, and followed behind Nam-gyu.

They passed first through the courtyard, then along the long corridors of the palace. The two Kang princesses whispered and giggled to each other, occasionally asking Nam-gyu about the palace history, the family’s feasts, and the grand festivals. He answered politely, but to him each word felt hollow.

Dae-ho followed more quietly. Yet from time to time he paused, glancing sideways at Thanos, who walked behind the group. In the sunlight, the bard’s violet hair and pale blue eyes gleamed like fire.

When they reached the royal gardens, the princesses ran eagerly to the flowerbeds. Their pearl-embroidered skirts rustled as they pointed out roses and lilies with childlike delight. Nam-gyu exhaled in relief—at least for a moment he could rest from endless courtesies.

But as they entered a quieter corner of the garden, Dae-ho suddenly stopped. His gaze fixed on Thanos, and in a deep, steady voice he asked:
“Bard… have we not met before?”

Nam-gyu frowned. Thanos, however, froze in place. The strings of his lute rang faintly under his tightened grip.

“I do not believe so, my lord,” he replied curtly, trying to sound indifferent.

Dae-ho’s eyes, though, bore into Thanos’s with unnerving intensity.
“Those eyes… such a rare color in Korea. I once knew someone with eyes like that. King Choi Sang-woo, and his two sons. Have you heard of them?”

Nam-gyu’s breath caught. He knew little of the Choi kingdom, only what his tutors had mentioned—a distant neighbor from whom news seldom came. But when Dae-ho spoke, his heart pounded with a single memory: one of the sons, the crown prince, disappeared years ago.

A flash passed through Thanos’s eyes, and he quickly turned his head.
“I do not know them,” he said coldly, fixing his gaze on the flowers as though they suddenly deserved his full attention.

Dae-ho nodded slowly, but the glimmer of recognition did not leave his eyes.
“Perhaps I am mistaken,” he said with a faint smile, though his tone revealed nothing of what he truly thought.

Nam-gyu stood frozen. Thanos… who is he really? He had never spoken of his past. Even his name was not Korean. And those eyes—how had he never realized how unusual they were until now?

Before he could say anything more, the two princesses came running back, laughing with bouquets of flowers in their hands. The moment slipped away, but Nam-gyu’s thoughts roared with a single question: Thanos is not who he claims to be.

When the tour ended and the guests left to rest in another wing, Nam-gyu lingered beside Dae-ho. Quietly he asked:
“My lord… would you tell me of the Choi kingdom?”

Dae-ho smiled, as if he had been waiting for that question.
“Of course. But it is a longer tale than one can tell during a walk. Perhaps this evening, after supper…” He gave a meaningful nod.

Nam-gyu’s heart beat faster. Curiosity mixed with fear inside him.

Chapter Text

The great hall of the palace glowed with light, as though every torch and candle along the walls burned at once. The long table was laden with dishes: fragrant stews, honeyed fruits, roasted fish, and tender meats. The Kang delegation and the royal family sat together, while the servants moved silently around them.

Queen Yu-hee turned to Nam-gyu with a smile.
“Nam-gyu, allow me to present our guests to you formally. This is Princess Kang So-hee, the elder sister—serious and dutiful. And this is Kang Hye-rin, the younger, ever filled with cheer and curiosity.”

The two princesses bowed gracefully, then smiled in unison. Hye-rin cast Nam-gyu a playful glance, while So-hee regarded him with a gentle, attentive look.

Nam-gyu inclined his head politely, though inside he felt as though the walls were closing in around him. He knew what this introduction meant: his parents were pushing him further toward marriage. Yet behind every smile and every kind word he felt only the weight of chains.

Dae-ho ate calmly, then spoke when the king looked to him.
“I came only to escort my sisters. I could not allow them to travel so far alone, even with knights beside them. We shall remain a week, then return.”

Song-su nodded approvingly.
“A wise decision, Dae-ho. In that time, Nam-gyu may come to know your sisters better. Should he find favor with one, then we shall see how our alliance may continue.”

Nam-gyu’s chest tightened. He dared not lift his eyes toward Thanos, seated farther away among the bards, but he felt his gaze upon him. Though the world sought to chain him to others, his heart already belonged to one alone.

The feast ended, and the guests began to disperse. Dae-ho leaned toward Nam-gyu and spoke quietly.
“Would you walk with me to the stables? There is something I wish to tell you.”

Nam-gyu was surprised but nodded. Stepping out of the bustling hall, he found the quiet of the evening courtyard soothing. The moon cast silver light upon the stone path, and the leaves whispered softly in the night breeze.

Before the stables, the horses stirred and snorted, the air thick with the scent of hay. Dae-ho stopped and turned to Nam-gyu with grave eyes.

“You wished to hear of the Choi kingdom,” he began. “There, King Choi Sang-woo reigns. A strict and unyielding man. He had two sons… yet now neither remains by his side.”

Nam-gyu’s eyes widened. Two sons? he repeated inwardly, but he stayed silent so Dae-ho could continue.

“The elder, Choi Subong, vanished eight months ago. Without a trace. Some believe he was kidnapped, others that he fled. But there is no proof. The younger, Choi Gyeong-su… was slain in an assassination at the same time. The culprits were never found. Subong witnessed his brother’s death, and he blamed himself for failing to save him. Days later, he too disappeared. None have seen him since.”

Nam-gyu’s lips parted, yet no sound escaped. The tale swept through him like a cold wind.

Dae-ho sighed, then spoke with a faint smile, recalling a memory.
“I was twelve when I first visited the Choi kingdom with my father. That was when I met Subong. He was eight. For a time we played together, while our fathers held counsel. A lively, joyful boy he was. I have not seen him since. Now… only stories remain.”

Nam-gyu’s heart pounded wildly. Choi Subong—the missing crown prince.

When at last he returned to his chamber, the corridor lay in darkness. He opened the door carefully—but a shadow stirred within.

Thanos stood there, arms crossed, his face hardened in the dim light. His voice rang sharp.
“Where hast thou been until now?”

Nam-gyu froze, then sudden anger flared within him.
“And by what right dost thou ask me such a thing? That we have kissed a few times, and once lain together—it grants thee no right to raise thy voice at me so!”

Thanos’s jaw clenched, his fingers gripping the strap of his lute until his knuckles whitened. At last he drew a deep breath and spoke more softly.
“I was concerned. I would not have harm befall thee.”

Nam-gyu’s anger began to ease. He sighed, then said quietly:
“I walked only with Dae-ho, by the stables. Nothing more.”

