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“ My knight, ” the prince calls out from the lavish luxury of his bed, adorned with the finest jewels, each one full of intricate details that no peasant shall ever touch. His eyes follow the movements of a tall figure in the dark, hunched over the foot of his bed. The figure slowly pads closer; his armor clinking, his sword dragged over the flooring of the prince's bedroom.
Now closer, the prince can see just how much blood is oozing out of his knight's skin. There are gashes, bloody wounds, traces of violence, all screaming for immediate help. But it's weird how the knight doesn't seem too bothered by it, his eyes don't scream for help, but rather relief— upon finding his prince still surrounded by the comfort of his bed.
He smelt of blood, iron, and gunpowder. He smelt of violence, buried under the pretense of serenity. The violence that the crown prince hates with all of his being; a certain hatred, rooted in the sympathetic feeling he shares with the knight he longs for at night. He hates how each drop of blood splattered on the knight’s skin is a painful reminder that the knight is doing it all for the prince, so the prince could lavish in the luxury of his gold covered castle.
“ You're bleeding… ” he whispered, his tone sounding stunned.
As soon as the knight inches closer to the prince's side, he drops to one knee, a greeting reserved for the soon to be king. His eyes lower to the ground, not daring to look at his sworn duty eye to eye. The prince darts to stand from his bed, urging the knight to rise from his unnecessarily excessive bow.
“Look at me, please ,”
And who is the knight to deny his prince's request?
They looked at each other eye to eye, and for the first time, the knight saw a tear mimicking one of diamonds rolled from the prince's softened eyes. The prince is crying, he's sad– why is he sad?
“ Dear Lord ,” the prince whispered, his voice just above the night air, rushing in from the opened window. He sounds soft, incredibly so, a voice that can only belong to someone so unfamiliar with the cold street at night, so unfamiliar with blood seeping his clothes. Someone for the knight to protect with his whole life. “ What happened to you, my knight ?”
Instead of mimicking a pained expression, the knight smiles, and the prince's heart twinges with sad affection. “I did my duty, my prince ,” is all he said, while leaning to the prince's soft, warm palm touching his cheek. His prince was all velvet soft, tender, a stark contrast to the clashing swords and screams of agony protruding the battle field. His prince was heaven in the most human form. A paradise, a drop of snow to the scalding wound on his skin to satiate him of all the pain inflicted upon his body.
His prince cried again, his noticeably smaller body leaning closer to the steel covering the knight's body. It’s cold and it's dirty, it's bloody and raw, but the prince knows what's underneath is the body of the knight he yearns for. The one that, if he could, pray for— if the Lord is all hearing. Then, he looked up, all red from crying. His eyes hold a sadness, a hopelessness of some kind.
He opened his mouth to say, “ You could've been softer if it weren't for me .”
“ You could've been… happy, my knight ,” he continued, still with his shaky voice. “ You could've travelled the world, seen the beauty of all the rivers and seas, the nights of the most beautiful cities, all the people, tasted all the wonderful cuisines, it was all waiting for you .”
Because he could’ve been. He could have been wandering the streets of countries he can't even pronounce, he could be a free man. But instead, a heavy duty chained him to the castle; a palace of marble and gold that holds no value in the prince's eyes. A duty to protect him. He was the one inflicting all these wounds onto the knight he swore he longed for. A man he swore to love though his royal duty wouldn’t ever allow it.
The prince's eyes drag to follow each scar painted on his knight's face, making him look rough, almost barbaric . He traced each scar with a feathery touch, the blood slowly tainting the unblemished skin of his. Each drop of blood felt like lashings on the prince's skin. The knight had gone to sacrifice his life yet again just to protect him.
“ And instead… ” the prince trails off, scared to confront the truth stuck in his throat, scared he will break down to pieces again. “ Instead you're here. All bloody, weak, and tired. And for what, my knight ?”
“ For you ,” the knight answered, resolute. His voice was slightly hoarse, but his answer was unwavering. His bigger hands slowly encased the fragile wrist of the prince, steadying it. Then he bent his head lower, bringing the prince's fingertips to his torn lips, kissing them painfully slowly as if he was remembering all the curves burned on the prince's skin, as if it was a sacred vow just for him and his prince, his forbidden lover. An act of devotion, a ritual to signify the love they share. A love that will turn bitter if given time, a love that will turn into a monster of destruction; but it's still love. It's still a form of love that breathes, and beats in their intertwined fingers. It's theirs.
“Always for you, my love.”
The languid kisses stopped, and the prince almost begs for more when the knight places a kiss on a different spot— his open palm. His knight was warm at just the right degree, a polar opposite to his rather cold body. The prince had forgotten how it felt like to let someone in, to come look at him with his heart on his sleeve, to look at him way past the pesky guard he has to use, all because of the royal blood coursing through him. He had forgotten how it feels to have someone hold him close, to kiss him like he is worth something. And maybe, just maybe, the knight in front of him is here to show him just that: to show him ways he could be human, how to be beautifully fragile.
