Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jeongguk stood at the prow of the ship as a familiar coastline unfurled— white cliffs bitten by waves, stone buildings like jagged teeth along the horizon, banners snapping with the crest he had carried on his sleeves across foreign courts for the last five years of his life. Salt clung to his lashes. He blinks it away quickly before the ship docked, for the court is not a place for the weak. 

“Your Highness, we have arrived,” his right hand man, Min Yoongi announced. He nodded. The large-billed crow perched on his shoulder flies up into the overcast skies. He doesn’t blame the bird at all. 

From the moment he stepped onto the docks, the waiting crowd erupted into cheers for their crown prince who had finally returned home. The alpha bowed and waved politely at the people before stepping into the palanquin and sliding the windows completely shut. 

Years of diplomacy had taught Jeongguk how to bow without bending, how to smile without yielding. He had learned five languages, and how to finesse the most arrogant of royalty and seal deals without definite promises. Yet nothing has his stomach in knots as seeing the faces of people he was supposed to be responsible for one day. Jeongguk shuddered wondering what kind of expectations they had for him. Would their undying love for their only prince ever become jaded?

The cheers did not cease nor die down the entire route into the capital city. The horses moved at a snail's pace as the guards in front of them managed the crowd waiting in anticipation. All these people interrupted their daily routine and waited hours in the burning sun to greet him home. His attendant whispered in his ear that some had travelled hours from their small town to witness his grand return. It’s no wonder he grew up believing that he was the centre of the world.

He had since forgotten what it was like being a prince of his people. When he was abroad, he was able to shed his royal coat after a day of formal affairs. Outside of the Korean peninsula, particularly the region of Daehwa, people didn’t have his face memorized and worshipped. For once in his life, he was able to slip into society inconspicuously to experience a morsel of normality. 

As the royal palanquin crawled towards the grand palace, the memories began coming back to him. Along with the pandering, the suffocation, and the expectations. 

The palace gates opened to receive him with ritualistic splendor. The entire court was summoned to welcome him. Servants knelt as one, heads lowered in practiced devotion. “Welcome home, Your Highness the Crown Prince,” they chant as one.

Home… a place where one feels the most safe and loved yet only a sense of dread and responsibility weighed down on his shoulders. He is nothing like the rebellious child who ran down these halls anymore, yet returning to this place and seeing his parents standing radiant and immovable as ever is bringing out the infantile emotions he had buried.

Jeongguk sank to his knees and bowed his head down to the ground, greeting his father with the same formality as he’s done in foreign courts. “This subject, the Crown Prince of Daehwa humbly wishes Your Majesty a jubilant 60th birthday and prays to Heaven for Your Majesty’s boundless health.”

A lengthy second passed before he was called to rise again. The King of Daehwa’s voice barely inflected as he replied, “It is fortunate that the Crown Prince has returned safely.”

His mother, who remained at her spot beside the King, offered him a small smile. “You have labored well, my prince.” Summers in Daehwa were always humid and hot, but the palace was just as cold as he had left it. 

There was a reason Jeongguk had dodged all the requests to return home with compounding excuses of meeting with foreign officials. He hadn’t wanted to return this time either, but he was simply outsmarted. They had sent a ship to receive him without giving him a heads up to plan an escape. On top, they presented an irrebuttable command. It was going to be his father’s milestone birthday. All the officials were going to be travelling to his home and it would be shameful if the King of Daehwa’s only son didn’t attend. 

The banquet was the grandest in a decade and no expense was spared to show off the prosperity the kingdom had amassed. All the tables were covered to the edge with food: platters of fruit and nuts imported from the south, multiple roasted pigs, freshly harvested fish and abalone, and rice cakes piled high into mountains. Soft strings played continuously in the ambiance courtesy of the nation’s best musicians, and accompanied by fluidly synchronized dancers. 

Jeongguk had hoped all the festivities would let him fade away in the background, but that could never be the case in his lifetime so long as he was born as the Crown Prince. Somehow what was supposed to be a celebration of the King’s life had somehow turned into a ball for the Crown Prince’s favor. 

Foreign dignitaries had brought along their most attractive and desirable omega children to introduce to him. Jeongguk would pretend to not know their intentions, as they batted their lashes at him furiously, emitting their sickenly sweet scent in the already musty hall, doing all they can to stand out in the Crown Prince’s eyes. 

Who shall break it to these desperate omegas that no matter how much blush and jewels they adorned, he wouldn’t even consider bedding them for a night. There was nothing that repulsed him more than someone who knew his title foremost, who viewed him as a means to ascend in the rankings.

If not omegas, his own court members were dying at the chance to talk to the returned prince. He was happy to converse about the transformative learning, culture and adventure he had experienced, but somehow most of the questions ended up dancing around the same overdone subject. 

“You’ve been around the world and back… surely you’ve seen all the options by now. Have no respectable omega captured your heart?” yet another eunuch prodded. 

By the end of the night, Jeongguk has been asked the same questions so many times that he’s gotten his responses recited. He would meet their gaze evenly, resisting the utmost urge to roll his eyes backwards. “Not yet. Perhaps, one day in the future when my alpha settles on someone, I shall surely slip you the information first,” he would say with a wink before finding an escape plan for the conversation— especially before they started injecting their opinion on whom he should marry. 

Their questions went beyond their desire to see their Crown Prince mated off. Jeongguk learned from a young age that in these aristocratic parts, everyone had a hidden agenda, otherwise they’d be long eaten up by hungrier wolves.

He thought he finally found his escape when his eyes found a familiar yet strange face in the crowd. He’s let his facial hair grow out and now proudly sported a bite on his neck, but he sends him the same mischievous look that took him back to his childhood. 

Kim Taehyung was one of the few figures he missed in this cold palace. As the alpha son of the chief state councillor, they grew up together, attending the same private lessons in the palace. They would also conspire with each other to escape their daily assignments, becoming a true headache to the poor attendants assigned to keep them in order. 

Without any spoken words, he knew exactly where to meet him afterwards.

The pavilion overlooked the inner lake, lanterns trembling against black water. It was a place they used to escape to in their youth, playing games of yutnori, enjoying stolen bottles of wine, where they would just hang— loud, careless, laughing too hard at nothing.

Admittedly, he was nervous meeting his childhood friend who knew the old him he desperately tried to escape from. They have not seen each other since he set off the shores of Daehwa, save for written correspondence every year for the holidays, but within minutes, Taehyung sprawled across the cushions opposite him, entirely too comfortable. The laughter came first as they reminisced on their past. He then tells him of his new mate, while he tells him about the wild stories he had abroad. They settled back into their old dynamic quickly— easy and irritating at the same time. 

“You know what they’re saying now?” Taehyung drawled, lounging against the low table like the Crown Prince’s presence was merely a suggestion.

Jeongguk let out a quiet, humorless breath. “They are always saying something.”

“They say you collect omegas like silk handkerchiefs,” Taehyung continued. “Beautiful and fragrant. Yet used and forgotten by morning. Five years abroad, bedding the entire peninsula wasn’t enough, you moved onto the continent. Should I be worried, Your Highness?”

Jeongguk didn’t bother looking up, swirling the almost empty cup between his fingers. “You should be worried about your tongue. It’s far too loose for someone in striking distance.”

Taehyung grinned wider. An alpha, like Jeongguk—one of the few who had known him before duty sanded the edges off his temper. “Ah, there it is. Still sharp. Still running.”

He met his gaze, cool and unyielding. “Running from what, exactly?”

“From feeling,” he said plainly. “From settling. You were reckless in your youth, chasing amusement because you were bored. Now you’ve grown up, matured in every other aspect except for this. For a young desirable alpha, you somehow managed to dodge forming any proper bonds, it feels almost purposeful— like avoidance, detachment.” 

Jeongguk let out a quiet, humorless breath. “You imagine too much. I devote my days to the kingdom, Heaven forbid I enjoy my nights how I please.”

“Are you forgetting that your most important duty to Daehwa is to continue our royal lineage? That you aren’t due to choose a mate soon?” he countered. “I was watching you at the party. You had the most prestigious omegas of the lands leaning toward you, offering their scent, and you looked irritated. You wouldn’t give anyone a second of consideration.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice in mock secrecy. “Almost as if you had someone you’re waiting for…”

Jeongguk scoffed. “There is no one,” he shut down suspiciously curt. 

“You’re telling me all these omegas have crossed your path and not one has ever moved your heart, lingered in the back of your mind?”

“You’re one to judge,” he snapped defensively. “You have acted recklessly the same as I have, encouraged it even. You're only acting high and mighty now that you have a mate.”

