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Yeosang
In the thirty-five years before his marriage, Yeosang had learned power was always shifting. Every principality within his mother’s kingdom had their own customs and rules. Sometimes consorts held near-equal authority, deciding on petitions and appeals. Others whispered in private chambers, hoping to sway the reigning prince or princess to their points of view.
Every court was different, and when a new heir came to the throne, changes could be expected. The desires of new spouses and concubines, the charms of growing children—all factored into how a court held, maintained, and wielded power.
San’s kingdom was different. The king—and it was always a king—had absolute authority. Only he held audiences. Only he could decide how to response to the wishes and needs of his people—though the nobles certainly tried to lean hard. Perhaps past monarchs had been more malleable to their whims.
San was not.
Which wasn’t, Yeosang mused, as he paced slowly down the corridor, to say he was inflexible. His husband was fair and ethical, generous and kind, intelligent and considerate, but bow to pressure he would not.
All in all, San was an excellent king of the western fae, and an admirable man to be wed to. Yeosang would have no complaints, except—though could they be called such? He wasn’t sure. But his heart’s longings were irrelevant. For almost a decade, San had avoided his second-most pressing duty as monarch. Yeosang didn’tknow why, and would never presume to ask, but when the council asked him to intercede, he had no reason to refuse.
The kingdom did need heirs.
He paused at a window, admiring the lush gardens below. They’d been in poor condition, when he’d first arrived, but as the trade benefits of their marriage began to surge, Yeosang had quietly undertaken his designated role: beautification, organization, and domestic harmony. The western fae liked tradition, but they weren’t troubled by their king wedding a prince. The problem lay in San refusing any concubines.
He ran a hand down the silver-threaded curtains and sighed. If San had had a younger brother, perhaps thatwould have sufficed. A slight deviation from the expected, to guarantee the family line. Assuming that brother had had sons.
Yeosang turned and gazed down the hall. There were no guards outside the double doors at the end, the day’s audience over. It was rare for him to approach San openly, but he’d far rather have this conversation in the king’s private study than the king’s bedroom.
He pressed his lips together and walked forward, counting down the steps. Four, three, two, one. He loosened the tight grip he’d held on the council’s papers. He was at their service, but not their pawn. He’d added the efforts of his own research, relying on the intimate knowledge only he possessed. Perhaps it would be enough.
He knocked and waited.
A few minutes later, Jongho peered through a crack, then smiled, and ushered Yeosang inside, the door closing gently behind them. Would the secretary support him? It was for the kingdom. But Jongho’s fiercest loyalty had always been to his king. Yeosang ignored the slight, familiar tug of envy. It was inappropriate. Loneliness could not be acknowledged. It served no purpose.
The secretary stepped forward. “Your majesty, the prince seeks an audience.”
San scribbled a note on one of dozens of documents scattered across his desk, then raised his head. “Good evening, Yeosang. Is it time for supper already?”
Closing in on ten years and marriage and still San’s deep, dimpled smile made him catch his breath. Long black hair tied back with a simple ribbon, heavy robes of state discarded. Expression warm and welcoming.
San made it very difficult, but Yeosang had been raised to cope with any challenge.
He bowed his head. “It is not yet that late, your majesty.”
“Ah.”
There was a beat of silence.
Why had the council insisted he try?
Yeosang rubbed his fingers together nervously, then looked up. “I began a book recently, about the geography of Tak’ril.”
San leaned back in his chair. “The whole world? A large topic.”
Jongho moved to a side desk and began sifting through stacks of papers and files. Yeosang had been intrigued, as a new groom, but as his etiquette lessons had made clear, he was never to offer opinions or advice on matters of state, unless the king asked. And even then, he must keep his comments light. A consort—a foreign one, at that—could never possess the knowledge or skill for anything more.
“Indeed. I had high hopes, but as I read....” Yeosang clicked his tongue. “An idiot. He declared all fae beautiful and all orcs ugly. Yes, orcs tend to keep to themselves, so perhaps he had difficulties in his research, but to make such a stupid statement! I doubt he ever met any! Every ambassadorial delegation I’ve seen, and every trip I made to other lands as my mother’s representative, I saw many perfectly lovely and attractive orcs.”
Idle chatter. He was good at that. But he shouldn’t have reminded San that before they were married, he’d had some power. As if he craved it. No, surely it wouldn’t be interpreted that way. Not by his husband. The rest of the court...? He darted another look at Jongho—he seemed oblivious.
“Not a book to finish.” San propped his chin on his hands. “Has the library budget been exceeded? Easily remedied, if so.”
“Ah...no.” He had a purpose, reluctant as he was to fulfil it. Yeosang took three steps forward, again bowed his head and held out the the papers. “I was tasked to bring this matter to your majesty’s attention.”
San’s voice was cooler. “Tasked by whom?”
Yeosang felt his heart speed up. “By your council, your majesty. They are concerned. Our union brought prosperity and a wider peace, but I cannot, being male, provide the most needed requirement: an heir.” Why hadn’t he taken the papers yet? “Preferably more than one. Just in case.” Dreadful thought. He hurried on. “Sons and daughters of a king are excellent marriage prospects. Ties to other nations can be firmly secured with their—”
“Stop.”
