Archive of Our Own

Felix woke to soft morning light filtering through the paper windows, thin, pale gold lines stretching across the floorboards like brushstrokes. He barely had time to gather his bearings before the tiny bundle beside him stired and then—

A sharp and sudden wail cut through the quiet.

Felix groaned softly, not from frustration but rather from the familiar ache in his chest and back. Hanuel’s cries were high and desperate, the sound of a baby too small to understand hunger or loneliness, only knowing discomfort and needing comfort in return.

Felix was already reaching for him, hands practiced and gentle. His arms wrapped around Hanuel’s tiny swaddled form, feeling the limp newborn's weight press into him, rooting instinctively.

“Shh, little sky,” Felix whispered. “I’m here.”

He shifted his robe open just enough, guiding Hanuel to latch. The first pull made Felix flinch, sharp and stinging with the soreness of a body that had barely healed, but he breathed through it, rubbing soothing circles on Hanuel’s back as the baby settled into quiet and rhythmic suckling.

Most omegas of his standing didn’t do this themselves. Most wouldn’t endure the ache, the sleeplessness, and the rawness of raising small children with their own hands. For them, there were wet nurses, trained matrons, and entire maternity staffs dedicated to relieving noble omegas of such duties.

But Felix had not been born into nobility. He had not been raised in silk-wrapped privilege or smothered by servants who existed solely to tend to him.

He had grown up in the fields, sunburnt and calloused, poor but honest. His mother had raised nine children with no help except for older siblings and stubbornness. So, Felix couldn’t imagine handing his own children to someone else, not even if the palace staff bowed and insisted it was the proper and dignified thing to do.

No. His children would know his arms, his voice, and his warmth. Not the scent of a stranger.

Hanuel shifted again, suckling hard, and Felix winced.

“Greedy this morning,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over the newborn’s cheek.

With Hanuel secure in one arm, Felix stood slowly, careful not to jostle him. His body ached from sleepless nights, postpartum soreness, and years of carrying far too much alone, but he moved with purpose. Always for them.

He padded down the hallway toward Eunho and Suni’s room, expecting to find them tangled in blankets, Suni drooling on her pillow while Eunho kicked his sheets to teh floor as always.

Instead, he was met with empty bedding and no little bodies.

Felix froze, and a quick, sharp panic rushed through him, like the moment a horse stumbled under him or a candle guttered too close to a silk sleeve. His fingers tightened protectively around Hanuel.

He opened his mouth to call for them when he was cut off by high-pitched, joyful, and familiar laughter.

He blinked, jolted back into himself, and crossed to the window. He pushes aside the wooden shutter, and there they were.

Chan, with Eunho slung over his shoulder like a sack of rice, pretending to stagger under the “weight,” while Suni giggled so hard she kept falling into the grass. Eunho shrieked with delight as Chan spun him, mock-threatening to “toss him to the roof tiles.” Suni danced in circles, trying to catch Chan’s sleeve.

Of course, they were with Chan.

Everything in Felix’s life, every turning point, every heartbreak, and every miracle, had both begun and ended with Chan.

Chan, who had risen from foot soldier to trusted advisor with grit and loyalty and a mind sharper than the blades he trained with. Chan, who had been the one to lead Felix into the palace the first time. Chan, who had unknowingly introduced Felix to Namjoon, an event that would shape and fracture the rest of their lives.

Felix’s marriage to Namjoon had been celebrated across the pack, a union that promised security and prosperity. Blossoms had been thrown, songs had been sung, and the elders had declared it a blessing.

But Felix only remembered the moment his hand slipped from Chan’s under the ceremonial arch, the quiet look of devastation Chan failed to hide, and the deep, silent breaking inside both of them.

They had been planning to marry in secret, just months later, their escape was mapped out down to the last trail and last coin. But omegas had no rights to their own futures, not against a head alpha’s decision. And challenging Namjoon would have meant Chan’s death had he lost, a fact that froze Felix’s soul the second it was suggested.

So instead, they stayed quiet.

Instead, they took whatever scraps of time they could gather, when Namjoon traveled, or when the palace slept, or when Felix would slip away under the excuse of horse-riding lessons, or when Chan found him late at night with hands that shook from wanting.

They kept their love hidden, breathing only in stolen moments.