“Because I know now, how life is much more bearable, meaningful with a mate by your side. I’m prodding you only because I care about you.” he shot back, smirking knowing that he hit a nerve. “Tell me. Does your alpha sleep peacefully at night?”

The question landed heavier than it should have.

Jeongguk’s jaw tightened—just a fraction.

People speak profoundly of the alpha prince of Daehwa— spreading tales of how his smoky scent permeates the room, how his tall and broad stature can make a stallion look like a pony, how his mere presence commands the attention of everyone that passes by. 

The rumours don’t paint the exact picture of reality. No one knows that he heightens his scent with more masculine perfume. That he never skips a training day because it's the only time he feels a sense of control over his alpha. That no matter how hard he forces himself to reciprocate feelings, his alpha never complies. That he seeks out sex so his body can feel something at least in the absence of his alpha. 

“My alpha is irrelevant,” he growled between his teeth. “We haven’t seen each other for five years. Don’t pretend to understand me anymore. Can we drop this now?”

“Alright, alright. Let’s talk about the past then,” he held his hands up in surrender, laughing to break up the tension in the air. “Do you remember when you made three omegas cry in a single week because you forgot their names?”

“You are exaggerating.”

“Oh, I don’t need to exaggerate. I was there.” Taehyung grinned. “Even as your best friend, you were unbearable. Spoiled. Convinced that if someone was weak enough to be hurt, it was their own failing.”

“I was young.”

“You were an insufferable brat,” he corrected fondly. 

A blurry black figure soared towards them, barely perceivable against the night sky, but Jeongguk could recognize his loyal pet by sound. Jadu landed directly on his shoulder.

Jeongguk instinctively moved his fingers up to scratch at his neck. “Finally, you got the guts to visit me in this godforsaken place,” he murmured. 

“I can’t believe that wild creature still follows you around.” The other alpha chuckled. “Even after the Queen’s attendant chased him out the palace with a shoe.”

Jeongguk closed his eyes. “He’s a stubborn one.”

Jadu always remains. He’s the only one who has.

“Didn’t you acquire him at that place you were sentenced to… Baekwol Monastery.”

The name hung between them. Jeongguk’s fingers stilled around the chair arm, already unnerved by where this was going.

“What a mysterious place hidden deep in the mountains,” Taehyung remarked, voice light but deliberate. “You came back different the first time. Mellowed. Less… vicious. You stopped snapping at servants for breathing too loudly. You started listening during lectures.” He dragged out his words, as if it was the craziest statement ever, “you even sought out reading for pleasure!”

Silence dispersed through the courtyard. There was nothing said that should offend him and yet his heart skipped a beat.

“There was an omega you met there,” Taehyung added cautiously.

Jeongguk’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “Careful.”

Taehyung laughed triumphantly. “See? That tone. Every time.” He leaned forward, like a dog that discovered a bone. “I joined the envoy to fetch you back home, travelling the distance to surprise you, and you wouldn’t even introduce me to him. You refused to speak of his name nor what he meant to you, acting as if I was blind to the thick scent in the air.”

“There was nothing to say,” Jeongguk replied coolly. Jeongguk exhaled slowly, pressing his thumb into the pulse at his wrist, trying to steady his speeding heartbeat. “Why are you insisting on bringing such foolishness up after all this time?”

“Just reminiscing on when we started to drift apart. I can admit now that I was hurt that you would rather become more distant than talk to me about your time away.” Taehyung swirled his wine. “I know we were both brutish alphas who thought feelings were for the delicate and weakness were to be made into mockery. But I thought our lifetime of friendship would’ve given you the faith that I do care about you when it matters.”

He inhaled sharply. This was a conversation he never thought they could have as two emotionally constipated young alphas. He has matured drastically to fill the role of the Crown Prince, and without witnessing, his childhood friend had changed too on his own end. 

“I apologize for the past. I had meant no malice. During that time, my head was deep in the textbooks to study for the literary examinations and I was too distracted to notice that I hurt you.”

Taehyung’s gaze sharpened. “Yeah and what was the first thing you did after you passed? You went straight back to the monastery brimming with excitement and certainty. All you told me was you had something unfinished. And when you returned? You didn’t speak for days,” he rambled, riding a wave of revelation. “Then within the month, you volunteered to leave the kingdom entirely. Diplomacy tours. Military inspections. Anywhere but here. You didn’t even return for your best friend’s mating ceremony.”

Jeongguk looked away, refusing to make eye contact. Refusal to confront his failure to maintain any sort of relationship. “I’m sorry again. My absence was never attributed to you. Never. It was duty to Daehwa.”

He shook his head. “Please. It was escape.”

Jeongguk stood, turning toward the dark lake to stare out at the palace roofs reflected in moonlight. “Enough. You imagine ghosts where there are none.”

“Tell me then, so I can finally understand,” Taehyung pressed, not unkindly. “Just once.”

The air between them tightened.

Jeongguk’s demeanor became cold and impenetrable. His manicured Crown Prince front took over the camaraderie he was displaying earlier. 

“He was a passing acquaintance at a monastery, and when I returned, he was no longer there,” he said, refusing to look back. 

“Were you hurt?” he asked softly.

“No,” he choked out. “He’s probably out there exploring the four seas like he’s always dreamed of.” The alpha swallowed the lump lodged in his throat preventing him from explaining further. 

How could he explain that the distinguished Crown Prince of Daehwa had made a promise to a mere son of a servant? That he grinded through schooling so he could return with dignity and authority, but he did not wait for him. He vanished without an explanation.

And despite his desperation to hold onto resentment, his alpha could not forget how the omega touched him so metamorphically. His habit of sweeping every new environment has ingrained in his routine even after all this time, and still he never found a trace of his scent again.

How could he admit out loud that no scent had ever settled his alpha the way his had? That every warm body he had encountered since had been an echo, a failed attempt to reach something already lost?  

“There’s nothing more to it. Haven’t thought about him since,” Jeongguk shared instead.

Taehyung blinked slowly, unconvinced. 

“Strange,” he murmured. “For a passing acquaintance, he seems to have a chokehold on your emotions still,

The Crown Prince did not respond.

When the other alpha finally took his leave, he remained by the water, staring at his faint reflection. He has stood at this exact location many times before wondering what kind of prince he would grow up to become. 

He was no longer the spoiled boy who believed his blood placed him above others. Living abroad away from his luxuries and the indulgent figures around him had allowed him to mature dramatically. And yet the one thing he could not be liberated of was the deceitful omega who hung over him like a shadow.

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The Crown Prince was sixteen years of age when they sent him away from home. The sealed decree signed by the King detailed his punishment education plan at one of the most renowned monasteries. They believed that the monks could impart well-needed guidance and enlightenment to his unmanageable ego. 

There was no farewell procession. Only hushed voices who ushered the prince into a curtained palanquin before dawn. The route was long and winding through the extensive mountain range that shielded the monks and scholars of Baekwol from political influence. 

It's no wonder that no greedy eminence had ever attempted to upend the institution and hoard their wisdom for themselves. Even after the treacherous ride to the foot of the mountain, the only way to access the secluded monastery was to leave the horses and trek the rest of the way up on foot. 

They say the steep strenuous steps up towards the monastery is the first part of one’s spiritual journey. Jeongguk was no believer, but his lungs were torn anew as he struggled to adapt to the thinness of the air whilst climbing the steep stone steps carved into the side of the mountain. 

They had ascended so high that they began to see the clouds beneath their feet. The mist clung low between the tree trunks, so thick and unmoving it was difficult to see where they were going without a guide. After a full day of sweat, towering pine trees were the final curtain that revealed the enigmatic monastery built in the sky. 

For a teenaged alpha, the marvelous creations formed by the Gods above did not move him. All it did was convince him they had purposefully chosen this remote location knowing he could not escape. This felt like exile dressed with the excuse of higher education. 

He was sixteen and furious they took him right at the height of his presentation into an alpha. Yes, he had become more brazen and impetuous than ever, but understandable fresh out of his first rut. He should be hanging with his peers, discovering himself during this monumental time.

Instead, he was sentenced to isolation. There were no courtiers in Baekwol. No omegas to pleasure him. No rival alpha sons of ministers to provoke. There were only men who had renounced the world and chosen a life of discipline. 

He hated it.

Hated the way the mountain swallowed noise. Hated the way the sun was always shielded by grey. Hated especially the way his temper echoed in the empty forest instead of being met with submission.

His tutors in the royal palace had feared disappointing him. These monks did not possess a care about his title. They corrected him without hesitation, striking the floor with a wooden stick when his attention drifted. They made him repeat passages until his hands ached.

