Chapter Text
“Your Grace… Your Majesty,” the royal physician says, apology already dripping from his tone, “the prince… his condition… It’s worsening.”
Ricky lies there, letting out labored breaths, shifting away when one of the nurses dabs a cool, wet towel on his forehead. He came back from battle nearly three weeks ago. The fact that he’s still alive is a miracle considering he was stabbed right below his lung. Upon his return, the wound seemed to be healing. Then, of course, just his luck, it got ten times worse. The infection spread through his body like wildfire, quickly confining him to his bed, barely able to breathe, let alone eat or drink much of anything.
Now, here’s the royal physician telling his parents he’s going to die as if he isn’t right there behind them. Sure, he knows he’s dying; he can feel it, but it wouldn’t kill the physician to tell his parents the news not in his presence.
He watches through blurred vision as his mother falls to the ground, weeping. Her large gown flows out around her with grace despite the howling cry she lets out. Her only child dying because of their choice to make him head the war in his father’s stead. His father, ever the stoic man, tries to maintain his composure as he kneels beside his wife. He holds her shoulders tightly as she shakes and sobs.
“I wish there could be something I could do to save him. The wound… it seems to have punctured some of his innards that I cannot heal without causing his more premature death in the process.” He explains, voice shaking.
This is the same physician who cared for him through his entire nineteen years of life. The man who, along with his nursemaid, kept him alive and mostly healthy. He was the only heir to the throne after all. Hearing him say that he was guaranteed death regardless of the proceedings shattered his world as much as he could comprehend at the moment.
“My apologies, your excellencies.” He gives a bow, “I will leave along with my assistants to allow you time with the prince.”
He quickly calls for the nurses to follow after him and closes the chamber doors tightly behind him. Ricky barely has enough strength to turn his head as his mother rounds the bed. She sits beside his uninjured side, eyes rimmed red from crying as fresh tears fall. His father stands behind her, still holding a comforting hand on her shoulder. His mother places a hand on his cheek. He’s clammy and uncomfortable, but the familiar touch brings him enough comfort for a fleeting moment.
“My son,” she sniffles, “we should have never— I’m so incredibly sorry, my son.”
“M-mother,” Ricky rasps out, barely getting enough breath to mutter the word.
His father shakes his head, “Do not speak, you need rest.”
Ricky tries to smile, though it likely looks like a grimace.
“You heard him,” Ricky gasps, “I’m dying regardless. I might—“ he gasps for air again, “might as well speak to my parents one last time.”
“Ricky,” his mother cries again, “please, please don’t…”
His father furrows his eyebrows, “There’s… something… we can do. It’s not ideal, but—“
The queen snaps her head toward her husband, “You don’t mean…?”
A curt, cryptic nod is all the king gives her. Ricky is either too delirious or completely unaware of whatever they seem to know.
“Preacher Sung won’t stand for that.” His mother adds, “He’ll—“
“He won’t know.”
“F-father… what—“ Ricky groans deeply in pain, despite the noise only causing more pain.
His father calls for his personal servant, whispering something to him quietly. Ricky’s already fragile state renders him completely unable to hear what he’s saying. All he can focus on is the bleary sight of his mother stroking his raven hair as she watches him with sympathetic, worried eyes. Her crown and matching jewelry still shine and sparkle brightly, presenting the perfect vision of regality despite the morbid nature of the moment.
“Rest, my son, we’ll see you soon.”
Ricky can’t stop himself when he succumbs to the pain radiating all over his body. He slips into a darkness he’s not sure how to describe. Is he asleep? Is he awake? Is this death coming to sweep him away? He’s definitely not dead; he can still hear his parents speaking to a man unknown to him.
“I cannot take his blood, I cannot risk drinking the infection despite my… nature… having him drink from me, however, should be enough to save him.”
What? He’s what? Ricky wants so badly to scream, say he’s there, that he’s still alive. Nothing he can do allows him to do so. The infection and sickness ravaging his body are far too much to even open his eyes at the moment. He’d much rather succumb to death than whatever they’re planning right there in the room with him. Ricky isn’t sure the time or day or even who else may be there. All he knows is that death is here, and he is ready.