“ And if I don't come home, if I don't come back to you, I will die a happy man, my love. Because I know I protected you, I did my duty as your knight, and as your lover ,” The prince was crying again, his head was a stormy cloud, ravaging the usual quiet confidence he was trained into as a royalty. His heart was heavy with worry, but his heart was warm all the same.
How could he be cold when the knight's hand is all over him; warm, real, human? How could he when the knight's eyes are looking at him as if he was a precious gem, as if he is worth more than life itself? How could he when the knight's chest is pressed flush to him, and made his worry dwindle into a matter finer than dust?
“ I do not want to be soft, my prince. Damn all the travelling I could've done, damn them all. Because if my place is not to be on your side, then I shall belong to none .”
The darling prince cried harder, pressing his palm to the vulnerable softness of his knight's cheek, forcing its warmth to fill his dreading soul. Silent sobs stretch his throat, filled with woes that worry him to no end.
“ But then, what if… you die ?” Even the possibility drove the prince to a state of madness. He can't bear the thought of his knight enduring pain enveloping his skin, let alone him meeting the angel of death for the sake of keeping him safe. He simply couldn't, it would be torture to know someone he loved with all of his being forced to bleed to an untimely death, just to keep him unscathed on top of his tower made of gold.
“ Then… ” The knight opens his mouth. Instead of fear, his expression showcased the softness he exhibited only for his darling royalty. If death will welcome him with time, then why not do it for the sake of someone he wants to protect? He continues, “ Then let my death be you , my love.”
It is so confusing to be filled with vulnerability but also filled with the desire to embrace everything that shall come with it. The prince's and the knight's love story may turn into a tragedy that scholars will record for years to come, immortalizing a tale of how easy it is to ruin a man's life. But just for now, the prince wants to drown out his sorrows of a tragedy yet to come. He wants to believe, believe in something as pesky as fate. He believes that his knight will always be his fate, however funny that may sound to those who don't believe.
So when the knight leans in, tongue soft and gentle against his, the prince accepts him with a relieved sigh. This night is theirs to take.
The satin covered bed in the center of the overly massive bedroom seems to call out their name, softly guiding the two bodies to clash under the dim moonlight breaching past the ajar windows. The knight stands tall, brave and warm, as he slips the prince's pajama shirt past his shoulder, exposing the barely touched skin of one belonging to royalty. His prince was all soft, contrasting to the hard edges and calluses of the knight trained into the agony of battles.
Before the prince could shiver from the sheer coldness, the knight swoops in, as usual, with his charming tendency to play up a role as some sort of savior. He peppers the bare shoulder of the prince with warm, tender kisses, each one sounding a little wet, sending just enough shiver down the prince's spine. The kisses don't stop there, of course, why would they stop?
The knight gently pushed the prince back into the solace of his bed, situating the prince into a position of utmost comfort as he busied his hands with prying his armor off of his body. The blood tainting it doesn't deserve to touch the prince's unmarked skin.
“ Ah… ” said the prince, his pink, plump lips partly open as he sighs. A heavenly noise, the knight might say. It gets him almost anxious to have the prince, antsy even.
It doesn't take long until the bed usually reserved by one royal suddenly feels full again with the presence of the knight climbing on top of it. He graced the prince with his calm presence, serenading him with kisses that steadily made his heart beat again. The knight is warm, steady, strong, but also vulnerable in parts that he will reveal to the prince's eyes only.
Even when the prince appeared all bare, exposed to the watchful gaze of the knight, the prince felt nothing but happiness rumbling down his tummy. Up, up, up, he chases it. The sound of the knight moving within the limited space of the bed, a subtle creaking that they pray no one hears, the soft noises threatening to spill from the prince's agape mouth. It was all so beautifully satisfying. The knight's touch was never demeaning, never disrespectful. His touch was everything but rough, as if he wanted to convey a certain prayer, a certain devotion each time he moved his finger through the nooks and crannies of the prince's body. A touch that turns him to gold.
“ Oh… please, my knight, ” he prays, maneuvering his unbusy mouth with the task of conveying a degree of urgency to the knight who calms him down with a simple touch to the north. A touch that gets the prince's back arched beautifully, his mouth opened in a silent scream as he slowly adjusts himself to the newly welcomed sensation breaching his comfort. The knight's eyes never left the prince, a sense of awareness in his being as he traced the prince's movements for any discomfort that may have been inflicted upon his lover.
As the knight waits, he bends forward, his mouth towards the prince's bare neck to offer a distraction. The prince seems to welcome it, his shock turns into one languid expression of satisfaction, something that begs for more.
“Ready, my love ?” The knight asks him, the intense eye contact setting the prince's skin ablaze, desire pumping the blood coursing through him. He doesn't need to say anything, his knight is trained to understand the subtlest movements of his. A simple nod is all it takes for the knight to consume him once again.
The prince welcomes the knight's body on top of his, enveloping him as they move under the duvet. He gazes afar, sighing and moaning. The prince can feel the knight moving inside him, scraping the walls of his internal muscles that nothing had ever touched, not even his fingers. It doesn't hurt, the knight would never do anything to hurt him. He felt as though he had been stretched, but only in the best way. He felt good, offering service with his more-than-willing body.