Even as punishment rained down, he simply could not command his mind to concentrate. It drifted without anchor.

One afternoon, early in his stay, while a monk lectured on governance and virtue, Jeongguk knelt stiffly, his brush paused above the paper. His gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the open window where the forest looked endless.

The lesson blurred in his memory. It was what moved outside the classroom that became significant.

There, just beyond the mumblings of moral rectitude, something scraped softly against wood.

Jeongguk's eyes shifted without moving his head.

Half hidden behind a pillar was a figure crouched low to the ground. A boy dressed in plain beige robes with his sleeves rolled past his elbows had a rag clutched in one hand.

He was cleaning the corridor. At least, that was what he was meant to be doing.

Instead, he had stilled completely, head tilted toward the lesson, listening with such intent that he did not notice the muddy water staining his own sleeve.

Jeongguk watched him for a long moment.

He was the only person his age he’s seen since he arrived. The boy’s hair had been tied back hastily, strands escaping along his temples. When the monk’s voice rose to emphasize a passage, the boy’s lips moved silently, as if committing the words to memory.

He was not reading. There was no paper before him.

The alpha’s view then became blocked by grey fabric. His gaze snapped up to the scholar’s disappointed expression. 

“It seems as though I am only wasting my breath into thin air. If you do not care to listen to my words, perhaps rewriting the textbook with your own interpretation will help you retain better.”

A sharp intake of breath sounded from behind the pillar. He was still listening.

The alpha’s lips curved faintly.

“Is it amusing to waste your own time on this Earth?” the scholar asked coolly.

“No,” he replied with a schooled expression again.

“Then I expect to see the results of your hard work by sunrise tomorrow.”

As soon as the scholar took his early departure, Jeongguk crossed the polished floor and stepped over the door step into the chilly corridor.

The boy was scrambling back, rag abandoned, already overcome by a guilty conscience before confrontation. Jeongguk wondered if he knew he was the Crown Prince already.

Up close, he looked even younger than he had first thought— cheeks still plump from childhood fat. His small stature was not just from labor. He was an omega undoubtedly by the way he blushed so easily.

“You missed a corner,” the alpha said coolly, nodding toward the dusty section of railing.

The boy glanced at it, then down at his worn shoes.

“I will finish it,” he said quietly.

“Seems to me, you were not cleaning,” he accused.

The omega did not deny it.

“You were listening.”

He was met with silence. Then, in a meekest of noises he heard a “sorry” before the boy scrambled away with his bucket of waste water. 

That night, when the entire monastery had fallen asleep, Jeongguk was left with a greater half of a book to go through. He had thought under the pitch darkness of the mountain night, he would be able to focus. But once again, he was pulled by a strange bristle outside.

He found the same omega from the afternoon seated on his outer steps with an uncrumbled sheet balanced across his knees.

The sheet was one Jeongguk had thrown aside because ink blotched across the paper where he had pressed too hard in irritation.

The omega was tracing the characters with his fingertip.

Jeongguk stepped down and loomed over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” he interrupted.

The omega startled slightly, then gathered the paper as if expecting it to be snatched away. “I was only looking.”

“You can have it.”

His chubby fingers tightened on the page. He looked at the alpha’s face wearily. “You truly do not want it back?”

“It’s ruined,” the prince said dismissively.

“That doesn’t make it worthless.”

Jeongguk scoffed. “Have you spent your lifetime holed up in this God forsaken place? You sound like one of them.”

The omega did not bristle. Instead, he looked down at the characters again. “You press too hard when you’re angry.”

He frowned. “I am not angry,” he replied defensively.

The omega’s gaze flicked up briefly. “You always are.”

The audacity for the timid boy from earlier to suddenly act bold. He should have snapped and reminded him who stood before him. Instead, he crouched down on the steps beside him, curiosity pricking sharper than pride. The omega was the most interesting thing about the monastery since he arrived.

“If you know so much,” he scorned, “why don’t you attend the lessons properly?”

The silence stretched long enough for the wind to shift through the trees.

Then, quietly the omega admitted, “I cannot read, let alone write.”

The prince blinked. “You… what?”

“I remember what I hear,” he explained. “But no one has ever taught me the characters.”

“Why not?”

“My mother serves in the kitchens,” he said as if it was obvious. “There was no reason to teach me.”

The midnight air felt colder. The alpha looked at the sheet in the omega’s hands, the one he had wasted in temper.

“You sit through lectures even though you cannot even read?”

He nodded once. His eyes were too bright for someone who lived amongst monks who have sworn off the world.

“It is a privilege to learn,” he said simply.

Jeongguk almost laughed at that. Learning was an obligation. An expectation tied around his throat like the heavy gold necklaces placed around him on his first birthday. He had been drilled on his knowledge ever since he could hold a brush. 

He had never considered that someone might ache for it.

The omega smoothed the page on the floor, studying the first character with a gaze so intent. “If I can remember the sounds, perhaps one day I will understand the shapes.” 

“Why bother?” the Crown Prince prodded. “You will never become a minister nor a scholar.” 

“No,” he agreed, but did not take offense. “But how else will I know about the world I am living in when I cannot leave this mountain.”

The simplicity of the omega’s honesty struck harder than any reprimand dealt to him.

He stared at him, at the way his pillowy lips parted out as he examined the strokes of ink.

“You truly cannot read a single character?” he asked. “Not even your own name?”

He shook his head.

Jeongguk hesitated only a moment before leaving. Returning with a brush, ink, and fresh sheets of paper, he sat beside him on the cold stone.

“What is your name, omega?” he asked.

He flushed bright red at the reference to his subgender. “Mimi,” he murmured. “Everyone calls me Mimi.”

“The character ‘mi’ looks like this,” Jeongguk said, drawing each stroke slowly so he could follow. 

美

He leaned closer to watch as if witnessing something sacred. They were so close their shoulders nearly touched.

The alpha was abruptly aware of the warmth of the omega, the steadiness of his breathing, and his intoxicating lotus flower scent.

“Mi,” Jeongguk repeated softly. “It means… beautiful.”

“Oh.” 

Underneath the flickering lantern lights, the alpha examined the omega’s face up close for the first time. His eyelashes fluttered latently over his high cheekbones. His skin was so pale that the smallest of agitation flushes his entire cheeks pink, including the tip of his dainty button nose. His lips were remarkably even more pink and plush. The alpha’s eyes trailed down his slender neck to his defined collarbones. If he had a personal attendant to brush and braid his hair all morning, if he was adorned with a treasure trove of jewels and given the same custom silk embroidered robes, he would be up there with the finest court ladies. 

His mother gave him a befitting name.

Mimi broke away from the heavy laden attention and leaned over the page again. He traced the character with his fingertip, copying its shape into memory.

“Can you teach me more?” he asked quietly.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you embarrass me by learning too slowly, I will deny ever teaching you.”

Mimi’s eyes sparkled—truly sparkled for something he viewed as trivial. 

“I won’t.”

And for the first time since he had been sent to the mountain in quiet disgrace, Jeongguk did not feel entirely abandoned.

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After a busy weekend attending to all their high-ranked visitors, the King and Queen of Daehwa so generously allotted some of their time to spend privately with their son. Family time for royalty of course never excluded the servants on standby to tend to their every whim. 

Even as Jeongguk sat at the same table as his parents, it felt no different than if he was at a court dinner. The private dining chamber was certainly smaller than the grand hall, but not much more intimate. His attention to the conversation was constantly interrupted by the servants sneaking around them to ensure every cup and plate they consumed was automatically replenished. 

There was a layer of formality that couldn’t be shed. No “how are you doing son?” or “I missed you,” like he’s heard from ordinary families. Jeongguk felt more like a visiting official rather than a son who returned home after years abroad. It was impossible to keep the kingdom affairs out of the dinner table.

“We have received favorable reports from the east,” the King mentioned in between courses. “Trade tariffs have been reduced. The border disputes were handled without military escalation.”

Jeongguk lifted his head up in recognition. This was due to his initiative. “By offering them partial use of our ports, it will save them from having to rely on the longer, treacherous route by sea needed to reach the continent. The extension of good will not only improves relations, the collection of port tax can be put into developing our ports even greater. This is a great deal for us.”

His gaze settled on his father after his explanation, almost waiting for praise. 

The King lifted his cup. “Regardless, they know what’s best for them is not to face the wrath of our army.”

Of course.

Jeongguk kept his expression neutral. He had learned, long ago, that approval was not something offered by the King. There were only standards that must be met.

“Have any of the lovely omegas this weekend caught your fancy?” the Queen butted in, clearly grown bored of the politics talk. 

