Chapter Text
“Your Highness, we are already surrounded.”
Minseok stares at the battle map, his eyes burning. On the parchment, the Phoenix pawn—the piece that had always been the symbol of their invincibility—now looks dangerously fragile. Guilt creeps up his throat, but Minseok refuses to let it choke him. God. Not now.
The problem is right in front of him, waiting to be solved. He needs to be cold, he needs to shove everything aside and focus on the singular, devastating truth.
Lee Minhyeong—their Crown Prince, their most formidable general, their beloved brother—is missing. And with him, more than half of the Tieronian army has vanished into the shadows. In 72 hours, the surrounding kingdoms will sniff out their weakness, and every border will be at risk of a siege.
Damn it. How is Minseok supposed to play this game with more than half of his pawns missing?
On the map, red pawns spread across every frontier. The Genzorans in the East. The Damorans in the North. The Kryptonians in the South. Not to mention the smaller pawns—the renegades waiting for a scrap of Tieronian prosperity.
“There is no other way, Minseok-ah. No matter how clever the strategy, a dozen men cannot hold a line when they are leaderless and outnumbered,” Sanghyeok says. The fact that The Tieronian King himself is delivering such a depressing reality in that devastatingly comforting voice feels eerie in Minseok’s ears, almost like a soft lullaby sung before death-execution.
“Your Majesty, Your Highness, we must accept the aid. There is no other path,” one of the generals pleads, his voice thin with panic, making Minseok’s head spin faster.
“The Genzorans are the most formidable among our enemies,” another general adds, leaning over the table. “If we accept their terms, we don't just remove our greatest threat. We gain enough men to crush the rest.”
Damn it.
“Your Highness, Prince Minseok—”
Damn it!
“SHUT UP!” Minseok snaps, the shout echoing off the stone walls and silencing them all. For God’s sake. He’s barely keeping his head above water, trying not to drown in this catastrophe. These people are just making it worse.
“I need… I need silence. And I need fewer people in this room,” he adds, his voice wavers as the adrenaline begins to ebb.
Sanghyeok clears his throat, absorbing everyone’s panic and gaining all the attention with a single gesture, as the King he is. “I demand everyone except myself, Prince Minseok, and High Counsel Hyunjoon to make their way out. Now,” he commands
Hyunjoon is already moving before the sentence is finished. He expertly maneuvers the panicked counselors and generals toward the door, murmuring the empty, steadying promises that keep men from mutiny while the "brilliant" Tieronian leadership tries to find a way out of the dark.
Once the heavy doors groan shut, the silence that remains is finally enough to allow the truth to be spoken between the rest.
Beneath the offer of aid lies the unspoken demand for a sacrifice.
“The Genzoran army is already marching toward our borders,” Hyunjoon begins. “They are expected to arrive by tomorrow at noon. Whether they come to spill our remaining blood or to steady our hands depends entirely on the decision we make in this room.”
Damnit. Not enough time, isn’t it? There is no way they can find Minhyeong before the Genzoran banners appear on their gates.
“What are their terms?” Minseok asks, even though the answer is already forming in his head. Still, he refuses to accept it before it dawns into a cold reality. A reality he never wanted to face.
At that, Hyunjoon refuses to give an immediate answer. His face turns grim, and a prediction begins to solidify in Minseok’s head.
“I really don’t think we have another way out of this, Minseok-ah.” Sanghyeok quietly says.
Minseok searches Sanghyeok’s face, tracing the subtle, weary lines around the King’s forehead. It’s an expression Minseok knows by heart. He can see the gears turning behind Sanghyeok’s eyes, the hundreds of strategic paths his brother has already walked down and discarded. Being a King means keeping Tieron safe; being an older brother means keeping Minseok and the others sound. But now, those two duties are colliding head-on, forcing Sanghyeok to choose between the crown and his kin.
It is, in every sense, the nightmare they never dared to name.
Tieron’s legendary defense has always had a face, and that face belongs to Lee Minhyeong. The Crown Prince, the kingdom’s most formidable general, was the sun around which their entire military orbit turned. But now, the sun has gone out. And they are left with no choice but to seek for another source of strength to keep themselves standing, and that said source of strength came from an offer on the table.
From the most unexpected, most lethal source imaginable: the Genzoran Emperor. Their oldest, bitterest enemy.
“I tried to negotiate. They don't want gold. They don't want land, mines, or any valuables,” Sanghyeok says, his voice tightening with a strain Minseok has never heard before. The King won’t even meet his eyes, an omission that only sharpens Minseok’s dreading prediction.
