Chapter Text
The night the Crown Prince was born, the heavens themselves seemed to weep tears of pale pink and white. It was the height of spring, and a freak wind had swept through the capital, tearing the cherry blossoms from their branches and sending them spiraling through the open courtyards of the grand palace. They danced in the moonlight, settling like fresh snow upon the curved eaves of the royal pavilions.
Inside the Queen’s chambers, the air was thick with the scent of burning herbs, sweat, and the coppery tang of blood. The King paced the wooden veranda outside, his hands clasped so tightly behind his back that his knuckles were stark white. He was a man who had weathered wars, faced rebellions, and unified the warring factions of their great state, yet the sound of his wife’s muffled cries reduced him to a trembling mortal.
Finally, just as the moon reached its zenith, a sharp, clear cry pierced the tense silence.
The heavy sliding doors pulled back, and the Chief Court Lady bowed deeply, her face flushed with joyous tears. "Your Majesty... it is a prince. A healthy, beautiful prince. The heavens have blessed the state!"
Relief washed over the King in a tidal wave. He rushed into the chamber, falling to his knees beside the low silk bed where his Queen lay exhausted, her dark hair plastered to her forehead. Bundled in her arms, wrapped in gold-embroidered silk, was a tiny, squirming life. The infant stopped crying almost the moment the King’s rough, calloused finger brushed against his impossibly soft cheek. The child opened his eyes—dark, clear, and shining like obsidian glass.
"Junmyeon," the King whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "His name shall be Junmyeon. He will be the brilliant light that guides this kingdom."
The joy within the palace was palpable. Servants wept, nobles sent mountains of gifts, and the commoners celebrated in the streets for three days and three nights. But the King, a man who respected the ancient ways, summoned the Royal Fortune Teller, a blind, ancient monk said to have the ability to read the threads of destiny woven into the stars.
The ritual took place in the grand hall, the air heavy with incense. The old monk knelt before the King and Queen, his milky, unseeing eyes turned toward the heavens, his gnarled hands hovering over the astrological charts drawn on parchment. For a long time, the only sound was the crackle of the braziers.
Then, the monk smiled, a serene, peaceful expression. "Your Majesties. The heavens rejoice. The young prince is born with the energy of the Azure Dragon. He is fiercely intelligent, blessed with a heart as pure as untouched snow, and a spirit as strong as the ancient mountains. He will become the greatest, kindest, and most beloved ruler this land has ever seen. His reign will bring an era of unprecedented prosperity and peace."
The Queen let out a breathless sob of happiness, clutching the King's hand. The King beamed with pride.
"However," the monk’s voice suddenly dropped, the serene smile vanishing, replaced by a profound, trembling sorrow. The temperature in the grand hall seemed to plummet. The braziers flickered violently.
The King’s smile faded. "Speak, Seer. What is it?"
The old monk bowed his head until his forehead touched the cold stone floor. "A light as bright as His Highness casts a shadow equally dark. The gods demand a price for such perfection, Your Majesty. The Prince bears a terrible, unbreakable curse. He is bound to the solitary path of the dragon."
"What curse?" the Queen demanded, her voice rising in panic. "Speak plainly!"
"He must never touch a woman with the intent of love, Your Majesty. He must never wed a woman, nor give his heart to one. If he does, the very foundation of this state will rot. The earth will crack, the rivers will run red, and the dynasty you have built will turn to ash. If he takes a female bride, the kingdom will be utterly destroyed, and his own blood will be the catalyst of its ruin."
Silence descended upon the hall—a heavy, suffocating silence.
"Nonsense!" the King roared, leaping to his feet, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. "How dare you speak such treason? My son is the future King! A King must have a Queen! A King must have heirs! You speak of the end of my bloodline!"
"I speak only what the stars have written, my King," the monk whispered tearfully, remaining prostrated. "You may take my life, but you cannot alter the heavens. The boy is destined for greatness, but his heart must remain a locked fortress to women. Should he yield to human nature, he will doom us all."