There it was. The inevitable conversation of the night.

“Uhm… They were all distinguished omegas, however no one stood out to me unfortunately.” Jeongguk tried to keep his comments as civil as possible despite his distaste.

“An expected answer coming from you,” his mother shook her head, the heavy jewels adorned on her head jangling. 

“You cannot dodge this matter any longer. You will marry,” his father announced without much ado. 

“Is this truly the appropriate time? I am still young and always overseas for diplomacy.” he replied as evenly as his growing frustration allowed him to.

“It is rather long overdue. My biggest regret in life is not having more heirs to secure the Jeon lineage. When I was at your prime age of 25, our kingdom was too unstable, but you do not have that excuse.” 

The young alpha couldn’t hold back his scoff. “You wish for back ups to replace me as Crown Prince. Have I not lived up to your expectations as your heir, Your Majesty?”

“Well…” the King paused, marinating the words on his tongue, “Frankly, I am tired of hearing reports of your… nightly habits.”

Habits. A polite word for the trail of omegas left across ports and taverns. The rumors returned more frequently than his letters back home. Jeongguk lowered his gaze to the untouched food before him.

“The lowly omegas that seduce your attention do not deserve to even clean the ground you step on, Jeongguk-ah. You forget the caliber of your status when you’re made to live like a nomadic." 

It’s to no one’s surprise his mother would push the blame of the prince’s blunders towards everyone else’s fault, but her son’s. 

“You are not some untethered noble. You are the future of this throne,” the King continued without any of the misplaced justification the Queen provided. “You best start acting like it.”

Jeongguk’s mind and body froze up. He became reminded of old memories as a child when he was a mere walking disappointment for his parents. No matter how drastic he has matured, it’s seemed like their opinion of him has never changed. 

He has given up comfort and stability to represent this Kingdom across the seas, only permitting himself one thing to indulge on. Sure it might be behaviour unbeknownst to royal figures, but he could never explain loneliness to his uptight, emotionally unavailable parents and have them understand.

“What I do in private does not affect my work for our people,” the Crown Prince answered in defence. “Even without any marriage contracts, I can form alliances using solely my wits and my words. Hopefully Your Majesty has seen the fruits of my labor in the reports.”

“Foolish child,” the King huffed. “Contracts can be torn in pieces at will. Entwining bloodlines into stakes can never be undone.”

“I serve Daehwa best as I am, a free agent,” he could only affirm.

His father did not waver. “You will serve Daehwa best as a husband. A match has already been arranged this morning. You will be travelling to Giryang to meet your intended mate before the week ends.”

His spine went impossibly straight. “This abruptly? You haven’t discussed this with me before,” he sputtered. 

His mother grasped his shoulder for the first time that night, not to comfort him, but to persuade him to kneel down and comply. “Your mother has personally verified that he is quite easy on the eyes. With a matrilineage of warriors, his stature is quite tall and broad for an omega. I reckon your pups together will be capable of uniting the kingdoms of the Korean peninsula!"

Jeongguk pursed his lips together. She was attempting to sell the idea of a far-fetched future like any of it mattered to him. Nothing had ever moved his stubborn alpha who refused to let go of a years-long betrayal. 

“I’ve discussed it with my trusted ministers,” the King explained, unmoved by the spiraling smoke in the air. “If you care so much about building bridges, there's nothing stronger to bind relations than marriage. The eldest omega prince of Giryang is your ideal mate. The northern Kingdom is already eyeing to capture its favor. The alliance will secure our southern border and grant us access to their fertile lands.”

“I am fully aware of the benefits,” Jeongguk spat.

“Then you are also aware,” the King said, voice hardening, “that you can no longer run from this obligation.”

Jeongguk met his father’s gaze, shaking his head fervently. “I have not run.”

“You have,” the King replied. “You avoid coming home to your kingdom at every opportunity. You take pleasure without consequence. We allowed you to act as you wished for five long years, but this indulgent wandering must end.”

The words struck cleanly to his chest. Jeongguk’s fingers curled into a fist beneath the table.

Indulgent…

Years spent negotiating treaties. Calming unrest. Preventing war.

Indulgent.

“I have fulfilled every diplomatic assignment given to me,” he said carefully, breathing through the heat rising up his throat.

“And I have acknowledged that,” the King replied. “But you were not born to negotiate trade like any other minister could. You were born to secure the Jeon lineage.”

“What is so torturous about getting an omega mate to come home to, help you handle trivial affairs and settle your stresses at the end of the night,” the Queen softened her voice to reason with Jeongguk as if he was an insolent child, as if he wasn’t a grown alpha who’s assured about what he wanted. “You behave as though attachments are beneath you.”

“Where do you think I learned that from?” he finally snapped, striking down his words like lightning.

Silence stretched between them, thin as drawn wire. Disrespect was not tolerated by the top of the throne, even from their own blood. 

The tension was so overbearing that no one noticed the servant approaching to refill their cups. Startled, the Queen jerked her elbow into the servant’s side and the entire teapot tumbled in a resounding shatter, strewing porcelain fragments across the stone tiles. The servant’s hands tremble with clear remorse written on her face.

The tea bloomed dark and fragrant near the Queen’s feet. She hastily scooted backwards, hiked her skirts up, and shrieked that she was being burned by the liquid. The fabric of her skirts were noticeably dry, but Jeongguk does not comment on it. Her personal attendant gathered her in his arms, calling for the servants to alert the medic to receive the Queen. 

And then there were two left at the table.

The servant dropped to her knees instantly, head pressed on the ground. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”

“Stand,” the King decreed.

She didn’t move fast enough.

His gaze sharpened. “Did I ask you to beg?” he bellowed without a second of grace. “Pick up the pieces immediately and then pack your bags. Heaven forbid Your Majesty the Queen steps on a shard. The punishment will not be so lenient.” 

She hurriedly scrambled to gather the shards into the fabric of her skirt, not caring that scarlet red was actively dripping down her wrists and staining the ground further. 

The head palace attendant rushed forward, already bowing and apologizing on her behalf. “She is newly assigned, Your Majesty. Her hands—”

“I’m tired of the incompetence in this palace. If she is so inept, why would you assign her to work so closely to Your Majesty?” He waved his hands in the air for the eunuch. “Ten lashings for the both of them.”

“Understood, Your Majesty,” the eunuch answered.

Jeongguk looked at the whole mess with disgust. Not the physical mess that needed to be cleaned up, rather the stain in temperament that his parents never bothered to wipe away.

It was no surprise he behaved so imprudently as a child. Weakness, he had been taught, was a moral failure. If someone faltered beneath the weight of duty, it was proof they were never meant to bear it. 

He had learned it from the best, only he was tactless with his ruthlessness. He was sent away to a monastery only because he had taken it too far that the people started talking ill of the Crown Prince of Daehwa. Scrutiny was the greatest disgrace, not the actions itself. 

Only when he stepped away and saw another perspective for himself did he realize how wrong his world view was.

The King turned his attention to his son. “You will mate the prince of Giryang,” he avowed, final as a decree. “You will remain home by my side and begin learning to take over the throne one day. And you will produce heirs.”

He may be the Crown Prince, but he knows how and when to test the limits. Outright refusal of an order the King was so set on had never been an option that survived the night. Either your back or your will broke first. “I understand,” Jeongguk said at last.

The matter was concluded as the King took his leave from the wreckage.  The reunion dinner couldn’t have ended any other way but disastrous.

As the eunuch was distracted, Jeongguk slipped the bleeding servant a handkerchief and a name for a lifeline before taking his leave as well. 

Even until the very end of the meal, no one asked if he was well. No one praised him for his hard work. No one said they had missed him. He was foolish to hold out hope for such childish desires.

⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽♔☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅

A homecoming of a decade, and the Crown Prince was being sent away within the week. Whispers about the Crown Prince’s engagement to the omega prince of Giryang have already been spreading from the palace corridors into the streets of Daehwa. An arrangement that was barely signed off between two princes who have yet to even glance at one another. Jeongguk had a suspicion the leak was not so accidental. 

Jeongguk was well accustomed to being on the road. He would otherwise be elated to escape from the prison of the palace if he were not effectively being sent to another one, a lifetime sentence if he doesn’t manage to slip away. He was walking into just another tough negotiation, he tried to rationalize. He has a knack for conniving against royalty only this time his alpha was collateral.

“I can’t believe you're going willingly without a fight,” Min Yoongi lamented. “I would’ve thought they’d have to tie you to a wagon to make you mate an omega you’ve never met before.”