He sounded...cold. Almost warning. But duty, Yeosang reminded himself, came before all.
“Your majesty?”
“I would never force a child of mine to endure what my illustrious ancestors have.”
“A political marriage?” The question as out before Yeosang could stop himself. His hands trembled.
San sighed. “Look at me, Yeosang.”
“Yes, your majesty.” He raised his head.
“Would you want your child to have something like that?” He took hold of the papers as if they were imprinted with poison.
They had a political marriage. And even if there were many times he wished it was more, wished he was allowed to help beyond his limited sphere of obligations, he would never want a different life.
“It is not always a poor choice, your majesty.” Yeosang murmured. “Not all marriages of convenience are devoid of emotional attachment. Many parties develop affection. Some even fall in love.”
“Do they?” San stared at him. “Any examples come to mind?”
“I...I saw it within multiple courts in my mother’s kingdom. Sometimes between monarch and consort. Sometimes monarch and...concubines. The, ah, papers?”
San glanced at them, then back at him. “Yes?”
“The names listed. I took the liberty of making notes. Not that I would ever dream of suggesting my ideas are better than the council’s or your majesty’s, but—”
“Why do you always do that?” The papers crumpled in San’s hand.
Yeosang quickly looked around the light-filled room, racking his brain for any offense. He could think of none. “Do what, your majesty?”
“Put yourself down.” San dropped the papers to his desk and rose from his chair. “As if your opinions are worth less than others’. As if they’re less precious than mine.” He walked around the desk, to stand inches from Yeosang. “If I have led you to believe that is so, let me make amends.”
That such a thought should have crossed San’s mind! So generous, so wonderful—but no.
“Never, your majesty. You are all kindness. I am merely....” What did one say, in a situation like this? “I am not as informed as your advisors, and I will never be as wise as you. I know my place, and I accept it.” Why did he look more frustrated? “You are the king of the western fae. You will always be superior.”
A cough startled him, and Yeosang’s head jerked to the side.
Jongho cleared his throat. “Please forgive me, your majesty, your highness. A dry throat.” He reached for a glass of water.
Oh. He was taking up too much time. Kind of Jongho to remind him.
“The names on that list, your majesty, were compiled with the council’s sincerity.”
San folded his arms and raised a brow.
He wasn’t usually like this. Odd.
“But I did....” Yeosang took a quick breath. “I did feel some could be slightly better fits than others. Hence my boldness, with my little notes. If I have overstepped, I apologize. I only ever seek your happiness and the kingdom’s good fortune.”
“I know, Yeosang.” San’s expression gentled. “I know.”
“Then, with your majesty’s permission?” He needed fresh air. It’d become stifling in the study.
“Of course.”
Yeosang bowed, turned, and walked as quickly as he could toward the door.
*****
San
The door thumped closed after Yeosang escaped. What other word was there for it?
San began to pace.
“How long have I been married, Jongho?”
“Nine years, five months, 16 days.”
“Do you think I’ll ever understand him?”
Jongho leaned back in his chair and examined him. “At a deep level, your majesty?”
He threw his secretary a scornful look. “What else would be worth it?”
“Hm. Unless your current situation changes, perhaps never.”
“Such cheering words you bless me with.” Almost a decade with Yeosang, and he still, daily, felt lost.
“Affection,” Jongho mused, his eyes cast toward the ceiling, “does not need deep roots. It springs up quite easily. Love, on the other hand? Well.”
“I know my own feelings, thank you.” He stalked toward the freestanding globe and gave the world a shove. He’d have better luck with extinct languages than comprehending his husband’s innermost thoughts. Yeosang liked him, he knew that. They could talk and laugh for hours in their own room. And attraction, that was mutual, thank the gods. But more than that?
His sisters would mock him, if they ever realized how desperately, helplessly, and hopelessly he adored Yeosang. ‘Unrequited love isn’t for kings, brother.’ As if he’d had a choice. Handsome, gentle, and kind—that’d been his first impression when they met. A good choice for prince consort. But then, after they were wed....
As full as his days were, he had little time to learn about Yeosang. He’d decided, starting their very first night together, that they’d play chess. Whoever won, got to ask a question. It’d seemed an ideal way to get to know each other, before any intimacies. One game a night led to two and then three, and then he was laughing while yawning, knowing they both had to sleep, but he didn’t want it to end.
Yes, his husband was soft-spoken, and very mindful of etiquette and obligations, but he was clever and funny and insightful and his smile! How could San not have fallen in love? He’d felt transformed, more eager than before to ensure Yeosang was happy. In bed, at least, he knew there was a magical spark, all reserve vanished, only passion and...well. That was the problem. Which emotions did his husband feel? Was there anything deeper than fondness?