His head is lifted slightly, supported in the back, where his hair is likely unruly and matted from being stuck in bed. A warm liquid touches his lips, and he unconsciously swallows. It tastes of metal, but he can’t stop himself from drinking whatever liquid this is. Barely conscious, barely alive, he takes whatever is happening without the ability to deny it. The moment his head rests against the pillow again, he slips back into that familiar darkness, barely feeling his mother’s lips against his forehead.
It must be days later when he wakes again, maybe longer. Now he feels healthy, alive, but somehow still very ill. He sits up, trying to process everything. The wound on his side, healed. Nothing but a raised scar along his side, spanning from his ribs down to his midsection. Perhaps that wound was far more damaging than he was aware of. But, if it was truly that severe, and he was on death’s door, how is he fully healed?
Placing his hand on his chest, he feels his stomach drop straight through him. His heart isn’t beating. He’s dead. How could he be dead while also alive? This must be another fever-induced nightmare. He can’t be dead yet alive at the same time.
“Drink.” A man says from the sitting chair near the fireplace.
He’s holding an ornate goblet out to Ricky. A thick red substance is in it. Far too thick to be wine or expensive luxuries. His stomach turns with hunger. He wants it, whatever it is.
“Your eyes are blood red.” The man speaks, turning to face him fully, “As expected, sleeping for 3 weeks straight as a fledgling will do that to you.”
“A— a what?”
“Fledgling. The king and queen truly won’t stop at any length to save the crowned prince, I’ve discovered. Enlisting the help of supernatural creatures when medicine and prayers fail. Rather ironic considering the lengths they go to ensure the kingdom knows not of our existence.”
“W-what—“
The man smirks, “All will be explained after you drink. I’d like to see if you keep those crimson eyes. They complement the white hair oh so beautifully.”
Looking in at his reflection in the looking-glass, Ricky sees a head of white hair with a light blond tinge to it. His short hair was still matted and messy from writhing in bed. His eyes were a bright shade of crimson red, with dark black outer rims encasing the bright color. He reaches up to play with the strands of hair, which had been jet black last he knew, his eyes a warm, deep brown. He looks… inhuman.
Slowly, the prince turns back to the mystery man, who’s still holding the goblet out to him. He steps closer, keeping his eyes trained on the man before carefully taking the goblet from his slender hand and sitting in the opposite armchair.
“So who are you?” Ricky asks, sipping at the metallic-tasting liquid.
“The one who saved your life. And now your parents have me staying with you until you can be… weaned, we’ll say.”
“Weaned?”
“You’re dead, your highness.”
“So I’ve noticed. I’m drinking and I feel full. Not a single morsel of food. Just whatever this is.”
The man holds eye contact with him, releasing a long sigh. He bows his head to look at his folded hands resting on his thighs. Ricky just watches as his somewhat long, dark hair falls in his face. He’s debating something. What Ricky is unsure of.
“The king and queen… they struck a deal with me to save your life. I would’ve done it without the deal, I’d take payment instead, but here we are. I’m a vampire. You were on your deathbed, the only heir to the throne. Your parents… they were desperate.”
“I’m…”
“You’re my fledgling. Yes.”
Ricky looks at him with confused but round, sparkly eyes, “Fledgling?”
“I turned you, and you’ll be rather dependent on me for a bit. Most fledgling it’s about 5 years, but with the intensity of our situation… it’ll be about 6 months.”
“Situation?”
His sire looks at him with a small smile and a twinkle in his eye. A light laugh escapes him, barely heard over the crackling fire.
“Full of questions.”
“Can you blame me? I’m undead.”
“The deal I struck with their majesties. I save you and care for you until you’ll be okay on your own, you know, show you the ropes and all. In exchange, they keep the supernatural world as secret from humans as possible. It’s exhausting always being hunted just because a man has to drink.”
“Drink… as in…”
“Blood, yes. You can survive on animal blood or human blood. Either way, you need to drink to survive or fall victim to bloodlust and lose your sanity.”
His sire sits there all night with him, talking over intricacies and details of his new existence. For the first few nights, he won’t see his parents or any royal staff just to be sure he doesn’t go biting people just cause he wants to. The elder vampire doesn’t pull any punches. Every gritty reality of his new life, every gory moment, Ricky is told of it.