“I… I’ve looked at every angle. I can’t see any other path,” Sanghyeok repeats again, this time sounding even more miserable.
Minseok feels the bile rising in his throat. He’s a strategist; he can see the board three turns ahead, and he knows exactly what Sanghyeok or Hyunjoon is about to say. While his heart screams to drop it all to go find Minhyeong, the reality of the map on the table is cold and indifferent.
Finding Minhyeong before the Genzoran arrival is impossible, therefore they must make a decision. And they are running out of time.
“The Genzoran Emperor demands an immediate union,” Hyunjoon finally forces the words out. “A marriage between Tieron’s Phoenix descendant and their Tiger descendant, in exchange for their full military aid.”
Damn it. There it is—Minseok’s prediction, proven correct once more.
“Who?” Minseok asks, though his mind is already working through the possibilities. He knows the outcome is fixed; he’s been traded away to save a crumbling peace. He’s mourned his freedom already. But even in a sinking ship, one cares about the depth of the water. Genzoran Emperor has three legitimate Tiger Prince—the only alphas the East deems "on par" with the Tieronian Phoenix line.
Sanghyeok says nothing, offering only his suffocating silence. Minseok snaps his gaze toward Hyunjoon, demanding an answer with his stare.
“Who?” he repeats again, sharper this time.
The first Tiger is their crown prince, Prince Jaehyuk. Minseok had sat across from him at summits and found him surprisingly amiable for a Genzoran, in contrast to his father. The problem however, is his drive—he has a trail of nearly a dozen mates scattered across the continent, and doesn’t even try to hide it. Yuck. Minseok would rather be a political prisoner than an addition to his collection.
The second is Prince Jihoon, the most Genzoran among the three. Minseok doesn't need to think further to predict that nightmare; he knows how terrifying Prince Jihoon is on the battlefield, coming from first-hand experience. He also knows that the alpha doesn’t seek a partner, such type of man lives merely for conquest and blood. The prospect of sharing the same oxygen with that alpha, let alone a bedchamber, is already making his skin crawl.
The third Tiger….
“…Their youngest, Prince Suhwan, has recently become eligible for marriage,” Hyunjoon finally says, dropping a name that Minseok hadn’t even bothered to place on the board.
The rest of the explanation begins to blur into a muffled hum. Prince Suhwan? Is this some kind of mockery?
“No way!” Minseok shouts, “I’m not—I can’t do this.”
“But Prince Minseok—”
“Are we that desperate? Since when did we even legalize child marriage?” Minseok fires out, stomping his boots against the floor as he paces. “I’m not leaving this Kingdom just to play tutor! We all know that he is—“
“Ryu Minseok,” Sanghyeok finally speaks.“He is not a child.” His voice isn't loud, but it pierces through Minseok’s pacing and stops him cold.
“He is 20 years old this year,” Hyunjoon adds, as if it could fix anything.
“Well, to me he still is!”
In Minseok’s mind, Prince Suhwan is that soft, wide-eyed sixteen-year-old he’d encountered at the quinquennial inter-kingdom competition—the boy he’d stumbled upon sobbing in the archives after losing a match. Minseok hadn’t heard a whisper of him since. With that kind of mentality, Minseok can only assume the Prince had given up on the battlefield entirely, choosing to play the role of a decorative little prince in the safety of his palace.
To be sold for peace is one thing, to be sold to a boy who hasn't even grown into his own name is equal to death sentence. Minseok can already imagine the living hell of it. Stranded in the East, in the land of his enemies, stripped of power because his mate is a literal child.
And worst of all, the distance would kill his search for Minhyeong, and even if Minhyeong were found, Minseok doubts he would ever be allowed to see him again.
“Your Majesty! S-Sanghyeok-hyung, I am the pillar of Tieron!” Minseok pleads, his voice cracking with panic. “I’m your mind. You can’t just send your lead strategist away to the very people who have wanted to dismantle our walls for centuries. They’ll turn me into their w-weapon! They’ll milk our secrets out of me and then leave us for the vultures!”
Surely, Sanghyeok can’t be that reckless, can he? What will be left of Tieron if they lose two Phoenixes in exchange for temporary aid? How could he trust the enemy enough to hand over a prize this significant? It’s unthinkable. Sanghyeok would never—
“We will not send you off. You know me better than that, Minseok-ah,” Sanghyeok says softly, crushing through Minseok’s scattered thoughts.
…Huh?
“They are sending their prince here. The Genzoran Emperor has agreed to let their prince lead their legions to our outskirts to bolster our defense, and in return...” Sanghyeok’s face turns grim, he closes his eyes as if the words are physically painful to speak.