He'd seemed absolutely unbothered, to bring that damned list. San gritted his teeth. Damned council. Yes, he knew, it’d been almost ten years, but they were fae! Neither of them was above 50! They had centuries to live, many decades more in which he could...sire an heir...with someone he felt nothing for.
And yet Yeosang was calm. How much of their own relationship was duty?
He walked back to Jongho’s desk, picking up papers, staring at them, wondering why none of the words made sense.
“Your majesty.” Jongho plucked a document from him. “I haven’t translated those yet.”
“Oh. I see.” He didn’t want to repeat his father’s choices. “Children as pawns....” He rubbed his face. “I have 11 sisters.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Solid connections with nobility here and there and that damned island with the unpronounceable name. None of them ever said a word against their marriages.”
Jongho laid down a quill and squinted at him. “None of the princesses were raised to expect...how shall I put it? Emotion.”
San snorted. “They’re all rather cold-blooded, aren’t they?”
“They have distinctly different values than your majesty. A person willing to risk life and limb might speculate on their parentage, except all of you favor your father.”
“My mother,” San said quietly. “I have my mother’s smile.”
“And her charm and sweetness and shrewdness. She is much missed.”
“Yes.” He breathed through the pain remembering always brought. “She would’ve liked Yeosang.”
Jongho smiled. “Everyone likes his highness.”
“I’m a lucky man.”
“So is his highness.”
San’s shoulders slumped. “Does he think so?”
“Ah....” Jongho leaned back in his chair. “If you’re asking my opinion.... His life here is good. There is an obvious trust and companionship between the two of you. A strong liking and similar strength of character. Seonghwa and I agree you’re a well-matched couple.”
As if his husband’s personal aide would ever voice a negative thought.
“Concubines would change everything, and not in a pleasant way.”
“I hesitate to say this—”
San rolled his eyes. “You’ve never hesitated with me.”
“My first few months,” Jongho protested with a smile. “In truth, your majesty, his highness’s ‘notes’ could be most beneficial. Selecting from his choices could ensure—”
“Harmony?” He scoffed. “No matter how nice the women are, their families will always be jostling for power. I could never trust them.”
“You do need an heir, but...hm. What about...adoption?”
San straightened up. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“I do not know, but our kingdom has rules and laws for everything. It would be...out of order? In my own thinking,” Jongho added quickly. “Unusual, if there was not some sort of guidance or precedent in the archives.”
He could feel hope soaring in him, and it was too early, much too early, but the possibilities! “Change our schedules. Dawn, every day. And any hours we can claim in the evenings. If we can find an answer in the archives, a way out!”
“Perhaps.” Jongho nodded to himself. “Although it wouldn’t solve all problems.”
“No.” He swallowed. “I’m aware. But without that pressure, then I could....” Try anything. Everything.
*****
Yeosang
If the last several weeks were any indicator of the future, he wasn’t certain how he’d hold up. San had been busier than normal, only twice summoning him to his chambers. It wasn’t as if sexual relations were everything, but over the years he’d grown accustomed to their nights together. His face started to warm. He shouldn’t think about it right now. Not when he had visitors to entertain.
Two of the five noble families in temporary residence had daughters on the council’s list. One of them, the Ning daughter, he’d marked as a good candidate. And she was. Lovely and lively and playful—San would enjoy her company.
The idea made his stomach turn.
Was the reason for the gathering—mining concerns—a pretense? An article in last week’s paper had made the dilemma seem real, though it’d been short on details. San would have explained it to him, but they’d had so little time together of late, he’d held back his questions. They weren’t that important, and his husband looked more and more exhausted every time he saw him.
Maybe it was a coincidence. All the families present owned substantial mining operations. But the cautiously eager deference from the two women...they had to know. Whichever council members had put their names on the list had to have emphasized the possibilities. If they won his approval, he’d surely speak to his majesty—or words to that effect.
A ripple of laughter drew him out of his thoughts. Lady Dahyun had conjured a tableau in the middle of the garden. It looked like a scene from The Tailor and the Clown, the lovers hiding in a tree. He’d attended one performance of the play but found the radiant joy of the ending a bit painful. He understood the appeal of romantic love, but oh, how he hoped another courtier would begin a new piece.
“Does your highness care to play?”
He should have anticipated the request. Not that either young woman cared, but if they caught his attention with pleasing manners, he’d think well of them. True enough, most of the time. He shouldn’t apply a different standard to them, because of who they might become. He wanted San to be happy. He wanted the kingdom to be secure and to flourish.
“Oh, your highness, please do!”
The exclamations and encouragement from his court were prettily done, and normally he would’ve agreed. He loved conjuring and making people laugh. But today....
“Your highness.” Lord Yunho’s voice was clear and strong. “Would you honor us with the sun and the moon?”
Calls echoed for the same conjuring and eager eyes watched him. He smiled faintly.
“If you wish it.” Yeosang accepted the lap harp and turned to his visitors. “It’s a creation myth from my home kingdom.”
He ran through a scale and his courtiers’ whispers ceased, their attention swinging to the small open-air stage a few feet away.