A sharp sound slipped from between Thanos’s lips.
“Tch…” He turned his head aside, his eyes burning with jealousy.

Nam-gyu noticed and stepped closer.
“Art thou jealous?”

Thanos answered at once: “Why should I be?” Yet his eyes and gestures betrayed him.

Nam-gyu laughed—not mockingly, but gently, warmly.
“Deny it not. I see it upon thee.”

Thanos remained silent, his face turned away as though to hide his feelings. Nam-gyu’s heart beat harder, and at last he asked softly, with quiet seriousness:
“Tell me… whence dost thou come? Thou hast never spoken of thyself.”

The chamber fell into silence. Thanos’s eyes darkened, yet he gave no reply. Only the heavy tension remained between them, like a shadow that covered all.

Chapter Text

Nam-gyu stood tensely before Thanos, who offered no answer to his question, only studying him intently. The bard’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light as he slowly stepped closer.

“Today… you look very well,” he murmured hoarsely, his fingers brushing along Nam-gyu’s arm. The prince froze, heart pounding wildly as Thanos’s lips grazed his neck. One soft kiss, then another, searing his skin as if fire had raced along it.

Nam-gyu’s eyes fluttered shut, his cheeks burning. For a moment, he almost forgot what he had meant to ask, until the thought returned—doubt. The past he had never known.

Suddenly, he shoved Thanos back, who stumbled half a step in surprise.
“Do not divert the matter!” Nam-gyu hissed, his voice trembling. “Who are you, truly? Where do you come from?”

Thanos sighed deeply, as if bearing the weight of a thousand secrets. He shook his head slowly.
“Trust me, Nam-gyu. One day I will tell you. But not now. The time has not yet come.”

Nam-gyu’s chest tightened. Part of him felt disappointed, but he could sense that Thanos truly struggled within himself. Quietly, almost in a whisper, he said,
“Very well… but do not leave me in uncertainty. Just… promise me you will not lie.”

Thanos stepped closer, his palm gently brushing Nam-gyu’s cheek.
“I do not lie.”

Nam-gyu stared silently for a moment, then suddenly smiled.
“If you wish… you may stay tonight. The servants are all occupied with the Kang princesses and the prince. No one will come to my room.”

Thanos’s eyes flickered, and a playful yet passionate smile crossed his face. In a single motion, he pushed Nam-gyu onto the bed, and the prince tumbled among the soft pillows, startled but laughing.

Thanos leaned over him, his lips brushing near Nam-gyu’s ear.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you… since that night, all I have wanted is you,” he whispered, and Nam-gyu shivered at the sound of his voice.

In the next moment, scorching kisses traced his lips and neck, returning again and again to his mouth. Nam-gyu clung to Thanos’s shoulders, their legs tangled in the sheets. Thanos’s hands were firm, his movements strong, yet each touch throbbed with sensuality and desire.

Nam-gyu lost himself in the moment. He felt Thanos leading him, claiming him, yet he was safe in his embrace. Kisses grew more fervent, passion drowning doubt and worry—leaving only the two of them, entwined, body and soul alike.

Morning dawned peacefully. The first rays of sunlight filtered softly through the silk curtains, casting golden light across the room. Nam-gyu’s eyes slowly opened, sensing Thanos’s warm arms around him.

They lay side by side, wrapped in each other as though the entire world had vanished. Nam-gyu turned his face toward Thanos’s chest with a faint smile, listening to the bard’s steady heartbeat. Rare calm surrounded them, one neither wished to relinquish.

Yet the moment eventually came to an end. Thanos gently stroked Nam-gyu’s hair, then pressed a final, long farewell kiss to him. Rising, he gathered his clothes and moved silently toward the window.

Before slipping out, he glanced back and whispered,
“Remember… I am always with you.”

Nam-gyu’s face burned, yet a happy smile lingered. He lay in bed long after, almost unable to believe that the night had truly happened.

But when he finally descended to the great hall for breakfast, his smile faded immediately. At the table sat the Kang princesses, laughing and chatting with their mother. Reality, duty, once again stood between them—as always.

Chapter Text

Silence weighed heavy over the dining hall. Servants moved noiselessly between the long table and the walls, the only sound the faint clinking of silver against porcelain. Nam-gyu could feel his mother’s stern gaze burning into the back of his neck. He knew what was coming—the thing he had always dreaded.

Queen Yu-hee slowly set down her gilded goblet. Her eyes were as cold as winter frost.
“Nam-gyu. Enough of delay.” Her voice allowed no argument. “By nightfall you shall decide. This very evening you will choose which of the Kang princesses you are to wed. The Crown Prince cannot remain without a bride. Least of all when you are near to twenty-eight.”

Nam-gyu’s heart clenched, but he bowed his head in silence, afraid that if he spoke, protest would burst from his lips.

That afternoon, when the palace corridors grew quiet, the prince stole away toward the flower garden. Each step felt like stolen freedom. Amidst the blooming beds stood Thanos, his lute slung over his shoulder, as though he played only for the passing breeze.

Nam-gyu approached with a sigh.
“My mother has said… tonight I must choose. I can no longer avoid it.” His voice broke, his eyes searching desperately for Thanos’s.

Thanos’s gaze darkened, but before he could speak, a sharp voice cut through the calm.
“What do you here, Nam-gyu?!”

The queen stood behind them, a basket in hand as though she had come for flowers. Her face burned with fury, her eyes flashing like lightning.

“The Crown Prince… sharing secrets with a common bard?” She strode closer, her voice rising. “Disgrace! You shame your family! What humiliation, that my son… keeps company with such a nobody!”

Nam-gyu straightened, his eyes ablaze.
“Thanos is not a nobody! He… he is my friend. I have the right to speak with him!”

“Your friend?” Yu-hee’s eyes nearly burst with rage. “A bard? A wandering vagabond? The future king clinging to the ragged cloak of a singer? Outrageous!”

Thanos bowed deeply, hoping to soothe the storm.
“Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect—”

“Silence!” the queen thundered, her voice echoing through the garden. “If ever again I see you near my son, you shall not remain in this kingdom a single hour longer! You will be cast out—banished—and never again set foot here!”

Nam-gyu stepped forward, trembling with anger.
“Mother, this is too much! Thanos has never harmed me!”

“Enough!” Sparks seemed to leap from Yu-hee’s eyes. “Nam-gyu, come with me at once! You shall not remain another moment in this man’s company!”

“But, Mother—”

“No more!” she cut him off with a slash of her hand, striding nearer. “Now you shall choose. One of the princesses must be your bride. I will brook no more delay, no more disgrace. This very day you will decide who is to be your queen.”