Felix had long suspected Namjoon knew; he suspected the head alpha simply chose to ignore it for the sake of his dignity, reputation, and power. The pack and rival packs alike needed to believe in the strength of their ruling family. Scandal could cost lives.

If Felix kept his quiet sins and Namjoon kept his eyes on Felix’s advsior, Jin, with a hunger the older refused to admit, then both of their secrets remained safely unspoken.

Hanuel whimpered softly before letting out a sudden cry against Felix’s shoulder, and Felix shifted to soothe him. The sound must have carried across the courtyard, because Chan instantly stilled, his head snapping up.

His eyes rose to the window, finding Felix in an instant, the way he always did, and something warm and quiet bloomed across his face.

He waved, a small and soft gesture meant only for Felix.

Felix felt heat gather in his chest, a slow, spreading warmth that reached the edges of his tired bones. He lifted his free hand and waved back, rocking Hanuel gently as the baby continued to fuss.

Chan’s answering smile was tender enough to make Felix’s heartbeat stutter.

Felix had only just managed to settle Haneul in the crook of his arm when the front door slid open with a small thud. Light footsteps scattered across the wooden floors, and then Eunho burst into the room, chees flushed, hair sticking up in every direction, and a leaf tangled in the collar of his tunic.

“Eomma! We were with Uncle Chan!” he announced proudly, bouncing on his toes.

Felix smiled despite the heaviness still clinging to his bones. “I can see that,” he murmured.

Suni slipped in behind her brother, still clutching the sleeve of Chan’s cloak with one small hand, as if she had no intention of ever letting him go. Her face lit up the moment she saw Felix, though, brighter than the early sun.

Chan stepped in last, brushing dirt from his hands, and his hair a little mussed from Eunho yanking on it earlier.

Chan’s expression softened into something warm and intimate, something that made Felix’s heart flutter painfully against his ribs. As he approached, his voice dropped into that low, gentle cadence he reserved only for Felix, calming and coaxing, threaded with something that felt dangerously close to longing.

“You’re up,” Chan said quietly, fingertips brushing Felix’s elbow as if he couldn’t resist touching him, even in front of the children. “How’s little Hanuel-ah? He was fussy earlier.”

Felix swallowed, the faintest shiver running through him at the contact. “Hungry. He settled after a bit.”

Chan leaned in subtly, almost imperceptibly, but Felix felt the warmth of him anyway, felt the ghost of his breath along his neck, and felt the pull of a bond neither of them were allowed to acknowledge.

“You should still be resting,” Chan murmured, the pad of his thumb grazing Felix’s wrist in a slow, soothing line. “Your body hasn’t healed yet.”

Felix’s breath caught. The touch was nothing obscene, nothing anyone could call improper, but the intent, the familiarity, and the care dripping from every motion made heat crawl across Felix’s skin. His knees tensed, steadying themselves against a sudden urge to lean into Chan’s chest.

Eunho and Suni, blissfully unaware, had already begun chattering about their adventure. Chan tried to pull his hand away reluctantly, but Felix’s fingers brushed his as if apologizing for the loss of contact.

Before Felix could reply—before he could lean into that touch the way he wanted to, before he could whisper something foolish and tender that would betray everything the two of them had tried to bury—the sound of brisk footsteps sounded in the hallway.

They jumped apart instantly, the air between them snapping back into stiff, neutral formality.

Jin stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp enough to catch everything, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Namjoon is expecting you,” Jin said to Felix, voice calm but firm. “There’s a ceremony in town today. The pack elders want your whole family present.”

Felix nodded once, adjusting Haneul’s blanket. “Of course. I’ll start getting the children ready.”

Chan cleared his throat. “I can help with that,” he offered lightly, though his eyes flicked to Felix’s exhausted posture with quiet concern. “Sit for a moment. I’ll take care of Eunho and Suni. You should rest—you’re still recovering.”

Felix wanted to protest; he always felt guilty when Chan took on more than he had to, but exhaustion tugged at his limbs, and Chan was already scooping Suni into his arms, lifting her effortlessly and tickling her until she shrieked with laughter. Eunho ran after him as Chan guided them toward the washbasin, gathering their clothes with practiced familiarity.

Felix gave in, lowering himself onto a cushion, adjusting Haneul on his lap as he watched the scene unfold. Chan moved with a natural ease around the children, wiping their faces, smoothing Suni’s hair, and helping Eunho tie the small sash at his waist. He never once made Felix feel like a burden. He never made the children feel like an obligation. The tenderness was just who he was.