Yeosang plucked the opening bars slowly and mist began to rise from the ground. Of every conjuring he knew, this required the most effort. The notes and the words had to match exactly, tone and inflection, or the projection would blur and vanish. He took a deep breath and began to speak as his hands sought each chord.
“As the world spun into existence, the gods blessed it. The god of the land, that it would be fertile. The god of the sea, that its depth would yield sustenance and safe travels. The god of the sun, that life might thrive. The god of the moon, that the world’s children might not face endless darkness.”
Scene after scene, semi-transparent, glittering and glistening, expanding and deepening. The gods appearing, one after one.
“The god of the sun and the god of the moon promised to work together. For the tides, for the counting of the months, on and on they added vows, weaving themselves closer and closer together. The moon glowed with the sun’s radiance and the sun sank into the moon’s embrace every night. The gods were happy and the world’s children rejoiced.”
The sun and the moon circled each other, growing nearer with each pass.
The first lovers of the world. Yeosang dismissed the thought.
“Then the children began to sail farther from the land than they had before. Their ships almost never returned. They pled to the gods for aid. The moon waxed and waned, at times even disappeared. They had no guidance to bring them safely home.”
Ships setting out to sea, their sails billowing, vanishing in the dusk. The moon phasing from full to new. Fae and orcs, dwarves and goblins, were-creatures—lines of each in their own temples, bowing to altars.
“The goddess of the sky heard their prayers. She approached the sun. ‘Lie with me,’ she said, ‘and I will provide stars, shining bright, as their inheritance from you, and they will guide the children to safe harbor.’”
A beautiful woman, her gown shading from azure to midnight, approached a striking man, his skin and his hair and his eyes all golden. She swept around him, her body swaying alluringly, her arms outstretched.
Focus, focus, focus, focus.
“The god of the sun hesitated. To create stars with the sky would take time. Time away from his love, the god of the moon. But how could he ignore the desperate hopes of thousands? He followed the sky to her chambers. True to her word, stars appeared that night, and the world’s children again rejoiced. They could sail far and wide, charting paths by the newborn constellations.”
The sun god stood still, his gaze far off in the distance. After some time, he nodded slowly and took the goddess’s hand. The small figures at their temples grew in numbers, their bodies no longer bent, but dancing. Ships, bigger and grander, sailed in and out of harbors. The colors of the projection deepened, nearly solid now.
Yeosang added a discordant note for every fifth word.
“Years passed. Then one evening, as the sun dropped toward the horizon, he passed the moon as he rose. ‘My love,’ the sun began. The moon regarded him with sorrow. ‘It is too late. The sky will not be parted from you. The stars have told me all.’ In desperation, the sun reached out with rose and violet and orange—but none touched the moon, pale and determined and rising.”
A lovely, slim man, as silver as the sun god was gold, paused in his ascent up invisible stairs. For a long moment, their eyes locked. Then the moon god shook his head, gesturing at the stars in despair. The sun god lurched forward, colors wild and vibrant, but the moon god turned away.
“The indigo robes of the sky swept between them and the sun faded from view, now bound to the goddess night and day. The moon continued to rise, weeping, and was silent.”
The sun set, its glory weakening as full night fell. The moon god bowed his head, sparkling tears on his face, his steps slow but measured as he climbed higher and higher. The stars, shining as they were promised to, surrounding him.
Yeosang sighed. Enough magic had been infused, the last scene should remain visible for a few minutes. It’d been a long time since he’d conjured this story. He looked around, feeling bemused when he saw maids and footmen at the garden’s edge, staring at the stage. He supposed the colors were solid enough to be seen at that distance.
Closer to his court were nobles whose names he couldn’t immediately place. Standing in front of them was San, his face a mix of emotions.
Oh. Those must be the fathers and brothers of the invited families.... Yeosang quickly looked away, eyes flitting over the courtiers gathered around him. Were some of them crying?
“It’s just a story,” he said softly.
Yizhuo Ning dabbed at her face. “It’s so sad. The sun should have said something, they should have talked, but no! He abandoned the moon for years!”
San appreciated honesty. That, along with everything else...she would be an excellent choice for his first concubine consort.
With effort, Yeosang kept a smile on his face. He didn’t know who knew she was a candidate. He couldn’t allow anyone to guess his thoughts. Possessiveness and fearfulness—what right did he have to feel such things? The king belonged to the kingdom, not him.
He fiddled with the strings of the lap harp, then strummed another chord, dispelling the fading scene. Someone was staring at him, but he didn’t dare look around.
“Lady Ning.” He leaned toward her. “Would you play?”
“Oh.” She looked flustered. “I would be honored to, your highness.”
“Excellent.” He passed the harp along. “Perhaps something lighter?”
She nodded quickly. “Of course. Though may I say, your highness, the sun and the moon...it’s a heartbreaking myth.”
“Yes,” Yeosang said slowly. “I suppose it is.” And a bit too close to his current life to be comfortable.
***
No summons, and it was near midnight. Yeosang stared in the mirror, wondering....