They had practically kidnapped him in the middle of the night. The King and Queen had such little faith in his obedience that they personally ordered their own people to accompany him on this trip. Had he not sent a letter for his trusted senior advisor to catch up with their fastest horse, he would be left with no one in his corner in this expedition. 

The prince shot him a side eye glance. “It’s frankly insulting to assume I haven’t come up with a plan already. Who do you think I am?”  

“I guess you're the infamous Crown Prince of Daehwa…” he replied, deadpanned. “Only secondary to the King’s decree.”

He shoved at the beta’s shoulder. “Trust me, I don’t want to visit the desolate plains of Giryang either. We will be in and out within the week, free of any bindings.”

He tried to maintain his composure, but halfway into their travel with the King’s people hovering over him, his nerves were surmounting. If he can’t talk his way out of this one, he might be in a bind. 

The curtain of their temporary lodging stirred in grassland wind and a large black bird landed inside without announcement.

The royal guard outside barged in behind it. “Your Highness, shall I remove—”

“No,” Jeongguk does not even glance up to reply. This mistake wouldn’t have happened if he was allowed to bring his own crew he trusted. They would’ve known to look out in the skies for the Crown Prince’s faithful crow companion. 

Jadu hopped to the low table and carefully pulled a folded letter closer to him.

“Is this the intel on Giryang?” Jeongguk asked. Jadu nudged it once again. He peeled open a mandarin and fed it to the crow piece by piece. 

Jeongguk broke the seal and unraveled the scroll. As his eyes skimmed through the document, the bird hopped past him and stole a piece of dried meat directly from the tray. He swallowed it whole as if he was being starved.

“Thief,” the alpha muttered, but there was no heat in his tone. “You’ll learn your lesson one day when your greed grows larger than your throat.”

If the court expects obedience, Jeongguk plans to give them disappointment instead. Giryang is weaker, landlocked, dependent on Daehwa’s coastal trade. They already have the upper hand in the deal. A single misstep, a single slight, and the arrangement could be dissolved on their end without costing him face. 

The plan is simple. He only needs to make himself undesirable enough that the prince refuses his courtship.

As the palanquin approached the outskirts of the capital city of Giryang, his schemes were about to commence. The servants had spent all morning getting him ready to meet his arranged mate for the first time. His long untamed black hair was pulled into a sleek bun. They draped his shoulders with layers of the finest silk and a final coat embroidered with the emblem of Daehwa in gold. 

Jeongguk shifted uncomfortably in the tight seat, weighed down by the overexuberant fabric. He cleared his throat and knocked on the door of the palanquin. “Can someone provide me with ink and parchment? I wish to write out a letter for my intended.”

The attendant yelled for the horses to come to a stop. He uncovered on his own that his new attendant, Kim Namjoon, was a loyalist to the Queen. It’s undoubted his every move was going to be monitored like a hawk.

Namjoon yanked open the door and put on his nicest voice. “We are already running late for your welcome banquet, Your Highness. I am afraid we cannot make another stop for a letter.”

“I understand, but I have a lot of fluttering feelings I want to write down for my future mate.” He rounded the pleading eyes that he knew he possessed. “If I must, I can write during our continued journey into the city.”

He smirked to himself as he unscrewed the lid of the black ink. He hadn’t forgotten his talent for being an aggravating brat from his adolescent past. As the palanquin lurched forward to begin its journey again, the black ink slipped from his fingers and spilt all over his tailored robes, blooming through the layers of cloth. 

He yelled out loud for help as he began rubbing at the ink with his hands, staining his skin and making an even bigger mess.

The second time Namjoon opened the door, he could no longer hold back the fury in his eyes.

The eldest omega prince of Giryang receives the Jeongguk with immaculate courtesy, despite waiting on his feet all day for his arrival. The mishap in the palanquin had caused them to make a detour for the nearest lodging. It took two servants scrubbing at his skin to get the stain out of his skin. And when he got out of the tub, he donned his everyday outfit again— black cotton robes that turned grey with wear. His attendant was too exasperated at this point to protest. 

The omega broke the awkward silence of their first encounter. “You may call me Seokjin, Your Highness.”

The alpha hummed. He does not offer his name in return. He was here for official business as the Crown Prince of Daehwa, not as Jeongguk.

Sparing only a brief nod, he remained silent and bored as the prince led him into the palace, acquainting him with details about his kingdom. He fell behind, walking with deliberate slowness, sneaking the chance to eye his intended mate from head to toe.

The omega was composed—too composed for someone who had almost been stood up. Pastel blue robes layered with golden jewelry, posture straight, gaze steady. Beautiful, undeniably. Carefully curated in a way he was clearly raised to attract the attention of high-ranking princes.

Anyone would be privileged in his position, getting an elite match placed in their lap. Yet somehow his defective alpha only felt chained with the thought of mating. 

The banquet hall was already filled with the court members of Giryang, including the King and Queen who greeted him with expectant eyes. There were two seats side by side, left empty for the engaged pair to fill. 

The servants promptly served the dishes as soon as he was seated— a benefit to arriving fashionably late. 

“Your Highness, please enjoy our kingdom’s best dishes. I personally tested out the menu in the kitchen with the royal chefs.” The omega served the Crown Prince before himself. From the way he eagerly introduced the palace without prompt, he discerned that the prince held immense pride for his small but humble Kingdom. There was nothing that hurt the patriotic more than insult to their culture.

Jeongguk took a hesitant sip of the fish head stew before immediately dropping the spoon back into the pot, sending a resounding clink that captured the entire court’s attention. “This stew is as cold as a winter’s night in Bukheon! So frozen, the fish is still swimming underneath the sheet of ice,” he exclaimed loud enough for everyone to hear.

There was a slight flinch in the omega’s expression, but he still held onto his graciousness as he called the servant forward. “Please make sure to thoroughly reheat all the dishes before serving it to Your Highness.”

“I’m not sure heat could save the pungentness that lingers on the tongue,” he snided.

“Traditionally, we use vinegar to preserve the fish such that it remains fresh when it reaches the kitchens,” Seokjin explained with a strained smile.

“How can you people manage living so far from the coast without immediate access to fresh seafood? Giryang may only be a week’s journey away from home, but I don’t think I’ll ever want to return to this place,” he emphasized.

“What we may lack seafood, we have an abundance in wheat and cattle. Precisely why you traveled to our kingdom today asking for my hand in marriage.”

Jeongguk leaned back on his elbows with careless lethargy. He studied him carefully. This omega is not aloof like most princes he’s met. “Seokjin-ssi, I imagine you have premonitions about my character,” Jeongguk remarked conversationally, once servants had retreated out of immediate earshot.

The omega’s brow did not move. “One hears many things in court. Does not mean it's the truth Heaven observes.”

“The rumors are probably fair accounts,” he shrugged. “I have trouble remaining confined, whether it's to palace walls or relationships.”

Prince Seokjin folded his hands on his lap letting the implication settle. “And yet you agreed to this arrangement,” he concluded. 

An omega who cared more about being Queen would be more hysterical to his callousness. Seokjin seemed like an upstanding prince. Maybe they could work out their own boundaries for the arranged marriage, but Jeongguk learned the hard way that even the most innocent omega is capable of treachery. 

“Agree is a stretch. I’m only admitting this because you seem like a decent omega. I do not want your wolf to be tied to a loveless mating.”

“You act like you are not the only prince in this world bound by duty. At least I’m giving this marriage a fair chance before pushing it aside. You assumed our incompatibility before we exchanged more than three sentences.”

The Crown Prince let out an exasperated sigh. If he could not provoke the omega prince to drop the engagement, he would need to take it up with the King and Queen of Giryang. 

“I did not ask for this.”

“Neither did I.”

Silence stretched tight between them. It shattered by a sudden shriek in the air— not emanating from any human. 

Black wings swept down from the high rafters in a violent rush of feathers.

Gasps erupted. The dinner guests one by one scrambled to rise from their seats with their cumbersome skirts. 

“By the Heavens!” The Queen screamed as a glossy mass of obsidian aimed squarely for the center of the banquet table, scattering fruit and overturning a wine cup right in her lap.

Jadu flared his wings to their full span, feathers gleaming like oil-slicked armor under lanternlight. He let out a piercing caw that echoed through the vaulted ceiling.

“It's a death omen!” one of the eunuchs pointed accusingly.

“Remove it!” another exclaimed.

One brave guard lunged, only to dive nose first into the ground.

The testy crow launched into the air again, swooping low enough to send silk sleeves flailing and hair ornaments clattering to the floor. Several courtiers tripped on their feet in an attempt to dodge the fleeting culprit.