Felix’s chest warmed painfully.

He felt himself drift back to the moment Suni was born, when Namjoon didn’t even bother to attend the birth of his second child. One heir had been enough; anything beyond that bored him.

It had been Chan who held Felix’s shaking hands as the contractions ripped through him. Chan, whose voice steadied him when he begged for it to stop, begged to rest, begged not to be left alone. Chan, who stayed with him from the first scream to the final push, who brushed Felix’s hair from his sweaty brow and told him over and over that he was strong, that he was safe, that he wasn’t going to die even when Felix was certain he would.

Felix had nearly given up. He remembered sobbing that he couldn’t do it, that it hurt too much, that he wanted to sleep even if sleeping meant not waking again.

Chan didn’t let him.

He kept Felix anchored with voice and touch, wiping his tears with a tenderness Felix hadn’t deserved, refusing to leave even when the midwives told him to step back.

And when Suni finally slipped into the world—silent at first, and terrifyingly limp—it was Chan who caught her. Chan, who rubbed her back until she cried. Chan, who placed her in Felix’s arms with shaking hands.

Felix blinked back into the present when Jin approached with a set of ceremonial robes draped neatly over his arms. The other house omegas followed behind him, fussing over the room, gathering items, preparing for the outing.

“Let’s get you ready,” Jin said gently, his tone warmer with Felix than with the others. He helped him rise carefully, mindful of the slight stiffness in Felix’s movements, and guided him toward the dressing divider.

Felix let the others tie his sash, smooth his hair, and adjust the folds of his robe while Hanuel dozed in his arms.

Then, inevitably, as they reached for his shoes, Haneul let out another sudden cry, a wail sharp enough to make Felix tense and instantly shift to soothe him.

One of the household omegas stepped forward, hands outstretched in a well-meaning gesture. “Shall I fetch a wet nurse, my lady? It might be easier—”

Felix’s head snapped up, eyes flashing before he could stop himself. But Jin beat him to it.

“No,” Jin said sharply, his voice cutting through the room with the kind of authority that brooked no argument. “Felix has already said he will nurse his own children. His decision is and has always been final. Respect that.”

The omega bowed quickly, retreating with an apology.

Felix exhaled, the edges of his anger softening. “Thank you,” he murmured, shifting Haneul against his shoulder as he gently bounced him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t need to apologize for wanting to raise your own children,” Jin replied, his tone gentler now. “It’s your right, regardless of what the nobles believe.”

Felix nodded gratefully and turned toward the doorway. “We can leave now,” he said softly. “Please fetch Chan and the children. Tell them to meet us in the main hall.”

Jin bowed, disappearing down the corridor.

Felix adjusted Haneul in his arms once more, smoothing the newborn’s wispy hair with tender fingers as he prepared himself for yet another day of smiling at a husband who did not love him and walking beside a man he had given his whole heart to, but could never truly claim.

-

The procession toward the town center moved at an unhurried pace, the early morning breeze carrying the distant smell of hearth smoke, pressed flowers, and damp earth.

Felix walked carefully, his steps measured, his every movement deliberate and mindful of the fragile weight nestled against his chest. Hanuel slept in small, restless breaths, his tiny fist curled in the folds of Felix’s robes, and his cheek pressed to Felix’s heart as if he knew instinctively where safety lived.

To Felix’s right, Chn walked with the children as naturally as if he had been born into fatherhood instead of stumbling into it through love and circumstance.

Suni, all wild curls and bright eyes, clung to Chan’s hand with fierce trust, occasionally hopping forward and singing herself before skipping along the path with delighted energy.

Eunho walked on Chan’s other side, darting ahead whenever something caught his curiosity, only to circle back and announce each discovery breathlessly to Chan, who listened with the unwavering patience only someone who loved them deeply could sustain.

Chan entertained them with effortless ease: humming old pack songs, pointing out cloud shapes, and telling playful stories of fox spirits and moon rabbits that made Suni gasp and Eunho puff his chest like a miniature warrior. His voice had that rich, steady cadence that soothed Felix even when it wasn’t meant for him.

And every so often, without drawing attention, Chan looked back at Felix.

Those glances were soft and assessing, concern flicking through Chn’s expression whenever Felix shifted his weight or slowed his steps. The subtle strain in Felix’s posture did not escape him, nor did the faint pucker between Felix’s brows whenever a muscle pulled wrong.