San had disappeared soon after supper. Everyone had. Could he have arranged to have met Yizhuo Ning? With a chaperone, of course! He must have noticed her, earlier, in the gardens.
“It would be a good thing,” he told himself firmly. “Everyone would be pleased.”
The world’s children and the stars....
He frowned at his reflection. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“About what?”
He swung round, eyes wide. How had San crept in so silently? And why? He stood and bowed. “Your majesty.”
“Your hair’s loose.”
“I....” He bit his lip. After his little speech in San’s office that day, it would sound forward, if he said he’d been waiting. He knew his place, he did. He straightened up. “I wasn’t yet tired.”
“Ah.” San stepped closer, placed his hands on Yeosang’s shoulders, and gently pushed him back in his chair. “Let me.”
He blinked at their reflections. He’d never before, but.... “As your majesty wishes.”
San’s mouth quirked up. He ran a hand through Yeosang’s hair, deftly splitting it into thirds. “Yes, I’m more practiced at undoing a braid, but this isn’t that difficult.”
It felt wonderful, to have San’s full attention. And his hands, brushing against his neck—he shivered.
“You know,” San mused, as he worked, “when I first met you, it was in a candlelit room, like this. Not a bedroom, of course.” He chuckled. “That would have been highly inappropriate. But I remember that moment. I’d thought your hair red, but in that room, with all those candles, it was crimson fire. So beautiful. It still is. Rich wine. Intoxicating.” He tied the end of the braid. “Much as you are.”
Yeosang could barely breathe. He wanted—he wished—if only—
“Your majesty—”
San’s face, in the mirror, grew tight. “It’s been over nine years, Yeosang. Must I still grant leave every night?”
“To avoid overfamiliarity—”
“Please, Yeosang!”
Rules, requirements, obligations, everything he’d been raised to respect and honor. In that moment, he hated them all. But what choice did he have?
“It is the custom of the western fae,” he said quietly.
“Custom isn’t law.” San’s voice was clipped.
“No, but....”
His husband’s shoulders slumped. “You have leave.”
Yeosang nodded and folded his hands together.
“Those names.” San took a deep breath. “Do you want me to choose one?”
Never.
“Yes, of course. The kingdom needs—”
“Do you want me to pick someone? Another person to spend my nights with? Two concubines? Three? Fertility,” San’s voice took on an edge, “isn’t guaranteed with any one person or within a set time. Any concubine I take, I must make every effort, mustn’t I? It could be weeks, months, who knows how long, before I can...summon you again. Is that what you want? Time alone, space, distance? Have you grown to dislike...this?” His hands hovered in the air between them. “To dislike us?”
Yeosang twisted around immediately, horror flooding him. “No, you—San. No. You’ve always—you taught me to enjoy—I do...like...us.” His face felt hot.
San laughed, but it almost sounded like a sob.
He should stand. He should embrace him. He should—
Yeosang pushed down the longing. He had to be whom he had to be.
“Do you?” San stared at him. “Then why have you never stayed? You slip away from my bed in the middle of the night, every time.”
“I...I was told...I was taught....” It was difficult to focus, impossible to think. “My mother’s consorts never stayed.”
San closed his eyes briefly. “Did they want to?”
He had no idea.
“That’s not a question one can ask one’s father. Or any elder. Or any person.”
“Why didn’t you ask if I wanted you to stay?” San opened his eyes, his hand cupping Yeosang’s jaw.
He leaned into the touch. “How could I presume? You’re the king, San. The protocol I was taught, the customs of the western fae, it was made so clear, the limits on what I can and cannot do. You didn’t ask me to stay so I left after you fell asleep.” He took a quick breath. “And pardon me for this, but not once in those nine years have you demanded otherwise.”
If he’d looked sad before, now San’s expression was nearly heartbroken.
“Yeosang. I don’t want to demand it. I want you to want to stay.”
Oh. He felt dazed and dazzled. If only....
“What I want isn’t the deciding factor.”
“It can be,” San murmured.
A king could change anything.... He felt a flare of hope. Why was he so different tonight? If it was real, it was sudden. Which wasn’t like his husband. Could it be a passing mood? No, that didn’t quite fit, either. He turned the possibilities over and over in his head.
“Can I sleep here tonight?”
Yeosang glanced at his bed. It was, of course, big enough for two, but San had never....
“Of course, if you wish it.”
San pulled him to his feet, their bodies inches apart. “If I wish.... You don’t have to agree to everything I want. Please don’t say yes, if you don’t want it, too.”
Carefully, cautiously, he lifted San’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I do not like it when you’re unhappy,” he said quietly. “I would do anything, to avoid that. It’s fine, if you want to sleep here. Is that, um...all you want, tonight?”
San smiled. “Tonight, yes.”
He nodded, then drew San toward the bed. He draped their embroidered robes over a chair, then slid under the covers, holding them up for San to follow.
It felt strange, simply lying side by side.
“Yeosang?”
“Hm?”
“You’ll be here, in the morning, yes?”
Why would he not?
“It’s my own room, so...?”
“Of course.”