Nam-gyu’s heart pounded wildly. Every part of him cried out in protest, but his mother’s grip was unyielding as she seized his arm and dragged him from the bard’s side.

Thanos stood silent, his face cloaked in shadow. His eyes burned, as though he held back a thousand words.

Nam-gyu turned once more, desperate eyes clinging to Thanos in one final glance, filled with unspoken longing. But his mother’s hold tightened, pulling him away from the garden—binding him in chains.

Only the wind remained, and Thanos’s quiet, stifled sigh, as he was left alone among the flowers.

Chapter Text

Thanos sat in his small house in the commoners’ quarter. The room was dimly lit by a single candle, its flickering light revealing cracked walls. On the table lay an old sword. Its leather-wrapped hilt was worn, but the blade still gleamed brightly. It was Gyeong-su’s sword, the weapon of his brother he would never see again. Thanos slowly traced his finger along the cold metal, letting memories press down upon his chest.

He remembered standing in the palace’s marble corridor when the assassination occurred. Blood glimmered red in the lantern light, and he could do nothing but watch silently as his brother fell. He couldn’t help. He couldn’t act. Gyeong-su’s glassy eyes were burned into his soul forever.

Their father, King Choi Sang-woo, showed almost no emotion when the news reached him. He did not mourn. He did not embrace his son. Instead, he gave further advice on ruling the kingdom, as if nothing had happened. It was then that Subong understood he could no longer remain in that palace.

One night, he saddled his horse, hid Gyeong-su’s sword in the saddlebag, and fled. He wandered for weeks through forests and villages, fearful of pursuit, every day aware that he might be caught. His hair was still black then, short and slightly tousled, cropped shorter on the sides, longer and spiky on top.

One afternoon, while resting in a clearing, he spotted Prince Nam-gyu. The young prince galloped past on his horse, laughing, surrounded by knights. That laughter pierced Subong’s heart like sunlight through frozen ice. From that moment, he could not forget him. He followed them to the palace, knowing entry would be impossible.

Later, in a market, he noticed a wandering bard performing, singing and plucking a lute, dressed in colorful clothes. People cheered, threw coins, and loved him. That’s when the idea struck him. If he returned as a bard, no one would suspect the crown prince in him.

Weeks of practice followed until the music became a part of him. The commoners came to love him; he played in marketplaces and taverns. Yet his black hair remained recognizable. An old woman showed him a peculiar potion—a mix of indigo, violet petals, and grape skins. The potion tinted his hair purple. When Subong applied it, the reflection in the mirror no longer showed the prince. From that moment on, he was Thanos, the bard.

Behind the purple hair and colorful clothes, a new persona emerged. Thanos sang, laughed, and played, while Subong remained buried deep within. Eventually, he gained access to the royal palace, performing for rulers and guests. There, Nam-gyu’s gaze found him, and slowly, that look became more. Something Thanos had never dared dream: that the prince might one day return his feelings.

Yet all happiness was fragile. Queen Yu-hee’s watchful eyes changed everything. When Nam-gyu called to him in the garden and the queen caught them, danger became painfully real.

The next morning, the little house door creaked open, and Yu-hee stepped inside. She came alone, yet the weight in her gaze was more terrifying than any sword.

“I have asked the servants about you,” she said softly, yet with an icy edge. “No one knows where you came from. A mere bard who appeared only a few months ago, purple-haired with blue eyes. Where did you come from? Who are you, truly?”

Thanos tensed. He gripped his lute, heart hammering, but said nothing.

“I told you to stay away from my son,” Yu-hee advanced, her gaze piercing him. “If I see you near him again, I shall have you beheaded publicly. Your head will fall into the dust before everyone. My son cannot speak to a common bard. He shall not stoop so low.”

Thanos’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent. Inside, he wanted to scream, to proclaim that he was not a mere bard, but Subong, heir to another kingdom. Yet he knew that if he revealed the truth, he would endanger Nam-gyu even more.

The queen turned on her heel and departed with regal dignity, leaving only silence behind.

Thanos was alone in the dark little room. The candle flame flickered across the cracked walls, yet for him it was the shadows of the past that truly lit his heart—a cruel and sweet light at once.

His thoughts inevitably drifted to Nam-gyu. To the boy for whom he stayed, for whom he lived, for whom he would die at any moment.

He recalled the night he first dared to climb the palace walls to the high window of the prince’s room. Midnight. Moonlight silvered the stones. He watched for hours as Nam-gyu slept peacefully, chest rising slowly, lips parting slightly as if softly calling him in a dream. It was the first time he felt that all the foolishness—the hiding, the purple hair, the bard disguise—had perhaps been worth it. For he was close to him.

Later, his first kiss remained vivid in memory. They stood in Nam-gyu’s room when footsteps approached along the corridor. The boy panicked, then suddenly leaned forward, pressing his lips to Thanos’s in a hurried, frantic kiss—yet sweeter than anything. Nam-gyu whispered trembling, “Go! Hurry!” And he fled through the window.

There was also the other memory… the first time they were truly each other’s. Passion, long suppressed, blazed forth. Nam-gyu’s arms wrapped around him, lips met again and again, their legs tangled, bodies pressing silently together. Yet the peace was fleeting. Morning footsteps echoed on the corridor. Thanos hid beneath the bed, Nam-gyu answered the servants’ questions calmly, though Thanos’s heart nearly burst as he watched the world from just a few inches above the floor. Yet for the first time, he felt loved. That someone’s heart beat for him.

But they could never be alone for long. Danger, secrets, and the shadow of betrayal always hovered above them.

Thanos rose slowly, approached the window, and gazed down at the dark street. Questions that had tormented him for months surged once more.

What if they discovered he was not a common bard, but Choi Subong, the crown prince? If he returned to the Choi kingdom, would it spark war? Would King Sang-woo’s wrath destroy the Kim kingdom?

And if not war, but peace? Would they accept him beside Nam-gyu? Two princes, heirs of two kingdoms, husband and husband. Would they unite the crowns… or would this forbidden love tear everything apart?

Subong’s hand clenched into a fist. He saw his father’s face before him—Sang-woo, whom he hadn’t seen in nearly nine months. What would his father do if he emerged now? Embrace him in joy for being alive, or have him shackled in iron for fleeing? Forgive him, or disown him forever?

And what if his father learned he loved another prince? Would shame be enough to banish him—or worse, ignite war?

His thoughts swirled like a storm. Yet most of all, it hurt that there was no one to share them with. No one to answer him.