The guards hesitated, unwilling to swing blades in a crowded hall of important officials.

With the banquet hall dissolved into chaos, Jeongguk rose smoothly amid the confusion and exited the hall without anyone noticing. He trusted his little accomplice to outsmart the royal court on his own.

Acquiring newfound freedom, Jeongguk turned left, wandering aimlessly through the lantern-lit hallway. He had no plan except to cause chaos at the banquet and await the consequences the next day.

The palace of Giryang was nowhere as grand and elaborate as the one he called home, but the architecture intrigued him nonetheless. Humble but elegant. The walls were pure white while the beams were left its natural wooden color, carved with a pattern resembling wheat. Lanterns burned low behind latticed panels, casting honeycomb shadows over the uneven stone floors. 

He walked without aim, his path directed by what caught his eye.

He walked past painted screens of cranes over water. Past closed doors guarded by silence instead of soldiers. Past a courtyard where moonlight pooled in an unmoving basin.

To think of it, he might’ve trespassed somewhere he shouldn’t have— probably not the smartest thing to do as prince from a rivaling kingdom. Funnily enough, he feels less anxious sneaking around somewhere he shouldn’t than acting as Crown Prince at an official dinner. 

Jeongguk did not realize he was lost until the noise of the banquet was completely gone. The rest of the palace was left eerily quiet with the court members occupied. Instead of the delicious fumes of roasted meat, the air now smelled faintly of medicinal herbs, sharp and bitter, threaded with an underlying floral note.

There, at the turn of an unmarked corridor, he finally stumbled upon the first figure he had seen since escaping the banquet.

Layers of pastel pink fabric hung off his thin frame. An omega, he concluded. 

His robes were intricately embroidered with patterns of floral and birds, resembling closely the attire of a prince. His long black hair was tied half up with a golden pin engraved with Giryang’s emblem. Odd, he recalled meeting all the princes of the royal family at dinner.

Intrigued, Jeongguk approached closer. The omega, sensing the alpha’s presence, bolted through the nearest set of doors like a skittish bunny.

It’s none of his business, but who’s to assume he wasn't a busybody who couldn't pass up a chance at butting his head into something suspicious. He followed him into the unknown room. The omega’s attempt at hiding is laughable as he immediately spotted the bright pink fabric left peeking out from the hem of the tablecloth.

He sauntered in with no hesitation, hands stretched out for the still fluttering tablecloth. With one swift motion, he pulled up the cloth to reveal the secret it was concealing. 

The figure was crouched underneath the table, head buried in their legs. Their small hand was clenched around a roasted duck leg with a death grip as if someone were going to take it away. The sight was truly heart-wrenching. The omega  remained curled up as if he couldn’t see the stranger, he was perfectly concealed. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to steal your food,” Jeongguk whispered softly. “Are you alright?”

The omega slowly lifted his head up to acknowledge the looming presence of the alpha. Jeongguk first noticed the delicate white silk drawn across the lower half of his face. Then his eyes drifted up to the only feature left exposed on his face.

Jeongguk’s pulse struck, hard enough to ache his heart.

Those hooded eyes are the same ones he sees last before he jolts awake from his dreams. They are the same pair of puffy round eyes that bore into his soul as he said goodbye for the last time. 

“… Mimi.” The name left him before he could decide whether to speak it.

His eyes lock with the alpha’s. They did not widen in recognition. They did not soften. They looked at him as they might look at a stranger who had spoken out of turn.

Jeongguk felt something cold settle beneath his ribs.

“Mimi,” he said again, firmer now. 

“Who’s Mimi?” the omega queried in a shaky voice, barely above audible.

Jeongguk let go of the breath he didn't know he was holding. It’s not him. 

He didn’t need to pull away his veil to realize he was not the one he was looking for. Why would the son of the monastery maid adorn golden jewelry belonging to the Giryang royal family? And if it were really him, he wouldn’t have forgotten his face. Negative emotions towards him or not. 

The Crown Prince schooled back the brief loss of composure. “No one important,” he snipped back with an attitude that this poor omega probably didn’t deserve. 

It’s a tale as old as time. He was constantly recognizing traces of his long lost friend in the oddest of places. There was a time he would yell out his name and chase them down until he could inspect their face a couple times to make sure he wasn’t letting his friend slip away. After being let down so many instances, he shouldn’t be so affected by sightings of him anymore.

The omega nodded warily and slipped past his still stunned body. Amidst the heavy smell of incense, a waft of lotus flower trailed off into the alpha’s nose. He realized a second too late. His stupid brain was trying to rationalize what his wolf could not mistaken.

As he stumbled to his feet and out the room, the omega was already fleeing. Bare slippers striking stone. Loose sleeves snapping behind him. The duck leg still in hand.

The alpha swore under his breath and moved without thinking. He had crossed battlefields with less urgency.

“Stop!”

The corridor twisted sharply. The omega vanished around the bend, slight figure swallowed by shadow. Jeongguk followed, only to collide with a body stepping into his path.

A guard belonging to Giryang.

“Your Highness.” The man dropped into a bow that was respectful but unyielding. His arms extended just enough to bar the way without appearing to do so.

The Crown Prince did not care. “Move,” he grunted.

“I cannot.”

Jeongguk peaked over the guard’s broad shoulders. 

“That was—” his voice sharpened. “Who was that?” He pointed down the corridor where the omega ran off to.

The guard did not lift his gaze. “I did not see anyone.”

“Give me the names of those who reside here,” he pressed, narrowing his eyes.

The faintest hesitation befalled as he ruminated his words. “…You must not wander further, Your Highness. Remember this is not your palace to rule.”

Jeongguk’s jaw tightened. His alpha strained beneath his skin, desiring to leap out his useless body towards the omega they were denied. 

He looked once more down the corridor where the veiled omega had disappeared.

Empty as though he had imagined him. If not for a handkerchief that lay abandoned on the ground. 

He crouched down and ran his finger down the intricate embroidery of a bird with iridescent black feathers. Not many would decide to stitch the pattern of a bird so ordinary it’s considered a pest. Even less would be capable of capturing the details of their plume that most generalize as sweeping darkness.

“… Mimi,” he repeated under his breath.

⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽♔☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅

Jimin’s entire world had narrowed to one wing of the palace.

It was beautiful, in the way cages often were. His windows were tall and latticed with carved wood. His walls were draped with tapestry he embroidered with things and places he read in books. His shelves were full of little trinkets that his family brought him from the outside.

He was lucky to have a courtyard to himself. It was humble in size and surrounded by four solid walls, but he could look up into the sky and watch the clouds dance at day and the stars etch pictures by night. 

Jimin would sit by the window, watching the trees outside the courtyard sway for as long as he was allowed. Somewhere deep in his body, something ached when he saw them. He dreamed often of forests and stone paths, of laughter he could never quite catch before waking.

He would wake up to the harsh reality that he was stuck in a body that refused to cooperate. He coughed when the wind blew too sharp. He got winded when he laughed too hard. He was monitored at all times.

His mother hovered obsessively, every step measured with the memory of nearly losing him. His attendant counted hours, tracked symptoms, and barred doors with gentle consolation. Physicians came and went, always with the same warnings.

Avoid exertion.

Avoid cold.

Avoid strong scents.

Avoid aromatic food.

Avoid living, though no one ever said it aloud.

Jimin sat on his bed wrapped in a blanket watching dust drift in a shaft of light when he heard the sound of the courtyard gate sliding open. He straightened instinctively. It meant someone had come to visit him. 

He could count the list of potential visitors on his hands— some more welcomed than others, but he couldn’t afford to be picky about who chooses to spare their precious time for him.

He had his personal attendant, Hoseok hyung, who stayed with him in the sealed wing. He entertained him most days, but he cherished when people from the outside came in and divulged something new, whether it be a trivial story or gossip.

Jimin practically barged out of his bedroom when he saw his favorite hyung approach, Jin hyung. Seokjin was the eldest son of the Queen, but he treated him like he was his own brother, like he wasn’t born out of wedlock. Bless his benevolent heart for being one of the few family members, apart from his own mother, who never forgot that there was a sickly omega prince still residing in the secluded wing of the palace. 

“I rushed here as soon as I heard about what you did last night,” Seokjin announced without preamble, closing the door behind him. His scent was suppressed, the standard procedure for all visitors before they came close to Jimin. Otherwise, his scent would be clouding his room with worry.

He wore pale green today, showing off the embroidery at his collar that Jimin personally stitched for him.

Jimin lowered his gaze, though his mouth twitched. “It wasn’t a big deal. They didn’t need to tell the world about it.”