“You don’t need to breathe, you know.”
“Force of habit. Been doing it all hours of the day and night since the moment I was born.”
“I’m just saying.” His siren laughs, “I still find myself breathing all the time and I’ve been around… a long, long time.”
Ricky moves closer tentatively, lounging on the fainting couch beside the large armchair his sire sits. A question sits on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked, but he doesn’t know if he has the right to ask.
“What is it, your grace?”
“Ricky is fine. Given that we’re stuck together for the next few months. What may I call you?”
“You sure you want to know my name?”
“What are you, someone I would’ve learned about in my studies?”
The raven-haired man shakes his head, “I’m just private, is all. You can call me Jiwoong.”
“H-how—“
“I stopped counting…”
Ricky buttons his lip, thinking for a moment, “If you had to guess?”
“Round about 2000, maybe 2500 years old. Like I said, your highness, I’ve been around far too long.”
The conversation drops off there. Despite Jiwoong saying he would no longer need sleep, Ricky can’t help but want to rest his eyes in the comfort of his bed without the constant pain he felt for weeks before his death.
It ends up being a few weeks before Jiwoong allows anyone to visit the prince in the private chambers. He expects the crown and queen to be the first to visit, but it’s not. The first to come is a young man close to Ricky’s age. The man barrels in, barely letting the door slam behind him. Throwing himself into Ricky’s arms, he kisses the prince as if he were all the air he needed. Jiwoong knew this kind of situation all too well. He steps onto the moonlit balcony, making himself scarce.
“Ricky, I thought— I was so—“ he stops himself, kissing the prince again, “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Ricky reaches a hand up, caressing the servant’s cheek lovingly. The other stays firmly planted on his waist, holding him as if he’d disappear.
“I’m here. I’m not… I’m not the same, but I’m here.” Ricky smiles softly, eyes and voice dripping with honey.
“Darling, I was so—“
Ricky hushes him, “Don’t speak like that,” he rests his forehead against his guest’s softly, “I’m… I did die. I’m not human anymore, my love.”
The young man pulls back, studying Ricky’s face. He looks entirely the same, other than his now white hair. They stay silent for a few moments, and Ricky continues to stroke his cheek lovingly.
“I’m still me, Nicholas. Nothing between us needs to change.”
He nods, “You’re still my Ricky.”
Ricky smiles sweetly, leaning in to kiss him again. Jiwoong isn’t trying to listen or trying to watch, but he also knows he needs to keep an eye just in case Ricky gets a taste for this human’s blood. Though he can’t hear it, he can see the way Ricky practically inhales this man in the kiss. A small gasp escapes the shorter man as heat grows between them. It’s Ricky who ultimately pulls back, whispering something to Nicholas. With a small nod, the servant leaves, eyes lingering for a longing moment before stepping out.
“You treat all your servants like that? Or is this Nicholas kid someone special?” Jiwoong asks, nearly scaring Ricky out of his skin.
“If my heart were still beating, I fear you would’ve made it stop! Don’t do that!” Ricky chastises.
“Answer the question, Ricky.”
Ricky lets out a long sigh, “Not a soul can know. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if—“
Ricky drops his head forward to look at his feet. Not letting himself finish the thought. Jiwoong steps closer, placing a firm hand on Ricky’s shoulder. He squeezes slightly, showing empathy he normally doesn’t display.
“I understand.” There’s more to his words than what meets the eye.
“Are you…?”
Jiwoong nods, “It’s time I told you my story. We’re nearly three months in and you don’t know…”
“You said you’re private. I never questioned it.” Ricky explains, “You don’t need to tell me anything.”
“I should, your highness.”
Jiwoong tells him everything. He was young and dumb, fell in love with the vampire he had been regularly feeding his blood to. In the heat of the moment, he asked his vampire lover to turn him. Without thinking twice, that’s exactly what he did. As soon as he was self-sufficient, his lover left him, both as a sire and as a partner. It broke him entirely; he was and still is in a dark place. His most recent lover, though it was many lifetimes ago, he overindulged. Killed the man and left his lifeless body in his home to be found in sheer panic. He’s never recovered. Watching loved ones pass on, forced to live in darkness until the sun burns out, was never something he considered when he asked to be turned in a foolish act.