Yeosang gently pulled San’s head toward his shoulder. “Is this all right? Since you usually fall asleep like this after we...well.” It was absurd, after this many years of marriage, that he couldn’t say the words outright.
“Yes,” San breathed. He wrapped an arm around Yeosang’s waist. “It’s perfect.”
Yeosang smiled in the darkness. San sounded adorable when he was sleepy. He began carding his fingers through his husband’s hair, feeling the tension ease away.
“You’ll truly be here, when I wake up?”
“I promise. Tomorrow and.....” It wouldn’t be every night, not in the future, San had made that clear. He refused to dwell on it. Not now. “Every night you spend with me, I’ll stay. My word on it. The staff will be a bit surprised in the morning—”
“Don’t care,” San yawned, “what anyone else thinks. Just you.”
What had changed? Would it be permanent? At least until the women—no! He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think about them. Right now, nothing else mattered but the two of them, together.
*****
San
“Your majesty.”
That voice. He frowned lightly. Was he supposed to wake up now? He didn’t want to. If he woke up, he’d have to move. Moving meant leaving Yeosang’s bed.
“Your majesty.”
Who was it? Who’d dare be so insistent? Jongho, but didn’t sound like him.
“Your majesty.”
San slowly opened his eyes. Ah. Seonghwa. The only fae in the kingdom who weighed him in the balance and always found him wanting. He sighed softly and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Yeosang’s head.
Seonghwa raised an eyebrow.
“I know, I know,” San muttered.
“Will you be eating breakfast here, your majesty?”
He wished he could, but he didn’t want to waste any of the precious pre-dawn time Jongho had arranged. “No,” he whispered, reluctantly easing away from Yeosang, dear and lovely and peaceful as he slept on. Why hadn’t he spoken up earlier? Years he’d missed. Never again. “I’ll eat in the archives.”
He could feel the disapproval.
He slipped out of bed, taking the robe Seonghwa held out. “Neither Jongho nor I have made a mess up to this point, there’s no reason to suspect we’ll ruin any ancient scrolls now.”
“As you say, your majesty,” Seonghwa replied composedly.
Irritating as he could be, San wouldn’t change him. No one—possibly including himself—was as devotedly loyal to Yeosang as Seonghwa. But then, he’d nearly raised him.
He glanced at the bed again. “Should I wake him?”
“So he won’t feel you stole away? Why, yes, your majesty, a brilliant idea.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You test my patience, you know that?”
Seonghwa smiled.
San bent forward, gently shaking his husband’s shoulder. “Yeosang. Wake up.”
“Mmmmm?” Yeosang rolled over and blinked up at him. Then yawned. “Why’re you up so early?”
His voice, rough with sleep, made San shiver. Couldn’t he—no. If everything went as he hoped, as he prayed, then in the future.... “Work.”
“You can’t stay?” Yeosang yawned again.
“I....” Why couldn’t he do what he wanted? To hell with customs and rules and—he shook his head. “No.” The two young women arriving with their families had been unavoidable. Their fathers’ knowing looks and the council’s less than subtle comments were grinding on his nerves. “I have to leave. But...can I come back tonight?”
Yeosang looked confused. “You’re the king. You can do—”
“Didn’t I say to forget that? Only agree if you’d like me to.” Please, San added silently. Please say yes.
“Oh. Doesn’t change anything, though? You’re always welcome. Or,” Yeosang yawned and stretched, “would you rather I come to you?”
He hesitated. His bed was bigger. And sleeping in his chambers meant no judgmental Seonghwa looming over him in the morning.
“Yes,” San said hurriedly. “If you promise not to leave.”
Yeosang smiled at him.
“I love...when you smile.” Careful, be careful, don’t rush, too soon.
“Then I’ll do it more.”
“Only when you want to.”
Seonghwa cleared his throat.
Right.
San straightened up. “It’s barely dawn, Yeosang. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmmm.... Okay.” Yeosang curled up on his side and in less than a minute, his breathing was steady.
San forced himself to step away and walk toward the door that connected their rooms.
“Your majesty?”
He turned his head, eyeing Seonghwa with curiosity. “Yes?”
Seonghwa’s bow was so deep his tied-back hair nearly touched the floor. “Thank you.”
“I’m...I should have earlier....” San swallowed. “I’m going to make it better. All of it.”
***
Nights spent with Yeosang helped, but early mornings and late nights poring through scrolls and books, searching for any reprieve, spending the hours away from the archives attending to his regular duties—he felt entirely drained. Was there any path? There had to be. There just had to be. He turned another page.
“Ahhh!”
San jerked backward in his chair. “What?”
Jongho was standing up, weaving slightly, finger pointing to the scroll at his table. “I found it!”
His breath caught, then he bolted upright, rushing, nearly stumbling, to his aide’s side. “Where? What does it say?”
“Look.” Jongho bent forward, finger tracing along the faded script. “1268 years ago, the king had a queen and concubines, but every child was a girl, thus it was decreed that a male child of direct royal ancestry could be adopted and inherit the throne and that’s exactly what happened!” Jongho staggered.