“…I’m sorry, Minseok-ah. This is the best I could negotiate for us.”
Minseok stands paralyzed. He knows that Sanghyeok knows he is smart enough to piece it all together himself.
But why?
What could the Genzoran possibly gain by agreeing to send one of their precious Tigers away, instead of insisting on capturing a Phoenix while they held the upper hand?
Think, Ryu Minseok.
…
And it doesn’t take long until he finally connect the strings. The answer slithers through his mind, cutting through the fog of his own confusion.
Huh. Isn’t it obvious already?
Everyone knows The Tigers have always coveted the Phoenixes. For centuries, they’ve been trying to strengthen their armies, chasing after the glory and triumph, but on the day of the most important battle, they always fall short after the soaring brilliance that Tieron holds in its blood. Victory has always been on Tieron’s side, by the blessing of the Phoenixes.
Now they’ve realized they don’t need to conquer Tieron to accomplish the victory. They also don’t need to do all the extra force to fight against law just to earn a Phoenix behind a desk in their war rooms; not when they can breed it out of one’s body and claim it by law.
To the Emperor, sending away an entire army of his most elite soldiers and his youngest prince is a small price to pay for the ultimate return.
An offspring.
An heir.
A lethal weapon they can possess by law simply by the Genzoran name it will carry, and by nature, the blood of Phoenix—bestowed only upon the descendants of Tieronian kings.
Minseok is the only omega among the current descendants, which makes him the perfect, solitary vessel for their long-game. Prince Suhwan is probably the most expendable of their Tigers, but a Tiger nonetheless—which is the only thing that matters when the goal is to claim the future offspring.
Minseok inwardly scoffs, his chest tightening with a bitter, simmering rage. What a meticulous, cunning, and heartless plan—which is very Genzoran of them. He stares at the tiger head-shaped seal on the scroll, the ink looking like dried blood. His mind, however, has already traveled elsewhere, weaving through intricate strings of counter-plans.
Enemies are everywhere, but his priorities are absolute: secure the borders and find Minhyeong. Everything else—including marrying a Genzoran cub—is a triviality. There is no other way no matter how many more hundreds of paths Minseok tries to simulate. Time is running out, on top of all.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” he finally says, and immediately, he feels the iron-tight grip Sanghyeok has on his own jaw finally slackens.
“I was born with the sacred blood of the Phoenix,” Minseok says, lifting his chin as he meets his brother’s pained gaze. “The blood bestowed upon the descendants destined to be the protectors of Tieron.”
Ah, it’s a checkmate for now.
“Therefore... I will protect it.”
Minseok is now forced to play another game of theirs.
The news of the union between Tieron and Genzora spreads like wildfire across the continents. It hasn't even been 24 hours, yet reports are already trickling in of smaller kingdoms and renegade factions retreating into the shadows.
Less smaller red pawns in Minseok’s map, leaving only the big ones.
The generals and counselors have all let out a collective breath of relief, convinced they’ve bought Tieron’s safety. Minseok, however, isn't that dumb. To him, the real battle is only just beginning. They haven't bought their peace, rather, they’ve simply traded a bloody physical war for a devastating, silent pit of political mind games. They are stepping into the ring with their longest-standing and most cunning enemy. The Genzorans.
Minseok spends his waking hours of waiting mapping out his own moves. He is not a pawn. He refuses to play this game by the Genzoran rules.
Then comes the day of the arrival.
It’s about time isn’t it?
The sun, previously a blinding white eye in the center of Tieron sky, has begun to lower itself toward the western horizon, leaving out a bruised shade of orange across the sky above the Eastern gate. As the temperature drops, the stone of the old watchtower grows cold beneath Minseok’s palms.
Minseok stands on the balcony of his secret hideout—a place known to only a few, watching the eastern horizon. He can almost hear the frantic footfalls of the chamberlains searching for their missing prince. Well, let them scramble. They can afford an hour of panic; Minseok, however, can not. He needs this vantage point to assess the upcoming enemy before stepping into the pit himself. Well, excuse him for being dramatic, but trust is a luxury he doesn’t have. Not when the outsider is a prince from a lifelong enemy—and not when that same man is set to become his husband in less than 2 days.
Minseok is deep in his thoughts when he hears a familiar footstep. Then right after, a strong, unmistakable scent of seawater hit him—an alpha’s presence he’d recognize anywhere.
He turns to find his slightly younger brother, Moon Hyeonjun, already standing there with a crooked, easy smile. He is still clad in his travel robes and scout armor, looking far too relaxed.
"Why are you here?" Minseok’s voice sharpens with surprise.