Only Nam-gyu. And the question vibrated within him as well: would he reveal the truth? Would he admit he was not Thanos, the playful bard, but Choi Subong, heir to another kingdom?

“If he knew, he might never look at me the same,” he thought bitterly. “And he might die from it.”

Thanos slowly closed his eyes. A sigh escaped his lips, leaving but a single burning question:

Should he remain here, playing the bard? Or return home, to the past he had fled?

And what of Nam-gyu, if the choice was wrong?

The night was dark and silent, palace towers shrouded in mist. Thanos’s hand gripped the rope tightly as he silently scaled the stone wall. Moonlight glinted faintly on his purple locks; every heartbeat sounded as if the whole palace could hear. He knew it was madness—but he could no longer resist. He had to see Nam-gyu once more.

Reaching the high window, he slipped inside, feet landing softly. The room was cloaked in dim shadow, only the candle flickering faintly. Nam-gyu stirred in bed, the blanket rustling, then sat upright, eyes wide.

“Thanos?!” His voice trembled. “Are you mad? What are you doing here? If someone sees… my mother will have you killed!”

Thanos stepped closer slowly, voice low and deep, as if the darkness itself whispered through him.
“I could not stay away. I had to see you.”

Nam-gyu’s face was colored with fear and anger.
“You should have forgotten! I try… I try, but I cannot! My mother… if she knew you were here…” His voice faltered, almost pleading. “Please, leave.”

Thanos did not move. He looked into the boy’s trembling eyes, feeling as if every wall within him crumbled. Finally, he broke the silence.
“The queen came to me yesterday. She said if I went near you again, I would be publicly executed. And you know what? I could not leave. I would rather die than live without you.”

Tears welled in Nam-gyu’s eyes. He tried to turn away, but Thanos gently took his arm.

“Nam-gyu… there is something you must know.” A deep sigh escaped him. “I am not who you think I am. I am not a common bard.”

The prince stared, bewildered.
“What do you mean?”

Thanos’s lips twisted into a bitter smile.
“I am the firstborn of the Choi kingdom. Choi Subong. The prince who was believed missing eight months ago.”

Nam-gyu’s heart skipped a beat. Blood drained from his face, and he staggered back.
“Don’t… don’t say that! This… this cannot be true! You… you lied to me all along? I thought you were just a bard… just a man I could be with!”

“I lied, yes,” Thanos’s eyes broke, voice filled with pain. “But not because I didn’t trust you. Because I feared that if anyone knew who I was, they would destroy you too. Even my own father does not know I am alive. I fled the palace because I could no longer stay. And… I fell in love with you. That was the only truth.”

Nam-gyu pressed a hand to his lips, eyes trembling with tears and anger.
“And now? What do you want? Will you go back? Leave me?”

Thanos bowed his head.
“I do not know. If I return, I may become king… or be thrown in prison. There may be war. If I stay, you are in danger. Whatever I do, your life may be at risk. Tell me, Nam-gyu. Should I follow my heart… or my duty?”

Tears pooled in the boy’s eyes, yet he stepped closer, whispering trembling:
“Follow your heart. But… don’t let me be the reason you die.”

Thanos’s lips quivered as he slowly raised his hand, brushing Nam-gyu’s tearful gaze. The boy almost melted into the touch, as if he did not want this moment to end.

Then, suddenly, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Thanos’s heart leapt. He quickly moved to the window, but leaned close one last time, pressing his lips to Nam-gyu’s. The kiss was hot, desperate, like a final breath before a storm.

“I love you,” he whispered in his ear, then grasped the rope and slipped into the night.

Nam-gyu remained behind, gasping, tears in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Hot tears streamed down Nam-gyu’s face when the door suddenly burst open. The room filled with the clatter of weapons and the thunder of boots as Queen Yu-hee entered, flanked by armored knights. The prince hastily wiped his cheeks, but the redness in his eyes betrayed his weeping.

“Nam-gyu?” Yu-hee’s voice sliced through the air, cold as ice, her gaze sweeping over him. “What has transpired here?”

Her eyes stopped on the open window, curtains billowing wildly in the draft. She stepped closer, peered into the night, and for a fleeting instant, the moonlight caught on something—strands of violet hair slipping beyond the edge of the wall.

Yu-hee’s face twisted in recognition.
“The bard,” she hissed, venom dripping from every word.

“No!” Nam-gyu cried, dropping to the floor in desperation. “Please, do not harm him! He did nothing wrong! He only… he only came to speak with me!”

The queen silenced him with a single glare. Raising her arm, she commanded the knights:
“Seize the bard. At once. If he resists—slay him.”

Nam-gyu’s heart pounded in his chest, panic gripping him like chains of ice. He leapt to block the knights, but they brushed him aside with ease.
“Please! I beg you—do not harm him!” he sobbed, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

The knights stormed out, swords flashing in the dark, their footsteps thundering down the palace corridors. Nam-gyu collapsed to his knees, tears spilling onto the cold stone floor.

Yu-hee’s eyes burned with contempt.
“You still weep for him? For a mere bard? Disgraceful,” she spat, her voice sharp as steel. “You shall never see him again.”

Nam-gyu’s lips trembled. He dared not reveal that Thanos was more than a bard—he could not, for it would only place him in greater peril.

Time crawled by until the knights finally returned. Their armor was spattered with mud, their faces grim. One knelt before the queen.
“Your Majesty, the bard escaped. He took a horse from the stables and vanished into the night. We could not pursue him.”

Yu-hee’s face darkened, and she slammed her hand against the table.
“Useless, all of you! A wretched bard slipped through your fingers?” Her voice thundered across the chamber.

Nam-gyu, still on the floor, lifted his head. In his eyes flickered a desperate, fragile hope. Thanos was alive. Alive still.

The queen inhaled sharply, her voice like a dagger as she spoke again:
“I shall send more knights. And hounds as well. The whole realm will know that I demand the bard’s head.” Her eyes cut toward her son. “And you, Nam-gyu… you will forget him. Forever. You shall not debase yourself with a filthy common bard.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed from the room, fury trailing after her like a cloak. The knights followed, their boots echoing down the corridor until only silence remained.

Nam-gyu was left alone. His body trembled, vision blurred by tears. He knew his mother would go straight to the king, demanding greater force for the hunt. If he allowed it, Thanos would be lost.

Only one thought blazed in his mind: I must find him before the soldiers do.

He snatched his cloak, hurried down the hall, and descended a hidden staircase to the stables. The scent of hay hung heavy in the air, and the horses shifted nervously, as if they too sensed the tension.