When Felix stepped on a loose stone and pain rippled through his abdomen, his breath hitched. It was brief and nearly silent, but Chan heard it. He always did.

He stopped mid-step nd turned toward Felix, one hand instinctively hovering near Felix’s back but careful not to touch, not here, not with so many eyes looking and watching. His voice lowered, warm but edged with unspoken worry.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his words gentle. “Your body is still healing. You shouldn’t be walking this far, not so soon after giving birth. A carriage would have been easier. Or at least a litter.”

Felix adjusted Haneul carefully and exhaled through the dull ache. “I am fine,” he said softly, though there was a tremor beneath the words, physical or emotional, he didn’t know. “If I arrive carried, people will talk even more. This is better.”

Chan frowned, not out of disagreement, but because he hated the truth behind the words. They both did.

“Talk,” he repeated under his breath, bitterness threading through the single syllable. “They already talk.”

And indeed, as they reached the busier outskirts of the gathering, the scenery shifted, not just buildings and banners, but the atmosphere itself. The light conversation of villagers dimmed into something tighter. Something pointed. Eyes lingered too long, studying features, assessing resemblance, and attempting to solve the whispered puzzle written in the faces of Felix’s children.

Felix didn’t need enhanced wolf hearing to make out the murmurs.

“Look at the little girl, any fool can see the advisor’s features in her.”

“Three children now, and not one looks like Lord Namjoon. What more proof do they need?”

“Shameless. The omega should count himself lucky he hasn’t been cast out.”

Others lowered their voices only slightly:

“He thinks beauty makes him untouchable.”

“Disrespectful, carrying another man’s children while bonded to the ruling house.”

Felix swallowed the familiar sting and forced his expression smooth. He had learned long ago how to carry dignity like armor, shoulders back, chin lifted, and gaze steady. The children did not need to inherit his pain.

But one particularly sharp whisper cut through the hum like a blade:

“Everyone knows whose pups those really are. The bond may say Lord Namjoon, but scent doesn’t lie.”

Chan reacted before Felix could brace himself.

His growl, low and primal, threaded with the instinct of a wolf defending his mate, rolled through the gathered crowd like storm thunder. The villagers nearest stiffened, and someone even flinched as if expecting claws or fangs.

Felix stopped walking, turned slightly, and touched Chan’s forearm, not restraining, just simply grounding. His voice was quiet but full of years of weary understanding.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “Please. Let it go.”

Chan did not look at Felix right away; his jaw flexed, breath deepening in an effort to swallow what instinct demanded. Only when he had control did he meet Felix’s gaze—dark eyes stormy with the ache of every rumor, every insult he could not defend openly.

Finally, he nodded.

Felix lifted his head and walked forward, Haneul cradled close, and the children followed, their trust in him unshaken.

The ceremonial dais came into view, draped in banners and adorned with carved symbols of leadership and unity.

Namjoon stood at the front, posture perfect, clothing immaculate, expression composed in a way that suggested ceremony mattered more than connection. His gaze swept the group as they approached.

Felix felt his stomach tighten.

When they reached him, he bowed slightly, not deeply, not submissively, just enough to satisfy tradition.

“My lord,” Felix said quietly.

Namjoon nodded once in acknowledgment. His eyes flicked to the children—not softening, not warming—simply assessing. Felix gently guided them forward, ushering them into the space beside their father as custom required.

Namjoon’s attention lingered only on Eunho.

“There he is,” Namjoon murmured, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder with a performative sense of pride. “My heir.”

Felix’s heart fractured just a little, not for himself, but for Suni, who straightened hopefully only to be overlooked entirely, her hopeful glow fading into practiced resignation.

Felix lifted Haneul slightly toward Namjoon with a placid expression that masked a spark of defiance.

“Your youngest,” he said quietly. “He should be scented as well.”

Namjoon hesitated, nearly imperceptibly, before accepting the infant. His arms were stiff, unsure, and Haneul squirmed in discomfort, sensing unfamiliarity. Still, Namjoon inhaled near the baby’s head in the traditional acknowledgment of paternity and pack alignment.

Then he returned Haneul to Felix with visible relief, muttering, “He fusses more than the others.”

Felix only nodded.

Namjoon then scented Felix himself, quick, impersonal, and purely symbolic. A gesture meant for watchers, not for the two of them.