The Queen collapsed against her cushions, a mournful wail escaping her lips. The joyous cherry blossoms swirling outside suddenly felt like a mocking omen, beautiful but tragically ephemeral.
***
Eight years passed.
True to the monk’s prophecy, Prince Junmyeon grew to be an extraordinary child. He was the jewel of the palace, possessing a beauty that seemed almost ethereal. His skin was as flawless as white porcelain, his lips the color of crushed berries, and his eyes held a profound, gentle intelligence that seemed far older than his years. He was a quiet, polite boy who spent his days devouring scrolls in the royal library, practicing his calligraphy until his small fingers cramped, and speaking to the palace servants with a kindness that won him the absolute devotion of everyone he met.
But he was also a bird in a gilded cage.
Terrified by the prophecy, the King and Queen had essentially isolated him from all young girls. The court ladies who served him were strictly elderly women. The daughters of ministers were forbidden from entering his courtyard. Junmyeon, innocent and sweet, did not question this isolation. He assumed all princes lived in such a solitary manner, surrounded only by tutors, guards, and old women.
But nature cannot be entirely suppressed, and innocence is not a shield against curiosity.
It happened on a warm summer afternoon. Junmyeon, having finished his poetry lessons early, had slipped away from his aging guards to explore the sprawling gardens of the inner palace. He loved the lotus pond, the way the large green leaves floated peacefully on the water.
As he approached the stone bridge, he heard a soft, melodic sound. A giggle.
Peeking through the weeping willows, the eight-year-old prince saw a girl. She was the daughter of the Minister of Rites, roughly his age, having wandered off from her mother’s side during a palace visit. She was trying to catch a bright blue dragonfly that kept darting out of her reach, her colorful silk *hanbok* fluttering as she jumped.
Junmyeon watched, utterly fascinated. He had never seen anyone like her. She was small, energetic, and smelled like sweet sugar plums. Without thinking, drawn by a child's natural desire for a playmate, he stepped out from behind the tree.
The girl gasped, freezing. She knew immediately from his crimson robes embroidered with golden dragons that this was the Crown Prince. She immediately dropped to her knees, bowing her head.
"Get up," Junmyeon said softly, his voice sweet and chiming. He walked over to her, tilting his head. "What were you doing?"
"I... I was trying to catch the dragonfly, Your Highness," she whispered, keeping her eyes averted.
Junmyeon smiled, a radiant, heart-stopping smile. "It's too fast for you. Here, let me help."
Before the girl could protest, Junmyeon reached out. He didn't catch the dragonfly; instead, he noticed she had scraped her palm when she had jumped and stumbled earlier. With pure, innocent concern, the young prince took her small hand in his. His thumb gently brushed the dirt away from her scrape. "Does it hurt? You should be careful. The stones here are sharp."
The girl blushed crimson, staring at the beautiful boy holding her hand. "I-It doesn't hurt, Your Highness. Thank you."
From the terrace above, a horrified gasp shattered the peaceful afternoon.
The Queen stood there, her face ashen, clutching the wooden railing so tightly her nails splintered. Beside her, the King stared down at the garden, his jaw clenched, a cold terror gripping his heart.
It was an innocent gesture. A child helping a child. But to the parents who bore the weight of the prophecy, it was a glimpse into an inevitable, terrifying future. Junmyeon was kind. He was empathetic. It was his nature to care, to reach out, to love. How could they possibly stop him when he turned sixteen? When he turned twenty? How could they police a grown man’s heart? They could not lock him in a tower forever. The state needed a King who interacted with his people.
That night, the royal chambers were steeped in despair.
The King sat at his low desk, burying his face in his hands. The Queen knelt beside him, weeping silently into her silk handkerchief. The incident in the garden had broken their fragile illusion of control.
"We cannot stop it," the Queen sobbed, her voice trembling. "He is too good, my Lord. He will fall in love. He is a human boy. When the time comes, his heart will seek a companion, and if he chooses a woman... our kingdom... his life..."
"I know!" the King snapped, though his voice was laced with agony, not anger. "Do you think I do not know? But what can we do? Exiling him means the end of our lineage. Keeping him here risks the destruction of the state. There is no path forward."