Hyeonjun isn’t supposed to be within the city walls! Sanghyeok had dispatched him the moment he received the report of Minhyeong’s disappearance.
As the shock fades, a slow-burning anger takes its place. Hyeonjun only stares back at Minseok with raised eyebrows.
“My search team is already working the night shift. They are scanning around the Gretza mountain as we speak right now.” Hyeonjun says, answering the unasked question with a lazy shrug that sets Minseok’s teeth on edge.
“Yes, and they still need their leader!” Minseok hisses. “Do you even grasp how precarious the situation is? You should be in the field, not loitering at home, Hyeonjun-ah!”
Hyeonjun doesn’t even flinch. He simply leans his hip against the stone balustrade, peering out at the gate. “And miss my beloved brother’s wedding? Bet even Minhyeong would’ve punched me for it,” he says, his tone an effortless blend of sincerity and mockery.
“You don’t need to attend this. It’s just a political ceremony. There is nothing to celebrate!” Minseok snaps, and the very sight of Hyeonjun’s laid-back gestures makes his blood boil. “Your utmost priority right now is to find Minhyeong and bring him home. Go back to your scouts. Every minute you waste here is a minute Minhyeong is—”
“Relax. You’re clearly underestimating Minhyeong’s survival skill, Minseokie.” Hyeonjun cuts in. “I know that guy is doing fine somewhere. He can wait for a day.”
God. This is so frustrating. This is one of the very few things that makes Minseok unable to keep up with Hyeonjun’s thought process. How can he be that sure? In the open field, every smallest possibility is still a possibility. Sometimes Minseok wonders what really is going on in the seemingly empty head of his brother’s.
Minseok is halfway through a scathing reply when the heavy thrum of a war horn vibrates through the stone beneath their feet. The massive iron gates groan, swinging inward to admit the expected arrival of vanguard of the Eastern Empire.
They are finally here.
Minseok’s eyes instantly adjust to his hawk-eyed observation, and he can feel Hyeonjun does the same thing. Both Phoenixes lock their sight onto their long-time enemy—the Tiger who, in a mere 2 days, will be stitched into their heritage.
First, come the Genzoran troops.
Unlike the Tieronian knights, who clatter in heavy bone-white iron plate and boisterous red plumes, the Genzoran Emperor’s men are a sea of lacquered black and gold. Their armor is that of Eastern engineering: overlapping scales of light steel and reinforced leather that looks like it prioritizes agility over brute mass. They look lethal and unnervingly disciplined, moving with rhythmic grace that made Tieron’s stone walls feel suddenly clumsy.
Then, the ranks part for their Prince… The boy-prince.
Except he may not look as boy-prince as Minseok remembers.
Well, of course he is. Minseok has actually predicted two possible outcomes; First, that the prince may have gone to some kind of alpha transformation—as any alphas should, biologically.
Prince Suhwan had been sixteen the last time they met, where he still looked so much like a child with a small figure similar to Minseok’s—that is of course, because he hadn’t presented yet. Given that the boy is now twenty and had since presented as an Alpha, a massive growth spurt by eighteen is to be expected. Therefore a tall, wide-shouldered, more masculine Prince Suhwan is a strong possibility.
The second, less likely outcome is that he had remained a midget despite his presentation—and that would be that.
However, the figure appearing below defies both predictions.
Hyeonjun lets out a low whistle, breaking their shared, observational silence.
“Well, look at that. Are you sure they sent their prince and not their princess by mistake?” He leans in closer, bumping his shoulder against Minseok’s with a conspiratorial whisper. “Minseok-ah, you’re kind of winning here, aren't you? If he were an omega, I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. I’d marry him tonight.”
Winning? There is no world in which being shackled to a Genzoran alpha is considered "winning."
“You say that about every halfway decent-looking person you pass on the street,” Minseok mutters, keeping his eyes fixed on the prince.
“Wow~ so you do admit that he is a looker?”
Again, there is no point in feeding Hyeonjun’s antics, so instead, Minseok sharpens his focus, dissecting the Prince's appearance as the young man removes his Eastern-styled wide hat.
Prince Suhwan has certainly grown. He is now tall, likely reaching Hyeonjun’s height, but he is far from the mountain of a man Minseok had anticipated. He isn't wide or imposing like Minhyeong. In fact, he looks a bit too delicate.
Is he really an alpha, though? Minseok can’t help but wonder.