San steadied him, pushed him back to his chair. They were both near the brink of collapse.
“Is there a catch?” he asked nervously. There nearly always was.
“Umm....” Jongho tapped a line in the scroll. “The child must descend directly through the male line and the male line only. Doesn’t matter how far down!” He rubbed his forehead. “But it must be father to son, over and over. Ridiculous. We really could take lessons from his highness’s birth kingdom, your majesty.”
San laughed. “One challenge at a time. But—are there any relative who would suit?”
Jongho sighed deeply. “Any, yes, but it can’t just be any. He’d be the next king! The boy’d need to be intelligent and show promise and his parents would have to be willing to sever all claims of kinship.”
San snorted. “That last won’t be a problem.”
“Well, no.” Jongho grinned at him. “For a connection to the throne? I can’t think of a single noble who’d object. But he must be a good candidate, your majesty. Not anyone.”
So close, and yet the chance could still be snatched away. San’s hands curled into fists.
“What do we do now?
Another long-suffering sigh, and then Jongho slowly stood and stretched. “I go to my room to pack.”
San stared at him blankly. “Why?”
“I am your majesty’s aide for many reasons. An impeccable memory is one of them. There are families who might have likely sons, but you cannot go and we cannot make this public. Not at this stage.” He rolled up the scroll. “I’ll lock this in a safe.”
“I can! Go pack. The sooner you leave, the sooner you arrive.” He cast a look around the archives. “I’ll put the books away. Everything. Just go. Go and find me an heir. Please, Jongho.”
Jongho’s expression sobered. “I cannot promise—”
“I’m aware.” They’d been searching for well over a month. He’d known, when they’d begun, that they might not find anything. But he’d take any chance he could. “If you find a suitable candidate, send word. I’ll find a way to get to you.” He’d have to meet the boy in person and his family, be certain—it was his kingdom’s future at stake, after all.
“Without his highness knowing?” Jongho looked at him dubiously.
“I won’t offer him any false hopes. Nothing, unless—no, until. I must believe it will be until. Nothing, until it’s done.” It would be torture, but he’d survive it.
*****
Yeosang
Four days since San had left the palace with two mages and the highest-ranking members of his personal guard. He’d teleported somewhere. Rumors were flying, but the only member of the court who might have known—Jongho—had vanished more eleven days earlier.
What was going on?
For weeks, he’d been sleeping in San’s bed. Sometimes his husband showed up before he dozed off, but he’d never asked for anything. They’d just slept. He understood, to a degree—the dark circles under San’s eyes couldn’t be ignored—but it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t how they’d lived the last nine-going-on-ten years.
Other times, he woke late in the night to the warmth of San’s body pressed against his, and it wasn’t that he’d expected anything....
A lie.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror as Seonghwa finished braiding his hair. Of course he’d expected, hoped, wished.... It didn’t make sense, after what San had said that night. Asking if he didn’t want themanymore, their intimacy. He’d said he did! But nothing since then. Nothing.
He missed San’s touch. He missed hearing his name on San’s lips. He missed San’s hands at his waist, on his shoulders, the taste of—
“Highness. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. As strict and controlling and ridiculous as this kingdom can be, there is no ban on self-pleasure.”
Yeosang flushed. Had his thoughts been that obvious?
“Um. Maybe not, but...” He gestured vaguely at his bed. “Sheets and all. Everyone would know. They’d talk about it.” They had to have noticed already, the absence of any signs, though he’d been in San’s chambers night after night.
“Gossipy fools.” Seonghwa crouched down, eyes meeting Yeosang’s. “They don’t matter. And besides.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it simply happens, while one’s asleep. No one would know if you’d conjured a scene for your own enjoyment or if delightful memories had played out while you dreamt.”
Memories.
What if San was away, visiting families with daughters on that list? He’d have to get used to being alone. He could use this time, when he was guaranteed privacy, to practice. Conjured memories could soothe the most turbulent heart. He bit his lip, then nodded.
Seonghwa moved swiftly and laid his personal harp on a nearby table. “I bid you good night, your highness.”
Yeosang rose, and paced toward the sofa, picking up the harp as he passed it. He settled onto the cushions, frowning slightly as he checked the tuning, then began playing aimlessly. Mist began to swirl on the floor, spreading outward.
He let the notes drift with his thoughts. Love. Wistfulness. Longing. Embraces and passion. The quiet peace of San sleeping next to him. The room filled with soft, rich colors.
Which memory should he bring to life? Would it be very bad, if he conjured them? No one was here to see. If he reminded himself he was indeed wanted and cared for, it would calm him, wouldn’t it? He should pick something sweet, but the restlessness....
Dare to be bold, he told himself. No one will scold you. No one will know.
He murmured details as he coaxed a tune from the harp, the chords more harmony than melody. The tableau began to take shape, and he was grateful his magic was strong enough to make it seem real.
