Chapter Text
One: Duel or Die of Boredom
The court was quiet, as usual, whenever Prince Dunk opened his mouth.
“You call that a general?” the third prince sneered, voice echoing off the polished marble walls. “I’ve seen more charisma in a stable rat.”
Joong Archen didn’t flinch. He stood silent in his black armor, shoulders back, silver sword sheathed at his hip. Dried blood still crusted at his temple from his latest victory at the Northern border. The stench of smoke, steel, and magic clung to him like a second skin.
Dunk, pristine in silken whites embroidered with blue phoenix thread, wrinkled his nose. “Is that battlefield rot, General? Or do you actually bathe in ash before attending meetings?”
A few nobles chuckled nervously.
Joong had ignored him every time before. Every jab. Every insult. Every dramatic duel request presented in poetic form. He didn’t have time for spoiled brats with shiny rings and sharper tongues than swords.
But today, something cracked.
Maybe it was the king’s subtle, disappointed glance.
Maybe it was his own mother’s letter, folded neatly in his pocket: You’re twenty-five. It’s time you found a mate. Even mongrels want puppies, Archen. What about you?
Or maybe it was simply that Dunk Natachai looked too smug in the sunlight, like a feral cat daring someone to swat him.
“I accept,” Joong said, voice low and deadly.
The court went still. Then erupted.
“You what?” Dunk’s face betrayed the first sign of shock. “Are you serious?”
Joong drew his sword with one hand, magic rising in glittering blue threads along his other arm. “You want a duel? You’ll get one.”
---
The royal training grounds. Twenty minutes later.
Dunk shed his cape dramatically, stretching his arms like a lounging swan. “Don’t hold back just because I’m prettier than you.”
Joong grunted. “I was planning to end this in three moves.”
Dunk lunged.
To everyone’s surprise—including Joong’s—the prince was fast. Really fast. And good. Elegant in his strikes, clever in his footwork. He moved like someone who had trained in secret, maybe to spite a world that thought he was all perfume and parties.
Joong felt heat rise in his chest. Excitement. It had been so long since anyone made him feel this alive.
He twisted, parried, swept his hand—and sent a surge of elemental force crackling through the air.
Dunk responded in kind.
Their magics collided midair with a shattering roar. A crossroad burst of white light spiraled outwards, blinding half the audience. The air snapped with pressure.
Then—
A pop.
A flash.
And where Dunk had stood was now a trembling white bubble. Floating mid-air.
Joong narrowed his eyes. “What…”
The bubble shimmered… and burst.
Out tumbled a snow-white Persian hybrid kitten.
Blue eyes. Pink nose. Fluffy tail and ears twitching with outrage.
He glared up at Joong and hissed.
Everyone was dead silent.
“...Your Highness?” Joong asked.
The kitten—Dunk—lunged and bit his boot.
---
Ten minutes later.
The king did not look amused.
“I suppose,” he said slowly, “this means your magic is… unstable.”
“I disagree,” Joong replied. He held Dunk—still a kitten—by the scruff, who was currently growling and trying to claw at his gauntlet. “It’s working perfectly.”
The king sighed. “He needs time to recover. And you…”
Joong tilted his head.
“You need space. Mateship pressure has clearly driven you to madness. Fine. Take him to your estate in the west wing. Until he returns to form.”
Joong blinked. “Are you exiling us?”
“I’m solving two problems with one solution. Call it royal efficiency.”
Dunk mewled indignantly.
Joong looked at the bundle of fur in his armored hand. Then, to the king. “As you command.”
---
That night. In the West Wing.
Joong set the kitten down on a silk pillow.
“You’re lucky I don’t eat small creatures.”
Dunk huffed and turned around, tail high.
Joong undressed slowly, unstrapping his armor, pulling off his tunic. His muscles gleamed in the candlelight—broad chest, scars of glory. Magic still shimmered faintly at his fingertips.
He glanced at the kitten.
“You mocked me for months. Challenged me for sport. And now you’re… this.”
Dunk turned his head and narrowed his blue eyes.
Joong leaned down, close. Very close.
“If you keep being cute,” he whispered, “I might keep you like this.”
The kitten’s tail poofed up. And he launched at Joong’s face.
Joong laughed.
For the first time in years.
Two: The Prince
The west wing estate had been built for solitude. Stone halls stretched long and cold, wrapped in mountain mist and silence. It was meant for a man like Joong Archen—half myth, half menace. Not for the soft little storm of fur currently wreaking havoc on his quarters.
“Get off the desk.”
Dunk, still a white Persian kitten, flopped dramatically on the papers Joong had left—battle reports, supply manifests, and a formal letter requesting Joong “consider marriage with Lady Alna, daughter of the Duke of Wren.” He batted that one off the desk on purpose.