Nam-gyu approached the swiftest steed, his trembling hand stroking its dark neck.
“It all depends on you now… please, carry me to him,” he whispered.

He vaulted onto the saddle and urged the horse forward. The gates of the palace loomed ahead as hooves struck the earth with pounding urgency. He knew it was madness. He knew if he were caught, he would be branded a traitor. But he no longer cared. One truth consumed him:

I must find Thanos. At any cost.

The night swallowed him whole as he rode Darkjumper, the mighty black stallion. The beast surged beneath him, every stride infused with raw power, as if it shared its rider’s desperate heart. Wind tore at his cloak, his eyes scanning the shadows for any trace of the man he loved.

Then the rain began. First a drizzle, then a torrent that drowned the world. Mud splashed up with every hoofbeat, and the faint tracks on the ground blurred into nothing.

Nam-gyu reined in, despair tightening in his chest. Yet within him flickered a secret, guilty relief. If he could not find Thanos… then neither could the knights. The storm itself had become Thanos’s ally.

“This is… better,” he whispered to himself, turning Darkjumper back toward the palace. The horse snorted but obeyed, retracing its steps through the rain.

The night seemed endless, but fortune favored him—no patrols crossed his path. Near the palace stables, he noticed another figure dismounting a horse. In the dim glow, he recognized Prince Dae-ho Kang.

The other prince straightened, his calm eyes immediately finding Nam-gyu. There was no hostility in his gaze, only quiet curiosity.
“Nam-gyu,” he greeted softly, stepping closer. “I heard what happened… with the bard.”

Nam-gyu’s chest tightened, shame flushing through him as though caught in some forbidden act.
“I… I did not… I wasn’t—” he stammered, his words faltering.

Dae-ho shook his head with a faint smile.
“Do not fear. I will not judge you. I have seen the bond between you. I never believed a man was worth less simply because of his birth. To me, a bard may hold as much worth as a king.”

Nam-gyu trembled. For a moment, it felt as though his secret had been laid bare, and his stomach twisted with dread. Yet Dae-ho’s words brought a calm, like the sudden stillness after a storm.

“Please…” Nam-gyu’s voice broke into a plea. “Do not tell my mother. Do not tell anyone that I went out… searching for him.”

“Be at ease,” Dae-ho replied firmly. “It is not my place to judge the matters of your heart.”

Together, the two princes returned to the palace, careful to slip through unseen. Nam-gyu wasted no time, striding straight to his father’s chamber. He forced steel into his voice, though grief clawed at his chest.

“Father,” he bowed low. “I wish to know—what news? Have they found the bard?”

King Song-su lowered the book in his hand, surprise flickering across his face.
“What bard? I have heard nothing of any man being sought.”

Nam-gyu’s breath caught as he lifted his head.
“Thanos the bard. Mother… she sent knights after him. She said if he came near me again, she would have him slain.”

The king rose slowly, his voice measured and sorrowful.
“I see.” He nodded once. “I liked that bard. He had a fine voice, his songs touched the heart. I shall not permit him to be harmed merely because he sought your friendship.”

Nam-gyu’s lips quivered, and he turned his eyes away, unwilling to let his father see the relief flooding them.

The king gestured to a servant.
“Send word at once: all knights are to return. None are to pursue him further. If the bard has left, it was his choice—and we shall respect it.”

The quiet scratching of parchment filled the chamber as the order was written.

Nam-gyu’s heart slowly steadied. He knew then: Thanos was safe. At least for now.

Chapter Text

The corridors slowly fell silent. Nam-gyu’s heart was still racing as he sat alone in the darkness of his chamber. Thanos had not returned. Not through the window, not in secret. Only the empty silence remained, and the gnawing doubt that perhaps he would never see him again.

Half an hour passed before the knights finally came back. The clatter of armor echoed through the stone walls of the palace, and Nam-gyu knew his mother was among them. He followed at a distance, until they entered the great hall and the doors closed behind them.

The prince pressed himself into the shadows, holding his breath. He could not see through the cracks, but he could hear the voices. He could hear his parents.

“The bard befriended our son,” Queen Yu-hee’s voice cut through the air, cold as ice. “Nam-gyu is the crown prince, and yet… he sought the company of a common, filthy bard! This is shameful!”

King Song-su’s reply came calm, but carried unshakable authority.
“Nam-gyu is indeed the crown prince, and one day he will be king. Yet even so, he has the right to choose his own friends. If a bard is his friend, so be it. You cannot forbid him friendship.”

“How can you say such a thing?!” the queen snapped. “A future king cannot lower himself to befriend a wanderer, a nobody!”

“And by what right did you seek his death?” the king demanded, his tone stern. “Did he commit any crime worthy of execution? Or is this merely your jealous suspicion?”

For a few suffocating moments, silence reigned. At last Yu-hee spoke again, her voice quieter but laced with defiance.
“I believe the bard was in our son’s chamber. I am certain he harmed Nam-gyu.”

“Did you see this with thine own eyes?” the king asked, his voice cuttingly calm.

“…No. But it must have been so. Why else would our son have been weeping?” Yu-hee’s words faltered, though anger still quivered within them.

The king sighed, then answered with firm resolve.
“This is not enough. You cannot call for a man’s death without proof. He is the most beloved bard in the Kim kingdom; the people adore him. To execute him without cause would incite rebellion. No, Yu-hee. This will not be.”

The queen drew a sharp breath but did not speak further. A chair scraped against the floor, then her hurried footsteps struck the marble as she stormed out.

Nam-gyu felt her presence drawing near. He slipped quickly behind a column, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. The rustle of silk brushed past him, and he did not dare breathe until his mother’s figure vanished down the corridor.

Stepping out from his hiding place, his gaze fell to the floor, tears stinging his eyes. Relief and grief twisted together in his chest.

They would not hunt Thanos further. They would not kill him. He was safe… somewhere.

But Nam-gyu also knew he would likely never see him again. He could not believe the bard—no, more than a bard—would ever return.

In the shadow of the cold stone pillar, Nam-gyu felt as if the world itself had slipped away beneath his feet.

The next morning, Nam-gyu all but dragged himself to the great dining hall. Dark rings lay beneath his eyes; he had not slept a single moment all night. Thanos’s image haunted him—climbing out the window, vanishing into the dark. Was he still alive? Had he reached safety? Or had the knights caught him in the forest, with Yu-hee hiding the truth even from the king?

At the table, he tried to appear composed, spooning food to his lips though it tasted like nothing. His younger brother Minsu cast him curious glances now and then. He knew nothing of the night’s events—only that his brother seemed strangely quiet.