"There is one."
The deep, gravelly voice came from the shadows near the sliding doors. General Oh, the Supreme Commander of the Royal Armies and the King’s oldest, most trusted friend, stepped into the dim light of the candles. He was a massive man, scarred from battle, exuding an aura of absolute discipline and unwavering loyalty. He had bled for the King. He had saved the King’s life on the battlefield more times than either could count.
The King looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "Speak, my friend. If you have a strategy to fight the heavens themselves, I beg you to share it."
General Oh walked to the center of the room. Slowly, with heavy, deliberate movements, the great warrior sank to his knees. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against the floorboards—a bow of absolute submission.
"The prophecy stated the Prince cannot marry a woman," General Oh began, his voice steady and resolute, echoing in the quiet chamber. "It stated that a female bride would be the catalyst for the kingdom's ruin."
The King frowned, confusion warring with his desperation. "Yes. That is the curse."
"Then do not give him a female bride," General Oh said simply. He raised his head, his dark eyes locking onto the King's. "Give him a male one."
The Queen stopped weeping, staring at the General in shock. "A... a male bride? But... the laws, the traditions... who would ever accept such a fate? To be a man, yet forced to live as the Queen of the inner court? To sever his own lineage to serve as a shield for my son?"
"A noble family would demand power," the King murmured, his strategic mind slowly waking up. "They would use the position to manipulate the throne. And to force a boy into the role of a wife... it is a cruel sacrifice. What father would willingly offer his son to such a life?"
"I would."
The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
The King froze. "General..."
"I have a son," General Oh said, his voice softening just a fraction, revealing the father beneath the soldier. "My second born. Oh Sehun. He is six years old, two years younger than His Highness. He is healthy, he is strong, and he is a child of my blood. He knows only loyalty and honor."
The King stood up, visibly shaken, stepping out from behind his desk. "No. No, my friend. I cannot ask this of you. You have given me your sword, your youth, your blood. I will not take your son and strip him of his manhood, of his right to lead a normal life, to have his own family. It is too great a sacrifice."
General Oh remained kneeling, unyielding. "My King, you have given this land peace. You have given my family a home that is safe from war. The Prince is the future of that peace. If he falls, millions die. If the state crumbles, what good is my son's normal life in a world reduced to ash?"
Tears welled in the hardened General’s eyes, but he did not blink them away. "Let my bloodline bear the weight of the kingdom's salvation. Sehun is young. If we raise him with this purpose, if we teach him that his duty is to stand by the Crown Prince, to be his shield, his companion, and his spouse... he will accept it. He will be a warrior in his own right, but his battlefield will be the palace, and his lord will be his husband."
The Queen crawled across the floor, her beautiful silk robes dragging, until she reached the General. She collapsed before him, bowing her own head to the floor—a Queen bowing to a subject.
"Jungjeon-mama, please, you must not—" General Oh protested, trying to sit up, but the Queen grabbed the sleeves of his armor, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Thank you," she wept, her voice breaking into pieces. "Thank you, General. You are giving my son his life. You are saving my child. I will treat your Sehun as my own flesh and blood. I swear it to the gods, I will ensure he is loved, respected, and given every honor the kingdom can bestow. He will not be a captive; he will be our savior."
The King looked down at his best friend, his chest heaving with emotion. He walked over, knelt down, and wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders of the General, burying his face in the man's neck as tears finally spilled from his own eyes.
"I accept your sacrifice, my brother," the King whispered fiercely into the quiet room. "The pact is sealed. When the Crown Prince reaches his fourteenth winter, and your son his twelfth... they shall be wed. And the heavens themselves will have to bow to our will."
And so, the destiny of two boys was locked into place, bound by a prophecy of ruin, a father’s desperate love, and a general’s ultimate sacrifice.
Far across the capital, in the sprawling estate of the Oh family, a six-year-old boy named Sehun slept soundly, unaware that his future had just been rewritten, and that his life now belonged entirely to a beautiful, lonely prince he had not yet even met.