“I arranged a seat for you,” Namjoon murmured, gesturing to where cushions had been placed near the dais. “You should sit; you’re not fully recovered.”

For a moment, just a brief flicker, Felix felt something like gratitude. Not affection or warmth, but acknowledgment. That was rare enough to accept without resistance.

“Thank you,” he murmured, lowering himself carefully onto the waiting cushion. Haneul curled against him, settling as if the world made sense again as long as Felix held him. Eunho and Suni settled on either side, small shoulders pressing into his.

Once they were arranged, Felix looked up, one last quiet search.

He found Chan in the crowd.

Chan’s posture was respectful, gaze lowered just enough to adhere to hierarchy, but his eyes lifted once, just for Felix.

Felix allowed himself a small, subtle smile.

The ceremony stretched forward with slow, suffocating grace, the officiant’s solemn voice weaving through the air like incense smoke, heavy, cloying, and impossible to ignore.

Felix kept his posture carefully still, spine straight, shoulders relaxed, breath controlled, because that was what was expected of the head alpha’s bonded omega: composure, presentation, elegance. His body performed the motions automatically, but his mind drifted far from the words being recited before the gathered pack.

Most of his attention was fixed on his children, who were doing everything in their power not to unravel beneath the weight of silence. Haneul’s small body shifted now and then, his lips puckering in restless dreams, tiny fists opening and closing near Felix’s collarbone as if reaching for something unseen.

Felix gently rocked him in the smallest of motions, just enough to soothe, not enough to draw attention. His movements were instinctive and practiced, a mother’s quiet defense against the world.

On either side, Eunho and Suni tried to sit correctly the way tutors and tradition demanded, but their young bodies were not built for stillness. Eunho’s leg tapped in a barely contained rhythm, his fingers tracing the embroidered seams of his ceremonial robes as though a secret code waited there. Suni’s gaze darted everywhere—toward banners swaying in the breeze, toward birds circling in the sky, toward the distant shimmer of the river—anywhere but the dais.

When Eunho leaned closer, his whisper half-formed, “Mama, how much—”

Felix didn’t scold. He simply laid his fingertips gently against his son’s wrist, his touch calm and warm. Eunho deflated with a soft sigh, understanding the silent request but still shifting with the discomfort of sitting still for too long.

Suni’s attention wavered next, her small body beginning to wiggle, her lips parting to ask for water or distraction or anything to break the monotony, but Felix lowered his head enough to press a soft kiss to the crown of her hair. It worked, at least for a while. She leaned into him, hands folding in her lap, though the resignation in her posture made his chest ache.

They hated these ceremonies. And Felix could not blame them, because no matter how gilded or sacred or respected they were meant to be, they always felt cold, designed for image rather than meaning, for hierarchy rather than heart.

Time crept forward in slow, dragging inches.

Then, without warning, the world ruptured.

The first scream cut through the air like a torn thread, sharp and raw, shattering the structured quiet. Heads snapped toward the sound. The officiant faltered mid-sentence. Guards stiffened, hands reaching instinctively for weapons.

Another scream followed, louder and closer, and then steel met steel.

The shift from order to chaos was instant.

People surged in all directions, some fleeing, some shielding, some desperate to understand what was happening. The air thickened with fear, dust kicked upward under panicked feet, and voices layered into a frantic cacophony.

Felix tightened his grip on Haneul, pulling Eunho and Suni close, every muscle in his body screaming with an instinct older than tradition or duty: protect.

Namjoon was suddenly beside them, posture rigid, gaze sharp and calculating. Without hesitation, he stepped in front of Felix and the children, dominance radiating from him in a fierce protective wave.

“Stay behind me,” he commanded, voice low and resolute, not gentle, but unshakably certain.

Felix tried to gather his children closer, but as someone shoved past in the chaos, fear jolted through Suni’s small frame. She stumbled backward, not toward Felix, but away from him, her footing knocked off balance by the rushing crowd.

“Suni!” Felix’s voice tore from him, raw and terrified, louder than ceremony allowed or propriety permitted.

Before his hand could reach her, a man—one of the attackers—seized her small wrist. The grip was rough, thoughtless, predatory. Suni cried out, confusion and terror twisting her voice into something Felix never wanted to hear again.