Soon after, the princesses entered—So-hee and Hye-rin—along with Prince Dae-ho. The breakfast quickly grew lively, the hall filled with laughter and chatter. Queen Yu-hee smiled as she turned to her son.

“Nam-gyu, my dear son,” she said sweetly, though her glance carried steel. “It is time thou shouldst seek the company of noble young men such as Prince Dae-ho. He is of excellent character. I am certain you shall become the best of friends.”

Nam-gyu nodded, forcing a smile that pained his face.

The queen turned then to the princesses, her voice pleasant yet edged with calculation.
“Princess So-hee, Princess Hye-rin… your presence always brings joy. I believe the most proper choice for Nam-gyu would be to wed the elder, Princess So-hee. Then, in time, the younger, Hye-rin, might be betrothed to Minsu.”

Nam-gyu’s heart thudded—not in joy, but dread. He felt the air tighten beside him as Minsu lifted his head, lips parting as if to protest. But the boy quickly dropped his gaze, silent.

Nam-gyu knew that look well. His brother, obedient as he was, harbored affections for another—Se-mi, the maid. A girl who could never be more than a quiet shadow within the palace walls.

The bitter irony was not lost on Nam-gyu. His brother would suffer the same fate as himself: the chains of a loveless, forced marriage, all to serve their mother’s schemes. Minsu could never have Se-mi, just as he could never have Thanos.

Even if the truth were revealed—even if all came to know that Thanos was not a wandering bard but the lost Prince Choi Subong—still, there would be no future for them. In the eyes of the world, what he felt would remain forbidden.

Nam-gyu closed his eyes briefly, hiding the sorrow behind his lashes. Amidst the smiles, the laughter, and his mother’s feigned cheer, all he felt was emptiness.

The scent of the morning feast turned sickening.

Chapter Text

Breakfast had ended, and Queen Yu-hee smiled with satisfaction when she heard that Nam-gyu himself had offered to escort the two Kang princesses and Prince Dae-ho back to their kingdom. To her, this was a sign her son had finally come to his senses and wished to spend more time with his future bride.

Nam-gyu did not correct her. Better to let his mother remain in that belief.

By the time he reached the palace courtyard, Darkjumper, the black stallion, was already saddled. The knights stood in formation, while the two princesses climbed into a decorated carriage. Dae-ho was mounted on his own horse, and when he saw Nam-gyu, he gave a friendly nod.

The road was long, yet far more pleasant than Nam-gyu had expected. Riding alongside Dae-ho, they soon fell into conversation. At first, it was no more than polite remarks—about the weather, about their horses—but little by little, their words grew deeper.

“I have heard many rumors about thee,” Nam-gyu said carefully, stroking his stallion’s mane.

Dae-ho smiled, his dark eyes glinting. “I believe I know what thou meanest. Yes, it is true. I kissed Prince Lee Myung-gi.”

Nam-gyu stared in shock. “So… the rumor is true. And… no one punished thee for it?”

“Punished?” Dae-ho laughed, his laughter light and free. “When my father, King Jung-bae, learned of it, he merely said, ‘It matters not who sits beside thee on the throne, so long as you love one another.’”

Nam-gyu’s eyes widened. “But… in my kingdom, such a thing could never be. A king and a queen—it has always been so.”

Dae-ho shrugged. “In many kingdoms, aye, it is the same. But not everywhere. My father never believed that love should live bound by rules. Though, to speak truly, Myung-gi did not remain with me. It was revealed he was already betrothed, and our kiss was a betrayal to his fiancée. Thus it ended. Yet still, it comforted me that at home… none judged me.”

Nam-gyu rode in silence, his heart pounding. Before him stretched the vision of another world. A world where perhaps he and Thanos… But he quickly cast the thought aside. Not in Kim. His mother’s words still rang like steel in his ears.

Their journey brought them at last to the border of Kang. Towering walls rose above them, and guards saluted as the princesses returned.

Inside, all felt different. The air itself seemed lighter; the townsfolk greeted the carriage with cheer, laughter echoed through the markets, voices rang with life.

When they reached the palace, the throne room doors opened wide. Upon the seat sat King Kang Jung-bae. A short, slightly stout man, his face broke into a broad smile at the sight of Nam-gyu.

“So, thou art the famed Prince Kim Nam-gyu! At last we meet in person!” he laughed, raising his hand in greeting.

“My king!” Nam-gyu bowed deeply before him.

“Nay, call me Jung-bae!”

Nam-gyu blinked, startled by the king’s familiarity, yet strangely comforted by it.

That evening, Nam-gyu was given an elegant chamber—silken covers, fragrant lamps, carved furnishings—every detail spoke of honor toward the guest.

Later, Dae-ho himself guided him through the palace and the city. He showed him the marketplace, the smithy, the shrine. The people greeted him warmly, and Nam-gyu marveled at how close Dae-ho was to his subjects.

Late at night, as Nam-gyu was about to rest, a soft knock came at his door. He lifted his head, then opened it.

Dae-ho stood there, his face grave. “Come with me. There is one who must speak with thee.”

Confused, Nam-gyu followed. They slipped beyond the palace, through the streets into the village where humble homes stood. Lanterns flickered, and rain still glistened upon the stones.

They stopped before a modest house. Dae-ho gestured toward the door. “He awaits thee inside.”

Nam-gyu’s heart thundered. Who could it be? He knew no one here. Still, he pressed down the latch and stepped within.

The first thing he saw was a strand of violet hair catching the candlelight. His heart skipped a beat.

“Thanos…” he whispered—and rushed forward.

The bard stood there, his slender frame weary, but his eyes alive. Nam-gyu nearly collided with him, wrapping his arms tight around him, holding him close.

“Where hast thou been? What befell thee?” Nam-gyu asked, his voice trembling as tears streamed down his face.

Thanos gave no answer at first. He only held him in return, as though he would never let him go.

In the silence of the small room, only the beating of their hearts could be heard.

Chapter Text

“I shall return to the palace now,” Dae-ho said quietly as they stepped outside the small house. “Remain here. No one will pass judgment upon you. You are safe here. Besides, ’tis late, and few wander the streets at this hour.”

Thanos and Nam-gyu bowed deeply in gratitude. “Thank you, Dae-ho,” Thanos said, watching as the prince slowly disappeared into the night.

Silence settled over the room once more. Thanos sank onto the roughly hewn chair, a weary smile flickering across his face. “I never imagined we would meet thus again…” he began.

Nam-gyu stepped closer, his gaze brimming with questions and worry.