Because what strikes him most is the Prince’s face—which lacks the sharp edges alphas usually possess. The boy was undeniably cute 4 years ago, and that youthfulness has transformed into a refined, startling beauty—a quality Mineok never expected would be used to describe a Genzoran Tiger. His focal features are so polished—a combination of prominent, aristocratic nose bridge, framed by a characteristically eastern oval-shaped face. His eyes are sharp, but his expression holds a quiet, shimmering depth that feels almost shy.
“He is a child, for god sake." Minseok repeats it again, but now more to himself. God knows how many times he’d said it.
“He looks a bit too soft for a Tiger, doesn’t he?” Hyeonjun points out, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches the young man below. The wind catches the tassels on the Prince’s headgear, revealing a jawline that is undeniably sharp, yet there is a gentleness to his expression that, again, feels almost scandalous given his lineage. He is, indeed, objectively speaking—of course, far too beautiful to be called a Tiger. Maybe because he is still young, or he’s just born that way. Huh. Not that it matters. Not when Minseok knows what exactly he is.
“He’s just a pawn, Hyeonjun-ah.” Minseok’s fingers tap a restless, impatient beat against the stone. “I know exactly what game the Genzoran Emperor is playing. That boy is their sacrificial lamb. They are sending him here to be pretty and compliant while they wait for the 'return' on their investment.” An investment Minseok had no intention of ever paying out.
“Wow, easy there. You’re doing that judge-and-jury thing again,” Hyeonjun playfully nudges him with an elbow. “What if he’s actually a good alpha for you? At the very least, look at that face. If you’re going to be married and miserable, you might as well be married and miserable with a view.”
A view? Minseok’s sight darts on the prince once more. Like hell Minseok would care about that. If those Genzoran think that sending their prettiest prince would somehow sway him, then they’ve clearly hit their heads on the mountain ice.
“He’s just a clueless boy caught in a game of adult politics,” he says flatly.
“A boy, a child, he says,” Hyeonjun chuckles, “That Genzoran prince is just three winters younger than us, Minseok-ah. Look at you talking like he’s still in diapers.”
“In terms of battlefield experience, he might as well be,” Minseok retorts. “Not that I’m complaining. It’ll make it easier for me to handle the border counter-siege without some know-it-all alpha hovering over my maps.”
Silence settles between them for a moment, punctuated only by the distant clatter of Genzoran horses and the sharp bark of orders being given in the yard. The thing is, Minseok knows this particular brother of his far too well to understand that, when it comes to him, silence equals preceding trouble.
“Well,” Hyeonjun says, his tone shifting light. “The only way to know if he’s a real Tiger is to see how he holds up under pressure, right?”
See?
Immediately, Minseok feels a headache forming behind his eyes. He rolls it away with a heavy sigh, knowing exactly what’s on his brother’s mind. Oh, that face. That is definitely the expression Hyeonjun wears when he is about to brew some international incidents.
“Hey…” don’t tell me… “…are you insane? You’re going to challenge him to a spar right when he just arrived?”
Surely, he won’t, right?
“No better time than the present,” Hyeonjun says, confirming Minseok’s hunch. “He should learn the Tieronian way as soon as possible. Trial by fire. Especially when he is about to marry my prickliest beloved brother~”
“You can’t—“ but as Minseok fully turns around, Hyeonjun is already gone.
Oh God. This is why Minseok can never catch a break when Hyeonjun is around.
With panic arising, Minseok quickly turns his heel, hoping that somehow he can stop the brewing disaster.
Damnit. Hyeonjun must have done it on purpose.
Minseok fails to catch up to him since he was thwarted by a swarm of maids descending like locusts the moment he enters the palace. They pin him down, forcing him into heavy robes, then paint his face until he feels like a sacrificial doll. By the time he managed to slip away, he had already lost Hyeonjun’s trace.
Minsneok runs along the stone corridors, knowing with a gut-wrenching certainty that Hyeonjun will block the Genzoran’s path to the Great Hall.
Sure enough, the scene is waiting for him as soon as he arrives.
The palace yard is already packed by a suffocating crowd of gossiping noblemen, wide-eyed servers, and tense guards. Minseok reaches the crowds just as the tension hits its peak.
And there, in the center of the yard, stands Hyeonjun, positioned squarely in front of Prince Suhwan and his bristling retinue.
Damn it. It’s now way too late to stop him.
Hyeonjun doesn't wait for introductions. Not even for the Herald to announce his arrival. The cheeky Prince simply unbuckles his robe and tosses it to a startled page.
"The East is a long way to travel for a wedding, I'd hate for my future in-law to be too stiff from the journey,” Hyeonjun calls out, switching to the universal high court language most high-ranked princes have learnt from babies. "I actually have a proposition. Call it a bit of stretching to help you relax.”