“So… why did you choose to make that deal with my parents?”
“I saw the love and desperation they had to save their son. It’s not like anything I can describe. And of course, though I don’t involve myself with covens of vampires anymore, and never have involved myself with packs of werewolves, we deserve peace and safety, too. I’ve seen so many vampires hunted, burned alive in the sun, murdered in cold blood, simply for existing. Most of us barely indulge in human blood unless it’s in desperate times. Stealing the blood of livestock is a crime worthy of death to humans still.”
“Safety. Peace of mind.” Ricky muses, “You talk of these things, but do you have them for yourself?”
Jiwoong stays silent for a few moments. Ricky seems to have hit a nerve.
“Do you?”
They don’t continue the conversation, Jiwoong disappears for the rest of the night, likely to gather more blood for both of them. In the past few weeks, Jiwoong has shown him what different bloods taste like, explained to the best of his ability how to retrieve that blood, and honestly, Ricky is growing fond of the taste quickly.
He starts to see his parents again, mostly meeting in rooms with no windows to protect him from burning. Talking over business with his father, strategies on the war that killed him isn’t his favorite topic, but he knows it’s necessary. His mother still dotes on him as if he’s still alive. Part of him breaks each time she does, knowing she’s still clinging to the son she nearly lost entirely.
In the back of his mind, the conversation he had with Jiwoong a few weeks ago lingers. He’s had his life laid out for him since he was in the womb. Plain and simple: study, take over as king, produce an heir, groom him to be king. The cycle continues. Is that what he wants? Is that all there is? Get groomed to be king, then groom a male heir to be king after him. It seems so… empty… and now that his new reality is, well, being undead, he’ll never age. He’ll have to pretend to die in some tragic way and go into hiding in the palace until one of his descendants can’t produce an heir… and then what? He pretends to be his own descendant? It seems insane.
As he wanders back to his chambers, his mind spirals. He ignores staff greeting him; all he can focus on is how mundane his entire existence is going to be for the rest of time. As he steps into his room, eyes far off and glazed, he can see Jiwoong sitting in his usual spot by the fireplace. His sire already had a goblet of blood prepared, ready to tell him which kind he got for the night.
“I have my path set for me, so I guess so.” Ricky huffs, void of all emotion, “I’ll be king, produce, and heir. That’s all I really have ahead of me.”
“Except…” Jiwoong says expecting him to continue.
“Nothing. Become king when my father passes or passes the throne, and produce an heir with whatever princess they arrange me with.”
“Except you’re attracted to men. Except you’re dead. You can’t produce an heir.”
Ricky furrows his brows at him. That’s not something he’s been privy to until this very moment. In all the things he and Jiwoong have talked about in the past few months, that was definitely not one of them.
“What?”
“You’re dead, your highness. Dead men can’t produce children.”
Ricky feels his perfectly crafted world crumble around him. Everything he was trained to do, everything he studied, every ball and event he went to for his parents to scout prospective brides. All of it, gone.
“You— you mean…” he trails off.
Jiwoong gives him a sympathetic look, “The Eternal King. That’s what you’ll be, your highness.”
“I don’t want— Jiwoong, I can’t—“
Ricky starts hyperventilating, tunnel vision, not terribly different from his vision at the end of his life. The hyperventilation does nothing; he doesn’t need to breathe, still, somehow it causes him to panic more, as if he’s gasping for air. There’s no way. He just can’t.
He pushes his way back out of his room, ignoring the fact that nearly midnight and his parents are likely asleep. All he can focus on is telling them everything that’s been festering inside him for weeks on end.
He doesn’t even knock when he bursts into their chambers. His mother wakes up with a start, sitting up instantly upon the sound of the heavy wooden door hitting the wall. She lets out a loud gasp, grabbing onto her husband, shaking him awake. When she processes it’s Ricky, she moves to light a candle.
“My dear, what's wrong? Did something hap—“
“I can’t do this.”
His father comes over slowly, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I can’t be king.”