“No—NO!” Felix lunged forward, heart slamming violently against his ribs, but Namjoon blocked him from stepping into danger. Felix struggled against the restraint, the world narrowing to the sight of that stranger dragging his daughter away, her arm jerked harshly, her small body stumbling behind.

Then, before the attacker could turn or flee or tighten his hold, Chan appeared.

It happened fast, so fast it barely translated into distinct movement, just the impression of speed, of fury, of something primal and unrestrained. One moment, the attacker held Suni; the next, he was on the ground, Chan standing over him with lethal precision carved into every line of his posture. His blade gleamed with the kind of certainty that left no room for hesitation.

Suni crumpled to the ground, sobbing, and Chan dropped beside her, one arm sweeping protectively around her as his body curled around hers like a shield. His back was rigid, shoulders squared, eyes trained on every shifting figure with a predator’s awareness, ready to tear apart anything else that came near.

Guards and soldiers stormed the courtyard then, overtaking the remaining attackers with brutal efficiency. Shouts turned from panic to orders, blood hit the dirt like ink stains on parchment, and slowly the chaos began to subside.

Felix wanted to run to Suni. His entire being screamed for it. He wanted to hold her, to feel her heartbeat against his, to whisper that she was safe, she was whole, she was his.

But the guards reached the dais first.

And protocol swallowed instinct.

The royal family was surrounded, ushered quickly away before more danger could rise from the fractured moment. Namjoon guided Felix firmly, keeping Eunho close and ensuring Haneul remained sheltered in Felix’s arms.

Felix twisted, searching, desperate for one glimpse, one sign, one breath of the man who had reached his daughter before even he could.

But there were bodies everywhere—soldiers restraining, healers checking bystanders, murmurs rising in panicked waves—and Chan was no longer where he had been.

Felix searched until his chest ached with the effort.

But before he could find him, Namjoon’s hand pressed firmly at his back, directing him away from the chaos, and Felix was swept from the courtyard, heart still reaching for the man he could no longer see.

-

The palace corridors swallowed them in a hush that felt heavier than silence, the echo of the attack still lingering in the air like smoke. Guards escorted the family forward with rigid posture and sharp eyes, but their presence did little to settle the chaos still roaring inside Felix’s chest. His arms curled protectively around Haneul, and every few steps, Eunho tightened his grip on Felix’s sleeve, sensing the shaken tension even without understanding its depth.

Felix walked carefully, not because etiquette required grace, but because his body demanded it. Every step tugged at muscles still weak from childbirth, and a dull ache thrummed through his abdomen, reminding him of torn hours of labor and sleepless nights spent rocking tiny lungs back into peace. His body was still tender, stretched thin, stitched by exhaustion and instinct more than rest.

Namjoon walked beside him, silent and rigid, his footsteps louder than they needed to be as if force alone could steady him. For several long moments, neither spoke.

But the deeper they moved into the palace, the less Namjoon seemed able to hold himself together.

When the last guard peeled away to widen their clearing, and Eunho loosened his grip enough to walk freely beside Felix, Namjoon finally broke the silence.

“What happened back there…” His voice began steady but faltered under the weight of whatever emotion had been brewing beneath his carefully controlled mask. “Chan reacted too strongly. As if he had a… personal claim. As if—”

Felix stopped walking before Namjoon could finish.

The motion was slow and deliberate, not defiant, but no longer submissive either. His body ached with the sudden halt, but he forced his spine straight, ignoring the instinct to hunch protectively over his tender abdomen and infant son.

Namjoon turned toward him, searching Felix’s face as though hoping to find reassurance or denial there.

Felix offered neither.

“If Chan had a personal claim,” Felix said softly, his voice steady in a way that felt carved from years of swallowed truths, “what would you do?”

Namjoon blinked, taken off guard. “Felix—”

“No,” Felix whispered, not unkind but undeniably firm. “Answer the question.”

Namjoon hesitated, not because he didn’t know, but because he did.

Felix’s eyes softened, not pitying, but weary.

“You’ve heard the rumors,” he continued, voice quiet and painfully measured. “You’ve heard the whispers about how none of my children look like you. How they favor your advisor instead. How the bond between us is ceremonial rather than natural.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened.

Felix drew a slow breath and continued before his courage could waver.

“Would you disown Eunho if he weren’t yours? Discard Suni because she doesn’t mirror your features? Pretend Haneul has no right to his name, to his place, to his future?”