Thanos drew a deep breath, then spoke. “When I climbed out of the window that night… I saw the queen notice me. There was no time to think—I leapt onto a horse and fled. I knew that if I stayed, they would kill me.”

His eyes hardened as he recalled the memory. “It was Dae-ho who found me, shortly before the rain began. He followed, lest my tracks vanish. It was then we spoke for the first time. Briefly, I told him… that I am Choi Subong. The boy with whom thou didst once play.”

Nam-gyu gasped but did not interrupt.

“He understood what it meant, seeing me slip from thy window. He knew the court desired my death. Thus, he offered that I come here, to the Kang kingdom. He instructed me to say naught at the gate but: ‘Kang Dae-ho, the firstborn, future king, sends thee, for he takes pleasure in thy songs.’ I did as he said. The guards allowed me through without question. No one sought further.”

Thanos’s eyes darkened as the candlelight cast shadows across his face. “Since then, I have lived here. I took refuge in this house. I sang as a bard in the village, at the markets, at inns. None knew my true identity. Days passed thus… until tonight arrived.”

Nam-gyu’s heart thudded wildly. “So… thou knewest I would come here.”

“Yes,” Thanos nodded. “I heard the Kang princesses were returning, and that thou wouldst accompany them. I knew if I did not seek thee now, I might never have the chance again.”

Nam-gyu was silent, his thoughts drifting back to the day he had rushed to the stables. He remembered seeing Dae-ho saddling his horse, yet he had never considered then that the prince had gone after Thanos. He had worried far too much… for Thanos. Afterwards, he had had no chance to speak with Dae-ho alone.

Now, the answer stood before him.

“So Dae-ho knows…” Nam-gyu whispered at last. “He knows thou art not a mere wandering bard, but Choi Subong?”

Thanos nodded slowly. “Aye. He is the only one who knows the truth. Save for thee.”

Nam-gyu bit his lip, then asked another question. “And now? What will thou do? Wilt thou stay in the Kang kingdom… or return to thine own realm? To the Choi kingdom?”

Thanos lifted his gaze, his eyes reflecting weariness and uncertainty. “I know not. I shall remain a few days… then I will return. Whatever may come. I know not what my father will say, seeing a son he thought lost these nine months.”

Silence filled the room, and Nam-gyu suddenly realized how much depended upon the coming days.

In the heavy quiet, Thanos and Nam-gyu merely stared into each other’s eyes. The candle flickered between them, casting shadows upon the low walls.

At last, Nam-gyu broke the silence. “I do not wish to return to my chamber. I wish to stay here with thee, all through the night.”

Thanos’s heart trembled at his words. Every part of him longed for Nam-gyu to remain, yet he knew it could not be. Gently, he shook his head. “No, Nam-gyu. We shall meet on the morrow. I promise. But thou must return now. Thou needest rest. I see thou art near slumber, and believe me, this bed will avail thee little.”

Nam-gyu pressed his lips together stubbornly. “I care not… if need be, I shall sit with thee till dawn.”

Thanos rose slowly, stepped closer, and cupped the prince’s face in his hands. For a moment he merely gazed, as if drinking in every line of his features. Then he bent, pressing a soft, tender kiss to silence Nam-gyu’s protest. Nam-gyu’s lips trembled in response, his heart racing.

“Pray…” Thanos whispered after the kiss. “Return now. We shall meet on the morrow. I swear it.”

Nam-gyu hesitated but finally, the honesty shining from the bard’s eyes convinced him. He nodded, though his own eyes glimmered with sadness. “Very well. Tomorrow.”

Thanos watched as Nam-gyu slowly stepped through the door, vanishing into the night. When the sound of footsteps faded completely, the bard sank back into the chair with a weary sigh.

Memories surged in the quiet.

He saw again that night, when he had leapt from Nam-gyu’s window. His heart had raced as he ran across the dark courtyard, vaulting onto a horse. He heard the palace guards’ shouts, the thud of hooves behind him. Cold sweat ran down his back as he galloped into the black forest.

Once, twice, he had heard the Kim kingdom’s knights draw near. Each time, he pressed close to the trees, almost merging with his horse, as the clatter of helmets passed. Every moment, he feared all was lost.

Then, suddenly, another rider appeared before him. His heart stopped; he was certain he had been discovered. He expected the flash of a sword at his neck… Yet as the figure drew near, he saw Dae-ho’s face.

Relief washed over him so powerfully that he almost faltered in the saddle.

Dae-ho had listened when he confessed that he was truly Choi Subong. In the Kang prince’s eyes, there was no judgment—only surprise and joy. “I knew thou wert no ordinary bard,” he laughed. “In the Kang kingdom, thou shalt be safe.”

To Thanos, it felt as though the heavens themselves had opened before him. Grateful tears welled in his eyes, yet he restrained them.

The first day in the Kang kingdom passed slowly. Thanos tried to blend in, singing as a bard through the streets, the markets, the inns. His songs helped him forget his fear, and for a while, even the thought that he might never see Nam-gyu again.

But at night, when the village fell silent, his thoughts returned once more to him. Was he well? Was he safe? Did he think of him?

And when, the following afternoon, he heard that the Kim prince had arrived, escorting the Kang princesses to the kingdom, his heart leapt with both joy and pain. Word quickly spread through the village: Kim Nam-gyu had officially chosen a bride. The formal letter arrived soon after.

It was then that Thanos truly felt the fragility of his hope. Sadness pressed upon him, yet he knew: if there was still a chance to speak with him, he must seize it now.

And now, having seen him again, having touched and kissed him… he felt he could endure one more night. Perhaps, truly, on the morrow, he could speak all that weighed upon his heart.

Chapter Text

Nam-gyu rose early, though he had slept very little. His heart raced as he dressed and made his way toward the palace’s grand hall. He knew the Kang princesses would be there, as well as Dae-ho, the king, and the queen. The thought of sharing breakfast with them filled him with a strange, fluttering excitement.

Around the table, cheerful conversation flowed. The three Kang princesses sat gracefully in their places—So-hee with a reserved smile, Hye-rin with bright, playful eyes, and the third, Princess Jung-hwa, whom Nam-gyu liked the least, laughed louder than the others. Yet even that did not spoil the warm atmosphere.

The greatest surprise of all was that King Jung-bae’s wife was present. Unlike Yu-hee, who was cold and austere, this queen’s warm smile seemed to brighten the hall. Her words carried serenity, her voice rang with love.

Nam-gyu could scarcely believe his ears. So this is possible? A royal breakfast that feels… peaceful, even familial—filled with laughter?