“You coughed up a storm.”

“I did not,” he countered childishly even though his throat still felt scraped raw from last night’s fit.

“There was blood in your handkerchief.”

The omega conceded this with silence.

Jin crossed the rest of the distance and crouched in front of him to tie his veil around his head again. It was another safety measure, on top of enforced scent blockers, to filter vagrant scents from his airway. Jin's expression softened the way it always did when he looked at Jimin, less pity, more with exasperated affection.

“You frightened me,” Jin said quietly. “There was a courtyard full of visiting alphas. Do you wish to suffocate for a taste of roasted duck leg?”

Jimin’s mouth curved faintly. “At least it was a well-seasoned one.”

“You are impossible.”

“And yet you visit.”

The prince sat beside him with a sigh that was half irritation, half relief that he still had the spirit to joke around. He brushed the hair away from his forehead. The briefest of touch sent tingles down his affection starved body. 

“You cannot keep doing this,” he added, sternness creeping back in. “Your body is already weakened and you provoke it every time you fight against it. It is not worth your life.”

Jimin traced the rim of his half-empty bowl of medicine. His mother, who sat with him as he came down from his flare up, had effectively told him they’ll have the gates reinforced.

He understood that they only lock him away because they care about him. But they do not know what it was like to sit in stillness while the world moved around him. He yearned to experience a life where no one could dictate where he went, what he ate or what he did. 

They don’t comprehend how his inner wolf felt a constant tug to break free of this cage. As though there was somewhere else he belonged.

Last night, the only reason he was brave enough to sneak out was because he knew the entire court was summoned to attend the banquet for the prince’s arranged mate’s arrival. 

Jin was about to marry a foreign crown prince and he was finding it difficult to imagine his already monotonous life without his visits, without his ramblings about everything and nothing at all.

“Hyung, will you see me again after you marry?”

“Jimin-ah…” his voice darkened. “By the Heavens, why would you say such nonsense? You must understand that nothing will replace you in my life.”

“You will be busy. With your alpha and soon your pups.”

“I will visit,” the elder omega repeated firmly.

Jimin shrunk into his chair, immediately regretting the feelings he burdened his brother with. He hated sounding so whiny when he should be grateful every time Jin spared time to visit. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I will be happy as long as you are happy hyung.”

The omega drawled out a deep sigh. “I assure you I will come back home plenty, because I fear my marriage will not be a blissful one.”

Jimin blinked. “But you have not even married him yet.”

“That is precisely the problem. I sat next to him for no more than an hour and I already grew to despise him,” the omega groaned. “He arrived at the banquet hours late without any notice as though the entirety of Giryang wasn’t waiting for his arrival. And then he had the audacity to complain that the dishes were cold!”

Jimin’s brows lifted. “I guess the Crown Prince has standards beyond our understanding.”

He shook his head vehemently. “He is no better than a barbarian. He does not bow deeply enough. He speaks before elders finish. He leans back in his seat as though he were in a tavern. And then,” he went on in a scandalized voice, “he admitted, openly, that he has no intention of keeping his virtue in the matters of pleasure.”

The innocent omega gasped, bringing his hands over his mouth. “You must inform father!”

Jin gave a short, humorless laugh. “And say what? The alliance secures crucial access to the continent overseas. If I refuse to try to make this marriage work, father and mother will not forgive it. I’m the prince of Giryang, I do not have the luxury of dislike.”

“You should have the luxury,” Jimin interjected. “This is a serious matter concerning your happiness for the rest of your life.”

“Oh Jimin-ah, you’ve been sheltered for too long,” Jin crooned. “The banquet hall was nearly ruined by a cursed bird that I swore he orchestrated, but father still extended apologies to him for the disruption.”

The older omega’s expression then grew rigid. Jimin turned around to see what his focus drifted to. A large crow was perched along the curved eave above his courtyard staring right through his window at them. 

“That black feathered devil was the culprit I was just talking about!” Jin wagged his finger in its direction. “I should present its severed head as a courting gift.” His body was moving out the door before he knew it. 

Jimin barged out behind him and tugged at his hand. “Come on, it’s just a bird, hyung. It might not be the same one. Crows are a common bird in these skies,” he assured the prince. 

But as Jimin narrowed his sight at the crow, there was something very familiar about the crumpled handkerchief clutched at his feet. 

The crow lifted its wings suddenly and launched itself into the air, powerful and unrestrained. It soared above the courtyard wall and vanished beyond it in a sweep of motion Jimin could only follow with his eyes.

All that remained was a faint draft carried down from the roof. His body tightened slightly at the change in temperature. He steadied his breathing carefully, unwilling to alarm his hyung unnecessarily.

Seokjin noticed the tremor in his hand anyway.

“You see?” he scolded as he ushered him back into the safe embrace of his room. “Even a draft makes your body protest.”

That night, after his attendant tucked him into bed, Jimin escaped from his bedroom again. This time he only ventured into his courtyard, dragging the blankets from his nest. He sat at the front steps of his room wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets with a book pretending as if he was transported elsewhere in the world.

He was repeating a line under his breath when something shifted above him.

A scrape against clay tile emanated above him. Jimin lifted his gaze from the entrancing book resting in his lap.

The strip of sky above his courtyard was a rectangular canvas of star-speckled darkness framed by the sloping eaves of the roof. Not much enters the frame except for drifting clouds and the occasional bird bold enough to trespass.

Another sound followed. He witnessed it with his eyes next— a scatter of dust cascading downward like snow. The front gates are the only entrance to his courtyard. The roof should not yield visitors. 

And then there was a breach in the sky.

A figure dropped into his courtyard in a sweep of dark fabric, landing on his feet with deliberate precision. The impact sent a tremor through the stone. 

The omega gasped and startled on his feet, leaving his book tumbling to the ground. His body betrayed him before his mind could make sense of it. His toe caught over the strewn blankets around his feet.

For one suspended heartbeat, he felt himself tilt and braced for the inevitability of falling and hitting his temple with a sharp edge of stone.

Instead he was caught.

Arms closed around his waist, firm without hesitation. The stranger’s grip was strong enough to halt his descent entirely, pulling him upright against a solid, unyielding chest.

The contact sent a shock through him so sharp he forgot to breathe. He was too close. Way too close to anyone let alone a stranger.

He could feel the heat of the intruder burning through layers of silk. The steady rise and fall of his broad chest. His large hand remained splayed against the small of his back, fingers spread as if to reassure himself that he was not a dream that might dissolve when he woke up.

Jimin was not accustomed to being touched, not even by his mother who had been advised by physicians to keep a healthy distance.

The stranger’s scent reached him a heartbeat later. An alpha.

His omega recoiled instinctively— then settled when they realized it was safe.

The strong eucalyptus scent did not irritate the inside of his nose the way most alphas did. Most required layers of scent blockers to endure without dizziness. Even omegan scents had left him nauseated.

The alpha’s scent gland was scarily close to his nose, emitting uncontrolled waves of sharp eucalyptus and yet he did not suffocate. The realization unsettled him more than his tumble had.

“Mimi.” The name was spoken with such reverence, that it did not sound like a mere form of address.

Jimin lifted his gaze to meet one that beheld him as though he had meant something. And yet he could only recognized him as the weird man who called after him as he ran down the corridor last night.

He pulled back abruptly. In doing so, the veil around his face snagged against the man’s body. The silk slipped free and danced away in the wind.

The omega felt the night air against his bare mouth before he could reach to catch the veil.

The stranger saw him fully and whatever he found there seemed to undo him completely. 

Jimin watched the transformation unfold across the stranger’s face with a clarity that made his chest ache. His stern composure cracked first, fractures across his forehead as he widened his eyes. Relief flooded in next with a release of a held breath, followed closely by something deeper and more devastating.

Grief.

The man’s throat bobbed as though swallowing shards. His hand lifted towards the omega’s cheek, then halted midair. His fingers trembled before curling back into his palm as if he no longer trusts himself to touch.

“You’re—” His voice broke slightly before steadying. “You’re here.”

The words landed oddly like there was an underlying meaning Jimin did not know.

“Where else would I be?” he replied as if it were obvious. “I’ve always been here.”

“You don’t remember?” the stranger breathed, staring at him intently as if it would change his answer.

Jimin searched his face for any crumb of familiarity. He prided himself on remembering what he saw and heard. He clung to each memory as if it were scarce.

But there was nothing. No echo or trace of anything. 

The alpha must’ve mistaken him for someone else.

“I swear to the Heavens above, I have never met you,” he replied carefully, though uncertainty begins to creep beneath his certainty.