A long silence followed, thick, suffocating, and weighted with unspoken truths.

Felix felt Haneul shift in his arms, rooting blindly for warmth, and Felix adjusted his hold with tenderness that made his throat ache.

“You wouldn’t,” he murmured. “Because, regardless of blood, they are the children the village believes belong to the ruling family. And because, despite everything—despite your distance—you have never struck them, never rejected them, and never turned away.”

Namjoon’s eyes flickered, not anger, but something like vulnerability, or perhaps fear.

Felix stepped closer, not confrontational, but honest.

“I know what the healers told you when our bond was arranged,” he whispered. “I know what they implied, that perhaps any children would not be yours.”

The words hit with the soft devastation of truth. Namjoon froze, not visibly shaken, but quietly undone.

Felix continued, his voice thinning but never breaking.

“So if Chan reacted like a father—if he bared his teeth because Suni was taken—ask yourself why. Ask yourself if it was improper or simply instinct.”

Namjoon swallowed hard.

Felix shifted again, wincing as pain flickered through his abdomen, but he did not stop.

“And Chan saved your daughter,” he whispered. “Whether she carries your blood or not. He did not hesitate. He did not think of protocol or consequence. He moved because she was family.”

Namjoon’s gaze lowered, and Felix saw something change, not acceptance, not approval, but a crack in the wall he’d built around himself.

“You should stand behind him,” Felix finished softly. “You should thank him, not privately, but publicly. So the village knows their leader is unshaken.”

For several long seconds, Namjoon said nothing. Then—barely above his breath—

“…I understand.”

Felix nodded once, relieved and exhausted.

“And Namjoon,” he added quieter still, “if you want my silence about Chan then grant him grace. Because neither of us has earned the right to demand perfection from the other, not when you look at Jin the way you do.”

Namjoon stiffened, shoulders rigid, but Felix offered no further confrontation. He simply turned and continued walking, because there was nothing left to argue. Not now. Not after nearly losing everything.

When Felix finally entered the healing chamber, the sight before him nearly buckled his knees.

Chan sat on the edge of a low bed, Suni curled into his lap with her face buried against his chest, small fingers clinging tightly to the fabric of his shirt. Her tiny shoulders trembled with the remnants of fear, and Chan’s arm rested around her protectively, palm spread over her back, steady and warm.

Felix crossed the room slowly, each step careful as pain radiated through his abdomen and hips. Chan looked up when he approached, eyes searching Felix immediately, not for appearance or propriety, but for injury.

When Felix reached him, Suni reached too, letting out a tiny broken sob, relief, fear, and love, all tangled in one.

Felix gathered her gently, ignoring the ache that rippled across his healing body, and held her against his heart. She burrowed into him, as if confirming he was real.

“You’re safe,” Felix whispered, kissing her hair. “You’re safe, my brave girl.”

When he finally lifted his gaze back to Chan, he noticed the cut near Chan’s cheekbone, the scrapes along his knuckles, the way his stance still leaned forward as though ready to stand between danger and family again.

Felix reached for a damp cloth and slowly pressed it to the mark on Chan’s cheek. Their eyes met, the moment stretching into something wordless and binding.

“You shouldn’t have had to fight alone,” Felix murmured.

Chan shook his head once. “I didn’t think. I just moved.”

“I know,” Felix whispered, voice trembling. “That’s why she’s still here.”

Something inside Chan softened, his breath released, his posture eased. His hand rose hesitantly, then rested feather-light against Felix’s jaw, thumb brushing a tear Felix hadn’t realized had fallen.

His voice, when it came, was low and reverent, shaped by devotion rather than possession.

“I love you,” he said, not rushed, not whispered like a secret, but spoken like a truth finally allowed to breathe. “I have loved you from the moment I knew your name. And I will love you until my last breath.”

Felix’s eyes closed, his heart aching with years of longing.

Chan leaned closer, forehead resting against Felix’s as if claiming back a lifetime.

“And you are my mate,” he breathed. “Bond or no bond, title or no title, you are mine. And those children—our children—I will protect them until the gods themselves tell me to stop.”

Felix drew in a shaking breath, pain and gratitude tangling in his chest in a way that felt almost holy.

“I know,” he whispered, voice breaking, not from weakness, but from finally being seen.

Chan’s arm wrapped around him, steady and warm, careful of Felix’s healing body, holding him not as a secret, but as something worth fighting for.