He tilts his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he draws his practice blade. He points the tip directly at Prince Suhwan’s chest.
“Prince Suhwan, care to show me if the Genzoran sword-style lives up to the legend?”
And as if it is not offensive enough, Hyeonjun throws his trademark wink at the Prince—which is so very dramatic of him. But the response is even more so: The Genzoran guards bristle instantly. A collective hiss of steel echoing through the yard as they move to shield their Prince. But then the Prince raises a single hand. It’s a small movement, yet his men freeze as if turned to stone, obeying without a second thought.
"I remember you," the Prince says. His voice is surprisingly soft and composed, which makes Hyeonjun’s bravado seem loud and unnecessary. And before Hyeonjun can launch another taunt, the Prince does something even more unexpected. He bows, forcing Hyeonjun to pull his practice sword away. It is a deep, surprisingly polite gesture of respect that catches everyone off-guard.
“It would be my honor to learn from Tieron’s finest, Prince Hyeonjun.”
A heavy, stunned silence descends over the courtyard, and it takes several seconds for Minseok to realize why the nobles are whispering and why Hyeonjun’s grin has faltered.
Prince Suhwan hadn't replied in the universal tongue. He had spoken in Tieronian—and his accent is as flawless as a native's.
“I have a problem, however,” the Prince continues, still speaking in Tieronian. “I did not think to bring my own practice sword, and I am not familiar enough with Tieronian wooden blades. Would it be fair if we use our real swords instead?”
In an instant, loud gasps ripple through the yard. Minseok stays frozen, trying to process the whole unthinkable scenario. What the hell is going on in that kid’s mind? Minseok isn’t even sure if it’s just an innocent request, or a calculated move to set the alliance on fire before the first feast.
Hyeonjun’s eyes, however, flare with a wild, manic excitement. Contrary to the nervous murmurs of the crowd, he barks a laugh, clapping his hands as it echoes around the stagnant air. When he finally settles down, he beams at the Prince.
“Prince Suhwan. You are far more interesting than I thought,” he says, clearly delighted by the turn of events.
The Prince just tilts his head in quiet recognition, his staggering eyes remaining calm as he allows Hyeonjun to continue.
“Of course,” Hyeonjun says, his hand moving to the hilt of his own steel blade. “It will be much more exciting to use our real swords.”
Oh no.
Minseok’s mind immediately begins calculating the fallout. This single moment of reckless bravado could spark a direct war with Genzora—right when Tieron is stripped of its armies and its most formidable general. And what would his sacrifice be for then? This dumb brother, truly. Minseok draws a sharp, aggressive breath, readying himself to step between the two alphas and shut down the madness.
“Hyeon—“
But before the name can leave his lips, a voice shatters the tension.
“Make way for the Sun of the West, the Eternal Flame of the Phoenix, His Majesty King Lee Sanghyeok!” the herald’s voice bellows, followed by the rhythmic stomp of guards piercing through the crowd.
“A spirited greeting, to say the least.”
From behind, Sanghyeok’s calm voice cuts through the heavy air—a cooling balm compared to Minseok’s panicked inner thoughts. He offers a light applause as if he had been standing there all along, enjoying the theatrical performance by the two princes. Then, his firm hand rests briefly on Minseok’s shoulder—a wordless command to stand down, and just like that, Sanghyeok sweeps past him.
Minseok’s head swings toward Sanghyeok and then back to the princes, his mind still racing to keep up with the shifting tension.
It’s in that split second that he catches Prince Suhwan’s gaze.
For a split second, his composure cracks. His eyes widen in surprise the moment their gazes meet, before he instantly hammers his calm expression back and shifts his attention back to Sanghyeok.
Huh?
What was that?
“Welcome to the West, Prince Suhwan,” Sanghyeok says as he glides forward, his gaze sweeping over the Genzoran delegation before settling back on the two princes. “And I see you’ve already been reacquainted with our Hyeonjun.”
Minseok watches intently, curious to see how his hyung will navigate this. He knows that Lee Sanghyeok is a man who thrives in the heart of chaos; the Crown Prince Sanghyeok would have cheered for the blood and the sport, even facilitated the match right away just for the thrill. But heavy is the crown, and The King has to play a different game to save the kingdom.
“Hyu—Your Majesty,” Hyeonjun starts, catching himself before the informal address could slip out. “Your timing is impeccable. I was just about to invite the Prince to a brief exchange of steel to celebrate his arrival.”
“A fascinating proposal,” Sanghyeok murmurs, then raises his tone as he shifts his gaze. “But do you not find it somewhat uncouth to demand a spar before our guest has even brushed the dust of the road from his robe, Prince Hyeonjun?”