In an unguarded moment, he gathered his courage. “Your Majesty… would it be troublesome if I stayed another week in the Kang kingdom? I find myself most taken with this place, and I feel I should like to know the princesses better. And, of course, the kingdom as well.”

King Jung-bae turned to him with a broad smile. “My son, remain as long as thou wishest! I shall send a knight to the Kim kingdom, to assure them thou art safe and still among us.”

Nam-gyu was moved nearly to tears. He bowed deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “Wouldst thou have a knight accompany thee, as thou dost look about our land?”

“It shall not be necessary,” Nam-gyu replied quickly. “I would prefer to walk alone.”

After they parted, Nam-gyu crossed the city with joy in his steps, until at last he reached the small village where Thanos had been staying.

The two spent the day together. They talked, wandered the market, and in stolen moments their lips found each other’s again and again. Thanos even performed in the village square, playing upon a new lute he had been given here, his voice filling the air. Pride swelled in Nam-gyu’s chest as he listened.

But the greatest surprise came when the crowd parted, and King Jung-bae himself appeared.

Nam-gyu froze at once. In the Kim kingdom, neither his father nor mother would ever have stepped among the common folk. Yet Jung-bae smiled warmly and clapped his hands for Thanos.
“The boy sings most beautifully,” he said.

Nam-gyu nearly flinched as he answered, “He… he is Thanos. My friend. I have known him long, and… I am overjoyed to see him again.”

The king’s gentle gaze fell upon him. “I see. Thanos is indeed a kind soul. He is easy to love.”

Warmth filled Nam-gyu’s heart. Never had he felt so accepted. Two days in this land, and it already felt more like home than twenty-seven years within the Kim palace.

When they were alone together, Nam-gyu hesitated before speaking. “Your Majesty… may I ask something?”

“Of course. Anything,” Jung-bae replied, while Thanos’s song still carried through the air.

Nam-gyu drew in a deep breath. “What think you… if a prince and a commoner… should wish to be together?”

A glimmer of amusement touched the king’s eyes. “I think a man must follow his heart, and dwell with the one he loves—not with one chosen by duty.”

Nam-gyu’s throat tightened. His voice nearly trembled. “And what if… that prince loves not maidens, but men?”

The king was silent for a long while, yet his gaze remained warm. “Even then, he must follow his heart.”

Nam-gyu’s eyes filled with tears. “I must beg pardon. I cannot take Princess So-hee as my bride. I will not see her bound to one who does not love her. I… I love another.”

A gentle smile curved the king’s lips, though surprise lingered in his eyes. “I understand. Thou shalt not wed out of compulsion, my son.”

Nam-gyu whispered, almost in sobs, “My mother… Yu-hee… she would force me into it. In the Kim kingdom, none will accept me. Not even my own mother smiles upon me.”

The king laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Should it come to pass that thou art cast out or disowned… know that in the Kang kingdom, there shall always be a place for thee.”

Gratitude shone across Nam-gyu’s face. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

At that moment, Thanos finished his song and came toward them with a radiant smile. He bowed to the king.

Nam-gyu spoke with a heart glowing with joy. “It was beautiful, as always.”

Thanos merely smiled at him, his eyes sparkling.

Later, after they took leave of the king, Nam-gyu and Thanos returned to the small house where the bard had taken shelter. Nam-gyu’s heart brimmed with both hope and fear. Perhaps here, in this foreign land, he could truly find what he had longed for all his life.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered softly through the windows of the Kang palace, its golden rays touching both the stone courtyards and the rooftops alike. Nam-gyu awoke, his eyes still heavy with sleep, yet his heart pounded as he thought of Thanos’s small house. Here, there was no rigid courtly protocol, no stern gaze of his mother, no cold palace walls—only the quiet, peaceful world the Kang kingdom offered.

Thanos was already waiting by the door, clutching his lute. The moment he saw Nam-gyu, he raised his hand in a warm wave and stepped closer with a smile.
“Didst thou sleep well, Nam-su?” he asked, his familiar, gentle smile soothing Nam-gyu as always. The boy could only nod, his cheeks flushed with joy and excitement.

They spent the day in quiet peace. Together they strolled through the village streets, where the cobbled paths glowed beneath the morning sun, and the market hummed with voices and children’s laughter. Thanos played soft melodies upon his lute, every note falling in rhythm with the beating of their hearts. Nam-gyu drank in each sound, stealing kisses in fleeting moments. Thanos answered every kiss with a smile that reached his eyes.

By afternoon, they reached the edge of the village, where a stream shimmered silver under the sunlight. Thanos wrapped his arms gently around Nam-gyu, pressing his forehead against his.
“Behold, Nam-su,” he whispered, “here none shall judge thee. It is only us, and this moment. Here thou mayest finally be thy true self—without fear.”

Nam-gyu’s heart trembled at his words.
“Yes… I have never felt aught like this before. As though the whole world had stilled—just for us,” he breathed. Thanos’s hand stroked down his back, as if to chase away every shadow of sorrow.

As the sun slipped behind the horizon, laughter, stolen kisses, and hushed words carried them through the shade of the trees. Thanos played gentle tunes on his lute, every note woven into the rhythm of their souls. Nam-gyu cherished every sound, every breath, as though he wished to hold the entire world in this one boy’s presence.

Yet when the moon shone silver above the village, Thanos’s face grew solemn. Slowly, he let Nam-gyu’s hand fall from his grasp, his eyes fixed on the distance.
“On the morrow… I must return to the Choi kingdom,” he said quietly, gravely. “I must speak with my father. I must know whether I mean aught to him at all—or if my ‘death’ was as naught to him, as Gyeong-su’s was.”

Nam-gyu’s chest tightened, fear rising swiftly, though he struggled to remain composed.
“Return…? And there—what awaits thee?” he asked, his voice trembling, his eyes brimming with tears.

Thanos leaned down, touching his forehead to Nam-gyu’s.
“I know not what shall come. Yet I vow this to thee, Nam-gyu: I shall return. Doubt it not. Only trust in me—and know our hearts beat as one.”

Nam-gyu’s lips quivered as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I understand… but I am afraid… so afraid…” he whispered. And in Thanos’s gaze, filled with unwavering resolve, he found comfort.

There in the stillness of night, Nam-gyu wrapped his arms around Thanos’s neck, and for long moments they listened only to the sound of each other’s hearts. Tomorrow would decide their fate—but this one night remained theirs: a shelter of peace, of joy, and of love.

In the silence of the night, the world itself seemed to wait for them. And beneath the stars, they both knew: whatever the morrow might bring, this day would live in their hearts forever.