The subtle, but almost guttural noises escaping the knight's throat only added fuel to the fire. The prince felt as though he was burning up from both the inside and out. The noises serve as an indicator that the prince is doing good, and that he may continue to do so to elicit more expressive moans from the usually quiet knight. So he opens himself a little more, entirely bare body lying under the knight, encouraging his brave soldier to take whatever he may please, until the thirst within him is quenched.
The knight nosed at the honey tan skin of the prince, inhaling the subtle scent of his soap made of pure rose petals— rich, soft, addicting. He gets too deep into his dangerous addiction, sinking his teeth into the prince's unblemished skin, stamping a perfect mold of his pearly teeth into the reddening skin.
His Royal Highness arched his back, “ Ng— mm, ah …,”, he says, prettily. Perhaps too pretty for his own good.
The royal looked obscene this way. All sprawled in the luxury comfort of his bed, his skin bare and angry red from the constant bites, as well as the fever of his constant desire running rampant inside him; taking the knight inside him so, so well with no complaints, but instead obscenities from the overstimulation. He constantly looks up, perhaps praying for reasons that the knight doesn't really want to know.
His knight groans again, before driving his hips in full force towards the willing victim underneath him, making the bed creak again from impact. The prince racks his brain for an idea to excuse the creaking of his bed. No one can ever know that the crown prince welcomes his knight inside his bed, and more importantly, inside him.
It is until the shadow of dawn peeks from the billowing curtains that the bed ceases from any movement, leaving the two lovers still laid out on the bed from sheer exhaustion, but still intertwined with their fingers touching and their bodies facing each other. The prince didn't get any sleep that night, busy tracing the rough details of the knight with his frail fingertips, following each trace and curve of the knight's soft eyebrows, his high nose, and the delicate cupid of his lips, down to the harsh line of his jaw— as if he wants to remember, to burn each and every line the knight has been blessed by the Gods with to the back of his mind. Everything, he wants to remember everything.
“ Do you… do you love me ?” The knight asks, his voice thick with undiscovered anxiety. His eyes are far away, drifting to a place he felt so unfamiliar with. The question leaves the prince's mouth agape, but he was ready to answer the question.
He moved closer, putting his lips just above the knight's jugular, “ You're the closest thing to heaven that I'll ever be , my knight.”
It was the lullaby the knight needed to fall asleep, his eyes finally resting, his body no longer hurting, his mind no longer plagued with nightmare chasing him to exhaustion. The prince was the only peace he could have ever needed.
Feeling the phantom of warm sunlight licking his naked back, the knight slowly opens his eyes, pupils adjusting to accept the view of his prince waiting for his awakening with a soft smile playing on his lips. He greets him with the most airy of kisses before hopping down the bed to gather the scattered garments of last night's mess. The prince stayed in bed, his expression morphing into one of sadness, a longing he will never be able to freely admit.
As the last piece of garment finally comes into place, the knight bows his farewell to the still-sleepy royal. He waits for a sign of dismissal, but what greets him is a question that even he doesn't know the answer for: “ I'll see you again, right ?”
The knight briefly glances at the beauty sitting right in front of him and a pandemonium of sadness evaporates the calmness he always reserved for himself. He doesn't know, he never knows the answer to this question.
Regardless, the knight nods, vowing a sentence even he can't guarantee: “ Always , my prince.”
There are still uncomfortable feelings crawling inside the prince's heart. He might lose this, he might lose everything: the sensation of the knight's body moving in tandem with him, a delicious sense of completion filling the lonely prince up, the knight's senseless kisses, everything. But the knight is still here, even though his figure is slowly disappearing behind the gigantic mahogany door. His grin with a sense of self-satisfaction, plastered on his deliriously handsome face was all that prince Jaeyun could ever think about.
However this may end, the prince has countless of ways to mourn. He might drown in a bed of flowers, he might grieve in front of a mute gravestone that only stares back at him in silence, he might only allow for black fabric to encase his body, he might lose his smile, and he might despise the crown placed atop his head, but what the prince has come to learn is that he will not mourn for something that is still so alive and well under his palm.
He will wait for his knight to come back. At ungodly hours, in the middle of royal dinner, at times when the prince can't fall asleep. He will wait, as long as time allows him. He will wait for the same tone of voice to grace his ears, urging him to open his eyes. He will wait for the harsh fingertips of the knight to trace mindless patterns into his skin once again, deluding him with comfort until he falls asleep. He will wait for all the times they could run to the secluded garden with their bare feet touching the grass, and their faces bright and smiley. He will wait for every kiss that the knight shall be generous with.
All his life, the prince only knows one thing: patience.
Hence, he will have all the patience in the world to wait for his lover to come crawling back to him, to the cursed castle depriving them of a love story made of happiness. But for now, the prince would have to be satisfied with fleeting glance and secret letters and loving his knight in silence.