Though the question is directed at his brother, Sanghyeok’s piercing gaze is fixed on Prince Suhwan.
“I find no fault in it, Your Majesty,” Prince Suhwan replies after a moment of silence. He meets Sanghyeok’s eyes with a quiet confidence. “Prince Hyeonjun merely suggested that a long journey is best shaken off with a bit of movement. I find myself inclined to agree with his assessment.”
“I see,” Sanghyeok muses, his smile deepening. “Then you must accept my apologies, Prince Suhwan. You are likely surprised by how sharply our ways differ from the structured gestures of Genzoran manners. Here in Tieron, we cherish spontaneity and the truth of the heart.”
Sanghyeok then shifts his attention, expanding his voice to encompass the entire courtyard, including the wary Genzoran attendees.
“However, I still wish to demonstrate Tieronian hospitality in its fullest form. Therefore, I must insist that we proceed to the welcoming feast first. Let the wine be poured and the bread be broken,” he declares, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Should both princes still find their blood running hot for a match once the moon is high, they may proceed with my blessing.”
He pauses, raising his hand in a grand, sweeping gesture of welcome.
“But for now, let us toast to the future of our two kingdoms.”
And just like that, the tension disperses.
The blades are sheathed, but as the crowd begins to move, Minseok feels a different kind of chill.
He looks at Hyeonjun, and steals a glance at Prince Suhwan, feeling that maybe, Sanghyeok has simply traded an impending physical war for a far more lethal mental one at the feast table.
Throughout Minseok’s life in the palace, a feast has always been about small talk and casual topics—where everyone puts on a show with their practiced, feigned laughter. At these times, Minseok usually focuses on the food. Firstly, because he has a genuine love for gourmet desserts and the ones served on feasts are the best, and secondly, because he is admittedly terrible at small talk.
Luckily, his brother Hyeonjun has more than enough social energy to cover the entire table's requisite, so all Minseok has to do is pretend to be engaged in the empty conversation while keeping his focus solely on his plate.
This time, however, the usual manuscript has been set on fire.
Partly because they are now breaking bread with the very enemies they’ve spent a lifetime fighting, and partly because Hyeonjun has apparently decided that today is the perfect day to be an absolute menace.
“You know, Prince Suhwan, I’ve never actually crossed blades with you. It’s always been your older brothers. Frankly, I’m starting to grow weary of their faces,” Hyeonjun suddenly says, leaning back just as the main course is cleared.
At that, Minseok can’t help but let out a silent, exasperated groan. He darts his eyes to the side. God. Does Hyeonjun have a physical allergy to a peaceful evening, or does he simply live to stir the pot?
“Tell me,” Hyeonjun continues, his tone deceptively conversational, “how do you expect us to trust your command over our borders when your name has never once appeared on a battle report?”
The atmosphere at the table shifts instantly. The light chatter dies out, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence. One of the Genzoran high deputies clears his throat sharply, his posture stiffening with indignation.
“Your Highness, if I may,” the deputy interjects, his voice tight with suppressed offense. “I believe such inquiries are ill-suited for a welcoming feast, which is intended for celebration, not an interrogation.”
Minseok’s gaze flickers to Sanghyeok, searching for the King’s threshold. Deep down, Minseok is itching to see how the Prince handles the pressure, but he knows they’re treading on thin ice, especially with the Genzoran delegation watching him like hawks.
“It is only natural that the princes seek to know their new ally,” Sanghyeok intervenes smoothly. His voice is a calm anchor in the rising tension. “After all, they are about to become brothers-in-arms.”
He lets his gaze sweep over the Genzoran guests, his expression softening into a warm, diplomatic smile.
“Perhaps we have lived as enemies for so long that we’ve forgotten how to recognize a clumsy attempt at friendship. We shouldn't be so quick to assume an ulterior motive behind every question. Prince Hyeonjun is merely blunt by nature, but I can assure you, he carries no ill-intent.”
As if on cue, Hyeonjun gives a short, mocking-but-polite-enough nod toward the Genzorans—a gesture that technically satisfies protocol while keeping his edges.
Oof. Minseok hides a smirk behind his wine goblet. That was actually a masterstroke coming from Sanghyeok—sharp enough to cut the deputy’s protest short, but reassuring enough to keep the peace. Sanghyeok had just turned a blatant insult into an act of "comradeship," forcing the Genzorans to either accept the challenge or look like they were hiding something.
Minseok’s eyes dart toward Prince Suhwan once more, only to find the man already watching him.