Both his parents are shocked and silent. Ricky can barely see them in the darkness, but he knows they’re both wide-eyed at his announcement.
“Son.” His father speaks slowly, a warning in his tone.
“No!” Ricky shouts, “I don’t want to be king. I’m practically immortal, I can’t produce any heirs, I can’t exactly step down from a throne when I have no one to pass it to, and when I’m not aging. It’ll become obvious at some point that I’m still nineteen and not getting any older. I don’t want to rule the same damn place for the next eternity! No matter what I do, no matter who I meet, no matter how I try to lie, I will always be like this. I didn’t want to live forever! You should’ve let me die! Passed the throne to my cousin. Did you ever think about the fact that I’ll outlive everyone? Every godforsaken person with a beating heart. My heart doesn’t beat; I prey on humans and animals’ blood to survive in the shadows. No matter who I love, no matter who I meet, I will watch them age and die while I stay nineteen forever!”
He pants after crashing and burning right there in his parents’ bedchamber. He’s still panicking, breathing as if he just survived a battle. His eyes flit around the room, unfocused from his manic state, accompanied by the fact that he never actually drank when he started his conversation with Jiwoong.
“Ricky,” his mother tries to soothe, “my dearest, my son—“
She tries to reach out to hold him, but he jerks away from her touch, giving her a sharp look. The Queen recoils as if he were made of fire.
“Son, you said you can’t produce…”
“I’m dead. As much as I look alive to you, I’m goddamn dead! I died and now I’m a creature, not even human! Did you really think a dead man could produce an heir?”
“We could still—“
“Don’t say, find a bride! I don’t want a damn wife. You’re both so blind you can’t see the clear signs right in front of you.”
The Queen sighs softly, as if she’s known for a while, “Ricky, don’t do this.”
Something in him snaps. He jolts forward, baring his fangs and sinking into his own mother’s neck. Drinking deeply as she squirms, trying to escape. He’s discovered his increased strength, making it far too easy for him to keep her trapped. She goes limp in his hold. As soon as he pulls away, licking the blood from his teeth and lips, he turns toward his shell-shocked father. He doesn’t hesitate again. He lunges and pins his father just beside the fireplace, drinking until he’s had his fill.
Jiwoong seems to feel a shift in the air as he bursts through the doorway, practically ripping Ricky away from the king. Ricky looks crazed.
“Look at me, your highness!” Jiwoong yells.
Ricky doesn’t hear. He’s looking through Jiwoong, not even at him. His sire yells a few more times before Ricky refocuses and immediately breaks down sobbing. Shaking in Jiwoong’s arms.
“I killed— did I—“
“They’re breathing.” Jiwoong reassures, “You can’t stay. They’ll know it was you.”
Ricky sniffles, “C-can’t you come with—“
Jiwoong gives him a soft look, “I can’t. You need to do this on your own… they’ll suspect me of kidnapping and attempted assassination and charge me with high treason.”
“Woong…”
Jiwoong reassures him with a slight squeeze, “I’m going to frame it on you… Trust me… I’ll take the fall, but I’ll tell them you went rogue and I couldn’t keep up with you. We know it’s not entirely true, but it’s what we need to do to keep you safe. You run. I’ll call for the staff once I know you’re far enough away. Remember what I taught you.”
Jiwoong wipes Ricky’s face clean of tears and blood. Giving him a vague guide of where to run, avoiding blood thirsty covens and not-so-friendly wolf packs. Jiwoong carefully starts to lift the queen into his lap, keeping a close watch on her breathing. With a final look, Ricky bolts out of the room, heading toward the stables to take his horse as far as he can possibly get.
Once in the stables, the last person he expects to see is his — whatever you want to call Nicholas to him. The servant is peacefully tending to one of the pregnant horses when he sees Ricky. He gives him a bright smile, instantly letting it crash and shatter as he sees the blood on Ricky’s shirt.
“I’m leaving. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the Ricky you held so dearly.”
“R-Ricky?”
“I loved you more than the stars.” He starts to cry, “Find someone who cares for you. I’ll never forget you.”
He doesn’t wait for Nicholas to answer before he mounts the horse without a saddle and takes off into the night.