The alpha took a half-step back, as though the words physically wounded him. His eyes flickered in frantic recalculation as if attempting to reorder a reality that has shifted beneath his feet.

“Have you ever been to a monastery?" he asked with increased desperation. “In the mountains.”

He wracked his mind to think of a time he had before he had gotten sick. 

He remembered a heat so fierce it fractured all function. He remembered voices dissolving into white noise. Strangers came in and out— prodding his body, feeding him different concoctions of liquid, conducting strange rituals beside him. He remembered a time where he could barely lift his head, let alone rise out of bed.

But before that…

There was only fog. 

His own memories blurred with the stories his mother told of his childhood. His mother had never mentioned any monastery. He has only spoken of Giryang as home, and he had no reason to believe otherwise. 

Jimin attempted to search for the aforementioned place, straining for a mountain path in the darkness, but he was only growing dizzy with the exertion of searching for something that did not exist. 

“I’ve barely left this wing of the palace,” he whispered. He wished that he could offer more than that.

The stranger closed his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, the fragile hope that had flickered before now dimmed into a quiet acceptance.

“That’s my mistake then,” he then responded with a measured voice. “I apologize for the way I’ve greeted you, twice now. May I ask for your name properly this time?”

Jimin looked suspiciously at the distraught man before him. His omega stirred restlessly beneath his skin, drawn toward this presence and wary of it all at once. It made no sense. Instinct should have warned him away. He was alone in a sealed courtyard with an alpha who had climbed the roof like a reckless intruder.

And yet he was not afraid. Unsettled, yes. Overwhelmed, certainly. But not afraid.

“Jimin,” he finally revealed.

“Jimin,” the alpha repeated, enunciating each syllable. “Nice to meet you. You can call me Jeongguk.”

The omega nodded his head formally, the gesture graceful despite the lingering tremor in his limbs. “Jeongguk-ssi, where do you hail from? You speak with an accent I’ve never heard before.”

“I am part of the envoy from Daehwa,” Jeongguk replied with the faintest hesitation. So slight most would miss it. “I serve under the Crown Prince.”

Jimin studied him quietly. The fabric of his robes were expensive if you were familiar with textiles, but not outright extravagant. However, there was command in the way he occupies space that could not be bought. He must work closely with the Crown Prince in a high ranking position.

“I see. I wonder if the Crown Prince knows you have scaled palace roofs on behalf of Daehwa’s diplomacy?” he teased with a spark of boldness.

For a flash of a moment, something like amusement tilted Jeongguk’s mouth.

“I was simply on a night time stroll outside of business hours,” he replied. Jeongguk scanned the surrounding high walls and the locked gate that enclosed his humble courtyard. “Though something tells me that you were not supposed to be in the corridors last night.”

The omega stiffened as if he was caught red-handed by the guard all over again. 

Jeongguk’s attention then fell to the book left on the ground with its spine cracked in half. “You’ve been reading,” he noted.

“That's all I can do,” he answered honestly. “I read so I can at least experience life through text.”

“Why have they kept you locked in here like you’re a prisoner?” His voice cracked with a sadness he could not hide.

“I am not a prisoner,” he responded so promptly it was strangely defensive. 

“Do they keep you here against your will?” the alpha reframed the question. His eyes flickered with something fiercer.

He stuttered, repeating the words told to him over and over, “I… no— It’s for my own good to control who can come in. My body can have unpredictable reactions to new things.” 

“But I think…” he hesitated. The alpha listened patiently as he worked out his thoughts. “Sometimes… they are too overprotective of me. They never listen to what I want.”

“And what do you want, Jimin-ssi?” 

The omega went still. No one had ever asked him that question. He never had the chance to think of an answer. 

“Take me outside,” the omega decided suddenly.

Jeongguk studied him for a long moment, long enough that he became acutely aware of his own heartbeat. “You wish for me to go against the court orders of a foreign kingdom?” he affirmed.

“I know it is a huge ask of someone I just met, but I think I was meant to be in nature,” he pleaded as his pulse quickened. He has never acted this boldly before. “I feel it when I look out at the trees and imagine what it’s like to pull myself up on the branches.”

“Tell me honestly if you are well enough to be outdoors,” Jeongguk’s gaze moved over him slowly in assessment. “If something happens—”

“Something is already happening,” Jimin interrupted. “My spirit is disappearing slowly, and everyone dismisses it as care.”

He met Jeongguk’s sharpened stare fully now.

“I don’t know who you are, but something deep inside me tells me that I can trust you to keep me safe. Even if you take me to the gardens just outside the palace, I want to try.”

A quiet stretched between them.

Then, at last, Jeongguk stepped closer, closing the distance enough that the air between them felt charged with possibility.

“I’ll bring you to wherever you wish,” he said like a promise.

⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙｡⋆ᨒ↟ᨒ⋆｡∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅

One dawn, deep into their friendship, the omega had shown him the most beautiful piece of nature he had ever witnessed— would ever witness.

Mimi had snuck in his chambers to wake him up early. The sneaky little thing had a tendency to slip through cracks of closed doors into places he shouldn’t be.

Not that Jeongguk was complaining. If it were anyone else disrupting the Crown Prince’s precious slumber, they would receive his immediate wrath. But upon seeing the excited twinkle in the familiar almond eyes, he begrudgingly followed him out in his nightgown.

“It’s the perfect lighting and weather to finally show you my secret spot.”

That was the only explanation he provided.

With only a lantern lighting the path, they snaked past groves of pine trees. Months of following the omega, he learned not to question his sense of direction. He was one with the wild animals that roamed the forest.

Golden light began to filter through as they approached the edge of the mountain. Jeongguk stopped short at the sight before him.

Billows of clouds gathered below the cliff like a rolling sea. The jagged peaks of granite mountains poked out from the mist like dotted islands. The clear sky burned orange with the rising sun and the horizon stretched endlessly silver below it. 

They sat together at the edge of the cliff with their legs dangling over the abyss, watching the mist curl through the mountain valleys.

“It is not the sea,” Mimi said quietly. “But sometimes I pretend it is.”

Jeongguk was wide awake, but it felt like he was still dreaming. “It is bewildering how closely a mountain range can resemble the sea—” he agreed. “Even more astonishing is how high we are to be standing over clouds that normally feel untouchable in the sky.”

“The sea…” he wavered. “Does it truly stretch without end?”

Jeongguk turned his head at the strange question. “Yes.”

“Does it smell of salt?”

“Yes.”

“Is it as blue as the skies?”

“Even deeper blue.”

“Do you know what lies beyond it?”

Jeongguk chuckled faintly. He had lived by the sea all his life. He had never thought of it as something impressive until hearing Mimi’s interest. “You ask about it as if it’s a mythical beast.” 

“Perhaps it is,” he replied before pausing. “The largest pool of water I’ve seen is the one we bathe in at night.” The wind lifted strands of the omega’s hair across his rosy cheeks. A flare of sunlight caught in his eyes, reflecting something fragile and fierce all at once.

“You have never left the mountain?” he asked, less like a question.

Mimi studied him for a long moment, searching for mockery. He found none.

“My mother says the world is harsh and dangerous, that it would swallow up an omega as small and insignificant as myself.”

“And you believe him?”

“I think…” He hesitated, brushing his fingers nervously across his skirt. “I think the world must be worth exploring if so many write tales about it.”

“You wish to see it?” 

“Yes,” Mimi admitted, voice barely more than breath. He then shuttered his eyes and shook his head. “But wishing does not make it possible. I have no title to myself. From the moment I was born, I was bound to serve the monastery.”

The vulnerability in his voice was sharper than any insult Jeongguk had endured at court. Jeongguk felt something shift inside his chest for the boy who belonged wholly to this mountain and grasped at every morsel of information about the world beyond him. From the moment they met, nearly a year ago, he has never once complained about the ill-fated circumstances dealt to him, only quietly dared to dream. 

“There is nothing I cannot command,” the prince said, squaring his shoulders.

Mimi looked up at him then, searching for his sincerity.

“I can take you.” The words left him without a second thought.

Mimi’s lips parted in disbelief. “You— you cannot simply take someone. Me of all people.”

“I am the Crown Prince,” Jeongguk replied. His arrogance for once rang resolute rather than boastful. “I coincidentally have a ship being built that will be gifted to me on my 18th birthday. And I have the authority to bring along whomever I choose.”

“Really?” Mimi whispered as if he could barely believe his words. 

“I do not give promises lightly.”

Slowly, cautiously, the omega extended his hand beside him. Jeongguk took it. The contact was brief, calloused fingers against ink-stained ones, but it felt like something sealed.