His bed looked like San’s. The golden curtains drawn back just so. And, oh...the first time San had rolled them over, had coaxed him to take control. Yeosang’s breath quickened. How different it had felt. He’d been shy at first, his husband’s eyes never leaving his face. But then, when he’d figured out a rhythm, the moan from San had thrilled him. He’d been glad to be strong and fit. The euphoria he’d felt, to bring the person he loved—
“Yeosang.”
His hands froze.
No. No, no, no. How had he not noticed the door opening?
His heart beating painfully fast, he looked at San, standing still, his eyes fixed on the clear and vivid tableau he’d conjured. What was shown wasn’t itself unusual, though he’d somehow made San glow.
“I...you were gone and I....” How could he explain it away?
“It’s fine.” San whispered. “It’s all right. But...that’s you and me, isn’t it?”
He fidgeted, anxious to banish the scene, but not quite feeling able to.
“It’s a memory, your majesty, and—”
“My name.” San’s eyes flicked to his face. “Use my name. Is that us?” He gestured toward the bed.
“Who...San, who else would it be?”
San tilted his head, his brows drawing together. “No one else, but I don’t look like that.”
Yeosang glanced sideways, to reassure himself he hadn’t conjured anything strange.
“Yes, you do.”
“No.” San’s voice was resolute. “That’s someone who resembles me but is loved. You don’t love me.”
Was that the glow?
Embarrassment coursed through him. “Oh....” He strummed a hasty descent on the strings. “I apologize. It’ll disappear soon.”
He winced at the slight crack in his voice.
San’s eyes widened and he strode to the sofa, grabbing the harp and setting it aside. He dropped to his knees, leaning in to catch Yeosang’s gaze. “Do you love me?”
Yeosang twisted his hands together. “I…um…have always…had…respect for you and somehow…over the years…that has….” There was no point in denying it, not now. He swallowed convulsively. “Yes. I do.”
“You....” San looked dazed. “I never would have guessed. Not in a hundred years.”
“I won’t let it be obvious again.” He wanted to hide. “I promise.”
“What? Why?”
Yeosang reached out a trembling hand and smoothed it over the royal crest embroidered on San’s robe. “It wouldn’t be appropriate, when the palace will soon have new residents with stronger claims on your time.”
“I disagree, nor would I phrase it like that.” He leaned closer. “But how did you guess?”
It hurt to breathe.
“Why else would you leave? You’ve always preferred private negotiations, when matters were closely related to the throne.” His vision blurred and he blinked rapidly. Not the time to cry. “When will Consort Yizhuo be arriving?”
“Consort? You thought—no.” San shook his head. “No.”
He sounded so vehement. “You didn’t like her? Did you choose someone else?”
“Yeosang.” San linked their hands together. “I will never take a concubine.”
“But you must. The kingdom needs—"
“An heir.” He shrugged. “I have one, now. But if you wish, we can add another. There were five available, but only two met Jongho’s strict requirements.” He smiled.
Jongho? Five? Add?
“I am very confused.”
“A loophole found in an old scroll.” San stood, then tugged him to his feet as well. “Adoption. He’s a distant cousin. Or, well, he was. Now he’s our son, I suppose, though we aren’t far apart in age.”
“You adopted a son?” He felt dizzy. “But...why?”
“You, of course.” San’s smile deepened.
He stared at his husband in wonder. “Me?”
San kissed his temple. “How could I be with anyone else when I only love you?”
He tried to speak. Couldn’t. A tear slid down his cheek.
“Yeosang.” San searched his face. “Please tell me that’s a happy sort of crying.”
He nodded.
“That’s a relief.” He drew him toward the connecting door. “You should know, I slept miserably these last several nights.”
Yeosang smiled faintly. “Jongho stole the blankets?” he whispered.
San laughed. “He had a lovely little room, which he refused to leave after dinner. No, my dearest, I tossed and turned because you were here and I was there.”
Warmth spread through his chest. “Oh.”
They passed through the doorway into San’s chambers.
“I’m holding you to that promise, Yeosang. Every night you’re with me, you stay.”
“Hmm.” He tipped his head to the side consideringly. “I’m agreeable to that.”
Again San laughed. “Thank you, your highness. Will you extend your graciousness and permit me to ask a personal question?”
He grinned, feeling giddy and delighted. “You may, San.”
“Could we recreate that artful tableau you conjured?”
He’d heard desire in his husband’s voice many times, but the eagerness of hope and the gentleness of love were new and enchanting. They made him feel brave.
He pulled San to a stop, earning himself a quizzical look. “Could I...do everything? I’m more skilled now, than I was then.”
There weren’t enough lit candles to see, but he knew San’s eyes had darkened.
“Yes,” he said quietly, his hand lifting to trace along Yeosang’s jaw, “you are. And yes, to anything you want.”
He inched closer, wrapping his arms around San’s neck. “I’ve been dreaming of your lips on mine for weeks and weeks.”
“Every part of me is yours, Yeosang.” San dipped his head. “Every. Part.”
To be kissed with reverence, as if he was infinitely precious, nearly made him cry again.
“I love you. San, my San, I love you.”