Joong sighed and grabbed him by the scruff again. “You’ve been here one day and already cost me three letters, two reports, and my patience.”
Dunk responded by sneezing glitter.
Actual, shimmering magic dust exploded in Joong’s face.
“...You’re shedding spell residue,” he muttered, blinking it off.
Dunk licked his paw and rolled away, showing his fluffy belly. A trap, clearly. Joong had been a general long enough to know one when he saw it.
And yet—
His hand hovered.
He could just…
Touch.
No. No, he would not fall for it.
He walked away instead. Dunk trilled and followed like a cursed tail.
---
That night.
Joong lay shirtless in bed, blanket kicked halfway off. The mountain chill didn't bother him, but the tiny warm ball pressed firmly to his side did.
“You can sleep on the pillow,” he murmured.
Dunk ignored him.
“You have your own bed.”
Dunk rolled over and snuggled into Joong’s chest, purring like a damn love spell.
Joong stared at the ceiling. He was a commander of twenty thousand men, the slayer of a river wyrm, the man who held the northern wall for forty nights alone.
And now, he had a magical hybrid prince asleep on his nipple.
A soft pink tongue flicked lazily over his skin.
Joong went still.
“...Are you grooming me?”
Dunk purred louder. Licked again. This time, over his pec, slow and deliberate. His tail twitched. His magic shimmered.
Joong’s eyes darkened.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
More purring. Then a little nibble. And another lick—down, this time. Lower.
“Dunk,” Joong growled, voice rough with something not anger. “You’re not in heat, are you?”
The kitten blinked innocently.
Joong hissed between his teeth, shifting slightly under the sheets. “Of all the damn transformations…”
Another lick.
Joong snapped.
In one fluid motion, he rolled over and pinned the kitten beneath him. “You're flirting,” he accused, voice low and dangerous. “In this form.”
Dunk meowed.
Joong stared into those smug blue eyes. “If you turn back right now, I’ll drag you to the hot spring and make you apologize with your mouth.”
The kitten’s ears perked up. His body shimmered.
Magic sparked in a swirl of white and blue.
And then—
A very naked, flushed, and absolutely smug Prince Dunk lay under Joong, arms pinned, legs tangled in silk sheets. His red lips were parted slightly. His hair a black halo on the pillow.
Joong’s control cracked.
“You have five seconds to explain why you were licking my chest as a cat.”
Dunk arched one perfect brow. “I was curious what blood and dirt tasted like.”
Joong’s hands tightened on his wrists. “And?”
Dunk leaned up, lips brushing Joong’s jaw. “Delicious.”
Joong tried to crush their mouths together.
Well, tried to.
Three: Heat of the Springs
The private hot spring behind the west wing estate was hidden behind a veil of enchanted stone and mist. No guards. No staff. No rules. It was meant for recovery. Quiet. Meditation.
Tonight, it held a prince with a mouth too sharp for his own good—and a general who’d finally decided to shut it properly.
Steam curled between the rocks as Joong stepped into the water, bare and broad-shouldered, his scars barely softened by moonlight. Across from him, Dunk lounged like he was born for seduction, submerged to his chest, bare skin glistening with springwater and sin.
“You’re staring, General,” he teased, fingers trailing lazily down his collarbone.
“You’re naked in my bath,” Joong said flatly.
“You brought me here.”
“I told you to wash.”
“You said—and I quote—‘If you’re going to act like a brat, at least smell better doing it.’” He smirked. “So here I am. Freshly scrubbed.”
Joong’s jaw ticked.
“And?” Dunk tilted his head, water sloshing around his chest. “Do I meet your standards, Commander?”
“Not even close.”
Dunk blinked.
Joong moved.
He crossed the spring in two strides and pinned the prince against the edge of the rock, water cascading around them.
“Your mouth,” Joong murmured, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, “has been asking for punishment since our first meeting.”
Dunk’s legs shifted, parted slightly in the water. “Then punish me.”
Joong grabbed his jaw. “Say it properly.”
Dunk licked his lips. “Please, Commander. Teach me a lesson.”
Joong kissed dunk first. And then bite his lower lip. Because..... well, Joong don't know why.
Dunk softly moaned into it, nails scratching down Joong’s back. “Joong,” he whispered, voice mixed with whining already.
Joong shoved him higher onto the decorative stone bench, Dunk hug and hide his face on Joong's shoulder, with a scowl, he shook his head into a "No". Joong let out a breath, water dripping off their skin. His hands roamed down to Dunk's waist, possessive and firm.
“You have no idea what you just invited,” he growled against Dunk’s throat. “Eight years of being mocked by you. Eight years of holding back. You think I won’t break you?”
Dunk’s eyes fluttered. “Try me.”
“You wanted me?” Joong rasped, positioning himself between Dunk's legs. “I’ll give you.”
To be continued