What the—?
Has he been staring this entire time?
The weight of that gaze is enough to make Minseok’s skin prickle, and he quickly averts his eyes, suddenly finding the marble engravings on the floor far more fascinating than the Prince’s face.
Out of the corner of his eye, he senses Prince Suhwan lifting his goblet. He hears the faint swallow of wine—at least, that’s what he assumes, because he’s determined not to look back. He’d rather count the floor tiles than engage with those eyes again.
“I understand your concern, Prince Hyeonjun,” Prince Suhwan finally says, his voice soft but resonant enough to gain the room's attention. “The reason we have never crossed blades is simple, I primarily lead my platoons to handle Genzora’s internal conflicts. The East is admittedly... louder when it comes to maintaining peace, given our evolving beliefs and factions.”
“So, you’ve never actually commanded a grand army in a real war?” Hyeonjun retorts. A sharp question, though his tone remains deceptively warm.
There is a brief silence. Minseok notices that Prince Suhwan tends to take his time before answering a question—which is totally undestrandable. One wrong word in the enemy territory will lead to more than one problem, even costs lives, for sure.
“In that, I must admit a certain lack of experience,” Suhwan concedes, though his voice lacks even a hint of shame. “But I believe my future partner has more than enough experience to compensate..”
Huh?!
“…After all, even in the East, my brothers speak frequently of Prince Minseok’s brilliance. His legendary maneuvers have been the subject of many late-night discussions in the Genzoran war rooms.”
Minseok nearly sprays his wine across the table. He slams his goblet down, coughing in a fit of mild, sputtering panic. He hadn't expected to be dragged into the center of the conversation so abruptly, let alone praised by the Tigers.
He looks up, catching the Prince’s eyes, and finds Prince Suhwan already offering him a small, polite smile and a subtle nod of acknowledgement.
What on earth is he playing at?
“I—” Minseok clears his throat, mortified to feel a traitorous heat crawling up his neck and settling in his cheeks.
“I do... s-strategize a lot. T-that’s what I’m good at.”
God. Minseok wants to die, and for the earth to swallow him whole. It is, without a doubt, the most inelegant, fumbling reply he has ever given—and he did it in a room full of Genzorans, his enemies! of all people.
“That is very perceptive of you, Prince Suhwan,” Sanghyeok says softly, shifting the table’s attention. “Our Minseok may be the sole omega in the war room, but when it comes to the board, he is the sharpest mind among the alphas.”
The prince gives a nod in response, smiling back at Sanghyeok in a polite manner.
Ah.
“I am truly looking forward to seeing how both princes will bridge their differences and navigate our shared future,” Sanghyeok adds, raising his gold-rimmed goblet to the light. A silent command for everyone at the table to follow suit.
“To the future of our kingdoms. May this union bring lasting prosperity to Genzora and Tieron.”
As the table rises and the goblets are drained, the reality of the toast settles differently in Minseok’s chest, leaving him with a chilling realization.
Ah. So that’s how it is.
It is really happening, isn’t it?
There are no other ways around it.
Minseok really is about to be wed to a Tiger.
The rest of the feast passed in a disorienting haze of blurred conversations and flickering candlelight. All Minseok did was trying not to drown. Now, finally, he finds himself stripped of the heavy, decorative fabrics and the suffocating scrutiny of the Genzoran delegation—into the comforting darkness of his own chamber.
Minseok closes his eyes, finally feeling the hollow weight of the silence. Night has a cruel way of stripping away the frantic distractions of the day, leaving nothing but the cold truths he’s been trying to outrun.
Tomorrow, the trajectory of his life shifts forever. Tomorrow, he loses a part of his freedom that he can never buy back.
He knows that becoming a mated omega—and to a Genzoran, no less—will fundamentally alter how the world sees him and how he must move through it. He pushes the thought away before it can take root; he can’t afford the luxury of self-pity. Because his priority is absolute: find his footing in this new reality, safeguard the kingdom, and above all else—find Minhyeong and bring him back home.
Home.
Oh, home. Minseok is buried under the familiar plushness of his own blankets, in the very heart of the palace he was born in, yet he’s still cold. It’s a cold that no hearth fire can reach.
He stares up at the dark canopy of his bed, his mind wandering across borders and through shadows. He wonders if Minhyeong is sleeping in the cold, too.
God, he misses Lee Minhyeong. So much.
The steadiness of his prescence, that strong hand holding him when he’s feeling lost, deep voice that always reassures him when in doubt. Minseok misses all those—misses him with an ache that feels far too large for his chest.
Maybe much more than he should ever admit.